#just my two comfort characters having a moment
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Okay, since requests are open, I wanted to ask for something, especially after seeing that you are comfortable with most male characters.
I present:
Scott Summers x fem!reader who's just a little too rebelious and annoying for his taste but he still can't help but love her? Like, enemies to lovers kind of style?
If you want to do a oneshot or headcanons is up to you, I'm just starving for Scott content.
Don't know, if you wanna do is, especially since he's not everyone's cup of tea, but I thought "hey, give it a try, maybe she wants to try someting different" so here I go
Anyway, love your work, you#re amazing <3
Cyclops/GN!Reader I've had this prompt saved in my drafts for SO LONG. Basically since the moment it came in!! I was so happy you sent this in bc i had been thinking about writing for Scott, but then I couldn't think of a good enough way to carry this out so I waited on it for a good bit until I had it down to a science!! Hope you enjoy!! Man, I started writing this and then realised I had to make a banner for him too 😭 I did this to myself tho Most of the characters I write for are written as combinations from different x-men media, but I'm still figuring out how I want to characterise Scott since he's a new character for me. Just wanted to put this out there in case I change how I write for him in future fics. (also, let me know how you feel about him in this one! Tell me if yall think I should tweak his attitude a bit :) ) Edit from the future: I started this draft so long ago and damn did it turn out long. TWs: Idk at the moment, will add if I think of any! Reader has a specific power that is kinda vague at first. I've written them out at the very bottom BUT if u read u will spoil the surprise of the fic so fair warning
Scott does not like you. At least, not anymore.
You've known each other for a long time, both coming to Xavier's school within weeks of each other. You used to be friends- or at least friendly. But as you both grew and learned more about yourselves and your powers, a gap began to form, and then continued to grow once both of you became members of the x-men.
It's not like he didn't notice your tendency for rebellious behavior before, but on the field? the two of you clashed more than ever. He's doing his best out here, and the last thing he needs as a leader is both you and Logan going out of your way to put yourselves in dangerous situations because you think you know better.
And the moment you get back to the mansion? You clash all over again- and over the dumbest things. You practically avoid him all of the time, refuse to spar with him unless you're forced, will scoot away from him if he has to sit next to you on game nights. It's like the very thought of brushing against him is enough to get under your skin.
The moment the blackbird lands, you should have known what to expect. But you're in such a good mood, with the mission having gone well despite all odds. Sure, you didn't exactly follow Cyclops' foolproof plan, but when did you ever?
Scott is standing at the end of the ramp when the doors open, watching with a rather sour look on his face as you laugh with Jubilee, the others trailing shortly behind. He crosses his arms, and you barely stop short of him, acting like you had never seen him in the first place as you sigh, nodding at the others to go ahead before finally turning to him and crossing your own arms.
"Go ahead. Say your piece." You say. It only stokes the irritation in him, and he scowls.
"You can't go one, single mission and actually listen to what I say, can you?" He snaps. You roll your eyes, knowing that if he had it his way, you'd never have gone on the mission at all. Still, you stand defiantly, unwilling to back down.
"Look, you weren't even there, you can't expect me to-"
"It would be different if I was there, but I wasn't." Scott interrupts you, and the aggravation it lights in you is practically all-consuming. You can't hold back your scowl. "You were the only senior member of the team on that plane, do you understand how detrimental it could have been if you had gotten hurt, or worse?!" Oh, what a load of horseshit. It's alway the boy scout schtick with him- I'm the leader, do what I say, If I was there none of this would have happened- what an asshole! Hell, in the second half you might have actually thought he was concerned for you and the team, but you knew better.
"Don't act like you actually give a damn, Summers." You snap. "Everyone is fine, no one got hurt, I don't see your problem." You're done with this. You're tired, sweaty, exhausted, and the last thing you want to be doing right now is talking with him. You knock shoulders with him as you brush past, but he reaches out and grabs you by the arm. You feel a mix of strong emotions- anger, concern, frustration- and thoughts swim in your head, before snatching your arm away from him like you'd been burned. He pauses for a second as you whip around and look at him, a rage in your eyes. He still looks at you with that stupid, stubborn look on his face.
"I get that you think I'm just some stuck-up asshole, but there's a reason I get angry when you do something reckless." His voice has lost the smallest a bit of fire. You scoff at him immediately, before turning away to storm out.
"Eat shit."
So no. things weren't exactly cool between you two.
It's not like you weren't friends at some point though, back when you were kids. You didn't know what happened to cause this rift, but he only really thought of you as some reckless idiot as of late, and you didn't care to learn anything else about what was going on in his brain.
Unfortunately, that didn't mean you could avoid him forever. Not when the both of you are on a team.
You only realise how much pain you're in when the blackbird's autopilot clicks on. Your suit was scuffed and worn in some areas, starting to burn at the edges of your sleeves as the protective coating started to wear away. You noticed it in the midst of battle, trying to focus on manipulating debri to a colder temperature rather than a hot one, but sometimes you can't afford to be picky in fights. Your suit may have been temperature resistant, but you were temperature invulnerable. Besides, heat did the most damage anyway.
You frown a bit at the sight of your burnt sleeves. Normally, you'd be worried that Hank would be mad at having to make a new suit again, but if anything you were sure he'd be grateful for the challenge of improving it. Scott was really the only one who would scold you for it, always coming back to the same arguments of being too reckless, ect, ect... and speaking of Scott, he was being awfully quiet right now.
The cockpit is empty exempt for the two of you, being the only two assigned to the mission. Scott is sat in the pilot's chair, and you can't really see much of him besides the top of his head. He's silent, and it makes you worried.
When you stand and walk. over to him, his face looks pained. You're sure his eyes are closed under his signature visor, his head leaning back limply in the chair, hair tussled. You furrow your eyebrows. You knew he'd be tired, but he's not usually this burned out.
"Scott? You alright?" You ask. he only hums in response. It's then when you realise what's wrong.
"Migraine?" You ask, and he hums in the affirmative. You wince at the thought. You knew he got migraines often, especially when using his mutation more than usual, and having migraines yourself, you knew he was hurting. You take a look at where the emergency aid box usually is, knowing it had painkillers, but the space is empty, and you sigh to yourself when you remember you used it on a local- Scott agreeing with you for once when you wanted to leave it with them for any more emergencies. You look back at Scott, and think for a moment more.
Scott jumps when you place a cold hand on his forehead, having settled your weight on the back of the chair behind him. It sparks a feeling of surprise.
"What are you doing?" Scott asks, and instead of his usual accusatory tone, he just sounds tired.
"Don't be a baby." You respond, chilling both hands and combing through his hair gently. Scott is confused as all hell. Why were you doing this? You go out of your way to avoid him at any cost, and then... this? What even was this?
But... he'd be lying if it didn't feel nice. Scott begins to relax underneath you as you continue to comb through his scalp, pressing gentle touches to his forehead as you do so. It's... it feels good.
"My mom used to do this when I was little." You say softly, after a long moment of silence. "Whenever I had a migraine, she'd run her hands under cold water for a long time, lay my head in her lap, and run her hands through my hair. The cold usually helped." Scott's shoulder's are sagging now, and he sighs every once in a while. Although he doesn't say anything, you don't need to ask. There's a question beginning to brim, but you answer it before he can even speak- saving him the effort of talking in the midst of his pain.
"...And it just felt nice to feel her play with my hair, I guess. 'figured it might help you, too."
You try not to dwell on whatever thoughts begin to swirl after that.
It's hard to tell when things shift after that. Even harder for Scott to understand why.
Eventually you go from avoiding him at any given chance, stiff and petty with your actions, to casual. Not quite friendly, but almost.
"And... Right hand red!" Jubilee calls from the couch, having entirely too much fun for someone who isn't even playing this game. Everyone who's already lost has dispersed, either playing a different game or having good conversation. The game of twister had started with four? Maybe five of you? But at the moment, it was just down to you and Scott. -The two of you being way too competitive to let the other win. At the moment, both of you were in a bit of a strange position, with Scott managing to crawl over you at some point. Aside from that, the game had been going on for uncomfortably long- long enough for the pizza to get here.
The doorbell rings and it's pretty instantaneous when people start to flock to the kitchen for the feast, Jubilee included. There's a flicker of panic in both of you as she quickly leaves.
"Hey!-"
"Jubilee! Wait!"
"You'll be fine, you big babies!" She calls out, giggling in her pursuit of the cheesy goodness. That just leaves you and Scott on the matt, pressed together in some places and a but uncomfortable, but awkwardly? Still competeting.
"God, that pizza smells good." Scott groans from above you, the smell of food becoming more and more tempting. You think about it, for a half a second maybe, but that competitive little devil on your shoulder gets to you before your stomach can.
"You know what? why don't you go ahead and grab a piece!" You say, causing Scott to cock an eyebrow at you.
"What, and let you win? Not a chance." He huffs. You shrug best you can, it was worth a shot! Neither of you were going to budge any time soon, determined not to let the other win. But the longer you stayed pressed together...
It's not like you hadn't noticed how handsome Scott was. Hell, who wouldn't? Even Logan isn't immune to his good looks, but obviously you weren't going to be... wierd, about it. You're just playing a game, right? But the sight of him above you, slightly flushed, shifting every once in a while while keeping his balance? It was... tempting.
It doesn't take long for other thoughts to begin swimming around, worming their way into your mind. The two of you in various states of undress... gasping, gripping onto one another... marks on his neck, your lips swollen and stained by the lipstick your wearing tonight.
Each and every thought leaves you more flustered than before, slipping on the plastic mat and accidentally knocking into one of Scott's weight bearing arms and sending the two of you colliding into the floor. You hear Scott let out a noise of pain and you're not down there for long before you shove him off of you, face burning as you grumble about his win. You stalk off without much fanfare, leaving Scott a bit befuddled.
"What was that all about?"
But regardless of how aggravated you made eachother sometimes, everyone has their breaking point...
You're surprised when Scott kisses you in the hall some weeks later, less than a second after a heated spat started to take a bit of a turn, but to be honest? You were into it.
His lips are soft, if a little chapped, heated kisses full of force and urgency before they soften just a little. You kiss him back in a similar manner his hands falling to your waist as you grab him by the collar and pull him even closer. You're quick to start moving the two of you backwards fumbling for a closet door you could have sworn was right... there.
As soon as the door swings open, you pull him inside, pushing him against the wall once it closes again and cupping the back of his neck as you pull him into another kiss. An unfamiliar feeling of warmth shoots through you as you do, and you almost giggle as his thoughts start to flood with more and more tempting situations for the two of you to be in.
After each and every dirty thought he has, you start to wonder if he even remembered your touch telepathy after having known you for so long- but hell, even if he didn't, you weren't complaining.
If u made it this far, I wanna give u details about the Reader's powers some more!! Specifically, the powers are temperature manipulation/temperature invulnerability/touch telepathy! They get a bit complicated bc reader can't light shit on fire or make ice out of the air, but they can melt shit and freeze existing water though! As long as reader touches it in some way! Due to this they're invulnerable to heat/cold for obvious reasons. Touch telepathy was added bc i love mutations with unnecessary layers (Emma frost) and... u really think I was gonna let scott get away without banging another telepath? wrONG
#goofyspeaks#x men#x men comics#x men 97#x men headcannons#x men 97 x reader#x men x reader#scott summers x reader#scott summers#cyclops x reader#x men cyclops#cyclops#x men headcanons
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Bucky Barnes x Reader
The Stranger That Knows Me Best is a heartfelt story about connection, vulnerability, and taking chances on the unexpected. Through letters and shared experiences, two introverts discover that sometimes, the person who understands you best is the one you’ve never met.
Word count: 8k
Warnings: none really, mostly fluff and some angst
Masterlist
The first letter arrives on a Monday, stuck between a credit card offer and a pizza coupon. You stare at the plain envelope for a moment, debating whether to open it right away or let it sit on top of the unopened pile stacked up on the kitchen table. Honestly, you wouldn’t even be holding it if Wanda hadn’t forced you to sign up for this pen pal thing.
“It’ll be fun!” she exclaimed as she leaned dramatically across your desk while you tried to study. “You need to talk to someone who’s not me for a change. And how exciting to meet someone across the country!”
You rolled your eyes at her and muttered something about spam emails and book characters being more your speed. But she was insistent. “Imagine it. Getting to know someone without all the noise of social media. Just words. Just paper. It’ll be good for you.”
Now, standing in the kitchen, envelope in hand, you weren’t sure if she’d done you a favor or set you up for the most awkward exchange of your life. The return address displays Brooklyn, New York, in handwriting so neat it almost looks printed.
On the other side of the country, Bucky sits at a worn, small kitchen table in his tiny Brooklyn apartment, mouth turned down at the envelope in his hands. His roommate and best friend, Sam, somehow roped him into this, using every trick in the book to sign him up.
“You’re too serious all the time,” Sam teased. “You need to lighten up, meet new people or at least, like, write to one person.”
“I meet people,” Bucky muttered, already regretting the argument.
Sam laughed. “Right. The way you avoid everyone at parties? Sure, bud.”
And now here he is, a couple of weeks later, holding a letter from some stranger in Oregon and wondering if Sam had a point. Bucky has never been good at opening up, not even with people he knew. The idea of putting his thoughts down on paper for some stranger to read made him uneasy. But at the same time there was a comfort in only writing–no faces, no judgments, just words.
The truth is, Bucky doesn’t have a clue what to say or where to start. He agreed to this so Sam would get off his back about meeting new people. Bucky is tired of the monotonous routine of the same frat parties every week. How is he supposed to get to know someone through blasting music and dozens of beers? He’s never been a fan of crowds or casual conversations.
Maybe that’s why he’d said yes when Sam showed him the ‘Around The World’ pen pal website. To meet someone genuinely and in the most organic way his social anxiety will let him.
You sit down at your kitchen table, coffee growing cold as you carefully peel open the envelope. The paper inside is simple, lined like the kind from a spiral notebook. Nothing fancy, just a letter. The words on the page surprisingly feel honest.
Hey, I’m not sure how to start this. I guess an introduction is a good place? My name’s Bucky. Well, technically, it’s James, but no one calls me that. I signed up for this because a friend of mine said I should give it a shot. I don’t know if I’m good at writing letters, but I figure it can’t hurt to try. So, uh… hi.
Somehow Bucky’s awkward words bring a faint smile to your lips which makes you feel a little less self-conscious about your first letter.
Meanwhile, Bucky unfolds his letter in the quiet of his apartment, reading the loopy handwriting of his mystery pen pal.
Hi, I guess this is the part where I tell you about myself? My name’s Y/N, and I live in Oregon. Honestly, I signed up for this because my best friend wouldn’t let it go. She thought it would be fun, and I figured… why not? So here I am. I’m not sure what else to say yet, but I’m looking forward to hearing from you.
He let out a soft huff of amusement, almost smiling. There’s something disarming about the tone, like you are just as uncertain about this as he is.
Neither of you expected much from those first letters, just a few introductory words sent across the miles. But as you sit at your table, thinking about what to write back, you start to feel something you haven’t felt in a long time: curiosity.
And across the country, Bucky feels the same.
Only a week later, the third letter arrives with something extra—a pressed flower, its petals delicate and pale blue. It slips out from the folded paper and lands softly in your lap.
I found this on a walk and thought it was too pretty to leave behind. Don’t ask me what kind it is, I’m terrible at flowers. But it made me think of something you might like.
You smile, gently picking up the flower and holding it up to the light. The sunlight streaming through your living room window turns the petals almost translucent. It feels strange, how something so small can carry so much meaning. In this moment, it wasn’t just a flower, it’s a glimpse into how Bucky sees beauty in the world.
You tuck the flower carefully into the pages of your journal, pressing it between the lines of a half-finished poem you have been struggling to complete. Somehow, it seems to fit perfectly there, like it has been waiting for you to give it a new story.
You pick up a new blank page, finding yourself writing more freely than you had before. You practically spill out everything you’re thinking at the moment. You tell him about the books piled on your desk, the way your apartment smells like coffee and your favorite hazelnut candle, how the flower petal reminds you of a poem you read recently for class. You include a few lines of said poem on a piece of homemade paper you created a few days ago (a skill you learned from a YouTube video), a small gift in return for his.
Evening light slants through Bucky’s half closed bedroom window as he opens your next letter.
A muted tone bookmark slips out first.
I thought you might need this for all your textbooks. Kinesiology sounds intense, so hopefully this will help keep your place when you’re too tired to keep going.
He turns the bookmark over in his hands, studying the intricate design—a swirl of blues and greens, almost like a wave frozen mid-motion. It’s sturdy, practical, and yet oddly personal in a way that catches him off guard. In both of your previous letters, you learned about each other's majors.
Bucky is studying Kinesiology and you, creative writing and English literature.
He glances at his own textbooks scattered across his desk, a half-empty mug of tea sitting close to the edge. The long nights spent studying, the endless diagrams of muscles and tendons, the impending need to study for an upcoming test overwhelming his mind.
He doesn’t say it out loud, but it feels nice to be thought of.
Bucky pulls out the old cigar box he keeps on his bookshelf, the one where he stashes little things that matter—ticket stubs, Polaroids, a dried four-leaf clover. Carefully, he places the bookmark inside, alongside the growing pile of letters.
Later, as he writes his reply, he mentions how the bookmark reminds him of summers at the beach when he was a kid.
My mom used to drag me and my sister there every weekend. I pretended to hate it, but I think I loved it more than I let on. The waves were calming, you know? Kind of like the way your letter felt. Thanks for that.
He hesitates for a moment before folding the letter, then slips a small photo inside, an old snapshot of his hometown beach at sunset. He doesn’t remember exactly when he took it, but it felt like the right thing to share.
As he seals the envelope, his smile grows. A private gesture that no one else besides Sam usually sees. For the first time in a long time, the act of sharing doesn’t feel so hard.
Did you ever climb trees as a kid? There was this big oak in my backyard growing up. I used to climb all the way to the top, even though my mom always yelled at me for it. There was this one branch that stuck out just right, and I’d sit there for hours. It was the one place I felt like I could breathe.
When you read his words, something clicks in your memory. The reminder of your grandmother’s magnolia tree comes flooding back. Its branches were low and sturdy, perfect for climbing, and the flowers always smelled faintly sweet, even when they were just starting to bloom. That tree had been your secret world, a place where you could escape everything else and just… be.
You respond, telling about your afternoons of sitting in the tree with a journal, scribbling drawings and stories no one else has ever seen.
It was the first place I felt like I could dream. Funny how trees do that for you too, huh?
Bucky leans back on his couch as he reads about your memory. He hasn’t thought about that tree in years, not since it was cut down after a bad storm. He closes his eyes and tries to remember the texture of the rough bark under his fingers and how the world seemed so small from up there.
That night, instead of going straight to bed, Bucky finds himself sitting by the window, staring out at the sparse trees lining the streets below. The city doesn’t have the same kind of quiet his backyard had back then, but his memory of that oak tree now feels like it was something he could reach out and touch.
Your conversations about trees continues. In your next letter, you mention how you used to take a backpack filled with snacks and book up into the magnolia tree, like you were setting off for some great adventure. You confess how you fell asleep up there one afternoon and scared your grandmother half to death when she couldn’t find you.
Bucky’s laughter fills his bedroom as he reads that part, trying to put a face to you as he imagines that scene play out.
I used to stash stuff up there too. Snacks, comics, even a pair of binoculars I borrowed from my grandpa. It felt like my own little hideout, you know? Like the world couldn’t touch me when I was up there.
As the letters went on, the conversations turned into something deeper. You start talking about the feeling of having a place to escape, a space where the world feels manageable. For Bucky, it used to be the oak tree and now the gym, where he can lose himself in the rhythm of movement and focus. For you, it’s always been words—books, notebooks, even napkins when nothing else was around.
Do you ever feel like you’re still climbing? Like you’re still looking for a branch high enough to sit on, where you can finally just… breathe?
Bucky stares at that question for a long time.
Yeah. But sometimes I wonder if I’m looking in the wrong places. Maybe the branch isn’t what I need anymore. Maybe it’s just knowing there’s someone out there who gets it.
When you read those words it’s like the miles between you two has gotten a little smaller.
You must write a lot for your classes. Creative writing sounds… intimidating, honestly. I don’t think I could do it. I’m better with structure, you know? I like knowing how things work, how muscles move, how the body functions. It feels concrete, there’s always an answer.
You giggle at his admission. It’s not the first time you’ve heard that writing seems almost impossible to accomplish but to you, it’s almost the easiest but scariest thing in the world.
Concrete sounds nice. Writing feels like a brewing storm you can see from hundreds of miles away but as it creeps closer the weight of what to do next has you frozen on the spot. It’s easy in the sense of how subjective it is and everyone always has something to say. The scary part is being brave enough to expel your own thoughts or imagination for the world to have an opinion on. But I can’t imagine kinesiology being any easier. Do you ever feel like you’re carrying too much? Like the weight of learning all this stuff about the human body just… piles up?
Bucky nods to himself as he reads, his pen pausing above the paper. He hasn’t told anyone, but sometimes, the pressure of being in his program is overwhelming—the constant exams, the endless memorization, the unshakable feeling that one mistake could mean letting someone down in the future.
Yeah, it gets heavy sometimes. But I think about what it’s all for, and it makes it easier to keep going. What about you? What keeps you writing?
When you read his question, you stop to think. What keeps you inspired? The answer seems obvious–it was just something that came naturally to you, from a young age. But the longer you sit and dive deeper into his question, the harder it is to really put it into words.
Because I don’t know who I am without it.
You didn’t expect those words to carry a weight you didn’t know you have been holding.
It’s not always easy, though. Writer’s block isn’t some fantastical word people use as an excuse. It’s brutal. Trying to put the right words in the right order drives me crazy most of the time. But even when it’s hard, it’s the only thing that makes me feel like… me, if that makes sense.
Bucky thinks about how he feels when he is at the gym, or working with the human anatomy models in class. He doesn’t always love the grind of school, but there’s something about the act of moving, of learning how things worked, that makes him feel like he is on solid ground. He taps his pen against the table, thinking before continuing his next letter.
That makes a lot of sense, actually. I don’t know if I feel the same way about kinesiology, but I get what you mean about needing something to hold on to. For me, it’s movement. It sounds weird, but when I’m working out or studying how the body works, I don’t feel as… stuck, I guess. Like I’m figuring out the puzzle one piece at a time. And yeah, sometimes the puzzle sucks, but I think that’s just part of it.
He hesitates before adding:
Do you ever feel like writing is your way of figuring yourself out? Like it’s not just about telling a story, but about finding pieces of yourself you didn’t even know were missing?
His question lingers in your mind for days. It isn’t something you’d ever admitted to yourself, let alone anyone else, but he’s right. Writing isn’t just about creating, it’s about uncovering.
You write back:
All the time. It’s like every time I write something, I leave a little piece of myself on the page, but I also find something new. It’s terrifying sometimes, to feel so exposed, but I think that’s why I can’t stop. It’s the only way I know how to make sense of the world and myself. What about you? Does movement ever feel like that for you? Like it’s not just physical, but… more?
Bucky’s next letter was slower this time, but when it arrives, it’s longer than usual.
Yeah, I think it does. I never thought about it like that before, but now that you mention it, maybe that’s why I’ve always been drawn to it. When I’m moving—running, lifting, even just walking—it’s like the noise in my head quiets down. I don’t have to think about everything all at once. It’s just me and my body, and for a little while, that’s enough.
He pauses, then adds:
I think that’s why I want to help people. I want to give them that same feeling, like they’re not trapped in their bodies, but free because of them. Maybe that’s the piece of myself I’m trying to figure out.
With his next letter, Bucky includes a small, fraying string bracelet. It’s clearly worn from age, some threads are thinner than others, and a few have almost completely unraveled.
I used to wear this all the time as a kid. It’s nothing special just something a friend gave me back when life was simpler. I don’t know why I’ve kept it all these years, but I figured maybe it’s time it meant something to someone else.
You hold the delicate bracelet, running your fingers over the worn strings. The softness of the fibers and each fray holding a story Bucky hasn’t shared yet. There’s a weight to it, not in size, but in meaning. The way he decided to pass it down to you. It makes you think of the small tokens you’ve saved over the years–notes from old friends, concert tickets, friendship bracelets–those scraps are pieces of who you are, fragments of a past you’ll never be ready to let go of.
You didn’t want to just thank him for the token. It deserves more than that.
You decide to package a worn, dog-eared paperback book, edges wrinkled from the years of being opened and reread. It’s one of many copies of Pride & Prejudice you have. The first book that made you fall in love with writing. You can remember all the late nights you spent highlighting lines, making notes in the margins.
This was the first book that made me want to be a writer. It’s been sitting on my shelf for years, and I think it’s time someone else enjoys it. Maybe it’ll mean something to you too.
You hesitate for a moment, a knot swirling in your stomach. It was something small, seemingly insignificant but also personal. The book was more than a vintage piece of writing. It’s a piece of your past, something that has shaped who you are.
Bucky opens the package carefully, turning the book over in his hands. It looks like it’s been loved, its pages soft and curling at the corners. He can tell it’s been read over and over again.
He smiles genuinely. He’s never been a huge reader—always preferred the practicality of learning from textbooks or manuals—but this book makes him grateful to have a part of your world that you’re willing to share with him.
Bucky flips to the first page, the ink of your handwriting spells out a note ‘I hope this means something to you’
With a sigh, Bucky carefully places the book beside his bed. He’ll start reading it soon, maybe later tonight. There’s something comforting about knowing that, through these letters and small tokens, you are building something real, something that isn’t defined by distance or time, but by the simple act of sharing.
I’ll start reading it tonight. I can’t promise I’ll be as into it as you are, but I think it already means something to me. That bracelet I sent you, it isn’t just a piece of string. It's a piece of me, one I wasn’t sure how to share until now. I don’t know why I’ve kept it all these years, but I’m glad you’re the one who has it now.
He folds the letter and slips it into the envelope, sealing it with the same quiet smile that has been creeping into his letters more often.
Over the next few weeks, your letters became less about what you both do in a day and more about the things that have shaped you. Bucky told you about him joining his school's track team and local races all the kids in the neighborhood would have every summer. You told him stories about how you would write stories for your stuffed animals and act them out alone in your childhood room.
With each letter, it’s become harder to imagine not knowing Bucky, who in so many ways, is still a stranger. But also the one person in the world you feel free enough to share parts of you that you can’t with the closest people you see daily.
Your heart clenches at Bucky’s next admission:
It’s not that I don’t like people, but it’s like there’s this invisible wall between me and them. Like I’m always watching, but never quite part of it.
You couldn’t write that feeling any better.
I guess I’ve always been more comfortable in other people’s worlds than my own. Books made sense when nothing else did. I could lose myself in them and forget everything else—even for just a little while.
One day, his letter comes with a sketch tucked between the pages. It’s rough, the kind of drawing someone might do absentmindedly, but it has this subtle energy to it. It’s a street corner in Brooklyn with buildings stacked close together, fire escapes twisting up their sides like veins.
You’d like Brooklyn. There’s something about it, almost restless but steady at the same time. The city’s always moving, but if you look close enough, there are these little pockets of stillness. I think you’d find it inspiring.
You could almost imagine it. The sounds of the city, how different the air might feel. You’ve never been to the east coast. Your finger traces over the sketch, admiring the little piece of Bucky’s city he offers you.
That night, you feel inspired. You pull out an old journal and try to put words to his drawing. Imagining what Brooklyn must feel like, blending his description with your own ideas. You aren’t sure how cohesive your stream of thoughts are but you don’t take time to edit it. You rip the page out and fold in, slipping it in with your letter.
When Bucky opens the envelope and finds your poem, he reads it twice, then a third time, trying to imagine his own city through your eyes. You make Brooklyn feel less gray and crowded. As he sits by his favorite coffee shop window, he draws another sketch of what’s in front of him, he even includes a sticker the shop sells.
Your letters have become a map of sorts. A shared exploration of places neither of you have been to but can picture so vividly because of each other’s words. You print a picture of your favorite spot back home, a cliff overlooking the ocean where you’d sit for hours.
Writing on the back of the photo: The kind of place that makes you feel small but full of light.
In his reply, Bucky describes a park in his neighborhood where he goes for runs when he needs to clear his head.
There’s this one bench under an old sycamore tree. Sometimes I stop there and just sit for a while, watching people go by. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s quiet. Peaceful.
With every letter, the walls between you seem to shrink. And yet, there’s still so much you don’t know about each other, so many questions left unspoken, fears left unsaid. Would the connection you’d built survive outside the pages of these letters? Or was it something that only made sense in this space you’d created?
You’re sprawled across the couch in your shared apartment, a blanket draped over your legs as Wanda flips through a magazine on the other end. The soft glow of fairy lights makes the room feel cozy, even as the stack of textbooks and your half-drunk coffee mug on the table scream anything but relaxation.
“You’ve been smiling at that piece of paper for ten minutes,” Wanda says, not even looking up.
You glance down at the letter in your hands, catching yourself before you grin again. “No, I haven’t.”
Wanda raises an eyebrow, tossing the magazine onto the coffee table. “You totally have. That’s a ‘someone special wrote me something adorable’ smile if I’ve ever seen one.”
“It’s not like that,” you mumble, though your cheeks are already heating up.
Wanda scoots closer, pulling the letter out of your hands before you can stop her. She scans it, her face softening as she reads. “‘You’d like Brooklyn. There’s something about it—restless but steady at the same time.’” She looks up, her expression a mix of curiosity and teasing. “Okay, first of all, swoon. Second, who is this guy, and why haven’t you told me everything about him yet?”
You groan, snatching the letter back and holding it to your chest. “He’s just my pen pal. You know, from that website you made me sign up for.”
“I strongly encouraged you,” Wanda says with a smirk. “And clearly, I was right. You like him.”
“It’s not like that,” you repeat, but even you don't seem to believe your words. “We just… get each other. Like, in a way no one else does. It’s hard to explain.”
Wanda grins, leaning back and crossing her arms. “Oh, it’s not hard at all. You’re totally falling for him.”
You roll your eyes but can’t deny it. Because maybe, she’s right.
Bucky’s sitting on the edge of his bed, the photograph of the cliffside you sent him in his hands. His thumb traces the edges of the picture absently, his eyes fixed on the jagged rocks and the expanse of sky above them. Sam sprawls in the armchair across the room, one foot lazily rests over the armrest. The faint sounds of the video he’s watching on his phone fills the room.
“Is that the photo your pen pal sent you?” Sam asks, nodding toward it.
Bucky glances up, startled slightly. “Uh, yeah.”
Sam smirks. “You’ve been staring at it for, like, twenty minutes, man. What’s up with that?”
Bucky shrugs, setting it carefully on the nightstand. “She said it’s her favorite spot near where she grew up. Told me she used to sit there when she needed to clear her head. I don’t know—it’s just… personal, you know?”
“Yeah, it sounds like it,” Sam sits up a little. “So, what? You’re into her now?”
“She’s just my pen pal,” Bucky sounds unconvinced by himself.
Sam laughs, leaning back again. “Don’t even try it. I know that look. It’s the same one you had when you started watching that baking show and tried to convince me it was just for the ‘techniques.’”
Bucky shakes his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “It’s not like that,” he mutters. “She’s just… easy to talk to. Like, I don’t have to explain everything, you know? She just gets it.”
“Yeah, you sound totally detached,” Sam’s grin widens.
Bucky rolls his eyes and tosses a pillow at him. “Shut up, man.”
But as he picks the photo up again, studying the way the sunlight played across the rocks and the faint edge of the ocean in the distance, he knows Sam isn’t entirely wrong.
The next morning, you’re sitting at your desk, chewing on the end of a pen as Wanda brushes her hair in the mirror.
“So, what’s his name?” she asks casually.
“Bucky,” you say before you realize.
Wanda freezes mid-brush. “Bucky? That’s his real name?”
You laugh, leaning back in your chair. “Technically James but he prefers Bucky.”
“Okay, first of all, iconic. Second of all, why aren’t you, like, booking a flight to meet him?”
You look at her shocked. “Because that’s not how this works.”
Wanda frowns, turning to face you. “That’s so stupid. What if he’s your soulmate or something?”
You roll your eyes. “It’s not that deep.”
But later, as you reread his latest letter, you can’t help but wonder what it would be like to meet in person.
Meanwhile, Bucky is walking to class with Sam, the book tucked under his arm.
“So what’s her deal?” Sam asks.
“She’s a writer,” Bucky says. “Creative writing and English lit major.”
Sam whistles. “Damn. She sounds deep. You sure you can keep up?”
Bucky smirks. “Shut up. It’s not like that.”
But as he heads into class, flipping open the book to one of your underlined passages, he knows he’s not fooling anyone—not even himself.
I know this pen pal, letter sending thing is supposed to hold some kind of anonymity but sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to meet you. Don’t worry—I’m not suggesting anything crazy. It’s just… you’re such a big part of my life now, and it’s weird to think I wouldn’t even recognize you if I passed you on the street. I’d probably walk right by and never know.
Bucky pauses as he writes his next letter, staring at the words he’s written, debating whether to cross them out. Instead, he adds more
Have you ever thought about it? What would it be like if this wasn’t just on paper?
When you read his words, something inside you shifts. Of course you’ve thought about it too—what his voice sounds like, what kind of expression he wears when he writes to you.
Sometimes, I imagine what it’d be like to meet you too. It feels strange to think about, like breaking some kind of rule we’ve been following for three months. But if I’m honest, yeah, I’ve thought about it. More than once.
You hesitate, chewing on the end of your pen before adding:
What if we start small? Like a phone call? It’s not the same as meeting, but maybe hearing your voice wouldn’t feel so strange. What do you think?
Bucky sits with your letter in his hands, rereading your suggestion. A phone call. He’s thought about hearing your voice before, but seeing it written makes it real in a way he hadn’t expected.
A phone call sounds… terrifying, if I’m honest. But also kind of exciting? I mean, I want to hear what you sound like. I want to know if the way you talk matches the way you write. If you’re sure, let’s do it. Just don’t laugh if I sound awkward—I’m not great at this kind of thing.
You’ve never been good with phone calls. Honestly, you surprised yourself when you offered the suggestion to Bucky along with your phone number. But, knowing that Bucky feels similar, eases some of the nerves.
When the time comes, you sit on your bed with your phone clutched in your hand, nerves fluttering in your stomach. You exchanged numbers in the last letter, but staring at his name in your contacts feels surreal. After a few deep breaths, you hit the call button.
“Hello?” His voice was quiet, a little hesitant.
“Hi,” you respond, smiling even though he can’t see it. “It’s me.”
Bucky let out a small laugh. “Hey. This is… weird, right?”
“Yeah, but in a good way.”
There’s a moment of quiet, the kind that might feel awkward with anyone else, but with Bucky, it’s comfortable. Like the pauses in his letters, deliberate and thoughtful, holding space for meaning.
“I wasn’t sure you’d actually call,” Bucky admits. “Not that I thought you wouldn’t. I just… I don’t know. It’s different hearing someone’s voice after reading their words for so long.”
“I know what you mean,” you reply, tucking your legs under you. “It feels like meeting you all over again, in a way.”
He hums in agreement, and you try to picture what he looks like by his voice. “So… what’s new?”
You laugh at the simplicity of the question, but it’s grounding in a way. “Not much. I’m still fighting my way through this writing project for class. I swear, my professor has a personal vendetta against me.”
“Or they just know you’re good at it and want to push you,” Bucky offers, his tone lighter now. “You ever think about that?”
You roll your eyes, even though he can’t see. “Sure, let’s go with that.”
“What’s the project about?”
“Character studies,” you reply, leaning back against the pillows. “Creating these detailed backstories for characters we’ve made up. It’s harder than I thought it’d be.”
“I bet you’re great at it,” the sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten.
“Thanks,” you say softly, caught off guard by his compliment.
Bucky’s sitting on the edge of his bed, phone balanced against his ear, a faint smile tugging at his lips as you tell him story of the stay cat you see everyday on your way home from class. “So, what’s the cat’s name?”
“I don’t know. He’s not mine—he just hangs out around my apartment building. But I’ve been calling him Poe.”
“Poe, like the writer?”
“Exactly.”
“Of course,” Bucky chuckles. “I should’ve guessed.”
“What about you? What’s new in your world?”
“Honestly? Not much. Sam tried to make lasagna last night. I’m pretty sure he invented a new species of food poisoning instead.”
You laugh loudly, the sound hitting a spot in his chest unexpectedly. “That bad, huh?”
“Worse,” he says, grinning. “I think the smoke alarm’s still traumatized.”
The conversation drifts, covering everything and nothing at once. You talk about your classes, your friends, your routines. He tells you more about his favorite places in Brooklyn, the way the city feels alive even when he feels anything but.
And soon, the nerves melt away completely, replaced by the same ease you’ve always feel through his letters.
“You know,” Bucky says after a long pause, “I think I like this. Talking to you.”
Your heart skips at his words, and you’re grateful he can’t see the flush creeping up your face. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he says simply. “It’s nice. Like… you’re real now. Not just words on a page.”
You smile, staring up at your bedroom ceiling. “I like it too.”
When your call ends two hours later, you sit for a moment, staring at your phone. The world feels quieter, smaller, like it doesn’t quite matter as much.
And on the other side of the country, Bucky feels the same, staring at your name in his recent calls and wonders how someone so many miles away feels closer than ever.
What started as one phone call quickly became a routine.
Some nights, you call Bucky while sitting at your desk, the sound of his voice filling the quiet as you work on an assignment. He talks about his latest lecture or the annoying guy in his study group, and you share stories about your professor’s dramatic poetry readings or the characters in the story you were writing.
“You have a nice laugh,” he compliments, during a late-night call. “It’s different than I imagined, but in a good way. I like it.”
“Thanks,” you say with a smile tugging at your lips. “I think you’re the first person to ever say that.”
“Well, I mean it. You have a good laugh. It makes everything sound less… heavy, you know?”
You sit back in your chair, glancing at the screen of your laptop, but your focus is entirely on the phone now. “I guess I could use a little less heaviness. Especially with my current assignment. I swear, my professor’s idea of ‘creativity’ is to make us write the most pretentious stuff imaginable.”
“I think every professor thinks they’re shaping the next great mind,” Bucky states. “Mine’s the same. My last one made us analyze a yoga position and turn it into a thesis. Like, what is this, ‘Kinesiology 101: Zen and the Art of Muscle Movement’?”
You giggle at the absurdity of it. “That’s both weird and kind of genius. Imagine doing that for one of my stories. The whole plot could be a yoga class, but with a secret mystery and forbidden love.”
“Now that’s a story I’d read,” Bucky jokes. “But seriously, I get it. It’s like they try to make everything sound deep and philosophical when sometimes… it’s just about getting through the day.”
“I’ll drink to that,” you agree, tapping your pen against the desk. “But hey, at least we’re doing something we enjoy, right? Writing, studying—whatever it is, it keeps us busy.”
“Yeah, but I think what really keeps me going is knowing that there’s more to it. I’m not just learning about muscles or how to help people move. It’s like a way of understanding how everything fits together—how the body moves, how it heals, and maybe even… why it breaks down in the first place.”
“I get that. For me, it’s the stories. I want to figure out why people do what they do, what drives them. Sometimes I feel like I’m trying to find the puzzle pieces and just waiting to put them together.”
“And when you do?” Bucky wonders, tone softer now.
“When I do…” You trail off, unsure of how to explain the feeling. “I think that’s when everything clicks. Like, the world makes sense, even if just for a moment.”
“I think that’s the best part of what we’re doing,” he adds thoughtfully. “Trying to understand how we all fit together in this world. You know, why we’re here.”
Another comfortable pause stretches between you.
“You know, sometimes I wish I could just leave all the work behind and go somewhere. Take a break from everything, just for a little while. Do something completely different.”
“Yeah, I get that. I think I’d like to go somewhere quiet. Maybe a cabin in the woods, or… a secluded beach. Somewhere I could just… breathe.”
“That sounds perfect,” he agrees. “No expectations. Just… space. Maybe one day we’ll both get to do it.”
You smile at the thought, imagining the peace that comes with leaving everything behind, even if just for a few days. “Maybe one day.”
Even without the ability to see one another, to meet face-to-face, you’ve found a space where you belong, right here with Bucky, in this quiet corner of the world you’ve created together.
The phone calls haven’t replaced the letters; if anything, they made them more special. You still send small items tucked into the envelopes, like pressed flowers you found on a walk or the postcard from a local bookshop with a note scribbled on the back: ‘This place feels like it belongs to you.’
Bucky sends things, too—a tiny seashell he’d found on a rare trip to the beach with Sam, one of his favorite protein bars (“I’m convinced these are the only reason I survive exams”), or a handwritten note on the back of a kinesiology diagram he thought you’d find funny.
I’m glad we started talking on the phone. It’s weird, but I don’t think I realized how much I needed it.
The next time Bucky’s name appears on your phone, you find yourself talking for hours, the way you always do. Bucky tells you about a new project he’s working on for class and you share the struggles of keeping up with your creative writing assignments. You laugh together about how you’ve both procrastinated on something important, even though you know you’re going to pull through in the end.
“You know,” Bucky says, his voice a little softer now, “I never really realized how much I needed to hear from someone like you. It’s just… easy, you know? Talking to you.”
You nod, even though he can’t see it. “I feel the same. I didn’t know I could talk to someone this much without feeling like I’m overdoing it.”
There’s a silence for a moment, and then Bucky’s voice comes through, more vulnerable. “Do you ever think about what it’d be like if we could meet in person? Like… I don’t know, maybe take a trip or something?”
Your heart skips a beat. You hadn’t expected the question, but it feels like it’s been lingering there for a while. “Yeah,” you reply slowly. “I’ve thought about it. I’ve thought about what it’d be like to actually meet you. Maybe we could go to that bookshop you told me about, or that café you go to all the time.”
“I think that would be nice,” Bucky agrees, mentally curating a day for you both like it might happen.
You sit on the floor of your room, your textbook open in front of you, but your mind is far away. Wanda, sprawled across your bed, scrolls through her phone.
“So, you’ve been talking to Bucky on the phone a lot lately, huh?” Wanda says casually, glancing down at you.
You look up from your book, the words of your professor blurring in your mind. “Yeah, a lot. Why?”
She raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in her eyes. “Because it sounds like you two are practically a thing now. You’re sharing things that nobody else knows, stuff you haven’t even told me, and that’s… kinda big.”
You feel your cheeks warm, but you try to act nonchalant. “It’s just easier, you know? With him, it’s different.”
Wanda leans forward, setting her phone down, her expression turning serious. “So, when are you actually going to see him? I mean, for real, not just through letters and phone calls. You’re both in different states, and I get that it’s complicated, but... aren’t you curious? Don’t you think it’s time to see the real thing?”
There’s a knot in your stomach at the thought of meeting Bucky in person. “I don’t know. It feels so risky. We’ve got this thing, this connection, and I don’t want to mess it up by... meeting and finding out it’s not the same.”
Wanda sits up, her voice soft but insistent. “I get that, but listen to me, this thing you have, it’s real. I can hear it when you talk about him. You don’t have to know everything, but maybe it’s time to take that step. Meet him, see if what you feel is the same in person. If it’s worth it, you’ll know. And if not, you can go back to what you have now. But you won’t know until you try.”
You look down at your hands, the words swirling in your mind. “I don’t know if I can just... show up there, though. What if it’s too much?”
Wanda leans forward, giving you a meaningful look. “You’ll never know unless you do it. And what’s the worst that could happen? You go to Brooklyn, meet up with him, and find out if what you have is more than just letters. If it’s real. You deserve that, okay?”
You bite your lip, thoughts racing. Deep down, you know she’s right. But still, the idea of taking that leap is terrifying.
Bucky leans back against his chair as he closes the kinesiology textbook on the kitchen table. Sam is working on his own assignment, typing away across the table, though his eyes are trained on his friend, the expression on his face full of mischief.
“So, have you talked to her lately?” Sam asks, not looking up from the laptop.
Bucky shrugs, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, we’ve been texting. Calls, too. Same as always.”
Sam raises an eyebrow. “You sure? ‘Cause every time you pick up that phone, you get this dopey grin on your face. Like, way too much of a dopey grin.”
Bucky shoots him a look, but it’s hard to keep the smile off his face. “Shut up, man. It’s just easier to talk to her than anyone else. She’s cool. It’s... nice.”
Sam stops typing and leans forward, his tone shifting. “Look, Bucky, we’ve been best friends for years, and I can tell there’s something more there. You’ve never talked about anyone like you talk about her. You’ve been sending stuff, taking time to connect with her, and now you’re talking on the phone like you’ve known each other forever. What’s holding you back from making it real?”
Bucky runs a hand through his hair, clearly wrestling with the idea. “I don’t know. It feels too soon. I’ve only known her for like five months, and I don’t want to screw this up. I don’t want to be that guy who shows up, and then everything falls apart. What if it’s different in person?”
Sam leans back, crossing his arms. “What if it’s better in person? You’re both out there, being real with each other. But you’re still holding back. Maybe meeting her, seeing her face to face, will show you something you didn’t even realize you needed.”
Sam smirks. “Bucky, she’s probably thinking the same thing. You’ve built something real, and now it’s time to see if it stands up in person. If you really care about her, you should at least give it a shot.”
Bucky looks down at the table, conflicted. “I don’t know, Sam. It’s a lot to ask of her. I don’t want to make things too complicated.”
Sam’s words weigh on him, and he can feel the pull, the desire to take that next step, to finally know what it would be like to stand face to face with you.
“You’re right,” Bucky mutters after a pause, his resolve slowly hardening. “I’ll figure it out. I’ll make it happen.”
Sam grins. “That’s what I like to hear, man. Just don’t wait too long, alright?”
The fall air outside is crisp. You’re favorite time of the year. You sit on your porch swing, finishing up your morning coffee. You’ve been buried in finals for the past few days, and it feels like the weight of them is starting to catch up. Your phone buzzes on the nightstand, but you ignore it for the moment, reaching instead for the stack of mail that you checked this morning.
You sift through the usual bills and flyers until something catches your eye—a familiar handwriting. Your heart does a little flip when you recognize Bucky’s name on the envelope. The anticipation surges as you rip it open, the paper inside feeling heavier than usual.
A ticket slips out. A plane ticket to be exact.
You freeze for a moment, not quite able to wrap your mind around what you’re holding. You unfold his letter quickly.
Y/N, I’m not sure how to even begin this, so I’ll just say it plainly: I’m sending you a plane ticket. I know this is sudden, and I completely understand if you think this is too much or too soon. I don’t want to pressure you into anything, and if it’s not something you’re comfortable with, I won’t be offended in the slightest. It’s a refundable ticket, so no pressure, I promise. But if you’re open to it... I’d love for you to come visit me in Brooklyn. I remember you telling me your Fall break is coming up, and I’ve been thinking a lot about how much I want to show you everything here—the parks, the food spots, the places that always make me feel like I’m home. I’ve even made a little map of things I thought you’d enjoy. It’s not the grandest of plans, but I think it could be a good start. I’m giving you the time to decide, but if you do decide you want to take this leap... I’ll be waiting for you at the arrival gate, next Saturday. I’ll make sure I’m there early, just in case. And if not, I completely understand. You’ve been amazing, and I wouldn’t want to ruin what we’ve got, whatever it is. I hope to see you soon —Bucky
You blink, the words blurring together for a moment. The excitement is a bit overwhelming. He’s giving you space, no pressure, just an invitation. The ticket, the map—he’s really thought all of this through. And the idea of being in Brooklyn, of standing face-to-face with the person who’s been your constant for months now, feels... possible.
You glance down at the ticket again, your fingers trembling slightly as you trace the flight details. You take a deep breath, setting the ticket down beside you and run your fingers over the map he made, the carefully marked spots where he hopes to take you. You smile at his gesture. It’s simple, thoughtful... real.
You think of Wanda’s voice, urging you to take the leap.
Are you ready for this?
Thank you so much reading <3 Please let me know what you think and reblogs always help!!
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x reader angst#bucky barnes x reader fluff#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky barnes angst#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes imagines#bucky barnes marvel#sebastian stan bucky barnes#james bucky barnes#james buchanan barnes#bucky marvel#bucky x reader#bucky x you#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes fluff#bucky barnes fanfiction#winter solider#sebastain stan
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welcome to my jirv character study and thank you in advance for reading/commenting/liking/anything, if you interact with this at all i love you <3
i don’t want to spend too much time on an intro but what i will say is that overall, what i found so fascinating and tragic about jirv as a character is that throughout the story he and his actions are defined by what he denies about himself and how he subsequently closes himself off from others, and the tragedy of this being that once they abandon the ships he, like many of the other characters, begins to allow parts of himself to come to the surface that we haven’t seen before, and of course the saddest part of this is that for jirv it begins to happen only days, hours, minutes before his death. oh one note- i refer to him as “john” and “jirv” throughout most of this so hopefully that’s not confusing lol.
episode 1/first impressions- the first time we see jirv is in the chinese sniper story dinner scene and both in this first scene and the early episodes in general there’s a lot to be seen regarding his relationship with crozier in particular and of course just his general pattern of behavior and what it implies about his state of mind. at the dinner scene he appears prim, maybe a little uptight, a bit of that upper class-ness that i think is evident in a lot of the officers in the early eps. it’s also really interesting seeing how he reacts to crozier in this first scene- i do think that jirv’s relationship with crozier is similar to ned’s in the sense that he very much wants to please crozier but he is also somewhat derisive in his reactions to crozier’s more explosive moments. when he interrupts fitzjames at dinner jirv looks down in embarrassment and is clearly uncomfortable with crozier’s behavior.
this spills over into the ice talk scene where jirv again reacts in embarrassment to crozier borderline insulting franklin (“you nearly starved, not all of your men survived”)- he was listening to crozier with rapt attention but when he says this he instantly hangs his head in shame and you can see him fidgeting in the background.
and jirv’s overall depiction in this scene is so interesting to me because there’s a certain almost childlike innocence that characterizes him in his ep 1 scenes (i also have to add that there are quite a few songs on the davechella playlist that seem to explore and make reference to jirv’s childhood which i think is significant but anyway)- we make a lot of jokes about him basically not being allowed to sit at the grown up table but i wonder if the purpose of this was more to symbolize his isolation from the other men, including his fellow officers, due to his own issues of denial and repression; that is to say- denying parts of yourself also denies you the joy or even the routine comfort of human connection, of belonging. but another part of this characterization in the first ep is that it’s in such contrast to how we see jirv in his later and arguably most memorable scenes; in ep 1 i don’t have any other words for it- he’s cute! he looks innocent! and i think they meant for him to come across that way! but later on what we largely see is his anger and although i will make the argument that jirv uses anger to mask other more complicated (to him) emotions, it’s such a difference from what we see in the first ep. it’s almost a case too of meekness vs. righteousness in a religious sense as well- the two sides that we see of jirv at different moments in the story.
on to episode 2 and THE orlop scene. one of the first thing i noticed with this scene is how jirv’s greatcoat fits him- it makes him look almost like a priest and i just love how the costuming is used in the show to convey personality and mannerisms ahhhh.
this scene was also such a great study in jirv/ronan’s microexpressions and what they reveal about him- from this moment on, we can see that jirv spends a lot of time hiding fear with anger, and in this particular case using it to hide the paralyzing shock of knowledge- jirv knew exactly what he was hearing immediately and it froze him in place. what really surprised him here i think is that it was someone he knew- when billy comes out and jirv asks “what are you doing down here?” it is a rationalization- he KNOWS billy isn’t meant to be down there and he knows exactly what it is he was doing.
and jirv remains frozen in place to the point where he’s not even doing his nervous fingers compulsion that i noticed he does a lot in stressful circumstances (essentially rubbing his fingers together) and the look of absolute fear that comes across his face when he sees it’s hickey with billy- i’m skipping ahead (kinda) here but this makes me think of their (chronological) first scene, where you can tell that there is something that jirv recognizes in hickey- not just that something is off with him, but i do think that on their first meeting hickey really elicited some feelings in jirv that he wasn’t willing to confront and that that feeling lingered for the rest of the expedition. but back to the scene at hand- jirv can’t look at hickey and can’t take another step forward and can’t even address him directly in that moment and the only time he looks at him is when hickey’s back is turned. i think for jirv this whole scenario just really drove home something that was already in him, something he doesn’t allow himself to think of but that he is forced to contend with in this moment.
overall the scene of him catching billy and hickey shows the reaction of a man who knew immediately what he was walking into because it lives in his heart and in his body no matter how much he denies it, and he masks the fear of his own reaction with anger because the feelings that come up are ones he can’t acknowledge to himself; he can’t meet hickey’s eyes because to meet them would be to meet his own nature and confront everything that comes with that. and later once jirv has left when hickey says that he is a “man afraid of chaos” and refers to there being “worse things than being lashed”, he could be referring to jirv’s denial in both cases (i don’t think it’s too much of a stretch to say that hickey likely clocked jirv early on)
this is a very jirv/hickey heavy episode but the next significant jirv moment we get is the scene where hickey is drinking with crozier and jirv comes in to tell him about the lead parties returning- he certainly displays nervous body language when addressing crozier- slightly higher pitched voice, his nervous fingers thing he does- but i think what clearly has him the most freaked out here is hickey’s presence. i really thought about this because even in the context of what jirv just saw, he has no reason to fear hickey in the slightest; it was jirv that caught hickey, not the other way around, although to jirv i’m sure it may still feel that way. hickey poses no actual threat to him beyond the effect he has on him and hickey knows it; that’s why he smirks at jirv’s reaction. the only way this really makes sense to me is if jirv’s fear is due to his own internalized shit because truly what does he have to fear from hickey? what could hickey possibly threaten him with? if anything, hickey should be afraid of jirv telling crozier what he saw but he knows he won’t tell and he knows why i think. what could he do to john besides make him understand himself in ways he’s terrified of? and of course i mean that in the sense of what we know about hickey up to this point in the story and not yet knowing what he is capable of in later episodes. but this is all to say that jirv’s fear here is 100% due to his feelings about hickey and nothing else.
this scene is also another great example of him using anger to cover his apprehension- he forces himself to meet hickey’s eyes once crozier has walked away and the best way i can describe what happens is that there is a tension in that look. it’s one thing to be religious and angry and judgmental about sodomy on the ships but it’s another thing to be terrified of the mere presence of one single gay person, to say nothing of how hard it was for him to even look at him!
and on to episode 3! what i realized when watching this episode through the jirv lens is that in almost every scene we see him in leading up to his confrontation with hickey, it’s fairly evident that he is thinking of that very moment and how to go about it (i think what sent him over the edge was billy coming to him and everything that he told him) and that’s how i want to canonically prove that jirv was thinking of gay sex during the before breakfast crozier/lieutenants meeting scene when he’s just zoning out lol.
another thing i noticed about this scene is that it’s the first of a few where jirv is present when potential interactions with the netsilik people are being discussed. edward’s colonialist attitudes and assumptions about them that he expresses in this scene are foreshadowing for the reaction to the false story that hickey tells about jirv’s death, that ned and hodge both buy into in their grief for jirv but also in their racist views. that whole scene is actually foreshadowing for all 3 of them when jirv dies.
the next time we see jirv is when hickey sees billy go into his cabin. and the way he looks to hickey nervously not once but twice- this is i believe his nervousness and contemplation coming forward as he is still contemplating speaking to hickey, or at he very least thinking about what he walked in on.
and finally we do get the jirv/hickey confrontation scene- when jirv is walking down the little ramp to find hickey you can hear him take a big deep breath, definitely indicative of his nerves in going to speak to hickey. and again we see that he can’t make direct eye contact with hickey when hickey says he was hoping they’d meet. i also love the addition of the AB in the background saying “mind the grease sir” right after this- really speaks to the way john thinks of hickey in this moment- and of himself as well.
something i really thought about in this scene is jirv’s use of the term “devious seducer” and the more i thought about it the more it made me think… those words sound way less like something that billy would say vs sounding exactly like something that jirv would say, especially since his use of the term, regardless of who really said it, absolutely refers to how hickey makes him feel as much as it refers to what billy allegedly said about him.
jirv really is a deer in headlights when he finally brings himself to look at hickey and address him directly; even the way he says “please” is so pitiful and you can tell hickey is surprised that the conversation went beyond hickey thanking him for his help. the script notes that john is “usually a shy man” and that he “isn’t used to this kind of candor” but that this “may be the most courageous thing he’s ever done”- i think all of these are interesting in the context of what is being discussed as well given what we know about jirv’s sexuality and how he handles it- this wasn’t just difficult for him because he’s withdrawn, it was difficult for him because of the subject at hand specifically.
another phrasing of note here is when he tells hickey “though it benefitted you as a sin in itself i’m sure” because here jirv is basically accusing hickey not only of the “sin” of sodomy, but the sin of enjoying it. i can only imagine that when he has sexual thoughts or urges towards men jirv convinces himself that if he doesn’t like it, doesn’t indulge in it, doesn’t entertain it, then somehow it doesn’t “count”.
he takes a huge shaky breath before he says “how you pressed him into service” because this is the closest he’s come to picturing that and perhaps even imagining it for himself- he can barely get the words out. and when a few moments later he starts in with the whole “turn your wolf’s ear to me” speech, we can really see some actual anger coming out- i do think he is angry with hickey but more so i think he is angry with himself, made even more significant considering what i believe he was just thinking about. he is projecting like crazy in this entire scene; much like the future lashing, this whole chastisement is as much meant for jirv to himself as it is to hickey.
and in regards to the “watercolours” advice- to me, there has never been a doubt in my mind that he is speaking from experience here, that these are all methods he’s employed to avoid the temptations of his own mind; the way this part is shot is almost humorous, and not just because we can see hickey start to try not to laugh. it just feels like such a wink nudge to the audience as if to say “yeah clearly jirv has tried all of these because he’s had many instances of having these thoughts himself”. his breathing gets shallow again as he discusses it and he starts to lose that anger and become anxious and unable to meet hickey’s eyes again.
however, all that anger comes back when he says “your crisis is an opportunity for you to repair yourself”, which i think is such an excellent line because as the viewer, we KNOW that hickey is in no way having a crisis about his sexuality; he is not ashamed of himself at all and even the threat of punishment isn’t enough for him to consider not being who he is and doing what he wants. we do know though (partially through the power of jirvchella) that john IS and has been having a crisis about his sexuality and that again these words, this anger is more for himself than it is for hickey. and finally with this scene- i love the zoom out that shows how close they are as they speak, how there’s no one else around. despite his purpose jirv ends up sharing this intimate moment with hickey that is caged in suggestion and implication and really shows us how jirv feels about himself and what he keeps secret.
finally, this isn’t a jirv scene persay but i do find it interesting the way hickey and billy discuss him later, especially when billy refers to jirv “forgetting the whole thing as he assuredly wants to”- i think it makes sense that both billy and hickey would have at least suspicions about why jirv reacted to the whole situation the way he did and honestly who would know better than the two of them? not to mention all the times that hickey mentions watching jirv but that’s a whole other post in itself.
to episode 4! his first scene in this ep is when they’re discussing tuunbaq after finding strong and evans’s bodies and this is another instance of foreshadowing to jirv eventually meeting the netsilik family, not just because of what they’re discussing but because he’s the most calm and rational in the room regarding the potential involvement of the netsilik
there’s a lot going on when he says “perhaps it wouldn’t be a mystery to the indigenous people here”- he seems very nervous to speak (doing his little nervous hands thing he does) and his use of the term “indigenous” is in stark contrast to the slur and the anger that fitzjames displays a moment later. i do think this shows that jirv is capable of a higher empathy towards the netsilik people than some other characters are and to be honest i’m not interested at all in trying to determine “who’s the best native ally in the terror” because the true act of hubris that they are all committing is the colonial violence and destruction inherent in their quest in the first place. BUT i do think it’s worth examining and thinking about who displays the most respect for the native people and why and ultimately how that plays out for them. and i mean it didn’t stop jirv (or goodsir) from dying but i think it says a lot about his beliefs and his nature. due to his extreme religious beliefs i think it would’ve been easy to depict jirv as being dismissive of any cultural or religious beliefs of the netsilik but instead he openly suggests that they simply ask them about tuunbaq. i also think it’s interesting that he accepts the reality put before him that tuubaq is a supernatural force, especially considering his later “god doesn’t grant us ghosts” bullshit. another source of religious conflict for jirv.
i don’t really get why jirv stomps out of the room after crozier goes to his bunk to have his depression flashback but it does look like jirv may be a bit disturbed and frustrated by the implication of bringing silna in for questioning given how aggressive fitzjames was about it and i certainly don’t think that or what hickey did was what jirv intended when he said that they should ask the indigenous people about tuunbaq.
when all hell breaks loose and everyone is clamoring to get above deck in the hallway you can hear crozier say “irving, irving get in there (up there?) and help us” but jirv is frozen in fear; even before crozier yells at him he is shrinking against the wall and i think this comes down to a matter of experience or lack thereof that some of the officers, including jirv, seem to display in moments of peril (ned’s panic when tuunbaq attacks in ep 8, hodge not being able to make a rational decision when he discovers jirv has been killed, etc).
once he’s above deck with crozier though, jirv being scared does actually seem to turn to real anger once he assesses the situation. he repeats crozier’s order for everyone to get on their knees and walks forward with him but while he does appear to be genuinely mad at what has happened, i think it’s worth noting that jirv only seems comfortable with taking action when he’s following someone else’s example. he seems terrified to ever act on his own unless he really hypes himself up to do it (confronting hickey, scene with manson). he has an issue making his own choices based on his own gut feelings or readings of a situation and prefers to let others lead and set the tone which can again be linked back to the denial he carries within himself. he really is a man of inaction.
i also caught him staring at hickey shortly before crozier dismisses everyone and they pass close by one another but by that point jirv has averted his eyes once again
and okay what i want to say about the lashing scene up front is that i don’t think that jirv told crozier about hickey and billy- i think crozier’s use of the term “dirtiness” is 1) crozier being a prick because he’s mad and he wants to humiliate hickey and 2) more in line with a section if the articles that refers to “swearing, drunkenness, scandalous actions” etc and mentions “uncleanness” specifically; there’s a whole separate article that refers to sodomy and if that was part of what hickey was being punished for, i think crozier would’ve just said that. and this is to say that jirv won’t look at hickey when hickey glares at him here for the same reason he always can’t, although in this instance i do think there’s a degree of guilt there too. hickey is about to experience something horrible and jirv feels like it’s something that he himself deserves as well and i believe this is why he forces himself to watch hickey the entire time once the lashing properly starts. he is punishing himself as much as he is forcing himself to witness hickey’s punishment. it’s a private warning and internal lashing that he does to himself.
some details of this scene- there’s that one infamous pan to him, billy, and jop and i know we focus a lot on the jop flinch but jirv flinches pretty hard here too and unlike billy and jop he doesn’t look away even as his expression gets more and more disturbed (he’s displaying a lot of his typical signs of distress- wide eyes, mouth falling open). of every significant reaction we see to hickey’s lashing, jirv is the only one to not look away. the only time he does he is looking in shock at johnson as he delivers some of the heaviest blows toward the end of the lashing but right after he goes back to watching hickey.
and the final jirv scene of the episode is when he goes to see to crozier and like it’s not a super significant jirv scene but i just want to point out that the terror does storytelling with a lot of different small elements and one of them is footsteps- they are often used to convey mood and tone of specific characters and in this instance, jirv approaches the room slowly where usually we can see and hear him walking pretty briskly and i love how that conveys his mood in this moment post lashing.
but moving on to episode 5- he only has one really important scene in this ep besides being mostly in the background of some others and that’s the scene with manson. this scene shows a very different jirv than the one we’ve seen up to this point but i think there are a few reasons why this is the case. he acts flippant and borders on cruelty towards manson and i truthfully don’t want to defend his actions but i think that the reason he behaves this way is because in the story, he has just come off the whole ordeal of confronting hickey but ultimately choosing to spare him and billy and also the kidnapping of silna and the subsequent lashing of hickey; in jirv’s mind this all happened because he wasn’t hard enough on hickey in the beginning. he showed him too much mercy and what came next was a direct result of that. because despite his delivery i think that jirv truly thinks he is helping in both of these scenarios, both with manson and with hickey previously. i’m sure discipline and cruelty are things he privately uses to keep himself in line and besides that it’s classic christian logic- he didn’t do a good enough job at being god’s warrior and because of that bad things happened and people were punished. he’s trying to avoid the same outcome with manson, as misguided as all of his attempts are.
anyway details- i think in the beginning of the scene we are seeing some real anger from him but i do think this anger is largely aimed at himself, much like in the hickey confrontation scene. the apprehension doesn’t come through until he has to take a big deep breath before he says he’s going to order manson down the ladder in the smallest, meekest voice possible, almost like he’s convincing himself that he’ll do it rather than telling manson he will. he really steels himself to do this and i think it’s very telling that the 2 times we see him overcome his fear of candor to directly confront someone he is much more motivated by his faith than he is by his duty as a lieutenant.
jirv very cautiously puts his hand directly on manson’s which i think is sooo interesting considering how significant touching is in the terror, especially bare skin to bare skin but anyway- manson only pulls his hand back when jirv touches him, he doesn’t hit him or shove him at all. jirv is just so high strung and scared in this scene that he has a ridiculously high startle response
and then hickey shows up- jirv is already against the wall at this point and hickey doesn’t even look at him but jirv like.. there is no other way to describe this but he arches his back, tips his head back, his eyes even roll into the back of his head. it’s very… interesting to say the least lol (the word i really want to use is erotic but it could just be the hickeyirving demon in my head whispering to me). jirv’s eyes also widen with fear when he watches hickey talk to manson and i think this is partially because of how intimately they are behaving, something that of course would freak jirv out. he looks one more time before deciding to flee rather than continue to try to exert his authority in this situation and i think this just further solidifies the effect that hickey’s mere presence has on him. man it’s been impossible to write this without mentioning hickey a million times but it’s always relevant lol.
aaand that brings us to episode 6! i really like the opening scene with jirv at the meeting because we get a little glimpse into his role as an officer and also the way he clings to order and routines in order to feel in control (all an illusion of course given what we know about the tins). but i think we can also conclude that john has been privy to just how fucked they all are in regards to their rations for a while as he is the one in charge of keeping track of them.
i’m usually too busy laughing at hodge’s reaction when jirv mentions the christmas pudding they made but i noticed this time around that jirv gives him a pretty irritated look and i think this is because he’s trying to emphasize “hey we have almost none of this left and that’s kind of alarming”. jirv has had to shoulder the burden of keeping track of the tins for the entire expedition and i imagine that put quite a strain on him, especially when they started overwintering.
he starts doing his little nervous fingers when he’s telling fitzjames when they’ll run out of food ugh and when fitzjames kinda tells him off for mentioning the number of men i feel like he doesn’t understand that jirv KNOWS that between the dwindling rations and the lemon juice no longer protecting against scurvy, jirv fully knows that more people are likely to die regardless of whether tuunbaq is around or not
he does look genuinely grateful for the encouraging words from fitzjames a few minutes later though; he almost looks surprised but he still nods and it’s very similar to how he looks at crozier later during his speech at carnival. again i just think jirv is very much a follower and he greatly values reassurance from those in power.
on to carnivale itself- it’s so funny to me how shocked crozier and jop look when they realize who’s singing lol. just knowing what jirv is like normally and then seeing him like that is jarring in a pleasant way even for us as the viewer- and of course i can’t mention this scene without the note from the script: “he’s had too much to drink already, relaxing his defenses”. i don’t want to spend too much time on this because i feel like it’s been talked about enough but the symbolism of jirv, drunk and inhibitions lowered, singing a song about a popular area for gay cruising is very well done. it sounds heavy handed typed out like that but it really isn’t in the scene itself! it’s just nice to see him be a part of the group and be happy and have fun, things he usually cuts himself off from no doubt because of what he’s in denial about.
jirv removing his halo when crozier asks them to remove their masks- there has been so much said about the symbolism of this and one thing i want to add is that it goes hand in hand with his actions of drinking, letting loose, singing that specific song, etc in terms of removing the mask of his faith that he uses to lie to himself and deny himself the truth of who he is. the halo being his mask that he removes (along with the eventual loss of his wings in the fire) is such a great detail ahhh i love it
the third and final scene of encounters with the netsilik being mentioned while jirv is on screen is when we can see jirv listening with rapt attention to crozier as he tells the men that the netsilik are good people who will help them- this is the ultimate foreshadowing to what happens with him in the next episode
the fire- i’m not going to go blow by blow but of course we can see jirv a lot during the fire scene- when stanley is burning he’s shouting for help trying to get blankets brought forward to put out the fire, and he can be seen ushering people out when fitzjames tells everyone to move calmly to the ice. after this, most of the times i can find jirv in the crowd he has shut down and seems frozen in place at various points. towards the end of the fire sequence i lose him entirely until we see him running out without his wings. this is a stretch but i think that little scene of him pulling on his wing ropes may have been him trying to pull them off because the next time we see him he doesn’t have them on.
and going back to the symbolism of him losing his halo and his wings at carnival- not only does he lose them, he loses them in a fiery inferno… crazy.
and here we are at episode 7. i will say that i’m going to do some analysis of eps 8 and 9 as well because i think they’re important to jirv’s characterization and also a theory i have about something that may have happened in the aftermath of his death. buuuut let’s get into episode 7
idk if i’ll remember to put the link in but if not someone pointed out a few weeks ago that jirv can be seen watching the men, specifically the future mutineers, packing up the boats to prepare for the march south. this was so intriguing to me because there’s no way that didn’t look suspicious to him but again it’s likely that he was too afraid of hickey to intervene or get closer.
john giving the order “forward men” truly just makes me sick for so many reasons… he is sending them all forward to their deaths! of which his will be one of the first! and the catalyst for the ultimate breakdown of the entire camp! ugh!
anyway on to the jop promotion scene- i feel so bad for jirv in this moment because he’s essentially learning that despite the fact that he has done everything he can to weed out the rotten tins and keep track of their provisions, they have always been a source of danger and death for the men and we can really see his shock and despair here. and i’m sure he felt so much guilt for it as well even though of course there’s nothing he could have done and no way he could’ve known. we can also hear the anxiety in his voice when he asks crozier what they will do if they can’t find any game.
ahhh and the nedving thigh grab scene- i would be remiss not to involve this because i DO think that it’s further evidence of jirv’s gayness of course. jirv is disassociating, thinking of the implications of what they’ve just been told, and when ned puts his hand on him he fully jumps; his hands jerk from the table where they were resting. he makes brief eye contact with ned and then stares off into the distance. it also looks like he’s breathing heavier. not a ton of analysis i want to do here that i haven’t already but i think his reaction is proof enough that that touch affected him very deeply.
moving on though- jirv’s reaction to the jop promotion scene is almost as happy as ned’s- it’s similar in the sense that we never (excepting carnival) see him so happy and i think this is because leaving the ship opened him to connection and belonging and letting himself be a part of moments with other people. it really is so so tragic and devastating to me- in this episode jirv just really seems on the cusp of becoming, letting go, days, hours before his death. he is experiencing joy, even permitting hickey’s proximity in the upcoming scene (he doesn’t argue or seem too uncomfortable with hickey accompanying him and farr) which is an interesting departure from his previous attitude towards him. and of course his interaction with the netsilik family but now i’m getting ahead of myself.
so okay here we go- final scenes. i do think jirv suggests splitting up to cover more ground because he knows how dire the situation is and how desperately they need to find food
i’ve made a post about his before but there are two moments of halo imagery that get used with jirv after carnival and this is the first- when he’s checking their position the sun comes into focus right over his head, haloing his face in the exact spot where he’s going to die. ugh.
he does hesitate very slightly when he realizes hickey will be with him but he doesn’t fight it and he seems more resigned to it (comfortable may be too strong of a word at this point but it’s possible). given he has spent most of the story avoiding even looking at hickey i think this is an important detail
ugh the way he takes off his hat both as a sign of respect before he goes to speak to the netsilik family but also as another stripping of his rank, a reducing to just himself, just john. and he looks so young and vulnerable… the way he first introduces himself with his full name and title and then strips it down to “john… i’m john”. he immediately realizes he can identify himself as a friend and in a less formal way, he leaves that piece of him behind and shows his vulnerability and humanity in a plea for help but also for connection. he is braver here than he has ever been and i don’t think he even realizes it. both the first time and the last time he says “john” he is holding his hand to his chest right where hickey will stab him.
and it all continues to crumble away as he calls hickey and farr, but most significantly hickey, his “friends” there is such a desperation when he says “food?” and wow just. there are a lot of face journeys and expressions in this show that have stuck with me ever since i first saw them and jirv’s when he eats the seal meat offered to him is one of them- from the second it touches his lips he looks like he is holding back tears- the longing and gratitude in his eyes is so evident. this act of communion that he receives from a complete stranger, someone who he has no doubt been taught most of his life to hate and distrust, yet they offered him this simple gift, the kindness of feeding him without question. not only that but i think it’s significant that he’s offered a second piece as well, one that he takes. and when he thanks koveyook it’s in a tone that suggests he doesn’t believe that he deserves it but that he is thankful for it nonetheless
he very deliberately reaches out with his hand (the ungloved one!) to touch koveyook in gratitude- all other points of touch we’ve seen with jirv have been cast in a negative light besides him shaking jopson’s hand (god hand touching becomes sooooooooo interesting in ep 7 and beyond, fitzier, joplittle, this scene, etc but that’s a post for another time)- but touch averse (to me) jirv deliberately takes this action in gratitude
and then the telescope… the telescope. his most prized possession, showing how precious koveyook’s gift to him was that he was compelled to offer it in thanks. they weren’t demanding anything from him, he just wanted to give them something in return and he is delighted to do so
he doesn’t even have time to put his glove back on before he dies which becomes significant in a sec, bear with me here. okay let’s talk about jirv calling hickey’s name 3 times before hickey betrays him- it’s not quite the same dynamics as peter denying jesus but interesting nonetheless… jirv’s first “hickey” is angry, the second is inquisitive, the third is almost pleading… and given dave’s whole “he sees what he thinks might essentially be fucking and he turns forward to either stop it or touch it”- which of course implies i think that even jirv himself didn’t know which and wouldn’t have until he actually found himself in the situation if indeed that was what was actually happening- but that’s just one of the most subtle insane ways to show jirv’s queerness in the story. and god like he literally grabs his shoulder, not even aggressively, almost like… questioningly? and although it would’ve been easier for him to touch hickey’s shoulder with his gloved right hand, he specifically reaches out to him with his ungloved, bare left hand?? actually i just rewatched it and not only that but he touches his bare shoulder too. wow.
the utter fucking shock on jirv’s face when hickey stabs him and the way he looks up at him through his lashes and reaches one hand up between his legs after he’s fallen back and hickey’s crouching over him? is very crazy and i want to talk about how insanely erotic this scene is another time because that’s a whole thing in and of itself but yeah. (okay it’ll probably come up a little later in this paragraph but i digress). the way jirv struggles so hard to breathe just kills me. and the music- one of his happiest moments sickeningly twisted around his brutal death but also a callback to the inherent sexuality and gayness of the whole thing. jirv spends most of the show directly avoiding contact with hickey, not even eye contact, yet he dies with hickey directly in front of him, penetrating him, covering his mouth, and jirv holds his gaze the entire time. i feel like in a way this symbolically shows that jirv was facing whatever it was inside himself that hickey elicited in his final moments, mixed with the shock and rage that we can see in his face too. at first he leans forward, we can see the anger, then he lies back, accepting, accepting and then the next shot he heaves twice with his whole body trying to fight it but i think this is because this is the moment where hickey finally looks back at him where before he was looking away almost in impatience for it to all be over with. how many times i wonder did they picture each other in these exact positions in a sexual context, only to play it out finally in this moment as jirv dies underneath hickey (much like he might’ve felt like he was doing if he had ever acted on his urges).
and this flashback scene it is everything; it is truly everything to me. we can see in jirv’s face that he can sense almost like a gut feeling that there is something off about hickey but i also think that what he is reacting to the feelings within himself that arise- ugh his little nervous hands, the lower lip falling open as it does with him, the way he looks hickey up and down as hickey does too when jirv walks away- i’m sorry i know this is my solving magnum opus but there was an attraction there- however fucked up and in denial there absolutely was. like the way jirv just walks away without responding too- he was nervous! he didn’t know what to think! this whole expedition for him started and ended with what came to the surface for him with hickey and it’s so so devastating.
anyway rip my beautiful angel jirv i love you forever <3
but i do want to point out a few things from eps 8 and 9 that again i think are important to jirv as a character and his journey- namely the grief that ned and hodge feel for him and a few other things concerning the aftermath of his death:
ugh man… ned and hodge’s grief at jirv’s death gets harder to watch every time- in the tent hodge’s eyes are red from crying and it’s because he had to be the one to bring jirv’s body back, he saw everything that was done to him and he had to be the one to bring him to where he would rest. and edward is trying his best to keep it together for hodge, patting him on the shoulder and backing up his story but once he is out of george’s line of sight we can see him start to cry as well :( they loved him and of course they both blame themselves for what happened to him
okay a few notes about john’s body- in the script it mentions that he is partially scalped and that it looks like someone “got bored” or “lost interest” part way through doing it but what i fully realized here is that jirv’s scalping literally looks like a fucked up halo… and ugh his little cross around his neck.. he looks so tiny idk just like with the goodsir death scene in ep 10 there’s just something so awful about seeing them laid out naked like that when we spend the whole show seeing them bundled up and in uniform. a final stripping of rank and identity.
moving on, and these will be a little rapid fire because i’m mostly trying to document the final movements of jirv’s body and his clothing- the reason collins’ hands are shaking when he goes to the medical tent is because he can see jirv’s bloody clothes folded up on the table across from him - this is from the script: “as he applies the salve, collins’ hands tremble constantly. someone has folded and stacked up lt. irving’s clothes on a table there. collins can see a few knife cuts in the coat.” also jirv’s body is just there in the tent while bridgens and peglar talk about his scurvy.
jirv’s telescope is laying by the netsilik girl when silna goes to adjust her leg…… she was playing with it when she was murdered
i’ve made this post before on its own but it absolutely makes me sick how jirv didn’t even get to keep and take to the grave with him the final kindness that was ever done for him in his life because they had to cut upon his stomach and mutilate him further to learn the truth of his death. and to convince the men who are grieving him most that it was actually hickey that killed him.
when we can hear edward saying terror camp is clear from outside the medical tent, goodsir is finishing up sewing up john’s body again.
the wording when edward is reading out the charges against hickey and sol- when he calls the acts of sedition and mutinous designs “more pernicious” than the act of murdering jirv (and farr but this ain’t about him) it’s just so alarming- the suggestion that stirring up mutiny is worse than brutally murdering your fellow shipmates. i think this just makes the lack of proper mourning for jirv feel even worse
i believe the next time we see his body is when bridgens is trying to protect one of this patients in the medical tent- i don’t think we specifically see it brought out to be burnt with the men who are killed by tuunbaq but i do think that must have been what happened, idk what else they could’ve done at that point. but it makes me sad that we don’t know for certain
but anyway- tozer’s reaction to hearing about how jirv died and seeing the evidence against hickey- i’ll get more into this in my solving post but i think this was the beginning of the end of sol’s faith in hickey
and then at the end we have hickey going to the med tent first, presumably to look for goodsir which is where he finds jirv’s clothes, and takes his coat. i wonder if this was a crime of opportunity or if he was determined to take a trophy from his murder of jirv. i could see it going either way for hickey tbh.
okay and my final little theory i will leave you with- i posted this in the main tag a long time ago when i first got back on tumblr but i didn’t word it very well and i wasn’t very confident in my ability to articulate my thoughts but now y’all are going to hear me lol (that is if you made it this far): in the scene where hickey is talking to hodge about the tins and turning to cannibalism given what they know about them, we can see sol listening closely but not participating in the conversation. and then comes the moment where sol realizes that hickey is wearing jirv’s coat; when the wind blows he can see the stab marks. there isn’t anything said about jirv in this scene, nor his death, but obviously we can see sol starting to creep out of his denial that hickey lied to him and killed one of their fellow crew members. what i can’t stop thinking about though is the context of the conversation in which this discovery takes places- hickey is talking about eating human flesh to live now. the parts of jirv that were cut off- pieces of flesh, his fingers, etc… i really wonder if they were eaten by hickey. he was already thinking about cannibalism before the actual mutiny- he deliberately wanted to bring goodsir and diggle when they split from the group, so i don’t think it’s a huge stretch to believe that he would’ve done that to jirv’s body after mutilating him. and i just don’t think anything in the terror is a coincidence, so the fact that we see sol putting the pieces together of jirv’s death as hickey is talking about cannibalism seems too on the nose to ignore or at least consider but i would love to hear everyone’s thoughts on this!
anyway if you made it to the end of this thank you for reading and for being insane about this stupid little gay freak with me <3 sol deep dive is incoming followed by solving i promise!!!!
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A Beast of a Burden
A Beast of a Burden (11534 words) by ollypopp Chapters: 2/2 Rating: Explicit Relationships: Rook/Emmrich Volkarin Additional Tags: Panic Attacks, Established Relationship, Kink Negotiation, BDSM Scene, Dom/sub, Dom Emmrich Volkarin, Grinding, Oral Sex, Anal Play, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, slight brat tamer dynamics, Shameless Smut, Overstimulation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Vulnerability, more detailed tags in the author's note, After care Summary: “Unless you can magically create a pocket of the Fade where I can just shut my brain off for an hour or two without Solas or anyone else barging in, our stolen moments will just have to do.”
She meant it as a joke, but it sparked an idea. Not a pocket in the Fade, no, and maybe he couldn’t get her mind to settle completely but it was certainly a goal to work towards. A suddenly enticing goal. All he’d need was her consent, a decent chunk of time and four walls away from the Lighthouse.
Only on Ao3.
A/N: I have nothing to say for myself. When the reveal trailer for this game came out I would have never guessed this would be the character that changed my brain chemistry. Oh Well. Enjoy.
If you've read Aureate, and see some connective lines to it, that's because while I keep Rook general as I can I am always writing Mourn Watch Rook with my particular character in the back of the mind. You don't need to read that one, in fact, chronologically this comes first, but they are set in the same canon.
Detailed Tags: These two get vulnerable with each other and then fuck about it, there is a single line that could be construed as breeding kink/general wanting children, and Rook goes to sub space.
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Admit it X Joseph Quinn
The room buzzed with excitement and nervous energy as I stepped into the table read for Stranger Things Season 4. The cast and crew were scattered around the long table, scripts in hand, some already laughing and catching up. I had only a small role in the other seasons but this season I was one of the main characters so I felt a mix of nerves and exhilaration. Playing Tessa Harrington, Steve Harrington’s younger sister, was a dream come true, but it also came with a fair bit of pressure.
“Y/N!” a familiar voice called out, and I turned to see Gaten Matarazzo waving me over with an enthusiastic grin. his infectious energy had put me at ease instantly.
“Hey, Gaten!” I greeted, making my way over. He pulled me into a quick hug, then motioned toward the table.
“Come on, you’ve got to see everyone,” he said, dragging me along before I could protest.
I Greeted everyone not really knowing them well since I only had scenes with Joe and Gaten in the last seasons and then my focus zeroed in when we reached Joseph Quinn. He stood up as I approached, towering slightly over me with an easy, almost shy smile. His curly hair was tousled, and his brown eyes held a warmth that immediately made me feel less out of place.
“Joseph Quinn,” he said, extending a hand. His British accent caught me off guard for a moment.
“Y/N Y/L/N,” I replied, shaking his hand. His grip was firm but gentle, and the way his eyes lingered on mine sent a flutter through my chest.
“You’re playing Tessa?” he asked, his voice soft but laced with curiosity.
“That’s me,” I said with a small laugh. “I guess you’ll be seeing a lot of me.”
“Looking forward to it,” he said, his smile widening slightly. There was something earnest about the way he looked at me, like he was genuinely interested in every word I said. It was... distracting, to say the least.
“Alright, lovebirds, take a seat,” Joe Keery’s voice cut in, snapping me out of whatever trance Joseph had me under. My face heated instantly as I turned to see Joe smirking at us, his eyes darting between me and Joseph.
“We’re not—” I started, but Joe waved me off, clearly enjoying my embarrassment.
“Sure, sure. Just sit down before Gaten starts assigning nicknames.”
Joseph chuckled, gesturing for me to sit beside him. I did, trying to ignore the way my heart raced when our shoulders accidentally brushed. Gaten and Joe exchanged knowing glances, and I had the sinking feeling that this wasn’t the last I’d hear of it.
Rehearsals and table reads became a whirlwind of activity over the next few weeks. The cast quickly became like a second family, and I found myself growing more comfortable—except when it came to Joseph. Something about him left me feeling off-balance in the best way possible. He was kind and funny, always willing to help me with my lines or offer advice, but there was an undeniable tension between us that I couldn’t ignore.
Unfortunately, neither could Gaten or Joe.
“Hey, Y/N,” Gaten called one afternoon as we hung out on set. “What’s it like working with Joe Quinn? You know, since you two seem to have this... connection.”
“Oh, stop it,” I said, rolling my eyes. “We’re just friends.”
Joe Keery, lounging nearby, snorted. “Yeah, okay. Friends who stare at each other like they’re in a rom-com.”
“I do not stare at him,” I protested, feeling my cheeks burn.
“You kinda do,” Gaten said, grinning. “And he stares right back. It’s adorable.”
Before I could argue, Joseph appeared, looking between the three of us with a puzzled expression. “What’s going on?” he asked, his eyes lingering on me for a beat longer than necessary.
“Nothing,” I said quickly, shooting a glare at Gaten and Joe. They just grinned, clearly enjoying my discomfort.
It all came to a head one afternoon when we were filming on one of the sound stages. Gaten and Joe Keery had been whispering and plotting all day, which should’ve been my first warning. But I was too focused on my lines to pay them much attention.
During a break, I went to the greenroom to grab some water, only to find Joseph already there, sitting on the couch with his script. He looked up and smiled when he saw me.
“Hey,” he said. “Taking a breather?”
“Something like that,” I replied, walking over to the mini fridge. Before I could grab a bottle, the door slammed shut behind me, and I turned to see Gaten and Joe grinning like Cheshire cats through the small window in the door.
“What are you—” I started, but they were already locking the door.
“You two aren’t coming out until you admit you like each other,” Gaten called through the door, his tone sing-song.
My jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious.”
“Dead serious,” Joe Keery added. “We’ll let you out in time for your next scene. Just... come to terms with your feelings first.”
I turned to Joseph, my face burning with embarrassment. “I am so sorry about this,” I said.
He laughed, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t be. This is... well, it’s Gaten and Joe. I should’ve seen it coming.”
We stood there for a moment, the silence stretching awkwardly between us. Finally, Joseph spoke.
“They’re not entirely wrong, though,” he said, his voice quiet but steady.
I blinked, unsure if I’d heard him correctly. “What?”
He looked up at me, his cheeks tinged pink. “I like you, Y/N. I have since the first table read. I just... didn’t know how to say it.”
My heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, I was sure I was dreaming. “You... like me?”
He nodded, his eyes searching mine. “I do. And I’m sorry if that makes things awkward, but I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore.”
I stared at him, my mind racing. Then, before I could overthink it, I blurted out, “I like you too.”
His eyes widened slightly, and then he smiled—a real, genuine smile that made my stomach flip. “You do?”
I nodded, laughing nervously. “Yeah. I’ve been trying to ignore it, but... yeah, I do.”
For a moment, we just stood there, grinning at each other like idiots. Then Gaten’s voice broke through the moment.
“Okay, are you done confessing now? Because we’re on in five minutes.”
Joseph rolled his eyes but laughed, stepping toward the door. He unlocked it and swung it open, only for Gaten and Joe to stumble inside, clearly having been leaning against it.
“Subtle,” Joseph said, shaking his head.
“So?” Gaten asked, looking between us expectantly. “Did it work?”
I glanced at Joseph, who met my gaze with a small, knowing smile. “Yeah,” I said, unable to stop myself from smiling back. “It worked.”
Gaten and Joe cheered, high-fiving each other like they’d just won some kind of contest. I couldn’t help but laugh, even as I rolled my eyes at their antics.
As we headed back to set, Joseph fell into step beside me, his hand brushing against mine. When I looked up at him, he hesitated for a moment before taking my hand in his, his fingers lacing with mine.
It was a small gesture, but it felt like the start of something big. And as we walked onto the sound stage, I couldn’t help but feel grateful for Gaten and Joe’s meddling. They might’ve locked us in a room, but in the end, they’d opened the door to something even better.
#fanfiction#reader#x reader#one shot#joseph quinn x you#joseph quinn x y/n#joseph quinn x reader#joseph quinn#gaten matarazzo#joe keery#stranger things
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Knock 'Em Dead - Epilogue
Rating: T
Word Count: 3,800
Characters: Wukong, Macaque
Relationships: Wukong & Macaque (Could be interpreted as Shadowpeach)
Summary: Wukong and Macaque have a heart to heart. It goes about as well as you might expect.
CW: Alcohol, swearing, references to MCD and violence
Link to AO3 Version
Chapter Navigation: First | Prev
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The cellar door was open and, combined with that gift of a glass of wine, it felt like an invitation. An invitation to what he didn't actually know but there was no turning back now. Macaque would have heard the moment he started heading in this direction - walking away would have him branded as a coward or worse.
He walked in to find Macaque lounging in a setup that definitely wasn't usually here - two comfortable looking chairs with a small table between them hosting a bottle of peach wine and an empty wine glass.
Macaque acknowledged him with a raise of the glass in his hand and a nod towards the empty chair.
He cautiously made his way over and picked up the open wine bottle before frowning slightly at it, "How much have you had?"
Macaque shrugged, "Like half a bottle."
Wukong poured the last of the wine and raised an eyebrow at him when it only filled half the glass.
Macaque just rolled his eyes and pulled a new bottle from the small collection on the floor. Shadows easily removed the cork before he handed the bottle over to him, "Thought I'd wait and see if I was getting a drinking buddy before going all out."
Drinking themselves to oblivion did sound far better than a sober, dire attempt to talk about what had just happened so he topped up his glass, drained it and then refilled it before putting the bottle down.
It was Macaque's turn to raise an eyebrow but he thankfully said nothing as Wukong took his seat, wine in hand, trying to determine how brave he felt.
He sighed heavily before asking, "Why'd you tell MK?"
Macaque shrugged, "He asked."
He scowled, "Cut the shit, Macaque. You don't do anything unless it benefits you so why'd you do it? What are you getting out of this?"
Macaque's eyes flashed dangerously for a moment but he clearly made a conscious decision to bite back whatever vitriol he wanted to spit and instead laughed cruelly, "You know, Wukong, I've read that little book of yours, the story of how you came to be China's darling and, I get it, a life as long as yours isn't easy to summarise - you've got to focus on what's important, right? But could you imagine my surprise when I realised that I didn't fall into that category? That I wasn't important enough to be so much as mentioned in the story of your life?"
Adamantly, he denied, "That's not why you're not in the book! I- You-"
As he struggled to get the words past his teeth, Macaque sneered, "Then what was it, Wukong? Did I just not fit in with your heroic narrative? Would my inclusion have made you look bad? Was that enough reason to let me be forgotten?"
"No! It wasn't like that! I didn't-!" He cut himself off with a frustrated sound before taking a steadying breath and trying again, "Look, I didn't write the book, ok? It was mostly based on Shā Wùjìng and my master's journals and on hearsay. You didn't get a mention because-"
He grit his teeth as he forced himself to admit, "When I got out from the mountain I was too angry to talk about you to anyone and then- and then after I couldn't bring myself to talk about you because I... I just couldn't, alright? The others had their own reasons for not wanting the world to know about what happened on the Journey. That's why you're not mentioned. Not because you weren't important. Macaque, you have to know how much I regret what happened that day, how much I've always regretted it."
He would never be able to put into words the neverending grief that he'd experienced after Macaque's death and unfortunately he hadn't drank nearly enough to even try, his wariness of the Macaque that existed in the present enough to stop him totally bearing his heart and soul.
Macaque's response was underwhelming. He just sighed, sat back in his chair and had another sip from his glass before commenting, "Yeah, I heard the sob story you fed MK. I suppose I should be honoured my death was a monumental enough occasion for the horse to be moved to take action - you know it must have been bad if Áo Liè actually felt compelled to do something."
Disbelief and anger made themselves known in his tone, "That's all you have to say? I'm trying to have a genuine conversation with you about what happened and your response is to insult my friend?"
Macaque continued to act unaffected, "Oh, I could say more, trust me. But what's the point? I already know how this "genuine conversation" is going to go."
That gave him a moment of pause, "... You Listened?"
Macaque had always been pretty reserved about using his Listening as it left him vulnerable for the duration he used it and his Future Hearing, in particular, wasn't one hundred percent foolproof. But that didn't mean he couldn't or wouldn't use it if he thought the payout was worth the risk.
Macaque scoffed, "As if I had time between talking to MK and listening to him interrogate you."
He still wasn't ruling out that Macaque had manipulated the situation somehow - he could have Listened well before talking to MK and orchestrated this whole thing - but he decided to take him at face value for the moment and see where that took this conversation.
Knowing Macaque though, probably nowhere good.
He crossed his arms, "Yeah, thanks for that. Nice of you to give yourself the upper hand - don't suppose you'd care to tell me exactly what you told MK?"
Macaque's grin was petty, "Sorry, only one show per day and you missed it. Such a shame. Though I'm not sure you would have been a fan."
No, he definitely wouldn't have been but if they were finally addressing what had happened then he wanted them to be on a level playing field.
With a frustrated sigh, he sat back, "I don't want to play these pointless games, Macaque. If we're talking about this, then let's talk about it."
Macaque regarded him for a long moment before quietly chuckling to himself and when he addressed him there was a slightly manic look in his eyes, "Alright then, Wukong, let's cut right to the chase, shall we? You regret what you did? Good. You should. But I don't regret what I did."
His voice came out as a hoarse whisper, "What?"
Macaque made a show of reconsidering, "No, wait, actually I do have a couple of regrets. Getting caught? Very disappointing oversight on my part. And the monk? What I wouldn't give to go back and make sure he suffered like he had truly deserved."
The wine glass in his hand never stood a chance but the shards of glass barely even registered as he slammed his hand down on the arm of the chair and gripped it as if it could hold him back from lunging forward, "For as long as he lived, he never fully recovered from what you did to him! He didn't deserve the torture you put him through!"
He didn't know exactly what Macaque had done to him, but he knew what he was capable of and just the thought of it was enough to have his nails digging into the arms of the chair, the whole thing threatening to crumble under his anguish and fury.
Macaque wasn't intimidated by his show of anger and drawled, "Well, that's a matter of perspective, isn't it? Would you like to hear what kind of person your master was from my perspective?"
He didn't but unfortunately he was going to have to if they wanted to make any progress and Macaque took his hostile silence for the go ahead it reluctantly was.
Macaque took a long drink before telling him with conviction, "Your master was a cold and indifferent man, that switched between viewing you as a burden and a tool at his disposal. He cared nothing about who or what you were and yet he expected you to obey him without question. He was a man undeserving of your love and devotion. And if that changed, it only changed because of my intervention."
He resisted the urge to lash out in response to his self-importance as well as his shallow understanding of the situation and his master's character. However wrong or hurtful Macaque's words though he knew he had to hear them through to the end, so through gritted teeth he bit out, "Explain."
Gesturing to his ears, Macaque responded, "Obviously, I couldn't Listen to every second of the years you spent with him before I found you that day, there could well have been fleeting moments of civility that you let yourself believe was something more that I missed but I Heard his disregard for you and I Heard how he punished you."
There was no denying that the earlier years with his master had been difficult and painful. Supposed opposites forced together, they struggled to understand one another and that led to more conflicts than he would care to admit but he didn't blame his master for not always listening to him or for being heavy-handed in his retaliation.
His master had been young and mortal and thrust into a perilous journey with a dangerous, morally grey and bad-tempered demon that could kill him in an instant. Could you blame him for being a little on edge or for being unsure of how best to handle every situation?
And while he had initially been the unwilling muscle for this operation, his master had always treated him as his student. And even if he'd had no idea how to be a teacher to someone like him, he, ultimately, had never given up on him.
Even in those early years, when quite frankly, Wukong had neither wanted to or believed there was any need to change his ways.
But he knew that sort of nuance meant nothing to Macaque, just as it meant nothing to himself at the time and how it would have meant nothing to him if he and Macaque's positions had been reversed.
He could hear the undercurrent of fury in Macaque's voice as he continued, "But even if I hadn't Heard all I had, the way you pathetically latched onto any hint that he actually cared about you when I was the one wearing his face would have been enough to seal his fate."
He wasn't ready to face that ugly truth just yet and so he took hold of the embers fanned by that statement and glowered, "You mean when you lied to me? When you manipulated me?"
Macaque laughed incredulously, "Oh, of course, how fucking vile of me to listen to you, to treat you as if you're feelings mattered! Not once did I ever even tell you that you were in the wrong! Or that you had to forgive me!"
Despite the truth of it, he still growled, "That doesn't make it right! And it doesn't change the fact that your ultimate plan was to get me out of the picture long enough for you to torture an innocent man for information he didn't have!"
Macaque's eyes were filled with venom, "And whose fault was that, Wukong? Did you really fucking expect me to just go home, to sit patiently and wait for you? After everything I'd Heard? After all the time you'd already been gone? What choice did you give me but to take matters into my own hands?"
He knew now that it had been stupid to believe that Macaque would ever have listened to him back then. And even half-crazed from his time under the mountain, he should have known that.
And moreso, if he put himself in the mindset of pre-Journey Wukong and thought about Macaque's actions then they were entirely justifiable. Maybe a touch crueler and calculated than he personally would have gone with but hey, everyone had their own style.
That sort of violence was normal, especially against an outsider who had wronged you and your own. It wasn't considered bad and it wasn't considered wrong.
He obviously knew better now but it had been a lesson hard earned, and one that required a fourteen year journey, with a dedicated teacher at that. But both then and, arguably, now Macaque hadn't been given that same chance to grow or learn the error of his ways. Could he truly blame him for what he'd done?
And as twisted and terrible as what Macaque had done was, Wukong couldn't ignore the fact that he'd done it out of love and loyalty.
And when he'd responded in kind, with the single minded desire to avenge his master, he'd declared to the world that those feelings weren't returned.
That they belonged to another.
And the worst thing was, that he had meant it.
All the fight left him, and shakily he responded, "You're right... You responded how any demon would have. How I would've. How I did."
He desperately wanted to tell him that he hadn't meant for things to end the way they had, to go as far as he did, but the truth was Macaque had been dead the moment Wukong had seen what he'd done to his master.
Regret didn't feel a strong enough word for how he'd felt afterwards but Macaque's death had been no accident.
He took a breath before offering, "Look, there's not a single thing I don't regret about what happened. Our reunion after the mountain, how I- how I responded to what you'd done. I understand why you did what you did, that doesn't make it right but... I can understand why you don't regret it and I... I don't blame you for that."
Macaque sneered at his sincerity, "Oh, you understand, do you? You understand what it is to dedicate your life to someone and be told it's not enough? You understand how it feels to have the person you love most only return those feelings when you're wearing the face of the human who abused him?"
Macaque was on his feet, the glass that had been in his hand now shattered on the ground. His eyes glowed violet as he lunged forward and dug his nails into the arms of Wukong's chair, "You know what it's like to spend centuries suffering in the Dìyù? You know what it's like to crawl out of your grave with a gaping hole in your skull? Do you!?"
His stomach turned at the gruesome imagery.
Beyond the fact that the Lady Bone Demon had been involved he knew nothing about how Macaque had been resurrected. He should have known that twisted witch would have made it as agonising a process as possible.
He fought to keep control of his expression however, even without the alcohol, there was no telling what would make the situation worse and Macaque's teeth were already dangerously close to his face.
He was sure the undercurrent of turbulent emotion could be heard as he quietly responded though, "No. Of course, I don't."
Macaque's eyes flicked over his face, his breath coming out in unsteady bursts before he let out a gutteral growl and raised a fist that went right through the back of the chair, deliberately missing Wukong's face.
Wukong could only watch as he turned away, his tail thrashing furiously behind him.
He knew that the true depths of Macaque's suffering would always be beyond his comprehension. In the same way that no words could ever communicate the maddening agony of his isolation under the mountain, he knew that no matter how willing he was to listen, he would never truly understand all that Macaque had been through.
Despite that, there was an overwhelming urge to do the impossible and somehow make amends, to somehow make all of this right.
Macaque stood with his back to him and with a wavering voice said, "You didn't even bring me home."
Sick with shame, he still tried to explain, "I was going to! Your magic- I couldn't move you until it- I promise you, I was going to bring you home. But the- the Lady Bone Demon got to you first and I-"
"When?"
"What?"
Through gritted teeth he heard Macaque clarify, "When were you planning to bring me home? When was the last time you even went to visit my grave?"
He swallowed thickly, his tongue felt like lead and the ensuing silence said it all.
Macaque's laugh was a bitter, tortured thing, "I really didn't mean anything to you, did I?"
Wukong hunched over himself, his forehead leaning against clasped hands, "Macaque, I didn't..."
Macaque turned around sharply, "Didn't what, Wukong? Didn't think you'd ever have to see me again? Didn't think you'd have to face up to what you'd done?"
Of course, he hadn't thought he'd ever see Macaque again. Of course, he'd never thought he'd ever be in this situation.
While his guilt had seen him haunted by visions of Macaque, he'd never believed he would actually rise from the dead. Wished for it, on occasion, maybe but had never conceived an enemy of his could, or would, go to such lengths to torture him.
And yet, still he responded emphatically, "No! I- I mean I didn't mean to leave you there! Or to go so long between visits. It just... hurt to be there. To remember what happened."
Macaque's grin was unhinged, "And that's excellent why I'm here now, Wukong! To make sure you never forget, to make sure you never know peace for what you did!"
A part of him believed that it was no less than he deserved.
But he hadn't forgotten his master's teachings, or his responsibility to MK, and he knew that drowning in self-loathing and guilt would benefit no-one.
And even if he did accept such a punishment - what kind of life was that for Macaque? Consumed by hatred and pain and obsession? He deserved better than that. At the very least, he deserved the same opportunity he'd had to change and grow.
He was no more irredeemable than Wukong had been, of that he was sure.
In fact, he'd already seen the signs that he was capable of better.
He couldn't fully rule out that Macaque was playing some sort of long game but he'd gone above and beyond during the calamity involving Azure and they'd been cohabiting the island with relative civility for months since. They'd even successfully collaborated on MK's training recently.
He wanted that to mean something.
He didn't dare hope for a relationship of any kind to be rekindled from the ashes but they could have some semblance of peace if they both wanted it, if they both dedicated themselves to achieving it.
But peace was clearly the last thing on Macaque's mind right now. The alcohol no doubt adding fuel to the agonising fire that always burned within him.
Now wasn't the right time to tell Macaque that he wanted to help him work through this. There might never be a right time to tell him that to be honest - he could already envision the offence taken at suggesting he could "fix" him.
So, taking a steadying breath, he responded, "I can't ever expect to be forgiven for how I wronged you but I won't run from the consequences. I deserve to know the full extent of the suffering I caused you and you're right, I deserve to never forget it."
In hindsight, there was no way this evening ended well, no matter what he'd said just now, but still he was caught off guard by Macaque's furious scream as he brought a shelf full of bottles crashing to the floor.
He sat frozen as Macaque viciously spat, "You're so fucking pathetic! The old you, the real you, wouldn't just roll over and let someone else tell him what he deserved! He would have killed anyone that fucking dared! He never would have just sat there and accepted his fate!"
It wasn't the first time Macaque had brought up the "real" him and he was sure it wouldn't be the last.
He resolved himself as he stood up, and Macaque's suddenly wary expression at the action spoke volumes. Firmly, he retaliated, "Is that really what you want? The "old" me? The one that never listened to you? The one that responded to everything he didn't like with violence?"
Macaque took a step back as he took a step forward, "You want me to be the me that didn't hesitate to kill the only person that had loved him unconditionally? Because we both know how that will end."
He held Macaque's gaze unflinchingly until the terror he was met with became too much for him.
His expression softened, "But I'm not that person anymore, Macaque. I'll never be him again. I'm going to listen to you. I'm going to treat you with the regard you deserve. And the only reason I would ever cross that line again was because I was given no other choice."
He wished he could promise that he would never be the one to cut his second life short but if it was a choice between him and MK...
Then he would do what he had to.
Macaque seemed to find his reassurance just as terrifying as his reminder of what he'd once been capable of and Wukong wasn't at all surprised that he sank through a shadow portal seconds later and fled.
He stood for a moment and stared at the spot Macaque had been before sighing and rubbing at the back of his neck.
Well, that could have gone worse...?
They hadn't devolved into violence, at least.
He looked around at the mess on the floor and the damage to the chair he'd been sitting on.
Well, mostly anyway.
Normally, he would have a clone tidy it all up but the weight of everything that had happened had him rolling up his sleeves with little complaint.
He didn't doubt that this had been only the first in a long line of difficult and messy conversations that would be needed to try and move past everything that had happened. And he knew he was going to need every scrap of wisdom, patience and tact he possessed if he wanted to help Macaque find a semblance of peace.
But right now, he willed himself to focus only on cleaning up the mess right in front of him, to allow his heart and soul a moment of respite before they were overwhelmed with the grief and guilt of everything he had learnt.
--End--
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#lmk#lego monkie kid#lmk fanfiction#my fanfiction#originally posted on ao3#tumblr fic#lmk macaque#lmk sun wukong#lmk monkey king#shadowpeach#lmk shadowpeach#complete fic
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Forever After Goodbye (II)
~Summary: The reader has taken some off to mend her heart and move on. What she didn’t plan was falling in love and finding her happily ever after with the powerful original, Elijah Mikaelson.
~A/N: Dear Readers,
Wow, long time. Thank you for patiently waiting for the second part of the The Last Goodbye. As promised, I opted for two alternative endings; one where the reader ends up with Klaus and other other where the reader ends up with Elijah. Elena is not the main lead, I do not have anything against her, its just for the plot. Your feedback is always welcome! Happy Reading xx
~You can refresh on the story here:
The Last Goodbye
Forever After Goodbye (I) - Klaus Mikaelson
~Characters and Pairings: Elijah Mikaelson x Reader, Damon Salvatore x Reader(Platonic), The Mystic Gang and The Mikaelsons
~Warning: Swearing.
~Third Person POV:
“FUCK!” Y/N exclaimed, her forehead meeting the steering wheel with a dull thud. Her mind felt like it had split in two—one half applauded her for finally choosing herself, for walking away from the chaos that had consumed her life. The other half screamed at her to call everyone back, to reassure them, to slip back into the role of the ever-dependable, ever-sacrificing Ms. Goody Good.
She leaned back in her seat, staring at the dashboard, and exhaled sharply. Why am I like this? she wondered. Was this an ingrained habit or the psychological fallout of years spent bearing everyone else’s burdens? Shaking off the thought, she forced herself upright and took a long, steadying breath.
The vibrant energy of New Orleans surrounded her—the French Quarter buzzed with life, its colorful streets alive with the soulful wail of jazz, the clinking of glasses, and the allure of trinkets sold at eclectic shops. A faint smile tugged at her lips. For a moment, she allowed herself to lean into the part of her subconscious that patted her on the back. She’d done it. She’d taken a step toward herself.
But the path forward wasn’t easy. She had years of grief to unravel, years of pushing down her pain. Since her parents’ untimely death, Y/N had been in survival mode. She had attended their funeral while shouldering her brother Jeremy’s grief, navigated the endless drama the Salvatores brought into her life, and even let herself fall for one of them—a choice she now regretted deeply. She’d lost so many people along the way, but worst of all, she’d lost herself.
Yet, before she could truly embrace this second chance, there were two things she needed to do: call Jeremy and find Elijah.
Digging through her tote bag, she found her phone, which she had turned off the moment she fled Mystic Falls. With a sigh, she powered it back on, bracing herself for the barrage of missed calls and texts. The notifications flooded in, her screen lighting up with names that once brought her comfort but now only stirred frustration.
Her thumb hovered over Damon’s name as she read his text.
Damon:Y/N, come back home. Everyone is freaking out… Elena is all over the place. She’s very upset. We’ll figure something out. Come home.
A scoff escaped her lips. “Fuck you, D,” she muttered under her breath before hitting speed dial for Jeremy. The phone rang only a couple of times before his worried voice came through.
“Y/N!” Jeremy exclaimed, the relief and panic clear in his tone. “Where the hell have you been? Are you okay? Are you hurt? What’s going on?!”
“Hey, J-bear,” she said softly, her voice calm despite her racing heart.
“What the fuck, Y/N/N? I’ve been losing my mind! Where are you? Are you safe?” he ranted.
“J... J, stop,” she interrupted gently but firmly. “Let me talk. Please.”
She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. “Are you alone?”
“No,” he replied hesitantly. “Bonnie, Caroline, and Stefan are here.”
Of course, she thought, biting back a groan. “Fine,” she said, resigning herself to the lack of privacy. “I’ll just get it over with. Look, I’m fine. I needed to leave Mystic Falls, J. I know the timing isn’t ideal, but I had to do this. I need space—from everyone and everything.”
“Everyone?” Jeremy’s voice held a note of hurt.
“Not you, J,” Y/N said quickly, her tone softening. “I love you, and I need you to understand. Please, respect my decision.”
There was a pause on the other end, and Y/N could picture Jeremy processing her words, torn between his protective instincts and his love for her. Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter. “I love you too, sis. Just... take care of yourself, okay? And keep me updated. I can’t lose you.”
Tears welled up in her eyes as she whispered, “Thank you, J. Take care of yourself too.”
She could hear the commotion in the background—the gasps and hurried whispers of the Mystic gang—but she didn’t care. For once, their opinions didn’t matter.
She ended the call, leaned back in her seat, and glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror. She looked like a mess. Her lavender silk dress—picked out by the bride—was wrinkled, her makeup was smudged, and her hair was dishevelled.
“Jeez,” she muttered, grabbing a makeup wipe from her bag. “I’m not going on an Elijah hunt looking like this.”
Once she had tidied herself up, she stepped out of the car and surveyed her surroundings. The memory of her last meeting with Elijah played in her mind—the feel of his arms around her waist, his warm hand brushing her cheek as he whispered promises of loyalty and love. It had been her lifeline then, and it was her guiding star now.
She adjusted her handbag on her shoulder, took a deep breath, and started walking through the French Quarter. The lively streets were packed with people, but Y/N’s focus remained on the task at hand. She passed by charming cafés and quaint shops, mentally noting which ones she’d revisit when she had more time.
Eventually, she found herself at Rousseau’s, a cosy bar that seemed to hum with history. Sliding onto a stool, she caught the bartender’s eye.
“Whiskey on the rocks, please,” she said, flashing a polite smile.
As she waited for her drink, she glanced around the bar, scanning the faces of patrons. Part of her wanted to call Elijah—just a quick call, and he’d be there—but something held her back. She needed a sign, an organic moment to confirm that she was doing the right thing.
The city buzzed around her, full of possibilities. Y/N wasn’t sure what the future held, but for the first time in a long time, she felt like she was moving toward something good—toward someone who had always been her safe haven.
When the bartender set her drink down, she took a sip and let the burn calm her nerves. As her fingers toyed with the trinkets she had bought earlier, she whispered softly to herself, “Where are you, Elijah?”
She knew better than to mention the name “Mikaelson” here. She could tell that there were other supernatural beings here. Gulping her drink, she picked over on her search for the man in the suit.
“Y/N...” The voice reached her through the din of the crowded bar, cutting through the noise like a melody she could never forget. She turned on her barstool, her heart thundering as her eyes met Elijah’s.
Without thinking, she leaped into his arms, tears spilling down her cheeks. She buried her face against his shoulder, clinging to him as though he were her lifeline. “Y/N, are you all right? Why are you crying?” Elijah’s voice was laced with concern as one arm wrapped securely around her waist while the other cradled her head gently.
“I missed you,” she whispered, her words muffled against him.
Elijah pulled back slightly, his hands coming to rest on her cheeks as he examined her face with a mixture of worry and tenderness. His touch was featherlight, but his gaze held depth—confusion, concern, and something Y/N dared to hope was love.
“My dear,” he murmured, his lips curving into a soft smile. “I missed you too.”
His heart ached at the pain he could see in her, a hurt that seemed to radiate from the depths of her soul. He wanted nothing more than to take it all away. But the hushed whispers and curious stares from the bar’s patrons reminded him that this wasn’t the time or place.
“Let’s go somewhere quieter,” he suggested gently, his hand brushing against hers.
“Okay,” Y/N agreed, grabbing her bag and linking her arm with his.
Elijah opted to walk instead of whisking her to the compound. He could sense her fragility, the delicate state of her emotions. This wasn’t a moment to rush; it was a chance—a rare one—to offer her the safety and space she needed.
As they walked, Y/N began to vent. She spoke about Damon, the wedding she’d run out on, and the weight of disappointment that had been suffocating her. Elijah listened attentively, occasionally offering a quiet word of acknowledgment. His presence was steady, calming, as though grounding her chaotic thoughts.
Eventually, they arrived at a grand, timeless structure. Y/N paused, taking in the elegant details of the house, a masterpiece of New Orleans’ golden era.
“Welcome to the Compound,” Elijah said, his voice warm.
“Lijah, this place is... magnificent,” she breathed, her eyes wide with awe.
She turned to him with a shy smile. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything,” he replied, sincerity evident in his tone.
“Does your offer still stand? Do you still have a place for me here? I’d understand if—”
Elijah’s hands came to rest on her arms, halting her words. “Darling, I’m so sorry...” he began, his voice heavy with guilt.
Y/N’s face fell, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “Oh,” she muttered, her voice breaking.
“Please, let me explain,” Elijah said quickly, his grip on her firm yet comforting. “I’m apologising for the pain my family and I have caused you. We were careless, blind to the cost of our actions. But know this—you will always have a place here. I made a promise to you, and it’s one I intend to keep.”
Tears streamed down her face as his words sank in. Overwhelmed by the warmth and belonging he offered so freely, she wrapped her arms around his torso and let herself break down.
Elijah held her tightly, whispering soft reassurances as he carried her to his room. She cried against him for what felt like hours, her emotions finally spilling over. Through it all, Elijah remained patient, a steady anchor in the storm of her grief.
When she finally pulled away, her eyes red and puffy, she looked up at him. “I’m sorry, Lijah. I stained your shirt... And thank you. You don’t owe me an apology. Klaus, maybe, but you? You’ve always looked out for me. Thank you for being here and for letting me stay.”
Elijah cupped her cheek, his touch impossibly gentle. “You never need to apologise, Y/N. You are safe here, always.”
In the following days, Y/N allowed herself to feel, to sit with her thoughts instead of running from them. Elijah, ever mindful of her healing, moved her to his loft outside the city—a tranquil space where she could rebuild her strength.
Some days, she found herself mesmerised by the beauty of the world during their quiet walks. On others, she struggled even to get out of bed, overwhelmed by the weight of her emotions. Elijah never pushed her. On those difficult days, he simply sat beside her, offering his quiet presence.
Healing wasn’t linear, and Elijah understood that. The loft became her sanctuary—a peaceful retreat where she could rediscover herself, bit by bit.
One evening, as Y/N sat on the balcony with a journal in her hands, Elijah approached with a cup of tea. “I thought you might like this,” he said, placing it beside her.
She looked up, a soft smile playing on her lips. “You always seem to know what I need before I do.”
Elijah’s gaze softened as he took the seat next to her. “Sometimes, it’s the smallest comforts that make the biggest difference.”
Her fingers brushed his lightly as she took the tea, her cheeks warming. “Thank you, Elijah. For always being here.”
Over time, her feelings for him deepened, though she hesitated to act on them. She wanted to ensure what she felt was real—not a rebound. Elijah, ever patient, gave her all the time and space she needed.
One morning, Y/N woke to the smell of fresh coffee. She found Elijah in the kitchen, his sleeves rolled up as he prepared breakfast.
“You don’t have to do all this for me,” she said, leaning against the doorway.
Elijah turned to her with a playful smirk. “And yet, I enjoy it.”
Her heart fluttered. “Why, Elijah? Why go out of your way for someone like me?”
He set the coffee pot down and approached her, his gaze unwavering. “Because, Y/N, you’re not just ‘someone.’ You’re everything I’ve longed for—a reminder that there’s still light in this world.”
At that moment, Y/N knew. She was undeniably, irrevocably in love with Elijah Mikaelson.
“When can I meet your siblings?” Y/N asked casually as they ate breakfast. “Whenever you’d like, darling. Though may I ask why?” Elijah’s voice was calm, but his curiosity was evident. Y/N shrugged, her tone light. “Because I think I’m ready.” When Elijah didn’t respond immediately, she glanced up from her plate to find him watching her intently, questions swirling in his eyes. “Ready?” he asked, his voice low, as though he was afraid to disturb the moment. Y/N carefully pushed both their plates aside, reaching out to take his hands in hers. “A while back, you and I were dancing in a room full of people, yet I could tell the only person you saw in that room was me. In some ways, I’ve been naive… maybe even disrespectful, Elijah. I knew what you felt for me was more than friendship or pity, but I chose to dwell on my feelings for Damon instead.” She paused, her gaze earnest. “You’ve been nothing but a gentleman to me. You gave me a place to stay, a safe space to heal. That night at the ball, you asked me to let you into my world. Today, I’m asking if I can be part of yours. Your family is your world, Elijah, and I want to be part of it. To stand by you, to care for you, and to love you.” For a moment, silence filled the space between them, the weight of her words hanging in the air. Elijah’s fingers tightened slightly around hers, his usually composed expression softening.
“My dearest Y/N,” he said, his voice almost a whisper, “do you have any idea what those words mean to me?”
She opened her mouth to respond, but he gently pressed a finger to her lips, stopping her.
“Please, let me speak,” he continued, his dark eyes searching hers. “From the moment I met you, I have been captivated by your strength, your compassion, and your light. Even when you did not see yourself clearly, I saw you. I saw all of you, and I have waited for the day when you might see me too—not as a noble, not as a Mikaelson, but as a man who loves you beyond reason.” His voice broke slightly at the end, and Y/N felt tears prick her eyes. “I have lived a thousand lifetimes, Y/N,” Elijah said, his thumb brushing over her knuckles, “but none have held meaning until now. To hear you ask to be a part of my world… I cannot tell you how much it humbles me. Yes, my family is my world, but so are you. And there is nothing I desire more than for you to stand by me, to care for me, and to love me, as I have loved you.”
A tear slipped down Y/N’s cheek, and Elijah reached up to gently brush it away. “You are my sanctuary, Y/N,” he whispered. Before she could reply, he leaned forward, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. It wasn’t rushed or overwhelming—it was a quiet, unspoken promise, filled with all the emotions he had held back for so long. When he pulled away, Y/N smiled through her tears, her heart full. “So… when do I get to meet your siblings?” Elijah chuckled softly, his composure slipping just enough to reveal his joy. “Perhaps we should wait until after breakfast. I’ll need to prepare them—they have a tendency to be… dramatic.” Y/N laughed, and for the first time in a long while, it felt light and free. “Let them be dramatic,” she said, leaning into him. “I’ll take it all if it means being with you.”
Y/N walked confidently through the grand doors of the Mikaelson compound, her heels clicking against the tiled floor. She had asked for this—demanded it, really. If she was going to be part of Elijah’s life, she had to truly step into his world. That meant confronting not only his complicated siblings but also the pieces of her past tied to them.
Elijah walked beside her, his posture as regal as ever, but there was a faint tension in his jaw. “Are you certain about this, Y/N?” he asked, his deep voice tinged with concern. “You know they can be… unpredictable.”
“I’ve dealt with the Mystic Falls gang for years,” Y/N said, her tone dry. “I think I can handle a few Original vampires.”
Elijah’s lips twitched into a small smile, impressed by her composure. “Just remember, you’re under no obligation to win them over. This is about you and me.”
“Yeah, well,” she said, brushing an imaginary speck off her imaginary blazer, “if I’m going to be with you, I need to deal with them. That’s how families work, Elijah. Even the psychotic ones.”
They stepped into the courtyard, where Rebekah, Kol, and Klaus were already gathered. Rebekah sat elegantly at the edge of the fountain, while Kol leaned against a column, tossing an apple in one hand with a devil-may-care grin. Klaus stood nearby, his usual air of dominance radiating from him as he swirled a glass of bourbon.
“Well, well,” Kol drawled, tossing the apple aside as soon as he saw her. “If it isn’t the fiery Gilbert sister. To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“Kol,” Y/N said, her tone dripping with mock sweetness. “Still working on perfecting the art of doing absolutely nothing, I see.”
Kol clutched his chest dramatically. “Oh, she wounds me! Elijah, where did you find such a sharp-tongued treasure?”
“Kol,” Elijah said smoothly, stepping between his brother and Y/N, “perhaps you could save your antics for someone who hasn’t already seen through them.”
Rebekah smirked from her spot by the fountain. “Don’t waste your time, Kol. Y/N’s not like the other doe-eyed girls who swoon at the sight of you. She’s far too clever for that.”
Y/N shot Rebekah a quick smile. “Glad someone noticed.”
Klaus, who had been silently observing, finally spoke, his voice low and cutting. “Cleverness didn’t stop you from being at the mercy of this family before, did it, Y/N?”
Y/N turned to him, her posture straight and unyielding. “No, but it didn’t stop me from surviving, either. Which is more than I can say for some of the messes you’ve created.”
Klaus’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second, replaced by a glint of something darker in his eyes. “Careful, little Gilbert. You’re in my house now.”
“And I’m here by invitation,” Y/N shot back without missing a beat. “Yours, no. But Elijah’s, which matters a hell of a lot more to me.”
Elijah stepped forward, his presence commanding as he placed a hand gently on Y/N’s back. “Enough, Niklaus,” he said firmly. “She’s not here to rehash old grievances. This is about moving forward.”
Klaus looked at his brother for a long moment before shrugging lazily. “Moving forward, is it? How quaint. Well, far be it from me to ruin your little romance.”
Rebekah rolled her eyes. “God, Nik, must you always make everything so unbearable? Honestly, Y/N, I don’t know how you put up with him.”
Y/N smirked. “I tune him out. It’s a skill I picked up growing up with Damon.”
Kol barked out a laugh. “Oh, I like her, Elijah. Are you sure I can’t steal her away?”
Elijah turned his head slightly, fixing Kol with a look so subtle yet piercing that it made Y/N’s heart flutter. “Kol,” he said, his tone deceptively calm, “don’t push me.”
Kol raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave—for now.”
Rebekah stood and linked arms with Y/N, pulling her away from the tension brewing between the brothers. “Come on, Y/N. Let me give you a proper tour of this place. It’s far more interesting than the constant male posturing.”
As Rebekah led Y/N away, Kol called after them, “Don’t let her bore you with her interior design ideas. They’re dreadful.”
Y/N laughed under her breath, shaking her head. “It’s like dealing with toddlers.”
“You’ve no idea,” Rebekah muttered conspiratorially.
Later, in the Drawing Room
The tension from earlier had eased somewhat. Y/N sat with Rebekah on one of the plush sofas, a glass of wine in hand. Kol was lounging nearby, still full of cheeky comments, while Elijah watched her from across the room, his gaze soft and thoughtful.
Klaus, however, remained distant, his eyes flickering to her now and then with suspicion.
“Tell me, Y/N,” Kol said, breaking the silence. “What’s it like being the Gilbert sister who actually has some sense? Must be exhausting.”
Y/N smirked, swirling her wine. “Exhausting, yes. But at least I’m not the Mikaelson sibling known for being expendable.”
Rebekah nearly choked on her drink, and even Elijah’s lips twitched with amusement.
Kol stared at her, stunned for a moment, before bursting into laughter. “Oh, I think I’m in love.”
Elijah cleared his throat, stepping closer to Y/N. “Kol, I believe it’s time you found another pastime.”
Y/N glanced up at Elijah, catching the faintest glimmer of jealousy in his otherwise calm demeanour. She reached out and lightly brushed her fingers against his hand, a silent reassurance.
“I can handle Kol,” she said softly, her eyes meeting his.
“I have no doubt,” Elijah replied, his voice low and filled with warmth.
From across the room, Klaus watched the interaction with narrowed eyes. Despite his usual bravado, he couldn’t ignore the way Y/N seemed to command respect in a way so few ever did.
For Y/N, it wasn’t about winning over the Mikaelsons. It was about proving, to them and herself, that she belonged—not just in their world, but beside Elijah, where she knew she was meant to be.
It had been a week since Y/N decided to immerse herself in Elijah’s world, and despite her initial reservations, she found herself growing more comfortable within the walls of the Mikaelson compound. Time had softened her edges toward some of the siblings. Rebekah had quickly become a confidante, her blunt honesty and fierce loyalty making it easy for Y/N to trust her. Kol was, as always, the mischievous brother, his flirtatious remarks now more playful than irritating. Freya had been a recent addition to their gatherings, and her warm, composed demeanour was a welcome change amidst the usual chaos.
Klaus, however, remained the elephant in the room. Their interactions were minimal and strained at best, laced with underlying hostility. Y/N’s anger at him lingered—after all, this was the man responsible for so much pain in her family’s life: Aunt Jenna’s death, the torment Elena and Jeremy endured, and countless other manipulations that left scars on her soul. Yet, for Elijah’s sake, she kept her sharp words and biting sarcasm in check when Klaus was around. Barely.
Tonight, the group was gathered in one of the compound’s sitting rooms. A fire crackled in the hearth, its warmth mirrored in the laughter filling the room. Rebekah and Kol were bickering over a board game they’d unearthed, while Freya and Y/N were deep in conversation about New Orleans folklore. Elijah sat close to Y/N, his hand resting lightly on the arm of her chair, their closeness speaking volumes without words.
“Honestly, Kol, your strategy is abysmal,” Rebekah huffed, crossing her arms.
“You’re just upset because I’m winning,” Kol retorted with a grin, earning an eye-roll from his sister.
Freya chuckled and leaned toward Y/N. “This is what I endure every day. Welcome to the madness.”
Y/N smirked. “It’s oddly comforting. Like watching Jeremy and Elena argue over the last slice of pizza back home.”
Elijah’s hand brushed against hers subtly, a quiet gesture that made her heart flutter. His silent support was a balm in the chaos, grounding her amidst the whirlwind that was his family.
Unbeknownst to her, Klaus had been watching from the doorway. His sharp eyes caught the way Elijah’s gaze softened when it landed on Y/N, the way she seemed to bring an ease to his usually stoic brother. It wasn’t lost on Klaus how rare it was to see Elijah this content, and it stirred something unfamiliar within him—something almost resembling guilt.
For days, Klaus had avoided addressing the tension between himself and Y/N, stubbornly pretending it didn’t matter. But seeing her here, effortlessly weaving her way into his siblings’ lives, made him realise that she was no passing fancy for Elijah. She was important. And that mattered.
With a sigh, Klaus stepped into the room, his presence immediately commanding attention.
“Ah, Nik,” Kol drawled, tossing a game piece onto the table. “Come to ruin the fun, as always?”
“Not tonight, brother,” Klaus replied smoothly, his eyes fixed on Y/N.
Y/N stiffened under his gaze, her guard instinctively going up. “What? Did I sit in your chair or something?” she quipped, her sarcasm a shield against his unpredictable nature.
Klaus’s lips twitched in faint amusement before he gestured toward the hallway. “A word, if you don’t mind.”
Y/N exchanged a wary glance with Elijah, who gave her a reassuring nod. Rising from her chair, she followed Klaus out of the room, her arms crossed defensively.
They stopped in a quieter part of the compound, the hum of conversation fading behind them. Klaus turned to face her, his usual swagger replaced with an uncharacteristic seriousness.
“I owe you an apology,” he began, his voice low but steady.
Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “I’m sorry, what? Did I just step into an alternate universe?”
Klaus exhaled sharply, resisting the urge to retort. “I’ve done unspeakable things to your family. To you. And while I can’t undo the past, I can acknowledge the pain I’ve caused.”
Y/N’s eyes narrowed, searching his face for any hint of deceit. “Why now? Why bother apologising at all?”
“Because,” Klaus said, his tone softening, “you matter to Elijah. And Elijah matters to me. Despite everything, I don’t wish to be the reason you bring him pain.”
For a moment, Y/N was silent, her emotions warring within her. She had every right to hold onto her anger, but she also knew what it meant for someone like Klaus to admit fault.
“Fine,” she said finally, her voice clipped. “I can’t say I forgive you. Not yet. But I can be civil. For Elijah’s sake.”
Klaus nodded, a flicker of respect in his eyes. “That’s all I ask.”
When they returned to the sitting room, the atmosphere shifted. The tension that had lingered between them seemed lighter, replaced by a tentative truce.
Rebekah arched her brow. “Well, that’s new. Did hell freeze over while you two were gone?”
Kol grinned. “Or did Klaus finally learn how to play nice?”
Elijah’s gaze flicked between Y/N and Klaus, a small smile tugging at his lips as he realized what had happened.
Freya leaned toward Y/N, whispering with a grin, “That’s the closest you’ll get to a heartfelt gesture from Niklaus. Congratulations.”
Y/N chuckled softly, leaning back into her chair. For the first time, she felt like she truly belonged—not just to Elijah, but to the family he cherished so deeply.
And that night, even Klaus couldn’t find it in himself to ruin the peace.
Later that night, Y/N stood on the balcony of Elijah’s room in the compound, overlooking the vibrant city of New Orleans. The French Quarter buzzed with life below, but up here, in the serenity of this room, it felt like a world away.
Her fingers trailed absentmindedly over the cool metal of the balcony railing as she lost herself in thought. The events of the past week had been a whirlwind—meeting Elijah’s siblings, finding her footing among them, and even reaching a tentative truce with Klaus. Yet, amidst it all, there was one constant: Elijah.
“Penny for your thoughts, my love?” Elijah’s deep, velvety voice broke through her reverie.
She turned to see him stepping out onto the balcony, his suit jacket abandoned, the sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled up. The sight of him, always so composed yet so effortlessly alluring, made her heart race.
“You’d need a fortune to get through all of them,” she teased, a soft smile gracing her lips.
Elijah stepped closer, his hands resting gently on the railing on either side of her. He leaned in slightly, his presence wrapping around her like a protective cocoon. “Then perhaps I’ll settle for the one that makes you smile like that,” he said, his gaze searching hers.
Y/N laughed softly, leaning into him. “Just thinking about how far we’ve come. How I went from avoiding you at every chance to... this.” She gestured to the space between them, the connection that was now undeniable.
Elijah’s eyes softened, his hand lifting to brush a strand of hair away from her face. “And does ‘this’ bring you peace, Y/N? Happiness?”
Her breath hitched at the tenderness in his tone, the way his touch sent shivers down her spine. “More than I ever thought possible,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Elijah’s lips curved into a rare, genuine smile. “You mean so much to me.”
He cupped her cheek gently, his thumb brushing against her skin. Y/N leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. When she opened them, she found him watching her with a reverence that made her heart ache in the best way.
“You’ve brought light to a life shrouded in centuries of darkness,” he continued, his voice filled with emotion. “You’ve reminded me what it means to hope, to feel, to love. And for that, I am eternally grateful.”
Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, but she held them back, letting a soft laugh escape instead. “How do you always know the exact thing to say to make me melt, Mr. Mikaelson?”
“Perhaps because you inspire every word,” he replied smoothly, his lips now only a breath away from hers.
Unable to resist any longer, Y/N closed the distance between them, her lips capturing his in a kiss that was both tender and fervent. Elijah responded instantly, his arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her flush against him. The world around them faded away, leaving only the two of them, lost in each other.
When they finally parted, both were breathless, their foreheads resting together.
“I love you,” Y/N confessed, the words tumbling out before she could second-guess them.
Elijah’s eyes lit up, his expression one of pure joy. “And I, you. More than words can ever convey.”
They stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms as the stars began to dot the night sky. In that moment, nothing else mattered—not the dangers of their world, not the complications of their pasts. All that existed was the love they shared, a love that felt timeless and unbreakable.
“You know,” Y/N murmured against his chest, “we’re going to have to deal with your siblings’ endless teasing now.”
Elijah chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Let them tease. As long as I have you by my side, I can endure anything.”
And with that, they stayed on the balcony, basking in the quiet intimacy of the moment, two souls finally finding their home in each other.
The sun was starting to set, painting the sky in hues of gold and pink as Elijah and Y/N walked hand in hand through the lavender field, surrounded by the fragrant flowers that had once been a playground for Elijah and his siblings when they were children. The field was a rare moment of peace for them both, far from the chaos of their supernatural lives.
Y/N gazed at the endless rows of purple, a soft smile on her face. "You know," she said, glancing at Elijah, "this place is beautiful. It's almost as if it holds the memories of your past... and all the times you've been forced to leave them behind."
Elijah squeezed her hand gently, his gaze softening. "It's more than just a place for me. It’s a reminder of simpler times, before our lives were filled with endless complications and heartache. But it’s better now, isn’t it? With you by my side."
Y/N smiled, her heart fluttering at his words. She turned toward him, standing on tiptoe as she kissed his lips, slow and tender. They were both completely in their own world, the lavender scent mingling with the warmth between them.
When they pulled apart, Elijah looked into her eyes, searching, as though seeing her in a new light. "I don't think I've ever been as certain of anything in my life as I am of you."
Y/N chuckled, her thumb brushing over the back of his hand. "That’s a little dramatic, even for you, Elijah Mikaelson," she teased.
Elijah smirked, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "You think so? Because you make me want to be dramatic. You're worth it."
She laughed, her heart full. It was moments like this—just the two of them—that made her forget the tumultuous past and the storm that was always lingering. Elijah pulled her closer, resting his forehead against hers.
"Promise me you’ll always be with me," Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible.
"I already am," he replied softly, wrapping his arms around her. "And I will be for as long as you’ll have me."
Before they could get lost in each other further, Elijah’s phone rang, interrupting the moment. He glanced at it, his expression turning serious as he looked at the caller ID. Klaus. He dealt with the call.
"We’ve been summoned to the Salvatore Boarding House. We need to head there. It seems that the Mystic Gang, as you refer to them, have landed themselves in a mess again."
Y/N sighed, her fingers still intertwined with his as she pulled away reluctantly. "Can’t we have just a few more minutes?" she asked, half-joking.
Elijah smiled, though the weight of their responsibilities always lingered. "As much as I would prefer to stay here, I’m afraid we have no choice."
The evening sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the Salvatore Boarding House, casting warm, golden hues over the tension-filled room. The Mystic Gang—Damon and Stefan Salvatore, Bonnie Bennett, Caroline Forbes, and Elena Gilbert—sat scattered across the living room. Their expressions ranged from apprehension to outright frustration as they awaited the arrival of the Mikaelsons.
“They’re late,” Damon muttered, swirling the bourbon in his glass. “Typical.”
“Maybe don’t insult them when they get here,” Bonnie warned. “We need their help, remember?”
Elena sat on the edge of the couch, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap. She hadn’t seen Y/N in months. The memory of their strained last encounter weighed on her, but she was determined to fix things—if Y/N would let her.
Suddenly, the heavy wooden doors swung open, and in stepped Elijah Mikaelson, effortlessly poised in his tailored suit. At his side, hand entwined with his, was Y/N.
The room fell silent.
Y/N looked radiant, her smile soft but confident as she stepped into the space like she belonged there. Her gaze swept over the familiar faces, lingering momentarily on Elena before she looked away. The Mystic Gang, meanwhile, wore expressions ranging from stunned to incredulous.
“Y/N?” Caroline finally broke the silence, her voice tinged with disbelief.
“Surprise,” Y/N said dryly, raising an eyebrow. She gave a small wave, the corners of her lips twitching upward.
Jeremy stood there, eyes lighting up when he saw Y/N.
"Y/N!" Jeremy exclaimed, rushing forward and enveloping her in a bear hug. "I can't believe you're here! It's been way too long."
Y/N laughed softly, hugging him back. "I know, I know. It's been... a lot. But I’m here now."
The warmth and familiarity of her brother’s embrace made her feel grounded, even amidst the chaos. They pulled apart, and Y/N looked him over. "How have you been? Really?"
Jeremy gave her a small, sincere smile. "I've been good. Missed you, though. Things have been... complicated, you know? But it’s good to see you again."
Elijah watched the exchange with a quiet smile, though his hand found Y/N's, grounding her with a touch that said everything without words.
When Y/N turned to the others in the room, her gaze landed on Elena, who had been standing quietly off to the side, watching the reunion with a mix of uncertainty and hope. Slowly, Y/N approached her, eyes softening as she did.
"Hey, Elena," Y/N said, voice steady but warm. "How are you?"
Elena hesitated, her gaze flickering between Y/N and Elijah before she finally stepped forward. "I’m... I’m okay. Really. I just—I’ve been trying to reach you. I wanted to apologise for everything that happened, Y/N. I should’ve understood sooner... but I was too caught up in my own pain to see yours."
Y/N’s heart softened, but there was still a guardedness in her voice. "It’s not just about you, Elena. I know you’re sorry. But you still haven’t really understood why I had to leave, have you?"
Elena looked down, visibly pained. "I get it now, I do. It was never about me. It was about you needing space, needing to find yourself again. I wasn’t there when you needed me most."
Y/N took a deep breath, her voice firm but not unkind. "I know you’re trying, but it’s going to take time. I’ll speak to you when I’m ready, okay? It’s just... it’s hard. For both of us."
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Damon blurted out, his gaze bouncing between Y/N and Elijah. “You’re with him?”
Y/N’s eyes narrowed, her sarcasm cutting through the room like a blade. “Hello to you too, Damon. Always such a charmer.”
Elijah placed a reassuring hand on the small of her back, his calm demeanour unshaken. “It’s lovely to see you all again,” he said, his voice smooth and composed. “I trust this reunion will be...productive.”
“Reunion?” Stefan echoed, his brow furrowed. “Wait, how long has this been going on?” He gestured between Elijah and Y/N.
“Long enough,” Y/N replied, her tone sharp yet unapologetic. She glanced up at Elijah, her expression softening instantly. “And if you’re wondering, yes, we’re very happy.”
Bonnie’s eyes darted to the engagement ring glittering on Y/N’s hand. “Is that…?”
“Yes,” Y/N said, holding up her hand briefly, smiling. Jeremy hugged Y/N again congratulating her.
Klaus entered the room then, with Kol and Rebekah trailing behind him. “Ah, the gang’s all here,” Klaus drawled, his smirk firmly in place. “I see you’ve all met my future sister-in-law. Delightful, isn’t she?”
Y/N shot him a mock glare. “Don’t start, Klaus.”
“Who, me?” Klaus said innocently, earning a snicker from Kol and an exasperated sigh from Rebekah.
Damon looked at Klaus, his irritation bubbling over. “How does she put up with you? Or any of you?”
“Patience,” Y/N said with a smirk, settling into a chair with Elijah gracefully taking the seat beside her. “You’d be amazed what it can achieve.”
Klaus chuckled. “And yet you somehow tolerate this lot,” he gestured to the Mystic Gang, “despite their...endearing flaws.”
Bonnie shot Klaus a warning look, cutting in before the conversation could devolve further. “Alright, enough. We need to talk about the threat we called you here for.”
As the discussion shifted to the supernatural danger facing Mystic Falls, Y/N listened intently, her hand still resting in Elijah’s. Occasionally, their gazes would meet, and the shared warmth between them was impossible to ignore—even to those who didn’t want to see it.
Elena’s eyes lingered on her sister throughout the meeting, noting the quiet strength and happiness radiating from her. It was a version of Y/N she hadn’t seen in years, and it left her both awed and uneasy.
By the time the meeting ended, it was clear that Y/N’s allegiance—and her heart—firmly belonged to the Mikaelsons. And while the Mystic Gang grappled with their shifting dynamics, Y/N couldn’t have cared less.
As she and Elijah left the Salvatore Boarding House that evening, his hand rested lightly at the small of her back, their love palpable in every touch, every glance. For Y/N, it wasn’t just about finding a new family—it was about building a future with the man who had shown her a love she never thought she deserved.
(Gifs credits goes to the rightful owners)
~Tags~
~The Last Goodbye:
@thefandomplace
@a--1--1--3
@misselsbells06
~The Vampire Diaries/The Originals & Supernatural:
@akshi8278
~The Vampire Diaries:
@sparklesmolwarriorprincess
#elijah mikaelson x reader#the originals#the vampire diaries#tvd#damon salvatore#klaus mikaelson x reader#mystic falls#damon salvatore x reader#elijah mikaelson#klaus mikaelson#fanfiction
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Do you think that at some point Loren would come across with William some of her old classmates or ex or ex-friends? People that were not the nicest to her and hurt her while they are out or something. They act all nice and sweet because of William. Nothing dramatic, but her old memories come back and she gets uncomfortable. William then comforts her.
A more precise way would be with Loren ex who basically screwed her over. They are at a restaurant or an event. William meets him briefly without Loren or himself knowing who he is. Her ex says he’s a fan or whatever. Then, Loren comes back from like the washroom or wherever she was and they are just the two together. And finally, they both see her ex together and it’s awkward and weird (obviously I don’t think anything drastic like a fight would happen because it’s out of character)
A/N - Well sweet Anon, I thought I was doing well at the 3k word mark. Then the 7k word mark happened....I had no idea this would turn out to be 11k words. Apologizing is definitely in my nature so I will start there - I tied another idea into the beginning of this and I just went with it never intending for it to be this long. There's a lot of layers here but it all leads to Loren's past seeping into her present through a group of (so-called) friends reaching out to her.
Trigger Warnings: **This recounts Loren's experience with her ex, who, by definition, is an emotional abuser. I have never written about this before and tried to keep it as a very high-level account of it**
18+ only. Contains profanity, smut (oral [fem receiving], intercourse [p in v])
Word count - approx 12k words (sorry again lol)
Loren was positioned comfortably on her side of the bed, her oversized socks half falling down her calves and her cropped cardigan slipping slightly off her shoulder. She had her laptop resting in her lap, her focus drifting between resizing an image and fiddling with the resolution. On the other side of the bed, William lounged on his back, his head on a pillow at the end of the bed and his feet near the headboard. His phone was in his hand, he appeared to be watching something but in reality his attention was entirely elsewhere.
He couldn’t keep his eyes off of her tonight—or really any time that she was near him. The screen of her laptop illuminating her face, reflecting off of her glasses made him beam from the inside out. It was clear to him that the more time they spent together, the longer he wanted her to stay with him.
On some level, from all the way back to the first time he kissed her—that moment now many months ago—he couldn’t imagine anyone else fitting so naturally in his space. Scratch that. Wouldn’t want to imagine anyone else. When they had to leave each other, it always impacted him more than he ever let on. He was head over heels for Loren, and he felt confident that she shared the same feelings for him. Their random introduction at an Easter Seals Skate truly became a rare gift of a deeply caring union between two people.
With all of these feelings, however, he knew there were things they needed to discuss before the future which he deeply desired with her could happen.
Loren could feel William’s lingering gaze from across the bed. She had only glanced at him for a split second, her eyes once again fixed on the laptop screen. “How ya’ doing over there? You’ve been quiet,” Loren asked gently.
William smiled, caught in the act. “Just thinking.”
Loren let out a soft laugh with a mock grimace. “Uh-oh.”
He chuckled but didn’t respond immediately, his eyes returned to his phone. Loren had appeared on a mid-day talk show in Toronto, modeling a local designer’s winter fashion line that was mix-and-match and budget-friendly. William re-watched the clip that was posted by the network.
“Were they nice to you—the women on the show?” he asked, holding up the screen of his phone showing her the clip.
She flipped her glasses up onto her head, pinning her long wavy hair behind her ears. She squinted at the screen, her lips curving into a small smile. “They were—everyone was very nice. I was nervous but then I realized it was just the same as trying on clothes in Chelsea’s closet.”
“Or mine—err, wait…no - that’d be more like a strip tease,” he said simply, and when she blushed and ducked her head shyly, his smile widened. He set his phone aside, taking a moment to gather his thoughts before changing his position on the bed. He laid next to her on his side with his pillow bunched under his head. “Can I ask you something?”
Her fingers paused on her keyboard. “Of course,” she replied, looking very attentive.
“Who do you talk to about us?”
The question caught her a little off guard. Loren paused for a moment, closing her laptop halfway. “Uh, well, Alice, for sure….a couple of other WAGs?. We actually don’t talk about you all that much—I guess I don’t feel the need to. And Kathy, she’s sort of my life guru—she has been for years. I think she’s the only one that I told about meeting you to begin with. I trust her—and she’s pretty much like a vault.” She tilted her head, studying him.
“What about your parents? Or your other friends?” he asked.
Loren hesitated. “I haven’t told my parents anything. It’s not that I don’t want to, or that I don’t trust them, but… it doesn’t feel like the right time yet. They’re enjoying their first winter as snowbirds, and I don’t want them worrying about anything that I’m doing up here.” She closed the laptop and sat it next to the empty glass of wine on the nightstand. “My friends - I have a lot of different friend groups, but everyone’s busy with their own lives—and even still, short answer? I wouldn’t be comfortable mentioning that we’re seeing each other.”
William nodded slowly. “So it doesn’t bother you that we don’t do, like, the Insta thing posting pictures of us being together or anything like that?”
Loren shook her head slowly and mouthed the word “No.” Despite the silence behind the word, he understood loud and clear how much she meant it. “I guess… I just don’t want it out there. I’m really cagey about opening up my personal life up online - who I'm seeing romantically…especially you.” Loren shifted to lay on her side facing William. “Is that okay?”
He pulled her into him, kissing her mouth and guiding her thigh over his. His blue eyes bore deep into her now racing heart at the vision that was his face.
His eyes remained connected with hers, his brows furrowing slightly. “Oh, yeah - no….I’m totally okay with that….it’s sorta my preference too.” William paused, his mouth hovering over hers, his sweet breath warm against her lips before continuing. “So, I was just watching this reel and I guess I wanted to know how you’d feel about a situation… as I kind of want to assume we’ll, uh… be together for a long time.”
Loren blushed at the thought. She tried to not react but a small smile curled at her lips.
Although his expression seemed calm, William’s stomach flipped with where the conversation was heading. “Prenups,” he said, watching her closely. “How do you feel about them?”
Loren was not expecting that one. A million thoughts bounced in her head, mainly wondering why he was asking, but she slowed her mind and decided just to answer the question directly. “If little ‘ole me, with my once shiny credit rating and trusting nature, could get fucked over so badly with my finances, then you, with your… what, a hundred million dollars? Even if it’s not me you are with in the end, you better make sure your future wife signs one… I’ll hunt you down and straight-up kick your ass if you don’t.”
Her bluntness mixed with his own nervous energy made him burst out laughing.
Loren grinned at him as she continued. “Seriously, though,” she added, “I hope you wouldn’t treat a prenup like a license to do whatever you want, but yeah, I’d absolutely sign one. Would you sign one for me if the tables were turned? I might be mega-rich all on my own one day.”
William nodded—first that he believed she could do anything she put her mind to, and second, he really would sign one.
“That’s actually where the question came from. I was watching something—like, the guy… he had money and assets, and he explained to his fiancée that he wanted her to sign one. She flipped out but then she inherited some money later. Then she turned the tables on him and demanded he sign one,” William explained. “I mean, I was just curious what you thought about it… not that I was worried about something like that with you anyway.”
Loren ran the back of her fingers along his jawline. “Well, obvious double standard going on with those two. But, personally, I have had too much experience in that department, William - it can get to be pretty fucking terrible. Whether it’s me, or the people that I care about, if you end a relationship—especially you—you need to have something in place, something that’s fair and just for both parties. It’s not that you want the relationship to end, or think that it will…” her voice trailed off.
William hesitated, his hand slipping under the waistband of her shorts, his palm resting warmly on her ass cheek. He wasn’t entirely sure why the thought had popped into his mind, but once it was there, he couldn’t shake it.
“So… here’s a question,” he started, carefully “We’ve been together now for a bit—like, really together this time. You’ve seen more of what my life is like, how crazy it can get. Is there any part of you…” He trailed off for a moment, leaning his forehead against hers for a moment. “Any part of you that doesn’t want this? That doesn’t want to do this life with me?”
The question hung in the air. Loren’s breath caught, and to her surprise, her throat tightened. She shook her head quickly, trying to blink away the tears that suddenly threatened, but it was no use. The sadness with that simple question overwhelmed her.
“Hey, hey,” William said, alarmed. He moved closer, cupping her face gently. “I didn’t mean to make you upset. I just…”
She laughed at herself through the tears, shaking her head. “You didn’t do anything. It’s just…” She dabbed under her eye with the back of her thumb. “The idea of it just hit me the wrong way,�� she sniffed, scoffing at herself in embarrassment.
His heart clenched. He helped wiped at her tears with his thumbs, but his attempts to comfort her only made the tears fall faster, though now she was mostly laughing as well. “You have to stop,” she managed between sniffling and giggling. “You’re making it worse.”
William’s chest ached with love for her. He pulled her closer and held her tightly as her tears subsided. “Sorry William - that just caught me the wrong way… but I can’t help the tears sometimes, it’s just how it is with me.”
“You weren’t lying when you called yourself a puddle, eh?” William teased.
Loren’s words were muffled against his neck. “Lille lustigkurre,” calling him a “little goof” in Swedish. William playfully planted tiny kisses across her lips. He loved how seriously she was taking to learning Swedish, coming out with phrases he never taught her.
Loren’s tone turned apologetic. “But yeah, I wish I could control the tears more - used to drive my ex nuts… he’d go ballistic, as though berating me was going to help me stop crying.”
William’s body tightened, as he visualized Loren being screamed at while already being upset. His jaw clenched when he pictured dropping her ex with one punch to the mouth if he ever witnessed such a thing.
William pulled Loren’s body on top of him, her letting a light “whoop” followed by a giggle. He cradled her ass cheeks as she straddled him, propping herself up on her arms. He wanted to tell her that he was sorry she went through all of that but he also knew her response.
Thank you - but it’s done with now, she would say.
Instead, he would settle for making her know how much he desired and loved her. He pulled her mouth onto his, and in turn, she began to rub herself against his hardness.
“I guess I’m done my work?” she asked, cheekily.
He gripped her ass more firmly, pressing her against him.
In one swift movement, she sat up in a full straddle as he quickly unbuttoned her cardigan while she reached around and unclasped her bra. The moment his mouth and tongue made contact with her nipples, her core clenched in anticipation of feeling him deep inside her.
As if it needed to be said, Loren finally gasped, “Yeah, okay…. fuck it, I’m done.” A mischievous smirk played on her lips as she brought her mouth onto his, slipping her tongue against his in a steamy kiss. In Swedish, she teased, “Åh, du är verkligen i trubbel nu...” (Oh, you’re really in trouble now...)”
—
A few days later, Loren found herself in the kitchen at William’s place, the whir of the blender filling the air as she prepared smoothies and other healthy concoctions for both William and Alex. It was a routine she had adopted during her visits, one that Alex especially appreciated. Lost in thought, her eyes were fixed on the ingredients laid out on the counter—a mix of fresh fruits, leafy greens, protein powders, and supplements—she continued to smile to herself as she pressed the stop button on the appliance.
The morning had started the way she secretly (or not so secretly (despite clasping her hand over her mouth, her orgasmic moans were surely heard outside of the bedroom) loved most. She and William had indulged in a passionate quickie before getting out of bed to take the dogs for a walk. Standing at the counter now, her thoughts drifted back to the earlier moments, her lip catching between her teeth and cheeks flushing pink. The blissful soreness lasting in her core was a reminder of just how incredible it had been.
She shook her head, lifting herself from her own trance, and let out a soft laugh. Oh my god, I still want more she thought, her body still hungry for William. She inhaled deeply to try and calm her lingering urges as she reached for the jar of chia seeds.
A notification buzzed on her phone, pulling her attention away from the blender. Picking it up, she saw a DM on Instagram from someone she hadn’t thought about in a long time—a so-called friend from a group of women she used to spend time with when she was with her ex, Drew. The message was short, polite, and complimentary, but Loren immediately felt a knot form in her stomach.
Despite outward appearances, she had never felt particularly close to any of the women in that group. During her relationship with Drew, little by little, she had been steered away from spending time with her other friends, finding herself surrounded by people she couldn’t fully trust. Loren had always felt like an outsider, unable to fully be herself. Every group activity she attended left her retreating further into her shell as time went on.
The unwelcome memory of those years crept into her mind. She had spent so much time trying to be everything Drew wanted her to be, only for him to make her feel like it was never enough. The stress of that relationship had taken a toll on her physical and mental health. Food became a source of comfort in the lonely hours spent working all day, coming home, cleaning, and preparing nice dinners that Drew would often miss. When he finally came home, it was only to pick fights, leaving her feeling even smaller than before. The weight gain that ensued only fueled her feelings of low self-worth, to which Drew’s backhanded remarks also exacerbated.
Loren exhaled sharply, setting her phone down and shaking off the memories. Just as Alex walked into the kitchen, greeting her with a soft, “God morgon,” Loren muttered, “Fuck off,” under her breath, directing the words at the source of the DM she’d just received. She hadn’t heard Alex walk in and jumped slightly, startled when he responded, “Um… okay?”
[Loren practicing Swedish] “Oh—God, Alex… I am so sorry. God morgon—that other part wasn’t meant for you,” she smiled apologetically.
“Who’s in your bad books this morning? It can’t be my brother…” Alex teased.
Loren didn’t know if there was a whiff of ‘I heard far more than I wanted to this morning’ in Alex’s remark, but her soft smile remained constant as she handed him the vibrant mixture in a glass container.
“No, just a message from someone I haven’t heard from in years, and I have no real desire to interact with them,” Loren replied, her tone carrying a hint of tension.
“Oh yeah? Who’s that?” Alex inquired, gulping down some of his smoothie.
“A girl—a woman I used to hang out with years ago,” Loren began. “She said she saw me on that talk show and is gushing about how she’d love to meet up sometime. It sounds nice and all, but unless she’s done a total 180, I’m leery about getting together with her and the other women in the group.” Her apprehension was unmistakable as she spoke.
Loren would never dream of saying it to Alex, but Kayla, the so-called “friend” who had reached out, reminded her of Isla—Alex’s now ex-girlfriend—the day they first met. Snide, smug, and toxic were fair adjectives to describe parts of Kayla’s personality.
Alex, seeming rather invested in the story, stood at the counter as he prompted Loren to keep talking. William soon breezed into the kitchen, wrapping his arms around Loren’s waist from behind, unintentionally interrupting Loren as he thanked her for his smoothie.
“Bro—she was talking,” Alex jokingly scolded William. “Here I was thinking there wasn’t anyone Loren disliked, but now I wanna hear this.”
“Who—wait… what’re we talking about?” William asked, confused.
Loren quickly replayed the conversation so he could catch up. He looked intrigued, as much as Alex seemed to be—this was a part of Loren’s life he had heard the least about, and he was about to find out why.
“So the deal with Kayla is that she sort of befriended me at a time when I was feeling pretty low in life - and in my relationship with Drew,” Loren began. “I was too embarrassed to admit to my closest friends and even my family of how bad things had gotten, so I leaned on her more than I should’ve. She pretended to care, but all the while, she was gossiping about me to everyone else in the group.”
Her eyes flicked between the two brothers as they listened. “Eventually, I realized that the things I told Kayla were then skewed and taken totally out of context, which would then get back to Drew through his friends. It was constant fighting and confrontations but then he’d back peddle and I’d fall into the same trap again. I think back and I don’t even remember the things he said that seemed to make everything okay. It was almost like being brainwashed.”
Loren sighed, hesitating for a moment before continuing. “So I was in a position that I had to move out of my apartment and Drew kept pushing for us to buy a house. It was one of the things I had wanted so badly but I could never afford it on my own. He had this whole song and dance about a big settlement he was waiting on from a past accident. It sounded believable—he even showed me paperwork. It started with him asking me to help him until it came through, and I did. I alone was approved for loans, opened lines of credit - he couldn’t do it because of his credit rating. I was so naive allowing him access. Then my dad cosigned for the house with me that had a cashback mortgage, and the money went into a joint access savings account. When he disappeared, I found out he’d drained everything with my name on it.”
William’s jaw tightened, his hands gripping the counter. This part, William already knew and it made his blood boil all over again.
Loren continued. “He had this whole scheme perfected. He made it look like he was trying to contribute, but in reality, he was still using resources from the last woman he conned. By the time he left, I had nothing but the house and a landslide of debt. That’s when I had to tell my parents. It was humiliating, but we figured out a plan to climb out of the hole he left me in.”
She took a breath, her voice softening. “Looking back, I should’ve seen it sooner, but I was so focused on trying to make things work. I kept convincing myself it was just a rough patch, that things would get better if I stuck it out. Thank God he left - but by the time he was through with me, with all the criticism and manipulation, I felt like I was just this shell of a person.”
She hesitated before continuing. “To make matters worse, there was another woman—Ashley—who I thought was a real friend. She didn’t seem to go along with the others, so I trusted her. I didn’t realize until it was too late that Drew and Ashley were secretly involved with each other. I walked in on them at a party—fucking in the bathroom.”
The kitchen was quiet enough to hear the white noise of the refrigerator humming. William sat frozen, a bottle of water halfway to his lips. He was seeing red listening to all of this, the bulging vein in his neck on full display.
Alex let out a low whistle, breaking the silence. “Well, holy fuck,” he said, shaking his head. “No wonder you’re not rushing to meet up with them - fucking soap opera.”
Loren chuckled and nodded. “Aren’t you glad you asked?” she nudged Alex playfully. Her eyes then settled on William’s face, his expression showing shades of disbelief of Loren’s story.
She eased up beside William as she began to gather her things to leave for an appointment. As usual, he wore nothing but his shorts and his slides, and Loren was quick to press her lips against the bare skin of his shoulder.
“So, on that happy note,” she quietly joked, “I better head out.”
Instead of his hold loosening, William pulled her body closer against him. “You’re coming back later, right? Before dinner, hopefully?”
She had been at William’s for the most part of the week and had intended on going home. But god, one look at his face….
She kissed where a trace of his smoothie lingered at the corner of his upper lip, then worked her way onto his full mouth. Mumbling against his lips, she said, “I’ll see you later. Let me know if anything changes for tonight, and I can go home.”
Alex, overhearing her last words, groaned and shook his head. “Please don’t. I can’t stand him looking so sulky and—” He rubbed his eyes and let out a mock whimper, chuckling as he glanced at his brother. As he padded off toward his bedroom, he called over his shoulder in Swedish, “Vi ses ikväll, Loren… ha en bra dag.” (See ya’ tonight, Loren… have a good day.) Glancing at William, he scoffed softly, chuckling as he disappeared down the hall.
“Sån åsna,” (such an ass) William muttered, shaking his head. His hand smoothed over Loren’s ass cheek as they started toward the door. “Anything you want tonight for dinner?”
“Food—and you… not necessarily in that order,” she replied suggestively, leaning in to give him one more lingering kiss for the road.
—
When Loren returned that evening, she got her wish—food and William, in no specific order—and the rare luxury of having the condo to themselves for the night (plus the dogs, of course). She glanced around the space, taking in his thoughtful touches: dimmed lights, candles flickering throughout, and the unmistakable tracks from one of William’s favorite playlists—entitled with their joint initials, “WNLG.” The slow, mellow songs had become their unofficial soundtrack, always leading to them being wrapped around each other before the second song was through.
After a coming-home kiss that made Loren melt, she slipped off her shoes and took in the warm ambiance William had created. He had wanted to do something for her after she’d shared the dysfunction from her past relationship. The gestures weren’t groundbreaking, nor were they born from pity or meant to erase her painful memories. They were simply a way to set the tone for their future together. And knowing Loren, candles, dinner, and him were all she needed to feel completely fulfilled.
He noticed the glossy white shopping bag dangling in her hand, his curiosity piqued. Hooking his finger into the top of the bag, he peeked inside, while his other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. “Chocolate-dipped strawberries,” he said softly, with a smirk.
Loren brushed her lips against the warmth of his cheek. “I saw these, and they reminded me of Paris… and you.” Her lips traveled to William’s mouth, her words soft and full of meaning. The kiss deepened quickly, and the low groan that escaped him which made Loren press her thighs together.
Breaking slightly from the kiss, she smiled. “Let me get these into the fridge… I’ll be right back.”
As she walked down the hallway to the kitchen, her heart swelled with adoration. She shook her head and smiled to herself, still reeling from his intimate greeting. She honestly felt like she could float away with the way he made her feel.
When Loren returned to the living room, William was lounging on the couch, waiting for her. She knew William had a thoughtful and romantic side—it had shone through during their two weeks together in Sweden towards the end of the summer. But since the season had started, it wasn’t that his desire for romance had diminished… there just weren’t as many chances to be alone.
With the candles, the waiting dinner, the playful and often racy messages he’d sent her throughout the day, and the smoldering welcome she’d received tonight, it was clear William had seized this opportunity to have her to himself—and he’d nailed it.
Loren approached him and immediately saw the unmistakable glint of mischief mixed with lust in his eyes. He sat in his usual tank top, legs splayed in his black sweat pants and to Loren, there was no man on the planet that was as effortlessly sexy as William.
His eyes scanned her body and he had no qualms in letting her know how visually stunning he found her. “Is that what you looked like all day?” he asked playfully, reaching out for her hands and guiding her on top of him, straddling his hips.
She smiled at him and raised an eyebrow, and gently nodded. She was uncertain of exactly what he meant by his question, but knew it would lead to something that would make her heart, and other areas in her body, throb with wanting.
William’s palms slid upwards along the fabric of her white, buttoned down shirt, eventually smoothing over her breasts. He could hardly wait to see what bra she wore which contained her voluptuous tits as she started to unbutton her shirt. The worked together to shed her shirt and he groaned as he looked at the pristine white lace cups that supported her cleavage, right directly in his line of sight.
“I know I always say this but fuck - you’re fucking stunning” his voice raspy as he massaged her breasts and slowly kissed her neck.
Loren’s fingers raked through his hair, starting at the base of his neck and working upward, her patented move that never failed to arouse him further. Slowly, she rocked back and forth on his lap, her slow movement deliciously teasing. Her voice was soft, airy, and laced with a sensual undertone.
“And I always think, ‘So are you.’” She leaned in closer, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, “You’re seriously the most gorgeous man imaginable.”
With that, and in one fluid motion, he lifted her, guiding her onto her back on the couch as he knelt between her legs. His hands moved efficiently, unbuttoning her slacks and sliding them past her hips, down her legs, and off entirely. He paused for a moment, taking her in, reveling in the sight of her—this vision he had craved all day.
The stark white of her thong against her olive skin nearly sent William over the edge. He’d been picturing them in bed, sheets strewn everywhere for most of the night, but now, with the condo blissfully empty, every spot on the couch was fair game.
Without hesitation, William shed his sweats and shorts in one fluid motion. His arousal was evident, and Loren’s gaze drifted downward, she felt an instant urge to take him into her mouth. Before she could act however, William had other plans already in motion.
Gently, he propped Loren’s back against the cushioned arm of the couch, guiding her legs open as his hands skimmed down her thighs. He paused for a moment, his eyes locking onto hers. He had thought about her all day, resisting the urge to manually relieve the pressure she ignited in him countless times. Now, he could worship her - he was determined to make her feel every iota of his desire for her that had been building.
Wetting his lips, he lowered himself between her legs, his gorgeous gaze fixed on hers gripped her soul. His saliva dampened the small strip of fabric that was the only barrier between his mouth and her clit. The tip of his tongue soon slid beneath the band of her thong, and he began teasing her entrance with steady and firm movement.
Her hands instinctively flew to his, grasping at him for support. The thin gold band he had given her recently graced her delicate thumb, reflecting the low lighting in his periphery. The sight only spurred him on - little by little, he looked forward to adorning her body with his deep admiration for her in every way imaginable.
Loren’s hips flexed purely from instinct, rocking back and forth against the sensation of William’s mouth as he lapped and gently sucked around her clit. He was so incredible with his mouth, it was as if his on-ice prowess translated seamlessly to the art of making a woman writhe with pleasure. He knew exactly how to guide his lips and tongue to find every spot that made her body tighten and shudder in response.
She always tried to keep her volume low, her breathy moans whispering his name just loud enough to stir his own desire. But he could tell when she was losing control—the way her hands clung to his hair, her thighs trembling against his shoulders. He would risk a noise complaint just to hear her let go completely, crying out as loudly as she needed.
Loren’s grip under her one knee, holding her legs open for him indented her skin, the beds of her fingernails were white. “Fuck William” constantly spilled out of her in the form of the hottest sounding moans. Her hair was a beautiful mess - half bunched against the pillow and half dangling off the side of the couch as her head leaned back from the unbridled ecstasy he kept pushing her towards.
He could have spent hours between Loren’s legs but he knew that, as much as she loved his mouth, she loved his cock. He had begun teasing her about the way she treats Cowboy Bill, the name she dubbed his cock months ago, and how he has become a whole other entity that she worships in the bedroom. Lingham massages were now in Loren’s rotation of her favourite things to do and William was not complaining.
William licked and kissed his way up her abdomen, stopping to suck on each of her taut nipples, now so sensitive that she gasped out his name as she tried to catch her breath. She slowly lifted her head, her pupils looked as black as night as her eyelids weighed heavily from so much stimulation between her thighs.
William kissed her so deeply with so much passion, she thought she might faint. She wrapped one arm behind his neck and the other around his shoulder as he lifted her slightly to lay her flat on the cushions and reposition himself, aligning his cock with her entrance.
His voice was low as he murmured against her lips. “Tell me what you want…what will make you cum…”
Loren’s eyes zeroed in on his. She didn’t speak right away, her chest still rising and falling rapidly.
She kissed him and lightly raked her fingernails down his chest and up his flank - she knew that drove him berserk in all the best ways. With mere millimeters from his lips, she answered breathlessly “Anything - I just want to feel like you can’t get enough of me.”
Done. Sold. Exactly what I had in mind - because I really can’t get enough he thought, as he kissed her fiercely.
The second he pushed inside her, Loren’s breath hitched, her body reacting instantly as her walls clenched tightly around him. William groaned low in his throat, his head lowering as he paused, the thick chain around his neck dangling between them as he steadied himself.
He began slowly, each thrust steady, but for Loren, the depth and force of his movements soon had her gasping. With every roll of his hips, he pushed deeper, her body reacting to him, their physical and emotional connection intensifying with each passing second.
Loren’s hands gripped tightly onto William’s ass, her nails digging into his skin as she urged him deeper. Every nerve in her body was electrified, the pressure in her core building to an almost unbearable intensity. It felt like one long, sustained orgasm—her body couldn’t get enough of him, yet it almost felt like it was on the edge of being too much.
Hooking the back of her knee over his forearm, he pinned her legs open wider, the other leg draped over the back of the couch. With her completely open to him, he drove into her with dizzying force, the sound of their bodies colliding echoing through the room. The couch cushions recoiled beneath her with every powerful thrust, subdued cries and moans of pleasure filling the space.
As he pushed deep into her and held himself there, Loren’s body reacted instinctively. Her hips rolled up to meet him, her hands gripping onto his hips and ass as she fucked him back. The sight of her body moving so desperately beneath him made William groan low in his throat - she was pure magic and he was completely blown away by her.
He spat onto her clit, his thumb immediately finding the incredibly sensitive spot he had discovered many passionate encounters ago. As he stroked her, his eyes were drawn to the way her abdomen muscles flexed and contracted with every movement. He could feel his balls tightening, the heat pooling low in his stomach, but he didn’t want to cum yet—not before her.
Her movements began to slow, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. William leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, “You’re incredible. So fucking amazing. You feel so good, Loren.”
With that, he lifted her effortlessly, repositioning her once more. Her legs pinned wide apart, he thrust into her again, his pace unrelenting. The sound of their grunts, moans, and strained voices reverberated through the room, mixing with the creak of the couch beneath them.
Loren felt the familiar, unstoppable grip of her orgasm taking hold. Her body tightened, her hands clawing at the fabric of the couch cushion as her head turned, pressing against the armrest. “Oh my god, William!” she shrieked, her legs trying to close instinctively as high-voltage stimulation jolted through her.
William grunted and strained loudly, holding her legs open firmly as he continued driving into her. The sight of her quivering body, her hand over her mouth and the sound of her moans was his undoing. He thrusted deep into her one last time, his release spilling into her as he collapsed onto her.
They stayed there for a time, their bodies tangled together, his cock still buried inside her as he slowly stroked her from within. Loren’s breathing was uneven, her limbs slack as she melted into the cushions. He knew how dazed and dozy she got after moments like this, and he couldn’t stop the satisfied smirk from spreading across his face.
Eventually, he rolled onto his side, pulling her with him. They kissed lazily, their bodies glistening with a sheen of sweat from their exertion.
It took a while before they finally moved, sliding off the couch and adjusting the cushions back into place. Loren noticed a few marks left behind from their sexcapade and made a mental note to clean up the spots later. The couch was soon to be replaced as part of the condo renovations, so the evidence of their passion would only be temporary, one way or another.
Slipping her white shirt back on as a casual cover-up, Loren wandered into the kitchen, where William was pouring two glasses of wine and setting their take-out containers in the oven to warm. He handed her one of the glasses and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close as his lips found the curve of her neck.
“Hungry?” he murmured against her skin, his voice low and tender. Loren nodded, her hand smoothing over the back of his head as he leaned into her.
Before long, the two of them found themselves slow dancing in the kitchen, swaying gently to the music still streaming through the sound system.
After a quick shower together and a change into more comfortable clothes, William and Loren found themselves back in the kitchen. Loren, now dressed in one of William’s oversized hoodies and a pair of soft shorts, leaned against the counter, her hair still damp from the shower. William stood close by, barefoot in sweats and a simple tee, looking completely at ease as he slid the lids off their warmed take-out containers.
Without a second thought, they began eating directly out of the containers, passing them back and forth with teasing smiles and playful nudges. Loren couldn’t help but feel a warmth settle in her chest. To anyone else, it might have seemed unremarkable, but to her, standing there with him in their little bubble, this felt just as romantic as any candlelit dinner. Maybe more so.
Loren twirled a fettuccine noodle around her fork, pausing before bringing it to her mouth as a thought struck her. She set the fork down and looked up at William. “I really love this. I think I’d prefer this to any fancy dinner in the city. Everything about tonight has been so perfect… Tack min älskling.” She leaned in to kiss him gently, his arms wrapping securely around her.
William smiled against her lips before pulling back slightly. “I have to admit,” he began, hesitating as he searched for the right words, “the stuff you told us this morning—I’ve been thinking about it a lot today. Not in a bad way, but… how come I never knew about all that with your ex and those friends? Like… they’re seriously fucked up. I’m just a little surprised you’ve never mentioned it.”
Loren gazed at him, her smile soft and apologetic. “I never brought it up because, honestly, I don’t even think about it anymore. It’s like this blip in time that’s so insignificant now. It just… doesn’t matter enough to come up.”
William nodded slowly. “Yeah, okay… I get that.” He stabbed a rigatoni noodle onto his fork and offered it to her with a small smile. “But, uh… do you know if you’re going to meet up with what’s-her-face?”
Loren leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms loosely as she met his gaze. “I’m not sure. I don’t really see a reason to. Life’s been just fine without them. Honestly, I’m relieved they did me a massive favor by ending the whole faux-friendship thing we had going.” She reached for the wine bottle and poured the last of it into their glasses. “Do you think I should?”
William shrugged, his expression thoughtful. “Well… I mean, you owe them fuck all. But it might be interesting for them to see just how great you’re doing.”
Loren took a slow sip of her wine, considering his words. “I know you’re not saying I need their attention or validation, but… honestly? I couldn’t care less about that. On the other hand, if I go, I could see if anything’s really changed with Kayla or anyone else. If not, yeah, I might waste a couple of hours, but at least I’ll know where things stand.”
William tilted his head, his voice softening. “How about this—if you do meet them, don’t go to them. Have them come here. I’ll help you pick a nice spot. You meet up, and if you do it when I’m home, I’ll be there.”
Loren’s brows furrowed slightly, her expression caught between confusion and misgiving. “But—”
William shook his head, already anticipating her protest. “No buts. I’ll grab a spot—a table. I’ll bring some buddies, hang out nearby. You won’t even have to look at me if you don’t want to, but I’ll be close by. Just in case.”
Loren thought about it for a moment, her heart swelling at his thoughtfulness. Finally, she smiled. “I’ll think about it. And I guess if I get to glance at you once in a while… the night wouldn’t be a total waste.” She winked, clinking her glass gently against his.
The evening of Loren’s meetup with Kayla, Avrie, and Livia arrived in a flash after she had made arrangements the week prior. Following William’s suggestions, Loren requested the women make the 45-minute trek into the city, explaining she was swamped with meetings downtown. The highly-rated lounge William helped her choose, located on Queen Street West, was the perfect mix of cozy and eclectic—a beautiful spot for cocktails without feeling too pretentious.
Loren emerged from the bedroom into the kitchen, dressed in the outfit she’d carefully selected for the night. To her, it was simple—just a black turtleneck and pencil skirt paired with knee-high heeled boots. But to William, she was art in motion. With her hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail and makeup applied flawlessly, she radiated effortless sophistication. A slow, wide grin spread across his face as he watched her move across the room.
“You look… wow,” he said, his voice warm and genuine.
Loren smiled softly, smoothing her skirt. “It’s just a turtleneck and a skirt.”
William chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s not ‘just’ and not when it’s on a body like yours.”
The plan for the evening was straightforward enough. Alex and William, along with a few of William’s friends, would head to the same lounge about 30 minutes after Loren’s reservation time at 7:00. William had arranged for them to have a table nearby—close enough to keep an eye on things, but far enough to not be a distraction. The lounge staff, who were familiar with William from his years in Toronto, had no trouble accommodating their specific seating requests.
William’s primary goal was to be there for moral support without intruding, even if their carefully orchestrated plan made it feel like something out of a spy movie. Protecting their relationship in such a public space required a bit of strategy, but it was worth it.
There was also an element of playful mischief to William’s plan. If the women weren’t hockey fans, his presence might go unnoticed—but if they were, a well-timed bottle of champagne sent to their table by the Nylander brothers would surely make an impression. And if the moment called for it, William had no problem walking up, introducing himself, and appearing utterly captivated by Loren.
“Don’t stress about it too much,” William said as Loren checked her phone for updates. “It’s just a couple of hours, and by 9:00, we’ll be almost home, in bed by 10, and very satisfied by 11.” His smirk was down-right devilish as he leaned against the counter.
Loren cocked an eyebrow. “Or we can just cancel the potential shit-show and get started early,” she grinned. “Seriously though - William… thank you for sort of holding my hand through this part.” Loren walked up to him with a little seductive sway. “Can I eye fuck you a little from across the room?”
William chuckled. “Yeah - I think I’d be upset if you didn't.”
—
Midway through the second round of drinks—for everyone but Loren—Livia wrapped up her long-winded story about the drama swirling around her life over the past few years. Loren nursed her drink, smiling politely as she listened, all the while feeling a sense of detachment. Same group, same dynamics, same chaos. She realized that not much had changed for them since she left that part of her life behind.
Every now and then, Loren’s eyes flicked over to William. He was seated at a table across the lounge, laughing at something Alex had said. She caught him glancing her way more than once, his lips curling into a small, reassuring smile that calmed her nerves. Meanwhile, Alex was keeping her entertained with a steady stream of messages, most of which were filled with playful commentary about her companions.
Alex: Which one’s Kayla? The brunette with the long straight hair?
Loren: really Alex…jesus. **
Alex: What - is she up for a little action. Want me to bring her back with us tonight?
Loren: I will fucking start adding estrogen to your smoothies if you do.
She bit back a laugh, setting her phone aside as Kayla turned her attention to her. “So, Loren,” she began, leaning forward in her seat. “What’s your deal these days? Are you seeing anyone?”
“And where are you staying in the city?” Livia chimed in. “It must be nice to be downtown so much.”
“Also,” Avrie added, giving Loren an exaggerated once-over, “you have to tell us how you look like this now. You’re glowing.”
Loren smiled, holding her glass delicately in one hand. Her answers were vague but polite, carefully crafted to satisfy their curiosity without giving them a single piece of meaningful information.
She was amazed at how easily she could wordsmith her way through their questions, a skill she hadn’t fully appreciated until now. These women weren’t interested in her happiness or growth—they wanted gossip, diet hacks, and anything surface-level that could fuel their next group chat.
Loren’s tolerance was wearing thin. When Kayla called over the server for one more round, Loren decided to ask what their plan was for getting home. “Are you guys staying downtown tonight?” she inquired casually.
Kayla and Livia exchanged an awkward glance before Avrie offered a sheepish smile. “Uh, so… Ashley is our ride. She, um, kind of found out about the plan to meet up with you and asked to come tonight.”
Loren’s stomach flipped, though her expression didn’t falter. “Really…where is she?” she asked, her tone perfectly even.
Kayla nodded, looking mildly uncomfortable. “She said she might not come in and would just wait in the car. We made her the DD.”
The last time Loren had laid eyes on Ashley was the fateful night that she walked in on Drew railing her against a bathroom counter. She was so fragile then and she remembered it completely shattering what was left of her.
Loren sipped her drink to steady herself, forcing her hands to remain still. So much for mending fences, she thought bitterly. They didn’t come here to reconnect—they came to pry, to gossip. The realization made her feel foolish for even agreeing to this meeting.
Glancing at her phone, she noted the time. 7:56 p.m. She decided right then and there: come hell or high water, she was out of there no later than 9:00.
As Kayla launched into yet another anecdote, Loren subtly tapped out a quick message to William.
Loren: I think you’re having way more fun than I am lol
William: Probably. Keep up the eye fucking tho. I like it.
She hid her grin at the response. She resolved to stick it out just a little longer—not for them, but for herself. Just to be 100% certain with knowing they were still the same as they always were, and that she had long rid herself of the petty and toxic dynamics that once surrounded her.
After Avrie wrapped up her own synopsis of what’s wrong with everyone else in the world, Loren suddenly sensed the energy shift in the room, like an uncomfortable presence. When she finally turned, there was Ashley—approaching the table tentatively, shoulders rounded and head slightly bowed. It was a stark contrast to the Ashley Loren remembered, the one who used to stride into rooms like she owned them, commanding attention with her confidence and beguiling smile.
Now, Ashley looked… tired. Her eyes were shadowed, her posture meek. Loren’s skin bristled, tension gripping her muscles, but she forced herself to sit still. I can do this. Leaving in less than an hour - I’ve already made it this far.
Ashley greeted the table with a faint smile, her gaze flickering over Loren and lingering for just a moment longer than the others. “Hey Loren,” she said softly, visibly taken aback by Loren’s transformation.
Loren’s phone vibrated against the table, pulling her focus for a moment. The other women had been periodically scrolling their phones, so she didn’t feel bad about checking hers.
It was from William.
You good?
Another message popped up almost instantly from Alex:
Who dat?
Loren suppressed a smile and quickly replied, dat is Ashley 😬.
Glancing up, she caught William’s eyes from across the room. He gave her a subtle, questioning look, and she responded with a slight nod and a small smile. They exchanged a silent conversation with just their expressions—an unspoken reassurance that he was there if she needed him.
The conversation at the table flowed, at least on the surface. It was amicable enough, but Loren could feel the tension simmering beneath each exchange. Ashley didn’t say much, her words carefully chosen, as if she knew she wasn’t entirely welcome. Loren couldn’t decide if she felt pity for her or if her wariness outweighed everything else.
Then, as if on cue, a server approached the table, balancing a tray of champagne flutes filled with vibrant, sparkling concoctions. “Compliments of the gentlemen at that table,” he said, nodding toward William and Alex’s group.
Loren’s cheeks flushed as her gaze locked onto William’s once more. He was watching her, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. Her bashful grin spread across her face, and she bit her bottom lip to stifle a laugh.
“Wait, what?” Avrie blurted, spinning in her seat to look at the men. Recognition dawned on her face almost instantly. “Oh my god, that’s William Nylander.”
Kayla turned as well, her eyes widening as she made the connection. “And fuck, his brother’s there too… Jesus Christ.”
Avrie, the same one who had spent twenty minutes earlier gushing about her “amazing boyfriend,” leaned in conspiratorially. “Given the chance,” she said with a sly grin, “I’d easily make myself single for one night - even one hour - with him.” She nodded toward William. “I wouldn’t think twice and I sure wouldn’t feel guilty about it.”
Loren’s mouth dropped inside her mind at the thought, but she didn’t let it show. She sipped her drink, silently enjoying their reaction.
The women’s chatter about how they’d “take down” the Nylander brothers grew louder, making Loren’s cheeks flush even deeper. But just as the conversation was hitting a crescendo, William rose from his table. Her eyes followed him as he made his way toward them, his confident swagger impossible to miss.
Her breath caught slightly as he stopped at their table. His voice was warm and polite, but Loren could see the mischievous glint in his eyes. “Hope you’re all having a good night,” he said smoothly, nodding to the group. “And I hope you’re enjoying the drinks.”
The women looked stunned, their mouths slightly agape, but William’s gaze had already landed on Loren. He tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into a faint smile. “I feel like I know you from somewhere,” he said, his tone tinged with playful sheepishness.
Loren raised an eyebrow, playing along. “We met briefly in March,” she said lightly, “the Easter Seals Skate.”
Recognition seemed to dawn on his face as he snapped his fingers. “That’s it. I knew you looked familiar. It’s good to see you.”
The exchange between them felt electric, as if no one else existed in that moment. The women at the table sat frozen, watching the scene unfold like a live tennis match. Although on the surface, their exchange was just polite banter—but their attraction to one another was palpable and electric.
Loren couldn’t help the small, satisfied smile that crept onto her face as William excused himself, flashing her one last look before walking back to his table. She glanced at the women, who were still staring after him, their faces a mix of shock and envy.
Well, that went better than expected, Loren thought, hiding her smirk behind her champagne flute.
Loren felt the weight of their collective gaze as their eyes locked onto her, the questions starting immediately.
“So… you know William Nylander?”
“Have you two slept together? What’s he like??”
“Is he single?”
“Have you met anyone else on the team?”
Their voices overlapped in a barrage of curiosity and thinly veiled prying. Loren stayed calm, her expression neutral, silently groaning over how shallow these women sounded. They were fishing for gossip just to pass along, feeding their own sense if superiority.
Loren began to respond to the questions as she remembered each one. “Well, like I mentioned, I met him in March,” Loren said simply, her voice even because it was true.
“It would be such a dream to be with him…like that…he’s a little out of my league though I think.” Again, Loren felt this was the truth…these have been her thoughts many times.
“It’s hard to know what’s truth and rumour - but I feel his career is his prime focus.”
“I’ve met a bunch of the guys on the team, the same way I met William….through a charity event that I helped raise money for.”
Her answers were direct, concise, and left no room for further interpretation. She smiled politely but didn’t elaborate, making it clear she had no intention of feeding their curiosity. The women exchanged glances, clearly unsatisfied but unable to push further without looking desperate.
“Well, that’s boring,” Avrie muttered under her breath, earning a light laugh from Kayla.
Loren sipped her drink, unbothered. This was their game - and she couldn’t have cared less.
A lull in the conversation gave Loren her opportunity. “Excuse me,” she said, standing and smoothing her skirt. “I’m just going to the washroom.”
She walked away, feeling their eyes on her back. Once she was out of sight, Loren pulled out her phone to text William to tell him he was absolutely amazing and to thank him again for being there. Before she could type the message, she heard the faint sound of footsteps behind her. She turned to see Ashley walking toward her, her steps hesitant and tentative. Loren’s stomach twisted, but she didn’t say anything, opting to walk into the washroom instead.
Inside the stall, Loren’s phone buzzed, a text from William:
Did Ashley follow you in? Don’t like this. Pls call me if anything feels weird.
Loren exhaled deeply, her nerves suddenly on edge. She tapped out a quick reply: She’s coming in but it’s ok I think. I will call if I need you. Thank you my love.
The sound of the washroom door opening, followed by a stall door closing echoed in the room. Loren wasn’t sure whether to feel uneasy or just annoyed. The quiet stretched, punctuated only by the occasional sound of flushing water or ripping toilet paper.
Finally, as Loren stepped out to wash her hands, Ashley emerged as well. Their reflections met in the mirror, two very different women bound by a shared, messy history.
Ashley’s eyes floated to Loren’s reflection in the mirror, then quickly away, as though she couldn’t hold her gaze for long. Loren’s movements were slow and deliberate as she lathered her hands, pretending not to notice the tension radiating off the other woman.
“I wasn’t sure if I should even come tonight,” Ashley finally said, her voice soft, almost timid. “But I… I needed to.”
Loren’s hands stilled under the running water, but she didn’t look up. Instead, she grabbed a paper towel and dried her hands, giving Ashley space to continue.
“I wanted to tell you…” Ashley hesitated, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. “I wanted to say how sorry I am. For everything. What I did to you… it still eats at me. You were the one of the most trustworthy - the most genuine person I’ve ever been friends with and I….well….I guess I don’t need to repeat what I did…,” Ashley’s trailed off.
Loren finally looked at her. Ashley’s shoulders were rounded, her once confident posture replaced with something that almost resembled shame. Her eyes, tired and brimming with tears, searched Loren’s face for any sign of forgiveness.
“I…” Loren started, then paused. She folded her arms across her chest, leaning slightly against the sink. “Ashley, I’m sorry this is something you still carry around…but it’s all in the past now - it’s been years. And yes, it was the hardest time in my life—and one of the lowest—but honestly, I’m beyond thankful for what happened.”
Ashley blinked, startled. “Thankful?”
Loren nodded. “It forced me to see people - to see everything as it truly was….Drew leaving, you ladies…well, I don’t want to drudge it all back up….but all of it, blessings in disguise.”
Ashley’s lips trembled as she bit down on them, nodding slowly. Loren could see the regret etched into her expression, and for the first time, she felt a sliver of sympathy..
Ashley exhaled a shaky breath. “I’m glad it worked out when he left you. Maybe the same will happen for me.”
Loren’s brows furrowed, confusion flashing across her face. “What do you mean?”
Ashley looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers. “Drew… after he left you, I stopped seeing him. He left for Alberta years ago but he came back and into my life about six months ago. I was so leery, but he seemed so different. Regretful. He charmed me, said all the right things, made me believe he’d changed. And for a while, I believed him.”
Loren’s stomach sank, her fingers tightening around the edge of the counter. “Ashley…”
Ashley’s voice wavered as she continued. “He hasn’t changed. If anything, he’s worse. Controlling, volatile… I can’t stand being at home with him. All I do is work just to avoid him, but even then…” Her voice broke, and she looked up at Loren, tears streaming down her cheeks. “But there’s something else. He’s been trying to figure out where your house is.”
Loren’s body tensed, her eyes widening. “What?”
Ashley nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “He saw you on that talk show, and then your online videos… he said he wanted to try to remember where your house is - so he could come by just to apologize for everything - but the neighborhood looks completely different with all the new houses that were built. I think it something that’s been really bothering him.”
Dread washed over Loren as her mind raced. Drew’s agitation, his fixation—it made her stomach twist into knots, a feeling that was still far too familiar and Drew was always the source of it.
Ashley’s voice cracked as she added, “I want - I - I think I need to get away from him, but I don’t know how. I don’t even know where to start.”
Loren steadied herself, forcing the siren going off in her head to quiet. She met Ashley’s tearful gaze and spoke calmly but firmly. “Ashley. Think of it this way: you have two choices. Either you stay and let him drain you until there’s nothing left, or you make a plan and get out.”
Ashley sobbed quietly, nodding but looking utterly lost. “I don’t know how - my mind is a mess….like all the time.”
“Do you have someone close to you that you trust? Anyone who can take you in, even just for a while?”
Ashley hesitated, then nodded faintly. “Maybe…”
“Then start there,” Loren said, her tone unwavering. “Pack a bag when he’s not around. Make sure you have money in an account with a bank card that he doesn’t have access to. Depending on how he reacts - and if he does react badly - keep track of everything. At least start a file with the police if it escalates - make them aware of what’s happening.”
Ashley wiped at her tears, nodding again. Loren’s heart clenched, torn between wanting to help, the flash thought of giving Ashley shelter popped into her mind - but she corrected herself quickly - she had to keep her own boundaries intact.
As they left the washroom, Loren’s mind was buzzing with everything Ashley had shared. Her thoughts came to a screeching halt, however, when she looked up and saw William at the bar—talking to Drew.
Her blood ran cold. Ashley froze beside her, her face pale. Neither of them had expected this.
William’s smile disappeared the moment he saw Loren and Ashley reenter the room. The way she looked - her jaw clenched and her eyes scanning the bar - he knew something was up. He looked back at the man he’d been casually chatting with moments earlier. The man’s expression had turned dark and menacing. William gut instinct was that it was Drew sitting there. He felt the tension radiating off Loren even as she kept her composure as best as she could.
As the women moved closer to the bar, Ashley leaned in close to Loren, her voice trembling as she spoke under her breath, “He must’ve seen my messages. I—maybe he took my phone while I was asleep?”
Loren whispered a simple “it’s ok” as a response.
Instead of acknowledging Drew, Loren’s focus zeroed in on William. She offered him a polite smile and softly thanked him. “Thanks for the drinks. It was nice to see you again.” The undercurrent in her tone was clear—she wanted to leave.
William caught on immediately. Without a word, but with a smile to acknowledge Loren’s appreciation, he turned back to the manager and finished up their conversation. He thanked him for his help and made arrangements to cover both Loren’s table and his own. As William prepared to return to his table, he glanced at Drew, who lingered at the bar, pretending not to notice their exchange. “Have a good night,” William said tersely, his voice just loud enough, then muttered motherfucker under his breath as he walked away.
Drew, sensing the shift in the air, seemed to pick up on the silent watchfulness of the bartender and the manager. He remained at the bar, his earlier boastfulness noticeably absent.
Loren and Ashley returned to the table, where Kayla, Avrie, and Livia stared at them with mild shock on their faces. Loren, remaining composed, offered only a dry half-smile. “Well,” she said lightly, “I think that’s my cue to leave.”
The cattiness that usually was so prevalent in the group wasn’t there; even they couldn’t argue against Loren’s decision to leave. The server arrived with another round of drinks for the remaining three women and a virgin concoction for Ashley, announcing that the bill had already been taken care of. Loren reached for her coat, and while quickly slipping it on, she realized so happy and free she felt. She really had no ties to any of these women, or better yet, no ties to the narcissist of a man that was once in her life sitting at the bar ruminating about all the cunts in the world that cause him problems.
She pulled a small wad of cash from her purse and left it on the table. “A little extra for the server,” she said, knowing full well the others wouldn’t follow suit.
She wished the ladies well but before turning to leave, Loren put her hands on Ashley’s shoulders and leaned her head down. In the softest, most discreet tone, she said, “Take care of yourself. And if you have no other options… reach out. I’ll try to help.”
Ashley’s eyes filled with something that looked like a mixture of shame and gratitude. She nodded faintly, her lips trembling as she whispered, “Thank you.”
Loren didn’t spare another glance in Drew’s direction as she slipped through the lounge doors and out into the crisp night air. The crowd inside shifted easily to fill the space she left behind, and within moments, it was as though she was never there.
While Kayla was quick to start the proceedings and grill Ashley demanding to know what all was said in the washroom and at the bar, Avrie had a Swede on her mind. She swiveled in her seat, scanning the room for any lingering signs of the Nylanders. “Do you think they’re still here?” she asked, her neck craning to search the space.
The answer came quickly enough. Their table, once occupied by William, Alex, and their friends, was now empty. The servers were already clearing it for the next group of patrons. Whatever hopes Avrie had for an illicit encounter with William vanished as she turned back to her drink with a pout.
Meanwhile, Loren and William were in the backseat of his friend Mark’s SUV, with Alex sat in the front. As Mark drove toward the condo, Loren sat quietly holding William’s hand looking out the window at the exterior lights of the many bars and restaurants in the area. The chatter from Alex and Mark in the front brought her mind back, a mix of disbelief and adrenaline fueled their commentary about the events of the evening.
“That’s unbelievable that you were just standing there, chatting with some random guy,” Alex said, shaking his head. “And it turns out to be him - the douchebag.”
William’s grip on Loren’s hand tightened slightly, the tension in his shoulders beginning to become bothersome.
Mark chimed in with a low whistle. “That guy - sorry Loren - he’s a real piece of work, though. You could just see how much of a piece of shit he really was.”
Loren finally glanced over at William, her hand slipping onto his thigh. “Thank you,” she said softly, her voice filled with meaning.
William glanced at her briefly, his features softening. “You don’t have to thank me,” he murmured. “I just want to get you home.”
The rest of the drive passed in comfortable silence, the tension from earlier slowly dissipating. As Mark dropped them off, William’s hand found Loren’s waist as they walked in, giving it a reassuring squeeze. In that moment, she felt the weight of the evening begin to lift. They were all safely back in the warmth and comfort of the condo, with Pablo and Banksy anxiously waiting for their return.
Later that night, with the dogs softly snoring at the foot of the bed and the city quiet outside their windows, William and Loren lay tangled together under the covers. Loren rested her head on his chest, her fingers tracing patterns along his abdomen.
She’d just finished recounting her conversation with Ashley in the washroom, and William’s hand absently ran up and down her back as he listened. When she was done, he shook his head, letting out a low groan.
“I think you need to cut all ties,” he said bluntly, though the softness in his voice made it clear he wasn’t being critical. "And - fuck, I don't feel right about you being alone at your house. Even if that motherfucker can't remember which one his your house, that shit really bothers me. We'll look at getting one of those camera systems, okay?" William paused and then began to tease. "Jesus, I mean, I thought my friend group in Stockholm had its fair share of drama, but your ex-life? It takes the prize.”
Loren chuckled softly, her breath warm against his skin. “With Ashley, I would only help her if she had absolutely no other options, William. I’m not about to jump back into a situation that isn’t mine to fix.”
William tipped her chin up with his fingers, his lips brushing hers. “What is it you always say?” His voice was quiet, teasing. “Not my—?”
Loren smiled, kissing him lightly before finishing the sentence. “Not my sink, not my dishes.”
William laughed, his chest rumbling against her cheek. “I’ve only ever heard ‘Not my circus, not my monkeys.’”
Loren tilted her head, pretending to ponder this. “Oh right - that’s the better one,” she admitted before her lips twitched mischievously. “How about ‘Not my pig, not my farm’.”
William smirked, leaning down to kiss her again. “Ok….’Not my...’?” He paused, clearly stumped as his eyebrows furrowed. “Fuck - I got nothing.”
Loren further countered with “Not my cow, not my pasture.”
William let out a groan of mock defeat, rolling her onto her back and hovering over her. “Okay, well now you’re just showing off.”
“Maybe,” she teased, her hands sliding into his hair as he kissed her deeply. “Don’t you love it when I get all showy?”
“Showy….maybe,” his voice low and playful as his lips trailed down her neck. “You wanna show me something?”
Loren giggled, wrapping her arms around him. In that moment, the weight of the evening dissolved entirely, replaced by the laughter and warmth of a man that she was deeply in love with.
I hope you enjoyed this, Nonnie ❤️
#william x loren#william x loren blurb#william nylander fic#wn88 imagine#william nylander imagine#alex nylander imagine#william nylander fanfic#william nylander smut#my anon asks#toronto maple leafs imagine#william nylander#nhl fanfiction
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Matchup for @kittywhoo
Congratulations you have a match with..
Leona Kingscholar !
★Leona might seem gruff and indifferent at first glance, but beneath that exterior is someone who would resonate with you on so many levels. He’s sharp, confident, and has a dry wit that would match your playful, teasing humor perfectly. Leona is the type who thrives on banter, and your quick mind and sharp tongue would keep him intrigued and entertained. He wouldn’t be fazed by your harsh jokes,instead, he’d fire back with his own snarky remarks, turning every conversation into a playful battle of wits.
★What would truly draw Leona to you is your strength of character. You’re loyal, protective, and unafraid to stand up for what you believe in. He’s the kind of person who values action over words, and your willingness to fight for your loved ones would leave a lasting impression on him. He’d admire your fairness and your belief that everyone deserves respect until they prove otherwise. Leona himself has faced a lifetime of being underestimated and treated unfairly, so your mindset would be something he both respects and relates to on a deeply personal level.
★Your relationship would have this electric, back-and-forth dynamic that keeps both of you on your toes. Leona would love debating with you, whether it’s about something serious or completely trivial, and he’d appreciate that you’re not afraid to challenge him. He’s used to people tiptoeing around him or agreeing with him out of fear, so having a partner who can stand up to him and push him would be a breath of fresh air. That said, he’d also admire how much heart you put into everything you do. Your emotional, caring side would balance out his more aloof personality, creating a dynamic that’s both exciting and comforting.
★Leona would secretly love how much effort you’d put into pampering and decorating him. He might roll his eyes and grumble when you offer to do his nails or pick out his outfits, but deep down, he’d be flattered by the attention. He’d sit through your pampering sessions with a mix of mock annoyance and quiet pride, and you’d probably catch him showing off the results later without even realizing it. Letting you “decorate” him would become one of the ways he shows his trust and affection,it’s his way of saying, “I don’t let just anyone do this, but for you, I will.”
★Despite his laid-back and sometimes lazy attitude, Leona would never hesitate to show up for you when it matters most. He might not be overly expressive, but his actions would speak louder than words. Whether it’s quietly defending you when you’re not around or standing by your side when things get tough, Leona’s loyalty would shine through in the moments that matter most. He’d push you to embrace your confidence, reminding you just how incredible you are even when you don’t see it yourself.
★What makes the two of you such a perfect match is the balance you bring to each other’s lives. You’re fiery, passionate, and full of energy, while Leona is calm, collected, and grounded. Together, you’d create a relationship that’s equal parts playful and stable,a mix of sharp humor, mutual respect, and quiet moments of understanding. You’d bring out the best in each other, pushing each other to grow while still appreciating each other’s quirks and flaws.
★Leona would adore your loyalty and your protective nature, even if he doesn’t always say it outright. He’d recognize how much effort you put into your relationships, and he’d quietly match that effort in his own way. Whether it’s through small, thoughtful gestures or simply being there when you need him most, Leona would prove time and time again that he values and respects you more than words could ever express.
★At the end of the day, you and Leona would be the ultimate power couple,two strong, independent people who choose to stand by each other, not because you need to, but because you want to.
English is not my first language so I'm sorry if there are any spelling mistakes!
#matchup#twisted wonderland matchup#twisted wonderland#leona kingscholar#leona twst#leona twisted wonderland#leona x reader
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Of Convenience 10.4
(all previous parts of "Of Convenience")
Adar x Celebrimbor (silverscars) political marriage AU, 10th snippet, part 4. As the dust settles, Adar and Celebrimbor finally have a heart to heart (and more).
Warnings major character death (though it's left a lil ambiguous) (none of the heroes!) as well as...gratuitous amounts of sappiness towards the end (and smooches!). A big Thank you again to everyone who has liked/commented/reblogged/written me messages. Your support means the world to me. Enjoy these two dorks finally having their moment – and remember, there’ll be a little epilogue after this part, so you don’t have to say goodbye to this AU just yet.
It took a long moment for the ringing in Celebrimbor’s ears to stop and until he felt aware of his own body again. A moment during which most of his senses deserted him, and the only thing that grounded him was Adar’s body wrapped around his own, gauntleted hand covering the smith’s head and bare hand clinging to his back, with Celebrimbor’s own hands clutching Adar’s shoulders.
Despite the loud noise, despite the wave of pressure that had pinned them to the ground, the only thing the elf could feel was safe.
After that, silence settled over the forge – imperfect, as Celebrimbor could hear another shelf crash onto the ground, doubtlessly spilling more books and scrolls everywhere. There was also the loud breathing of Adar in his ear, and the groans and grunts of his elven friends-
Celebrimbor lifted his head from where he’d hidden it in his husband’s shoulder in small increments, and blinked his eyes to clear them.
The forge came back into view slowly. It had taken even more damage from the recent explosion and seemed to be covered in a fine dusting of icy crystals, spreading outward from the point Sauron had been felled. The spot itself, however, was empty – safe for the dark iron sword which lay on the ground, broken into several large pieces.
Gil-Galad, Elrond and Galadriel had been thrown to the ground as well, each in a different direction. Whereas Gil-Galad was already struggling to sit up, Elrond was still spread out on his back, and Galadriel had merely propped herself up on an elbow.
With a new surge of worry, Celebrimbor quickly checked over Adar; the uruk himself was shaking his own head as if to dispel some dizziness, and had begun to move off of the elf. Apart from the cuts on his body, he appeared to be unharmed. Only now did Celebrimbor notice how heavy, yet comforting, Adar’s weight had felt on top of his own body.
The uruk sat back on his knees and helped Celebrimbor by pulling him up as well. Together, they slowly rose to their feet, both husbands supporting each other as they did. Despite the close proximity to one another, it seemed Adar was still more focused on the fate of the maia they had just fought – the elf couldn’t fault him. And gave the uruk a little nudge to go and check the place where Sauron had last stood.
Adar threw Celebrimbor a questioning gaze. The elf gave him a soft smile in return and tightened his hand on the uruk's shoulder for a moment. "Go. I know you want to take look for yourself. We got time, now. We can speak after."
Adar briefly remained rooted to the spot, then nodded gratefully before he walked over to the broken sword.
Celebrimbor himself went over to his friends instead and sunk down at Elrond’s side, where the peredhel still remained laying on the ground.
He had a wound on his temple that bled a little, and groaned when the smith gently helped him into a sitting position. "I think I hit my head. Twice," he complained and swayed in place for a moment. Celebrimbor winced as he remembered how he had first caught a glimpse of Elrond in this room during the battle. If he’d been thrown into a wall as well, Elrond would surely bruise into various shades of blue and purple in the aftermath of this fight.
Gil-Galad staggered over to them shortly after; he too still looked a little out of it, but at least he could walk on his own. He relieved Celebrimbor of holding up Elrond and let the peredhel rest against his own raised knee and chest instead.
He also placed a hand on the smith’s nape. "How are you?" he asked, and then. "You shouldn’t be here."
Celebrimbor stared at his king and then tilted his head sideways. "I apologize for not following your orders. Again. But if I had, you might all be dead now," he shrugged. "So forgive me for now feeling particularly remorseful that I didn't."
Gil-Galad’s look was one of resignation, but it only held for a moment before he reached around the smith and drew him into a hug.
These were strange times indeed, Celebrimbor thought briefly, but let himself get dragged forward and returned the hug. He even went so far as to wind an arm around Elrond as well, albeit gently as to not jostle the poor herald too much. It seemed that a hand on Celebrimbor's arm was the best the younger elf could do to reciprocate. The smith simply closed his eyes for a brief moment and enjoyed the contact.
From across the forge, he heard voices, and opened his eyes to find Galadriel and Adar standing together, shoulder to shoulder, looking at the ‘remains’ of the maia.
"Do you think he’s truly gone?" Adar asked, sounding skeptical. There was still tension to his body, his gauntleted hand curling and uncurling by his side.
Galadriel, however, looked more at ease. She did still kept a hand on her upper thigh, but did not seem to be in great pain at least. "I do not know," she confessed. "I hoped you would."
"I thought he was dead the last time. I would not trust my judgement."
"Well," she replied, and the sound of her voice was resolute. "I consider it my responsibility to keep my eyes out for that eventuality. Not yours."
She turned towards the uruk, and then, with a grin, pointed her chin in Celebrimbor’s direction. "I think you have a different one, now. Let me deal with the past. Go focus on your future instead."
The smith’s eyes widened, and he slowly eased himself out of Elrond and Gil-Galad's embrace as he watched Adar’s eyes drift towards him. Galadriel was still grinning as she watched them looking at one another.
"I think- you are right about that," Adar admitted. There was an almost reverent look in his eyes as he beheld Celebrimbor.
Now that he knew his friends were alright – or, at least as alright as could be – and Adar had made sure to that the maia would indeed not pose a danger to them anymore, the smith felt an urge grow in himself to get up and walk to his husband.
So he stumbled to his feet, and as he began to move forward, Adar in turn began to come towards him as well.
"Celebrimbor-" he began to say, but the elf did not let him finish.
He just threw his arms around the uruk’s middle and shoulders and drew him close, his own face pressed to the side of Adar’s. There was a sob stuck in his throat, and he knew it was audible as he started to speak.
"I couldn’t bear it," he admitted, and it was now that the words he couldn’t say the day before were spilling out to him. "The thought of losing you. I should have said something, yesterday, but I couldn’t find the words. That is why I went against your wishes and snuck into the city – I couldn’t risk you dying before I told you that-"
He shivered. Adar was motionless in his arms, but the smith did not care. Nor that they had an audience. "I have come to care for you, deeply, in those last few weeks. You were nothing like I expected. You treated me gently and as an equal, you care so much, not just about your own people."
"I found myself feeling safe in your presence and warm whenever you would look at me as if you wished to know me, too, as I did you."
"This marriage of ours might be political, but- I have begun to feel affection for you."
"I think- I think I might indeed be loving you."
"You do not have to return those feelings, of course. But. I had to tell you that you are – loved. And cared for. I need you to know that. No matter how-"
Finally, there was movement. Celebrimbor’s breath caught in his throat when Adar began to tremble, and then, an arm wound itself around his hips, drawing the elf closer and against the uruk's chest.
Adar’s breath came out unevenly by his ear, as if he were struggling with it.
After a moment, the uruk turned his head, and Celebrimbor found their cheeks pressed against one another. Adar pressed his face into Celebrimbor’s hair as he took a wet, shuddering breath.
There was liquid seeping into the space where their skin met.
"I was terrified when I saw you charge him," Adar confessed, voice quiet. He sounded just as overcome as Celebrimbor felt. "It was wrong to send you back to camp, but- I feared what might happen if you came along. I did not wish for you to get hurt, and I was afraid I might not be able to protect you."
"It clouded my judgement. I am sorry. But I- like you. Losing you was a risk I could not take. I wished for you to live; I needed you to live."
With another breath, Adar raised his other arm as well, and placed his hand on the back of Celebrimbor’s head as the drew him even closer. Celebrimbor’s own arms tightened about the uruk and he, too, lifted a hand into Adar’s hair, thumb stroking the dark strands in an attempt to calm and reassure the other.
"I care about you, too. As you do me," it was clear the uruk was struggling with his words. He had not yet found the ones Celebrimbor had, perhaps, but from what he was saying, the elf could pick up on his meaning.
He felt his chest expand, felt light and warm and safe, felt the world fall away from him and all that remained was the one in his arms – alive, alive, alive.
And then-
"I love you, too."
Oh.
It felt like a hardship, moving even the slightest bit from their embrace, so Celebrimbor rubbed their cheeks against one another as he turned his head until their noses and foreheads were pressed together, close enough to feel one another’s breaths in their chests and puffing out in what little space remained between them.
He let Adar’s tear smear into their skin as he cupped his husband’s cheek.
Aquamarine eyes stared at him, wide and so very vulnerable. For the first time since Celebrimbor had met him, Adar’s face was completely unguarded, and it had relief was written all over it. Relief, and love.
The elf smiled softly at him. He remembered how careful Adar had been during their wedding and asked. "May I kiss you?"
Judging by the look on his face, the slight quirk to his lips, Adar knew exactly what Celebrimbor had remembered. His smile, once again, seemed to remake his face. He looked radiant. "Yes."
Pressing their lips together felt, for all intents and purposes, like coming home. Whatever tension had remained seemed to drop from Adar’s shoulders as he wound his arms even tighter around the smith, who moved his fingers to the back of the uruk’s head as if afraid the other might disappear from beneath his hands.
But he wouldn’t, he knew that. They were both safe now.
Adar’s lips were just as warm and soft as the elf remembered, but this time, they parted readily under his own. Celebrimbor moved them together with a sigh, delighted as he briefly felt Adar’s eyelashes brush against his skin. Kissing the uruk had him feel as if he were floating.
It was not just warmth, but something else that spread through the elf, to the top of his head, the tips of his fingers, every point of contact between them. It almost felt like vertigo. Everywhere they touched, his skin tingled.
And in his head, endlessly repeating, were words that reassured him.
‘He is alive. He is well and right here in my arms. He loves me and knows I love him.‘
The two were slow to separate again, and as they did, their foreheads continued to touch while their lips lingered, still brushing against each other. Celebrimbor stroked his thumb over Adar’s cheek and felt Adar’s hand at his hip squeeze him there. The uruk buried his hand deeper into Celebrimbor’s strands before the uruk pressed another, smaller kiss to his lips, as if unable to help himself.
Or perhaps, unwilling to do so, now that he could kiss his husband as he wanted. Celebrimbor, for his part, gladly let himself be kissed again. This one was more chaste, but no less heartfelt.
Suddenly, a small giggle tumbled from Celebrimbor’s mouth. At Adar’s questioning look, the smith lightly shook his head and pointed out, "We are really doing this all backwards, aren’t we? Usually couples are supposed to fall in love first and then marry."
Adar snorted, and let another grin grow across his face. "Well. I heard people call it a ‘marriage of convenience’, too," his grin turned sly. "It is certainly convenient that we are already married in this case, wouldn’t you agree?"
The laughter that spilled out of Celebrimbor in response was light and easy, and he felt so charmed by Adar’s little joke and the fond expression on the uruk's face that he drew the other into a third kiss.
Anything else could wait. They would have time to rebuild, to further strengthen their alliance, to figure out how to go from here.
His city was safe, Adar’s uruk were safe. His friends would be alright, and if Celebrimbor had any say in it, he and Adar would be alright too.
Their future looked bright, and Celebrimbor couldn’t wait to walk towards it, hand in hand with his husband.
#finally! the heartfelt confessions! the smooch! the payoff! *flops backwards* YEs!#did I mention I wrote almost all of part 10 in one day? yeah. don't do that kids.#I didn't originally plan for them to openly use the three famous words but y'know. It felt right somehow. They've fought hard to say them.#they are having all the feels. ALL of them. But it's okay. They are having those feels together now.#of convenience#adar#adar trop#adar the rings of power#celebrimbor#adar x celebrimbor#silverscars#trop#the rings of power#fanfic#my fanfic#my trop fanfic#mine#political marriage trope#marriage of convenience trope
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#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#rise of the tmnt#rottmnt#rottmnt raphael#rottmnt raph#frozen#disney frozen#frozen elsa#elsa frozen#rottmnt fanart#frozen fanart#doodles#traditional#memes#steven universe#presenting this without any context#just my two comfort characters having a moment
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In Saecula Saeculorum
My contribution for @inklings-challenge 2024! Content warning for death and injury
Playlist link (I HIGHLY recommend listening along I spent like four collective hours on this thing I'm super proud. I am, however, adding which songs are best listened to at which points. They will be the bold italicized captions at the beginning of different sections. All the songs mentioned can be found on the playlist! (also, when you finish Afraid Of Time, just listen to the rest of the playlist straight through. It should line up well enough!))
~Time~
When Stephen Reid was nineteen, he almost got hit by a truck while trying to cross the street. A young woman a few years older than him yanked him back onto the sidewalk as the massive garbage truck barreled past, seemingly unaware that it had almost caused his demise.
Stephen steadied his breathing, heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat, then turned to thank the young woman who’d saved him. His mother had drilled good manners into him from a young age, and she’d have scolded him soundly for wandering into the street without looking first, let alone not thanking the person who’d saved him.
But she’d already started moving down the sidewalk, shoulders hunched in her green jacket, her hair (the tips of which were dyed an electric blue) brushing her shoulders as she moved. She was hunched over her cupped hands, whispering to something she was holding, and Stephen frowned. Strange way to hold your phone.
But there were more pressing things on Stephen’s mind. Namely, the fact that the world was tearing itself apart.
When he was little, things were so simple. It wasn’t just that he was a kid—Stephen remembered things had been happy, peaceful. He remembered summers spent digging holes in his backyard with his friends and raking leaves in the autumn. His mother and father had been happy, and life had been good.
As he got older, he saw the little ways things weren’t so good. The strain his father’s job put on him, the leaner times. But his family was still happy.
And then he turned eighteen. And things got really bad. Countries baying for each other’s blood, corrupt leaders turning their backs and doing nothing to help. Every day, the news showed more horrors. Every day, things got worse, and war was on the way. And Stephen knew he couldn’t just sit by and watch. His mother had taught him manners, common sense, and how to be fierce when it was needed. And his father had taught him that if you could help, you did help, and to care even when it was hard.
So that was what Stephen planned to do. In every way possible.
He’d started out with volunteering as he started college classes. There were even more people living on the streets now than ever, and helping make meals at shelters was a step toward helping them.
But then things took an abrupt turn for the worse. And suddenly, they were at war. And Stephen found himself dropping out of school to enlist.
He was twenty when he saw his first dead body—a woman on the side of the road. Face pale, limbs at unnatural angles, blood still staining the front of her shirt. It was an image that didn’t leave his mind for a long, long time.
Two months later he killed someone for the first time. He tried not to remember that. But it wasn’t the last time. Every time he took a life, he found himself mourning, for what the world had come to, for the life that he’d ended.
Stephen may have known the reasons for what he was doing. But that didn’t make it hurt any less, or stop him from wondering if there was a better way he could help.
At twenty-two, he was shot in the line of duty.
It wasn’t the first time he’d been injured. But it was the first time it had been serious enough to warrant being sent to a hospital for a prolonged stay. And as it turned out, it was serious enough that he was discharged from the army. The bullet had shattered bones in his leg, leaving him with a serious limp and pain that never fully went away.
It was strange. One minute he was fighting for his life, the next he was home. Like nothing had changed, like he was supposed to pick up where he left off. Stephen found himself adrift, unsure of his next step. He went back to school, but his old major didn’t seem to fit anymore. Nothing did.
He was twenty-two and a half when one of his classmates dragged him to their local church. Howard was stubborn and usually said exactly what was on his mind, without thought toward how he’d affect others. It was an odd combination of refreshing and very irritating.
And yet, in that sanctuary, Stephen had never seen Howard light up the way he did when the singing started. And listening to the words, he started to understand why.
He’d gone to church growing up, and it had been fine. But this was different. This was something beautiful rediscovered, and he cherished it. Soaked in every word spoken from the front. It was like water after years in the desert, healing after pain for so long. It brought peace he hadn’t known could exist.
Stephen was twenty-three when he changed his major. Not to a pastor, though Howard joked that he might as well, with all the Bible reading and questions. But to a counselor. Someone who could guide others through what he’d gone through, and worse. Someone who could help.
It was a refreshing of his original purpose, a rewriting of his story. It was the right thing to do, and that was all he’d ever wanted.
When he was twenty-seven, he started on an internship. And that was where he met Marian.
She was an astrophysicist, and while Stephen admittedly didn’t understand a lot of what she did, he liked to listen to her talk about it anyway. He liked her smile, too, and her warm brown eyes that lit up like gold in the sunlight. They both loved music, and swapped favorite songs every time they saw each other. She loaned him her favorite book, and Stephen read it eagerly, looking for what she loved in every line.
It took him a while to gather the courage to ask Marian out. Howard—now graduated, running his own construction company, and happily engaged—teased him relentlessly about it. “She likes you, you clearly like her,” the young man would tell him. “What’s the problem?”
“I’m waiting for the right moment,” Stephen would respond, and Howard scoffed in response.
In the end, he didn’t ask her at the right moment. He simply asked her, one day when she was stopping by at his work to talk about the book she’d just finished, eyes bright with happiness. Her smile outshone the sun when she said yes.
One year and six months later, she said yes again when he went down on one knee on a date to one of the few functioning observatories left in the country. He would have given her every star in the sky if he could have, but Marian settled for a diamond ring and a small wedding at her brother’s farm. Stephen hadn’t known someone could hold this much joy within them without bursting.
Two years later, Stephen was thirty years old. And that was when things started to get strange.
~~~
~Prepping For Rescue~
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
She avoided his gaze as she strapped on her protective gear. While the technology they were using had come a long way since the beginning of its use, there were still dangers. Being pulled through time and space could cause serious injury or damage, and the cuffs she was locking into place would generate a field that could protect her from that. Strange, how they almost felt like shackles, weighing her down, when they were the only thing bringing her hope right now.
“You know I am,” she said. “We already tested it. We can go back now, not just forward. And if I have that chance—”
“You’re gonna take it. I know,” he said. “But we still don’t know everything about this. We don’t know how it could affect the timeline. You could start wars, cause innumerable deaths. You could prevent yourself from even being born.”
“I know the risks.” She finished with the cuffs and grabbed her jacket, pulling it on to hide the cuffs from sight. “I don’t care.”
He looked like he wanted to comment on that very much, but just sighed. “Okay. Do you have your location drone?”
“Her name is Penni,” she informed him, and he sighed again.
“It’s a robot. It doesn’t have a name.”
She couldn’t hold back a smile at the old argument. “She does now. And I have her here.” Slipping a hand into her pocket, she pulled out a flat, circular object about the size of her palm. The domed top flickered between different colors, trying to camouflage itself with its surroundings, and it zipped into the air, hovering right above her shoulder. She brushed a hand along Penni’s surface, taking a deep breath.
“Good. Keep her with you, and I’ll be able to bring you back,” he reminded her. “Otherwise…things could get ugly. Because this is all supposed to be theoretical.”
“Then I guess I’m a pioneer,” she said, mouth suddenly dry. Squaring her shoulders, she said, “Let’s do this thing.”
~~~
Exactly twenty-seven days before his thirty-first birthday, Stephen was on his way home from work. He stopped at a grocery store to pick up a few things for dinner—Marian was working later than usual, and he wanted to surprise her with a delicious home cooked meal when she got home.
When he stepped out of the store, a car drove by at top speed and shot him three times in the chest. Two other pedestrians were hit, but he was the only casualty.
Except he wasn’t.
He heard the car screech around the corner, and looked up in time to see the dark barrel of a gun pointing out a window—and then a girl slammed bodily into him, sending him crashing to the ground.
Glass from the store windows shattered upon the bullet’s impact, tinkling against the pavement. There were screams, and Stephen pushed himself into a sitting position with a groan, looking around as the car roared away.
Two other pedestrians lay on the ground—one hit in the shoulder, the other only grazed in the arm. Stephen automatically moved to help them, calling for someone to call the cops, his head spinning.
Because there had been a moment where he’d known, he’d been sure, that he was going to die. Not just fear. Utter confidence. He’d all but felt the bullets pass through his body.
But instead, a girl had saved his life.
The girl. Stephen glanced around—but there was no sign of her. And all he could remember, as he later recounted to the cops, then Marian, was a blur of green jacket and blue hair.
Something about the description itched at the back of his brain, but he wasn’t sure what. All he knew is that he was somehow, impossibly alive. And he was grateful for it.
Two days later they found out Marian was pregnant.
~~~
“It worked,” she gasped, stumbling away from the framework of the machine.
Her friend looked up, eyes widening. “It—it did? Are you okay?”
She nodded, then stumbled again, and he caught her by the arm, hauling her upward. “Whoa. Sit down, have something to drink. We should check you out—”
“I’m fine,” she said, waving away his worry. “It worked, Tad. He—he’s not dead. Is he? I can’t—I can’t think—”
Steering her into a chair, Tad said, “Disorientation is a common side effect after traveling. Let me look at the database—drink some water.”
Taking the water bottle he shoved into her hands before moving to the computer, she gulped down some of the contents, her head spinning. “Do you remember how it was before?” she asked. “You said that you might not—”
“I think being close to the temporal field distortion preserved my memory,” Tad said, typing rapidly. “It’s fascinating, and if we don’t get arrested for this, I’ll write a paper–oh.”
Her stomach dropped as his face fell. “What?”
“You…almost succeeded.” Reading from the screen, he said, “Stephen Reid, died age thirty-two, in the ‘65 train bombings.”
“What?” Rocketing out of her chair, she moved to his side, swaying a little. Tad put a hand out to steady her as she bent over the screen. “How?”
“Looks like he was injured, but didn’t let on because he was busy helping others to safety,” Tad read. Glancing at her, he said, “I know that’s not what you wanted to hear, but—”
She was already moving toward the machine. “We have to go again.”
“What? I don’t think that’s a good idea. You already somehow created a temporal loop when you first went in. Who knows what—”
Spinning around, she said, “We can’t save him from being murdered just to let him die in a freak accident. It’s not—no. We’re fixing this.”
“And you don’t think this has anything to do with—”
Fixing him with a fierce glare, she said, “We’re going. Again.”
~~~
~The Typewriter Theme~
If that was the only incident, Stephen would have accepted it and moved on. He wasn’t dead, and that was something he was fiercely grateful for. His wife was pregnant, and instead of being dead he was there. For the moment when their little girl came into the world, and he held her close for the first time.
They named her Zara Grace Reid, and Stephen’s heart was full. For two long years, they had peace.
Then, when he was thirty-two, things started getting bad again. The governments were all fighting, and groups of dissenters were getting angry at, well, everyone, no matter who they claimed to hold responsible for everything going badly. Danger of terror threats grew more and more present.
The day after Zara’s birthday, Stephen was taking the train to a meeting across town. But when he got to the door, his ticket was missing. Racking his brains, Stephen vaguely remembered slipping it into his jacket pocket—and a girl bumping into him as they crossed paths in the station.
Strange. Who would steal a train ticket? He considered buying another one, but it was a nice day and he was in no hurry. He decided to walk.
Two blocks later the world exploded. Four trains, all across the city, blew up at once, killing hundreds in a deadly attack.
Stephen not only saw it when it happened, he felt it. In his chest, like he was on the train when it happened. But no sooner had the feeling come then it was gone and he was running toward the rubble, hoping desperately that he could pull someone, anyone out.
He missed his meeting and saved twelve lives that day. All the while wondering at the phantom pain in his side, but there was too much to do for him to care.
Hours later, he made it home after Marian, cleaned up, and only by the time he fell into bed did he wonder—did the girl who took my ticket know?
~~~
“SIX MONTHS?”
Pacing back and forth, she glared into space. “I only bought him six months? What does he do that makes these people want him dead so badly?”
“It’s pretty fishy,” he agreed, typing rapidly. “Okay, the records are a little messy, but I think I know the exact date. Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m fine. Let’s go again.”
~~~
The thought didn’t really leave Stephen, as he racked his brain to remember what the girl looked like. He remembered dark hair with a splash of blue, and the girl had been holding something small. And those thoughts tugged at other memories—of a day almost twenty years ago, when someone had pulled him out of the way of a truck. Of the shooting before Zara was born.
He wasn’t able to really consider the idea, let alone voice it. Not until six months later, when there was a fire in his work building, and someone locked the door of his office, leaving him trapped inside while the flames grew and the smoke filled his lungs.
He’d been in tight spots before. He’d been trained, in the Army, not to panic, even when it was logical to do so. But as his oxygen seeped away and the door refused to budge, even as he bashed at it with a chair, Stephen found himself absolutely terrified.
No. No, this can’t be it. Images of Marian and Zara flickered through his head and he knew he had to fight, had to live at all costs. But if there was nothing he could do—
The door swung open, and someone pulled him forward.
~~~
~The Hornburg~
“I wonder what makes them choose the intervals they do,” Tad mused as he typed. “Is there someone else preventing them? Do we just do this for the rest of our lives? Are they experts or are they just trying everything and every year they can to kill him? Furthermore, what’s going to stop them from just going back to the same year and trying again—”
He stopped short when he saw her face. “Which…they definitely can’t do. Most likely. I think they can’t, anyway. It’s just that the science is so—I’m sorry. They haven’t done it yet, they probably won’t ever.”
“I hope not,” she said, checking her cuffs and scooping up Penni, who chirped a little greeting. “The last thing we need is more things to worry about.”
“Or to send you through more times.” His worry showed through the edges of his speech. “You don’t have to—”
“Let’s go again.”
“Okay.”
~~~
Stephen made it out of the fire and he could have cried with gratitude. The firefighters who arrived on scene seemed very startled to see him stumble out of the building, coughing—they said that the last man to come out had sworn up and down that there was no one else inside.
And they swore with equal fervor that they hadn’t sent anyone else in. They claimed that he must have made it out under his own steam somehow—adrenaline, maybe?
Stephen knew better.
“There are two options,” he told Marian when he explained everything to her later that day. Her brow was furrowed like it always was when she tried to solve a problem. “Either I have a literal guardian angel, or somehow the exact same person is traveling through time and space to save me.”
“I’m not sure which is more improbable,” Marian said slowly. They were sitting at the table, and her fingers twitched against the surface like she wished she had something to write on. “Bending time and space isn’t…unheard of, per se, but we’re years away from being able to achieve it under our own steam. And if we assume they’re from the future, they’d be moving into the past, which is, theoretically, even harder.”
“But then there’s the guardian angel idea,” Stephen said, grinning at her expression. “Which you think is scientifically impossible?”
She let out a long sigh. “I’ve learned not to count anything out when it comes to our faith. So…I don’t know.”
Reaching across the table, Stephen caught her hand and gave it a squeeze. “We’ll just have to pray that whatever this is keeps ending up at the right place at the right time.”
Their prayers were answered when, two years later, someone tried to shoot Stephen again. And again, he was pulled out of the way just in time.
~~~
“So,” Tad said, staring at the screen.
“Yup,” she said.
“A sibling, huh?”
She rolled her eyes. “Let’s do it again.”
~~~
It started happening more frequently. A near knifing in an alleyway, a car barreling toward him as he crossed the street. Every time, it was thwarted. Sometimes, he didn’t even see it coming—the coffee knocked out of his hands that hissed alarmingly on contact with the concrete, leaving it pitted and worn, for instance.
But every time, the attackers failed. And eventually, Stephen started to wonder if they should stop prevention and start focusing on the attackers. The only problem? He had no idea how to do that.
So he decided to reach out to the person who did.
~~~
“How. Did he do that?” Tad asked, staring at the screen.
“He must have realized what we’re doing, somehow,” she whispered. “I mean, he’s married to an astrophysicist, he has to have picked something up.”
Shaking his head, Tad said, “Okay, then how do we respond?”
She stared at the screen for a moment longer, thinking as she reread the lines on the screen. More specifically, the email Tad had found during his usual archive wide search for anything pertaining to Stephen Reid.
He’d sent it to himself, apparently hoping that it would be good enough. And it had been.
To whoever is helping me:
Thank you. I don’t know who you are or if you’ll receive this, but I have faith it’ll end up in the right hands.
Clearly someone wants me dead, for whatever reason. Instead of preventing it, why don’t we get rid of the attackers? Let me know how and when to help.
Stephen.
“What do we do?” Tad asked quietly
She studied it for a moment longer, then said, “We answer. I can slip him a message on my next trip. Have you located who it is and why yet?”
“I think so.” Opening a new screen, Tad tapped on the article he pulled up. “There’s a stabbing, two years from the next attempt, in an alley nearby his route to work. Exactly the kind of thing he’d get involved in and try to stop, right?”
Nodding slowly, she said, “Right. But why this person?”
“No idea. They’re dead in every timeline so far. They must do something that the attackers aren’t a fan of.”
Taking a deep breath, she said, “Then let’s hope we’re not actually on their side.”
~~~
~FREEPORT~
For a while, Stephen didn’t think his message had worked. Things were peaceful—no attacks, no poisonings. Marian found out she was pregnant again, and nine months somehow managed to fly and drag by until she gave birth to a healthy baby boy, who they named Isaiah.
And then three months after that, it happened again.
At exactly the right moment, he was pushed forward, just in time to avoid a bunch of tiles crashing to the ground from the roof. When he caught his balance and his breath, there was no one there. But when Stephen put his hands in his jacket pocket as he started onward again, he found a slip of paper.
10/11/71. Four in the afternoon on your way home from work. Watch the alleyway off Racine. Be ready.
This was it. This was the answer. A little under a year in future, he’d be able to fix this, for good. Whatever this was.
So he kept the paper tucked in his pocket until it grew worn, the folds flimsy. He kept going with life—worked and went to church and looked after his wife and children. He avoided two more attacks in that time, and every time, his mysterious helper was there just in time, only to disappear before he could get a good look at her.
Finally, the day came. Stephen usually carried a knife, out of habit, and this time he made sure he had it, just in case. The day passed in a haze of business as he worked with patients and did paperwork and wondered what exactly was going to happen.
And then work was over. It was 3:45, and he was walking home from work, hands tucked in his pockets, trying to pretend like his heart wasn’t thundering in his chest.
3:47. He passed the cart that sold churros. Oftentimes he stopped to buy one and chat with the owner, but for now Stephen just gave her a little wave and kept moving, pace brisk.
3:50. A couple of kids zipped by on bikes, laughing.
3:51. He heard footsteps behind him, and his heart lurched. Be ready, Stephen.
3:55. The sidewalk came to an end at an intersection, and he turned onto the sidewalk along Racine.
3:58. He wove through a group of teenagers and sped up a little. He could see the opening for the alleyway.
3:59. Heart pounding in his throat, Stephen came to a stop outside the alleyway.
4:00.
For a heartbeat, there was nothing. And then he heard a muffled scream from the alleyway.
Instinctively, Stephen started forward, concern rippling through him. It had been the voice of a girl—young, too young. Most likely not his helper, but that didn’t lower his concern.
He made it two steps forward before he was grabbed from behind. Stephen vaguely registered the cold press of steel against his throat for a heartbeat before he moved, driving an elbow backward into his attacker’s gut.
There was a grunt—a man’s voice, judging by the baritone—but the grip didn’t loosen. Until Stephen snapped his head backward , connecting solidly with the other man’s nose.
There was a crunch and a howl of pain, and Stephen felt the knife at his throat break skin—
And then the grip was gone, and he was stumbling forward, hand pressed against the shallow cut on his neck. Spinning around, Stephen registered a man in all black taking a swing at a young woman—green jacket, hair dyed blue at the tips, holding a weapon he didn’t recognize. What looked like a tiny flying saucer hovered next to her shoulder.
“Help her!” she shouted, dodging her opponent’s blow with ease.
For a moment, Stephen didn’t know what she meant. And then he remembered the scream from the alleyway, and turned. Pulling his knife from his pocket, he moved.
There were two men, both trying to subdue a struggling, terrified girl. One had a hand over her mouth, and the other held a wickedly curved knife. Stephen took a moment to wonder why these people insisted on using knives, and then he was on top of them.
Clearly, either of the men were expecting him. The one holding the blade went flying into the wall with a cry of pain, clutching his shoulder where Stephen’s knife had gone deep, tearing through muscle.
The second tried to reel backward, avoiding Stephen as he clutched for his own weapon while clinging to his victim. But Stephen smashed his fist into the man’s face, catching hold of the girl’s arm and pulling her away at the same time, using the man’s momentum as he fell to tear her free.
He took a minute to glance at her—no sign of injuries, just bright red hair and freckles and shocked tears starting to escape—and then turned to face his opponents again.
Only to find them gone, a trace of blood on the ground the only sign that they’d been there in the first place.
What? Baffled, Stephen turned in a full circle, then glanced at the girl. “Are you okay?” he asked, and she nodded shakily. “Okay. Wait here a minute. Call if you need me.”
Moving quickly, he headed back to the mouth of the alleyway, to see if there was any sign of his mysterious helper, or her opponent. But there was nothing. Just the now oddly dusty sidewalk, passersby who seemed to have no idea what had happened, and—
A scrap of white paper. Stephen bent and picked it up, unfolding it, and read the now familiar lopsided script inside.
She’s safe. You both are, unless you see me again. Look after her. Don’t worry about the other attackers.
There was no signature, although Stephen hadn’t expected one. A wave of relief swept over him, and he breathed out a prayer of thanks.
He was safe. They were both safe. It was done.
~~~
~Afraid Of Time~
“It’s not done,” she said.
“What?” Tad stared at her, baffled. “How can it not be done? We saved the victims, including a victim we didn’t even know we had until now, helped catch time traveling murderers, and hopefully we’re not even getting arrested for using government property without permission. Your mom might not even yell at us. How is this not a win—”
He stopped short, looking at her. As she looked at the computer file in front of her, wishing the words were different.
Stephen Reid. Died 10/12/83
“Zee.” Tad’s voice was soft. “You can’t stop everything.”
“That’s kind of the point of this whole time travel thing, Tad. I can.” Taking a deep breath, she said, “I’m stopping this. I’m going in again.”
~~~
Stephen had always loved autumns. The crisp, cool air, the knowledge of the approaching season that heralded celebrations and wonder and joy and family time. How could he do anything but love it?
Sure, he’d almost died at this time of year a few times, but with his life, when was that not true?
It had been 12 years since the last incident. He’d helped the girl—Jenny, a teenager who’d been alone and afraid and had no idea why those men had attacked her—to the hospital to get checked out. They repeated the same impossible story to the police over and over until they finally got tired of asking and declared the case closed. Stephen was fine with it. He’d been told they were safe, and he believed that.
Years had passed. Jenny became all but a member of the family, and he and Marian encouraged her and supported as she chose a career path and moved forward with her life. Stephen still wasn’t sure what the men wanted with her, but it didn’t matter. Her purpose was her own to discover.
His other two children were far too close to grown up for his taste, as well. Isaiah was thirteen, flirting with girls, and discovering a love for basketball paralleled only by his love for mischief. And Zara was in college, pursuing a degree in physics.
He held great hope and joy for both of them, that they would grow up to change the world in whatever small or big ways the Lord had planned for them. If Stephen was being honest, he held a very specific theory for one of them, as time passed and the similarity grew stronger and stronger.
And that was why, on his walk home from work, he wasn’t overly surprised to see a familiar figure at his bus stop.
She was sitting on the bench, knees pulled up against her chest. Her hair, dark like her mother’s where it wasn’t blue, covered her face in a curtain, and the tiny flying saucer hovered at her shoulder again. As Stephen drew closer, he heard it letting out soft little chirps, like it was trying to comfort her.
Sitting next to her with a grunt, Stephen set down his bag and leaned back. Glancing at her, he said, “Nice day, isn’t it?”
Her chin jerked up a little, like she was surprised to hear his voice, then lowered again. Stephen watched her for a moment, debating whether or not he should speak again, when she did, voice low and cautious.
“If you could know the day that you died, would you want to?”
Stephen considered for a moment, tapping a finger against his knee. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “My instinct would be no—why live in dread of something like that? But I can’t say I would be curious.”
“Who wouldn’t be?” the girl agreed, voice still quiet. “What if…what if you could stop it? If someone just told you the right things?”
A heavy feeling began to settle over Stepehn’s chest. “Can you?” he asked, abandoning all pretense.
She let out a choked sob, and Stephen felt a stab of sadness. “I tried,” she choked out. “I tried again and again, but no matter what I do—”
“It’s okay,” Stephen told her, gently reaching out to touch her shoulder. “It’s not your fault.”
Letting her feet drop down, the girl scrubbed a hand across her face angrily. “You don’t understand.”
“I think I might,” Stephen said, his voice very soft.
She shook her head. “No, you don’t. For you, it’s been another twenty years, but for me…I thought I’d get to go home and—” she stopped short, staring across the street, eyes red.
“And I’d be there?”
She swiveled to face him, eyes going wide. “What—how did you—”
“You’re my daughter, Zara. How could I not recognize you?”
Her face crumpled, and Stephen slid across the bench to pull her into a hug as she burst into tears. She pressed her face against his shoulder and he ran his hand over her hair, the way he used to when she was a little girl.
Closing his eyes against tears of his, he whispered, “It’s okay.”
“It’s not,” she mumbled, voice muffled by his shirt. “I was supposed to get you back.”
“You did,” Stephen pointed out. “Just not for as long as you wanted. But you were the one who saved me, so many times. You’re the reason I got to watch you and Isaiah grow up, and I will never stop being grateful for that. You’re the reason Jenny’s alive.”
“It’s not enough,” she whispered. “This shouldn’t be the last time I see you.”
Stephen almost laughed, tears springing to his eyes. “It won’t be. If there’s one thing I hope your mother and I taught you, it’s that.”
Pressing a kiss against the top of her head, he pulled back a little, taking a look at her. Zara had his wife’s beauty and dark wavy hair, and he wondered when she would dye the tips blue. Her eyes were the same warm brown as Marian’s—oh, Marian—and right now, they were wet with tears.
“I don’t want to let you go,” she said, voice shaking.
“I know,” Stephen said, heart aching. All he wanted was to tell his daughter that it was going to be okay, that he was going to be able to come home. But it was becoming increasingly clear that he couldn’t make that promise.
Instead, he asked, “Tell me about what you do next. Tell me everything.”
So they sat on the bench, and Zara told him about her work and her best friend Tad—whom Stephen had already met, but the two hadn’t grown close yet—and how Isaiah was coaching at a local high school and Marian was still working, still looking out for Jenny, still going to church every day. “She still loves you so much,” Zara told him. “Even when I never knew you, she’d tell me about you and how important you were to her. I—I thought I could bring you home to her.”
“You did,” Stephen pointed out, remembering all the days he’d almost died, and all the days his daughter had saved his life. His daughter.
Eventually, the bus came around the corner, and the little flying saucer at Zara’s shoulder let out a chirp. Zara’s eyes widened, and she glanced up. “I—”
“You have to go,” Stephen guessed.
“I don’t want to,” she whispered.
“I know. But if this is it, I don’t want you to have to watch it.”
Shaking her head, Zara said, “You shouldn’t have to be alone.”
“I’m not alone,” Stephen told her, and he meant it. Though his heart was heavy with grief, it wasn’t for him. And he knew—he was sure of it—that his family would be alright. They were strong enough to look after each other without him.
Getting to his feet, he waited until Zara did the same, then pulled her into a fierce hug. “I love you,” he told her. “And I’m proud of you. You and Isaiah, you’re the best thing I’ve ever done.”
She was openly crying now, but nodded, holding him tightly for another minute. “I love you, too,” she said.
And then stepped back and the bus was there. Stephen took one last look at her, taking in every detail. At last, he turned and boarded the bus, taking a seat in the back.
It lurched into motion, and Stephen glanced out the window at the now empty bus stop. I’ll see you again, he thought. And he knew, in his heart, it was true.
Pulling out his phone, he opened up his text messages and began one to Marian.
I love you, Mari. I love the life we’ve lived together for the past twenty years. Thank you for being the best wife and friend I could have ever asked for.
Looking up, Stephen took one last look around him, and wondered what would come next. He knew more than most sitting on the bus did, and yet found himself frightened. And yet, at the same time, excited.
Whatever else happened, he was ready, with no regrets.
He sent the text.
~~~
Zara was still crying when she stumbled back into her own time, bones aching fiercely. Most trips, she’d taken a break in between, but for the past five or so, she’d gone in without stopping, time after time. Trying desperately to stop what she knew was going to happen.
It hadn’t worked.
But somehow, despite the tears and the ache in her heart, it was okay.
“Zara?”
Tad had moved to stand in front of her, face twisted with concern. “Are you okay? Or—are you hurt?”
Shaking her head, Zara took a shaking breath. “I’m okay,” she said, and he gave her an unconvinced look. “Fine, I’m not hurt. And I…” she trailed off.
“It didn’t work,” Tad said quietly. “Zee, I know you want to do this, but so many trips in a row are hurting you. And if this is so hard to stop—”
“I know,” Zara said, taking a deep breath. “It’s okay. I’m…I’m not going in again.”
Tad’s eyes widened. “Really? I—I didn’t expect that to work.”
“It didn’t,” Zara said, and couldn’t hold back a laugh at his expression. “I…I talked to my dad. It’s okay.”
“You’re sure?” Tad said slowly. “Because five minutes ago you were very ready to keep doing this or die trying.”
Nodding, Zara swiped a hand over her face, ridding herself of the last traces of tears. “I am. I got to say goodbye, and…he’s right. I’m gonna see him again. Someday.”
Resting a gentle, if slightly awkward, hand on her shoulder, Tad nodded. “I’m glad. He’d be proud of you, Zee.”
“Thanks, Tad.” Zara took a deep breath. It was time to stop living in the past, and start looking at the new, and slightly changed present she had waiting for her.
And when the time came to see her father again, she would greet him with joy and the knowledge that she’d lived her life to the fullest, like he had. Until then, all she could do was take the first step toward doing that.
#inklingschallenge#team tolkien#inklings challenge#genre: time travel#theme: counsel#theme: comfort#story: complete#this actually turned out so much better than i thought it would#there were. some moments#but i like the vibes#also now i'm obsessed with two of these ocs and need to feature them in more content#fun fact this could and probably does exist in the same universe as my kyvis stories#which is a HILARIOUS concept that i shall have to explore more#anyway i digress#i'd apologize for how overboard i went with the playlist BUT#a) you can just ignore it if you want to#and b) it's a masterpiece and i love it so much#it's for the VIBES GUYS#and i haven't spent this long waiting to find a character that fits how do i say goodbye only to not share when i do find one#MOVING ON#writing stories is a kind of magic too
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what is your favorite thing about charles and your favorite thing about erik? separately, as in what you like most about their characters :]
a devious question this one is, my friend!!! it's hard enough for me to explain my thoughts cohesively, but having to pick ONE thing i particularly love is difficult. with characters like charles and erik, theres been so much done with their characters over the decades and so they have so many components to them that make them so interesting and fun to observe. BUT I TRY FOR YOU TODAY. under the cut i kinda ramble and the size of this text box makin me anxious
i think if i were to be simple and broad, what i enjoy most about charles is his determination to help others, even if he isn't really thanked and/or if people don't even like him. ofc, this isn't to say he hasn't done wrong- to be honest, the fact he does wrong/questionable things at times is another aspect of him i really enjoy, maybe because- broadly speaking- he's meant to be altruistic (intent vs outcome and all that). i don't know if that's super exciting to most people, but it is for me
as for erik, my reason for liking him is easier to explain tbh. To Be Simple And Broad, his progression from villain to antihero over the decades has been fun to observe (as much as i have so far anyhow) and analyze. i think to be a bit more specific, him using his rage and pain as justifications for his villainous actions is definitely what compels me the most: hurt people hurt and the sort, an idea i've always found interesting (something something vicious cycles and the like). yet now, he recognizes this wasn't really. A Just Thing To Do and is beginning to change that, which i enjoy
#snap chats#may you forgive me anon i always feel awkward explaining things AVELKJEAKLJ#i feel esp awkward cause i haven't read toooo much of the comics yet- like ive read. an ok amount so far krakoa wise#can you guys tell im fighting god himself to Not write a fuckin. NOVEL#im so sorry i have an over-explaining problem my mom was mean to me growing up but anyways#i definitely want to read more and more outside krakoa. the more i read the more im fascinated by these two and their history#but to continue my prattling. as if the three paragraphs above arent enough This Is Not A Thesis RELAX#i think a. 'poignant' moment i think adds to what i like about charles too is that soliloquy where he recognizes people dont like him#yet he could always be worse- like if he's bad now to others imagine if he really just said Fuck It All#it's simple but so am i whaddyagonnadoboutit. i mean that point itself could be discussed but i'm trying to keep this brief bear with me#i so bad want to know what issue that's from tho all i know is that it's from krakoa but i neeeed the whole context#i think like. an additional bullet point to charles i also like is his loneliness#and i say this cause- I Say From My Amateur-Psychology Armchair- it's a component of why he's so earnest to help#but im keeping this point in the tags until i can confidently verify that with myself after some more reading#Unfortunately a favorite pass time of mine is psychoanalyzing characters like why else you think i major in psychology smh#im going to force myself to cap the post here because i ended up typing like 20 more tags just rambling#and as i said id like to keep this simple and clean !!!!! i have sat here for like four hours answering this ngl#ignore the fact half that time was spent getting distracted by solitaire and riffling cards ok I Am Very Easily Distracted#but fr when it comes to charles and erik- charles esp imo#i feel like i need to write a whole paper just so i can mention the nuances of the characters and like. EVERYTHING#because again six decades is A Lot of time for writing decisions to be made and for their characters to change over time#im a glazer but i wanna be a nuanced glazer yk. is that glazing at that point-- w/e anyway#its a lot. so today you will have to tolerate a very Blah answer from me which i must apologize for#down the line once ive read a comfortable amount more varying from multiple eras maybe ill revisit this question more in depth#as of right now tho .... chat i wanna get legion of x so bad i skimmed it and hhhhhhhhim gonna throw UP#i need to shake charles like a ragdoll BUT ANYWAY. bye bye for now lovelies !!!!!!!#please forgive me if i didnt answer your question efficiently ..#here i am saying i wanted to keep the tag count brief and yet !!! jesus christ. shut up My God I REACHED THE TAG LIMIT
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sometimes i think about how wild a mw2 movie would be if they just dropped soapghost right in the middle with no warning or marketing. like imagine it being beat for beat the exact same, it’s your typical military action movie, promoted as just another military action movie then after they get to the safe house, ghost has to patch up soap and he’s still out of it, overwhelmed by the betrayal and everything he’s seen and ghost needs to ground him and keep him in the present, to remind him that he’s alive and safe so he kisses him and they have sex. the tantrums and the rants and the “ReAl sOLdiErS aRen’t liKe ThAt”, god i can taste it and it’s delicious
#theres never any talk of a relationship or sexuality crisis its just this moment of humanity and comfort to bring soap back to himself#real any time you need me by thirteenbullets vibes#theyre not the type of men to have something as normal as a relationship#theyre just everything to each other they know that and its enough#ghost can be such a complex character if you let him#this guy whos rejected his humanity has buried himself and become a ghost#willingly digging himself out of the grave to stop soap from digging his own#like how are there not more explicitly homoerotic military movies that actually pull the trigger (heh) on the homo part of the eroticism#you know how if movies have even a hint of queerness they wring it out for every drop of respresentation they can get#theres a hundred articles and its mentioned in every interview and it all journalists ask those actors#imagine it being a complete secret and everyone expects just a typical action movie#then boom battle buddy gay sex#like if it were a male and fenale character you would see that scene coming a mile away so why cant it happen with two guys#just doing it is the only way of normalising it#i still see men saying they act like brothers which is denial so strong even egypt is impressed#but imagine the general public expecting this manly man military movie then getting hit with the alone mission flirting and denying it#then getting smacked in the face with tender wound care and grounding love making initiated by the edgelord they were using as a self inser#coming out of my cage and ive been doing just fine.txt#soapghost#ghostsoap#ghoap#john soap mactavish#soap cod#simon ghost riley#ghost cod#cod mw2#we’re a team. ghost team
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not to be a milennial but harry potter and the prisoner of azkaban really is that bitch....
#mom wanted to rewatch the movies so we've been going thru them <3#talk about a movie thats just like. grief. i turn into the jamie lee curtis halloween trauma supercut#SORRY..... the visuals are peak like that IS the hp vibe to ME and i am BLOWN AWAY this movie was made in 2004 it feels ahead of its time#the first two are so whimsical and magical enrapturing and this movie is like. a well worn cardigan. this feels 2011 cozycore to me#sorry but the introduction of lupin becoming a comforting trusted guardian type of figure AND the dementors representing hollow depression#this 13 yr old whos been kept in the dark on so many things being extra vulnerable prey to them bc of the severe trauma#but getting lessons on how to withstand that creeping dread.. through happy memories... still bonding w lupin increasngly ouagh...#the grief between them both over james and lily. also btw ofc defense against the dark arts being fighting yr fears through laughter. aaaaaa#and then sirius. black. im. i know we meme on the twelve years of it! in azkaban! but as a bitch whos now closer to those characters in age#and can appreciate and understand them obv more than i could when i was. a tween. that just hits like ok shit. VALID#so valid and real to see the child of your friends you knew at that age but who DIED and then see the friend who betrayed them#to see like the best of BOTH of them mirrored and living on in him and be like yknow what???? you WILL be protected frm that same fate#hoooo the briefest moment where harry might hope things will turn out okay. w sirius' name being cleared and peter having to explain himself#and sirius being like hey i get it if you want to stay w your family that is fine but. if you wanna move in w me...#(harry relaying this to hermione later as well. dreaming of a place fr just the two of them somewhere in the countryside#somewhere..... sirius might see the sky..... bc he thinks he would like that after all those years locked up do not even touch me rn.......)#only fr everything to turn to shit two friends fighting w deadly force. the chance to set this right slipping off into the night.#a million dementors descending relentlessly until utter exhaustion and certain death. some strange salvation? fight for a second chance?#but then still havign to say goodbye when they only just GOT this. and everything still being so. god. and lupin having to leave as well.#the thought of sirius also WANTING that guardian type connection but being forced to live in 1. a cave barely living more freely than before#2. then being confined to the stuffy somber abusive home he ran away from as a teen w that portrait still up there and everything.. bitch...#oh man the way i KNOW when we get to ootp (my favourite) its gonna leave me blasted into a million little pieces#the way i know shit like the knowing wink the entirety of the wall tapestry room scene and of course nice one james is gonna DESTROY me..#dont even talk to me abt that dark turn at the end of gof and how everything after gets soooo. god. w everything just getting destroyed and.#i cant even think abt it i cant even talk about it. wah#i dont care btw that they aged those guys up undermining how insanely young these people died. perfect casting fr the remaining marauders ok
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there is nothing more delightful than hearing forsy talk about fishing absolutely nothing more delightful than that so behold. forsy talking about fishing.
"More than just hockey, you're also a big fisherman. Why fishing?" "I don't know, it's something that I did growing up with my grandpa, my dad and my two brothers. It's a good way to relax and get your mind off hockey—Everything really in life. You're focusing on fishing and that's it." "So, when are you buying your boat here in South Florida?" "Well...we'll see. It's mostly a summer thing but I wouldn't mind a boat. I'm pretty simple like that! It's hockey, fishing and family-life. Yeah, that is pretty much it for me." "You're a simple man!" "Yep!" "It's good! It's probably why you're a good player 'cuz you got your focuses. You're locked in!" "Yeah, yeah."
WSFL Inside South Florida | 4.11.24 (x)
"When you disconnect—When you step away from the rink, what are some of the things you like to do over the course of the summer?" "I'm a big fishing guy, so that's pretty much all I do when I'm working out back home." "Where do you go to fish? Where are the big spots in Sweden?" "Can't tell you the best spots. Just around—We actually—Me and my fiancée just bought a house back home. We haven't seen it yet so it's gonna be fun to see the house by the lake...I'm gonna fish that way." "It is furnished? Or are you walking into an empty house?" "No, it's gonna be empty!" "Oh, that's a summer project!" "Yeah, so we got a lot of things to do." "What do you go for? What's the most exciting thing you've pulled in?" "I enjoy pike fishing. I love big pikes. That's probably my favourite." "Is that part of the off-season workout? I mean, the upperbody gets a good workout fishing." "Oh, yeah. I think it's a lot of mental, too! Like, a mental game. So, you know, you gotta stay patient. It's a lot of fun."
Territory Talk | 6.15.22 (x)
"First question, I gotta ask you. What's something recently—off the ice, outside of hockey—that's brought you joy?" "Ooh! When I'm home during summer usually I fish a lot. So, that's something I really enjoy. I've been doing a lot this summer...Yeah, fishing, I would say." "Fishing. That's something you do with friends, with family, by yourself?" "Yeah. Actually both. I fish with my brothers and my dad, and a lot of buddies." "That sounds great! That sounds like a nice way to unwind!" "It is!" "—And the total opposite sort-of mentality of hockey which is so 'go-go-go-go!' physical in-your-face." "Yeah, it's still very competitive. Fishing it's—but it's fun!" "When you're dealing with a professional athlete I can't imagine theres anything that's not at least a little competitive." "Exactly!"
Miami Mic'd Up | 10.12.23 (x)
"We're seeing you're a big outdoorsman... ya like fishing?" "Yeah. I love—I'm a big fisherman." "Yeah? Do you have any—Have you been on a big fishing trip? Or you've just been fishing in Sweden? Down there in Florida? Where you at and what do you like to fish?" "In Florida it's mostly deep sea fishing. I'm more a lake guy. I mean, I'm starting to get into it more here in Florida. Ekblad is fishing a lot, so, he took me out a couple times. It's pretty cool to get a big Tuna and stuff like that...but I'm more of a lake guy, I would say." "Does Ekky make you pull in the big fish? 'Cuz he already said how big and strong you are, 'throwing a 250'... He's like—he gives it over to you or what?" "Yeah, but he's got the whole electric stuff so he's—" "Oh, he's cheating! With the big rod riggers!" "Yeah! He rigs—" "He got into that a few years ago when I was down there with him. He's still into it, he's still on that deep sea stuff. I can never do it, it made me sick." "Yeah. Yeah, he is."
NHL Network | 3.14.24 (x)
man who absolutely wanted to be asked to reel in a big one by his partner but absolutely did not get the privilege because ekkys gone electric mourn for him hes want to be a big strongman and useful but now he cant because of technology.
but also the lakeguy vs seaguy fishing fued we got here is utterly delightful im not surprised if ekky took him out fishing just to try and convince him that its better can you imagine the amount of squabbles theyve got in over fishing. but also ekky took him out fishing. several times. like that happened. okay im gonna normal about that 👍
also not them damsel in distressing ekky like ohhhhh does he make you do the heavy stuff he talks soooooo much about how big and strong you are does he put you to work *bats eyelashes*
forsy, who really desperately wants to be put to work: no no he doesnt 😔😔
and here are just the multitude of photos of forsy fishing (redfin perches and northern pikes) over the years and posting it to ig and the captions are all filled with the weight and length of the fish like oh hes a real fishin boi give me those numbers (x)(x)(x)(x)(x)(x)
#gustav forsling#aaron ekblad#florida panthers#2122#2324#like all forsy things somehow ekky is here too#hi ekky#just a man talking about fishing pike aint nothing more joyous than that#but also them asking forsy if he reels in fish for ekky. and forsy seems a little disappointed to shake his head and say no.#re:cats in downtown lugging a tincan over their head and forsy just goes “i got it” and takes cupholding duties from swaggy like a strongma#anyways do you ever think about the mundanity of fishing. the long hours spent between each catch just watching the water ripple.#the quiet comfort of the person beside you. the easy going dialogue between you that lulls into silence.#before the line starts twitching and you both stand up and rush over to the rod and the side of the boat in pure excitement.#maybe the game is a little too big a little too strong and you have to place your hands on the rod too. plant your feet behind your mate.#get a good few pulls in while grunts fill the air because this fish is a bit of a fighter. your chest is basically plastered to his back.#anyways#i think forsy should take ekky lakefishing in sweden or something#the romanticism of early morning fishing on a tiny boat in a lake. just two guys sitting very close together.#also forsy in the fourth pic with the pike haunts my every waking moment. thighs.#like in the sixth one i was like ooooohhh what a cute little man in his little fishing outfit ooooo#and then i get hit with skies out thighs out babe none of this is behind a paywall we get feet for FREE freak summer pic#forsy in green is good 👍 hi little elf man 👍#he holds these fish like an animal crossing character#that being said he would be besties with rory and rolf#also forsy talking about fishing with ekky is at 9:29#oh god post tag regret please dont read the tags jesus aughghfhfbf
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