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lubdubology · 2 months ago

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Til The Sun Turns Black

SYNOPSIS: Your soul is bound to his and you're destined to follow him across the multiverse. When the TVA finds you and sends you to the Void, you feel your chance of finding him has slipped through your fingers. But what you find there is more than you bargained for.

PAIRING: Worst!Wolverine x fem!reader

WC: 13.1 k I apologize for nothing

WARNINGS: smut 18+, mdni, mentions of drinking, angst, peril, some fluff, implied age gap (I guess?), mental trauma, miscommunication, Wade being Wade, dirty talk, oral (m and f receiving), fingering, cowgirl, missionary, cock warming, sex with feelings, unprotected p in v

A/N: Thank you so much for all the love on Soft Edges! I was not expecting that kind of response when I posted that story, so thank you <3. I had the idea for this story in my head since after I first saw the movie. I had no idea my one random runaway thought would turn into this. Also, this story would not have been finished if it weren't for @joelsgoldrush. She let me tease her for WEEKS with this and act as the ultimate sounding board. And she's overall just a delightful human being and I'm so glad I've found her.

The TVA agent sits staring at you, an odd and uncomfortable smile on his face. Like he isn’t quite sure he knows how to smile but had seen it once on TV. You also don’t think he’s blinked in the past several minutes. It makes your eyes water just thinking about it.

“I don’t understand why I’m here.”

“Ah, yes, well—“ the agent clears his throat and smoothes a hand down his chest. “You’re a threat to the multiverse.”

You squint your eyes at him and wonder if you’re lucid dreaming. Or trapped in some bizarre fever dream, but you can’t remember being sick. “The…multiverse? As in, more than one universe?”

He nods once. “Precisely.”

It’s your turn to stare as absolutely none of this is making sense. The morning had started off normal—wake up, shower, coffee at your favorite local corner store. You had barely finished your latte when you were apprehended and taken to this bland room by a man who must own insane stock in eyedrops.

“You see, we’ve been watching you for quite some time,” he continues, oblivious of your growing confusion. “A handful of reincarnations, actually. And we believe we’ve finally pinned it down.”

His words sound insane.

You were a low level mutant at best. You’ve been able to deeply sense and influence emotions in others since you were six—a standard empath if there ever was one. But reincarnation?

“Reincarnations? I’m sorry but—”

You feel it coming then, that all too familiar prickle of deja vu creeping up your spine and setting deep in your brain. The room begins to soften, the corners blurring and you feel disjointed, separate from the you sitting in the chair.

“Ah, see. We’ve pinned it down.”

The world tilts on its axis and your mind explodes into brilliance, the memories of hundreds of alternate versions of yourself firing down your synapses, leaving you as raw and exposed as a fresh wound. The pain is all consuming as you gasp for air and desperately try to quell the throbbing in your skull.

Your hands grip the edge of the table, desperate to clutch at something solid to root you in reality as the kaleidoscope of memories swirl before your eyes, colliding and merging with one another. All the timelines converging down to a single point of existence within your mind. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve experienced this process, the return of your memories—the return of your consciousness—was always accompanied by a torturous sensory overload.

“You see? You have extensive knowledge of the multiverse. And that kind of knowledge is coveted and dangerous.”

Your vision blurs as the memories keep slamming into you and you can’t help the primal scream that rips from your lungs, the pain in your throat a welcome distraction from the torture in your head. And then, amid the chaos, a single figure emerges in crisp focus, a face you’ve seen thousands of times.

“Logan.” His name comes out in a whisper, your voice trembling.

You know he’s not actually in front of you and instead a mirage, a figment of your overloaded neurons, but his presence calms you.

“Yes, Logan. You two are quite fond of each other.” The agent stands and you squint up at him, wanting to be anywhere else as you regain your memories. “But never mind him. We can’t have you traipsing around with all that knowledge in your head.”

“No, no, no, please. Please just let me find him,” you beg, hating the desperation laced in your voice.

The last thing you see before being sent out of existence is his creepy, uncanny smile.

+++

The Void was bullshit.

It had been a month since you were unceremoniously dumped here.

Maybe.

You weren’t really sure.

Time had no meaning, each day seeming to stretch on for eons and simultaneously in the blink of an eye. And for every single one of those moments you’d been focused on one of two things: finding a way out and not dying.

You quickly learned you had a better chance at survival if you stuck to the outskirts and avoided others. So you squirreled yourself away, sheltering in an abandoned cabin and hoping beyond hope you could figure out a way out of the desolate cesspool you found yourself in.

Figure out a way back to him.

Back home.

+++

You don’t venture out unless you have to.

The Void is full of phantom emotions left behind by its previous inhabitants and the cacophony overwhelms you. Rage, terror and despair so thickly envelope every surface you feel like you’re choking. It’s beginning to wear so harshly on your nerves you wonder if you might actually go insane here.

There was a tension growing in the Void. You’d heard whispers of unrest within the factions, Cassandra hungry for something to sink her teeth into. The undercurrent of rage has increased in the last couple of days and it’s enough to set your teeth on edge.

Stuffing a backpack with a few essentials in case you get stranded, you ready yourself for a supply run. The thought of leaving the perceived safety of your cabin has little appeal, but you’ve been putting it off for far too long. There was a small cache only a few miles from your cabin that other survivors kept stocked with extra provincials. You were hoping for something good, anything other can canned food or cereal. Or Spam.

Tightening the straps on your backpack, you take one last glance around before stepping out into the forest. It’s eerily quiet, no birds or animals chattering to fill the silence, just the crunch of your shoes against fallen leaves. The Void has always felt oppressive to you, the air just a little too heavy, but there’s something lingering today that makes you feel on edge. Your skin prickles with anticipation and you pat your belt for the knife you’ve stashed there.

Just in case.

You’re half a mile away from the cache when you feel it—the inky slick of anger. It catches on the air and wafts towards you in waves. You slow your steps as you approach the road and come to a halt when the battered van comes into view.

Your breath hitches in your throat.

You’d recognize those claw marks anywhere.

Your heart races as your eyes trace the deep, jagged cuts gouged into the metal and the large swathes of blood coating the ground and what you can see of the interior of the van. Instinctively your hand tightens around the hilt of your knife and you crouch down low behind a fallen log. You scan the area for any signs of movement and find none, but you know Logan is stealthier than you and wouldn’t give up his location willingly.

The van door creaks open on its battered hinges and you inhale sharply as Logan stumbles out of the vehicle covered in dried blood and sweat and more knife wounds and bullet holes than you can count.

The sight of him ignites a spark of longing that blooms in your chest and makes you physically ache. You can feel him. Your lips remember the hungered warmth of his mouth against yours, the way he’d nip at your bottom lip so you’d open up for him. Your skin remembers the calloused rasp of his hands and not just the greedy grabs when he needed to claim you, but the light brushes of his fingertips against your palm as he held your hand, just to remind himself that you were real. Your nose remembers his scent, woodsy and clean, like the earth after rain.

Shaking your head, you push down the memories and peer back over the log. A slight breeze wafts through the air and you watch as he sniffs, his head turning in your direction.

“Fuck,” you curse lowly, trying to crouch further out of eyesight.

You hear the metallic snikt of his claws and your pulse quickens. There’s no point in hiding—he knows you’re there. You take a slow, steady breath before attempting to focus waves of calm in his direction, hoping to ease some of the anger wound around him.

His eyes lock onto yours, sharp and predatory and he shakes his head, trying to keep you out. “Who the fuck’re you?”

You draw back your power and raise your hands in surrender as you slowly rise to your feet. You toss out your name and silently hope for a spark of recognition. But he doesn’t know you. Not yet.

“It’s not safe out here alone,” you start, moving out of your hiding place. You walk towards him, his eyes following your every move. “There’s a cache just up ahead—”

The atmosphere shifts without warning, the anger you’d felt previously now melting into thick, cloying fear and desperation. You can taste the ozone and the hairs at the back of your neck stand on end as electricity sizzles across the sky. Glancing up, you see the dark, swirling mass of Alioth just beginning to form.

You look at Logan, panic racing along your nerves. “I promise I’ll explain everything to you later, but I know you, Logan, and right now I need you to trust me.”

Alioth’s presence is getting stronger and drawing closer, and every drop of tension and rage swirling within is beginning to weigh down on you, threatening to suffocate you.

Logan’s eyes narrow, but there’s a slight twitch in his jaw and you know he’s considering your words. His claws retract, but his muscles remain tense, coiled and ready to attack. You grab for his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin and the hard muscle beneath your fingers. “We have to go. Now.”

For a moment, you think he might resist. But then with a low curse, he follows you, his stride matching yours as you lead him towards the cache. The trees blur by, the wind picking up and beginning to toss leaves and loose branches into the air.

You’re operating on pure adrenaline and your heart pounds in your chest as you run, Alioth gaining speed and distance faster than either of you can move. Each gasp of air burns your lungs and your muscles ache with the effort of your sprint.

Still a quarter of a mile away from the cache, you know you won’t be able to outrun Alioth. The storm has consumed the sky, the sun diminished to twilight, as the thunder and groans loom ever closer. You turn towards Logan and yell, “It’s too close, we’re not gonna make it!”

Logan’s eyes flash with anger as you stop and turn towards the oncoming destruction. He grabs for your wrist, pulling you almost nose to nose. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he growls, chest heaving with the effort to breathe. “We can’t stop!”

His proximity briefly disarms you, his fierce gaze igniting something deep within you, but you don’t have time to dwell on those emotions. You take a deep breath in an attempt to steady your nerves. “I’m gonna try and calm it down.”

“What are you going to do, think happy thoughts at it?” he asks, his tone biting and sarcastic.

You know every cell in his body is begging to fight, aching to release his claws and tear Alioth apart with his bare hands. But this isn’t something brute strength can subdue.

“Just trust me,” you plead, your eyes searching his for some indication that he believes you. “Please.”

His stare is hard, but eventually his eyes soften and he loosens his grip on your wrist. “Fine.”

Tearing your gaze from him, you turn back towards the storm, now a full blown maelstrom of anger and destruction hellbent on consuming you both whole. You exhale slowly, pushing your own emotions of fear and panic as far down as you can. Instead, you turn inward and concentrate on every feeling of peace, calm and stillness you’ve ever experienced and project it outwards. Waves of soothing energy pour from you, an almost ghostly aura emanating from you as your power continues to grow. Alioth continues to surge towards you, the wind now flattening trees to the ground and lifting debris high into the air.

The fight is excruciating, every cell in your body shaking with effort as you continue to project outwards, the sphere of your influence growing. When the two opposing masses collide, you’re almost knocked off your feet by the force. You’re vaguely aware of Logan beside you, claws unsheathing as he steps closer into your protective shield.

For a brief moment, you feel the power of the storm ebb before it seems to press into you harder. Your knees begin to buckle and your stance slips. “I…I don’t know if I can hold it!” you gasp.

Logan doesn’t run but instead moves closer, giving you one solitary nod. You can feel Logan’s eyes on you, feel the doubt swirling behind them and yet he stays besides you, ready to fight.

His silent encouragement is enough.

You are not dying in the fucking Void.

Gritting your teeth, you continue to push. A guttural scream rips from your throat as black spots dot your vision and blood drips from your nose. You dig down, channeling every last drop of your energy into a final wave, extending yourself deep within the core of the storm.

The black of the storm begins to retreat and the wind begins to calm. As the first few beams of sunlight filter in through the treetops, your vision fades completely and the world goes black.

The last thing you feel is a pair of strong arms wrapping around you before your mind goes blissfully blank and unconsciousness claims you.

+++

You wake up in the cache.

Dust motes dance in the sunlight streaming in through the broken windows. The light is soft, definitely not the early morning glow from before you left the comfort of your cabin and you wonder how long you were out. With a groan, you try to sit up. Your body is stiff, every muscle in your body aching with the effort you took to banish Alioth. Wincing, you swing your legs out of the makeshift bed, the effort taking your breath away and you can feel the sickly creep of nausea climb up your throat.

A low voice cuts through the haze. “Take it easy.”

Logan.

You blink, trying to adjust your eyes to the light and find him sitting on the floor, one leg pulled up to his chest as a bottle of whiskey hangs between his fingers. He takes a long pull and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“How long was I out?” you ask, your voice hoarse.

Logan doesn’t answer immediately. He reaches over at a box beside him and then rolls a water bottle towards your feet before he finally mutters, “A day.”

You accept the bottle with a nod of thanks. Taking a slow sip, you close your eyes as the liquid soothes your throat even as your body protests the movement. You’ve never used your powers to that degree before. Fuck, you didn’t even know you could. A perverse sense of pride licks at the edge of your exhaustion.

Lowering the bottle, you breathe deeply in an attempt to settle the nausea rolling in the pit of your stomach. You glance at Logan and find him watching you, his eyes sharp, calculating.

“You owe me some answers. You said you knew me.”

You meet his gaze, the weight of his words pressing down on you. After hundreds of encounters with different Logans, it was never easy explaining to him what you were. For a long time, you didn’t even have a name for it. All you knew was that your consciousness, all your memories, everything that you are moves across different universes and inevitably crosses paths with Logan. It always felt like an invisible string, guiding your soul to his.

“I’m a temporal nomad.”

Logan’s eyes narrow as he glares at you. “A temporal what?” His tone is laced with skepticism.

You take another sip of water, giving yourself time to gather your thoughts and push away the throbbing at your temples. “A temporal nomad. I don’t die, not in the way you think, anyway.”

Logan doesn’t move, but you see his grip tighten on the bottle in his hand, his knuckles going white. “You tellin’ me you’re immortal?”

“No, not immortal,” you reply, exhaling slowly. “When I die, my consciousness moves. I reincarnate in a different universe. Eventually I regain everything—my experiences, my memories, my feelings. It’s why—” you pause and take a deep, steadying breath. “It’s why I always find you.”

Your words hit their mark and Logan’s eyes flash with something you can’t quite decipher—shock, disbelief, maybe some anger. He sits up straighter, tipping the whiskey bottle to his lips without breaking eye contact. “You always find me?” he asks, his voice a low rumble. “We’ve met before?”

“I’ve lost count of how many time, actually,” you admit softly. “But in every reality, every universe, I find you. And we’re not just friends, Logan.”

Your words linger in the air between you and your heart pounds loudly in your chest. Logan stands suddenly, the now empty whiskey bottle clattering to the ground. He runs a hand through his hair before scrubbing it down his face, his jaw clenched as he paces within the small space. A mirthless chuckle escapes his lips. “This smells like bullshit, sweetheart.”

Your heart aches at his use of the word sweetheart. It’s one he’s always preferred for you, usually spoken with reverence, like a prayer falling from his lips. Except now it’s casual and cold, something with a sharp edge instead of softness.

“I know how crazy it sounds. Believe me, Logan, it took me several lifetimes to wrap my mind around it.” You stand, your legs wobbly with the effort and you wince against the pull in your spent muscles. “But I know you.”

His expression hardens. “Yeah? Well, I don’t know you. And if you really knew me, you’d know to stay the fuck away from people like me.” Logan’s pacing grows more hurried, his hands clenching into fists.

“I can’t,” you say softly, taking a tentative step closer towards him. “And I don’t want to. While I might not know the Logan in front of me or the nuances that make you different from the others, I know you.”

His nostrils flare and he lets out a low growl. “Stop.”

“I know the way you fight,” you continue, ignoring his warning. “I know the way you carry your pain as if no one else can possibly shoulder that weight. I know—”

“Stop!”

“—how you push people away to protect them, but that deep down you hope someone will push back. You may carry a lot of self loathing, Logan, but even you know you’re not heartless.”

Logan’s fist slams into the wall behind him, the sound reverberating in the small room. He stands there, chest heaving, his knuckles bleeding from where they made contact with the rough wooden planks. You watch as the raw skin knits itself back together, his head hanging low.

His jaw clenches as he wipes the blood from his hands, his breathing still ragged and posture rigid, itching for a fight. He glances over at you, his expression softer but still rough.

“We’re done here,” he growls, but his voice soft, more broken than angry.

Logan turns without another word and all you can do is watch him leave.

+++

You spend the rest of the morning dozing in bursts of fitful sleep, your confrontation with Logan taking its emotional toll. Your eyes burn with unshed tears and for the first time in your life, you feel as if you’re destined to wander this universe alone.

But you can’t think about it.

Not now.

Ignoring the ache in your limbs, you pack up what supplies you can and ready yourself for the walk back to your cabin. The sun is a couple of hours from setting, the world bathed in golden light, when you set out. Walking down the steps, you pause at the distant crunch of boots on the gravel. You feel your pulse thrum in your chest as the sound gets closer and then he steps into view, his eyes locking onto yours.

Logan.

The sight of him standing there fills you with a rush of conflicting emotions. Relief, angry, anxiety and you’re not sure if you trust yourself to speak first. He looks the same—tired, disheveled, but steady and strong all the same. Neither of you moves, unspoken words hanging between you.

“I shouldn’t’ve left,” he says finally.

For a moment you say nothing. Because it’s exactly what you want to hear from him. Except, because you’re beyond exhausted, mentally, physically and emotionally, you say, “No, you fucking shouldn’t have.”

There’s definitely more bite in your tone than you intended, but the release of some of your pent up anger feels so good you can’t bring yourself to care.

Logan’s eyes narrow as you move past him and keep walking. “Wait, so I come back here to apologize,” he begins, following close behind you, “and now you’re gonna just walk away?”

“You know, you never even thanked me for saving your ass,” you say, side stepping a downed log. “Just started demanding answers and then tucked tail and ran when you didn’t like what I had to say.”

He grabs your wrist and you stumble into his grasp, your breath hitching in your throat as you stand almost chest to chest. “I didn’t fucking ask for any of this!”

His anger bleeds into you, curling around your skin where his fingers press into your pulse point. You feel your nostrils flare and you’re itching for something to hit as you stare up at him, his jaw clenched. Your heart pounds wildly in your chest and you know you need to reign in your emotions or you’ll ignite the fuse between you.

“You think I did?” you ask, pulling your arm from his grasp. Your voice is calmer, but just as sharp. “You think I want to relive the grief of mourning you over and over while also finding something new to love about you? You think I wanted to be banished to the Void all because my soul just can’t die when I do?”

Logan’s expression softens and he scrubs a hand down his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look. I’ve had a shitty coupla days here. And you’re saying a lot of shit I don’t understand.”

He seems weary, then, and any remaining anger you harbor towards him dies in your veins. You take a deep breath in and blow it out slowly. “You don’t have to understand right now. Just—just trust me. Please?”

You hate how your voice breaks just a little.

Logan nods then, the barest tilt of his head, but it’s enough.

He continues to follow you through the woods back towards the cabin and for a while neither of you speak. It should feel awkward, especially now, but it doesn’t. You’re so used to his brand of stubbornness and reluctance to see what’s right in his face that this is the most at home you’ve felt since you got here.

“So,” you start after a few minutes of silence, “how did you end up here?”

Logan huffs. “Some asshole in red spandex dragged me here and I said I need to help save his universe.”

“And can you?”

His step falters and you pause to look a him, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the trees. “I couldn’t save mine.” The weight of his words linger, heavy with a burden only he alone has been shouldering. He doesn’t meet your eyes as he brushes past you and keeps walking.

“Wanna talk about it?” you ask, catching up with him.

Logan growls. “No.”

“Alright, maybe later then,” you reply and he simply ignores you and keeps on walking. “Where’s this asshole friend of yours?”

“I left him tied up in the van.”

You had long passed the spot where you found Logan by the beat up van and the road was deserted. Based on the subtle smirk on his face, you figure Logan already knows that. Whatever his relationship is with the stranger, he seems somewhat happy to be rid of him and you don’t push him further. Although, you can’t help but wonder what happened to the van and whose hands it fell into.

Logan’s gait slows as the cabin comes into view through the trees. He follows behind you as you clear the space, checking for any stragglers that may have come along while you were gone. Pushing open the door, you watch as he looks around, taking in the small space.

“You’ve been living here?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it living, but sure,” you comment, throwing your backpack on the table as you sit down. You can’t help the groan that escapes your lips as your muscles relax. “You can stay here if you want. I didn’t just let you follow me for your sparkling personality, you know.”

Logan actually laughs at that as he sits down on the small couch. His face lightens up, eyes crinkling just a bit at the corners, and for the first time since you found him, he seems unburdened. A blossom of hope grows in your chest and you grasp onto it, holding tight to the one bit of light you’ve had in this month of darkness.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

You know he means for more than the offer to stay and you return his smile with one of your own. “You’re welcome.”

As the sun starts to dip below the horizon, you bring out some extra blankets and a couple of pillows and help Logan turn the couch into a makeshift bed. You turn to leave when you hear him ask, “You really find me in every universe?”

“Yes.”

“That sounds terrible.”

You give him a small smile as you lean against the doorframe to the bedroom. “Oh, it’s not all that bad. I get to fall in love with you all over again.”

+++

You wake in the middle of the night to the sound of low, panicked growls coming from across the room.

You quietly slip from the bed and tiptoe towards the couch. Logan writhes beneath the sheets, pain etched across his face as he wrestles the demons in his sleeping mind. Taking a deep breath, you center yourself and focus every fiber of your power in his direction, hoping the waves of calm can break through whatever battle he’s fighting deep in the recesses of his mind.

Logan growls deep in his throat, the sound guttural and raw, his claws unsheathing and tearing at the sheets beneath him in agitation. A fine sheen of sweat beads along his brow and pieces of hair are plastered against his damp forehead.

“Logan,” you say softly, trying to break through the fog of his nightmare. “You’re safe, Logan.”

Your powers are waning, the stress of fighting off Alioth having left you depleted. You push down the ache, the tug in your brain demanding that you draw back, and instead kneel down in front of him, trailing your fingers across his palm and over the pulse point in his wrist. He jerks at your touch, his claws coming close to your skin, but the contact is enough and you feel his pulse slow beneath your fingertips.

You continue to speak in hushed tones, your voice barely above a whisper. “There you go, Logan. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Logan’s breathing is ragged, his eyes squeezed shut. You can feel the tension in his body, his muscles rigid with the need for release. You keep your fingers against his wrist, your touch steady and calming, as you bring up your other hand to smooth the lines along his brow.

“There you go,” you continue to murmur, “Focus on my voice. Focus on my calm.”

Gradually, his growls subside and his breathing begins to even out as the nightmare loses its grip over him. His muscles lose their tension and relax and the frantic movements of his limbs subsides. With one final deep breath, he stills, his claws retracting and he settles back into a peaceful sleep.

You sit and watch him for a minute, taking in all of his features and simply admiring him for the first time since your last life with him. This Logan is different—they all are in their own way—but this one a little more than the others. He seems wearier, more worn down, his usual scowl lines etched deep. There’s an exhaustion in his eyes, too, you haven’t seen before and you wonder if this Logan actually ever rests.

As you stand, you feel his fingers circle loosely around your wrist and give a small tug. You look down to where he’s touching you, his skin hot against yours, and you glance up to find him staring at you through half lidded eyes.

“Stay.” It comes out in a low whisper and as you open your mouth to protest, he adds, “Please.”

You could never deny him in any universe.

The couch is barely wider than he is, yet he shifts to make a sliver of space for you to slot yourself into. It should be awkward, the way you press yourself between the couch and the solid warmth of his frame, but it’s not. You hitch your leg over his hip, forcing your legs to tangle, as you rest your head against his chest. His heartbeat is strong and comforting beneath your ear and you find yourself quickly relaxing into his touch.

As you fall asleep, you feel his arm curl around you, tucking protectively against your ribs.

+++

When morning breaks, you’re alone. The warmth of his body is gone and you find yourself shivering. Pushing to sit, you wrap a blanket around yourself before standing up.

The cabin is empty.

You try and ignore the sliver of panic that threatens to slip its way down your spine.

Opening the front door, you pause when you find him sitting on the dilapidated porch, staring absently out at the trees. He glances up at you and watches as you sit down beside him. You hug the blanket closer around your shoulders and sit with him in silence.

You don’t mention last night.

“So,” you start, “what’s the plan?”

Logan raises his eyebrow. “You planning on stickin’ with me?”

“If you let me,” you reply with a smile.

You listen as Logan explains the events of the past couple of days, including Wade’s abduction of him from his own universe and how they both became to be bloodied and battered in the van. Your ears perk up when he mentions Paradox and returning to Wade’s universe.

“You think he can actually get back?” you ask, willing yourself to not hold onto too much hope.

Logan huffs. “Probably not.”

“And yet you’re out here trying to think of a way to find him,” you say. “Why?”

A frown tugs at Logan’s mouth and he looks down at his hands. Eventually, he reaches into the pocket of his suit and pulls out a crumpled Polaroid. He tilts it towards you and you look down at the group or smiling people. “He’s got something to go home to,” he says, thumbing the edge of the photo. “I got nothin’.”

There’s something soft in his gaze as he looks down at the photo, some lingering hope he’s too afraid to put words to.

“I’m sure you have something, Logan,” you say quietly.

His expression hardens then, jaw tightening, as he slips the photo back in his pocket. “Had. Past tense.” Logan stands then and looks down at you. “Get ready. We’re leaving in five.”

+++

You get ready quickly, changing your clothes and splashing water on your face before making sure your pack was sufficiently stocked. You were hoping you wouldn’t be needing it for much longer, but you didn’t want to express that thought out loud. Despite Logan wishing to go back to find Wade, you knew he wasn’t convinced this would end well.

Logan’s already started down the path as you jog down the cabin steps, swinging your pack up onto your shoulders. Catching up with him, you hand him the Pop-Tart you pulled out earlier. “Breakfast? They’re unfrosted, because this is the Void, but it’s something.”

He looks down at you, a strange expression on his face, but he accepts your offer. “Thanks,” he says, taking a bite.

“So, where exactly were you headed when you both decided to maul each other silly?” you ask, keeping pace with him as you walk through the woods.

“Johnny had mentioned a resistance out in the Borderlands,” Logan answers, swallowing the bite of Pop-Tart. “Figured we might find some people who could help us get control over Cassandra.”

You nod. “You’re not far from the Borderlands. Maybe four or so miles from he cache. I haven’t ventured out that far, but I’ve heard there’s a few outposts where others have hunkered down.”

“Then that’s where we go.”

You walk in comfortable silence, leaving Logan to his thoughts as you travel further away from safety and into the unknown. You stop at the cache briefly, pausing only snag a few water bottles before moving on.

A couple of miles past the cache, Logan suddenly stops, sniffing the air. His posture goes rigid, on alert as he slowly moves forward, beckoning you to follow him. A few yards away, the beat up van comes into view, parked alongside a lodging that looks as if it was built into the very earth itself.

Logan’s arm darts out, stopping you. “Stay close,” he commands quietly, stepping cautiously closer towards the structure.

You follow behind him, every sense on alert as you step inside. The place is quiet, but then you hear it—the soft rustle of snoring. And then Logan’s soft, “Ah, fuck me.”

Peering over his shoulder, you find a sleeping Wade spread eagle on the bed. Logan side steps the bed, ignoring the sleeping man, and begins rummaging through the place. Finding a bottle of whiskey, he groans in delight, twisting the cap off and taking a long pull.

“Really Logan?”

He quirks an eyebrow at you, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “What else would you like me to be doing?” he asks, biting.

“You came all this way to find him and now you’re gonna just drink?” you ask in disbelief. It gnaws at you, his indifference. You can feel little frissons of indignation licking at your skin and you have to tamp down your emotions before they bleed into him.

Logan shrugs. “He’s asleep. I ain’t draggin’ him anywhere.”

You cross your arms, glaring at Logan in frustration. “I didn’t follow you here to watch you stand around and get drunk. Wake him up.”

He gives you a sidelong glance, his brow furrowing. You don’t relent, your stare pointed as he takes another long pull from the bottle. Muttering to himself, Logan makes his way over to the bed and gives it one swift, forceful kick.

Wade jolts awake with a loud, exaggerated snort. He looks between you and Logan, his eyes finally settling on you. “Who’re you?” he asks, looking around as if expecting an answer. “When did the script get rewritten?”

You look at him quizzically, your eyebrow raised. “Who are you talking to?”

Wade huffs. “The audience,“ he says, gesturing towards the wall.

“Does he do this often?” you ask Logan in a whisper.

“Hasn’t stopped since he fucking dragged me here,” Logan replies.

Your attention is diverted as Wade suddenly rolls from he bed, crossing the room and two large strides. He unsheathes one of his katanas, pressing himself against the wall and then he’s pinned on the ground as a woman pulls a blade of her own. After a moment, she lets Wade up and two more people follow into the room behind her.

Logan eyes each one with suspicion as introductions are made and you can feel the tension growing within him as he continues to drink.

You jump as Gambit uses one of his playing cards to burst the bottle of whiskey in Logan’s hands. Logan ignores your pleading look and Wade’s admonishment as he grabs another bottle with a soft, “Boo boo boo.”

When Laura enters, you feel Logan’s interest pique, something heavy weighing on him. They both look towards one another, taking each other in and you don’t miss the recognition in Laura’s eyes.

“Do you know her?” you ask Logan, sliding closer to him.

Logan shakes his head. “No. But Wade’s Logan does.” He takes another long drink from the bottle, eyes still trained on her.

Wade continues to talk with the group, recapping their time in the Void and how they managed to escape Cassandra’s lair. Logan punctuates the conversation with vitriolic quips of his own, drinking more as Wade tries to get the group to form a team.

You try to send your power Logan’s way, trying to bleed into him some calm, but he shakes his shoulders and brushes you off. “Don’t fucking bother, sweetheart.”

“I can help you, Logan.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t ask for it.”

As Wade rallies the group into a cohesive unit, gaining their support in taking down Cassandra, Logan huffs a bitter laugh. “You’re all fucking dead.”

“Oh, my god, read the room,” Wade chides.

+++

Logan storms off, one bottle of whiskey fisted in each hand. You want to follow after him, but Wade stops you. “Let him go, cupcake. Peanut’s in a fragile state and you’re too pretty to become mincemeat.”

You shoot a glare at him and brush his hand away from your shoulder. “No, he only seems to sink his claws into you,” you bite back, but the anger leeches from your voice.

“Spicy,” Wade comments, “I like you. The script editor worked overtime on you, I can tell.”

“Yeah, well the jury’s still out over here,” you say, but you can’t help the twitch of a smile tugging at your lips.

You glance over at the door and feel Wade sidle up beside you. “Seriously, cupcake. Chasing after him is like trying to catch a raccoon with rabies. Might be fun, but it’s not worth the bite.”

“Oh yeah?” you ask, peering over at him, “And how long have you known him?”

Wade pretends to look down at his wrist and taps a non-existent watch. “Four days, six hours and thirty-two minutes,” he says with a smirk, “but I don’t really like to put a timestamp on friendship."

With a groan, you plop down on the bed and rub at your temples. “Is everything a joke with you?”

“Mostly,” he chirps with a grin. He leans back against the wall and crosses his arms as he watches you. “But I have been known to press pause occasionally.” Wade regards you for a moment, a slight tilt to his head. “Honey badger does it for you, huh?”

Sighing, you lay back on the bed and stare up at the ceiling. “I have followed Logan through millennia, Wade. I can’t remember a time anymore where I haven’t loved him.”

“His mutant dick that good, huh?”

You half laugh, half snort and shoot him a pointed look. “Not everything is about sex, Wade.”

“Agree to disagree,” he says with a shrug. “We’ve all got emotional baggage, mine is definitely over the free to fly limit, but that guy? Literal mountains. Centuries worth, even.”

“Exactly,” you say, sitting up. “I’ve helped him carry more than you can imagine. Logan may push people away, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t need someone to stay.”

Wade cocks his head, considering your words and his expression softens. “You know running after him isn’t going to fix him.”

“I’m not trying to fix him,” you reply. “He just needs to know someone is there for him.”

“Well, it’s your funeral, cupcake,” he says with a sigh. “I promise I’ll give a really moving eulogy. But, I do think if anyone is gonna convince tall, dark and brooding out there to join us, it’s you.”

You give him a soft smile as you stand. “Thanks, Wade.”

“And just so you know,” he calls after you, “I’m open and willing to being your mutant dick rebound.”

You roll your eyes and walk out the door.

+++

You step outside and see Logan sitting by himself in front of a fire not too far from the lodging. Walking quietly, you stop when you see Laura approach him and sit along side him. You’re close enough that you can hear their words—hear Logan tell her about the suit, about how he found the X-Men, his friends, dead.

The anger, the loathing, this Logan carries comes into focus and you can’t help but wonder how long he’s lived with this weight upon his shoulders. Suffering alone with only the bottom of a bottle to quiet the thoughts that scream in his mind.

As Laura eventually leaves, she catches your eye and gives you a small nod.

You feel a strange kinship with her. She too has memories of a Logan who no longer exists and who is radically different from the one she has now. You wonder what she’s thinking and have half a mind to follow after her when you hear Logan call out, “I know you’re there.”

You turn back towards where he remains sitting in front of the fire, the whiskey bottle now more than half gone. Closing the gap between you, you sit down alongside him and watch as he continues to stare down into the fading fire.

“How much did you hear?” he asks, taking a large swig from the bottle.

“Enough,” you answer simply.

Logan grunts and takes a long pull from the bottle, his lips glistening as his swallows get sloppy. “Well, now you know. I’m the worst Logan,” he almost spits, his tone dark and bitter. “You drew the short straw with me, sweetheart.”

“You know I don’t think that,” you say softly.

Logan doesn’t respond and instead finishes the rest of the whiskey, tossing the bottle somewhere behind him. Scrubbing a hand down his face, he looks over at you. “You actually gonna join them tomorrow?”

“Are you?”

“It’s a fucking suicide mission,” he answers. “You want to walk up to your death, be my guest.”

“If you’re so convinced this is a suicide mission, why don’t you want to go?” you counter, his ire beginning to bleed into the space between you and creep uncomfortably along your skin. “You afraid you might come face to face with actual death and realize that’s not really what you want?”

Logan’s gaze flicks up to your face, his eyes dark, dangerous. “You’re fucking pushin’ it.”

“Good! Someone fucking should be!” you exclaim, standing from the fallen log. Maybe Wade was right—maybe this was futile. In every universe Logan could be a stubborn ass, but this one was particularly obstinate. “Do you really believe you’re so unredeemable, Logan? That you’re just a vile mutant who doesn’t deserve sympathy after his friends were brutally murdered?”

You can feel his rage boiling just under the surface of the thin veneer of calm. His eyes pierce into you, pinning you in place as he stands to his full height, his fists clenched tightly.

“You don’t know shit about me, sweetheart,” he growls.

Anger simmers in your veins, threatening to burn you from the inside out. “Oh fuck you, Logan.”

He takes a step closer, his eyes narrowing as his lips curl into a cruel smile. “Yeah, you’d like that wouldn’t you? Me sinking into your cunt while you picture whatever version of me you think I am.” His voice is a low rumble, adding to the tension threatening to suffocate you.

Your breath catches in your throat at his words, and it isn’t desire that courses through you, but rage. Your skin prickles and his vitriol ignites something deep within you, something hotter and brighter than you’ve ever felt before.

“After all this time and everything I’ve told you, you honestly believe that’s all I want from you? You’re a fucking pathetic asshole,” you snap, your voice sharp and laced with venom.

Logan’s expression darkens, the smirk slipping from his face as his jaw clenches. “You got some balls sayin’ that shit to me,” he spits.

A small part of you is terrified of him, afraid that he might actually snap. Might actually unsheathe his claws and send you onto your next life without ever having truly lived this one. But you know him, you know him. His pain and rage isn’t towards you, but himself.

You risk a step closer to him, narrowing the space between you and you can feel the heat radiating off of him, mingling with your own fury. “Yeah, well at least one of us has a pair.”

Logan doesn’t have time to react before you channel your powers towards him, unleashing an explosive burst of energy that sends him staggering back. And then you smother him, smother him in thousands of years of memories, thousands of years of every single feeling you had ever felt for him in every universe you’ve known him.

The weight of your emotional onslaught brings him to his knees, but you keep pushing, switching from your feelings for him to his feelings for you. All the affection, all the love, all the comfort the two of you shared in every version of your coupling across space and time floods his mind.

You watch as his expression melts from anger into one of overwhelming vulnerability and pain. His hands, still clenched into fists, tremble beneath the weight of your power surging through him. He looks up at you then, his eyes pleading and your resolve breaks. Tears burn in your eyes and trail down your cheeks, wetting your lips as a scream rips from your lungs.

Your hold on Logan dissipates as you reign your emotions back under control. You stagger on your feet as your power diminishes, your chest heaving with ragged breaths and broken sobs. You can’t look at him, not yet. If you do, you might actually break. So you do something that you never thought you would do—you leave.

+++

Night in the Void is cool, almost bordering on uncomfortable like everything else in this godforsaken place, but for once it doesn’t bother you. You gaze up at the sky, the haze of distant stars and planets blurring together the more you try and focus on just one.

You’ve always loved looking at the stars. There was a comfort in knowing you could look up at the sky and see the same constellations in every universe, that there was always one constant among all the variables.

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting before you hear the crunch of his boots on the earth, dried leaves and twigs snapping under his heel. Logan joins you on the ground, sitting with a heavy sigh. The maelstrom of emotions swirling within him bleeds into the space between you and you can feel it, thick and heavy and suffocating.

You risk a glance at him and he looks…defeated. His eyes are red-rimmed and raw and you see something in those hazel eyes you rarely see—fear. Not fear at you, although your guilt would rather have you believe that, but fear of himself, fear of feeling what you’ve shown him. Logan’s breath is slow, controlled, but you can hear the slight tremor in it.

“I promised myself I would never use my powers on you” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. “I know what it feels like to experience that onslaught. It feels like drowning.” Your voice cracks and you fight to keep the guilt burning in your chest from consuming you whole. “And that was just a fraction of what we’ve felt across lifetimes, Logan.”

Logan stays silent but gazes at your face, eyes flicking across your features, drinking you in. The scrutiny makes you shiver. Before you isn’t The Wolverine, the X-Man people in his universe loathe, but a man left raw and vulnerable.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he says slowly, his voice rough as the words are pulled from him. “You shouldn’t have shown me that.”

You flinch, the weight of his words are a punch to your gut. “I know,” you whisper, wiping tears from your eyes. “I know and I’m sorry, I—”

Logan cuts you off with a shake of his head, his eyes now locked onto yours. “I already knew, sweetheart,”he murmurs, his voice low. “You feel like—you feel like home.”

Your heart stutters in your chest and for a moment you can’t breathe. The words hang between you, heavy and raw, the sound of them something you’ve been craving to hear.

“I am your home,” you reply softly.

Logan shifts beside you, closing the space between you as he slips his hand behind your neck and pulls you in. His mouth crashes to yours, his kiss urgent, rough and desperate.

You reach for him, gripping his shoulders as you kiss him back, the Void slipping away. There’s only the heat of his mouth, the rough scrape of his beard against your skin, the way his other hand tugs at your waist in an attempt to pull you closer.

It’s messy and intense and you don’t want it to end. Logan kisses you like a man starved, like you’re his last breath of air.

A whimper falls from your lips as he finally breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against yours. You’re both breathless, his nose softly nudging yours.

“Please come with us tomorrow,” you whisper against his skin. “Let me take you home.”

He nods once and that’s all you need.

+++

The morning comes quicker than anyone would like.

Nervous energy bleeds through the group, everyone knowing they’re on the precipice of life or death, that this may be the last day they ever inhale air into their lungs or feel the warmth of the sun on their skin.

Logan’s quiet, already tucking into Gambit’s liquor, as you sit down beside him. He looks down at you briefly, taking a long long pull before offering you the bottle. You take it from him and take a swig of your own, the amber liquid burning a path down your throat.

“What are you thinking?” you ask, handing him back the bottle.

He stares down at his feet, swirling the liquid around in the glass. “I honestly don’t even fuckin’ know.”

You reach for his hand and give him a comforting squeeze. He stares down at you for a moment and then drags his gaze up to your face. “Whatever happens Logan, I’ll be right there with you.”

Final preparations complete, everyone piles into the van, you tucking alongside Logan in the hatchback. The ride is mostly quiet, punctuated only with the few occasional quips by Wade just to ease the tension. You brace yourself, gripping Logan’s calf as Blade sends a rocket launcher through Cassandra’s front gate and Elektra floors it through the explosion.

The others leave the van first, forming a line of defense. You look up at Logan and lean forward to press the faintest of kisses against his lips. His fingers curl around your neck and pull you closer, deepening it just enough to taste your mouth.

“Let’s go,” he murmurs, pulling back. “Stay by me.”

You swallow hard, loathe to let him go, wanting to stay in the perceived safety of the van, but you simply nod and follow him to join the others.

Fighting erupts all around you and you stick as close to Logan’s back as you can. It’s a symphony of chaos—rage, fear and determination all swirling heavily in the air. You feel your power thrum underneath your fingertips as you channel those emotions back towards whoever Logan is fighting, hoping to disarm them—even if temporarily—with their own vitriol in an attempt to give him an advantage.

The air burns in your lungs as you move through the fight, your mind spinning as you gain distance towards Cassandra’s lair. You can see the others move around you—Elektra and Blade slicing down enemies with their blades; Gambit disarming others with his explosively charged playing cards; Laura fighting in a style all her own, yet so much like Logan’s; and Wade cutting down others like he’s having fun.

A clear path opens up to the ramp leading up to Cassandra and the others swarm behind you, allowing yourself, Wade and Logan to break free from the melee. Logan looks back at you just long enough for you to see the fear in his eyes. You try and remain stoic, even though your mind is racing with all he the ways this could go wrong, and give him a small nod of encouragement.

You stop short in front of Cassandra as she sits sipping tea, seemingly disinterested in the battle happening just outside her stronghold. “You two escaping I could live with, but coming back willingly…” she trails off, “Boys are so silly.” Her eyes dart towards you. “And you brought a friend!”

“I just need to get home,” Wade says, his tone serious.

“I’m afraid that’s not an option.”

Cassandra flicks Wade aside effortlessly and Logan’s instantly on alert, claws extended at his side. You attempt to direct your powers at her, trying to defuse the anger simmering below her surface. She rolls her neck and glances at you, intrigue in her eyes.

“Oh, aren’t you interesting,” she says, effortlessly flicking your powers aside. “I wonder what treats you have hiding in that mind of yours.”

Cassandra steps closer to you, her calculating stare flicking over your face. She lifts one hand up to you and from behind her, Logan growls and moves to attack. You watch, powerless, as she pins Logan to the ground with his own claws.

She tsks and looks down at him, “That’s enough out of you.”

And then, she’s in your mind, every nerve ending in your body on fire, ready to consume you whole.

You’re standing in a library, Cassandra at your side. Shelves extend as far as the eye can see, fading into an infinite distance. You walk aimlessly along the shelves, pausing at the entrance of a room simply titled “Logan”.

“Oh, now this is something,” you hear Cassandra say from beside you. “This is quite the collection you have.”

Your fingers reach out and touch the spines, the briefest flickers of memories emanating from their covers. “I’ve known him for so long,” you murmur. “Been with him through so much.”

You pause in front of one book, the urge to open it nearly overwhelming. Pulling it from the shelf, the pages flutter open and you gasp, the memories of that life flooding your brain.

You and Logan were married in this life. He worked a simple job, construction. There were no X-men, no missions, no danger. He kept his mutation a secret, showing only you when the memories got too rough, too unmanageable. You were his anchor. You had two kids—girls. And oh, how he loved them. Both of them wrapped effortlessly around his heart from before they were even born.

Tears spring to your eyes as the warmth of those memories flood through you. “I loved that life,” you whisper, putting the book back on the shelf.

“And who wouldn’t?” Cassandra agrees, placing her hand on your shoulder. “So effortless his love for you. So different from now.”

You glance over at her, confusion drawn on your face. False empathy tugs at Cassandra’s sympathetic smile. “Are you even sure he cares for you now? This Logan is so broken, more broken and unloveable than all these other Logans, hm?”

Shaking your head, you try to resist her efforts to batter you, to convince you your soul’s purpose is not worth it. Not worth him. “That’s not true. They’re all worthy. All capable and deserving of love,” you say, your fingers trailing along another spine. “Even this one. Especially this one.”

Cassandra’s face contorts then and…

She’s wrenched from your mind and you fall to your knees, blinking up as you see Wade holding Cassandra from behind, one hand holding Jaggernaut’s helmet to her head.

Your mind still spins as Logan and Wade confront her, their conversation a jumble in your mind. But you don’t miss her saying either they kill her, or she kills them. Finding the strength to stand, you rise and place your hand on Wade’s arm.

“If I stay,” you start, focusing only on Cassandra and ignoring the press of Logan’s gaze into your skin, “Will you let them go?”

Logan reaches for you and you pull your gaze from Cassandra long enough to press your palm against this chest. You meet his eyes, silently pleading with him to let you continue.

“Will you?” you repeat, unable to keep the pleading out of your tone.

Cassandra laughs bitterly. “You love him that much? To sacrifice yourself to save him? That Logan, out of all of them?”

You nod, feeling the tears burn in your eyes. “I love him that much,” you reply softly.

Logan grabs your hand then, forcing you to look at him. “Don’t,” he chokes out, voice thick with unspoken emotion, “Don’t do this.”

You smile softly as you reach up and cup his cheek, his beard rough against your palm. You don’t miss the way he briefly nuzzles into your touch, eyes fluttering shut as he sighs. “I love you, Logan. In all my lives, in this one and in the next one, too.” The first tear slips down your cheek as you look up at him. “I promise I’ll find you again, Logan. I always do.”

You press a kiss to his mouth, soft and gentle. It lingers for a moment, a desperate, bittersweet exchange as Logan tries to memorize the feel of you. His hands grip your waist, clutching almost hard enough to bruise, but you relish the pain.

Wade stands beside you both, uncharacteristically silent, his hands still holding Cassandra in place. His usual banter is gone, the weight of the moment not lost on him. “This is the worst fucking idea anyone has ever had,” he mutters, but his tone is soft. “And I’ve had some pretty terrible ideas.”

Cassandra regards you with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. “If I let them go, you’ll stay here with me in the Void. Be my ally.”

You nod, “Yes.”

Cassandra’s eyes narrow, calculating, weighing her options. Finally she sighs, “Fine. But you know…no one will remember this little sacrifice of yours. The next Logan won’t even know you.”

Logan growls and you squeeze his hand in gentle reassurance. “It’s okay,” you whisper, your voice finally breaking. “I’ll remember enough for the both of us.”

You step away from Logan, your heart shattering with every step. Wade lets go of Cassandra and you feel the weight of your decision settle heavily against your shoulders.

Cassandra pulls something from her pocket, slipping it onto her fingers. Before you, a portal opens up, just outside the boundaries of the room. Outside, the raging storm that is Alioth grows near and in that moment, you realize Cassandra was playing a game of her own.

“I figure,” she says, straightening the lapels of her jacket, “that they have approximately four seconds before they’re through.”

Your eyes flick to Logan and you memorize every detail, every emotion written across his face. With one final nod, he tears his gaze from you and he runs towards the portal, Wade alongside him.

And then, darkness consumes all.

+++

You’re unsure how long you’ve been out. The last thing you remember was Alioth screaming towards you, giving you barely enough time to cocoon yourself from his rage.

Cassandra is gone.

Wade is gone.

And Logan—Logan is gone.

You open your eyes and find Remy standing above you. He offers you his hand and helps you to stand. “C’mon, chère,” he says, nodding towards the open portal behind him, “Let’s go home.”

You’re not sure where home is any more, not without Logan, but you don’t have the strength to argue. From the moment you wound up here in the Void, you’ve been looking for a way out. Now that you have one, you know you need to take it.

Accepting Remy’s hand, you join him through the portal.

You stumble into a familiar room and are greeted warmly by a smiling TVA agent. She’s unlike the first TVA agent you met, her presence comforting as she says your name. “We heard you’ve had quite the adventure.” She looks over towards Remy. “Mr. LeBeau, if you’ll follow this agent here.”

Remy leaves with he other agent, turning towards you with a wink. “Enjoy your man for me, yeah?”

Your heart flutters in your chest and you look towards the agent, trying to suppress the hope you feel in your chest. She smiles and rests a comforting hand on your shoulder. From her pocket she pulls out a small device, pressing a few buttons on the pad. Before you a different portal opens and she gestures towards it.

“Welcome home.”

+++

You stand in front of the apartment door and hesitate before knocking. Your nerves flutter uncomfortably in your belly even though it’s been less than two days since you last saw Logan in the Void. But you’re out now—you both are—and the fear nags at you that maybe this isn’t what he wants. That you aren’t what he wants.

You stuff that thought down with a shake of your head. Raising your hand, you rap against the door three times and let out a shaky breath. When he opens the door, you feel as if the air has left your lungs and you forget to breathe. Your heart aches at the sight of him.

Logan stops short, his face falling into one of pure disbelief and all he can do is stare at you.

“Is that my stripper?” you hear Wade call from farther into the apartment. Logan continues to stare at you as Wade pops up behind him, his face lighting up in surprise. “Oh, hey cupcake! Didn’t expect to—“

“Get out,” Logan growls, turning his head slightly in Wade’s direction, his eyes never leaving yours.

From over Logan’s shoulder, Wade wiggles his eyebrows. “Ah, looking for some afternoon delight?” he coos, slinging his arm over Logan’s shoulder and patting his chest. “This guy has been jerkin’ it constan—“

You hear the sknit of Logan’s claws as they unsheathe into Wade’s thighs. “Ah, fuck! Fuck!” Wade curses. “You’re supposed to be penetrating her, not me!”

“Get. Out,” Logan repeats, retracting his claws.

“Fine.” Wade pushes past Logan’s frame, limping slightly as his wounds heal themselves. “You’re lucky Blind Al’s already out playing Bingo. Or selling herself for blow. I don’t actually know her schedule,” he comments as he walks down the hallway. “Glad you’re home, cupcake.”

Logan barely waits until Wade is out of sight before tugging at the hem of your shirt and pulling you towards him. Your gasp dies on your lips as he drags you inside, shutting the door with his foot and pushing you up against the rough wood. Then his mouth is on yours and it’s warm and wet and wonderful.

His hands cup your face, fingers moving to tangle in your hair and you feel him everywhere. You whine as he nips lightly at your chin before trailing his lips back up your jaw, licking into your mouth as he kisses you deep.

Your fingers scramble for purchase, fisting themselves into the fabric of his button-down flannel.

There’s a desperation and urgency bleeding from him, as if he can’t drink you in fast enough, or hard enough, or long enough to satiate the longing that’s within him. And you’re feeling it too, an ache growing deeper in your belly, a need to be consumed by him fully and you whine into his mouth because he’s not nearly close enough to you.

A thigh slips between your legs as he kisses along your jaw and down the column of your throat, a moan falling from your lips as you greedily seek friction.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Logan husks against your shoulder, pulling your hips harder against his clothed thigh.

Your hands cup the sides of his face, your fingers scratching lightly against his beard. You force him to look at you, his pupils blown wide. “I always come to you,” you say softly. “I always come home.”

He kisses you softly then, his mouth slow over yours and he drops his thigh from between your leg. You whine at the loss and he pulls back. “C’mere,” he says, grabbing your hand and leading you further into he apartment. “I’m not fucking you for the first time against a door.”

You follow him to the bedroom, your chest heaving with ragged breaths and you can feel the prickle of anticipation along your spine as he turns back to look at you. His eyes never leave yours as he shrugs off the flannel and pulls his t-shirt over his head. Your eyes trace the lines of his chest, the strong definition of his muscles, following the line of hair that leads to the top of his jeans. As you bite your lip, you hear his chuckle, “My eyes are up here.”

“Mmm, yeah they are,” you start, tugging your shirt off and shimmying your pants over your hips, “but the view down there is nice, too.”

Logan reaches for you, his large hands skimming over your hips, over the flesh of your ass and under your thighs, lifting you up and forcing your to wrap your legs around his waist. With an easy flick of his fingers, he’s unclasped your bra and you toss it aside with the rest of your clothes.

Kneeling on the bed, he lays you down, kissing his way down your stomach, his nose nuzzling along the top of your panties. “Do you have any fucking idea how sweet you smell?” His mouth is hot against your skin and he laughs as you tilt your hips up towards him. “You want me to fuck you with my tongue? Lap at you until you’re seeing stars?”

Molten desire shoots down your spine and you can feel the slick between your thighs. God, the mouth on him was going to be the death of you.

You prop yourself up onto your elbows and look down at him. “Just fucking touch me already,” you whine, and you hate how desperate you sound. “Haven’t we waited long enough?”

He presses a wet, open mouthed kiss to your inner thigh before dragging his nose along the center of your clothed cunt. You inhale sharply as he kisses over your clit before trailing his fingers along your hip bones and pulling the fabric down. His warm hands palm along your thighs and he opens you up, staring down at you with hunger in his eyes. And then his mouth is on you, his tongue licking a hot stripe through your folds before sucking your clit into his mouth.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan as his mouth continues to lap at you, pleasure tingling low in your belly and spreading through your limbs.

Logan hums. “Sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted, sweetheart.” His tongue dips down, collecting the arousal at your entrance. “I could die happy between these thighs.”

You trail your hands down over your chest, briefly palming each breast before you continue down and sink your fingers into Logan’s hair. His groan rumbles through you and you don’t miss the way his hips start to rut against the mattress, seeking friction.

His mouth and tongue continue to move over you, long, slow licks punctuated by gentle sucks and flicks over your clit and you can’t stop the grind of your hips against his face. You feel his smirk against you as one thick finger finally sinks inside your walls, nudging that spot deep inside that makes you squirm.

Another finger slips inside you and a low whine spills from your lips.

“You’re beautiful like this, you know that,” he says, voice rough, thumb replacing his tongue against your clit as his fingers continue pumping. “All blissed out and needy and desperate to come on my fingers.”

His words zip through you as he fuck you with his hand and you bite your lip. “C’mon,” he purrs, “let me hear all those pretty sounds you make.”

Soft whimpers spill from your throat as he continues to work you, that pull in your lower belly growing stronger and stronger. His hand never stilling, he kisses his way up your body, pulling a nipple into his mouth and then you’re coming, cunt clenching around his fingers.

Logan licks into your mouth to steal your cries as he continues to work you through your orgasm. Your thighs clamp around his forearm, the pleasure overwhelming.

He finally stills, pulling his fingers from you and you whimper at the loss. You watch through half lidded eyes as he licks his fingers clean of your slick and you feel that flame reignite in your belly.

“Take your pants off,” you demand, breathless, pushing at his chest.

Logan laughs, but allows you to push him onto his back. “You always so bossy after you come?”

You fumble at his belt, undoing his buckle and unzipping his jeans before shoving them down his hips. “Make me do it again and find out,” you taunt as his cock springs free.

He kicks his pants the rest of the way off and you sit back on your heels and admire him for a moment. Your eyes trail from his broad shoulders, down the contours of his chest and follow that line of hair down his stomach to between his thighs, where his cock stands, thick and ready.

“I will never get tired of looking at you,” you sigh, raking your nails down his thighs, deliberately not touching him where you know he wants it the most. “You’re so beautiful, Logan.”

Whatever response he has, dies in his throat as you finally wrap your hand around his cock, giving him one long, firm stroke. He’s hot and heavy and you’re aching to feel him inside you. But not yet. Leaning down, your eyes meet his and you trace your tongue along the underside of his cock, tasting the salt on his skin.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Logan curses, unable to stop the thrust of his hips, chasing your mouth.

You wrap your lips around the head, swirling your tongue over the slit and collecting the precum there before taking as much of him in your mouth as you can. Logan hisses through his teeth, fingers winding their way into your hair to help guide your movements.

“You’re so warm and wet, sweetheart,” he groans. “But I don’t want to come in your mouth.”

You give him one last stroke as you release him from your mouth and climb up to sit on his thighs. Logan pulls you forward by your hips and you gasp as your cunt slides across his cock.

“Line me up,” he instructs and you obey without hesitation.

Gripping him in your hand, you guide him to your entrance, notching him inside before slowly sinking down atop him. A sob chokes in your throat at the thick feel of him inside you, stretching you, making you feel complete. Your entire existence boils down to where he’s joined with you and you relish the burn.

His hands are everywhere as you start to move, caressing your thighs, your hips, up to your breasts and back down, tracing a map on your skin only his fingers can read. Praise falls from his lips in an almost nonstop litany, telling you how wet you are, how tight, how warm, how good you’re making him feel.

“Do you want to know how you make me feel?” you ask, breathless. You look down at him through half lidded eyes and find him just as flushed and wanton as you. “How you’ve always made me feel?”

You continue to rock back and forth on his cock, slow, deliberate movements that leave you wanting, needing more. Logan shifts his hips and finds the leverage to fuck up into you, the deep drag of his cock against your walls making you throw your head back and moan.

“Fuck,” he growls, his fingers sinking deeper into the flesh of your hips, pulling you somehow impossibly closer. “Show me, sweetheart.”

You brace your hands against his chest, raking your fingers through the damp hair there, feeling his heart beat beneath your palms. Leaning down, you capture his mouth with yours, the kiss sloppy as he continues to thrust up into you. You move your hands up his neck, your fingers collecting the sweat along his jaw and then, “Feel, Logan.”

It starts slow, an almost faint heat spreading from your fingertips as they ghost over his skin, your power beginning to pulse in time with your heartbeat. Logan gasps and his rhythm falters as the first wave of emotion hits him. You slow, too, your hips barely moving as you run your fingers down from his jaw, over the column of his throat and back to his chest.

Your palms rest against his ribs as you continue to pour into him all the love and passion he’s ever shown you over centuries. Logan stares up at you in reverence, his face soft as he runs his hands up your sides, over your breasts. He tugs you down towards him, his mouth hovering over yours.

“Do you feel, Logan,” you ask, your breath hot against his lips. “Do you feel how much you love you have in you?”

He draws your bottom lip into his mouth, biting softly once, before capturing your mouth fully, kissing you deep. You hum as his tongue swipes against yours and his fingers tangle in your hair.

A gasp pulls from your throat as Logan wraps his arms around you and flips your position, forcing your legs around his waist as he begins to thrust into you again in earnest. You feel him deep in this position, each thrust of his cock against your walls hitting that perfect spot inside of you.

“It’s too much,” he groans into your skin. “Never…never felt like this.”

You rake your nails along his back, relishing in the growl that falls from this throat. “It always feels like this,” you gasp, drawing your power back.

His arms slide under your shoulders, anchoring you in place as his hips continue to thrust into you. It’s lewd almost, the slapping of skin against skin and the wet noises from where you’re joined. His breath is hot and damp against your skin where his mouth hovers over the pulse point in your neck.

Your fingers snake into the short strands of hair at the back of his neck and your other hand slips in between your bodies, reaching for your clit.

“That’s it,” he moans, “use those fingers to get yourself off on my cock.”

You can feel where he’s sliding thickly into your cunt, the wiry hairs at the base of his cock damp with your arousal, and you begin to rub in time with his thrusts. Pleasure zips along your spine, every cell in your body afire at his touch. You feel that telltale tug low in your belly and you know you’re not going to last much longer.

He slides his hands down from your shoulders, following the curve of your spine, forcing you to arch your back. Taking the opportunity before him, he swirls his tongue over one nipple, then the other as he palms the flesh of your hips in his hands, angling your hips further up into his. A keening whine falls from your lips as he somehow thrusts deeper into you, making your legs shake.

Logan nudges your hand away from your clit, replacing your fingers with his own as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge. His eyes are focused on the sight of his cock thrusting into you and the slick smeared across your thighs.

“Logan,” you gasp, “I’m so close.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he rasps, dragging his gaze up to your face, “I got you. Takin’ me so well, so tight. Gonna spend the rest of my life tellin’ you how fucking good you are.”

His words tip you over the edge, your orgasm rolling through you as you spasm down on his cock, his name falling from your lips. He fucks you through your orgasm, each thrust of his hips sending aftershocks of pleasure along your limbs as he chases his own release. Logan’s thrusts grow erratic and you reach for him, grasping at his forearms, pulling him down to you.

“Come for me, Logan,” you murmur in his ear. “I wanna feel you come.”

With one final thrust, he comes with a groan, forehead pressed against yours as he spills himself deep within you. You can feel cock spasm as he lazily thrusts through his orgasm, using your body to wring out the last of his pleasure. You hold him close, pressing open mouthed kisses to his jaw as he finally stills within you.

Careful not to crush you, Logan pulls you to him as he rolls onto his side. He doesn’t pull out, tugging your leg over his hip to keep you close and full.

You smile up at him, brushing the damp hair away from his forehead. He sighs at your touch, a content sound that tugs at your heart.

“You really love me in every universe?” he asks softly, brushing his nose against yours.

“Yes.”

“Even this one?”

“Especially this one.”

You don’t know what the rest of this life holds, but you do know one thing—wherever he goes, you’ll be right there with him.

#deadpool and wolverine #logan howlett #worst wolverine #logan howlett x you #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #deadpool #logan x reader #logan howlett fic #logan howlett fanfiction

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harryslittlefreakk · 26 days ago

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recipe for disaster

summary: y/n is a stubborn, clumsy baker and harry is a stubborn, overbearing firefighter

warnings: none!

wordcount: 4k

a/n: hi my friends 💐 this is basically just setting up the story lolll it was meant to be longer but who has the time for that!! stay tuned for part 2 <3

masterlist 🫶🏼

Nothing felt better than a warm shower after a long day. Steam swirled all around you, the hot water pounding away the day’s fatigue - the morning rush, the non-stop hum of the mixers, the relentless work to keep trays filled with gingerbread men and warm cinnamon rolls.

You had always been proud of the bakery. The satisfaction of seeing customers bite into your creations - it was all yours. Every flaky croissant, every gooey cinnamon roll, every crusty loaf bore the unmistakable mark of your hands.

And that’s why, no matter how many times Claire told you to hire some more help, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. “You can’t keep this up alone,” she’d said in mid-October, standing in the doorway of the kitchen while you worked. You were wrist-deep in bread dough, kneading away as though the flour had wronged you.

“I’m fine,” you’d replied, the words curt and clipped. “It’s my kitchen. I’ve got it under control.”

Claire didn’t look convinced. She never did. “Christmas is coming, y/n. Orders are already piling up, and it’s not even December. This is too much for one person.”

You waved her off, refusing to look up. “I’ve done it before. I’ll do it again.”

But you hadn’t done it like this before. Back then, the bakery wasn’t so popular. There weren’t stacks of orders for holiday cakes, tins of cookies, and towers of Christmas pies. There wasn’t the constant pressure of phone calls and emails asking if you could squeeze in “just one more order.”

By the time December rolled around, you were drowning.

The days started earlier and ended later, the hours slipping away as you raced to keep up. You woke in darkness, stumbling into the bakery before the sun rose. Your hands ached from kneading, your back throbbed from bending over the ovens, and your head buzzed with the endless list of things to do. And yet, you’d refused to admit you needed help.

“I’m worried about you,” Claire had said one night, her voice soft but firm. She stood in the doorway of the kitchen again, watching as you haphazardly piped frosting onto yet another tray of sugar cookies. Your shoulders were slumped, your apron streaked with berry juice and chocolate.

“I’m fine,” you’d mumbled, though even you didn’t believe it.

“You’re not fine. You’re exhausted. You’re going to make mistakes.”

“I’m fine,” you snapped, louder than you meant to. The words echoed in the kitchen, the air growing heavy. Claire didn’t reply. She just shook her head and left you to your chaos.

She was right. You knew she was right. And you knew that she’d snitch to your brother, who’d stop by to ask why you weren’t listening to his wife. Only to be followed by your parents, who’d ask why you weren’t listening to your brother.

They only cared for your well-being. They wanted you to succeed as much as you wanted to succeed. But you didn’t remember a time when the bakery wasn’t your baby. It had been your dream, your refuge, and your pride all wrapped into one - a living, breathing extension of yourself. The idea of sharing that, of letting someone else touch what you had built, felt like carving off a piece of your soul.

You squeezed your eyes shut until the screams of voices and thoughts were tiny whispers in the back of your mind, letting the water cascade over you, enveloping you in its warmth. The sound of the spray drowned out the noise in your head, a momentary reprieve from the chaos of orders, burnt loaves, and your own stubborn pride. For a few minutes, there was nothing but the water, the steam curling around you, and the faint rhythm of your breathing as you tried to piece yourself back together.

Every muscle ached, but the heat soothed it all into blissful numbness. It was pure paradise - at least until a rock came flying through your bathroom window, shattered glass crashing all over your tiles. What the fuck?

You turned the shower off with shaking hands, adrenaline coursing through your body. The cold winter air filled the room quickly, the evening wind whistling through the smashed pane.

You slipped your robe on with a groan, the fleece clinging to your damp skin.

That’s when the sound reached you - the incessant wailing of the smoke alarm from downstairs. Your stomach dropped. The bakery.

You’d sworn to be more switched on, to actually check the ovens before you retreated to your apartment. But the days were long, and your brain was goo by the time you waved the last customers out of the door.

The floors were wet beneath your feet as you slipped and skidded down the stairs, your mind cycling through every possibility of what would await you. A burglar who decided to commit arson? Your entire kitchen alight? The flower store next door burned to the ground, your beloved bakery an unfortunate casualty?

You reached for the light switch tentatively, your eyes landing on a curl of dark smoke seeping from the oven door. The entire bakery was dim, your soft lighting no match for the cloud hanging over the room.

That fucking deafening beeping was doing nothing to calm you down. You grabbed the broom, jabbing at the smoke alarm, and of course, missing the button every time, your hands shaking as the panic turned to adrenaline in your veins. Your free hand flapped wildly under the sensor, desperately trying to just Stop. The. Beeping.

“Hello? Let me in!”

A deep, husky man’s voice. The same man who was also pounding on your front door, his face pressed up against the glass.

If good things came in threes, how many bad things were you supposed to get at one time?

Your priorities might have been skewed, as they usually were, but getting rid of the axe murderer at your door was suddenly the most important thing in the world to you.

You charged towards the door, broom still in hand, throwing it open with a noise not too far from a growl. “It’s really not ideal for you to murder me right now! Come back later,” you shouted over the smoke alarm.

“I’m not- what?”

Okay, the murderer had a hot voice. But he was still a murderer. You pushed the door closed with your shoulder, but he wedged his shoe in the doorway, halting your attempt to shut him out. You glared down at the offending foot, your grip on the broom tightening.

"Look, I'm just trying to help," he said, holding his hands up. "I’m a firefighter. Saw smoke pouring out of your oven.”

“Help with what, exactly?” you shot back, trying to ignore the way his broad shoulders filled the doorway, or how his green eyes sparkled with the thrill of, presumably, rescuing reckless strangers. “Didn’t know firefighters made house calls.”

“Only the off-duty ones with nothing better to do,” he replied, a hint of a grin tugging at his mouth. "Now, can I come in and shut that alarm off for you, or are you planning to fight it out with your smoke detector all night?"

Reluctantly, you let go of the door, allowing him to step inside. He wasted no time reaching up to the beeping menace, silencing it with a practiced jab at the button. You couldn’t help but notice the sleeves of his t-shirt tighten around his arms as he reached up, the sliver of tattooed skin poking out from above his belt.

"Thanks," you muttered, crossing your arms as he looked back to you, his eyes sweeping over your chaotic kitchen, over your clearly naked body, and then back to your face, as if assessing the full scene. The corners of his lips quirked up as he turned to the oven, waving a hand at the remaining smoke.

You sighed, letting the last of your defenses fall. “You’re really not going to murder me, are you?”

"Not today," he chuckled, a low, warm sound that filled the small space. Your eyes caught on the way his strong hands moved, sure and gentle as he maneuvered around your kitchen. You leaned against the counter, pretending you weren’t staring at the way his arms flexed under the faded fabric.

He caught you looking, and to your utter embarrassment, he gave a small grin. “So… what exactly was this supposed to be?" he asked, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he stepped closer, holding the charred remains of whatever had been inside.

“Oh shit. Mrs Fuller’s birthday cake,” you groaned, rubbing a hand over your face. “I completely forgot I was baking that.” Great. Just another obstacle in the way of your early night.

“Hey, sorry about the window,” he murmured.

“Hm?” you asked, your voice distant, not really processing his words.

“The window,” he repeated, gesturing upward, your gaze following his hand to the ceiling. “Was only trying to get your attention,” he continued, his voice dipping into something apologetic. “Didn’t mean to break it.”

You shook your head, finally dragging your focus back to the mess in front of you. “It’s whatever,” you muttered, keeping your tone neutral, though your chest ached with the effort. “Just another point on my to-do list. Thanks for…” You gestured vaguely at the bakery, your voice trailing off.

“I can come by and fix it,” he offered, his voice tentative, like he wasn’t sure if you’d bite his head off or accept the help.

“I can do it,” you snapped, your words sharper than you intended. The burning behind your eyes grew stronger, and you could feel your control slipping. You needed him to leave, needed the space to let the tears spill over before they choked you entirely.

When you glanced up, you saw the change in his expression. The slight upturn of his lips faltered and turned into a somber frown. He looked at you like he wanted to ask something but thought better of it.

“Sorry,” you mumbled quickly, the heat of guilt flushing your face. “I’ve got it covered. Thanks, though.”

For a moment, he stood there, his weight shifting from one foot to the other. He glanced between you and the broken cake, the smoke still lingering above, and something in his eyes softened. He looked like he wanted to argue but thought better of it, nodding instead.

“Alright,” he said, his voice quiet, almost reluctant. “But if you change your mind…”

“I won’t,” you cut in, desperate now. “It’s fine.”

He hesitated, his brow knitting tighter as if he wanted to say something else, but after a moment, he nodded. "Alright. If you’re sure."

You nodded back, barely looking at him, your arms crossed tightly over your chest as if holding yourself together. The silence between you stretched until, mercifully, he turned and walked away.

The door creaked slightly as it began to close behind him, the faint sound of his trainers scuffing against the floor fading. You thought that was the end of it, but then the footsteps stopped. For a moment, the room held its breath, the silence pressing down like the weight in your chest.

Then, the door eased back open, just enough for him to lean his head inside. His dark eyes met yours, hesitant but determined, like he wasn’t sure if this was a mistake but decided to do it anyway.

“Harry,” he said, his voice soft but clear as it cut through the stillness. He lingered there in the doorway, his hand resting on the frame, his shoulders tense as though bracing for rejection. “That’s my name. Harry.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile but not far from it. You blinked at him, caught off guard by the sudden reappearance, the unexpected vulnerability in the way he said it. He waited, his eyes searching your face for some kind of response.

Your lips curved, just barely, into a weak but genuine smile. “Harry,” you repeated softly, like you were trying the name on for size. Then you added, “I’m…” Your voice faltered for a split second, but you pressed on, offering him your name in return. “Y/n.”

A spark of something warm flickered in his eyes, a hint of relief mingled with curiosity. He nodded once, as if committing it to memory, before straightening up and gripping the edge of the door.

And then he was gone.

You let out a shaky breath, leaning back against the counter. Your knees felt weak, your chest tight, and the dam you’d been holding back began to crack. You stared at the mess around you, the cake you’d worked so hard on reduced to a heap of blackened crumbs, the endless pile of orders still waiting for you, and the tears you’d been fighting finally broke free.

It wasn’t just the window. It wasn’t just the cake. It was everything. The weight of trying to do it all alone, the exhaustion that clung to you like a second skin, the constant feeling that no matter how hard you worked, it was never enough.

You slid down to the floor, your back against the counter, letting the sobs come. For a moment, you allowed your emotions to swallow you, the frustration, the helplessness, the crushing loneliness. But even as you cried, part of you knew this couldn’t keep happening. Something had to give.

You pulled out your phone, typing a quick text to Claire. we’ll start looking for help tomorrow. promise.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, slumped against the counter, staring blankly at the mess surrounding you. The tears had stopped at some point, leaving behind a dull ache in your chest and the gritty sensation of salt drying on your cheeks. But soft rapping on the door pulled you out of your misery.

Wiping at your face with unsteady hands, you forced yourself to your feet, every movement feeling heavier than the last. When you opened the door, there he was: Harry, standing in the dim light, his arms full of cardboard, duct tape, and what looked like sheets of plastic.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice raw and quieter than you’d meant it to be.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he nudged his way past you into the bakery, not waiting for permission, and glanced down at the materials in his arms. “You can’t leave the window broken in this cold,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Harry, it’s fine—” you began, stepping toward him, but he cut you off without looking up.

“It’s not fine,” he said firmly, his voice calm but resolute.

You stared at him for a moment, his gaze hard as he looked back at you.

“Come on. Help me with this window,” he murmured, waiting for you to lead the way upstairs. When you didn’t move, he shifted the materials in his arms, freeing up his right hand before reaching out and pulling at your wrist.

It sent a chill straight through you, sharp and unexpected.

You froze for a second, your breath catching in your throat. His touch was fleeting, a playful tug, but it left behind a heat that spread across your skin, unbidden and unwelcome. You pulled your hand back too quickly, clutching it to your side as if it had been burned, though the sensation was far from painful.

He didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t say anything. He kept waiting, his focus unwavering, but you couldn’t say the same.

There was a hum beneath your ribs now, something restless and alive, thrumming just below the surface. Attraction. You recognized it immediately, though you almost wished you didn’t. It didn’t make sense. You barely knew this man. He wasn’t someone you’d invited into your world, not really, and yet here he was - ready to fix your window, trying to fix your life, filling your space, making you feel something you hadn’t expected and didn’t know how to handle.

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to push it down, to smother the thought before it took root. It was nothing. A moment. A reaction to being exhausted, overwhelmed, and vulnerable. But when he turned to look at you, his gaze steady and clear, it was all you could do to keep your knees from buckling.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and soft, and you swore you could feel it reverberate somewhere deep inside you.

“Fine,” you said too quickly, your voice tight and uneven. You cleared your throat, pushing past him to the stairs. “I’ll show you the bathroom, but I need to get started on redoing this cake,” you told him, cocking your head back towards the kitchen.

Harry raised his eyebrows, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. “No.”

His hand pressed into your lower back, pushing you closer to the stairs. “I know better than anyone that being tired in the kitchen is a bad idea. When does Mrs. Fuller need her cake?”

“Tomorrow evening,” you mumbled, hesitating as your toes hovered over the first step. Your voice was low, almost apologetic, but the weariness that gripped you made it impossible to summon anything stronger.

“Then you can deal with it tomorrow,” Harry said firmly, cutting off any protest before it could begin. His tone softened just slightly as he added, “After you’ve had a full night’s sleep.”

You turned back to face him, scowling instinctively. You were used to handling things on your own, not being told what to do, no matter how reasonable the suggestion might be. “You’re kind of overbearing, you know that?”

Harry only grinned, his expression as maddeningly charming as ever. “Wouldn’t be doing my duty if I wasn’t.” The hand on your lower back nudged you gently, urging you up the stairs as if you were a stubborn child refusing to go to bed.

You bit down on your lower lip, the indents of your teeth starting to feel like a permanent feature. As much as Harry was overstepping, he was clearly just as stubborn as you were, and it felt good to have someone forcibly taking care of you - not backing off in the hopes that you’d come around to their suggestions.

“In here,” you murmured when you reached the top of the stairs, an icy chill already filling your apartment. “I’m sure you can work out which one it is.”

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror as Harry slipped past you, your heart almost stopping as you realised for the first time that you were still just in your robe, a deep flush creeping up your cheeks, the scarlet heat of embarrassment burning through you just as Harry’s gaze flicked back toward you. His eyes swept over you briefly, lingering for only a moment at the hem of the robe before he cleared his throat and turned away.

“I’ve got it from here,” he said quietly, his voice steady and measured as he moved toward the window. He nudged a shard of glass away from your bare feet before giving you a pointed look. “Go on.”

You hesitated, torn between retreating to your bedroom and stubbornly insisting on staying. Ultimately, the embarrassment won out. You turned quickly, rushing to your room, your mind racing as that small, insistent voice in the back of your head screamed at you to not pull on your ratty old pajamas.

And yet, despite the voice, that’s exactly what you did. A threadbare cotton t-shirt and a pair of faded sweatpants found their way onto your body as you sat heavily on the edge of the bed, cradling your face in your hands.

There was a man in your bathroom, a man who quite clearly only wanted to help you - the same man you’d practically forcibly removed from the property. The same man that was causing some sort of chemical imbalance within you.

You’d have to grovel if you ever wanted to see him again - as if he’d ever want to see you again. You’d done nothing but snap at him and act like he was inconveniencing you.

Harry had seen you at your worst, your very worst, and you weren’t entirely sure you owed yourself the chance for him to see you at your best.

But you wanted him to.

You shook your head, forced yourself back to your feet and padded toward the bathroom. You stopped in the doorway, stunned, as he worked quickly, fitting cardboard over the shattered glass, layering plastic sheets on top, securing everything with careful strips of tape.

“I could’ve done it,” you muttered after a moment, your voice shaking despite yourself.

He glanced back at you briefly, his strong hands still busy with the repair, a smirk on those taunting lips. “Maybe. But you didn’t.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you stayed quiet, staring at the makeshift patch and the man who had put it together. The tightness in your chest eased slightly, though a storm of inner turmoil was brewing.

“Thanks,” you said finally, the word coming out soft and uneven.

He nodded, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Don’t mention it.” He hesitated, glancing at you with a look that felt entirely too knowing. “You should take a break,” he said, his voice gentler now. “Get some rest, maybe. You look... worn out.”

You huffed a weak laugh, though it sounded more like a scoff. “Gee, thanks,” you said, trying to mask the lump rising in your throat.

He flashed you that dimpled grin, straightening up as he placed the last strip of tape on the window.

“That’ll hold for now. But you’ll need to get it sorted properly before the weather turns,” Harry murmured, stepping back to admire his handiwork.

You followed him back downstairs, reiterating that yes, you’d get it sorted. Yes, you’d stay out of the kitchen that night. Yes, you’d double check how to work your alarms. Yes, you’d double check the ovens before you went upstairs. No, you didn’t want your business and home to burn down.

He turned to you when he reached the door, his green eyes laced with sincerity. “Take care of yourself, y/n. Seriously.”

And then he was gone, leaving behind a patched window and an unsettling quiet. But for once, you couldn’t find a reason not to follow the advice given to you. You were exhausted, and suddenly desperate to dream of the firefighter who’d all but swept you off your feet.

thank you so much for reading 🤍

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aquickstart · 1 year ago

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i need to talk to you guys about the colors of the Cattons (Felix specifically) and Oliver. the clothes they are wearing are telling the story of Oliver taking over and leaving his mark throughout the whole movie, with Oliver's failures and successes and a final triumph. holy shit. get in. this is long and ends in ancient greek culture trivia. let;s talk please.

disclaimer: am starting from Oliver's arrival at Saltburn. before that the outfits are also very intentional, but it's a lot more complicated and it has been discussed before. the world distorts once we are at Saltburn and the story gets truly gothic there, and every detail—including color!—is enhanced in meaning. also, special thanks to @kivlaro for doing this with me, the thoughts on this specifically and the Saltburn craze on the whole. pics and detailed analysis under the cut!

let's start from the beginning. here is Oliver at the door. simple, blue shirt.

the shirt is sort of its own character. logically it makes sense as Oliver's suitcase is small and he spends the whole summer there, of course he'll rewear stuff a bunch. but it is blue.

in contrast to Felix, in yellow. yellow is one of Felix's colors (he is the sun, which i've talked about here btw, so this makes sense).

same to Pamela, in blue. first time we see her, she is next to Elspeth, wearing the color that is Oliver's, taking the place that he takes right away, in this very scene. the only other time she is physically present on screen is at dinner, in black and white, and black and white are a blank slate. she is stripped of color and gone very fast.

a bit of crucial data for later: Oliver, in blue, and Felix in pink. pink is very important on Felix. this is their first morning together. they are separate and opposite, solid, contained.

where it starts to get good is the morning after the vampire strike.

Venetia is a Felix extension, just as everyone in the house is to Oliver. i will eventually rant about Saltburn as a whole entity and Cattons as aspects of one self, and Oliver as psychosis, but not here. so, yes, Venetia is a pink riot, a euphoria of self-containment because Oliver gave her a piece of something she felt she lacked to feel whole (validation, attention, care), not a piece of blue, of himself. Oliver is expectedly solid blue. Felix is incredibly interesting and something i didn't pay much attention to at first: predominantly blue, incredibly upset at Oliver for ditching him, with a tile of bright red (on the left! close to heart! over-reaching here but like still!), which still tracks. i mean, really, if i had so much foreign color bleed into me and then abandoned, i'd be pissed, too. nice little touch is sir James' beloved hydrangeas, behind Felix, also pink, very pink, always pink; i don't think i've seen them blue in the movie, although the sort exists.

Farleigh. sweet baby Farleigh i love you. I'm not dead-set on my interpretation of this specifically but i think multiple things are happening with Oliver and Farleigh here. like Rent, which is their song, blue is their color of outsiders and the triers to fit in. Farleigh points out the favoritism and preference of Oliver to him and his mother here, so it may also be appropriation of color to draw attention to Farleigh as almost (but never quite) Oliver. it may also be as simple as that Farleigh, as much as he denies and resists, still retains Oliver's influence, which bleeds into him very slowly.

a nice little moment of Felix wearing blue swim shorts with just tiny specks of a pink pattern. Oliver's shorts also have a bit of pink, but less than Felix's. Oliver is pretty good at remaining unaffected and uninfluenced overall.

and we're getting to where it all clicked and started for me. the Quick family house, the failed reconciliation, and the immediate aftermath. oh it's so good.

on the drive there, Oliver is blue, Felix has a pink polo shirt with a solid blue pullover over it. this is the most blue Felix has ever been (this is the most blue he will ever be!), this is trust. however shaky and toxic it is, Felix loves Oliver and accepts him into his world. as a side note, Oliver's parents are also very blue, mom more so than dad. nice!

and then it crashes. immediately after, it's the evening of the same day, but Felix is not wearing the blue pullover anymore. this is very, very important. this is rejection. it's the end for Oliver in Felix's world and with his trust. Felix, again, in solid pink, Oliver in solid blue. Felix successfully rips him out with the roots and everything. ouch.

daddy. sorry. is that highlighter? sweat? fuck. let me- daddy. SORRY

no i actually have a point about this.

the clothes are replaced by the lights, but we roll with it. Oliver basks in the blue-green light, while Felix is on the other side, in pink and purple and red. sure, blue shines through, and Oliver also walks through the slashes of pink, but it is mostly pretty separate, Oliver watching Felix's pink in his own blue from a distance.

the morning after palette is deep. the wine color that is so prominent in these scenes is fascinating to me. if i were to over-reach again i'd say it's the Oliver in Felix's attributes and in his place that requires the robe to be so dark, not usual definite pink, because deep blue has leaked into the color itself, mixed with it, made itself integral to the shade. but it's also just a nice color, and it is pink in its core. the flowers (with sir James in the background) i think are also this specific shade for the same reason. you look at what remains of Felix everywhere here, and it is his color.

and finally oh the lunch scene. the last supper. the judgement day. the who's afraid of virginia woolf madness.

i think we've established what's up with Oliver, but i also think it's important that he is his own color at lunch but in Felix's pink/wine right before and after. lunch is where he attacks, whereas before and after is where he grieves and enjoys. Farleigh is almost completely blue save for a strip of the same deep pink, and he is soon cast out, and Venetia is striped, blue and pink/salmon, affected deeply by Oliver yet still clinging on to the Catton pink with grief, probably, but also love for Felix.

and after all this, Oliver leaves himself.

no, like, actually, literally himself. sure, he'd got a taste of the Cattons and the pink, but he is a monolith, a solid blue when he leaves Saltburn. he has not been affected by the house, he has taken what he wanted but stayed true and whole. what a power move, honestly.

but it's an even bigger deal that 16 years later, Elspeth runs into Oliver wearing all white and a blue scarf. oh, she's not let this go, alright; it was a long time ago, "but not to me," she says. What Oliver has been up to in that time is a great question, without a doubt he's been keeping tabs on the remaining family as much as he could; but Elspeth has never moved on, either. She has held on to Oliver's blue and the pink is not important at all now. Oliver, of course, is invariably, unwaveringly blue. welcome back to his show.

and welcome back to his triumph.

the only color (except for, again, white and black) we see him wear in the flashback about Saltburn inheritance is the all-too familiar deep pink. wine. bright pink mixed with deep blue.

now i will take a liberty and step back, over-reach, over-interpret and go insane. here's a fun bit on ancient greek culture trivia for you.

this is an interesting and complicated historiographical and linguistic debate that i will not even attempt to relay here, but the essence of it is this: for us, the sea is conventionally deep blue. historically, one of the most prominent civilizations considered "deep wine" to be the descriptor for it (not necessarily the color but the property. highly rec to look this up it's so fascinating). what it gives me here is that Oliver has changed color, but not his self. he has integrated, mixed, but persisted, completely winning over, triumphing. long live the king!

in conclusion, i would just like to propose "colors" by halsey as the next cattonquick anthem. thank you for your attention, please let me know your thoughts. yours, yes, you. cheers. god. peace out

#saltburn #cattonquick #quickstart #oliver quick #farleigh start #felix catton #venetia catton #mine #saltburn journaling

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wileys-russo · 1 year ago

Note

can we get alexia being standoffish towards you bc of feelings she has for you & she doesn’t know how to express them? and once she realizes that you are taking it personally she gets over herself and explains and then some fluff?

it’s literally my favorite trope 🫠🫠

change of pace II a.putellas

when you first joined barcelona you were welcomed in with open arms. terrified on your first day you were left under the watchful eye of your national teammate, frido making sure she didn't leave your side the entire time introducing you to everyone one by one.

there wasn't a single person who wasn't friendly and by the time your first official week finished up you felt as if you'd already been there for a full season with how friendly and close knit everyone was.

upon learning your contract was nearly up with rosengard and coming off the back of a phenomenal euros performance your agent was quick to seek out if there would be offers coming your way from other leagues before negotiations started for an extension with your current team.

much to your shock one of the biggest and most appealing offers came from barcelona and the moment the teams name left your agents mouth you all but officially accepted, dismissing him from running you through the rest of your options with your mind already made up.

frido was delighted when you'd called her with the news, making a point to spend the entire world cup forcing you to work on your spanish.

though her refusal at times to speak to you in anything but spanish caused you endless headaches by the time your first day in barcelona rocked up you felt immense gratitude for her somewhat forceful approach.

the first month of the season flew by and though you were yet to get minutes under your belt you'd already learnt so much and improved immensely from training and working with the team.

having met her several times already when she'd come to visit frido or during facetimes when you'd called the older girl mid season for advice, you found yourself gravitating toward ingrid and the two of you formed a close bond.

one in which you'd often tease frido for that ingrid liked you more than her much to the older swedes offence and how quick she was to bite every single time you'd tease her.

being linked so closely with ingrid meant you were also close with her girlfriend mapi, who'd been one of the very first people to come up and introduce herself on your first day, even being so friendly that frido had jokingly warned her away to let you settle in before she 'corrupted' you.

then again in turn from spending so much time with the couple you found yourself often out in a small group in which your captain was present, alexia warm but much less outspoken than the rest of the team.

at first you'd just put it down to her needing to hold her reputation up which of course proceeded her, and wanting to seem as professional as possible as even mapi would tease she needed to lighten up when you'd all hang out together.

but overtime the older girl seemed to soften and you found her making more of an effort to in fact 'lighten up' and lower her seemingly stern walls.

though this still didn't stop you from being a little taken aback when one day she offered to show you around barcelona, joking that she could show you all the local spots that tourists like yourself would never find.

and so a tradition of sorts was born as you settled in and found your place within the team.

frido would pick you up each morning for training since you were yet to pass your test which allowed you to drive in spain, but it was alexia who would take you back home.

then each day the blonde would show you something new around barca. if it be a lookout, a beach, a restaurant, a cafe, whatever it was she always seemed to have a story behind its significance and what drew her there and you were certain you enjoyed these much more than the place itself.

which is why it was odd when one day she seemingly forgot you, having already left for the day by the time you finished showering and changing. luckily ingrid and mapi hadn't left yet and drove you home, assuring alexia probably had a family or media commitment she just forgot to mention.

but it wasn't a once off, and suddenly alexia seemed to be making a point of leaving before you, seperating herself from you in trainings and ghosting the calls and texts you'd send her checking in if something had happened.

you questioned your teammates on her strange behaviour who all were as clueless as you, also unsure why alexia was suddenly acting as if you had some sort of infectious disease, barely saying more than a few words to you a day if you were lucky.

her actions hurt more than you let on but frido saw right through the act and with her now taking over both picking up and dropping you off after training and for games she took the opportunity to gently question you about why this was happening.

of course you couldn't answer any of her questions being unsure yourself and with mapi trying to get the same answers out of alexia with the same luck, when the spaniard and the swede met for coffee the next day neither could piece together what had happened.

it would appear most of the team assumed you had some sort of falling out or argument neither of you wanted to come clean about, and not wanting to shatter the team dynamic gratefully seemed to drop it all together.

you however weren't so willing to let everything go, especially when you'd overheard alexia making plans for the teams day off with mapi. "-but why ale? what happened that is so bad you will not even speak with her?" you paused about to turn the corner, warning bells going off as you really weren't in the mood to be blatantly ignored.

"nothing! just drop it please, and don't invite her." you didn't need a pen to fill in the blanks on who her was in this situation, so with your jaw clenching you made a point to turn the corner and make your presence known.

"hola amiga we did not-" mapi's eyes widened as she grabbed for your arm but you side stepped her, alexias face remaining unreadable as something flickered in her eyes which met yours for a fleeting moment before you turned your head and continued on your way.

you were certain after that you'd just ignore alexia back, give up on any real chance you had to dig deeper into why she was behaving this way and just commit to the lack of communication and interaction she seemed to favour.

but you lost your chance when it was mapi and ingrids turn to host the team bonding night and with a stomach bug ripping through the team the group was a lot smaller than usual, and you found yourself unable to avoid your captain.

you did your best all evening to speak to everyone and anyone else but it seemed someone was determined to meddle as when everyone settled in to watch some spanish soap they were fixated on, the only free spots left for the two of you were on the floor right by one another.

you made a point to shuffle your body as far away from alexia as you could but with lucy's legs blocking you from moving much further you had no choice but to settle for your shoulder just pressing lightly against the midfielders.

you tensed as two episodes in you felt alexias hand shift, fingers brushing yours and sending a jolt up your arm as you quickly moved your hand into your lap and leant your body into lucys legs to get even further away.

you were even more surprised that in the next ten minutes all you could feel was alexia's eyes burning into the side of your head, but you refused to acknowledge it.

it became harder when ona left and alexia moved into her spot on the sofa behind you, leaving you on the floor basically right in the middle of her legs which stretched out beside you as again you shuffled away.

another episode in and suddenly alexia seemed to want to play footsies, her foot tucking beneath your thigh and poking you every now and then as her knee rested against your shoulder, the touch both familiar and foreign as you exhaled slowly.

you tried to push her leg away but it just returned to the same position so you gave up.

when that episode ended and mapi decided that it was time to call it a night you dared to glance up toward the blonde who made a point to ignore your gentle tap against her knee to try and gain her attention, starting a conversation with lucy as you shook your head feeling foolish for even giving in for a second to her games.

mumbing something in swedish under your breath you stood quickly, hugging your hosts goodnight and waving goodbye to the team, out the door in seconds flat as you made a beeline for the elevator.

with frido down with the stomach bug you pulled out your phone to call an uber, gently dismissing lucys offer of a ride home well aware she'd be headed for ona's house which was in the opposite direction of your own, given you'd accidentally caught them mid makeout in ona's car one morning.

frowning at the price surge of your ride you didn't hear someone else enter the elevator, only aware you weren't alone anymore as the doors closed and someone cleared their throat causing you to lift your head.

but when you saw who it was it immediately dropped back down. "how are you getting home?" the silence was broken by her raspy voice. "uber." you mumbled, clicking yes and waiting for a driver to accept the ride.

"i can drive you."

at that your eyes flicked back upwards and you scoffed. "i think i will take my chances being left for dead in a ditch than stuck in a car with you for twenty minutes, gracias though capi." your tone was bordering on venomous and it took alexia by shock, never having heard you say a bad word about or to anyone before.

the elevator opening you wasted no time hurrying out, though still waiting for a driver to accept you didn't really have much of a choice but to come to a halt on the curb outside their building.

"let me drive you." "no." "it is unsafe." "i do not care." "you are being stubborn." "like you are one to talk alexia."

"this is ridiculous, just get in the car!" the older girl rolled her eyes, nodding for you to follow her as you stayed quiet, eyes focused on the road in front of you. "come on, please let me drive you home." her voice softened as she stood beside you only a head taller.

"no." "why not?"

"why not? you cannot be serious alexia?" you laughed at that though the noise was anything but humorous as alexia frowned.

"because you clearly have some hidden reason to dislike me and i heard you talking to mapi the other day so do not now pretend like you want me around or you care what happens to me." you scoffed again and looked away.

"i do care, and i do not dislike you."

her words were even softer now which only irritated you further as you muttered under your breath in your native language which you knew she wouldn't understand.

"don't do that! you know i don't like it when you do that." the catalan scowled as your phone pinged signalling a driver had accepted and your shoulders sagged a little in relief.

"hey!" you frowned as it was taken from your hand and the ride was cancelled. "alexia!" you groaned as she held your phone out of reach. "please let me drive you home."

"well you have not given me a choice now. i would walk but i do not know the way!" you gave in with a huff as she nodded curtly, heading for her car still with your phone held captive in hand.

the drive home itself was silent, alexia handing you your phone back and neither one of you making an attempt at conversation as your eyes stayed focused out the window as the street lights passed by in a blur.

before the girl had even parked up properly outside your apartment complex you'd undone your seatbelt, finding the silence was suffocating you now. but before you could open her door there was a click as she tapped the child lock button.

your forehead thumped helplessly against the window as you exhaled deeply meaning the glass fogged up for a moment. "i do not dislike you." she repeated again, hands gripping the steering wheel as you tucked your knees to your chest.

"you have a funny way of showing it." "i know."

"so is that it then? can i leave now? i might not be a child but i am sure i can call this kidnapping." you huffed with a roll of your eyes when alexia made no move to say anything else.

"no wait! please." her hand grabbed your wrist as you tried to reach over her to press the unlock button. "for what? for you to say something now and then go back to ignoring me for no reason tomorrow? no thank you." you huffed with a roll of your eyes.

"i know. my actions have been immature and i am sorry if they hurt you." "oh you are sorry if they hurt me? thank you alexia, all better now."

"wait! i am not good at this." she grabbed your hand stopping you again, throwing her head back with a groan.

"good at what? alexia we went from talking everyday to you acting like i had a disease and you could not even bare to look at me. that hurt but the worst part was i asked you many times if i had done something and you still would not reply! so i had no idea what even happened to make you treat me like this suddenly. so what do you expect me to think?" you ranted, eyebrows furrowed into a deep frown.

"i know." "so you keep saying, yet here i am still with no idea why you are acting like this." "because i like you! dios mio."

"if you like me then why would you just suddenly stop talking to me? you are so confusing!" you groaned, dragging your hands down your face in frustration.

"no mierda!" alexia whispered, biting down on her lip and pausing. "i like you." alexia repeated as you continued to stare at her in confusion. "like...i wanted to ask you on a date." alexia admitted with a sigh, wincing at her own words as your eyes shot wide with surprise.

"oh." "see? that is why i did not. that is why i pulled away to try and work on my feelings because you do not feel that way about me." "how?" "how what?" "how do you know i feel like that?"

your own question now caught alexia off guard as she stammered for a moment. "well because i was going to ask you out because i thought maybe you liked me back. but then i heard you speaking to frido and making plans with your boyfriend for the summer break." alexia's face deflated as yours scrunched up, trying to recall what she meant until it clocked.

"oh alexia." you sighed, unable to stop yourself from letting out a laugh as she turned to you with a glare. "see you are laughing at me now! you can go." with that the door unlocked and you shook your head.

"no no, i am not laughing at you." you promised, alexia tensing as your hand moved to her knee. "alexia, you heard me mention elias yes?" you clarified as she slowly nodded and your smile grew.

"elias is my brother ale, he is quite close with frido's partner so we often all go away together on weekends." you explained as alexia paused for a moment to register your words before letting out a deep sigh.

"so you do not-" "no, i do not have a boyfriend." "ah, well that-oh wow." alexia groaned hanging her head in her hands as you squeezed her knee.

"you should have talked to me about it." "i wanted to! but i am not good with my...feelings." "neither am i, but we could have worked it out together." you squeezed her knee one more time before removing your hand.

"wait!" her hand grabbed your wrist as you opened the door and started to slide out. you saw her struggling with her words and gently tugged your hand from her grip, hovering by her door.

"yes." you spoke simply as she tilted her head with a frown. "yes?"

"yes ale, i would like to go on a date with you. you can pick me up on friday, i am free after six." and with that you walked away from her car back to your apartment, leaving both of you with an excited grin and hope for what might lay ahead for the pair of you.

#woso #woso x reader #woso fanfics #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso imagine #woso blurbs #woso community

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theostrophywife · 5 months ago

Text

CHAPTER ONE

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🤍 pairing: theodore nott x reader.

🤍 song inspiration: sunroof by nicky youre.

🤍 author’s note: wake up babe summer theo just dropped.

Step 1 of Pansy Parkinson’s Perfect Plan of Plotting

Meet Cute — : A cute, charming, or amusing first encounter between romantic partners.

Every good story starts with a meet cute. Unfortunately for Theo and Y/N, their first encounter happened when they were still both in their mother’s wombs, but I won’t let that deter me. What better way to start off the summer holiday than getting rescued from a remote airport by your knight-in-shining armor with a fresh haircut and a recently acquired driver’s license? Side note: research the credibility of the Ufficio Motorizzazione Civile because whoever granted Theodore Nott a valid license is clearly bloody mental. Regardless, those two will be riding off into the Italian sunset in a brand new baby blue convertible and it’s all thanks to me.

First Year, Hogwarts Express

On the other side of the frosted glass window, the English countryside passed by in a dizzying blur as the rain painted the landscape in a dreary haze. The train left a trail of smoke and steam behind as it journeyed along, bringing you closer and closer to Hogwarts. You shifted in your seat, nearly sliding off the red leather cushion as you trained your eyes on the horizon.

By evening, you would arrive in the Scottish Highlands to begin your education at Hogwarts. When you got on the platform at King’s Cross, you thought that the worst of your anxiety would subside, but it only grew within you like a cresting wave. Being away from home for the first time in eleven years was intimidating enough, but now you had the sorting ceremony to fret over.

Your parents were convinced that you would be sorted into Slytherin as they had when they both attended Hogwarts. Up until now, you were fairly confident in this as well, but the minute you boarded the train, doubt started to rear its ugly head.

You had to be sorted into Slytherin. Not only because you’ve had the green and silver posters hanging in your room since birth, but also because you couldn’t imagine being in any other house.

Just then, the cabin door slid open and startled you out of your thoughts. Theo plopped down next to you and stretched his legs on your lap.

You rolled your eyes affectionately. “There’s two benches in this cabin, Teddy.”

Your best friend grinned, his messy brown hair falling over those moody watercolor eyes. “Yeah, but they’re not as comfy as you.”

His cheeks were rosy from running around the train, but yours were even more flushed in comparison. Theo always had that effect on you. “I found the others, by the way. They’re in Malfoy’s cabin eating their way through a mountain of sweets. Did you want to join them?”

You shook your head, looking out the window. “Maybe later.”

Theo swung his legs over the bench and faced you. “You’re nervous.”

It wasn’t a question. Theo knew you well enough to read your silence.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Not to anyone but me,” he said reassuringly. “You haven’t stopped twisting your ring since we left London.”

You looked down at your right hand and surely enough, you caught yourself twisting the emerald ring on your middle finger. It was a nervous habit that you weren't even aware of until Theo pointed it out a few years ago.

That was the thing about your friendship. You spent so much time together that sometimes it felt like Theo was an extension of you. His mother used to say that the two of you were destined to be best friends, given the fact that she and your mum were closer to sisters than friends after forming a lifelong friendship during their time at school.

It was one of the main reasons why the sorting ceremony worried you so much. For your entire life, you had gotten used to doing everything with Theo. The two of you had been inseparable since birth. A part of you had always wondered if you and Teddy would be friends if it weren’t for your mothers.

“What if I don’t get sorted into Slytherin?” you asked in a small voice.

Theo leaned back and tugged at the end of your scarf. “Of course you’ll get sorted into Slytherin.” He smiled, curling his finger around the cashmere material. “Did you know that when we were born, our mums put us in matching green and silver booties? I didn’t endure all that humiliation just for you to back out now.”

“I’m serious, Teddy.” You shoved your hands into your pockets and stared at your shoes. “What if we get sorted into different houses? What if you meet your housemates and decide that you’d rather be friends with them than me?

Theo’s expression softened. “Hey,” he said, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You’re my best friend, Y/N. A stupid sorting hat won’t change that. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” He paused, grinning. “Unless you end up in Gryffindor.”

You smacked his arm, trying and failing to fight the smile tugging at your lips. “That’s not funny, Teddy!”

He chuckled. “I’m just winding you up, fragolina.”

For an eleven year old, you suppose that calling a freckled redhead little strawberry was peak comedy. At least Theo seemed to think so.

“Speaking of which, are you sure you’re not a long lost Weasley? Then you’d really need to worry about Godric snatching you up.”

“You are an absolute menace, Theodore Nott.”

Theo grinned. “But would an absolute menace remember to buy you candy?”

He reached into his pocket and held his palm out to you. In his hand sat a familiar purple and gold box that held the best treat in the wizarding world.

“A chocolate frog,” you said with delight. “My favorite.”

“Got it from the trolley. I figured you could use a little cheering up. Though I might’ve accidentally sat on it.”

You giggled, holding up the slightly dented box. “Thanks for the chocolate blob, Teddy.”

Theo grinned. “Any time, Y/N.

Day One, Vallara Floo Station

The phone rang and rang and rang.

You looked around helplessly at the floo station, praying to whatever gods that were listening that Pansy would pick up. Much to your dismay, you were sent straight to voicemail. Again.

“Pansy Parkinson, you better be laid out on a yacht with hot Italian witches dangling grapes into your mouth because that’s the only acceptable reason for not picking up your bloody phone. I swear to Salazar, I think I just told a man that I’d love to pet his chicken. Theo’s never going to let me hear the end of this—”

At that moment, you became convinced that the heat of the Italian countryside had melted your brain because you could’ve sworn that you recognized the familiar laughter echoing from behind you.

“I’m offended, bella. All those years of friendship and yet you’ve never offered to pet my chicken.”

You nearly dropped your phone when you whirled around and came face to face with your best friend. The Italian sunshine had been good to Theo. He looked tanner than when you last saw him, bringing out the moles and freckles that painted his olive skin like constellations. Those piercing blue eyes crinkled when he smiled and the sight of it nearly swept you off your feet.

As if reading your mind, Theo enveloped you into a bone-crushing hug. The scent of expensive cologne and cigarette smoke enveloped you like a comforting hug. The hem of your gingham sundress billowed as Theo twirled you in the air. You laughed in delight, not caring one bit that the two of you were making a scene in the middle of the floo station. You hadn’t seen your best friend in two months, which was nearly an eternity for you and Theo.

After graduation, Theo had headed down to the Italian countryside to spend the summer with his nonna. Usually, you would’ve joined him, but you were busy visiting family in New York. As fun as the States were, you missed home and you missed Theo — the two of which were synonymous in your mind.

“I missed you, fragolina,” Theo murmured into your hair. You grinned, squeezing him to convey your agreement.

“Missed you too, Teddy,” you said softly. Theo set you down, giving you the chance to fully examine him. He was wearing a white linen button down and cotton shorts, his usual attire to combat the summer heat. Handsome, but in an effortless sort of way.

You cocked your head, running your fingers over his chesnut waves, which were now tinged with gold, courtesy of his constant exposure to the sun. “You cut your hair.”

Theo nodded, running a hand through his cropped cut with a self-conscious expression. “I like it,” you said decidedly. “It looks good on you.”

Satisfaction coursed through you as Theo blushed, his cheeks tinged with pink. It reminded you of the very first time he ever wore his natural waves around you. It was sometime during second year when you both got drenched from the rain at the Black Lake. You ran your hands through his hair, smiling as you told him that you quite preferred his hair that way. Since then, Theo stopped gelling his hair.

“Big changes this summer,” Theo declared with a wink. Without hesitation, he gathered your suitcases and hauled them along like they weighed nothing. To him, they probably didn’t. You could’ve used his strength when you were struggling to lug your bags through customs. “Speaking of, I finally got my license.”

Your jaw dropped. Ever since your dad took the two of you out on a joyride in his beloved vintage Mercedes — Mercy, for short — Theo had become obsessed with learning how to drive. You had no interest in it, but your best friend was absolutely adamant. When he put his mind to something, Theo was quite unstoppable. He even managed to convince your dad to give him lessons. Not on his precious Mercy of course, but on the family car.

“I have no idea why you would want to ride around on a steel trap when there’s a perfectly good tube system at home,” you chided, swatting at your best friend’s arm as he rolled his eyes at your repeated lecture. “But I am proud of you, regardless.”

“Good, cause I’m about to take you on the joy ride of your life.”

You halted as Theo bounced past the entrance, walking right up to a very expensive looking vintage sports car. The baby blue top down sparkled in the sunlight and its chrome interior shined so spotlessly that you could see your reflection staring back at you. Theo gingerly arranged your suitcases in the backseat, careful not to disturb the delicate white leather seats.

“You did not,” you gaped in disbelief.

Theo only grinned. “I did, too.”

He rounded the hood and reached over to pull the door open. You turned back, hesitation written all over your face as you surveyed the car. Despite its vintage style, you knew that it would probably be fast. Too fast for your liking.

“No offense, but are you sure they didn’t make a mistake during your driving test? Maybe they meant to give the license to someone else.”

You were proud of Theo. Truly, you were. But you had been witness to one too many driving lessons where he accidentally ran over the curb or nearly flipped the car from how fast he turned. Needless to say, it didn’t exactly inspire confidence.

Your best friend huffed in indignation. “I’ll have you know, I’m an excellent driver. Even my examiner said so.”

“She should probably get her vision checked, then,” you murmured under your breath.

“I heard that,” Theo stated with narrowed eyes. He ushered you along, herding you into the front seat. “Your lack of confidence in me is quite frankly appalling, fragolina.”

“It’s not that I’m not confident in you,” you explained as you buckled in. “I’m just not confident that you won’t abuse the poor, defenseless curbs of your homeland.”

“I promise you, I’ve gotten much better since my last lesson. Now sit back, relax, and feel the beautiful breeze of Italia against your skin.”

You did no such thing. You spent the first few minutes white-knuckling the seat cushions. Theo, on the other hand, whistled a happy little tune as he tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. To his credit, his driving seemed to have improved since the last time you witnessed him get behind the wheel. Enough for you to gradually release the chokehold you had on your seat.

“So, where’s our gracious host? Too busy sipping on limoncellos with pretty stregas to pick up her best friend from the station?”

Theo’s mouth quirked. “Close. She’s trying to keep Malfoy and Riddle from tearing up the villa. They had a little disagreement about the room assignments. Draco wanted the room facing the east side of the house, for an optimal view of the sunrise.” You snorted at Theo’s overexaggerated snooty impression of your blonde friend. “Of course as soon as he expressed this, Mattheo suddenly wanted it for the same reasons. Never mind that the twat rarely wakes up before noon.”

“Another lover’s quarrel,” you said rather sarcastically. “What’s new? Hopefully they kiss and make up before we get back.”

“They’re going to have to,” Theo stated as he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “I’m not spending my summer holiday listening to those two twats fighting. I did enough of that at school.”

“How strange is it that we’ve graduated? I swear, it feels just like yesterday when we first got onto the Hogwarts Express. Now you’re driving me around the Italian coast and you haven’t hit a single curb. I wonder what other miraculous things the future has in store.”

Theo snorted. “It’s me and you against the world, bella.”

“The way it’s always been and the way it’ll always be.”

The road curved around a hill, providing you with a breathtaking view of the sunny skies and clear blue water glittering below. Despite your teasing, Theo was doing a great job of maneuvering through the narrow path. He was driving slow and steady, giving you enough confidence to lean against the door and peer at the wonders of Vallara.

Villas with colorful pastel roofs painted the hillside with pops of pinks, greens, and blues, broken up by patches of yellow from the lemon trees swaying in the breeze. The air smelled like sea salt and citrus, mixed in with other delicious smells wafting from the countless restaurants lining the market square. One of them in particular, La Dolce Vita, instantly caught your eye.

“Should we say hi to nonna?”

“She’s busy prepping for dinner back at the house. As soon as nonna heard that you were coming, she insisted on making everything herself.”

“She didn’t have to do that,” you said, smiling fondly in the direction of the restaurant. You adored Theo’s grandmother. She was a strong, loud, and vibrant woman that you’ve admired since you were a little girl. Not to mention, her cooking was to die for. “Although I would kill for her cannolis.”

“There’s a fresh batch waiting for you in the fridge.”

Your mouth watered at the thought. “I’m surprised she’s letting us use the villa. I thought we were banned after Mattheo set off those fireworks in fourth year. I’ve never seen nonna that mad.”

Theo chuckled at the reminder. Thanks to the fire fiasco, the villa had become off limits. Every visit after was to the townhouse in Rome, where she could keep a closer eye on all of you. As beautiful as the city was, you missed the countryside. Life was more peaceful out here — slow and sweet. You were determined to savor every moment before the reality of adult life hit you full force.

“Pansy can be quite persuasive,” Theo replied. “Plus, she promised to wring Mattheo’s neck herself if he tries to stir up any trouble.”

“It’s not a matter of if,” you corrected as Theo pulled up to the private road that led to his family’s villa. “It’s a matter of when.”

Your best friend hummed in approval as the car slowed to a stop. Theo parked his convertible on the driveway and killed the engine as you admired his ancestral home. The quaint country house sat proudly at the top of the hillside, its regal structure looming over the village below. The terracotta roof sloped over the towers jutting out on each side of the massive structure, the seafoam green walls wrapping around the side porch, the rounded arched windows, and the romantic balcony overlooking the blooming garden at the back of the villa. It was just as charming as you remembered.

“Home sweet home,” you murmured in awe.

The wonder of this place never grew old. Theo’s eyes crinkled as he smiled, hauling your luggage over his shoulder and leading you inside. The sunbaked walls greeted you like an old friend, the sea breeze filling the entire place with the scent of salt and citrus from the large open windows. The furniture was mismatched, but in an endearing way that somehow felt like it all belonged together.

You walked between the arched columns leading into the living room, which were bracketed with wooden banisters that overlooked the entire first floor. The further you ventured, the louder the noises echoed.

The sunny kitchen seemed to be the center of activity. You peered inside, smiling instantly when you saw the familiar figure hunched over the stove. Nonna whistled as she stirred the pot, the incredible smell of her cooking hitting you with a wave of nostalgia. Her happy tune was interrupted by the bouncing boy beside her and she tutted at Mattheo as he peered over her shoulder.

“Dio mio, did I not tell you to wait in the living room?” Nonna asked with an exasperated sigh. “You’re making me dizzy with all your bouncing.”

Mattheo smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, nonna. Everything just smells so good. Are you sure you don't need me to taste test?”

“You’ll eat when the food is ready,” she huffed in response. Mattheo pouted in disappointment, his gaze darting to the fridge hungrily. “Don’t even think about touching my cannolis. I made those for Y/N especially.”

“If you’re nice, I might share.”

Nonna grinned as you walked into the kitchen with Theo trailing behind you. She pulled you into a hug, kissing both of your cheeks as you laughed. “Thank God you’re here. This one has been driving me up the wall all afternoon.” Mattheo let out an indignant huff, but nonna ignored him. “Sit, piccolina. I’m sure you’ve had quite a journey. Theo here tells me you visited the States?”

The way nonna crinkled her nose made you giggle. Like every other sensible European, she wasn’t the biggest fan of anything American. “Yes, I stayed with my cousin in New York for a few weeks. It was a fun time, but I am glad to be back home. I’m afraid their cooking isn’t up to par with yours, nonna.”

“This is why you’re my favorite,” she chides, pinching your cheeks. “You’re just in luck then. Dinner will be served soon. If you can stomach it after my grandson’s driving.”

Theo heaved in disapproval, which only made you grin. “It was actually quite a nice drive. The view was stunning and Teddy here managed to get me here in one piece.”

“I’m glad. Theodore has been talking my ear off about it the whole summer. Nonna, I can’t wait until Y/N gets here. I miss her. Do you think she misses me? I hope she likes my car. Don’t you think she’d look quite pretty in her sundress, sitting in the passenger seat?”

Mattheo snickered as Theo cleared his throat. “Alright, that’s enough. We’ll let you get back to your cooking so I can show Y/N to her room, nonna.”

Without another word, Theo wrestled you out of his grandmother’s clutches. Nonna winked at you behind his back, making you giggle. She wasn’t subtle at all about the fact that she wanted you and Theo to be together. Nonna had been hinting at it since you were thirteen.

You trailed after Theo, noting the blush on his cheeks as he climbed the stairs. “Did I live up to it, then?”

Theo scrunched his brows, pausing at the top step to allow you to catch up. His long legs always gave him a rather unfair advantage. “Live up to what?”

“Did I look pretty sitting in your passenger seat in my sundress?”

“Don’t know,” Theo quipped. “You were too busy gripping the seats for dear life to allow me to make a clear judgment.” You rolled your eyes fondly, which made him chuckle. “I’m kidding. Of course you looked pretty. You always look pretty, Y/N.”

Now it was your turn to blush. You bit back a smile as Theo ventured down the hallway.

“I’m still here you know,” you startled at Mattheo’s presence. You nearly forgot that he was following closely behind. “I swear to Merlin, the world could be falling to shit and you two would still be too busy making googly eyes at each other to notice.”

You rolled your eyes at your curly headed friend. “I’m guessing Dray got the room you wanted based on your grumpy behavior.” Mattheo swatted at your hand when you tried to pinch his cheek. “Don’t worry, Matty. There’s always room in the wine cellar.”

He stuck his tongue out in response, followed by a smirk that you knew meant nothing but trouble. “Oh, I snagged the Rose room.”

“That’s my favorite room and you know it!”

“Don’t worry, Y/N. There’s always room in the wine cellar.” You narrowed your eyes before lunging at him. Mattheo laughed maniacally, dodging your grip as he weaved through the second floor. “Guess you and Notty boy are just going to have to double up.”

The little traitor ran straight into your room — his room now apparently — and slammed the door shut. “What does that mean?” you asked Theo.

He shrugged. “Probably nothing good, knowing the twat.”

His suspicions proved to be true when you ran into Draco and Pansy. They both greeted you with hugs, though Draco seemed a little put off.

“Good, you’re finally here!” Pansy exclaimed, brushing her bangs off of her forehead.

“With no help from you, by the way. You said you were meeting me at the floo station.”

“I had to take care of a situation. Theo here jumped at the chance to show off his little baby blue convertible and offered to pick you up instead.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “He’s been buzzing since yesterday. I swear, he doesn’t even try to hide his favoritism.”

“Well, Y/N doesn’t strong arm her way into staying at my family’s villa. Not to mention conspiring with my nonna for god knows what else,” Theo added bitterly.

Pansy rolled her eyes. “So dramatic, Theodore.” She pushed the door open to the main suite, revealing the enormous room.

The interior was bright and airy. A fresh coat of pastel pink covered the walls, but the ceiling remained a creamy shade of white with the exposed wooden beams giving the room a cozy and rustic feel. A four-poster bed faced the balcony doors, which provided a view of the gardens below. The salty summer breeze rustled the linen curtains, carrying the pleasing scent of honeysuckle and lavender.

Theo set down your luggage by the tufted velvet sofa. You ventured out through the balcony doors, leaning over the parapet to peer at the pops of pinks, blues, and purples dotting the property. By the poolside, Enzo and Blaise reclined on cushioned chaise lounges, sipping on spritzers and soaking in the sunset. You waved at your friends down below and they returned the gesture, raising their glasses with blissful smiles.

When you turned back around, you found Pansy fiddling with a flower arrangement. She placed it on the table closest to the balcony, smiling to herself when she finally got the bouquet to look the way she wanted. The stunning view, the luxurious vintage furniture, and the intricate fireplace all felt very romantic. After all, nonna did deem this the honeymoon suite, which made you all the more suspicious of why Pansy was suddenly bunking you up with Theo.

Before you could question the witch, she turned on her heel and crossed the suite. “I’ll give you two a moment to catch up, but don’t take too long. Dinner will be served in an hour.” Pansy lingered by the door, a dangerous glint sparkling in her eyes as she winked at the two of you. “Enjoy the honeymoon suite.”

If that wasn’t confirmation that Pansy Parkinson was up to something, then you didn’t know what was. You glared at the dark haired witch, but she seemed oblivious as she skipped off. Probably on her way to meddle in someone else’s business.

“Well, this was unexpected.”

“Tell me about it. Now I have to keep my things tidy or else I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“A messy room reflects a messy—”

“Mind,” Theo finished for you as his lips curved into a smile. “I’m well aware, bella. You’ve been saying it since we were ten.”

“Yet it hasn’t quite sunk in.”

“You’re just grumpy from international travel. I know what’ll make you feel better though,” Theo announced with a sunny smile as he trotted over to the bathroom. You stared longingly at the amenities, which housed a rain shower head, a tiled bench, and a heart shaped tub. “Hop on in.”

“Theodore Nott, is this your way of telling me I stink?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny,” your best friend said with a cheeky little smile. He plugged his nose and waved his hand in front of his face. You smacked him on the arm, which only made him grin even wider. “Will it help if I hopped in with you?”

A fierce blush crept up to the tips of your ears. “Pervert.”

“What? We used to take baths together all the time!”

“Yeah, when we were three.”

Theo shrugged. “Semantics. I promise not to steal your rubber ducky this time.”

You groaned in frustration, smacking him once more. “Not a chance in hell.”

“Are you sure? I’m a very efficient shower buddy. Just ask Mattheo.”

All the filthy thoughts filtering through your mind only served to make you flush even more. At this rate, your face probably matched your hair. “Get out, Theodore.”

Theo chuckled as you pushed him out the door. It was a feat in itself given the fact that he towered a good foot over you, but you managed to shove him through the threshold. Your best friend chuckled before placing a kiss on your forehead.

“Have a good shower, fragolina,” A devious grin tugged at his lips as he paused. “Try not to think of me while you’re in there.”

You rolled your eyes, but the words had already planted a very dangerous seed in your mind. As you stepped into the shower, you were ashamed to say that you failed Theo’s challenge.

This bloody honeymoon suite would be the death of you.

A wave of nostalgia hit you full force as you made your way down the stairs. In the dining room, your friends sat around the large mahogany table chatting and drinking. You exchanged a cheek kiss with Blaise and ruffled Enzo’s hair before making your way over to your usual spot. Theo grinned up at you and patted the seat next to him.

“How was your shower?”

“Fine,” you answered robotically. “Great. Uneventful.”

Theo didn’t miss the way your eye twitched. The twat actually smirked. “I don’t know about that, bella. You sound a little tense. Should’ve taken me up on the offer. I would’ve been more than happy to throw in a complimentary massage. If you asked real nicely.”

You flushed, crossing your arms. “I’d sooner invite Mattheo to shower with me than ask you for a massage.”

Mattheo’s curly head perked up from across the table. “Oh?” Much to Theo’s annoyance, his best friend wiggled his brows and winked at you. “Finally tired of Notty boi, huh? You want a dose of Riddle, babe?”

Before you could deign to respond, Nonna swatted the back of Mattheo’s head. He protested, but she showed no signs of remorse as she took a seat at the head of the table.

“Do not ruin my appetite, Mattheo.” Nonna scolded. “Now be a dear and pass the lasagna. I didn’t slave away in the kitchen for hours just to listen to your lecherous comments.”

At Mattheo’s defeated expression, you and Theo tried and failed in keeping in your laughter. Riddle glared at the two of you, but resigned himself to following Nonna’s orders. As your friends piled pasta onto their plates, a bittersweet feeling rushed through you.

The people seated at this table had been an integral part of your life for as long as you could remember. Pansy, Blaise, Enzo, Draco, Mattheo, and Theo had always been just a couple of steps away, but now that you had all graduated, the seven of you would be scattered in different places. It made your heart ache just thinking about it.

“We still have the whole summer,” Theo whispered softly. He nudged his knee against yours under the table. The familiarity of the gesture brought you comfort. It never ceased to amaze you just how well Theo knew you.

“And the rest of your lives if I have anything to say about it,” said nonna as she filled your glass with red wine. “Smettila di fare il codardo, nipote.”

Theo groaned. You understood enough Italian to know that nonna was pushing her agenda again. “Not this again, nonna.”

“I will not stop until you get it through your thick skull, Theodore.”

As nonna launched into a full on lecture in her native language, you grinned in amusement at your best friend. Theo sulked like a child, but his expression brightened as you knocked your knee against his.

After dinner, you spent the rest of the night camped out on the terrace. The view was stunning as the sun set over the horizon, tinging the villa in technicolor. Your friends gathered around the fire pit, sipping sangria and playing games. As usual, the boys found themselves a few galleons lighter after you swindled them during wizard poker. One would think that they’d learn their lesson by now, but your friends were still determined on risking their fortune against you.

All except Theo.

Knowing that his own mother passed down her skills of deception to you, Theo knew better than to challenge you. Instead, he sat back and watched the boys lose with a smile on his face. When you claimed your winnings, he beckoned you under the blanket and handed you another glass of wine. Though you could’ve easily blamed the sudden warmth on the charmed knit throw or the fine vintage, you had a feeling that the heat had more to do with your proximity to Theo.

The scent of citrus and tobacco overwhelmed your senses as your best friend draped an arm over your shoulder. “Gonna share your prize with me, bella?”

“Seeing as you did nothing to help me, I’m inclined to say no.”

“Of course I helped. I pulled a vintage from the cellar so these idiots would keep playing even though they don’t stand a chance against you.”

You chuckled. “Wine or not, they would’ve lost to me either way.”

“Fine,” Theo said with a dramatic sigh. He pulled you to his side and kissed your temple “Keep your prize. I’ve already won anyways.”

“You’re awfully sentimental tonight, aren’t you, Teddy?”

“What can I say?” Theo mused, his blue eyes piercing into you. “This place brings it out of me. This country, this villa, it’s full of possibilities. Anything can happen here.”

The heat of his gaze seared your skin, but you didn’t look away. A charge of electricity crackled in the air as if in confirmation of your best friend’s statement.

Anything can happen here.

#the need for summer theo is reaching dangerous levels #theo nott #theo nott x reader #theo nott x you #theo nott x y/n #theo nott imagine #theo nott fic #theo nott smut #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #slytherin boys

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megalomaniacz · 9 months ago

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ENTANGLED IN YOU— WHEN WILL MY LIFE BEGIN?

ways to help, daily click, do not support neil

ellie williams x reader

a/n: this actually isn’t the best but i’ll post it now and edit it later :D let me know what you think

tags: @astralnymphh

masterlist

…

once upon a time there was a beautiful princess who lived a castle…

okay maybe it was an abandoned apartment complex, and maybe she wasn’t a princess, but that isn’t the point of our story. our story focuses on how fate is inescapable.

“flower! let me up.” the doctor calls. you look outside of your broken bedroom window and quickly rush to the main room where there is a lever. you then, twist it with all your might. this triggers a series of reactions going downward which opens a space in the wall for the doctor to walk up.

this was a daily routine. doctor would go out and forage for supplies and food while you tidied up your “tower” as you called it. it wasn’t much but it was home and helped protect you from the outside world.

many years ago an outbreak occurred causing a sickness in the people of the world. doctor says it was terrifying to see. disfigured faces as a parasitic virus took over their minds.

but you were special.

you were born a few years later in a hospital doctor had been working in at the time. your mother had been seeing doctor for months and she was finally ready to deliver you. then suddenly, there was a break in. the infected monsters stormed through and bit your mother as you were being born. in a panic, doctor wrapped you up, ran as fast as she could until she found this abandoned building, and promised to always keep you safe.

she waited to see if the affects of the bite were passed onto you, and gratefully reveled in the fact that they did not. she still continued to watch you carefully. just in case. then, one day while cleaning up, she turned her head for a moment and you’d been scratched by an infected that had found its way inside the building.

you wailed and so did she before she realized that you were not turning. days began to pass and you still hadn’t turned. you were completely fine other than a small scratch on the back of your neck.

doctor rapidly got to work. after running various tests she used your blood to create a cure. it’s temporary against the infection, but it helps keep it from doing extensive damage. it gave those who were previously hopeless a reason to be hopeful.

she was excited about the results and prepared to share them with the world.

once she’d gotten in touch with the others in her field, they said in order to make a viable cure for everyone you would have to die, which she did not agree with.

so she rushed back to the tower, closed the doors, and swore to never let you leave out of fear that others would hurt you. even after you’d grown older. even after a cure had been fashioned years later from a mystery flower. even after the apocalypse had been declared over and it was semi safe to leave again. you would never leave. and she was confident that you’d never try to, until…

“are you excited for you birthday tomorrow, flower?” doctor asks as she walks into the lounge area. you were sat in the corner knitting a scarf out of yarn you’d fashioned from leaves. “i am actually. i’m more excited about the possibility of-“

“leaving to see the festival?” she finishes your sentence. you huff. “doctor, please. i look outside of my window and i see people laughing and lights shining just down the mountain. i know that a settlement is out there. have you still not checked it out?”

“no i haven’t checked it out and i’m not going to. i told you it’s probably fires started to control a large population of infected.” her tone is stern. she has checked already, it is a settlement.

you slump down in a chair next to her, hands clasped together. bottom lip sticking out. “please. please! atleast promise you’ll check on your next trip.”

she looks over at your face and smiles. “fine. we’re running out of supplies anyway. i’ll check on my trip tommorow, would that make you happy?”

“very.” you respond, smiling.

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

a loud clanking is heard from underneath the tower followed by a string of curses. “doctor?” you call out. your heart begins to race. what if she’s hurt again and she needs help? or more of the cure? you quickly turn the knob and listen as her footsteps get closer.

then you hear her speak and it is definitely not doctor. you hide behind the entrance, a frying pan in hand as it was the closest thing to you. you watch as the woman steps up and looks around. breathing heavily with dirt all over her. before she can turn around, you knock her hard on her head.

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vaokses · 4 months ago

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Never enough for both (Pirtir, Ch.4)

Series Masterlist

<< Previous Chapter

Pairing: Aegon x Rhaenyra's Daughter!Reader

Summary: Both sides of the family are reunited in King's Landing to formally announce the betrothal and start the celebrations leading up to the wedding.

Word Count: 7.7k (sorry, if long chapters like this bother you, I can try to make future ones shorter or divide them in parts, let me know)

Warnings: Topic of arranged/forced marriage. Usual Targaryen incest stuff. Hints at alcohol consumption in unhealthy manners. I love Maris Baratheon, so she's here, though not in all her glory as she's not taunting a man into kinslaying, sadly. ✨Childhood Companions✨. Both sides of this family are messy and annoying, and I hope I showed that properly here.

A/N: Sorry for the late update! I think I'll change uploads for this story to Sundays instead of Saturdays. Hope you enjoy!

This chapter includes some stuff also mentioned/explained in How long this love can hold its breath, a prequel oneshot in Aegon's perspective.

Title is from "So, here you are, too foreign for home, too foreign for here. Never enough for both." By Ljeoma Umebinyuo.

Your morning tea with the Queen is followed by the announcement that the Velaryon fleet -and by extension your family- can be seen quickly approaching the city, with six dragons flying alongside the boats.

You got to meet the Velaryons that arrive on the port, which are the ones sailing from Driftmark, as your mother and the rest have decided to enter the city through the Dragonpit. To your surprise, Corlys is there to greet you, after a long absence at sea.

Baela makes very unsubtle attempts to return to the Keep on your carriage with you alone, so after a quick greeting of Princess Rhaenys and the Sea Snake, you promise to meet with them later and enter the carriage with Baela.

Sitting across from her, you keep silent as you watch her, as you notice her uncharacteristically falter, lowering her eyes to her fidgeting hands.

“Corlys and Rhaenys aren’t getting along, for obvious reasons. They aren’t the only ones,” She informs you. “Daemon and your mother are…at odds with one another.”

“And you know this how, exactly?”

“I can hear the shouting all the way from Driftmark,” She jests, the glint of defiant humor shining in her dark eyes. A breath, and she explains, “Rhaena sent a raven, told me that father was furious that this was allowed to go on.”

“‘This’?”

“Your marriage to Aegon.”

“But it has been months in the planning.”

“Perhaps Daemon hoped for an…alternate solution to present itself,” She shrugs, “We both know Father would have sent you here to kill him, not marry him.”

You chuckle humorlessly, “I shall be on the lookout for new orders, then.”

Instead of joking along, Baela turns to you then, dark eyes slightly narrowed.

“Would you follow such orders?”

You offer a smile again, but you know better than to expect her to fold.

Still, you attempt, “Did Daemon give you orders to ask this?”

“No, I’m just…curious. If he had ordered you to kill them, any of them, of your…childhood companions, would you have?”

“It is a bit late to send Vermithor and I against Sunfyre and Aegon, or Dreamfyre and Helaena. We’d win, though.”

“Undoubtedly. But that wasn’t what I asked.”

“Daemon has issued no orders.”

She is more alike her father than she knows, especially when she’s on a hunt. They track weakness like bloodhounds, and they don’t cease on their chase once they’ve caught a scent.

She presses, “Perhaps because he knows you wouldn’t obey.”

“I have always done as was asked of me.”

“Have you?” Baela asks. While you admire her spirit, you do not intend to entertain accusations, and you turn to her with a glare that she smiles at. Bowing her head slightly, she amends, “I am not implying disloyalty, I just…I think you believe yourself less…unyielding than you actually are. I think you don’t like to admit you have ambitions of your own.”

It is difficult for you, even now, to push back the voice that reminds you that you have been too careless, too trusting, and you have allowed Baela to see more than she should have, more than it was useful for her to see. To lie well you must never be defined or remembered, Lady Mysaria told you years ago, an ordinary face is lost in a crowd.

And despite Baela being one of the only people you’ve been able to count on as a constant, despite the fact that by blood and love you are bound to one another, despite knowing deep in your bones that you can count on her to have your back come what may; you resent the realization that she sees in you something you didn’t intend for her to, something that isn’t useful for her to see. You do not know what to do, at the threat that she might have seen you, and might have remembered you.

“My ambitions are to support my House and my mother. I have done only what was asked of me.”

“Were you asked to promise love to Alasdair Tyrell in order to have him sail to the Shield Islands and turn them to your cause? Were you asked to use Cragan Stark’s…friendship with Jacaerys to force his hand when he refused to offer a proposal of marriage?”

If Alasdair Tyrell hadn’t sailed to the Shield Islands with the Redwyne fleet and turned them to your cause, you would have no solid argument against Lady Mysaria and her wish to marry you to him. If Cregan Stark hadn’t issued a proposal of marriage you would have had to trust only in your mother’s choices to keep the North. Either alternative would mean relinquishing control, would mean uncertainty, powerlessness, and you were unwilling to even entertain the possibility.

“I did not lie to Alasdair, my affections were honest,” At her look, you concede, “I care for him, even if I do not love him. And I merely…discussed with Cregan the realities of our expectations of one another, which he found agreeable enough to issue a proposal.”

“Hm,” There’s a smile on her lips that she learned neither from her father or her mother, but from her grandmother. The smile of a spider with an insect caught on its web. “How convenient, then, that in your honesty you earned yourself the Reach and the North.”

“I don’t appreciate accusations,” You dismiss, rolling your eyes at her answering chuckle. “When Vaemond plotted with Oldtown to challenge my brother’s claim to the Salt Throne, it was you who asked me to deal with it, it was you who told Daeron Velaryon I was to entertain his proposal of marriage to get him to share his father’s secrets.”

“You choose to embody a weapon, and you mind being wielded?” She asks, hints of laughter still clinging to her tone. Baela shrugs one shoulder. “I am not judging you, so you can stop glaring at me. If anything, I admire it.”

“Do you?”

“While Vhagar lives, you are not yet the greatest power in the Realm. Daemon would have you kill the hoary old bitch, and I might agree with his strategy, but…I commend you for yours.”

“Hm.”

She chuckles again, “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Pout when I remind you of a truth you mislike hearing,” She says, “Gods, you and your brother are more alike than you like to admit, did you know?”

All too eager to put an end to this conversation, you divert it towards Jace, and say,

“My mother should be arriving soon with Daemon, Rhaena, and my brothers. The Queen said they are to…start the celebrations today, if the King is well enough.”

“Is it too much to ask that they don’t arrive at all? None of your brothers should be coming here, not to mention our sister.”

“Your s-…”

Baela dismisses your words with a gesture of her hand, “Don’t bother.”

You decide not to fight this unending battle today at least, and lean your head back against the seat, regarding her quietly for a few moments.

“They have no choice but to be here, it would send the wrong message if my family fails to attend my wedding,” You say, but she presses her lips together, answering with nothing but a short grunt. “What troubles you, Baela?”

“There are too many of us together in the same place,” She tells you, as if it is obvious. She looks out at the passing streets. “I doubt an eye is all someone will lose this time.”

Your brow furrows.

“You worry me.”

She offers only a smile in return, confident and sly.

“I assure you it is mutual, sister.”

“Stop that.”

“Make me.”

___

Your mother and brothers -and you assume Daemon alongside them, you haven’t seen him as of yet- choose to spend the better part of the morning and noon with your grandsire. They remain by him as the gathering of members of the Great and Noble Houses of Westeros on the Keep grows, the highborn within the Keep and the lowborn outside of it waiting for their King to announce his son’s wedding celebrations, to write in stone the union they have known or suspected about for months now.

Your eye catches on Mina Redwyne, second eldest of House Redwyne, as she talks with two of the Four Storms. Well, your eye doesn’t catch on her, but on the deep emerald dress she has chosen to wear.

She notices your eyes on her, and turns to you with the clear intent to approach you.

Turning to accept the servants offered glass of wine, you look at Baela, Rhaena, and Rhaenys and mouth save me. Before they can answer with anything other than the laugh Baela hides behind her hand, the ladies reach you.

“Princess,” Mina greets, echoed by Maris and Cassandra Baratheon. “My congratulations on your betrothal. May the Seven bless you both.”

You nod with a little hum, taking a sip of wine to try and dislodge the knot in your throat. It hasn’t gotten any easier to hear people speak of your betrothal, even now, just shy of having the King announce seven days of festivities before the wedding is to take place.

“Thank you, my Lady,” You agree, smile in place, “It seems the both of us meet only for wedding celebrations as of late. First your brother’s in the Arbor, and now mine.”

“How could I forget?” She replies. “In a sea of green and burgundy, there you were, wearing red. I can’t say I recall you ever wearing something that wasn’t red. Or black.”

Of course she hasn’t, there was a reason for your tour and everything about it, from the servants that accompanied you to the clothes you were, were planned in order to send a message. And she knows that.

Doing your best to mask the tiredness at the game she has only just started, you smile and say,

“I am proud to wear my House’s colors. As any Lady should.”

“Not all of us can afford to, Princess,” Maris Baratheon reminds you, sly smile curving at her lips, eyes trailing over Lady Mina’s green dress. “What with the mad race to be married off like cattle and all that.”

“Hey.” You complain, gesturing with your free hand.

Maris merely laughs, quite close to a witch’s cackle, and clinks her glass of wine against yours.

“Congratulations, by the way,” She mocks. Her brow furrows, and her eyes divert to somewhere over your shoulder as she pretends to look for someone. “Though I believe it is your betrothed I am to extend my congratulations to? The man won a race he wasn’t even participating on, after all.”

“You shouldn’t scorn the ways of court. You will soon be searching for a husband, sister.” Lady Cassandra, Borros Baratheon’s eldest, points out.

“Or I could do as you do, and sulk for the rest of my days, mourning a rejection even a blind man could have seen coming,” Maris quips in response, and you share a look at the blatant insult with Lady Mina, for a moment your own quarrel forgotten. “Mother does always say I should follow your example.”

“I’d dare say it takes more than a shared name for you to be equal to your sister, Lady Maris,” Mina quips, coming to Cassandra’s defense without a second thought. “Your House’s name was not enough to warrant you the proposals Lady Cassandra has received, was it?”

You care much more about keeping Maris Baratheon, the cleverest of the Four Stroms and the daughter who currently holds Lord Borros’ ear, on your side than appeasing a daughter of House Redwyne. Mina has spent her life on the shadow of the Hightower, you know her alliances won’t change.

So, making sure to keep your tone civil, but firm, you point out,

“Some aspire to more than marriage, my Lady,” You say. “Lady Maris has much to offer her House, she can be more than a vessel for an alliance.”

“Unlike others.” Maris bites out, cold gaze set on the other woman. Each time you spend time with her in court you realize why her mother threatens to cut off her tongue so often.

“All women eventually have no choice but to bend, Princess,” Mina reminds you. Her gaze drops to the rubies on your dress and she adds, “Even women like you.”

If your smile betrays something more honest, something closer to poison, then so be it.

“There are no women like me.”

Maris barks a short laugh, improper and unladylike, “You still believe humility to be a wasted effort, I take it?”

“On the contrary, I find it admirable,” You lie, sharing a smile with the second eldest of House Baratheon. She returns a smile in kind, a little crooked but honest. You continue with yet another lie, “I just believe honesty is paramount when speaking amongst friends.”

Lady Redwyne loses none of the edge, and the way her shoulders are drawn up in tension, ruffling the fabric of her dress, reminds you of a puffed-up bird.

“We are to speak honestly, then?”

“I dare say that sounds like a threat, Lady Mina.” Maris taunts, lifting the cup of wine to her lips and looking at the daughter of House Redwyne over the rim of her glass.

“Of course,” You answer Mina’s question. With a small shrug, you prompt, “Speak with honesty, I wish t-…”

You are interrupted by a hand resting on the small of your back, startling you into silence. You turn with wide eyes towards Aegon, now standing by your side, hand brazenly on you.

“My Ladies,” He greets, brazenly false charm on display. He turns to you and bows his head slightly in greeting, “Princess.”

“My Prince.” Lady Mina is the first to greet, and your appalment at his lack of care for manners is forgotten at the sight of her attempt at charm. Your eyes narrow towards her, but you say nothing.

“You wouldn’t mind if I stole my betrothed from you for a while, would you?”

The ladies acquiesce with mumbled goodbyes and promises to speak with you again after the King’s speech is delivered. You sincerely hope they cannot find you.

Aegon leads you away from them and towards another part of the vast hall where the nobles gather, hand still boldly resting on your back. You make a point to take a step to the left, away from him, and point out,

“It isn’t appropriate to touch me in public. We aren’t yet married.”

“Would you prefer that I touch you in private? Because th-…”

“It isn’t appropriate to ask that.” You interrupt, but a smile is foolishly tugging at the corners of your lips, and he notices, because his own smile widens. You look away.

“No one expects me to behave appropriately.”

You frown, very pointedly avoiding the eyes of the Queen and her brother as you pass them by.

“And if I did?”

“Then I’d disappoint you sooner than I intend to.”

As you walk into the gardens, you stop in your pace and turn on your side to face him. hands joined behind your back, your head tilted to the side, you ask,

“Do you intend to disappoint me?”

He shrugs slightly, a downward curve of his mouth as he considers your question.

“An inevitability,” He retorts. A breath, and Aegon offers an arm for you to take. An appropriate gesture, followed by an appropriate title, “Princess.”

It shouldn’t endear you, it really shouldn’t. And yet you furrow your lips to hide a smile as you take the offered arm and let him guide you through the inner gardens of the Keep.

“Was there something you wanted to discuss?” You ask, “You did ‘borrow’ me from the delightful company of those ladies.”

“Not…exactly.”

Gods, he is such a terrible liar. You mull over is answer, his actions, for a few breaths, as you walk through the busy room towards the gates to the gardens.

“How many of those women have you fucked, that it worries you that I speak with them?” You blurt out, careful to keep your voice low, almost a whisper. You will tell yourself that the strange edge in your tone, what sounds even to you like jealousy, was part of a game, was intentional. “I know of the…activities you partake in. Court gossip may not speak about my indiscretions, but it does speak about yours.”

“None of them,” He answers plainly. A breath, a moment of hesitation, a restless movement stalled by the weight of your hand on the crook of his arm, and Aegon turns to look at you. There’s something raw, in his slightly widened eyes, in the expectant expression. “Do you believe me?”

You cannot help but think back on the previous night, and the careless way he gave away secrets he should have kept guarded, the way he seemed not to care that he is baring vulnerabilities with each breath, with each look. And you have this irrational and sudden anger at him for it, for this stupid bravery, this weakness, this rough honesty.

More than anything, you are angry at the part of you that envies him for it, for being unable to wear anything but his true face.

“Why wouldn’t I?” You answer without thinking. You aren’t sure if you’re lying or not.

“I can think of many reasons.” Aegon retorts, wry smile curving at his lips.

He doesn’t say anything else, and his attention returns to the gardens around you. It seems only then he notices the unsubtle way the lords and ladies scattered about keep staring at the both of you.

“No one of noble blood is happy with this union,” You point out before he can say anything, “Every young knight and lord in the Seven Kingdoms is cursing your name, most likely. They wanted…well, it varied, but ultimately they all wanted their blood on the Iron Throne. In marrying me, you denied them of that chance.”

“I know about being denied what I want most, but I doubt they would care about my sympathy.”

“Do you?” You ask, the beginning of a smile curving at your lips. “What, as eldest son of a King, as a Targaryen Prince, have you been denied?”

“You.”

He answers so bluntly, as if the truth is without its weight, as if it is obvious, as if it isn’t dangerous to admit such a thing, that you are stunned into silence for a breath.

“You never told me,” You say, “Before I left, you never told me of what you had attempted.”

“Why does it matter? It wasn’t enough, it didn’t change anything,” You have the errant thought that it might have changed things, it might have changed you, if you had known, if he had told you. You say nothing though, and Aegon continues, thoughts spilling past his lips with no need for wine to loosen his tongue, truths being shared like grains of sand escaping from closed fists, “Refusing them all this time didn’t change anything either, you were still-…But I did it anyways. I was always slow to learn, wasn’t I?”

A knot forms somewhere in your throat, something unnamed lodged in your chest. Because he is implying more than having merely asked to marry you.

“What do you mean?”

“My mother and Otto attempted to make arrangements, to betroth me to some lady or another, many times. I always refused them,” He shrugs, as if any of this can be easily dismissed, as if it doesn’t matter. An act, a mask of carelessness, but you notice the tension in his frame, the way his free arm is moving as if he’s fidgeting, hand opening and closing in nervous movements. “They refused to let me marry you, so I refused to marry anyone.

“I-I didn’t…I didn’t know.”

“You never asked.”

“Why?” You ask, because you might have never asked before, but you have to ask now.

“I didn’t think it would change anything, I just…I couldn’t imagine it, a-a future beside anyone but you.”

Your chest pulls tight, and it is once again that overwhelming feeling of the night before, when he admitted to having asked for your hand before you left for Dragonstone. That feeling of flying on dragon back and falling, and landing harshly, and nearly missing a cliff.

And the words, the accusation, to him or to yourself, you aren’t sure, rush past your lips,

“You didn’t think of saying any of this sooner? Send a letter, something?”

“And say what, exactly?” Aegon retorts, “That I asked to marry you, for a-a way to keep you, and was refused as if I were nothing but a boy asking for the impossible? That while you were away, forgetting me, I was still-…that I couldn’t forget? That’s all there is to it, I couldn’t forget.”

Your eyes flicker between his, and he doesn’t bother hiding an old anger, an older hurt, and they both shine so clearly in his gaze now. Your breath stutters past your lips before any words an attempt to.

“It wasn’t-…”

“I told you, I wasn’t expecting it to change anything. I knew-…I know it changes nothing.”

“And yet we are less than an hour away from our betrothal being announced.”

“Your doing, not mine.” He retorts without missing a beat, and your short laugh does make a smile almost curve at his lips. It shouldn’t make you proud, the sight shouldn’t make you feel this strange yet welcomed nervousness.

“If those ladies aren’t scorned lovers of yours, why the unsubtle attempt at keeping me from their company?” You ask, but more than ever it feels as if you’re playing a part. It is a familiar strategy to you, keeping a conversation going while you try to get a hold of yourself again. For the first time since you were sent away, you doubt you can.

“The court isn’t…fond of me. Ladies like them, anyone here really, they’ll say things about me, things that are…true, even if I don’t want them to be,” He admits. Now it is you who is left looking at him while Aegon intently looks ahead. “If I can, I’d like to speak first. I just…I don’t want this to change.”

The world has changed, long ago, for you. When you were forced to open your eyes to the truth of your and your brothers’ parentages, when you were promised your very life was at risk if your mother’s claim was not secured, when you were ordered into the Chamber of the Painted Table and instructed on what your use would be going forward and sent off to tour Westeros.

The world changed, irrevocably, devastatingly, long ago, and it is no longer the world where you followed Helaena and Dreamfyre into the skies or the world where Aegon managed to make you laugh until you cried. The world has changed.

The world has changed, and yet in your mind only lingers the recent knowledge that he refused to marry unless it was you, that you dedicated all you are and more to forget the foolish promises you made and he so carelessly held on to them, chose to remember them. Remember you.

The world has changed, and yet he still feels familiar, he still seems to you the man you once knew, who could not keep a secret to save his life, who drank wine like it was a medicine drought, who managed to care deeply and not care at all in the same breath.

And perhaps that is why you speak so carelessly now, so honestly now,

“It doesn’t have to.”

Silence lingers, and you are desperate for a way to fill it, to purge from your mind the thoughts that race in your head and the pointless feelings bubbling in your chest at Aegon’s admission that he refused to marry anyone else after he was denied a chance to marry you. But once again you find yourself uncertain on how to go on, on how to play.

If Aegon is to say anything at all, it is stopped by a call from the Kingsguard for all to return inside the Keep, as the King is to join you all soon.

The Kingsguard that made the announcement -you recognize him, he is the one sworn to Queen Alicent- bows once, but remains there, expectant, demanding.

You and Aegon share a look, reminiscent of both that look as he took you to fly on Sunfyre for the first time, and of that last look as you mounted Vermithor and set to fly away to Dragonstone.

___

You barely hear your grandsire’s words, though you do notice the way his voice is stronger, his frame standing taller, than the nights before. He welcomes the Houses to the Keep, he talks about years of strife in the House of the Dragon being put to rest, he announces your marriage to his eldest son, and yet you can only think about what Aegon so recklessly revealed to you. About what it means, about how he felt, about how he remembers you, about how he feels.

A part of you reminds you that when Lady Mysaria pushed you to marry Alasdair Tyrell, you constructed a lie and sent him off to conquer the Shield Islands in your name, to prove to her that you needn’t marry while at peace. That part of you reminds you that your threat to feed to Vermithor whoever they tried marrying you off to wasn’t a lie, that you meant it with everything that was left in you.

The King collapses back into his seat, and even at the sight of his frailty the crowds continue in their cheer. Lady Mysaria explained to you long ago about the weight a full belly will have on the opinions of both noble and commoner, and how Viserys’ reign is but proof of that very fact. It is the reason she wanted you to marry a Tyrell, to secure the Reach, the most fertile region of the Realm.

“I am no longer a young man, and it is no news to anyone that the years have weighed on me,” He admits, voice still somehow carrying in the cavernous room. A pale, bruised hand reaches for your mother’s, and he squeezes her hand in his before adding, “It will be Princess Rhaenyra, my daughter and heir, who will preside over the festivities to come in my stead.”

The intention behind putting your mother, and not his wife or his Hand, as the one to act in his stead during the days to come is not lost on you, the support he once again reinstates over your mother and her claim impossible to ignore.

You venture a glance at the Queen, and though you will admit she is not a bad player, she does not easily hide her emotions as well as other ladies of the court do. Yet now, neither surprise nor offense sour her expression, and you could swear there’s calm in the deep breath that rises and drops her shoulders.

“I’ll endeavor to live up to your example, father.”

“I shall hope these celebrations are only the beginning of a new age of joy and prosperity for us all,” He says, smile wide and kind. He turns to you and Aegon, and you stare back with wide eyes, because in your head resonates like a war drum, I couldn’t forget. “And I shall hope for a long and happy marriage for you both.”

___

The Grand Maester sent word that the King would not be well enough to join you all at the dinner to welcome your family to the Keep, and though you truly wanted to ask what was the point of such dinner if your grandsire -the only one to wish for such a reunion- was not to be in attendance, you bit your tongue and let the handmaidens ready you for it.

It is a striking difference, that of tonight and your first night here. Where before everyone was stiffly held to their seats by the presence of the King alone, now you walk into the room and find small clusters of people talking and joking with one another. It is a tad cruel, that the one so intent on uniting them has done nothing but create further division.

Though, the division remains. Alicent and her father sit by one another and speak in hushed whispers, while your mother stands by the other end of the table with Rhaena and Princess Rhaenys. The rest are equally divided, with your father and Baela standing by a corner and observing them all carefully, your brothers sitting together and speaking with Vaemond and Corlys, and Alicent’s children standing together on the other end of the table.

But at least now they look like people. Dreadful people, who make it horribly hard to tolerate them, much less love them, but people. Not figurines, as unmovable and as easily cracked as Viserys’ marble ones.

At the errant thought that lingers on your grandsire’s model of Old Valyria, you find yourself eyeing the table, and you find, unsurprisingly, a napkin folded into the shape of a dragon.

It seems you were the last to arrive, as they all move to sit now. You let the servants guide you to the middle of the long table, sitting you right in front of your mother and Queen Alicent.

Baela takes the seat at your right, and you are grateful, for you are certain she knows as well as you that you will be sitting across from two women at war.

Jacaerys approaches your left side, but Aegon is faster, and when your brother pulls back the chair, your betrothed sits on it before he can.

Aegon turns to your brother with a mocking smile, and lifts his cup in a mock toast.

“Thank you, nephew.”

The taunt is childish, but it is enough to irritate Jace regardless. He shares a look with Baela, and moves to sit beside Aegon, while Helaena takes the last seat of this side of the table, sitting between Jace and Aemond, who sits at the head of the table.

You watch as your mother and Alicent engage in yet another verbal battle, speaking in the language only those who once loved one another can speak; keeping you all a captive audience.

She shouldn’t have come here, so far from the wedding. It was a mistake to come here, not to mention bringing Daemon and your brothers with her.

Lucerys eyes the roasted pig brought to the table and then looks at Aemond with cruel mirth shining in his dark eyes. Thankfully your grandsire, the Sea Snake, has the good sense to smack him on the back of his head and snap him out of any foolish ideas about taunting your uncle before you see yourself in need to do the same.

You are starting to think no one in this family has been capable of an intelligent choice or has formulated a coherent plan since your mother had you flee King’s Landing and left her father’s court to the Hightowers. And for the first time, you are glad you were sent away for those two years instead of being made to stay and try and manage this madness as Jace has been forced to do, the eldest in your absence.

“I defy my own father’s counsel in permitting this union, Rhaenyra. Do not confuse my faults with those of the men of my blood, or I will extend the same courtesy to you.”

Dark eyes flicker to Daemon, who answers to her implication with a mocking little giggle, leaning back on his chair and crossing his hands over his stomach.

“It is not your father’s faults that make me wary, Your Grace,” Your mother argues, the title a reminder, and it is only then that you notice Alicent referred to her by her name. She continues, “But the cruelty and injustice you imposed on my children, for years on end.”

Alicent’s brow furrows, eyes wide with the frenzied affront of that night in Driftmark.

“You dare speak of cruelty, when your savage sons took Aemond’s eye?”

“I do wish they would give me some credit. I did land a few good hits on him.” Baela, sitting by your side, mutters, quiet enough that only you hear. Still, you move your foot under the table and stomp on hers in reprimand.

She answers with a little laugh that is entirely a mirror of her father’s, and you hiss a command for her to be quiet, but she grabs your hand in hers and, with laughter still clinging to her tone, issues quietly the High Valyrian for be calm, lykirī.

Unaware of the small exchange between you and Baela, unaware, it seems, to the entire world beyond one another, your mother and Alicent go on in their argument, in their battle of words and of silences only themselves understand.

Your mother’s smile is a lie, a mockery, as she shakes her head, dismissing, or perhaps refusing, whatever it is the Queen has said. Rhaenyra lifts the cup to her lips and takes a slow sip of wine, putting the cup down and only then speaking again, voice calm and yet cold.

“You do not trust me, or my family. I understand this. It is why you wouldn’t marry Helaena to Jacaerys when I proposed it,” She turns to her oldest friend then, and a part of you wishes to berate her, to hide her then, because in your mother’s gaze there’s too much truth revealed. “Can you blame me for holding the same reservations as you did, now that I must entrust my daughter, my only daughter, to your care?”

Alicent answers with the faintest shake of her head, as if the mere idea of what your mother fear is unthinkable. She adjusts her posture, unmoving again. Though not in the way a stone statue is unmoving, but in the way thin ice is.

“A mother’s sins are not her daughter’s.”

Whatever it is your mother is to answer with, if anything at all, is interrupted by Daemon’s laughter, cold and mocking.

“How easily you change your tune, now that the noose tightens around your neck.”

Alicent’s expression sours in disgust at the mere sound of Daemon’s voice, and she refuses to entertain his accusation with a response. Her eyes, warm and sad, linger on your mother for a few breaths, before she abandons the fight and straightens in her seat.

Your mother shouldn’t have come here, not when she longs for peace yet the man at her side dreams of bloodied hands placing a crown upon her brow; not when her sons and Alicent’s long for violence and chaos as young men are allowed to; not when all she has done, all any of them have done, is pull you in warring directions, demanding and demanding and demanding.

You down the last of your wine, resting your empty cup on the table and drumming your nails restlessly on the glass.

Leaning closer to Laena’s oldest who sits at your left, you gesture with your chin at an open window.

“If I were to fling myself from that window, you gather Vermithor is fast enough to catch me before I reach the ground?” You ask Baela, who hides a smile behind her cup as she lifts it to take a sip from her wine.

Your jest with your sister is interrupted as someone leans closer to you. You turn to watch as Aegon, sitting beside you and pitcher of wine in hand, refills your cup.

“No, but Sunfyre might be,” He answers, as if it were him you asked that question to. At your look, he shrugs, though a smile plays at his lips. “Just say the word.”

Stupidly, more carelessly than you should allow yourself, you find yourself smiling back as you watch him lean back in his chair.

Your smile falls when you turn to see the expectant face of your half-sister, who stares with wide eyes and raised brows. Baela demands an explanation without even parting her lips, and you merely shrug in response.

Uncomfortable silence falls upon you all once again as your mother’s and Alicent’s quarrel comes to an end for now. You lean closer to Baela again and whisper,

“What does it say of me, that I am considering the offer?”

“I know not what it says about you, but it says quite a lot about this horrid evening.”

You lean back in your seat, eyeing the people in the room, forced together by the wishes and fantasies of a dying man, bound together more so by the shared wounds that the shared love or blood.

“First of many.”

“Could I convince you to marry Aegon in the ways of our House and save us all from this circus?” Baela prompts. Dark eyes divert over your shoulder, and apparently deeming it safe enough, she adds, quieter, “Or to kill him? Either way, I can gift you the dragonglass for the deed.”

She draws a short laugh from you.

“It concerns me that you have come armed.”

Your half-sister turns to you, a truly affronted look in her eyes, and whispers, “It concerns me that you haven’t. If I am to leave you here, I would do so knowing you have the means to protect yourself.”

You shrug, “I have Vermithor.”

“He doesn’t fit in a dining room.”

“And I need no protection when breaking bread, cousin.”

Baela’s smile makes her eyes narrow, and she clinks her glass against yours as she advices,

“You should ease on the wine. Usually you can lie better than that.”

“Shouldn’t you be tormenting my brother about trade in Spicetown? Or about those dignitaries from Asshai you mentioned?” You ask with a tired sigh, but still a slow smile curves at your own lips.

“Shouldn’t you be walking about, charming hosts and guests alike? Almost two years of one diplomatic visit after another, I doubt you spent them like this.”

“There was something I wanted from those Lords and Ladies. All I want from our family is an uneventful evening.”

She scoffs, “You’ll sooner bring The Cannibal to heel.”

The tension between your mother and Alicent seems to lessen, or at the very least become more manageable, as the dinner goes on. The room is filled with the murmur of ongoing conversations, and you are enjoying some pastry with what tastes like candied figs within it when Baela leans closer again and talks by your ear.

“Speaking of tormenting your brother,” Baela motions with her chin towards your left side. “I gather he’s much better at it than I.”

You turn to follow her gaze, and find Aegon leaning closer to your brother, who sits straight, frame coiled with tension. Aegon mutters something only your brother can hear, gesturing with his hand, elbow resting on the table.

“You will hold your tongue when speaking of my sister, or I will cut it off.” Jace threatens, but it seems to fall flat, for Aegon doesn’t even move away, and the sly smile on his lips only grows.

“I’ll still have my fingers,” Aegon replies with a shrug that only makes your brother further enraged. “Not to mention my c-…”

“Please stop talking.” Helaena interrupts, nose furrowed in disgust.

To your surprise, Otto Hightower laughs at his granddaughter’s words, with more warmth you ever believed him capable off. You don’t think you ever remember hearing him laugh before.

Your disbelief only grows when the Lord Hand move his chair slightly closer to his daughter’s to make room for Helaena to sit beside him and opposite of Aegon and Jace, an offer the Princess takes without a moment of hesitation.

Jace keeps his eyes on the table before him, both hands on the table and curled into fists, “Cease playing the jester, Aegon. All here know that the mere idea that a man like you is to wed my sister is enough of a joke.”

“Jace.” Your mother attempts, but you doubt even she believes her attempt at chastising your brother.

“Our family has wed us to one another for generations. To keep our bloodline pure,” Prince Aemond points out, eye sharp as it focuses on your brother. “I don’t expect you to understand, nephew, but-…”

“What is it you are implying?”

“Hm,” He muses, gaze piercing, calculating. “I mean only to point out that you and your sister weren’t married, as Baelon and Alyssa, as Jaehaerys and Alysanne were. It is quite apparent to me why, is it not to you?”

Jace moves to stand, and Aemond refuses to let the challenge go unanswered, returning the cup to the table to welcome your brother’s advance with empty hands.

Looking across the table at your father, you silently beg him to interfere, but Daemon is entirely too preoccupied with Aemond, assessing him as who looks at a cyvasse table to plan their next move.

“Speak these falsehoods at your peril, uncle.”

“What falsehoods, hm?” He taunts, his cruelty sharp and honed like a sword, “We are family, both by bonds of blood and of marriage now. Isn’t it time we stop pretending?”

A chair screeches against the wooden floor as Luke moves to stand as well, to defend himself as well, to answer to insult with violence. With a moment of hesitation with trepidation widening her dark eyes, Rhaena stands as well.

“Sit.” Baela hisses the command, and to your surprise both of them obey without question. You’ve seen soldiers follow orders slower.

It is only when he sits back down that you notice Aegon too was moving to stand, no doubt to defend his brother. You look at him with raised brows, and he answers to your unspoken question as to why he obeyed your Baela’s command with a gesture of his hands as if to say what else he is supposed to do.

Amidst the tension and the madness, you find yourself resisting the urge to laugh, and shake your head, looking away from him. You notice the smile on his lips, though, even as he too turns his attention back to Baela.

With one last glance spared at Rhaena and Luke, it is then that Baela turns her attention to Aemond.

She has mastered the mocking and belittling look her father directs at his children whenever they defy him, and the slight smirk curving at her lips only manages to add insult to injury.

Aemond shifts in his place, but refuses to give any ground. Instead of recognizing her challenge, her taunt, he turns his attention to your brother again.

“Now your brother and stepsisters fight to defend you, nephew?”

“It does your skill a disservice, My Prince, if you believe this a fight at all,” Baela retorts, the grace of her mother and the venom of her father. The way her eyes remain relentlessly trained on Aemond reminds you of a bird of prey on a hunt. “And a disservice to your family, if you mean to imply it is dishonorable that we defend our own.”

A mocking little hm leaves Aemond’s lips, one-eyed gaze flickering between your brother and Baela.

“You might wish to reconsider who you consider your own, My Lady,” He taunts. A breath, two, and then his sharp gaze turns to you, before he adds, “As your sister did.”

“Excuse me?” You ask, but neither care for an argument about your true parentage, and to be honest, neither do you. It is only a few moments later that you understand the implication in his words, that you hear the certainty that your marriage to Aegon will earn them your loyalty.

Baela scoffs, “You are more of an imbecile than I thought if you believe that.”

“Baela!” Princess Rhaenys chastises, but she cares not for it.

Aemond answers with mocking laugh that only enrages her further.

The Queen reaches over the table and grasps for her son, fingers digging like claws into his arm as she hisses some words you do not hear. It seems he doesn’t either, for he shakes off his mother’s grip and turns to face your half-sister.

“I see you do not deny it your shared blood with the Princess. Good for you, My Lady,” Aemond’s gaze turns from Baela to your brother, and a cruel twist of his lips aids the venom to drip from his words, “My dear nephew here could stand to learn to be prouder of his family.”

What feels like a dozen voices start speaking at once then, accusations and insults from both sides, the elder voices -the voices at fault for this madness, attempting to bring hounds to heel long after they’ve tasted blood- attempting in vain to speak over the chaos.

And in that moment, you are five and ten once again, Luke’s nose has been broken and Aemond’s eye taken, the smell of blood lingers in the air and shrill little voices argue, shouting over one another; and the King calls for silence but they don’t listen, bloodthirsty little beasts, what is left of children after a lifetime of licking their inherited wounds.

But it has been years since then, and the wounds are now their own, made by their own hands and adorning their own bodies, in some more evidently than in others. They remain, however, as bloodthirsty as before.

A passing comment by Otto Hightower is enough to make Daemon’s fist hit the table, and the two engage one another, trading verbal blows with a practice older than any of their children; while Vaemond Velaryon’s reaction to Aemond’s accusations make Corlys chastise his brother, starting yet another argument.

A low call of your name draws your attention from the chaos erupting on every corner of this room, and you turn to your left to find Aegon has stood from the table, and is offering a hand to you.

“Huh?” Your eyes dart between his hand and his eyes. He smiles, expectant and daring.

He motions with his head to a small door the servants have used to come and go, an invitation.

You only realized you have made your choice, that you let your hand slip into the offered hold of is, when you are being pulled into standing, when you are fighting back laughter as amidst the chaos you let him guide you out of the room and into the servant halls that run through the Keep.

Thank you for reading! I hope this was alright, and at least worth the wait!

Also, to make this shorter I had to cut the “reunion” between Reader and Rhaenyra and Jace. If you’d like to read that, drop an ask or something and I’ll post it.

Next Chapter >>

Taglist: @21-princess @mrs-starkgaryen @nymeriiiia @akari-rioan @dottie-witch

#aegon ii fanfic #aegon targaryen x targaryen!reader #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader #aegon targaryen x female reader #fics by me

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bwat5-blog · 6 days ago

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Caitlyn and Violet: Hope

Spoilers For All of Arcane

So, I must apologize. I know some of you were probably hoping for my usual encyclopedic breakdown of the events that make up the story of these two remarkable women. And truth be told, I have started and stopped attempts at that very thing many times, trying to express why their story means so much to me, and my thoughts on why it will continue to mean so much to so many, as time passes...

If that highly detailed point-by-point is more your speed, I have done so for the both of them across various posts and appreciate that you would read any of this to begin with. But, what I would like to discuss in this, why I think they have come to really stick with me, is hope.

An angry orphan from Zaun, a naïve heiress from Piltover, their story is of worlds colliding. This is not a new idea, "Star Crossed Lovers", "Opposite Sides Of The Tracks"... there are countless examples. The thing that makes Arcane, and by extension these characters so wonderful, is that the characters are so... so much more than that. And they can mean so much more than that to each other.

That angry orphan contains a heart wounded beyond imagining, yet strong as steel. That naïve heiress contains the strength to both forgive those who have terribly wronged her, and to stand in the breach against death itself alongside those who follow her.

It is their journey to find and understand the worth of these hidden depths that make them who they are, both through their own strength and through the bond they form with one another. Vi's life, is to put it bluntly, over before Caitlyn meets her. Seven years in a brutal, abusive prison, not on record, with no indication Marcus ever would have freed her. Her entire life is spent fighting for survival, and dwelling on all that she has lost, until an enforcer, the symbol of everything she hates, offers her a chance. Offers her hope.

Caitlyn comes from a life of wealth and privilege, that is violently upended through her eye opening journey with Vi and everything that follows. She undergoes great loss, and great pain, and as she is swallowed that darkness we see the loss of hope in Violet and Caitlyn both. I have cited it a few times in discussions of the events of this story, but the lyrics from Hamilton's "Its quiet uptown" always return to me in times of thinking of both Vi's days in the pit and Caitlyn's as the commander.

"There are moments that your in so deep, it feels easier to just swim down"

Now of course, it is not simply the loss of relationship that drives both of these women into that lowest point. Nor is it solely the restoration of that love that pulls them out. But what they mean to one another, the promise of what might be... that is one of the central messages of this story. To let go of the darkness of yesterday, and embrace the hope of tomorrow.

After months apart, surviving great loss and tragedy, Caitlyn and Violet reunite on the ridge outside of Viktor's commune. I spoke on this recently, but I was confused at first during this moment. It seemed almost, comical. Caitlyn was so stiff, derisive. But then I remembered their first meeting:

Vi inside of her cell, the defenses she had built around herself as the cocky and brash inmate to hide her overwhelming pain on full display, and Caitlyn. Standing tall, apart, seeming almost to be having to make an effort to look down her nose at Vi. Until she finds out Vi had been abused inside that prison, that haven of the establishment she served, and steps over the line beginning a journey she never could have imagined would be so life-changing.

Thinking back on that, I realized what we are seeing is Caitlyn protecting herself. She has closed herself off to any possibility that the woman she loves could still care for her. Until she hears it... Cupcake... And in that moment thanks to the wonderful animation of this show, we see in her eyes, she knows that all is not lost. Perhaps things can never be as they were. But maybe.. there is hope they could be something new. Because even with everything she has done, Vi has not given up on her...

And it is when Vi's hope is failing... in Jinx, in Caitlyn, and in herself, perhaps in a way that she never would have recovered from, that Caitlyn returns to her in a prison cell. Offering that light that she once did, only stronger and more resolute. As she enters, Vi is in danger of falling into that darkness, lamenting that her belief in her sister has cost her everyone that matters to her. But Caitlyn comes to her, crossing the threshold of Vi's pain and it's not just that she relocated the guards, and set aside her hatred in favor of Vi's love. It's that she SEES Vi. She doesn't just trust Vi to make the right choice, but the worthy choice. Because she not only believes in Vi's heart, she honors it, she holds it as sacred, and in one simple action that could never be matched with words she shows Vi that her fierce love and hope in people is not a weakness, but her greatest strength.

Ultimately, after so much tragedy and pain, it is through fierce love, and hope without condition that they find their way back to one another. When I see them in the end, it is that hope that resonates me. They are broken, battered, grieving and in the midst of terrible loss. But their love has been through the fires of hell, and emerged. Stronger, and more real than it ever could have been. And it is with that bond in one another that they can move forward. The promise of tomorrow no longer a distant dream.

**Someone had the nerve to ask me why I keep using this gif. HAVE YOU SEEN THEM?!?!?**

Thank you for anyone who reads this. I know because of my own comments some were probably expecting the longer thing like I have been doing, but I just.... it wasn't what this needed from me. Anyway, keep standing up for stories that matter. Til next time.

#arcane season 2 spoilers #arcane season 1 #vi arcane #arcane #caitvi #caitlyn kiramman #arcane vi

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idkjustlemmedrownlikerab · 30 days ago

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Why Regulus dying was crucial to the plot of Art Heist Baby!

It really pisses me off and people say "Omg it's so sad that Regulus never finished the heist, why did the author have to kill him?! He never finished his life's purpose" No it's not, because that wasn't what he wanted in life, he achieved everything that he wanted.

The story doesn't work if Regulus lives. Art Heist Baby isn't about the heist. I mean it kind of is, that was what drew me into the fanfic, why I read it. But, as I read it, I realized that it's not about the heist, it's about love, it's a love letter from @otrtbs, the author, to art history and to the fandom, and about the love of found family, brothers reuniting, and falling in love and all the sappy stuff.

But Regulus and the readers by extension, have always thought that it's about the heist, that it's about the infamy and being remembered, and that's how he lives forever, the heist gets him his brother back, the heist lets him live forever.

But then in Copenhagen, when he's literally dying, he's having this internal monologue, like, maybe I failed this heist and it's not successful and I didn't do what I wanted and I wasn't the best person, but I was loved, I am loved and I have loved back, he says that he knows he can take that love with him wherever he goes, even if he's a damn star in the sky, it doesn't matter. He's taking that love with him, it lives on, and that is its own form of immortality. That's what Regulus had been searching for this entire time and even after Regulus dies, James is still there, and Sirius and Barty and Evan hell all the others in the team, and it's like even death can't defeat that kind of love. We see James talking to Regulus every night and recounting memories and keeping Regulus alive in a way, which is what Regulus always wanted!!!! Just not in the way he thought he was going to get it.

I mean, otherwise what's the alternative? Regulus lives and he's happy with James, and maybe that's better than living on an infamy and better than the heist because, well, he's actually alive, but it's not just about love. Regulus and by extension, the reader wouldn't have this moment of realisation like, oh, it's love, love is the answer. Love is what makes all of us a little bit immortal for a little while. That's what it's all about in the end. Not the money or fame or notoriety. Just love. And Regulus dying feels like it was the best way Nat could have driven that point home. Like plz look past the heist, what else is there?

Because Regulus spent his whole life thinking that this was his goal. Just one more heist, that's what he'd always said right? One more heist, this is the last one. This is it. He'll have achieved everything he's ever wanted. Except, it's not what he wanted. Because throughout the story, he gets his brother back, he gets Sirius back in his life after spending years in silent mourning dangling just as precariously as the daunting Degas in the bathroom, he gets his brother back. He sees Barty and Evan who have spent their whole life going back and forth, finally getting together. He watches them grow up and grow together, and he spends his entire life with them. He brings together this group of strangers, this ragtag team of random people that applied via a fucking poster about a lucrative job and watches them bond. He watches relationships form, he connects with the Remus through annotations and books and a shared love for Sirius, he organizes dorlene's proposal and wedding!!!!

He bonds with all these people that he never would have met if he led a normal life, and then he meets James. He meets James Potter, who teaches him everything, who lets him borrow his bravery and shows him that life could be so much more if he wanted it to be, which he does.

"I love you, that's all." His last words, love, that's all. Not the heist, not the drop offs, not the money or the fame or the glory. Love, that's all. He started getting involved with the heists to feel loved, to get the attention that Sirius got from their parents growing up. Some superficial kind of love, and his life ends after he gets real love, platonic and romantic. Love, that's all, not the heist. He died with everything he knew he always wanted but never had the bravery to attain until then. That's why he said maybe he hadn't lived a long life but he lived the best life he could have.

Nat literally told us the reason with Regulus' last words and all of us decided to turn a blind eye to it, yes, yes ik it was heartbreaking to see him die and not live in the house in Brazil with James but we do see them meet again in the epilogue don't we? And let's trust Regulus and the author both when they said

"in every lifetime?"

"in every one."

#sorry for the rant #but i stand by every word i said #art heist baby #regulus black #marauders #marauders era #fuck jkr #james potter #jegulus

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germiyahu · 9 months ago

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When you try to make the legacy of the Holocaust a political favor done to Jews, you are paving the road to Holocaust denial. You're even planting nice trees on the boulevard!

To the historically illiterate Westerner, the true sincere belief is that Israel was "gifted" to the Jews as an apology for the Holocaust. This is actually a quite ingenious mental strategy to handle the cognitive dissonance of both wholeheartedly believing the society you live in was the "hero" of the story, but also that Western society is morally bankrupt and worthless.

See the West saved the Jews from the Nazis, but they also severely blundered by rewarding Jewish suffering with the state of Israel. It's clever. You can feel good about being the hero but also curse your own society for turning around and doing something that you'll argue was even worse in the long run (and they have been saying it's worse).

But then, it gets better! Since Israel is seen as an extension of Europe, and arm of European ideology and interest, it can be argued that the West had good intentions when they magnanimously decided to give Jews someone else's homeland. But they could never have predicted how brutal, how violent, how racist, how genocidal, the Israelis would end up being. You can curse the West but acknowledge it's not really their fault, because then it's not really your fault either.

All this context of the Holocaust being a "lesson to learn" or a precursor to some political reward for the Jews, that Jews have always been crafty and Westerners gullible... it's already on the precipice for those with conspiracy oriented minds. And this is already true and we've all seen it on social media. To those who think the Israel was a reward for the Holocaust, they think that the Holocaust warranted a "reward" in the first place. They can switch those around, and start thinking the Holocaust was a pretext to Israel. They can think that the Holocaust was exaggerated to wring more sympathy from the Europeans. They can think that the Holocaust was staged to trick the West into enacting the Jews' grand plan.

All it takes when you're at this point thinking of the Holocaust as transactional, is a genuine Neo Nazi, or perhaps a Hamas simp, to come along and say "Isn't it suspicious though? Don't you think there are inconsistencies? You should really check out..." and due to the coincidences and incorrect narratives that you made up in your brain, that have no basis in reality, you just might consider hearing them out.

So no, the Holocaust is not being weaponized or hijacked, for any reason. It was a historical event that happened. There are no lessons for the victims of all people to learn. There was no divine intervention or grand conspiracy to make the Holocaust about anything, or use it to bring about some political goal. You want there to be one or all of these things, because it justifies your preconceived notions about Jews.

So if a person is at this point, thinking the Holocaust was transactional, thinking that Israel was a reward, they're already on the road to Holocaust denial. And at this time in the Zeitgeist, they are way more likely than normal to go down that road, readily and eagerly. So be careful, be more cognizant if you actually care about the legacy of this genocide, about honoring its victims and its survivors and their descendants.

#shoah tw #holocaust denial #antisemitism #leftist antisemitism

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koimethehorizon · 1 year ago

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Adventure Time and Fionna and Cake Theory: The Victimhood of Simon + How the Series Might End

Prerequisite Watching for this Theory:

Adventure Time: Temple of Mars, Betty, Come Along With Me, Broke His Crown, I Remember You, Holly Jolly Secrets Part II

Gonna start this loaded theory with a bit of a hot take. I’ve never liked how Simon and Betty’s stories concluded in Come Along With Me.

For Simon, I’ve always had trouble considering Simon and the Ice King as the same person. Holly Jolly Secrets and I Remember You, the pinnacle of depicting the dichotomy of the two characters is built on us seeing Simon as suffering irreversible memory loss and how his loved ones can grow to accept that. The context is most apt when viewed as a metaphor for dementia, Alzheimer’s, or simply old age.

The scenes in which Ice King reacts so superfluously to characters desperately wishing for his old self to return are striking because of the cruel finality of his condition. Alternatively, the ones in which his loved ones hang around with him despite his condition are sweet in their own right.

One of my favorite Ice King scenes is in Broke His Crown where Marceline invites her girlfriend to meet her surrogate father.

Bubblegum: What's this?

Ice King: It's a present, to bribe you for coming over!

Marceline: You don't have to bribe us silly, we're here because we WANT to hang out with you.

Ice King: No one has ever said that to me before.

*snatches present*

Ice King: You didn't say no takebacks.

There was a real poignancy to depicting an old man with memory-loss slowly having people come to accept him and realize that he’s still a swell guy to hang around. It may be depressing to see this good person who was once so unconditionally caring into a buffoon who could forget your name so easily and turn on you in the flip of a coin.

But even he deserved love from others. And in time, as a result of that love, he did improve.

Which is why, even in Fionna and Cake, I find myself still disturbed seeing Simon in his normal state and Ice King completely erased from Ooo. It kills me that Betty and in extension, the show itself could not accept Ice King as he was and felt that his best course was to undo it all.

All of his experiences for 1000+ years all of a sudden no longer matter, and the acceptance of his peers no longer mattered as well. He's just back to who he used to be in a world where everything he's known is gone.

Happily ever after

Even worse, however, is remembering the wish that allowed Simon to be cured. The person who sacrificed her individuality to get that good person back, because she couldn’t accept reality as it was.

And I’m going to put a second hot take. A spicy one. Simon needs to take the fault in Betty's fate and Fionna and Cake (the show not the characters) seems aware of this.

Throughout Adventure Time, Simon Petrikov was never developed as a character. As far as the audience and the characters within Adventure Time knew, the only traits about Simon that mattered were: that he was intelligent, he was a kind man, and he loved Betty.

This wouldn’t really be a compelling character on its own, but when juxtaposed with the Ice King it’s a tragedy that he lost these traits. The compelling part of Simon was his victimhood to the ice crown and not really him as a person.

It’s why Obsidian’s version of Simon feels somewhat empty, he’s back to his intelligent, kind self but there’s no real hints to how he’s mentally adjusting other than that brief glimpse in Ice King’s robes again.

And he looks really weird in this special too. Color me surprised when Simon Petrikov reads out the problems I've had for years about his ending while also making Simon into his own person. In many ways it just completely redos what we see of him in Obsidian.

He's still a kind man but even he can't handle being so maladjusted to a world so beyond his time. He's still intelligent but his passions aren't reciprocated, and that seems to have always been the case even in the past. Rather than a guy who doesn't take shit from guys like Marceline's ex or a first responder to his daughter's problems, he's a normal guy unable to handle the threats of Ooo's world even after 12 years of living in it. Rather than singing to large communities in bliss, he's a lonely alcoholic who can't even relate to his fellow humans anymore. He loves his adopted daughter but there are even some days he can't muster the courage to be honest with her. And most importantly, he doesn't seem to know how to live beyond his curse or his loneliness.

His mutual obsession with Betty is the only character trait of his that's ever had some distinct flaw and with this new show, the writers must have finally found a way to tackle the subject further. Betty is ultimately a greater victim than Simon. She ends up in a far worse fate than Simon has ever been in. Perhaps more disturbingly, she willingly chose to strip herself of her individuality.

Fionna and Cake brings a contradiction to light about Simon and Betty’s seemingly perfect relationship. Simon and Betty's love is real and they do make each other happy. But there does exist a co-dependency that has worsened throughout the series as a result of their insecurity of letting a bad memory conclude their relationship. Betty's patterns are pretty clear throughout her tenure as Magic Woman but not too much with Simon. Not until now.

In Jerry, Simon stops Betty from pursuing her dreams because he didn’t want her goodbye to be his last memory with her.

In Betty, Simon rewrites history and inadvertently summons her to Ooo because he didn’t want Betty’s look of contempt to be his last memory of her.

And through all of Fionna and Cake, Simon has turned into a suicidal man willing to resummon GOLBetty regardless of the reasons she can’t see him again. All because he didn’t want her sacrifice to be his last memory of her. Despite the fact that Betty’s final wish was to keep Simon safe.

There's also this uneven power dynamic between the two. Simon was far more accomplished as a professor with PhDs even if no one took him seriously. Betty was just a student offering some help, knowing she wouldn't take any credit for helping.

I’ll preface that Betty is a consenting adult in the relationship and made many self-determined rash choices that Simon would never approve of with full context. We’ve enough scenes to show that Simon actively refuses Betty’s help if it means endangering her.

However, Simon’s perception of Betty and his own inadequacy did influence her personality for the worse. Fionna questions Simon on two occasions about how strange it was for “someone she just met to drop everything to go with you”. Even within the flashbacks Betty verbally describes her internal conflict between her individuality vs. her infatuation with Simon and the guy never picks up on it.

Whether he’s aware of it or not, Simon always ends up becoming the center of attention during Betty’s greatest life-changing events because he’s always suffering in some way. And sadly in-character, Betty always prioritizes him first because of how sorry she feels for him.

Simon: Just hold my hand to your face, this will be my… last sensation.

Betty: Don’t be a wimp, Simon!

I don’t want to be too hard on Simon, his suffering is cosmologically depressing. An undeniable tragedy that no one deserves to be alone on. It would be unfair to say he’s being dramatic about something most if not any human would ever go through. He’s not a leech for desiring help, especially from his significant other.

But I do think it’s important to point out that he does have a major flaw in not reflecting on the consequences of Betty’s choices.

Fionna: Damn, that’s romantic. So, you got on the bus with her?

Simon: Yup. Uh what? No. No. Why would I-

This is the reason this post exists. This is the show explicitly telling us that Simon has never really thought about what Betty lost because he thinks his love was greater than the passion Betty once had.

Let's go back to Betty once again for what is honestly the most justifiable takedown you could make of Simon's character prior to the miniseries.

As stated earlier, Simon opens a portal to ask for Betty's forgiveness with a few seconds on the clock. And in that time, he essentially just unloads a giant drama bomb, trauma dump of his suffering leading Betty to ask what she can even do without him. And if the plan went as it was, Simon would've just left her a hundred questions that she'd never have answered for the rest of her life.

Simon: Just know that I love you and I forgive you for leaving me. Author's Note: I dunno, isn't there something a bit off about how he worded this?

Now Simon didn't ask for Betty to jump into the portal, but he certainly was asking for it subconsciously. How else would he have expected a person who loves him dearly to act after this?

Taking any measures necessary and finding a way back together obviously. That's what he's doing too!

And reiterating again, this is the reason why Betty goes on her ego-suicidal quest. This is Simon's greatest mistake, his greatest moral failing as a person and he doesn't seem aware of this.

He’s not wrong that Betty lived happily with him. In spite of losing her dreams, Betty and Simon did love each other unconditionally. But he’s missing the bigger picture about how he could’ve been self-centered in deciding Betty’s fate for himself.

And maybe to stretch somewhat, I think even the quest to become Ice King again is somewhat motivated by his inability to live as anything more than a victim. Some of it is because the citizens of Ooo were being a bit inconsiderate about how much they liked Ice King yes, but Simon should be perfectly aware that Marceline, Betty, and now Fionna would be extremely concerned about him for doing this. Yet, he doesn’t really consider their feelings too much on the matter. He’s too used to the suffering.

Please have one scene with Marceline, I'd be sad if we don't get to see at least one.

This leads me to how I believe Fionna and Cake may rewrite Simon’s ending.

The key is in the episode Temple of Mars.

Upon rewatching the episode, I’m convinced that the Adventure Time cast had a greater plan with the Betty and Simon arc that just never came to be due to production constraints. A lot of Betty’s history and the deconstruction of her relationship with Simon in Jerry are surprisingly details that have already been told.

I thought it was an animation error that Betty’s glasses were different in Jerry but it turns out the continuity director is just that good.

The trip in six months, Simon stopping her, and the realization that Simon superseded her identity. Seeking independence from Simon is the lesson that Normal Man was trying failed to teach her.

Betty: I’ve spent so much time dedicated on Simon that I’m not even sure if there’s any “me” left anymore.

But the most telling detail is how Betty passes Normal Man’s test.

Finn: Even if you are a lost cause, she is not!

Betty: No, Finn’s right. You’ll thank me for this later past Betty.

In an alternate pocket reality, she changes her trip to the day before, preventing Simon from stopping her. And I think Simon will have to change fate once again to do the same.

If Simon comes to realize that he was the one who set Betty to her terrible fate, that all this time his rose-colored lens of their relationship had been detrimental then he could give her identity back. But it can’t be as simple as changing the moment Betty turns into GOLB or Magic Woman or even bringing her through the portal in Betty.

He needs to let Betty go on the bus. Alone.

It’s the only way for Betty to have her life back. If not for his Betty, maybe at least to save one in the multiverse doomed to the same fate.

They both need to cherish their time on the Enchiridion trip back when it wasn’t too late for Betty to go on the trip. Back when they were both equals and not tied to Simon’s needs.

Jerry is absolutely setting up something big with Simon and Betty’s relationship for next week and now that we’re going to the GOLB dimension, we’ll see how he remembers these moments again.

Personally, as someone who has been skeptical about Simon's peace for years, Fionna and Cake's second episode was like a sigh of relief. Simon hasn't found his ending yet, and my hope is that this epilogue will help me see the man happy without having to relive Betty's sacrifice for the rest of his life. Just like the rest of Adventure Time, it'll have to end with him cherishing the time he had with Betty regardless of the inevitability of losing that relationship.

PS. Isn’t quite strange that at one point in time, Simon sought after magic objects that ostracized him from the normal world and now, he lives in a house full of 1980s-1990s objects that ostracized him from the magical world? Maybe he was never really satisfied with where he was in the present.

PSS. I really wanted to write something on Fionna for the Ep 3-6 releases, and I still have the idea, but I couldn’t make it coherent due to how much my brain overthinks everything to the point of cognitive collapse. If there’s enough interest, I’ll go back to write it again.

#fionna and cake #adventure time #simon petrikov #betty grof #fionna and cake spoilers #adventure time spoilers #animation #art #hbo max #fionna campbell #theories #character analysis #discussion #petrigrof #golbetty #simon and betty

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diminuel · 5 months ago

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Ok back to the main stories.

All i can think about is the aftermath of Croco vs luffy.

I imagine when he was younger Ace got into an argument with croc or dragon and he tried to run away thinking they didn't want him anymore. Which upset luffy but que big hug session with everyone. And they tell ace and by extension luffy that even if they get mad at each other even if they fight that they will always love them.

So just after luffy takes the win he runs up to croco and gives him a kiss on the forehead and tells him he loves him before running off with his friends.

Epilogue: croco crying cause he is so proud of his strong little shit of a good son.

To a lesser extent very funny family fights when the kids are older and hitting those grumpy tween years where they all have yelling matches that end with them storming off before coming back a second later to shout "I LOVE YOU!" Then storming off again cause they still agny. Or instead if the "I HATE YOU!" Angst trope its "I LOVE YOU BUT YOUR SO FREAKIN ANNOYING LET ME LIVE MY LIFE!" Or something like that.

Strong silly family bond for the win

Ps if Ace still joins white beard i like to imagine him calling white beard grandpa instead of dad cause he is like i have a dad but you can be grampa cause my other one super irritating and i like you better

Pps white beard quietly adopting dragon as his son cause why not

(Too many ideas cause your so talented it cause idea landslide)

(I'm glad my silly AUs are inspiring you to come up with such ideas!!)

I do love the thought that they do always make sure to tell each other they love each other and that even if they find each other annoying at the moment, it's a thing that they'll get past.

I think that it might lead to tension when Ace starts questioning himself due to Roger's bloodline to be so reviled that it caused a lot of innocent people to die in the crusade to eradicate it. And maybe it doesn't matter how many times Dragon and Crocodile tell him that he is loved, he still struggles and that might lead to an argument that drives Ace away? Like he was most likely doing some sort of self-sabotage where he believed that he must be hated and that his parents secretly hate him too and that if he pushes enough they'll get angry and that will then be the proof that he is unlovable and shouldn't have been born. (;w;)

And now I'm thinking about the Alabasta fight. I can imagine Luffy, seeing Crocodile defeated, has a moment of terror and softy calls "I love you?" And Crocodile, even tough the hit was hard enough that he's hanging on to consciousness, says it back. Because if he can't Luffy can't go on.

And then when he's on the marine vessel on the way to prison he's so proud of his damn kid even though everything is falling apart around him.

Well, his son's out there and he's going to be great.

(And *lol* at Whitebeard hearing what a shitty dad Garp was and thinking "well, if you don't want him I'll take him". Not sure Crocodile would like that, whatever the history between them is *lol*)

#Anon #Diminuel replies #One Piece #Crocodad

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ladykailitha · 1 month ago

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Of Butterflies and Backstrokes Part 11

Hey guys! We're back!! It is feeling like this story is almost done, but every time I finish a chapter I go "This has two more chapters in it, I'm almost done!" and I've done that for the last three chapters. So I have given up trying to figure out when it's going to end. Hopefully the answer is sometime before the next Olympics.

In this we have a silly Eddie, Steve and Max are sneaky, and Max and Eddie have their first competition.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Steve continued to have good days and bad days, but always Eddie and Robin were there to help him work through the bad. And then he would spill it all out to Dr. Hughes.

Today he had been able to wade out to Max in the main pool to correct her foot work. The water had come up to his chest, just like it did in the kiddie pool.

“All right,” Steve said gently. “I’m going to touch your leg. If you feel uncomfortable in anyway, I’ll have Robin do it instead, okay?”

Max thought about it for a moment. “But just my leg right?”

“Just your ankle even,” he assured her. “Ready?”

Max waded over to the side of the pool and started kicking her feet to level out her body. Steve gently grabbed her ankle and repositioned her foot so it was more like an extension of her leg.

“Whoa!”

“That’s right,” he said, “now keep it like that.”

Robin and Eddie who had been working in the endless pool came back to the main pool just as Steve was pulling his shirt back on.

Eddie eyed the wet swim trunks and the happily kicking Max and a sly smile spread over his face. “Stevie... you wouldn’t have happened to have gotten into the pool with Max would you have?”

Steve batted his eyelashes innocently. “Who me?” He turned to Max. “Did you see me get into the pool?”

“Nope!”

Eddie knelt on the side of the pool and said, “I’ll buy you ice cream for the next month if you tell me if he got in the pool.”

Robin sneaked up behind him and with Max’s help pulled him into the water as gently as they could, as to not trigger Steve.

It must have worked because when they all came up for air, Steve was doubled over with laughter.

“Absolute menaces the lot of you,” he said once he caught his breath. “I got the competition schedule for next week. Max is in beginner and Eddie in intermediate. I tried to argue for higher, but they because you’ve been out for so long, they want you in there first to see if you have room to grow.”

Eddie wiped the water off of his face. “That’s fair. I don’t think I’m ready for higher yet anyway.”

Steve gave him a fond look. “And then that’s what we’ll do. If you don’t feel comfortable competing at above intermediate yet, then I won’t force you. I just worry they’ll accuse of you of deliberately choosing lower to spank fifteen and sixteen year olds.”

Eddie blinked at him for a moment.

“Oh.”

He went to go shove his hair in front of his face, but it was all tucked away in his cap, so he started to sink into the water.

Steve, Robin, and Max all watched as he held his breath under water.

“So how long do you think he can hold his breath?” Max asked after about a minute. “Because I think cell death happens after three minutes.”

“Eh...” Robin said waving her hand back and forth, “about four to five, actually.”

Just then Eddie burst through the water, gasping for air. He wiped the water away and looked around. “So is anyone going to be nice and completely forget that happened?”

All three of them shared glances with each other and then said together, “No.”

Eddie buried his head in his hands. He slunk off to his lane with a sigh. “Woe! Woe is me! For I have been forsaken by my own team. Woe!”

Steve and Max shared a glance.

“Is he always this dramatic?” Max asked, eyeing Eddie splashing about and moaning about his fate or some shit.

Robin scoffed as she pulled herself out of the pool and rotated to sit on its edge. “This is tame for him, if I’m being honest.”

Eddie stopped his sputtering and turned to her quickly. “I? I am dramatic?” Then he made a sweeping bow, nearly face planting into the water. “Why thank you!”

Everyone giggled but Max and Eddie got back into their lanes and started practicing again. Robin got up and went to go stand by Steve.

“I’m glad you were able to help Max on your own,” she murmured. “But just remember, if you can’t, call and I’ll coming running, okay?”

“Okay.”

It was their first swim meet and Robin wasn’t sure who was more nervous, Max and Eddie or Steve.

She was sure that that pen lid would be a mangled, tangled up mess by the time this was over with.

She looked around the room, spotting a few friends, the Hell Squad from their own facility, and one very unfriendly face indeed.

Billy Hargrove.

Billy Hargrove was a swimmer from California and he thought living on the coast instantly made you a better swimmer. He even had that bit of surfer boy charm. You’d expect this blond haired, blued eyed, tan Adonis to start singing Beach Boys or some shit, but no.

Billy Hargrove was an ass. And he hated all the comparisons between him and Steve at the last Olympics. Dude went on to barely win bronze in two of five events and not medal in any of the others.

Today he was wearing a red and gold coach’s jacket with HARGROVE emblazoned on the back with two blonds standing next him as he talked them in low voices. One was a girl with strawberry blonde hair, green eyes, and bright smile. The other was a guy that looked about the same age as the girl. He looked like he had walked out the pages of Good Christians R Us. Hair neatly cut, blue eyes, chiseled jaw and washboard abs.

Robin hated them both on sight.

She was about to steer Steve away from all that when Billy looked up immediately clocked Steve, who promptly stiffened.

Max and Eddie who were talking to him noticed the sudden change in Steve’s demeanor. And unlike the locker room with Andy, Eddie could tell that this was a different breed of shark coming their way.

“Stevie...” Billy greeted. “When I saw the name Harrington I was wondering if that was you and then here you are. Such a pleasant surprise.”

Robin and Steve shared a bitchy glance. “Pleasant isn’t the word I would use,” Steve scoffed.

“You actually getting in the water, Harrington, or are you going to bitch out again?” Billy went on as if Steve hadn’t said a word.

Steve seethed. Billy had been present the first time he tried to get into the pool after his accident and started screaming.

“Don’t worry, darlin’,” Eddie said with a grin, “Stevie here doesn’t need to get in the water to beat you. He has me.”

Billy looked him up and down and he looked impressed for all of two seconds before he scoffed. “I didn’t think they allowed boys with such pretty curls,” he said tugging on one of the strands. Eddie swatted his hand away. “Maybe you should be on the girls’ team.”

“Last time I checked,” Eddie huffed, “I have the balls for the men’s team. Can’t say the same for the asshole who came up and harassed a guy that had his Olympic dreams washed away because of faulty equipment that left him traumatized and hurt for life, but still loves to swim so much that he would rather coach then to walk away forever.”

Billy’s face twisted in rage and he opened his mouth to reply when the whistle sounded. He jabbed a finger in Eddie’s face. “We’re not done.”

He walked off and suddenly all the tension built up in Steve escaped like a deflated balloon.

“That guy is a dick,” Max hissed. “My mom used to date a guy just like him out in Cali. Wouldn’t surprise me if they were related.”

That made Steve laugh. “I’ll beat him where I’ve always beaten him, in the water. Now come on, it’s time for you two to hit the showers. The beginners are about to start. You’re in the third heat, Max, first podium.”

She nodded and her and Eddie took off their team shirts and hit the showers. Steve looked over at Billy and smirked. Billy was watching every inch of Eddie’s body as he padded over to the showers that were next to the pool.

Robin handed him his bobby pins and he deftly put his hair under the cap, making it as sleek as any of the other male contestants.

The first set of eight girls lined up and then they were off with the shot of the starting gun. Steve watched, looking out for the girls that would be Max’s competition. So far none of the girls showed real promise and that included the girl who won.

The next heat was the same. None of the other girls had the same spark Max did. He looked up to the stands where the families were supposed to there to cheer them on. Robin’s parents were there. Eddie’s uncle, too. Of course Steve’s parents wouldn’t be there. He hadn’t talked them in so long.

He didn’t see the woman that would come to pick up Max and it made Steve squirm a bit. Then just before Max’s heat, he saw her come rushing in. Her hair was wild as if she had been running and she looked out of breath. She leaned over to whisper something to Wayne. Wayne shook his head and pointed to where Max was getting ready to get up on her podium.

Steve went over to her and pointed up at the stands.

Max’s eyes lit up and she waved at her mom. Her mom waved back. Max got up on her podium and put her goggles in place over her eyes. Steve stepped back and gave the judge with the gun a nod, showing that he had moved back far enough. Then the gun went off.

Max easily kept pace with the other girls and managed to squeak out winning by an arms length, touching her pad first.

She pulled off her goggles and looked at her time. She had clearly won. She started jumping and shrieking in the water. She pulled herself out and ran up to give Steve the biggest hug.

“I told you, you could do it,” Steve murmured into her cap.

“Yeah, yeah,” she huffed. “Nerd.”

They went through the next few heats and Max came in third overall in the girls division. Which considering it was her first meet, was very impressive.

Then it was time for the intermediate and as they watched the girls, Eddie began bouncing up and down to warm up his muscles.

“You ready to blow these people out of the water?” Steve asked with a grin. “I gave the organizers one last chance to put you in masters, but they wouldn’t do it.”

Eddie chuckled. “I don’t have the confidence you do in me, but hell yeah, I’m ready.”

Steve slapped him on the shoulder and watched as Eddie got up to the podium. He pulled the goggles over his eyes and turned away from the water.

This is what he loved most of all about the backstroke. Not facing the water or seeing his competitors out of the corners of his eyes. It was just him and waiting for the sound of the gun.

BANG!

And then he was arching backwards into the water, as smooth as silk. His arms and body worked with the water, slicing through like a hot knife through butter. He could hear the splashing of the other competitors but they all seemed so distant to himself. Not that they were that far away. Only that he felt on whole other realm then they were.

He touched the pad and peeled off his googles to look up at the clock.

He was in first place.

He looked up at the stands to see Mrs. Mayfield and Uncle Wayne on their feet and cheering for him. He raised his fist and they waved back excitedly.

It came as no surprise that he won best overall.

He was standing next to Steve celebrating with his team, when the judges came up to them.

“We would like to talk to you about moving up to the masters,” the first judge said with a grimace.

Eddie and Steve shared a knowing grin.

“I think that could be arranged,” Steve said, smug. The ‘I told you so’ lingering in the humid air of the pool.

Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @gloomysoup

2- @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @eriquin

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @chameleonhair @sadisticaltarts @dreamercec @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @mac-attack19

10- @aol19 @tartarusknight @morallyundefined

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #olympic steddie #olympic swimmer au

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wileys-russo · 1 year ago

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elf on a shelf II a.russo & l.williamson x reader

lil christmas fic number two! psa; just because i write this does not mean i ship them irl elf on a shelf II a.russo & l.williamson x reader

"woah! someone's speedy today, what's wrong then? where's the missus's?" katie was quick to snag you as you stormed into the dressing room, throwing your bag down with a scowl.

"if they've half a brain between them as far away from me as they can get!" you warned, shrugging off your friends arm and dropping down by your cubby to change into your boots.

having driven yourself this morning after a particularly nasty row with the blondes who shared your heart you'd stormed out of the house without a single look back, shocked you'd not copped a speeding ticket with how heavy your foot fell on the accelerator, determined to get as far away from the two girls as possible.

"oi! none of that pissy little attitude with me thanks. tell us what happened then." katie warned lightly, sitting down beside you and knocking her knee against yours as you sighed and dragged your hands down your face, starting to recount where it had all started.

if you were to know just how far things were going to go, you'd have never ever even considered getting that stupid little elf.

everything had been laid into motion last week when you'd seen a few tiktoks of adorable elf on the shelf ideas. never having really given them much consideration before you had thought it might be an opportunity for some cute christmas cheer around the house.

not that it needed much more. between you, alessia and leah all three of you had decorated your shared home extensively for the holiday season.

as you had prepared for there was the usual arguments around the tree, the worst of them being who got to choose the theme and who got to place the angel of the north of course, on top.

"what on earth is that babe?" leah had scoffed as you'd dropped it happily on the coffee table with a grin. "oo one of those elf things!" alessia had gasped happily, grabbing your hips and tugging you down onto the sofa with her.

"well its not a fucking reindeer less." leah chuckled earning herself a filthy look from the striker as you kissed her cheek with an amused smile.

"you're supposed to move them around the house and pose them to look like they're doing weird and funny stuff. it's mostly parents who do them for kids but i thought it could be cute for the three of us to take turns." you tossed your phone to leah who scrolled through a few videos with a hum.

"i think it's a great idea baby." alessia agreed, squeezing you tightly in approval. "guess it's not the worst idea you've had." leah shrugged as you kicked her ankle gently.

"sorry, it's a cute idea love. you start tonight, then less, then me." leah smiled apologetically, scooting closer and handing you back your phone, the three of you getting comfortable.

how naive you were not to know just how far things would go.

your first turn started off harmlessly, once your girlfriends had gone up to bed you spread some flour out on the counter, creating a snow angel and leaving the elf spread out in the middle, snapping a picture with a happy grin.

"oh that's so cute baby!" alessia was the first to notice it the next morning, snapping a picture and uploading it to her instagram story with a smile.

it took leah a little longer, never the most observant woman in the mornings but once she'd had a coffee she'd chuckled at the elf, wiping down the flour before the three of you needed to leave for training.

your suspicions should have peaked when you noticed kyra and vic hanging around alessia all day, seemingly always in her ear as she would nod and note something down in her phone with a grin.

her first turn the next night again was harmless, you waking up to find the elf in the fridge sat on top of a carton of eggs with a sharpie in its arms. the eggs with funny faces drawn all over them you let out a laugh which warmed the blonde's heart as she hugged you from behind.

"naughty naughty elf." she'd tutted in your ear, kissing your cheek and reaching past you to grab out a carton of juice. "really?" was leah's response once she'd spotted it, raising an eyebrow at the younger girl who shrugged.

"he must have gotten bored." alessia grinned sipping at her coffee. "yeah babe, maybe he just wanted the eggs to look their very best on their death day!" you added on, chopping up some peppers to make omelettes.

"death day? touch dark there gorgeous." alessia laughed, rinsing her mug in the sink and tapping your bum as she passed you with a wink. "the two of you are something else, why do i put up with it?" leah sighed dramatically, closing the fridge.

"think you mean why do we put up with you!" you teased, her body pressing against yours and nipping at your bottom lip before she placed a tender kiss against them. "hilarious my girl, hilarious."

for leah's turn she was a little more stumped than the two of you had been, having to do some extensive research to try and find some ideas she felt were achievable.

you'd woken up the next morning to find the elf sat on the bathroom counter with a tube of toothpaste in his hands, UTA spelled out in toothpaste on the marble top.

taking a photo and sending it in the teams group chat you rolled your eyes with an amused smile and hopped into the shower, leaving it for one of your girlfriends to clean up considering both of them were refusing to get up.

your next turn meant you'd filled up the kitchen sink with water, dropping in a bunch of goldfish crackers and propping the elf on the tap with a straw to look like he'd gone fishing.

that had gone over well with both your girls and ended up on leahs story, though having to fish out the soggy crackers from the sink had left you gagging and reconsidering the idea all together.

for alessia's she'd poked holes in a piece of toast, sticking the elf's arms and legs through and leaving it sat by the toaster with a little note stating 'it's cold outside...but i am toasty in here ;) '.

you'd found it adorable, leah less so. which had meant you'd spent the entire morning of your day off fussing over the striker who was grumpy with leah for her response, and then in turn you'd spent the afternoon placating a moody leah who'd felt ignored all day.

by dinner time they'd settled down and made up again and the three of you were curled up on the lounge eating pizza, seemingly a normal evening. until leah had to of course open her mouth and set forth the ball rolling which would eventually lead to a series of unfortunate events.

"why don't we make this elf business a bit more interesting?" the eldest between the three of you had challenged with a smug smile. "how so?" alessia raised an eyebrow, your legs draped across her lap as your top half was tucked into leah's side.

"no more posting photos. end of each rotation we show the girls and they choose whose was the best? most successful choices by the end of the month wins." leah challenged with a smirk.

"no! come on it's just supposed to be something cute for the three of us." you'd protested but it was no use. "you're on." alessia agreed with a smirk that matched leah's causing you to exhale deeply.

"why does everything have to be a competition with the two of you?"

things escalated after that to say the least. with you not wanting to compete you'd been cut from the roster all together, leah and alessia now just going night for night, too absorbed in their competitive natures to notice that it had upset you to see it turn into this.

throughout the week though the elf seemed to take on a little more of a personal vendetta against your girlfriends, the pranks going from harmless and cute to targeted.

alessia had started it by wrapping all of leah's trainers in foil and leaving the elf on top of them with a sign that said 'free shoe shining service'.

leah had countered by tying all of alessia's hoodies together tightly and stringing them from upstairs down to the christmas tree, sitting the elf on top with a candy cane as if he was sliding down them.

still alessia had won that round which leah was not impressed with. you on the other hand barely even paid their turns much attention, refusing to give them any sort of praise of acknowledgement beyond a hum or a nod, not that your vote counted for anything anyway.

it was taken up a notch when alessia had frozen leah's house keys in a block of ice overnight, sitting the elf on top with a makeshift scarf wrapped around him and a pair of tweezers in hand like a small ice pick.

that earned her an entire day of stony silence from the defender, meaning you were instead pulled back and forth between them both after your attention since they weren't receiving any from one another.

leah had once again stepped it up, laying out a bunch of alessia's makeup on the counter, smashing up an eyeshadow pallete and highlighter stick, and writing 'elf was here 2023' on the mirror in her favourite shade of lipstick. the elf in question was sprawled out on the counter with an empty bottle of wine and smeared makeup all over his face.

"leah catherine williamson!"

you'd shot up awake hearing alessia yell, rubbing your eyes and reaching around you, frowning when both sides of the bed were cold and empty. "oh what now." you mumbled tiredly at the noise of the bickering carrying from the bathroom.

"leah most of this stuff is fucking expensive you stupid idiot!" alessia seethed, gesturing wildly to the remnants of what was once her makeup on the counter. "babe i'll just buy you more, you're overreacting." leah rolled her eyes dismissively.

"no you've taken it too far! you fucking ignorant selfish moronic-" alessia struggled to think of her next words as you entered the room. "hey, lessi baby breathe." you gripped her bicep with a concerned frown, steam practically pouring out of the blondes ears.

"oh of course you take her side!" leah scoffed with a roll of her eyes as you fixed her with a stern look. "why wouldn't she? you're the one in the wrong!" alessia spat, wrapping you in a bone crushing hug and pulling your shorter body into hers possessively.

"it's a joke less! lighten up and grow a funny bone would you?" leah laughed, only fueling alessia's anger further as you quickly grabbed her face before she could explode, murmuring it wasn't worth it as the striker huffed and let go of you, storming out of the room.

"leah." you started with a disappointed sigh, crossing your arms over your chest and staring her down. "what?" the older girl rolled her eyes sitting on the edge of the bath.

"she's right lee that's too far. none of these have damaged anything." you reminded her. "she froze my keys!" leah whined with a glare. "your house keys babe, we have two extra sets. what would you do if instead of wrapping your trainers in foil she cut them up?" you challenged with a sigh, standing in between her spread legs.

"that's different! trainers are-" "expensive? but can't less just buy you more." "yeah alright you might have a point."

"clean this up and go and say sorry, sincerely. and if she doesn't want to talk to you then give her some space and apologize later." you grabbed the blondes chin, pecking her lips before leaving her behind to clean up her mess.

indeed alessia hadn't wanted to speak with leah but after a few hours of sweet words and grovelling, all seemed to be forgiven.

key emphasis on; seemed to be.

that next morning you'd woken up to yelling again, only this time the roles were reversed.

"alessia mia teresa russo you come here right now!"

"what did you do?" you shot up awake again same as yesterday, thsi time staring down at the smug looking blonde who was laid in bed beside you.

"i didn't do anything, maybe the elf was feeling naughty again." she'd mumbled with a smirk as you pinched the bridge of your nose and inhaled sharply. "alessia. what. did. you. do?" you asked firmly, poking her chest with each word.

but you didn't have a chance to hear her answer as footsteps pounded upstairs and leah flew into the room, not another word said as she grabbed your hands hauling you up and out of bed.

"leah! put me down!" you yelled in shock as suddenly you were flung over her shoulder, watching alessia sit up in bed as you were carried out of the room and downstairs, dumped suddenly on the sofa.

"look what she's done!" leah spat, pointing to a pile of clothing on the coffee table, the elf sat on a tissue box with a pair of scissors. "lee. baby i just woke up, please stop yelling at me." you sighed, closing your eyes and massaging your temples.

"look!" leah huffed, ignoring you completely as she held up shirt after shirt, all with sporadic holes cut throughout them. "oh for fuck sakes. alessia!" you called upstairs, leah continuing on her angry rant without even pausing to take a breath.

"good morning!" the younger blonde smiled happily, slinking downstairs as leah fell silent. "you've ruined half my wardrobe alessia!" she spat, lunging for the blonde as you hastily leapt up and grabbed the back of her hoodie.

"i didn't do anything, the culprits got the scissors right there." alessia shrugged pointing to the elf. "i will stab you with those scissors!" leah spat angrily as you shoved her to sit down in your previous position. "you! kitchen, now." you warned alessia pointing in the other direction as she rolled her eyes but left anyway.

"my love. deep breaths with me please, in for five and out." you started, sitting down on the blondes lap who did as you asked, calming down a little.

"i will take you both shopping this afternoon and less will buy you some new tops, and you'll replace less's makeup." you gave her a firm look as she opened her mouth to protest, eyebrows furrowing together angrily.

"fine. but i'm not sitting in a fucking car with her this morning and i'm not talking to her until she apologizes. just like i had to yesterday!" leah warned as you nodded in understanding, pecking her lips and standing up allowing her to storm off upstairs.

"alessia." you started with a sigh as you appeared in the kitchen, your other girlfriend leaning against the counter looking through her phone. "what?" she mumbled sourly, lips forming a pout.

"don't give me that, you know you went too far." you warned, pulling yourself to sit up on the island. "she started it!" the blonde moved to wiggle inbetween your legs, wrapping her arms around your torso and resting her head on your chest.

"you both started it when you agreed to make what was supposed to be a cute new tradition, into a competition!" you carded a hand through her hair with a deep sigh.

"we're going shopping after training love. you're going to buy leah new shirts and she's going to replace your makeup." you stated, a stern glare silencing the strikers protests as she nodded. both of you winced as suddenly the front door slammed close, leah's car starting in the driveway.

"you can start with an apology though lessi."

things once again seemed to calm after that, both girls ignoring the small elf for a further three days and you breathed a little easier enjoying the extra attention it meant you got from them instead.

but of course one kyra cooney cross had to open her mouth complaining about the lack of elf content with several of the girls backing her up, and you could have wrung their necks then and there, leah and alessia sharing a look across the dressing room which made your stomach lurch.

your warning them against it fell on deaf ears, their anger at one another for the mistakes of the past evaporating as they spent the afternoon teasing one another for who would win, leah having borrowed an elf off beth without your knowledge.

"thats it! i am over this. both of you leave me alone until you go to bed and i can get some peace and quiet!" you snapped as they started to go back and forth over the top of your head, shoving both of them off of you and storming to the spare bedroom.

you busied yourself with your studies for the rest of the evening, having taken a break over the holiday period considering your course was self paced.

but needing something to keep your mind off things you sprawled across the bed reading your text books, ignoring both your girlfriends attempts to coax you back out to spend time with them, the door firmly locked with the key in your pocket.

eventually having to give into how much you missed them, you snapped your books shut and padded to the bedroom. "baby!" alessia perked up at the sight of you, opening her arms expectantly as leah gave you a tired smile.

"you're both so annoying sometimes." you mumbled as you crawled into bed between them, settling into alessia's arms as leahs face tucked into your neck. "we're sorry gorgeous, we love you very very much." alessia whispered, kissing your cheek gently as leahs hand snaked up your top.

your breath hitched feeling her cold fingers trace shapes on your bare chest as alessia caught on, her lips settling on your neck as leah pushed herself up and hovered over you with a wolfish grin, suddenly wide awake.

"how about we make it up to you then baby girl?"

waking up that next morning you smiled seeing finally both of your girlfriends were in bed with you. no yelling, no arguing, no naughty little elf related disasters.

oh how wrong you were.

ignoring their half asleep grumbles for you to stay you wrenched yourself out of leah's tight hold, kissing both of their foreheads and slipping out of bed to make all three of you breakfast before training.

except you didn't make it to the kitchen.

this time it was leah and alessia who woke up to yelling, though this time when it was a cry of pain they both scrambled out of bed, tripping over one another in their haste to get to you.

"baby?" "love?"

you groaned in pain at the bottom of the stairs, leah hastily grabbing the back of alessia's shirt to stop her following in your footsteps.

"leah!" the striker gasped with wide eyes, the stairs covered with mountains of toilet paper supposed to look like snow which is what had caused you to slip down them.

"alessia!" leah echoed in the same tone, eyes falling to the kitchen where a thin layer of flour covered the entire room head to toe. but hearing you groan both of them snapped out of it, carefully making their way down as fast as they could toward you.

"do not touch me!" you warned as they reached you, the scarily calm tone of your voice causing them both to recoil as you gradually got to your feet. "baby we didn't-" alessia's words fell short as you held up a hand.

"not a word, from either of you." you whispered, anger on the brink of boiling point as you turned on your heel, slightly limping as you headed for the kitchen, none the wiser of what was to greet you as all you wanted was an ice pack for where you'd landed right on your ass.

"oh this is going to be ugly." leah mumbled, grabbing alessia's hand as you rounded the corner and your eyes landed on the kitchen.

"my love we-" again their words fell short as you held up a hand, back faced toward them as you leant forward, sagging against the counter as your hands gripped the marble with white knuckles.

a thick uncomfortable silence formed, both alessia and leah sharing a terrified look as you slowly turned, a murderous look in your eyes.

it was safe to say the words that followed were not PG13, both of your lovers remaining deadly silent as you ranted and raged at them, storming upstairs and changing in the blink of an eye, door slamming after you as they both cringed and hurried off to clean up and get themselves ready.

which is what brought you back to present time, sat beside katie as you finished recounting the mornings events to her. "fuck, well that explains it. incoming!" the irishwoman nodded toward the door where your girlfriends had entered.

alessia tried to approach you first as katie mumbled her a good luck and darted away after caitlin, however the piercing glare and stony silence she received were enough to send her right back to leah.

the older blonde was next, taking a much bolder approach as you felt her sit down beside you as you were hunched over tying up your laces. "baby girl." she started sweetly, wincing as your head shot up and your eyes slit into a glare, the name which normally had you swooning having no effect whatsover.

"both of you need to stay away from me. do not talk to me, look at me, breathe near me for the entire day." you warned the defender before stomping out of the change rooms, a few of the other girls gravitating toward her to question what had happened.

true to your wishes both girls steered clear of you, though that didn't stop you feeling their eyes on you throughout the day. they'd hoped to catch you maybe in a better mood once training was done but you'd already left, not bothering to shower but rather leaving as soon as you could, the first one gone for the day.

when they came home it was to no surprise you were once again locked in the spare room, a stony silence meeting them as they knocked gently, leaving you be for a few hours and hoping with time you might come to them.

when that didn't happen, they knocked heads together to come up with an alternative plan.

which is what lead to yet another round of knocks on the door, your head turning to look at it with a roll of your eyes, tucked up and watching a movie quite comfortably. but thats not to say you wouldn't be more comfortable with your blondes either side of you.

"baby. please open the door and let us apologize face to face." alessia begged softly. "please love, we really miss you and we want to make things right." lead added on quietly, a soft thump sounding as her forehead rested against the door.

with a sigh you paused your movie, getting up to unlock the door, not opening it as you settled back into bed and your girlfriends took that as a green light as they pushed it open slowly and stepped inside.

you refused to look either one of them in the eye as they sat on the edge of the bed, giving you a healthy amount of space not wanting to overstep your boundaries. "we are so incredibly sorry gorgeous." alessia started softly. "very very very sorry." leah nodded enthusiastically.

"for?" you questioned, still not meeting their eyes. you didn't miss the way alessia elbowed leah, the girl clearing her throat for a moment.

"for turning something that was supposed to be fun and light hearted into a competition, and getting carried away with that competition and being immature, selfish numpties." leah recounted, the tone in which she used making it clear it had been rehearsed as you tried to keep the smile off your face.

"if you come downstairs with us please babe we have a surprise." alessia asked hopefully. "please." leah added on as you finally met their eyes and nodded, still remaining quiet but standing up to follow them regardless.

"what-" you started as leahs hands came to cover over your eyes and alessia steadied you, grabbing your hands and guiding you downstairs. "just go with it." leah encouraged as you sighed but nodded none the less allowing them to guide you.

"ta-da!" you blinked a few times as your eyes adjusted to the light, but once you did your hand moved to cover your mouth.

before you was a pillow fort they'd both clearly put some time and effort into building, spare duvets and cushions littering the tee-pee like space. one of the elves was sat on top of a pile of pizza boxes and snacks, holding a sign that said he was very sorry for misbehaving.

the other was taped to a spoon which was dunked into a mug of hot chocolate, next to him was a sign that read 'it was all his fault but i took care of him' and an arrow pointing toward him.

"they wanted to say they were sorry as well." alessia grinned, leah taking her chances and wrapping her arms round your waist, her chin settling on your shoulder and body relaxing when you didn't pull away or push her off.

"we are also very sorry baby, very very sorry." leah murmured as alessia hugged you, effectively sandwiching your body between them as you sighed. "you're both forgiven. but those elves are finding new homes and they are not welcome back!" you warned, all three of you pausing before laughter broke out.

"we've got christmas movies, lots of pillows and blankets, snacks, pizza, cuddles, kisses and even got a pint of your favourite ice cream from that little place down the road." leah recounted as alessia took your hand and guided you down into the little fort.

"the peanut butter choc chip one?" you perked up at that as the strikers face paled. "you told me her favorite was the rocky road!" leah groaned glaring at alessia who shrank into herself with a sheepish smile.

"less that's your favourite flavor!" you cracked a grin, smacking her thigh playfully as leah shoved her head to the side. "you still like it though, you always steal mine when we go babe." the striker pouted, pulling your body to sit between her legs as she leaned into leah's side.

"merry almost christmas, my pretty girls." leah smiled lovingly, hand resting on the back of alessia's neck and pulling her into a kiss, leaning down to press her lips against yours next, alessia following suit, pulling away and kissing your nose causing you to scrunch it up adorably.

"i love you both very much, even if you drive me to the brink of insanity sometimes." you craned your head up to look at them, tapping your lips again with a cheeky smile as both of them took turns giving you what you wanted.

it was safe to say after that you were not surprised to see the next day both elves on katie's instagram story, wasting no time texting caitlin a firm warning about their misbehavior.

as well as a strict reminder they were not welcome back into your home, not even for a visit.

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