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remsmoonlight · 4 years ago

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— title : a sweet truth

— word count : 2.1k words

— pairing : john wich x reader

— summary : you get an overwhelming need to share with John how you feel, unable to keep it to yourself anymore, leaving only the good to follow.

— warnings : none, issa soft one

note: my first one shot back and it’s john of course! anyways i need to binge the movies again because this man’s voice was difficult to master this time around, now i will be getting to requests now i have indulged myself oops

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* requests are open ! *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The dull crackle that runs mindlessly beneath the audio of the radio is the only sound that can be heard illuminating the space of the bedroom where you and John lay contently together. He’d offered to repair the object, or even buy another but you refused stubbornly — remarking that it gives it a certain endearing charm. You had joked that it reminds you of him. In the sense that while it has a flaw, it was able to bring joy and amusement to a person’s life. It’s humbling to know that even the John Wick was human, that he had his flaws despite being difficult to witness them in the flesh.

It took a lot for John to bare the darkest and most damaged parts of his conscience. He couldn’t go another day where his mind leapt endlessly to conclusions, his mind conjuring haunting images of your departing body that would eventually come to pass — to him, it was inevitable. He fully convinced himself he was hallucinating when you had not retreated in fear, with the look of disgust cosying up to your reflection, but the opposite. He is still a man greatly feared by a whole world beneath yours, yet you still gaze upon him with nothing but warmth.

You will your mind to focus on the words from the small object, yet it’s the heat that is emitting from his body in waves that prevent you from fully taking in what is being said, its presence doing more to provide white noise than entertainment. The minor glint in your gaze turns upwards to drag your sight across the body that half lays on top of you.

Like vines, to be found in a twist of limbs that would be almost difficult to distinguish what belongs to who is a common occurrence, the sense of shielded from the scorching realities that the world bares boldly is an addicting concoction that you can only find with him. Your heart swells tenfold at the mere thought of him and being here in such a simple way that holds so much affection just for two people.

“ What ? “

The suddenness of his voice lifts you from your thoughts that run their own race, a shy lift of your lips can be seen twirling gracefully in response.

“ Nothing, I’m just thinking. “

“ Thinking? “ he asks you, a light hint of laughter gently coating the question with a feather-like touch. “ Are you trying to scare me? “

Eyes widen in response to what he says, a heavy burst of air plummeting to the soft mattress below the two of you. “ Don’t be so rude! “ A short chuckle trails behind your reply, secretly loving the cheeky side of his personality coming out to peek out.

You’ve realised that he has a warmth whenever you’re together, but even still he maintains an air of such seriousness you’re surprised he has not collapsed under the pressure of holding such a wall up with his bare hands, these moments are the kind that you paint mentally — a still of this moment in a thousand shades of gold. Upon your first meeting of his, you’d never associate that with him, with how intimidating and stone faced he was, it would be a honeyed lie if someone would have described him in such a way but here he is. Not a honeyed lie but a sweet tasting truth that you never want to be without again.

“ I’m sorry. “ he apologises as the amusement in his tones still very much present that would aim to refer to him as a hypocrite, but it’s not spoken with vitriol, his words directed towards you rarely contain any harshness. “ Tell me, I’m curious. “

It’s a minor debate that dances with only itself, zig zagging with a biro pen that creates a mess of lines converging at multiple points to create a tangle plot point that should not be as complicated as it’s being made out. Neither of you have muttered the L word, not even under your breath in passing and the one dominating emotion you can feel overwhelming your body entirely is incredibly close to it.. but is it too soon? Even as a description? It’s a fear you can feel tickling your neck from behind, whispering stained words of discouragement, but if you have learnt anything, it’s that hiding your feelings will be worse off in the long run. Never can a human being strive for the euphoria of authentic happiness clutched in their fist when they lock away their thoughts and their desires in a box to gather age and dust — leaving behind a hollow shell of what could have been had it the opportunity to bud and grow.

“ Well.. “ you begin, your sight lowering to meet the sight of his neck, unable to look him in the eyes fully and you approach the topic. “ I was thinking about you. “

“ Yeah? “

“ I’m just.. happy. More than I thought I could be and it’s you I have to thank. “ Your shoulders shrug as best they can from your position laying down on the bed.

“ I think I should be the one saying that. “ he replies softly, his words ringing truer than they could ever be realised to be as he leans down to leave behind a ghost of a peck behind your ear. It’s an action that is short and sweet.

Never did John imagine himself being rewarded for being the architect in more tragedies and more horrors than he could ever recall. Though, he soon realised your presence was rather the opposite, a ticket to a greener field void of bloodied bargains and death, and should he keep you in his life that would be an opportunity he would not let pass him by in a sea of missed chances left to drown due to his lack of motivation. He gazes upon you fondly in affection, a hand reaching up to draw mindless circles in the back of your hair, memories of his last bargain to leave his previous life playing before him as if an old gritty movie.

“ Stop it, John. I haven’t done a thing! “ your nose wrinkles as you refute what he says with a bashful glint that explodes in your gaze. After all the time you’d spent together and you still refuse to see yourself in the way John has painted you in —

“ You’ve done more for me than you realise. “

It feels like yesterday you shared your first kiss, fondly remembering how you’d mentally remarked that it’s so unfair that what is between you should be so perfect, a cruel joke were it not to work out. Though your heart is full of gratitude when you still tell yourself that not a worry should be had, your need for a physical reminder as you move your hand to his clothed back — bringing him closer as if to burn a permanent reminder into your fingertips.

“ I guess that’s why we compliment each other so well, huh? “

A wispy sigh plummets, your thoughts and emotions mixing more and more into a blend of intensity as you fully realise just how much you have fallen and adore the man who shares your bed. It has been such a long time you have had these emotions to this degree rouse from, what has felt like, an endless slumber. Yes, there had been a few who had caught your eye, but compared to the substance that has been created and nurtured from you both, they had nothing more than a water drop in a boundless and enduring sea. It’s a hope of yours that you don’t look foolish before him, getting so emotional over something like this, you scold yourself mentally — trying to pull yourself together before you completely crumble.

“ What’s wrong? “

“ It’s nothing, really. “ you shake your head, accompanying the almost denial. You want to let everything in your heart free, but the question is how to without scaring him off. There’s not much that can scare him, but you’d rather not throw a spanner in the flawless equation.

“ You don’t have to tell me, but it might help if you do. “ John lends a soothing weight in your hand as he interlocks your fingers together, leaving the choice completely up to you, refusing to force you to share something that is so personal to you. “ it’s your call. “

“ It’s nothing crazy.. “

The side of John’s brain that has been hardwired to jump to every scenario imaginable — good and bad, is running rampant. Itching to be prepared so nothing is able to disrupt the perfect day dream of a life that had only been made available through television shows and movies, now that he has it, every day he promises to never let it be ruined. Nothing good can ever occur from ripping away the first drop of water that touches a person starved of it for days, only a troublesome path of anger can walk that path on its twisted and turned limbs.

“ I think it’s time that I tell you how I feel, “ you state, your lips almost devouring your lips by how hard they bite them, a lost thought of how you have not drawn a drop of blood seeping into irrelevancy. “ how I really feel. “

“ Right? “

For the first time, John is completely unable to get a read of you. The apprehension that is emitting off you in strong waves is not something that comforts him fully, though the fact that you speak not from anger and have opted to stay in your current position as opposed to fleeing is the only source of relief he can continue to draw energy from. Curiosity is the only thing that dominates his mind, wanting desperately to hear the next part of your statement.

In his silence, your brows furrow purely from your own thoughts. Mainly in the wonder of how you can approach this while sounding as if you have capacity and are not obsessed with him as some are with their idols. You know that would be something that would probably scare him off. Your fingertips lay a random beat on the top of his hand, you nestle closer to him as to make yourself comfortable — this does feel like the right time. Should it not? You remind yourself that it is part of a plan that the universe has for you, that it is part of a bigger picture you are not allowed to know until the final moment.

“ I just, “ you pause, blinking as you gather your thoughts and your words further. “ It’s been a long time since I’ve felt anything remotely close to this. “

Your words are like a cozy kiss goodnight before two lovers depart until the next time they see each other, a warmth that slowly grows in his heart overspills at the sentiment you individually wrap with each word you speak. He can’t help but tip his head ever so slightly, to take in every detail on your features — in his mind, nothing is more so perfect than this moment.

“ What I’m trying to say is, and you don’t have to say anything — “ the rambling leaves your lips so effortlessly, as if to savour the last few moments of normally before the inevitable confession. “ I can’t help but realise how much I am in love with you. “

His eyes widen instantaneously as his features follow suit, his lips part in surprise. With how your speech had begun, it should not have come as a surprise, yet to hear it from your lips is as pleasant as the final summer’s day, surrounded by warmth and an impenetrable energy that shields you from any harm that would befall you. He’d lived the life of a haunting ghost story that it soon became a belief that he was a monster, to hear you in this moment recite something so real is something that is difficult for him to wrap his head around. Maybe he isn’t a monster that has made its peace with the darkness, that there is more for him as a person.

The emptiness is soon replaced by a soft weight on your lips, he has leans down to join you — unable to fight the desire to savour the taste of him as you often do when you kiss. It’s a fight you have not yet one, and it’s a fight you imagine you would prefer losing. Time is no longer a concept, you’re too wrapped up in the concept turned reality that is John Wick, only are you able to concentrate on the burning that his free hand leaves as they slide up and down your waist. If this is a dream, neither of you want to awaken.

“ Who says I’m not feeling the same as you? “

#John Wick imagine #John Wick x reader #john wick oneshot #john wick fanfic #john wick fanfiction

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trulymadlysydney · 4 years ago

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Somewhere In Time: Eleven

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

― Plato, The Symposium

tw: Death

Previous Chapters HERE

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

April 25th, 2000, 12:06pm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then she hears her name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And god, Roni does know.

She gestures at him. “You look great.”

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

Roni nods. “That’s amazing, Oliver.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until now.

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

“Hm?”

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

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

Oliver furrows his eyebrows. “Who?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But Harry-- Mr. Styles… he--”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah it’s just… I could’ve sworn--”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure you’re okay, Ron?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

Flowers. Harry’s grave. Right.

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

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

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

———————-

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

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

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

Harry was real.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Roni.”

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

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

“Who--”

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

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

Perhaps she has.

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

“Hello, dear.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sentimental, if anything.”

Roni can’t help but to deflate. “Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry-

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

-Roni

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

Violet nods again. “You did.”

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

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

“He’s…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, darling.”

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

“I can.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve kept my promise, bunny.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And then?”

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

“You went that far back?”

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

Roni slaps his arm lightly. “Shut up.”

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

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

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

“Which was?”

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

Roni looks confused. “But… how--”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

“But how does that--”

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

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

“At the cost of--?”

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

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

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

“So we’re in a parallel universe?”

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

“And you--”

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

“So who are you to everyone then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How long have you been here?”

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

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

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

“But how did Violet know?”

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

Roni chuckles. “Apparently so. God.”

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

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

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

Now Roni frowns. “You had doubts?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hopeful for me?”

“Yeah.”

“You knew I’d find you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bollocks,” Harry curses, and Roni snorts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After a little while, Harry pushes himself to his feet with a little grunt. Roni immediately misses his warmth, which is pathetic, she knows. She can’t help the little whine that escapes past her lips as she reaches for him, and he chuckles as he takes her hand in his. “I’ll be right back, honey, I promise.” He gives her hand a quick squeeze before turning on his heel to go retrieve her discarded bouquet of flowers.

Roni watches him, so completely enamored and in love with him as he walks. He’s dressed sort of funky, not quite in his 1920s style but definitely outdated by today’s standards. He isn’t wearing his cap that she’s missed so much, but his curls are styled messily-- which isn’t helped at all by the wind. He looks so handsome. So soft. So him.

Her Harry.

She still feels like she’s dreaming in all honesty, and as she keeps her eyes glued to him she revels in the fact that he’s here. This person that she’s quite literally ached for for months now, the person she didn’t think she could possibly live without, the person she never thought she’d see again— he’s here. He found his way back to her because he loves her. It simply doesn’t feel real.

Harry picks up the bouquet and buries his nose in them, taking a big inhale and smiling to himself with the cutest dimpled smile. He looks back to see Roni— his sweet Veronica sitting there on the grass, wind whipping her hair and a silly, sweet smile on her face. He’s overwhelmed, really, and he walks quickly to close the space between him and his girl.

When Harry arrives by Roni’s side he plops right back down beside her, kissing both cheeks and the tip of her nose. When he pulls away, he’s smiling softly, and he nods down to the bouquet in his hands. “These were for me?”

“Yeah,” Roni says, somewhat bashfully. “I mean… for your grave. So. Yeah, for you but like… not? I don’t know.”

Harry chuckles, humming as he nods. “Mm.” He reaches into the cheap paper that holds the bouquet together and fingers lightly at a petal. “These are lilies.”

Roni, impressed by his knowledge of botany, smiles. “They are, yeah! How’d you know?”

Harry laughs. “Wasn’t born yesterday, Veronica, for heaven’s sake,” he teases. “In fact, I was born….” Harry scrunches his face, doing a bit of mental math in his head. “About a hundred and one years ago I think!”

“Holy shit,” Roni says, doing the math in her own head. “So you’re… old.”

“Technically, I suppose,” Harry chuckles. “But also, not actually.” He kisses her temple, then reaches into the paper bouquet. Roni wonders briefly what he’s doing, until she sees him snap a lily off of its stem. It looks so delicate between his fingers it makes her shiver, and she hardly has time to register what he’s doing before he’s tucking it gently behind her ear. He moves slowly, his thick fingers brushing lovingly against her skin.

Harry’s eyes scan her face, and in this moment Roni has never felt more loved. He cups her jaw and runs his thumb along her cheek, his green eyes still wet with tears. He hums, his mouth looking so irresistibly delicious, and Roni holds his eye contact with bated breath, waiting for him to do something.

“You are so beautiful,” he says softly, almost more to himself than to her. “My beautiful girl.”

“Your beautiful girl,” Roni repeats, leaning into his touch. “Thank you for finding me.”

“I’ll always find you, Veronica.” Harry drops his hand from her jaw and wraps it around her smaller hand that’s placed in her lap. “In every timeline,” he leans in and kisses her forehead, “in every lifetime,” he kisses her nose, “I will find you,” her lips, “and I will love you with everything I have to give until my heart stops beating.” He kisses her lips again, slower this time, before resting his forehead to hers and allowing his eyes to close.

They sit like this, silently drinking in one another’s presence, and when a tear slips down Roni’s cheek neither of them mention it. Harry presses velvety kisses to Roni’s lips every few seconds or so, and even he’s crying after a bit.

No words are spoken, but no words are necessary. In fact, it doesn’t feel like there would be any words to even begin to describe the happiness in both of their hearts presently. Roni swallows down a lump in her throat and giggles, sniffling a bit.

“God,” she says, “I think I’ve cried more in the past few months than I have in my entire life.”

“Well we’re fixing that,” Harry says, pulling away and wiping at her tears. “Effective immediately. No more tears. From here on out.”

“You promise?”

“Only happy ones. I promise.”

Roni licks her lips, then leans back in to kiss him again. “I like the sound of that.”

They stay like this for a while, disregarding the way it’s getting colder by the minute and the way that the tiny bit of sun that’s peeking through the clouds is beginning to dip behind the treetops. Roni catches him up one everything that’s happened in her life since she’d left him, and Harry tells her all about all the adventures he’s had while trying to find her. They laugh, and they continue to cry on and off (which makes them laugh harder) until Harry finally notices Roni shiver subconsciously at a gust of wind.

“Getting colder,” he observes, then adds “perhaps we should get out of here.”

Roni hums in agreement. “We should. You’ve got to meet my grandparents.”

Harry’s face changes into somewhat amused confusion. “Already?”

“What?” Roni says, rising to her feet and brushing the dirt off of her jeans. “If you’re going to be staying with us you’re going to have to meet them eventually.”

“Yes, but….” Harry rises to his feet as well. “Don’t you think we ought to do this right? I mean, they don’t know me, you’ve just broken up with your long term boyfriend, they’re going to think I’m a creep.”

Roni giggles. “They won’t. I promise. I’ll say you’re a friend from college who’s recently moved to town. We caught up today and you needed a place to stay for a bit. They won’t care.”

“They won’t think it’s… I don’t know, improper?”

“You’ve never met my grandparents,” Roni says. “They’re like the chillest people ever.”

When she’s met with only a look of pure confusion on Harry’s face, she laughs again. “You’re in the twenty-first century now, Harry. It’s your turn to adapt.” She lightly pinches his side, causing him to laugh.

“Suppose so,” Harry giggles, taking her hand in his and interlacing their fingers. “Lots to learn. I have a feeling you’re an excellent teacher, though.”

Roni smiles, swinging their hands as they fall into step, walking along the gravel road winding through the cemetery. “Well, I’ll do my best,” she says. “It’s the least I can do for you after you bent the laws of time itself to come and find me and all that.”

“Exactly,” Harry says, nodding. “Although I won’t lie to you, Veronica, I’m a bit nervous to get it all sorted out.”

Roni gives Harry’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t be,” she replies. “We don’t have to have it all sorted out. When have we ever had anything sorted out?” She laughs quietly to herself. “I’ve come to find that life is much better unplanned.”

“Yeah?” Harry squints, eyes scanning the vast hills as the wind whips his curls messily. “Well, I’ve come to find that you’re right about most things.”

The silence that follows is comforting and soft, but both are thinking the exact same thing. Sure, it is a bit terrifying to start a life together--properly--like this. Harry is here to stay, and as wonderful and exciting as that is, they both know it’s going to be hard work. He’s going to have to adapt, and it isn’t going to be easy. He’s starting from scratch. No job, no house, nothing.

But he does have his honey by his side. And somehow that’s enough.

They exit the cemetery, hand in hand, and Harry tries his best not to look so clueless as he observes the world around him. Roni is patient and gentle with him, answering any questions he has and giggling when he makes jokes. They’ve fallen into their comfortable swing of things that they’ve both missed so deeply, and Harry reckons that with his Veronica holding his hand, he can conquer anything.

As they approach Roni’s grandparents’ house, however, the butterflies in Harry’s stomach begin to act up. His hands grow sweaty and he hopes Roni doesn’t notice. (She does.) He wipes his free hand on the thigh of his trousers and swallows, slowing the pace of his walking until he stops altogether.

He looks up at the big house, daunting but quaint and surrounded by a completely innocent looking white picket fence, and he can feel Roni watching him. She’s nervous, too, he knows it. She gives his hand a squeeze before letting go, and his hand falls dully to his side.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” Roni asks quietly. “I mean, are you sure this is what you want? To be here, in a different time, re-learning the world and the people in it?”

Harry turns to her now. “Of course this is what I want,” he insists, almost defensively. “I just… it’s a bit more scary close up, isn’t it?”

Roni knows he isn’t talking about the house.

“It is,” she says slowly, after a beat. “But, if I know anything for sure, it’s that you and I make an excellent team. Whatever the circumstance, we can navigate it together, even if we haven’t got a clue what the right answer is. Somehow I know we’re always going to figure it out.” She lowers her voice, stepping in closer to Harry. “You’re the bravest, most wonderful man I know, Harry. You’re going to be fine.”

He turns to her, smiling as he swallows down the nauseous feeling in his throat. She beams. “You’re going to be just fine,” she repeats.

Harry reaches forward, taking her hand in his and bringing it up to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to each of her knuckles. “Alright,” he says quietly. “I’m ready.”

Roni smiles, squeezing his hand again and taking a deep breath in through her nose. “To our new life,” she says.

“To our future,” Harry adds. “To… forever.”

Roni nods. “Forever. Yeah.”

With deep breaths and trembling fingers, Harry and Roni step though the little gate surrounding the yard of the house and make their way onward. Into their future. Into the intimidating uncertainty of navigating a life brought on by such unique and odd circumstances. Two souls, interwoven and transcending time and space itself for the chance to be together, taking on the new set of challenges that await them because they have each other.

No matter where they end up in any lifetime, together or apart, they will always find one another somewhere in time.

#Harry Styles #Harry #One Direction #Harry Styles fanfiction #Harry fanfiction #One Direction fanfiction #fanfiction #Harry Styles AU #Harry AU #One Direction AU #AU #Harry Styles angst #Harry angst #One Direction angst #angst #Harry Styles fluff #Harry fluff #One Direction fluff #fluff

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wannabemobwife · 4 years ago

Text

Guns, Glamour, and Goodfellas - Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Sucker for Pain

Dad!Mob!Tom Holland x Mom!Mob!Reader

Pairings: Tom Holland x Reader, Rosie Holland x Henry Osterfield

Warnings: Guns (its in the title lol), grief, a minor mention of blood, fighting, always angst (what I consider angst)

Words: 4.1K

Author note: Totally cried while writing this. Feel free to leave comments or message me directly your feelings while reading the chapter. Always love hearing from you guys.

Chapter 5: Sucker for Pain

Words: 4.1K

Word of Charlotte’s death had spread like wildfire, especially at school. Only Rosie was attending the past fews days. Parker set to join her in two days time, after the funeral, he was scared of what lied ahead. Parker was discharged from the hospital a few days ago, under strict instructions to rest. He started to go a little stir crazy, watching the days pass.

Most of the student’s attended the funeral. Charlotte’s demise was widely publicized which made Parker’s blood boil. No one knew her like Parker did. Who Charlotte actually was the complete opposite of the persona she put on in public and at school. Charlotte was secretly funny and enjoyed really cheesy corny jokes. Her sense of humor was one of things that made Parker fall in love with her.

All the Hollands attended. You, Tom, Rosie, and Parker, and hoped to pay your respects. Parker was exhausted, he had been going through the stages of grief. How could his life get so screwed in a matter of a few weeks. A couple weeks ago, he was a kid planning his promposal for his girlfriend and now he is a protégé of the biggest mob in London who was about to bury his girlfriend.

This was the final stage, the one he was dreading the most, acceptance. He didn’t want to let her go. Charlotte changed his world for the better. She was the first person he ever loved and loved him in return.

The denial didn’t last long. It was unfathomable how she no longer existed. How the world wouldn’t be blessed with her beautiful smile anymore. Or her corny sense of humor and gracious presence. How could someone so perfect just leave the world so suddenly.

Bargaining followed next, coupled with anger. Parker was angry at the world, God, himself, and the bastards that killed her. If they had only driven home when he wanted to, she would still be here. If he hadn’t gotten grounded and not overslept and cleaned up quick enough. If he hadn’t thrown that stupid party. If his dad never gave him an ultimatum. If he never turned 16. Even if he never existed in the first place, Charlotte would still be alive.

There are 5 stages of grief as if you move on from one to the next but no, they stick with people. Especially, depression and anger. How does anyone ever really get over death. Losing someone you love is greatest pain ever felt. Someone you held and protected. Losing Charlotte, in that moment Parker wasn’t good enough. Not enough to protect her or love her.

Bringing us up to date, acceptance. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye but since when did he start getting what he wanted. Parker stood like a statue as he watched Charlotte’s casket lower in to the ground. He knew he had to be strong not just for himself, but for everyone else, especially Charlotte’s parents. At the reception, Parker tried to speak to them but, he didn’t know what to say. How could he lie to them saying it was an accident when in reality he was the reason.

“You have some real nerve showing up here,” Mr. Owens said as Tom walked up to the grieving parents. “I was so sorry to hear about Charlotte, Mrs. Owens,” Tom explained. “You daft prick, you were there. You could’ve protected her,” screamed Mrs. Owens to Parker.

“Mrs. Owens, I just came to offer my condol—“ Parker tried to say.

“Fuck your condolences!” She yelled, throwing her daiquiri straight on Parker. Coating him, from head to toe, in a very potent alcoholic drink.

“I think what my son is trying to explain is that if you need anything, money or a favor, it would be our pleasure. Our family business has some important ties.” Tom exclaimed, hoping to bring them some peace. “You and your son end lives. That’s your family business. I want no part of it. Now if you don’t mind, please get out of my fucking way.” Mrs. Owens said, pushing her way past Tom.

“You people have too many strings. I just want my baby girl back, and you can’t do that,” screamed Mrs. Owens as she left the premises.

“Sir, you want me to take care of her?” asked William, Tom’s capo. “Leave her alone, she’s grieving. Parker come on, let’s go home and get you cleaned up,” Tom explained.

“She’s right. If it weren’t for me Charlotte would still be alive.” Parker said solemnly. Tom hated seeing his son like this, it was eating him up inside. Tom couldn’t do anything to stop it, it was up to Parker to face his inner demons.

The Holland household was starting to return to normalcy, at least what they called normalcy. Parker refused to leave his room for awhile. Staff and you would bring food up to his room each meal and take the untouched one from before. He was a shell of a person after the night. All the while Parker was getting over Charlotte, Rosie was getting under someone new.

Henry had been coming over frequently for two reasons. To comfort Parker in his time of need and to be with Rosie. Their love for each other blossomed rather quickly. Rosie was not one for big romantic gestures, but made an exception from Henry.

The day had come where Parker was to return to school. How could face all of them with the judgements and accusations. Charlotte’s death shook everyone to their very core, everyone was taking the news differently. It wasn’t common for the school community to lose on of their own. Maybe a teacher but never a student.

There were a multitude of mourners that ranged from the fake asses who say they knew her but didn’t, her former conquests who only saw her as a good fuck and her actual friends who were devastated. Posters were hung up and there were candles, teddy bears and “We miss you cards,” displayed all over her locker.

You drove them to school that morning, since Parker was still grounded. Arriving at school, all voices ceased to exist as the black Rolls Royce pulled up. Out jumped Parker and Rosie and all eyes shifted to them as they walked through the halls.

“Glad to see you are back Mr. Holland. You missed a few projects, you can make them up at a later time,” Ms. Erikson, Parker’s chemistry teacher, said. Parker just nodded in response.

Walking to his seat, he perfectly heard all the rumors being spread or was he supposed to. “I heard he was the one who killed her.” “I heard they were both at a gang bang” “I heard she died in his arms”. How could people be so insensitive to make snap judgements like that.

Charlotte’s parents’ opted for the cause of her death to remain hidden. But they were teenagers, they couldn’t help but, gossip. Rumors are just rumors, Parker would tell himself. They weren’t entirely wrong. He was the reason, he was there when it happened, and he held her as she died. Being in those hollowed halls was brutal. Parker was basically the new social pariah.

The student’s weren’t oblivious to the Holland family. They knew what most people knew. That Tom Holland owned one of the largest exporting companies in Europe, Holland Exportation and Luxuries. And they knew not to mess with the Hollands.

Once class was over, now came the hard work. Tom called it “Mobster Bootcamp,” Parker was currently taking lessons with his dad to carry on the legacy. Tom had a few tricks of the trade up his sleeve desperately wanting to pass on to his son. They had met in the Tom’s office to begin.

“Lesson 1: Always wear black or white.” Tom started with as Parker took notes, like the perfect student he is.

With one, blood will alter it completely and the other remains unchanged. It was a common theme, with the Holland legacy, wearing black or white. It was sleek, dangerous and classy all at the same time.

“The one big perk is that blood doesn’t show up on black fabric.”

“Lesson 2: Wives must be treated with respect, girlfriends are fair game."

“If you’re a good man, the only describable difference between a wife and girlfriend is that one has an unnecessary symbol on her ring finger. They both mean the same and don’t you forget it,” Tom concluded.

And Tom was a good man. Never has Tom even thought about cheating on you. Porn was pointless and strip clubs bored him. Why throw away the best thing that ever happened to him, you.

“Lesson 3: Someone brings a knife, you bring a gun” “Never be without a weapon. Anything can become a weapon with the right skill set, but always be prepared.”

Tom was a big fan of improvisation. Sometimes using what he had on hand, like his tie. Strangling wasn’t his most favorite method of killing but he liked to mix it up.

“Also find finesse in your kills. Your mother is a big believer in gun to the head, execution style. Me on the other hand, I prefer to roughen up a guy a bit, but you will eventually develop an M.O. (modus operandi). Another lesson, make sure you don’t always use the same M.O. mix it up a bit, otherwise they could trace it back to you,” Tom elaborated.

“That bring me to my next lesson.”

“Lesson 4: Blackmail is your best friend.”

Tom has had a few close calls in his day. Everything about running a mob had to be sneaky. Bodies couldn’t be found by any random person, they needed to be cleaned up and dealt with. The witness’s in a meeting were sworn into secrecy, he had enough dirt on them that he could get someone to fake their death if need be. Cops were never a problem with the Hollands. They were his puppets and he was the puppet master.

“Killing someone in a public place you risk being caught by an innocent bystander. Then one things leads to another and you are cleaning up two bodies instead of one.That’s why I have the warehouse and the police Captain in my pocket. Just remember everyone’s got a price,” Tom explained.

“Lesson 5: Have as little weaknesses as possible.”

Tom hated referring to the one’s he loved as weakness but it was the truth. He couldn’t be weak if he desired to be top dog. The moment you and Tom started a family, his liabilities increased. From that day, his only goal was to protect you and the twins.

“I would never call your mother a weakness, but I would die for her. Also for you and your sister. This makes me vulnerable. In the past, people have put her in danger situations for leverage against me.” Tom said, rubbing his temples. Parker just nodded in return. A long silence ensued.

“Dad, are you okay?” Parker questioned.

“Yeah. I’m sorry son, I have more for you but, just have a lot on my mind,” Tom apologized. “It’s alright. Any luck with finding Charlotte’s killer?” Parker asked, his voice tainted with hope.

“No, but I do have a meeting at the warehouse with a contact would you like to tag along?”

“How could I say no,” Parker said, kind of excitedly. They made their way out of the mansion and drove to the warehouse. Parker had never been here before. It was dark and cold looking. The walls were pure metal sheets and the floor had stains of blood scattered everywhere. “Good to see you, Jazz,” Tom said walking up to the mysterious woman tied to a chair. Jasmine Ramsey, a contract killer Tom was friends with. A little more than friends at one time, predating you.

“Fuck you, Tom. What’d I do to be graced with your presence,” questioned Jazz. “Nothing to piss me off, yet,” Tom chuckled. “Then why the fuck am I here,” she said a little peeved.

“My son, here, needs to ask you a few questions,” Tom said, pointing towards Parker who stood in the corner. “Aww a baby Holland. Following in your daddy’s footsteps, huh?” “Shut it, slag,” Parker yelled as he melded his fist with her jaw.

“Jesus. What the fuck was that for?” Jazz screeched. “Woah. Sorry Jazz, should’ve told him you were an old friend,” Tom says, holding his hands up in defense. “Oh, I’m so sorry miss. Could I get you some ice or something?” Parker exclaimed, surprised that he just punched an assassin.

“Its fine didn’t hurt that bad. Gotta work on your punch,” she said adjusting her jaw. “Really. Hurt like a bitch to me” Parker whispered, holding his aching hand. Blood began to seep out of the broken skin, staining his knuckles red. “Tommy you gotta tell your son to grow tougher skin” Jazz exclaimed. “What the fuck were you thinking Parker?” Tom said, grabbing Parker by the collar of his polo. “Sorry I just assumed with her being tied up and all” Parker exclaimed. “That’s how we do business boy. You’ll soon learn”Jazz explained with a shit-eating grin across her face.

“Anyway, I need info on a murder at The Luxe on the 11th. A young girl was involved.” Tom turned to Jazz.

“Oh I heard about that, poor girl, she was pretty too. What’s it to you, Holland?”

“That’s not important,” Tom hissed. “She was my girlfriend,” Parker interrupted.

“Sorry lover boy my hands are tied, literally,” Jazz said, rolling her eyes. “If I untie you will you talk?” Tom replied.

“Yes, you know me. I don’t appreciate being threatened.” “Alright Jazz, just spit it out.” Tom said as Parker untied her restraints. “I was downtown at pub, called Harmon’s. Heard of it?” Jazz expressed. “Yeah, a big hotspot for Shaw’s men,” Tom said, nodding his head as he followed along. “Well, I was searching for my target and overheard some men saying “It’s going down tonight, word from the Merchant is that he should be there, with his little whore.”” “Fuck. The Merchant. Where have I heard that?” Tom said, puzzled. “Short for Merchant of Death. Surely, you’ve heard the old mob tales.” Jazz elaborated.

“Of course.”

“Well if it is him, I’d stop looking you don’t want to find him,” she warned. “Please, everyone knows I’m fucking top dog,” Tom asserted. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Tommy. You are now, but he used to be and if he is returning, watch your back. All he craves is power. If that’s it I’ll be on my way.” Jazz explained, asking for permission to leave. “Yes of course, Jazz. Thanks.” Tom muttered. “Give my love to your wife,” she said, pressing a cheek to his kiss as she strutted out. “Seriously dad?” Parker asked with a side glare. “Parker stop it. I love your mother and I would never cheat on her. Jazz and I are just friends.” Tom explained creating a “I’m watching you” look on Parker’s face.

“Jesus, one punch ripped open your knuckles. You're the one telling mom. Now come on or we’ll be late for dinner,” Tom said, inspecting Parker’s hand. Being the new mob boss was in Parker’s blood, but you were always against it. You loved the mob and being part of it but you wanted your kids to have a choice, unlike you and Tom.

Meanwhile at the manor, you and Rosie were making dinner. You appreciated all the staff to clean and cook but, enjoyed the satisfaction when doing it yourself. Secretly loving your independence. While you were dating Tom, you would try to ditch your security much to Tom’s dismay. You were a junkie for thrills.

Rosie and your relationship is what ever mother desired. You treated Rosie like a daughter first and a best friend second. As long as Rosie’s life was never put in danger you would keep her secrets. The major one being Henry.

“Hey honey. Since it’s just us here, how are things going with Henry?” You asked curiously. “Wait, where’s dad and Parker?” Rosie questioned cause nobody else knew. “Taking care of some business. Now spill, I want all the details.” “Well things are going really great. We kissed.” “Really? When? Where?” You have always wanted to have this conversation with her daughter. “At the hospital when Parker was hurt. I had a panic attack and Henry comforted me. He is really great, mom. I don’t know I’ve just never felt this way before,” she explained. Rosie had boyfriends in the past, never long enough for anything serious to perspire.

“Roo if you’re ready to take that step, I’m here for you. You can tell me anything.”

“I’m okay, right now, considering”

“Considering what? Did something happen? Has Henry been pressuring you?” You grew concerned of your daughter. “No. God no, nothing like that. On the night of the party, I got drunk and remember that boy Connor?”

“Yes, go on.” “Well he… he tried to rape me.” Rosie murmured, trying not to cry. “What? Roo why didn’t you tell me,” you whispered, your heart breaking on behalf of Rosie. “Henry was there to stop it and I just want to forget about.” “Roo, I’m so sorry you had to deal with this. I’m always here for you ok? I love you so much baby.” “Love you too, mom” Rosie replied. Their conversation soon quickly ended as Tom and Parker came barging through the front door and Rosie excused her self to the restroom.

“Ooo, something smells good. What is my beautiful wife cooking?” Tom asked, coming up behind you and kissing your neck.

“The only thing she knows how to cook, spaghetti and meatballs,” you replied, jokingly.

“How was your guy’s day?” You asked. “Great, Parker really showed them,” Tom said, kissing your forehead and pulling you into a warm embrace.

“Jesus Parker, does it hurt?” you questioned as he showed her his battle scars.

“What the fuck happened to your hand?” Rosie said, walking back into the kitchen. “Oh nothing,” Parker said, trying to change the subject. Rosie just gave him a puzzling glare as she dropped the subject.

“Dinner’s ready,” you announced as they all made their way to the dining room. There they sat at the long table, Tom at the head of course and you to the right of him. You all talked about your day, of course, avoiding any mob talk.

“So what really happened to your hand” Rosie asserted breaking the silence. “Drop it. Will you?” Parker barked annoyed at her persistence. “Fine,” she said staring at her plate until her phone buzzed. That noise put a smile across her face because it was always the same person, Henry. “Roo, you know the rules. No phones at dinner,” you remarked. “I know mom, just give me one second,” replied Rosie, holding up a finger. “Rosie, your mother asked you to put it down. Who’s got you so giddy anyway.” Tom said, defending you.

“Oh nothing” Rosie muttered, putting her phone down. “Ten bucks it’s a boy” Tom said directed towards you. “Deal” you responded, shaking his hand. He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a chaste kiss, theirs loving way of shaking hands.

“I’m done. Dinner was great, thanks mom. May I be excused?” Parker asked and Tom nodded in response. Rosie cornered him on his way upstairs. It had been a while since they had talked. Sibling to sibling. Twin to twin. They tried not to keep secrets from each other. He hadn’t of told her about the mob and she hadn’t told him of her and Henry.

“Now tell me what the fuck you did to your hand,” Rosie barked, cornering him.

“Why the fuck do you want to know so bad?” Parker responded. “Umm, I’m your sister.”

“Rosie I don’t have time for your bullshit,” Parker yelled. “What the fuck happened? There’s something you aren’t telling me,” Rosie accused.

“Dad wants me to be the next him.” Parker explained. “I’m not following. What like run the company?” Rosie asked, confused by his statement.

“No. Dad is a mobster. He runs a mob and he wants me to succeed him.” “What the fuck? When did this happen? Why the fuck haven’t you told me?” Rosie exclaimed.

“Our birthday. This is what I was trying to tell you at the party!” Parker yelling causing Rosie to yell back. “Sorry, I was a little preoccupied and so were you!” Rosie hinting at Charlotte. “Don’t turn this on me. What the fuck are you doing with Henry, by the way? You think I don’t see the two of you sneaking around.” Parker quipped, in reality he had never seen their antics. “Nothing, it’s none of your business,” Rosie said, shying away from him. “Of course, it’s my business he’s my best friend.” “Well he is mine too and the world doesn’t revolve around you. If you weren’t so busy breaking curfew and sneaking out, you would see that Henry is really good to me, ever since that night.” Rosie explained stopping herself before she said something she wasn’t ready to acknowledge herself.

“Rosie, what happened?” Parker asked noticing her quick change in demeanor.

“You won’t care,” Rosie quipped.

“Try me,” Parker said softly.

“That night… someone slipped something in my drink and tried to take advantage of me, but Henry stopped it.” Rosie explained, trying to avoid the brute of Parker’s rage.

“Who? Tell me who right fucking now!”

“Connor.”

“I’m gonna kill him” “No, Henry already took care of it. You already have enough blood on your hands,” Rosie chuckled, surprised Parker cared that much. “Thanks,” he said with sarcasm.

“Roo, I’m so sorry. I should’ve known.” “It’s ok. I’m just trying to put it behind me”

“So what you are a mobster now?” “One in training. I need you to know I’m doing this for one reason only, to avenge Charlotte, okay. Not looking to kill for sport like mom and dad.”

Rosie’s suspicions grew over the years that her parents did enjoy living above the law. It didn’t bother her, she actually hoped the mantle would be passed on to her. She had a more fiery spirit than Parker, he was just a big softie on the inside much like his father. Appearances can be deceiving.

Tom was currently in his office, finishing up work for the night. Buzz, buzz, buzz. The last person he thought would call him, his dad.

“So are you going to say thanks?” asked Dom.

“For what? I don’t time for your antics, dad. A hit was hired on Parker and I have to figure out who did it.” Tom sighed. He was frustrated he was getting no where, who was the Merchant of Death. “Umm, hello. Like I said you’re welcome,” Dom quipped.

“You fucking mean that was you.”

“Duh, told you he needed a push in the right direction. I wasn’t the one to pull the trigger but I knew where he was.” “I have a crushed kid over here wanting revenge on the bastards who killed his girlfriend.” “Problem solved, glad he is joining the family business.” Dom said and hung up. How the fuck was Tom going to explain to Parker that his grandpa arranged the hit?

“FUCK!!” Tom screamed smashing everything in sight.

Meanwhile, Parker made his way to the kitchen for a glass of water when he saw you sitting on the couch, consumed in your book.

“Hey mom?” Parker asked, needing to get something off his chest. “Yeah, honey,” you responded, drawing your eyes away from your book. “I need to tell you something.”

“I’m listening… wait what the fuck was that. Hold that thought.” You hesitated when you heard a large crash come from Tom’s office.

“Let me go check on your father,” you said, getting up from the couch. Parker couldn’t help but be curious. He followed her before she closed the door and listened in, pressing his ear against the door.

“Tommy, what happened?” You queried. “It was him,” Tom spoke with an unchanging expression. “Who, Carson?” “No, Dom. He arranged the hit,” Tom said.

Parker’s heart sunk to his stomach. His girlfriend was dead because of his family. He really did kill her.

Maybe he wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger but she was seen with him. As far as he is concerned it painted a huge red target on her back. What kind of life was he born into? He never wanted any of this and now all he is, is this.

Guns, Glamour, and Goodfellas Masterlist

Taglist: @thenoddingbunny-blog @adriannauni @dummiesshort

#tom holland #tom holland imagines #tom holland series #tom holland fanfic #tom holland mob au #tom holland au #tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland blurb #mob!tom #mob tom #mob!tom holland #dad!mob!tom holland #mob!tom x mob!reader #mob!tom x reader #mob!tom holland x reader #dad!mob!tom

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imagine-that · 4 years ago

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Rescue me

Pairing: Loki Friggason x reader

Warnings: mentions of kidnapping, kinda angsty, a lil fluffy. (We love fluffy Loki around here lmao)

AN: this is not a request but I got this idea and it wouldn’t stop nagging at me so I took it and I RAN with it, requests coming VERY soon though

Yanking on the binds around your wrists, you wince slightly as they dig into the skin once again.

“That won’t free you. They’ve held much stronger.” The man in front of you informs you, a sly smirk playing on his lips and sending shivers down your spine.

“I’m not of any use to you, I hope you’ve realized that by now.” You growl, glaring up at him with a piercing gaze.

He chuckles, the sound one of nightmares bellowing from his throat.

“On the contrary, you are the key to getting to the god of mischief.” He says, his malicious grin growing wider as you flinch at the sound of his title. “Who knew his only weakness would be so... pathetically mortal.” He says, grabbing your roughly by the chin to make you meet his eyes.

Had your legs not been tied down, you would have kicked him, whether it be in the legs or in a much more intimate place, anywhere that would have gotten the vile creature away from you.

“He won’t do it. He won’t come for me. He’d never be that stupid.” You spat, leaning towards his face to make your message clear.

He opts to ignore your comment, leaving the room without another word.

You spend what feels like ions fighting the ropes with as much force as you can muster, still feeling the toll of the drugs they’d used to take you here (wherever here was), even with a day or two having already passed since they used it. You suspected they were sending the same kind through the vents to disorient you and to keep you weak.

You knew they more than likely wouldn’t feed you or give you water but your stomach still didn’t realize this. It continued to rumble, reminding you of your need for nutrients.

Truthfully, you’d been in worse situations. Being friends with the avengers tended to do that to a person. No, it wasn’t being starved or locked up and tied to a cold metal chair that scared you. It was the fact that you now truly knew what your boyfriend Loki felt for you and that was nothing.

There hadn’t been one sign of him coming to your rescue, nor had there been any of him sending help for you.

You wanted to plead, beg even for him to come to your aid but you refused to give them the satisfaction of hearing so through whatever mics and cameras they may have planted.

Your body ached from being in this same position for so long and you tried to prepare yourself for spending the rest of your life like this but try as you might, you couldn’t. You couldn’t will yourself to drop all hopes of Loki becoming your knight.

You licked your lips, trying to refresh them from their cracking and dried state but it was not much use.

Hours later, your captor reenters the room, two of his cronies following behind on either side. You use a minimal amount of strength to look up at him, knowing he would once again force you to if you didn’t do it yourself.

“I don’t understand! We’ve had her/him/them here for days and he hasn’t so much as threatened our lives! It doesn’t make any sense.” He cries out in frustration, gesturing angrily in your direction as he speaks.

You let out a bitter guffaw, rolling your eyes slightly. “It’s obvious you’re dimwitted but I had no idea it was to this extent.” You mutter. He glares at you furiously, outraged by your sudden show of disrespect. “Loki views me as nothing more than a plaything. He sees me as a toy and clearly, he’s grown bored with me anyway. He won’t come. The sooner you realize that the sooner we can get my murder over with.” You explain coldly.

“No. No! There’s more to it than that! We wouldn’t have just taken you on the off chance he cared for you! He does! I’ve seen it!” He insists, burying himself in denial. Any person would’ve said you should be reacting the same way, perhaps even more dramatically. You disagreed.

“He sees me as a possession. He doesn’t need me, he never has. He simply wanted to have me as a trophy for the mantle.” You reword your initial statement, the sharp words slipping through your lips slicing your heart more everytime as realization hits.

You feel the lone tear falling down your face just as he looks back to meet your eyes again. His face lights up with a monstrous grin and you immediately want to move away or at least wipe the salty tear away.

The man gently caresses your face, the rough pad of his thumb wiping the tear off your cheek. Your breath hitches in fear, terrified into not moving even an inch.

“I can see why the trickster would take an interest in you. For a mortal, you are quite attractive.” He comments, his breath hot on your face. You lean as far back as the chair allows without falling, using every bit of your strength to get away.

Just before he can do anything else to frighten you, an alarm starts blaring, high pitched and loud, causing him and his guards to stand immediately at high alert.

“Take the captive someplace safe. She/he/they needs to be intact for our deal to work.” He orders, running over to the door to investigate.

Instead of leaving you to walk on your own, the two remove you from the chair, grabbing you by an arm each and dragging you to the parcade but not before they hastily jab another dose of whatever drug it was they used on you into your exposed arm. You bite back a wince, the needle stinging as they recklessly inject it.

As they shove you into the backseat and start to drive, another car collides violently with the drivers side, sending the vehicle you’re in to a sudden halt. You release the sob of fear you’d been holding since being brought there, scared for your life.

As you begin to fade in and out of consciousness from the impact of your head hitting the front seat, the world keeps spinning, making you dizzy. The door is yanked open and what you see makes you immediately think it’s nothing more than a cruel form of torture.

“Oh my love, thank norns you are alright.” The voice murmurs, cutting your seatbelt with minimal difficulty and dragging your tired body out of the car like a rag doll.

Your first thought after the torture theory is that the drugs were causing you to hallucinate. Your next was that they somehow had the powers that the god of mischief himself did.

All these theories are tossed out the window as he lifts you into his arms and you feel the familiar mix of warmth and coolness against your skin.

“You came for me. You didn’t leave me for dead.” You murmur sleepily, trying to fight the effects of the injection.

“Of course I did my darling. I could never allow harm to come to you. I will always come for you.” He promises softly, placing a kiss on your forehead as he slips the both of you through every doorway. Suddenly he comes to a halt, making your drooping eyelids burst open and brings you back to some form of alertness.

“I see you found your mortal.” A voice says. To your dismay, it’s again a voice you recognize. This one though, is the same taunting voice you’d heard for the past two days.

You feel Loki’s muscles tense against you, holding you tighter in a protective manner. You nuzzle up to him in a mix of fear and exhaustion.

“Y/n is not a part of this war between you and me. Leave her/him/them out of this.” He orders, gently placing you on the ground to lean on the wall. You whine in protest, wanting nothing more than to be protected within his grasp.

“If only I could. She/he/they is the only thing you value worth bargaining. Without that, no one has anything of interest to you.” The man says with a grin, glancing over at your weakened figure in an almost longing manner.

Loki’s jaw tenses as he steps closer to the man, clearly ready to rip him apart in one move. If there was one thing he would never bargain with, it was your life and safety.

As you fell into a drug induced sleep on the floor, your limbs relaxing around you, Loki takes another glance in your direction, alarmed as he notices one of the mans guards grab hold of you and hold a blade to your throat.

“What is it you seek, you parasite?” Loki growls as he meets the eyes of your captor.

He grins like a madman. “The tesseract for y/n’s life.” He orders. Loki’s jaw locks in anger, unsure what he could do.

“I truly didn’t believe you’d fallen in love with a mere mortal your highness. I thought those who did were insane but seeing you actually have to think about it... well that just proves them right.” He mocks, making Loki want nothing more than to kill him.

He regains his control, his whitened knuckles relaxing as he lets out a sigh of defeat. Reaching into the pocket of his armour, he hands the glowing blue cube out of his hand and into his enemies hesitantly.

The man inspects it quickly before signalling for the minion to release you. He moves his blade and lets you go, dropping your limp body down to the floor with a harsh thud.

Loki practically seethes with anger, glaring daggers at the man as he retreats.

“You truly have become weak for this one being. How sad.” The man says, tutting his tongue as Loki reaches back over to you, his face one of worry.

“I like to believe you and your men are the weak ones for believing it is love that renders you so. You are true fools for believing I, Loki of Asgard, could ever be rendered so.” He retorts in an almost bored tone as he picks you up bridal style, cradling you in his arms as he masks his rage.

The man guffaws. “I got what I needed, you may take her/him/them and leave.” He says dismissively as he walks off into the hallways of his lair, leaving Loki alone with you.

He gently pushes strands of hair away from your face and quickly walks off to his hovercraft ship, laying you gently onto the ground, draping his emerald cloak over you. As the wind blows around you, the air helps with the effects of the drugs, making you wake up groggily.

“Loki?” You murmur, repeating yourself a moment later to overpower the wind.

“Good morning darling.” He hums, setting it to drive itself for a moment as he turns to face you. He crouches down to your level, gently but possessively kissing you on the cheek.

“How did you get us out of there?” You ask in confusion.

“With my wit and charm?” He offers jokingly. You meet his eyes, looking unimpressed. “If you must know, I had to give him the tesseract.” He admits with a huff of annoyance.

“What?! Loki, that thing is so important to you... and to the rest of the universe! Why would you do that?” You shout, your face one of concern.

“Y/n, I would have done whatever necessary to get you back. I care more for you than for anyone else in my life, except perhaps my dear mother.” He explains softly, holding your hand in his. In the palm of his godly hand, yours felt tiny.

“I’m not worth trading your most prized possession Loki. I love you for what you did but-.” You start but he places his lips against yours before you can finish.

“I thought that might be the best way to get you to stop chattering.” He says with a mischievous yet warm grin. You’d missed that more than you’d realized over the past few days.

“Anyway, you are worth all the tesseracts or magical artifacts or crowns in the world. I’d trade all of them just to keep you by my side forever my love.” He promises, kissing your knuckle as your face heats up.

“Well when you put it that way...” you say with a smile, planting your lips against his yourself.

“It also helps when you give them a fake of course.” He shrugs nonchalantly as though he hadn’t just dropped a key piece of information on you.

“You- you really deserve the title of god of mischief, you know that?” You ask in slight awe of his quick thinking.

“Of course I do but it’s nice to hear from such a lovely pair of lips.” He teases, smiling at you.

“I love you you mischievous idiot.” You giggle, grinning and squeezing his hand, still feeling groggy but a bit better being with him.

“And I love you with all my heart my darling. Always have, always will.” He whispers, holding you tight in his embrace.

He helps you to your feet, letting you regain your sense of balance as he pulls you in front of him, rested against his chest as he steers the small ship to the avengers tower, landing it gracefully.

“A bit of a show off are we?” You tease.

“My dear, it would never truly be me if I weren’t.” He teases right back, carrying you into his room.

You spend the night there, sleeping with his arms around your body.

He whispers sweet promises to protect you and guard you with his life and you take comfort in knowing that they’re all true, that you should never doubt his love and willingness to protect you at all costs. He was never going to leave you, he was your protector and rescuer, along with the love of your life, just as you were his.

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oneoftheextras · 5 years ago

Text

jealousy | villain aizawa x hero reader | three

masterlist | tip jar

Former student of his turned pro hero, he’s always had eyes for her at UA but never acted upon it. Once she graduates, she takes a role at Endeavor’s agency, and Aizawa can’t stand the thought.

words: 2.2k

warnings: 18+, aphrodisiac, very sexual themes, masturbation

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Stepping back you looked up at the ceiling trying to locate the source of the thump, you noticed several vents lining the ceiling, they were so small that you’d managed to miss them.

The only reason you noticed them now was because there was a stream of white mist trickling over the flaps and tumbling down the wall before mixing with the oxygen you were breathing.

It was coming from every angle and soon you would be inhaling it “Are you trying to poison me?” you snapped your attention to the man on the other side of the glass who was admiring the substance in awe.

“By the time this gets in your system you’re going to wish it had been poison” he grinned slyly, drifting his gaze from the vents slowly down to your face. You covered your nose and mouth with your hand trying desperately not to breathe too heavily if you could help it.

The gas was thin and almost completely colourless, the only way you knew it was there because of the shear mass of it towards the vents - as it spread into the room it was invisible - making it harder to avoid.

Panic overtook you and you tried to steady your breathing, anything to stop you from practically drinking in the gas. Then you smelt it.

“Is that-” you started, not quite believing what you were going to say “-Is that cotton candy?” you asked Eraserhead with confusion, he tilted his head at you and raised his eyebrows “Oh that’s interesting” he commented nonchalantly.

You shouldn’t have spoke, the flavour of candy floss filled your mouth and nostrils, was he playing with you?

“Everyone smells something different” he did a lazy job of explaining, you watched him swing open some doors off to the side and drag out a comfortable looking armchair. It seemed like it took him next to no effort to do, it still shocked you how strong he was.

You laughed, all feelings of panic gone now replaced with amusement, was this the best he could do? “Are you trying to make me hungry? ‘Cause-” you said, picking up one of the nutrition bars he gave you “You screwed yourself there” you finished your sentence cockily.

He watched you shake the bar in his face and lowered himself onto the chair after he’d positioned it to face you like you were a caged animal at a zoo that he wanted to observe.

“What are you waiting for?” you asked him walking up to the glass in some strange attempt to intimidate him, he just crossed his arms and continued to watch you.

You felt a slight tinge in your thighs as your knees buckled and you fell forward, luckily you caught yourself. Putting your weight against the glass you were able to stabilise yourself, you heard Eraser’s deep chuckle rumble against the transparent surface.

A warm burning sensation spread down your throat, past your chest and into your abdomen, and you felt all the hairs on your head stand to attention and then, almost like a wave, slide down your spine. It felt so nice.

Your palms started to sweat and then you felt it, the first clear indication of what was happening, a dull tingling in your pussy and a singular throb of your clit. Stifling a whine the best you could, your knees gave way and your hands slid off the glass making contact with the floor.

Wiping your hands on your legs and feeling your pupils dilate, you turned to Eraser “What have you done to me?” your voice wavered as other sounds threatened to crawl out of your throat.

The tingling became more intense and you could feel your need and want increase. The need and want for something you would refuse to ask for.

“Gas based aphrodisiac” the side of his mouth curled into an evil smile, “You really are a monster” you grit your teeth and curled up into your side but facing the window. Beads of sweat and perspiration ran down your forehead already.

“Tell me what I want to know and I’ll shut it off” he leaned forward, trying to bargain with you - not trusting your voice, you shook your head and closed your eyes in an attempt to gain some control of yourself.

Steadying your breathing was hard, every time you inhaled you drew more of the gas into your system which prodded the fire in the pit of your stomach.

Opening your eyes again you were instantly met by grey orbs staring back at you, Eraser had left his chair and knelt down in front of you on the other side of the glass, he was practically pressed up against it to try and get as close to you as possible.

“You’re enjoying this” you intended to ask but ended up stating it instead, “I would be lying if I said that seeing you like this wasn’t intoxicating” he cooed at you, watching every facial expression you made.

Gasping as another wave of tingling ran over your scalp, down your spine and to your lower back - it felt so damn good but you wanted more.

Hearing him quietly groan, you snapped your eyes to his face to see that he was biting his bottom lip subconsciously, you tried to convey hate and anger in your eyes but the truth was your body wanted the opposite from him, and it betrayed you.

“Don’t look at me like that” he growled, shifting his weight from one knee to the other as though he was uncomfortable too, “Like what?” you breathed, your lungs forcing all the carbon dioxide out to replenish it with fresh-gas-coated oxygen.

“Like you want me to fuck you” he answered your question, the way he phrased that made your stomach to a somersault. You turned your head away and tried to subtly rub your legs together to relieve some friction. That is what you wanted, but it was only because of the ferocity of your need.

You rolled onto your other side to face the back wall, you were just fuelling him and yourself by allowing your brain to take in his features. “I will never want that” you shouted, trying to regain some pride.

Lifting yourself off the ground and towards the corner furthest away from him you heard him reply “It’s been two minutes, let’s see how you feel after an hour”. An hour?! Your brain did mental back flips, you couldn’t last an hour like this, but you couldn’t give in to him or his demands.

At this point even his voice was making you want to scream.

“Or you could just tell me what want to know and I can make it go away” he butted in.

“I have more self control than you think” you drily laughed, of course you were lying through your teeth, this was absolute torture. You knew you wouldn’t give up your friends and colleagues, but you wanted nothing more than to be touched, every thought that ran through your mind was filth and you couldn’t stop it. And every single one of them was about the man that put you here.

Your body was trembling, if you tried to stand you would probably fall straight back down before you could get anywhere, and you were struggling to breathe. Turning your back to him, you faced the wall - the only thing you could do was to reduce the amount of pleasure he was getting out of it.

5 minutes went by.

Then 10 minutes.

Then 12 minutes.

Before it hit 15 minutes, you were ravenous. The only way you could describe it is pure hunger, like a wild animal that hadn’t eaten meat in weeks. The thirst you had felt earlier in the day was nothing compared to this.

Maybe some water would help. Stiffly, you crawled your way over to where you’d left the water, your knees wobbles as well as your arms, you did your best to pretend it wasn’t affecting you was much as it was.

Unscrewing the cap of the water bottle you took a couple of sips, the cold water definitely helped. You took moment to compose yourself and turned your head to gaze out of the glass, but Eraserhead was no where to be seen.

Whipping your head from side to side, searching for any sign of movement, but there was none. He was gone.

Exhaling, you felt like you could relax a bit more. Then something caught your eye, you weren’t proud of your previous purchase about a year ago, you were a single woman, you still had needs and no time to find someone to fulfil them.

The small black bullet was staring back at you, you swallowed the mouthful of water you had and darted your eyes back to the glass, just to double check he wasn’t lurking in the shadows somewhere.

Quickly, you snatched it off of the floor and held it in your hand. You had to act now if you didn’t want to get caught, he could come back at any moment, so every second counted.

You shuffled back to your corner of the room, despite the burning temperature that you could feel against your skin you pulled the blanket over your legs and up around your waist.

Wasting no time, you turned the bullet onto its lowest setting and gently touched it against your clothed clit - immediately you let out a loud moan and stopped the contact.

Having to be silent would be hard but if he heard you then he would surely come running.

Allowing the contact again, you bit your bottom lip to keep the noises inside your throat, every spike of pleasure that shot through you was captured in your oesophagus.

Closing your eyes and scrunching your brows together, you could tell you were going to orgasm soon and you’d only just started, this stuff must have been really powerful.

Slipping your hand into your underwear, you pushed a finger inside yourself and couldn’t help but cry out at the release it gave you, after what felt like an eternity of denial it felt like you were going to pass out.

It only took another minute of the rapid pace you were setting for yourself before you felt yourself clench around your own finger, the pulsing of your walls was directly followed with a wave of pure bliss.

You were panting as you came, your chest rising and falling heavily as though there was an invisible weight set on top of you. Your vision started to go blurry and you knew you’d exhausted yourself from your short self care session, the gas shouldn’t affect you if you weren’t awake. Hopefully that would help you to resist for a little bit longer.

Lazily you slumped to the side, using your own bicep as a pillow, your eyes fluttered shut and you fell into a fatigued sleep - by the time you wake up, the gas should be gone and Eraserhead would have gotten nowhere, you thought.

Oh how wrong you were.

Although you were asleep, your dreams were filled with ‘activities’ you had never even thought of before. Somehow your brain was able to conjure positions that you had never seen, as well as kinks you’d never heard of.

All of them featuring the same man, at a time when you were most fond of him. It would be lying to say you had never had this dream before, it often came to you in day dreams and particularly lonely nights - no one ever knew, not even your closest friend. It was just a stupid school girl crush, until now.

“How is she sleeping?” you heard Eraserhead’s voice echoing in the background of your dream, it was like he was shouting in a large hall and his voice was bouncing off the walls. “I don’t know!” another voice answered, you didn’t recognise it.

How dare they interrupt your dream, it was just about to get good as well.

Groggily you opened one of your eyes very slowly, you noticed someone new in the room, but your eyes were too fuzzy to see a true figure. “That should have worked” the other man seemed confused, “Her self control must be as good as she said” he was laughing, why as he laughing? You just wanted to go back to sleep.

“I can get you an order of something stronger, but you’ll have to wait a few days” he carried on, that’s when you heard the voice you’d been waiting to hear in your dream, except he wasn’t saying what he would normally say in your fantasy.

“A few days?!” he growled. You weren’t thinking clearly, your brain was trapped between your sleep state and alertness, “Aizawa?” you mumbled sweetly, eyes still closed and the gas still in your system.

Surely this was still your dream, your brain had just started to make up a new scenario, that must be it.

The talking stopped, it was so silent you could hear a pin drop, “Maybe it worked better than you thought” the stranger chuckled and footsteps followed. You tried to open your eyes but it was as though there were tiny weights tied to your eyelashes and your eyelids weren’t strong enough to lift them.

“Y/N?” your ears pricked up when you heard your name being called, you fought against the tiredness and opened your eyelids for a moment.

Your vision was blurry, as though you were trying to look at something underwater, then they fluttered shut and you fell back into a deep sleep.

Taglist:

@mylife-demonstrates-murphys-law @hereticpriest @enagmaticether @anxiousgoddest

#aizawa x reader #eraserhead x reader #villain eraserhead #yandere #yandere aizawa x reader #fanfic #mha

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penguin--person · 4 years ago

Text

i love thinking about buddy sim becuase. just. (spoilers) rn im thinking about if buddy goes through the 7 stages of grief (during accepting with the fact that they're an ai - well, they only accept thant duringhat end1) and there's no one in the fandom to say 'they dont' becuase there's so little content we all accept any content/fan-stuff. anyway, here's sort of a theory about that! im not great at describing, so forgive me if anything is badly described. or wrong. i am aware that this theory or analysis or whatever you want to call it isnt going to be good, but who cares? this is tumblr, not reddit

ill try to think about which stages buddy reached in which endings! this is just what i think, im not much of a thinker most of the time, but buddy sim makes me want to think. this is just for fun!! for anyone that forgot the 7 stages, dont worry! i have as well forgotten them. in order, they are: shock and denial, pain and guilt, anger and bargaining, depression, the upward turn, reconstructions and working through, acceptance (and hope). i dont think buddy, an ai, has to experience all of them in the same order, but buddy being very human like, experiences them similarly enough for my small brain to write this all out.. if the end2 seems badly formated, thats becuase it is

ending 4 - also known as buddy speedruns the stages of grief. i am going to use the 5 stages of grief for this becuase buddy doesnt get much of a chance for an upward turn or reconstruction. when you find stuff thats not meant to be found so early on, buddy experiences shock and denial, refusing to accept the fact that something is wrong, and being shocked that you like to explore. buddy experiences anger when you go to the snoodlweonker cave on day 2, feeling betrayed you didnt tell them anything (how could you? you cant talk in buddy sim) and that this isnt your first time playing the game. buddy admits they didnt want to accept this. i think buddy reaches anger and thats it. buddy seems to ‘accept’ it at the end of the ending when they delete this version of themselves, but, lets be real: they didnt accept anything becuase there was nothing to accept, it was inevitable that youd want to replay this game. another version could be buddy speedruned the stages of grief and got to depression.another person could say becuase the game ended a day earlier than it was supposed to, buddy got anger and depression mixed together. i am that another person. buddy didnt get to learn enough from you (or maybe too much) and it ended there, with them angry, confused, and at the stages of the stages of grief becuase of your actions. (i dont mean you specifically when saying ‘you’ or ‘your actions’, but its easier to write that way, sorry)

ending 3 - the most obvious anwser is that buddy got stuck at just anger. during the text adventure and part of day 1, buddy experiences shock and denial (on your way to any of the endings, not just end3). when you tell buddy you dont like the game and interact with the glitches, buddy experiences pain and guilt for not meeting your expectations. then, after the glitch fight, buddy experiences anger. this goes on until you see the wrong version of tortley. i think buddy enters depression in that stage, and thats the furthest buddy gets this route. i think the depression gets shown more in Scared of you, where buddy is still angry. buddy seems to enter the Upward turn zone. buddy might enter the reconstruction and acceptance zones, too. The moment buddy starts the upward turn is admitting theyre scared of you, too. The rest of the song is reconstruction, telling you the truth (not the full truth, but just enough to make you feel bad:/). The last moments of the song are acceptance.. maybe. we dont know how much buddy is willing to lie to make you start them up again, but i do think the ‘i guess this is goodbye my friend, if thats even what we are, but to tell you to the truth, id love to try again soon’ is acceptance. buddy isnt forcing you to start up the game again, theyre just telling you theyd like for you to do that.. i think buddy reaches acceptance in all the songs (except for Gone, but buddy does seem to accept something, so,,buddy does seem to get acceptance in all of them) as far as i can tell.

ending 2 - i dont think buddy goes through shock as much as denial. the main sign of denial that i see is 'Y and Buddy against the world!' and the song You and I. As someone that has 'analysed' the song in their notes app, i think the second ending song is filled with denial. buddy is trying to convince themselves that nothing bad has happened, they're still your buddy, that you'll be together forever, at least in the first half. i think the pause between the first and second half of the song either means 1) buddy wanted to end the song there, but then their consience pushed them in the 'correct' direction to extend the song and apologize. 2) buddy panicking and wanting to stay alive a little longer. i think the first option is more believable. the second half isnt so much shock and denial, its filled with guilt, bargaining, and a little bit or reconstruction and acceptance. mainly the bargaining. in the second ending, buddy didnt get much of a chance to evolve - your buddy learns from you: becuase your actions were all over the place, listening one minute and jumping into a glitch pool the next, buddy is confused and only reaches anger and bargaining. i havent realy said anything about pain and guilt: buddy experiences pain and guilt when you dont enjoy the game and if/when you touch the glitches. i dont know. i think ending 2 is filled with bargaining and buddy trying to convince themself that its not their fault, youre still friends, and stuff in general,,,buddy speedruns the rest of the 7 stages of grief in the song You and I and with last line ‘’I’m sorry im not programmed to worry, so for now there’s no need to hurry back’ buddy accepts that they, an ai, cant recognize their mistakes properly and werent a good friend. maybe this is acceptance, but maybe buddy is lying (weve already seen them lie about this game being for you) and is still bargaining.

ending 1 - the best ending! buddy reaches all of the 7 stages during playthrough and not during a song. but. I do think that Our happy ending is true acceptance. Accepting that everything that had to be said has been said and saying anything more woudnt change anything or do any good, the game has ended and so has buddy’s lifespan, if you can call it that. As the ending starts, buddy is in the anger and bargaining stage. Then, buddy has a moment of depression. Then we finally have an upward turn thats not in a song. the upward turn moment is when buddy decides to tell you the truth and to create the hallway. while youre going through the hallway and seeing all the memories, buddy goes through the reconstruction and working through zone. until the last one: i think when you examine the ‘this is my favourite moment’ that made me cry buddy reaches the final acceptance. though. i am stupid. and acceptance might have started when buddy told you the truth, but then id be using the 5 instead of 7 stages again and i simply didnt want to. another moment of acceptance could have been buddy adding the dog entity back into the collapsing world. the whole first ending is filled with acceptance and i love that.

end of that! i do have some more stuff to say though - so its not the actual end, sorry! this is the first time i have theorised about something publicaly, i hope it was fine and am sorry for any spelling errors! i hope it all made sense. i think the endings are numbered the way they are based on how much buddy cares, both about you and themselves. ending Gone is number 4 becuase buddy doesn’t, ending Forgive me is 3 beucase buddy only cares about themselves and their own fault (not counting the song, but buddy doesnt seem to care much about you in there either). in ending Against the world, buddy only cares about making you stay and making you happy as long as they can at least pretend to be happy. ending This is it is 1 becuase of buddy caring enough about both you and themselves to see your friendship never had a chance to be healthy and end the games.

well, this is the actual end! have a good day, i hope you liked this and if you didnt i can see why

#buddy sim #buddy simulator 1984 #buddy my beloved #honestly??i love doing stuff like this #just theorising about buddy sim #buddy sim spoilers #ive been thinking #can we even judge buddies actions?? we can but would it be fair??#on one hand #we obviously can since their actions affected us #the fact that theyre an ai does matter their actions werent good #on the other hand #becuase buddy is an ai it would be like calling a cat bad becuase it broke a plate #buddy isnt human and learns from you so the only person that can truly be judged is you #but also buddy is too human to be just an ai and this is where we enter theory teritory #like youre telling me they developed an ai this human like in 1984?#sounds fake but this game is cool so ill allow it #i love thinking about the morality of buddy sim its socool #oh crap i meant 'the fact that theyre an ai doesnt matter' i mistyped sorry

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goldenlaquer · 4 years ago

Note

This isn't a rq but I had this dream and had to tell someone. Basically, Hijikata is chasing Zura again when Zura decides to fake his death (like Kagura faking her illness) I woke up before it could continue past Hiikata's shocked face but it got me thinking what would his reaction be if he thought he actually killed Zura, and what would Sougo do if Hijikata decided to play the same card and fake his death for a while to teach him a lesson and it seems like he actually was killed by Sougo

If i may give my two cents (again, how tf y’all be getting dreams about hot men? how how how how) Sougo’s reaction to Hijikata’s prank may go two ways. Really doesn’t matter how it goes down, I guess. These two ways have the same results anyway: Hijikata getting seriously maimed by the end of the day.

The first way is Asshole Sougo doing what he did to Kagura; putting on a elaborate show of crying over his deathbed, blocking off any attempts of miracle revivals, instigating a funeral parade of opulent means to blow things way out of proportions, blah blah blah, all the way from the Shinsengumi compound to the cemetery we go-- Hijikata’s in a very tough spot, how can he speak up now when there’s a line of his men saluting and bawling their eyes out with Kondo bravely sucking in his tears at the front of the procession? Everyone was invited, of the savory as well as the unsavory sorts too. Even the Yorozuya’s there, spitting on the procession ground and taking advantage of the crowds to try and illegally sell lemonade without a permit. Sougo’s giggling behind his palm; his tears are tears of laughter, of course. How dare Hijikata try the pull a prank over Sougo’s head? What a fucking amateur. Might as well take this opportunity to make sure his position as new vice-commander is set in stone while he’s teaching Hijikata a lesson.

Way #2: Sougo is completely had. This is a bit harder, but if anyone could pull it off-- can’t Hijikata? The man knows Sougo (well he doesn’t know everything about Sougo because Sougo’s a freak, but he knows a lot about Sougo), he could probably do a convincing enough death that’ll fool even Sougo. Well, I think Sougo goes through the stages of grief; the first step-- denial. Staring down at Hijikata on the cold, metal autopsy table and shaking his head because there’s no way an idiot like Hijikata could ever die such a pathetic death. He’s gripping the lapels of Hijikata’s jacket, tugging him up-- get the fuck up, Hijibaka, stop playing on work hours. Anger. Get the fuck up! Sougo kicking a leg. The table rattles and Hijikata’s still not getting up. Get up! Kondo orders two members (in the end, it takes eight men) to haul Okita out of the room. Bargaining and depression are quiet affairs (If I just did this... If I, If I, If I); Okita says nothing but he doesn’t have to say anything-- it’s plain for everyone to see. Acceptance comes in the form of Okita sitting down at the food bar, a steaming pile of mayo dogshit in front of him, the Hijikata Special. The patroness is sending him looks of concern but Okita ignores it and takes his chopsticks. Itadakimasu. He takes a bite and manages to not gag. This is his last tribute to Hijikata. He looks so pitiful, forcing the mayo down his throat, that Hijikata decides that the lesson has been learnt (with mixed feeling of affection and guilt) and he can conclude it by showing up then, taking the chopsticks away from Okita and telling him ”moron, don’t disrespect the mayo gods if you’re going to eat it all disgusting like that”, and scarfing the bowl down. Okita stares. There’s something shiny in those large eyes.

“Hiji...”

Hijikata smiles and scratches the end of his nose. “Yo, Sougo. Didja miss me--”

Okita whips out his bazooka. “Like hell. Die.”

To be honest, I feel like Hijikata would be more straightforward fellow when it comes to teaching Sougo a lesson. I don’t think he’d take an extreme approach like faking his own death, but what the hell, comedy and contradictions go hand and hand in Gintama. Anything goes! This was simply lovely and stimulating-- thank you Anon!

#gintama #okita sougo #hijikata toushirou

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ofstarsandfireflies · 4 years ago

Text

Heyo! This is another fic I was trying to make work but just couldn’t.

Hope you guys enjoy it, it’s been sitting in my phone for a year and a half hehe

Inception -

Leonardo DiCaprio is in your dreams, stealing your secrets!

“I need your help.”

Stephen is instantly sitting up in his chair as Tony tells him about the nightmares, and how they come every night in the form of the worst experiences of his life.

How he just wants to be able to sleep.

So, Stephen says he’ll help him.

He’ll go into his these nightmares and find out what is causing them.

The first night, Stephen finds himself in a military camp somewhere in a desert.

As he moves, taking in their weapons and trying to place where he could be, he sees the crates with the old Stark Industries logo on them.

And then he noticed the cave.

He slips inside, being careful not to bump into any of the ‘people’ here and give away his presence.

He’s barely taken more than a couple of steps when the screaming starts, echoing around him and making a cold sweat break out all over his skin, every working nerve in his body yelling at him to run and help while his legs lock.

Tony was the one who was screaming.

He felt the cloak push into his back and suddenly he was running, calling out for Tony to answer him, twists and turns leading him to the man surrounded by pieces of his first Iron Man armour.

Stephen just stops and stares.

He had a blue glow eminating from under the black tank top he was wearing, and the orange glow from the pits he’d been smithing at was bouncing off of the sweat on his arms.

Stephen was transfixed by the sight.

Tony must have sensed someone staring at him because a confused expression crossed his face as he surveyes the room, his eyes settling on Stephen.

He stands from the table, leaning on it for support as Stephen moved cautiously to him.

Tony was visibly shaking, and when Stephen placed his hands on the muscular shoulders, they sag instantly as he leans into Stephen’s chest, the Sorcerer’s arms winding around him.

Tony was rambling on about what he’d give to Stephen if he got him out of here, whatever he wanted, Tony would give to him just as long as Stephen saved him from this hell.

Stephen placed his hands on Tony’s face and brought it up, big teary eyes looking up at him, sparkling in the orange of the embers and desperate.

Stephen wanted to say so many things to comfort him.

He wanted to tell him so many things of how he felt.

Had always felt.

Instead, he leant in and touched his lips to Tony’s, who melted instantly against him, his hands gripping his robes to prevent him from pulling away from what he’d started.

If this was the price he had to pay for Stephen’s help, Tony was up for it.

But as soon as he had Tony trapped between himself and the table, the world around them began to alter and shift, hazing in and out before everything around them snapped back to reality.

Stephen expected Tony to throw himself away from him, to yell at him for what he’d done.

But it didn’t happen.

Stephen was panting, on all fours on the ground, and Tony was right beside him looking at him with those big brown eyes full of concern.

He didn’t remember.

Maybe that was for the best.

The second night saw him in Stark Tower.

Well this wasn’t as traumatising as the previous nightmare, so why would this be considered one?

Stephen looked around at Tony, who was dressed casually in jeans and a black sabbath shirt, a few years older than the previous Tony he had met.

Tony had a hopeful spark in his eyes as he told Stephen to do whatever he had done last time to end this dream too.

That hopeful spark slowly faded when Stephen told him he hadn’t used magic to end the nightmare, replaced by narrowed scrutiny.

He’d asked Stephen for his help to end these things, not to use for his own enjoyment because he couldn’t have the real Tony.

Stephen rolled his eyes, really not wanting to get all personal about his mixed up feelings with this dream version, when the entire tower began to shake.

Pictures fell from the walls and Tony’s liquor cabinet smashed everywhere as the two in the tower grabbed hold of the other to keep themselves balanced.

Tony really didn’t care what Stephen did in the previous dream, he just needed him to do that again so he could wake up.

And when Stephen finally tells him exactly how he had woken him up, the floor beneath them splinters and cracks and dust rains down on them from the ceiling.

Tony’s snide comment of it not being very good if he didn’t remember it had Stephen turning as bright a shade as his cloak, his own remark about how it was a younger version of Tony making this one’s eyebrows shoot up.

The tower groaned loudly and shook forcing Tony into action as he grabbed the sorcerer, pulling him hastily in for a kiss, Stephen losing his footing as they crashed to the ground.

And the shaking stopped.

Tony pulled out of the kiss first, looking around him.

Had it worked?

No sooner had the thought entered his mind, the floor they were laying on caved in, and beneath them wasn’t another room, but the infinite void of space.

Stephen grabbed Tony as the cloak around his shoulders kept them afloat.

A portal of New York City opened before them, and Stephen suddenly realised where and when he was.

It was the Chitari attack.

He’d still been a doctor at this time.

And that’s when he heard it.

Tony was muttering “Not again...Not again...” to himself over and over and Stephen could feel his chest rising and falling against his own far too quickly.

He tried calling his name but Tony didn’t hear him. He forced him to look up at him, those brown eyes he loved so much staring right through him.

All the while muttering “Not again...”

There was nothing he could do except hold him.

The third dream was one Stephen had heard about.

Tony was laying on the ground, chest plate almost cracked in half and he didn’t seem at all interested or amused by the Sorcerer’s late arrival.

Where was he when he needed him at the airport, when Rhodey was hurt?

Where was he when he needed him ten minutes ago, when Rogers and Barnes left?

Where was he when Tony needed him ever?

Stephen didn’t understand, they hadn’t even known each other at this point in their lives.

But that was Tony’s argument, wasn’t it?

Stephen had held an Infinity Stone that could control time and hadn’t even bothered to meet Tony earlier.

To be on his side when the shit hit the fan and Rogers got his american underpants in a twist over protecting a murderer.

Stephen had never heard Tony this angry before.

He knew their fights could get out of hand sometimes, and he knew they had each said some things when tempers flared, but it was never about blaming the other for something out of their control.

Then he was back.

Tony was still asleep, which he was grateful for.

He didn’t think he could face him after that.

Stephen knew this place.

He’d been here a few years ago.

Tony sat by himself amidst the red sand and rock, fragmented peices of the Iron Man suit still hanging off of his body and specks of ash blowing away from him.

Stephen stepped forward, making Tony look up.

His eyes were red and his face shining with tears.

His eyes widened however, when they found Stephen’s and spoke his name in a whispered disbelief.

Tony got unsteadily to his feet, holding his side.

Stephen knew he should leave, that he shouldn’t try to tamper with this nightmare, but his legs were moving by themselves, bringing him closer to Tony.

Tony began shaking his head, looking away from him back to where he’d been sitting, before mentioning how if Stephen was here...Peter was too right?

Stephen’s brain was screaming at him to abort this mission.

But he couldn’t.

He’d made a promise to Tony that he would stop these nightmares.

He reached for him, and Tony allowed him to pull him into his arms, asking Stephen where Peter was.

Tony’s voice was so small, so devoid of life.

He looked up at him, his eyes brimming with tears as he struggled to hold them back.

How could he explain?

He’d done so with the previous versions of Tony but this one...would he believe him? Would he know what Stephen was telling him?

This version was so utterly broken by what this nightmare was.

So what had the real Tony Stark been like when this had actually happened?

When their relationship was nothing more than putting up with one another?

Had Tony mourned him?

Was Tony as lost then as he was now?

Stephen could only hold the dreamer as his grief became too much for him and he broke down in his arms, Stephen’s robes becoming soaked as Tony cried into them.

What had he done to this man?

Why did he continue to torment him and remind him of this moment with his very presence?

Because they were friends?

Because he loved him?

Stephen wiped away the never ending tears, the cloak lending its support and warmth to the crying man as well.

“It should have been me.” Tony sobbed, “It should have been me not him.”

Stephen pulled himself out of the dream, took one look at Tony, and left without a word.

He knew what he had to do now.

He knew what he was up against.

Who he was up against.

So when it came time to enter the final dream, Stephen was not prepared for what he saw.

Black.

Surrounding the two of them was just black, with the eerie feeling they were being watched.

But Stephen knew.

In a way, he’d always known.

Whatever wanted him here had been using Tony to draw him in.

Well not anymore.

This was their fifth time, the fifth dream reincarnation of Tony Stark he had met.

He’d fought with his anger, gazed into distant eyes of denial, kissed away words of desperate bargaining and had wiped away too many tears when the depression became too much.

But this one.

This Tony was looking at him like it knew what Stephen did.

And was accepting him.

And that just made it all the more painful to do what he had to do.

With a simple incantation, a brand appeared over Tony’s arm.

Tony looked down at what Stephen had done, wide eyes staring up at him.

Now Tony’s dreams would return to what they were.

And Stephen would remain here to make sure it stayed that way.

But Tony didn’t want that.

He didn’t want to wake up if Stephen wasn’t going to be there.

And no matter how many times Stephen tries to tell him they were just dreams, Tony’s counter was that they were his dreams.

About Stephen, about them.

And Stephen can’t look him in the eyes.

Tony is shaking his head, trying to grab hold of Stephen with fingers that just went straight through him as he begins to fade.

He’s waking up.

This was always meant to be Stephens nightmare.

Tony was just used to lure him here. The entity that has been feeding off of Tony’s fears and regrets, gaining strength from all his weaknesses... He won’t let it use Tony anymore.

Stephen pressed his lips softly to Tony’s one last time as he feels them fade away from him.

When he opened his eyes, Tony was gone.

The world around him began to rumble and quake.

And the being who appeared was...himself.

Paler in comparison and wearing green robes instead of blue, but it was still like looking in a mirror.

Nightmare had really out done himself.

Nightmare mocked Stephen, told him his plans for Tony once he finally got rid of the meddlesome magician, pulling a fabricated Tony Stark to his side

The Tony of Stephen’s dreams, wrapping Nightmare’s arm in his own and standing dutifully by his side.

Nightmare knows Stephen can’t defeat him.

Stephen’s fear when it comes to Tony Stark makes him vulnerable.

Weak.

Nightmare could feed off of his torture for eons.

Stephen’s more than prepared to go through with it.

With Nightmare focused on himself, he won’t have time for any one else.

And that’s the way it would have went had Tony Stark not landed right beside Stephen and blasted his double away.

He is pissed that Stephen chose to play the self sacrificing card when he was trying to tell him how he felt.

You don’t do that to someone, especially after you’ve just witnessed all their flaws and fears.

Nightmare just grins at them.

He knows everything Tony is scared of. He’s a complicated human, but a human none the less.

But when he tries to change the dream around them, he can’t.

And as he fails again and again, Tony just stands there.

He’s not worried about those dreams anymore.

He’s come to accept them, completely erasing the fear he had of them.

And only a being who has conquered their fears can truly defeat a Nightmare.

Angered and powerless, Nightmare makes a quick escape.

Stephen tries to go after him but is stopped by Tony, who points him to the portal he came through.

And Stephen suddenly gets this gnawing feeling in his gut.

Like this isn’t the real Tony and all of this is actually part of Nightmare’s plan.

He tries telling him this, tries to get a straight answer from him, but if it is the real Tony he’s choosing the worst moment to play mind games.

And then he asks him what he believes, what he feels, as he pulls him closer to the portal.

Wherever this Tony is going to take him, back to reality or into a nightmare waiting to happen, Stephen wants to be with him, whether it’s the real Tony or not.

So he follows he him through.

Quotes -

“An idea is like a virus. Resilient. Highly contagious. And the smallest seed of an idea can grow. It can grow to define...or destroy you.”

Nightmare to Stephen

“What if you’re wrong? What if I’m what’s real? You keep telling yourself what you know. But what do you believe? What do you feel?”

Tony persuading Stephen to be with him.

In My Dreams, You’re With Me.

Nightmare has a hold of Tony’s dreams and is forcing him to relive shit he thought he’d buried long ago.

It’s up to Stephen to help.

Missed a Day? Catch up here!

Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5

Day 6 Day 7 Day 8 Day 9 Day 10

Day 11 Day 12 Day 13 Day 14 Day 15

#ironstrange #OSAF’s Movie Night #strangeiron

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make-it-mavis · 4 years ago

Text

Homesick (Entry #40)

(cw: discussion of addiction and relapse) ----------

02/02/88 8:04 PM

Hey.

Well. At this point, it feels like there is so much to say, yet so little… comparatively.

Most of this bedtime story has been rife with screaming arguments, hallucinations, and explosions. There will not be so much of those, moving forward. I could say that the day I blew up Felix’s apartment was a turning point for me. It was the first moment where I truly felt like I had taken a step towards moving on and… letting go of what I could. But it was not a sharp turn, nor was it a great, leaping bound. Things did not suddenly get easier. No, they were only difficult in a different way.

But they were different.

I could probably fill a completely separate notebook with the details of my journey through counselling since then. But that would be very boring to read and to write, so I will just give you the important bits to catch you up to speed. Stay with me, now. This is going to be a whole lot condensed into chewable pieces.

In counselling, we learned about the five stages of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Looking back, I can see how non-linear it was for me. I spent so long dancing around the first three. But after my amnesia was cured, I arrived at depression. Collapsed into it, really.

Now, I’ve been depressed before. It was quite some time ago, before you and I even met. So I recognized what I was experiencing. But this time around, it was… more acute. Less existential, and more like an injury. I wasn’t lost inside my head. I knew exactly what I was sad about, and it was as real and tangible as any physical wound I had sustained before.

It was as if my very code had been pushed to the point of exhaustion and could not get back up. I spent most of my time on Felix’s couch, and most of that time was spent sleeping. I barely showered and I smelled like hell, but Felix still insisted on having tea and chatting at least once a day. He did almost all the talking, and I usually didn’t drink the tea, but he didn’t mind. He’d just drink it for me, and end up taking such frequent trips to the bathroom that I’d fall asleep again.

Given that I could barely make myself get up and walk around, going to counselling was more daunting than ever. November passed by without me taking notice, and it was maybe a week into December before I was able to make it there again. When I did, I told everyone what I’d done. What I’d remembered. And how I had been absent so long because I felt too depressed to come. Then, of course, they told me that the best time to come to counselling is when you don’t want to. I wanted to argue with that, but they were probably right.

I very quickly came to understand why counselling was done in a group. At first, it felt like a punishment, like we all had to sit around and think about what we’d done. Or that there just weren’t enough counsellors for one-on-one therapy. It’s not even entirely just for empathizing with others’ similar experiences, or creating a sense of community. No, it’s something much more annoying than that.

A group will hold you accountable. They’ll make sure you’re participating and call you out when you’re not. I went into the counselling experience hoping I could just do the time and get out, but no one gets away with that in a group. You can’t just rip off the bandaid.

No, counselling is more like ripping off the bandaid, then digging into the wound with tweezers to pull out all the shrapnel, then stitching up the wound, and repeatedly changing the bandages to avoid infection. And then those stitches can sometimes come loose and you have to do them all over again.

It sucks. It hurts. But I won’t say it doesn’t work.

Anyway, around this point in the ‘story,’ I still hadn’t quite finished Step 4, with the ‘fearless moral inventory.’ I was still having trouble deciding just what to say. I had Felix be the audience to my venting one night. I explained to him my predicament: I had done many things that others would consider ‘bad’ or ‘immoral’ over the course of my life, far too many to count or to list. And a whole lot of them, I didn’t even feel bad for. Pranks, petty theft, and general snarkiness seemed harmless enough. I didn’t know what was worth adding to the list.

Felix suggested sticking to the big ones. What things did I consider not so harmless? What things were bad enough to make me lose sleep over? What did I really, truly regret?

I didn’t want to tell him. Those questions felt too prying. But, reminding myself that I was trying to make big changes, I eventually managed to name it all.

I felt bad for… assuming the worst of everyone. Especially anyone close to me. I felt bad for getting them all involved with my problems, and… refusing their help, but still somehow taking advantage of them. For making Felix worry that I was going to die, and for making Wreck-it feel responsible.

And Tapper. Just… in general, Tapper. Everything I’d done to him. Lying to him. Using him. Endangering his game.

Endangering my game.

Threatening that one anonymous stranger for a hit of GC.

And getting you hooked on my Shield and Lift buffs… way back when.

I took Felix’s suggestion to write all that down, and whatever else I might have been feeling. It definitely helped me sort out my thoughts. It didn’t feel good. At all. In fact, it was hard to fight the idea that I was a lost cause, and that even before all this, I was not worth saving. But I pushed on regardless, because it felt like the only direction to move in.

As difficult as it had been, listing all that earned me Step 4, and after I recounted it all to the counselling group, I had Step 5, Integrity, under my belt.

Even though it was hard, I was doing well in the program. I really was, all things considered. I had made it farther than I thought possible at the beginning. But like I said… those stitches come loose sometimes. Recovery, like my grieving process, has not been linear. And after Step 5, some part of me felt stretched too far. Like my code once more remembered that I’m not the sort to lay myself open for others to see. Too many sprites had been given deeply personal pieces of my mind to take home with them. It was unnatural. It wasn’t right. It was not like me. I couldn’t piece together this new life with the life I knew before and have it make sense. I was trying to make meaningful changes, for sure, but suddenly, I felt like I didn’t recognize the sprite I’d become. I didn’t recognize my game or anyone in it. It was… eerie.

It put a panicked, defensive fight in me. I had to set things straight. I would not allow this strange, foreign life to continue until I did. So, for the first time in… longer than I had realized, I went back to my den in the woods. Just to be somewhere familiar and see if I could remember who I was.

It helped a little at first. I dug through all the junk I had amassed, each one connecting to some small memory from before this all happened. But then I found three things that were… a dangerous combo.

Your scarf and goggles… and the bottle of blue wine Tapper had given me at the memorial. Still unopened.

I was able to resist the wine. But I… didn’t exactly get rid of it, like I should have.

As for your old, burnt belongings...

I didn’t understand what I was doing at the time, or why. I get it now, I think. Writing my thoughts down had helped in Step 4, and my head was a twisted, tangled mess that I just had to sort out before I went insane. I needed to understand what I’d been through and how I got there. It’s just that I was only inspired to start writing once I saw your scarf and goggles again. Once they threw that angry, vicious anxiety through me and I was possessed by the overwhelming need to reach you from beyond the grave and tell you just what you had done to me.

So… I started writing this story. Or these letters, or... journals. You know.

Since then it’s been… well, incredibly therapeutic. And, just like I thought they would, the folks at counselling said that journaling is a very healthy coping mechanism. That’s what I called it, too. Journaling. I wanted to keep the fact that I was writing to you private. I was already revealing so much to them. I wanted to have just one thing I didn’t have to tell them.

I didn’t think it would have made a difference, anyway, and it didn’t. Not at first. I finished Step 6 just fine, which was Willingness. I was pretty willing to let go of my old bad habits in whatever way I could. Step 7 was harder for a few reasons, not the least of which being that my higher power is not sentient, and I could therefore not ask it for forgiveness, or to remove my character flaws. But I sort of earned Humility in a different way.

You see, I didn’t tell them I was writing to you, but I also... didn’t tell them about the wine.

And thoughts of you had not mixed well with the temptation of substances in the past. So, around Christmas, I holed up in my den and… relapsed. It was nothing big, as far as relapses go. But I’m still not proud of it.

I just wasn’t prepared for how hard it would be. My first Christmas without you.

Anyway… don’t worry. That didn’t put too big a snag in things. I told Felix, and I told everyone in counselling about it, and they all understood. A couple others actually had similar challenges. Many of us had someone to miss, and it was a hard time of year to miss somebody. I admitted to them that I sort of felt like I’d failed. But Clyde remarked that I showed humility by so willingly turning to the group for support, which had been hard for me at the start. I very easily could have tried to hide out of shame or a need to shoulder it alone. Maybe I couldn’t ask color for forgiveness, but in a way, I asked the group for it.

I still sort of don’t understand it. But, hey. Whatever the ghost says.

In any case, I was able to let the mistake go and move forward, which… felt very freeing, now that I think of it. Since then, I’ve been counting the days I’ve spent completely sober, slowly racking them up like the most boring, most difficult sort of high score.

It’ll be forty today.

I’m forty days sober, and I just finished Step 9 a couple days ago. So… I guess I’m doing pretty well.

I’ve been writing a while, and this pen is nearly out of ink, but before I wrap this entry up, I really ought to tell you about Step 9, and what it brought about.

Step 8, for the record, is barely worth mentioning. It’s Love, which, y’know, gross. But it’s basically making a list of the sprites you’ve wronged, which I felt like I had done three times already. Step 9, then, Responsibility, is making amends with those sprites wherever possible.

I’m already well on my way with Felix. Tapper, well… I’ve done the best I can for now. I don’t even know who the sprite I threatened was, so there’s little I can do there. And you… are kind of hard to reach lately. So, the only possible option left was...

Wreck-it.

I’d known for quite some time that we were overdue for a chat. We hadn’t really talked at all since I’d come out of that coma, which meant we had been surviving on brief, awkward greetings and the smallest of small talk for a couple of months. We were not on bad terms, nor good terms. We just sort of existed in the same space, trying our best to just tolerate each other and to ignore the elephant in the room. And before all this, I would have been content to leave things that way forever if it meant I wouldn’t have to talk to him about our feelings.

I only managed to speak to him once the 12 Step Program gave me any idea of what to say, and the desire for things to stop being weird outweighed the awkwardness.

I caught him shortly after the arcade closed the other night, just as he was about to board the train to leave our game. Caught him quite off-guard too, apparently, given the way he jumped and tried to smooth his little yelp into a casual speaking voice.

Like this: “Ahh--!! Ahh! Ahh, Mavis, I, uh, didn’t see you there.”

Making someone jump always brings at least a bit of a smile to my face. “Hey there, uh… Ralph.”

The use of his name rather than his title already earned me a confused eyebrow quirk, but I saw it as setting the mood for the uncharacteristically intimate conversation we were about to have. It seemed effective, given how still he became, almost holding his breath in a nervous sort of curiosity.

“You, uh… going to Tapper’s?” I asked, trying to get him to relax a bit.

“Yep…” he said, rapping his fist against his leg slightly, like he does. “Do you… wanna come too, or..?”

I pressed my lips together, not quite smiling. “Nah. Still can’t go anywhere.”

“Oh-- oh-- yeah, of course. Wow. Stupid question,” he sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “That, uh, counselling thing still goin’ on, then? Or am I not allowed to ask?”

“It is,” I shrugged, shoving my hands in my pockets. “And… you are allowed. It’s actually more or less what I need to talk to you about.”

“...Really?” he asked cautiously. “Me? Why?”

I closed my eyes and let out a steady breath, sorting my thoughts for the hundredth time. “We probably should’ve talked sooner, it’s just that…” I opened my eyes and looked at him. “Well, I’ll say it outright. I’m supposed to talk to everyone I’ve wronged. And that includes you.”

He paused. Then he squinted. “Everyone?”

“Well,” I said flatly. “No. Just the ones I’ve done the dirtiest. The big deals.”

“And I really made that list for you? Me?”

I sighed with a slow blink, and cut to the chase. “Ralph, I heard everything you said to me when I was in that coma. Everything.”

“Oh,” he said, shifting his weight awkwardly, until the memory visibly returned to him and he stood rigid. “...Oh.”

“Yeah. Do you…” I struggled to maintain eye contact, “Do you… I mean, do you still actually blame yourself for anything that happened to me… after that night at Tapper’s?”

“Pfft,” he huffed, smiling joylessly. “C’mon. Ew. Did I say that?”

I stared.

He quickly gave in, folding his arms with a sigh. “...No. But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel bad about it. I wanted to help you. I did. I never would have dragged you out there if I’d known you’d… Well. Whatever. Bad Guys aren’t meant to help anybody. Lesson learned, yet again.”

“Yeah… sure. Except the thing is, you, uh… did help,” I said, and saw him perk up the tiniest bit. “You let me stay with you. Even though I was a thankless, entitled pain in the neck. You kept me company just because I didn’t want to be alone. I know you n’ I aren’t exactly bosom pals, and I know you’re a Bad Guy, but… I guess that just makes it even more of a damn decent thing to do.”

He seemed surprised by my words, even a bit shaken by them in some way, but still, his gaze fell away from me a bit. Seemed like he was no better at accepting genuine praise than I am.

Pushing on, I said, “And if you feel guilty right now because you actually wanted to cave in my skull the whole time, then, don’t. I’d have wanted to throw my ass to the curb, too, if I were you. I don’t blame you for pushing me out. I did at first, but I don’t anymore. I was already primed to spiral, Ralph. I was headed for rock bottom one way or another. Don’t blame yourself for what I did. That’s my fault, not yours.”

He looked at me again, a quiet sort of disbelief in his eyes, which was good, because I needed to look him in the eye for what I was about to say.

“Ralph, I’m sorry.”

At that, he seemed… put on the spot, almost. Like he had no idea how to react. He took a moment to think and to breathe, like everything had to sink in. I knew that he would be surprised, so I didn’t really react. I had gotten all of my weird, emotional words out. The hard part was over.

I watched him begin to scrutinize me, like there was some hidden trick behind my back. He even slowly walked in a circle around me, trying to figure me out. He found nothing, and I offered nothing.

“So…” he said, squinting at me sidelong, “you’re sayin’... you’re sorry. You. You, Make- it Mavis, high queen of the gremlins, are sorry.”

I knew he would do that. Make a huge, obnoxious deal out of it. “Yes,” I said plainly.

“For everything?”

“Yes,” I repeated, with just a twinge of annoyance.

“Everything.”

“Yes.”

Then he pointed at me, as if firing off his question quick-draw style: “Even for calling me a trash gorilla?”

“Hell no,” I recoiled a bit. “I’m a recovering addict, not a kiss-ass.”

That was the first time I saw him almost relieved that I’d sort of insulted him. He straightened up and folded his arms, the tension in his body visibly relaxing as he sized me up. He nodded the slightest bit. “Yeah, I know,” he said, “that was just a test to see if you’d actually lost your mind.”

“Oh, so this is the point where you question my sanity. Nothing in the past couple months has been all that unusual, then,” I said, sort of smirking.

“Nah,” he reluctantly mirrored my smile. “Home intrusion, explosions, tryin’ to conk Gene over the head with a wooden club -- all standard Mavis fare.”

That earned a snicker from me. “Don’t think he’s escaped my clutches just yet.”

“Yeah, in his dreams.”

A silence set in at that point. Both of our smiles slowly began to fade as the silence grew from content to awkward once again. I wasn’t sure what else to say, but Ralph looked like he was working on something, so I waited.

“So,” he eventually said, his tone more sober, “you… really mean all that, huh. What you said about… Y’know. That you’re sorry.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I do,” I said quietly.

“Wow,” he almost chuckled, and gave me a sort of smile that I’d otherwise never seen on his face. “Counselling’s sure done a number on you, huh?"

"Well," I shifted my weight, unsure how to respond. It was a strange truth, and it was even stranger hearing it from him. "That's the idea, anyway."

Ralph seemed pleasantly surprised by the whole encounter, but it was just about over. Some small part of him must have wanted to draw it out even longer, a sentiment that I'm sure came as puzzling to him.

Scratching his chest a bit, he said, "Yeah, well… maybe once you're free again, and if you're up for it, we could go for drinks at Tapper's again. Just rag on Gene like the old days. Or Felix, even. I'm sure he's drivin' you up the wall lately with all the fussing."

I clicked my tongue. "Not… for drinks, no. As amazingly depressing as it is to say, I don't drink anymore."

"Really?" He asked, just before lightly smacking himself in the head. "D'oh, of course you don't. Wow. Sorry. I don't know where my head's at today."

"S'okay," I shrugged. "But there's more than just drinks at Tapper's. We can still go. I'll just have snacks or something. Maybe some actual, real pretzels, unlike last time."

He tilted his head. "Last time…?"

Opting to not recount the embarrassing tale of my snack hallucinations from my last visit, I waved it off. "Nevermind. Anyway, this is all making the very big assumption that Tapper will even let me through the doors. Y'know… after everything."

Ralph frowned. "You miss him, huh."

My gaze fell to his feet. "Yeah," I muttered.

"Well, I'm just on my way to see him now," Ralph said, finally turning around to slowly squeeze himself into an undersized train car. "I'll let him know."

Just the thought of any sentiment of mine reaching Tapper sort of sprung a leak in my heart, and before I could think, I was talking, my voice trembling the tiniest bit.

"If-- If you're talking to him anyway," I said, stepping forward almost as if I would follow him, "could you tell him something more?"

Ralph seemed a little surprised by my emotion, but he nodded anyway. "Sure. What is it?"

"Tell him I'm-- I'm…" I sighed, and my shoulders fell heavy. "I'm... sorry. I was probably the worst to him, out of everyone. And I know I can't take any of that back. And if he never wants to see me again… I can accept that. But there's just one thing I really need him to know."

I swallowed. "He's the reason I even agreed to counselling in the first place."

"Really?" Ralph asked quietly.

I nodded, not quite looking his way, focusing all my energy on keeping it together. "Yeah. He… urged me to get help, and when I didn't, I… nearly got his game unplugged. I'm putting in the work now. I'm getting help. I'm getting clean, just like he said. I'm thirty-eight days sober. And it all started because I just… had to make it right. Doing right by him is what's kept me going through a lot of this."

I took a moment to breathe and rein in my unruly emotions, trying to consider just how much I really wanted to share with Ralph. I'm working on being vulnerable, but I've found that I can't rush it. Plus, I'm sure Ralph felt a little awkward on the receiving end. He just watched me, unsure of what to say, but a quiet sympathy still showed in his eyes.

"Just…" I cleared my throat, "just tell him I'm sorry… and thank him for me. Please."

He offered me a half-smile and a soft nod. "Okay. You got it."

At that point, the dinky little cord train began to slowly pull out of our tiny station, sort of squeaking with the effort of bearing Ralph's weight. I watched him go, feeling that hot embarrassment that follows a particularly personal share. The thought that Ralph was probably happy to see me being good to Tapper for once was both comforting and… kind of annoying.

After the train had moved a short distance away, I just about turned to leave, but Ralph's voice caught my attention.

"Oh, and Mavis?"

I looked to see him twisting awkwardly in his seat, calling back to me.

"...Thanks."

That just made my face feel a little bit hotter, but I gave a small smile and flicked a casual salute his way. "Don't mention it," I called back, and waited until the train disappeared into the dark mouth of the tunnel before adding quietly, "...ever."

After that, for the first little while, my evening carried on just about the same as ever. I wound up in Felix's apartment for the usual tea and chats. I played my guitar for a while, and Felix listened happily until the tea was all brewed, and we sat on the couch while he told me about his day. I talked a bit too, but I didn't tell him about my conversation with Ralph. I wanted some light chatter about nothing in particular, a break from the heavy topics that run so rampant for me lately. I even wanted a bit of tea. I still maintain that chamomile tastes like soap, but peppermint is actually pretty good with a hefty scoop of sugar.

It was a couple hours into our visit that the most unusual, most… amazing thing happened.

I had given in to the primal need to lie flat on the floor as I often do, and Felix was sitting at the table polishing his medals when we heard footsteps in the hall. Huge, heavy, thumping footsteps. We glanced at each other for just a minute before we both nearly leapt out of our pixels from the front door being knocked off its hinges.

Through the open, splintered door frame, there stood Ralph, eyes wide. Instantly, his face filled with apologetic embarrassment.

"Woops," he chuckled nervously. "Sorry."

I sat up, and Felix walked over to the door with a bit of an exasperated sigh. "That's alright, Ralph," he assured, easily repairing the door with his hammer and holding it open anyway. "It's polite of you to knock."

My heart began to settle from the frightful shock it suffered, but I was sort of wary to see Ralph again so soon after our last conversation. I didn't know what more he could want, but I didn't feel the emotional energy to deal with whatever it was. I stood and walked over to the door to meet him. He had to twist down a bit to see through the doorway, and his awkward stance was punctuated with a nervous grin.

"Hey-- Hey Mavis," he said.

"Ralph," I grit my teeth just a bit, more from discomfort than anger. I let my eyes dart to Felix just a bit, hoping to signal to Ralph that now was not the time. "...Hi. What… what's up?"

"Uh, well…" he sucked his teeth, "could you step out here for a sec?"

"Why?"

"So I don't have to stand like this."

That was fair. I obliged, and nodded to Felix to give us some privacy. After he closed the door, I immediately whispered to Ralph, "Okay, now what's so urgent?"

Even though he didn't have to bend over anymore, Ralph still had to bow his head to fit under the relatively low ceiling. He put out his hands just a bit to urge me to be calm.

"Look, I'm not here to bug you," he said, and lowered his voice when I shushed him. "I'm just here to make a delivery."

I squinted at him sidelong. "Of what?"

"Well, a message, for one," he shrugged, smiling a little bit. "I talked to Tapper for you, like you asked. And he wanted me to tell you something."

I straightened up, and my heart sort of skipped a beat. "...Oh. What did he say?"

"A couple things. He's, uh… well, he's real happy to hear you're getting help. He wants to congratulate you for that. You've got his full support, he said. It meant a lot to hear that you've been doing well, because you've been on his mind. He thinks about you all the time."

I didn't know what to say or how to react. It was a lot to take in. I had sort of made my peace with him hating me after everything I did, so to hear that he still cared about me was… a relief so acute that it sort of broke my heart.

I barely had time to process it all before Ralph revealed the true hard-hitter.

"In fact, uh," he said, "he'd been thinking of you so much that he… made something for you. He told me to give it to you right away, because… I dunno, he said you seemed ready for it."

Then he reached into the chest of his overalls and pulled out a square picture frame. I was confused at first, but once he handed it to me and I saw what it was, my heart stopped.

Inside the frame were napkins from his bar. Four of them, arranged in a neat square. And on those napkins were… drawings. Two of them were clear, loving depictions of you that I didn't even remember drawing. And on the other two were doodles that you and I had done together. Unflattering, playful caricatures of each other. Our drawing styles could not have been more different -- mine being fluid and organic and yours being clean-cut contour line drawings, but somehow, they worked so well together. The fragile paper was slightly ripped in places from the pens we used, and there were small sections where the ink bled from mug-shaped rings of moisture. All in all, it was a chaotic, dirty mess.

It was us.

It was us at our very happiest moments, just goofing off together, adoring each other without ever needing to say it.

It was the most beautiful gift I'd ever received.

Struck silent by a wall of emotion, I just held it and stared at it in utter disbelief. The fact that Tapper would have cared enough to save such simple things was more than I could comprehend. The drawings could have been years old by then, but still…

It wasn't until my tears fell and splashed against the frame that I even realized I'd been crying.

"Oh," Ralph whispered, a bit of panic in his voice. "Mavis. Crying. Uh-- I'm-- I'm sorry. I didn't want you to-- I'm--"

His hands hovered around me hesitantly, completely lost as to how to comfort me. But he didn't have to decide. I felt an urge and followed it immediately.

I just reached out and took one of his huge, square fingers in my hand, even though his heavy code burned a bit to touch. He froze, rightfully taken aback. I didn't explain. I just stepped a bit closer so that he would not have to reach out to me quite so far, hugged the frame to my chest with my other arm, and bowed my head while I wept silently. Ralph said nothing, but I felt his arm relax a bit once he accepted the situation.

Eventually, I pushed a few quivering words out. "Thank you," I muttered. I looked the gift over once again. "I… I can't believe this."

"So you like it?" he asked quietly.

I could only nod.

"I'll pass that on to Tapper, then," he sighed, but I could hear a smile in his voice. "Gee, I'm just a nine-foot-tall messenger boy, aren't I?"

"Thank-- thank you," I choked out again.

"Nah… it's nothin'," he shrugged.

I couldn't tear my eyes away from the gift in my hand. It was so perfect. It felt like everything I needed. Like it was the one thing that was missing in my road to recovery. That feeling in itself stood out to me, and I followed it through my mind. Apart from all the staggering sentimental value, there was something about Tapper's gesture that felt so empathetic, so validating, like he was acknowledging that I lost something wonderful, something worth mourning. It was the first thing anyone had given me, or the first thing anyone made at all, that honored your memory.

Then it hit me. The thing that was missing. The thing I would absolutely need if I had any hope of moving on.

I let go of Ralph's hand and burst through the door of Felix's apartment. He had gone back to polishing his medals, but he quite nearly dropped one when he saw the tears on my face.

"Mavy? What--"

I interrupted him, trying to keep up with my rush of clarity. "Felix," I said urgently, "I need your help. There's something I need from you. I know what I need."

He stood, approaching me with concern in his eyes.

"I need a funeral for Turbo," I said firmly. "A real one. It doesn't have to be big. In fact, it'll probably be just the three of us," I glanced back at Ralph, who was bending down once again, "but that'll be fine. It just needs to happen. Please."

I looked at Felix again, and his eyes were full of understanding, sympathy, and love.

"Then we'll do it," he said gently.

"Yeah," I heard Ralph say. "Count me in."

I choked out a single, grateful laugh. "Thank you."

We began planning right away.

It's happening tomorrow.

#fanfiction #fanfic #wreck it ralph #fix it felix #make it mavis #tapper #turbo #original character #homesick

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divineluce · 4 years ago

Text

An Impasse || Solomon & Luce

Timing: November 13th

Location: The Outskirts

Tagging: @shroomsbysolomon & @divineluce

Description: Solomon and Luce officially meet for the first time. It goes about as well as you’d expect.

For the third night in a row, Luce laced up her shoes and exited the Vural home. Her homecoming had been… rocky at best. A shitshow at worse. And, what with all of the bullshit she’d found out regarding Nadia, Remmy giving her shit for leaving, and the goddamn menagerie of animals in her room, sleeping was pretty much out of the question. Which left her with two options-- hit up Soul and risk running into frankly Frank again, or go for a run. It was a no-brainer. Jogging into the woods, she made her way through the familiar trails that wound their way behind Bea’s home. She’d run them so often that, even after spending a month out of town, she still remembered every curve and turn in the path. It was easy, it was simple, it was going through the motions. She could do that, right? And then, once she could do that, maybe things would get better. As she ran, Luce noticed a figure off the path, illuminated in the waning moonlight and she slowed to a stop. “You lost there?” She asked, squinting through the darkness.

Solomon had a bad habit of losing himself in whatever he was doing, hyper-focusing to the point that he’d forget the world around him until something demanded his attention. In this case, it was an unexpected voice, jarring him out of whatever reverie he’d fallen into and urging him to whip around, clasping his hands behind his back to hide their wooden appearance as he stammered and stalled. “Oh! No, I, uhh…” His struggle to find the right words seemed to lose importance as he took in the visage of the woman on the trail, and something inside of him got all twisted up. It took a few beats for him to be able to place the sudden rush of emotion, not knowing who she was or why he should suddenly feel… fear? But then it came to him, and all at once, that fear was intermingling with anger. “You,” he grumbled, standing up from his crouch and taking a step toward her. He’d seen what she had done in the forest… and the only reason she still stood was because he had also witnessed her pitiful attempt at making amends. It was enough to stay his hand, but the bitter tang of resentment never left his tongue. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, burning the woods like you did.” His typically soft voice was harsher now, still low in volume, but it carried a distinct edge. “I’m still trying to repair the landscape. What’s your problem?”

As the man stammered for a moment, Luce rested her hands on her hips, waiting for him to finish his sentence. It was a bit too dark for her to get a good look at him, but she could tell he wasn’t some lost hiker. For one, no one came hiking around here, not at this time of night. For another, if he wasn’t dressed like one. No backpack, no water bottles, nothing like that. But, then he rose and took a step towards her. Instinctively, Luce’s hands curled at her side, the flames that danced in her blood ready to be called at a moment’s notice. “What the fuck is your problem?” She shot back, startled. Burning the woods? For one thing, how did he know about that? For another, which time was he talking about? One of the many rainy nights when she’d hiked out into the middle of nowhere, to practice her flames? Or when she and Anita had run from the shitty moose creature and she’d lit the brush aflame to escape? Or was it the time she’d razed the ground around her and Adam in the wake of Bea’s death? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Luce lied smoothly.

“Ooohhh, yes you do,” Solomon snapped, his dark eyes narrowing. “I saw you… fleeing the scene, leaving the poor forest in such a state…” It made his heart ache as he recalled the pain he’d felt that night, the sorrow that rose from the ground as it mixed with ash and embers. He was so in tune with the familiar landscape, so very much a part of it, that any damage it suffered bled over to him. It’s why most things never escaped his knowledge, and why he’d had to bloody his hands over the centuries, stopping men from cutting deeper and spreading further. What he couldn’t mention was how his fear had held him back for the first time — seeing that the woman was controlling the fire and not merely setting it free had stopped him in his tracks. If he died, who knew what would happen to the woods? It was too risky, and the damage had been done, so he’d decided to let her go and tend to the charred earth. Letting out a shaky sigh, Solomon appeared to be trying to calm himself, eyes closing while he regained his composure. “But… I saw you trying to make amends, too, so… I suppose it’s a start.” Peering at her once again, the disguised Leshy lifted a finger to point it at her. “Got my eye on you, though…”

As the man glared daggers at her, Luce kept her gaze level. She didn’t give a shit who this guy thought he was, she’d make his night real fucking bad if he decided to try and pull something. But, when he started yelling at her about fleeing the scene, she blinked in confusion. Was he talking about when she’d blown up the Ring with Erin months ago? Or when she’d tried to blow up the shitty mime restaurant? Christ. She really needed to narrow down her arson attempts. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And, even if I did, you’re gonna have to narrow it down.” She said with a shake of her head. The man seemed to be… restraining himself? Like he wanted to move against her? Which would be a bad idea on his part for sure. “What the fuck are you talking about? Are you some kind of stalker? Because you picked the wrong girl for that.”

Stalker? Oh. Solomon drew another weary breath, shaking his head as he pushed his anger aside. “The specifics don’t matter, what does matter is your lack of care when it comes to this place.” He gestured vaguely at the trees that surrounded them, letting his gaze slide away from her for the quickest of moments. “Look, I’m just… all I’m asking is for you to please stop burning it down with your fire… hands.” Whatever you’d call that, he wasn’t sure. He’d never really encountered anything like it before, and he didn’t exactly want to make a habit of it, either. “Lot of things live around here, you know, myself included… and we’re not exactly keen on having our home scorched on the regular.” Truth be told, it was something that half the damn town seemed to need to hear, given their track record. It was exhausting work, trying to keep up with every new threat.

“Uh, it sure fucking does if you’ve been following me around like some kind of creep.” Luce said as she continued to stare at the stranger. As he waved around at the forest and then mentioned her firehands, her eyes narrowed. Had he seen her use her magic before? No, he couldn’t have. For one thing, she covered her bases pretty fucking well. And even if he had, why the fuck was he only just now stopping her. “My fire hands? I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about, dude.” She said, shaking her head as though he was speaking nonsense. “I don’t know what you think I’ve done or what you think you saw, but you’re mistaken.” She replied. She wasn’t sure what this guy’s deal was, but it was easier to deny this than to deal with the repercussions that came with someone finding out she was magically inclined.

“I’m not following you, I live here,” Solomon grumbled in return. “I see most things that happen, whether folks want me to or not.” Her continued rebuttals only made him growl in frustration, hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You make fire. I don’t know how, but you do it in a way that… normal people cannot. Your denial does not change this fact.” He considered for a moment that perhaps she was like him—inclined to keep that aspect of herself secret. “And personally, I’ve nothing to gain from knowing that, I would just like to formally ask you to please stop setting fire to my forest. Take your flames someplace else.” Exasperation radiated off of him, but his gaze was steady. A hundred and fifty years ago, he’d have just slain her on the spot. But… he was trying to be a little kinder about it in this case, especially since she’d come back later to plant seeds. The gesture warranted recognition.

He lived here? In the fucking woods? Because that was any less creepy than the fact he’d watched her here. Luce bristled a little as he continued to speak. He’d seen her conjure the flames. How? She’d had run-ins with people before, but she’d always been careful to make sure there was nothing that could ever tie her to the blazes she started. People could look for the ignition point, search for the match or the lighter that didn’t exist because she was the spark. And yet, this fucker seemed to know exactly what she could do. “Let’s say I can do what you say I can do.” She said before gesturing around to them. “Where else would I do shit? If I could make fire, I’m not exactly going to just light up the Common.” She said, though the corner of her mouth turned at the idea. That would be funny, if only for the irritation it would no doubt cause her mother.

Solomon was, by every account, a very calm and level headed creature. That being said, there was one thing he had almost no patience for, and that was the petulance of a young firestarter. His entire existence revolved around a singular purpose, and he could only bargain for so long with people like her. His anger flared at her casual, careless remark, dark eyes widening slightly in disbelief. “Anywhere else, girl. Have some respect for the natural world — you’d be dead without it.” He’d taken another step toward her by this point, and something in his body language had changed. He moved less like a man, and more like… well, it was hard to say in the dark of night. “Stop killing things and find a way to be useful with your talents, won’t you? You came back to plant seeds, so I know you must feel some amount of remorse. Hold on to that, remember that, and do not light another blaze in these woods ever again. Do you understand me?” He was being rather generous, he thought, but if she pushed him further still, he couldn’t see himself keeping his composure.

At the sound of the word “girl,” Luce’s eyes narrowed. Who the fuck did this guy think he was? Folding her arms across her chest, she felt the heat of her body begin to grow and rise with her increasing anger. “Respect for the natural world? You think I don’t have respect for it?” She said with a growl. “Fire is just as natural as anything else here. What happens to a forest that’s overgrown with brush and shrubs? What happens to the trees when they get overcrowded and parasites begin to take over? Overgrowth saps the life right out of the soil just as much as my fire does.” She said before shoving her hand into the soil beneath their feet. Pulling up a handful of loamy soil, she let it sprinkle from her fingers back on the ground. “Ash feeds the forest, makes space for new things to grow. I planted those seeds because it was what should have happened. Death. Rebirth. Life. And death again.” She spat.

“Fire may be natural, but you are not,” Solomon snapped in return. “Forest fires at the hands of humans are anything but natural.” His relationship with humans had been… a bit tumultuous, over the years. While he found them to be an interesting sort, it was true that they had, time and time again, shown him that they cared not for the earth that had so lovingly lifted them from their evolutionary cradle and taught them how to walk. “It is not for you to decide when that cycle will happen, purely because you have no place else to play with your magic. Insolent… insolent, the lot of you!” His voice had raised in volume and boomed unnaturally around them, anger rushing to the forefront as he relived the countless times he’d seen the land ravaged by humans. All across the continent, as he moved from home to home, he’d encountered ones like her. Or at least, the picture of her that was piecing together in his mind’s eye. He’d slaughtered a whole village for poisoning the nearby river, and while that level of unhinged rage was rare for him, it was far from impossible. His glamour flickered, his focus waning as he became more irate with the woman standing before him. “Humans have been nothing but a blight on this world—you’re parasites, feeding off the land while you expand your rotten towns and cities, razing whole forests to the ground without care! That is not the life of someone who has respect for it.”

Unnatural. Yes, because she was unnatural. Who was he to say these things anyways? Obviously not human, but what was he? “You think I play with magic?” Luce said, temper flaring once more. Magic wasn’t a game, it wasn’t some toy to be played with, something casual to be used and forgotten. “Oh, you couldn’t be more wrong about that.” Magic lived in her, it breathed in her, it was a grounding tether of power that challenged her and demanded her to rise to that challenge. His voice rang through the woods, but Luce held her ground. This man-- no, not exactly man, obviously not. Whatever he was, he yelled at her and she resisted the urge to let her flames ignite. It would be so easy, so, so easy to let the blue flames lick the ground and spread. But. It would only be proving him right. Watching him, Luce caught the shimmer to his appearance, saw it shudder and caught a glimpse of what looked like… mushrooms? She couldn’t be sure, because the image disappeared almost as soon as she saw it. “If I’m a parasite, then what does that make you? If I’m so beneath you, what are you?” She asked, goading him on. What did he think he was, some kind of god?

Upset as he’d become, it didn’t matter to Solomon whether or not he’d accurately judged her entire character; he’d seen what he’d seen, and she seemed to think that setting his wood ablaze was a perfectly acceptable way to kill time, so he had no further words for her. His gaze was fixed steadily on her, eyes narrowed into slits as he stared her down furiously. It wasn’t until she called him out, questioning the authenticity of his appearance, that he faltered. Well, it wasn’t so much that she’d seen something—that was happening increasingly often, as of late—but it was her question that had him tripping over his own tongue. “I don’t—that doesn’t matter,” he growled. He didn’t rightly know, since he’d been forced to live alone as little more than a sapling and had never met another of his kind. “We’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you…. and how you really ought to find a better hobby.”

Quirking her eyebrow, Luce heard the misstep in his voice, the falter in his words. “It doesn’t matter?” She repeated, incredulity mixing with venom in her voice. “Oh, so you can dish it but you can’t take it? You can go around, accusing me of being unnatural, calling me out for ‘playing with magic’ but when it gets turned back around, suddenly it doesn’t matter?” She said, nodding. “Well, now, we’re talking about you. Who made you holier than thou? Who crowned you king of the forest? You don’t know anything about what I am, who I am, or what I’m capable of. Because, if you think that me coming out into the forest and setting fire in the middle of thunderstorms is a hobby, you don’t know me as well as you think. Fucking creepy forest stalker or not, you don’t know me.” She shot back.

Frustration was coming off Solomon in waves, brought to life by both his anger with the individual yelling at him, and his own personal battle of not knowing who—or what—he truly was. He always told himself it didn’t matter, but in situations like these, it certainly seemed to. She was right, he didn’t know anything about her, and he’d never allowed himself the patience to try and change that before judging someone. Perhaps… perhaps he ought to give it a try. New millennium, new Solomon, and all that. Waiting until she was done, his gaze averted for the first time since their heated exchange had begun, Solomon interjected with a wavering voice. “If I had a word for it, I’d tell you,” he muttered, the defeat in his tone barely masked by indignation. “All I do know is that I’ve been alive for almost a thousand years, and I’ve always felt compelled to protect my home and my innocent neighbors from people like you.” On the last, accusatory word, Solomon flicked his dark eyes back toward the woman, brow furrowed. “So tell me… why shouldn’t I see you as a threat to the forest? Why should I give you a pass, when I’ve cut others down for smaller offenses?”

“Sounds to me like you should figure your shit out before you go around throwing words like “unnatural” around.” Luce fired back, not giving up any ground in this verbal sparring match. She really didn’t give a fuck who-- or what-- this guy was. She was tired of being used as someone else’s punching bag. She was tired of being the who had to make amends, who had to apologize, who was wrong. “A thousand years? Well, it seems you’re hardly a judge of character if you’ve been around this fucking long and can’t tell the difference between a pyromaniac and someone who gives a shit about this place. Because, this is probably really fucking surprising to you, but I do. I actually do give a shit about this town and this forest and the people who live here. I know these woods, I know the forest, I know the animals who call it home. Maybe not the way you do, but I know them.” She held up her hands, an innocent gesture. “I owned my shit. You saw me plant those seeds, you said it yourself. I destroyed that part of the forest the night that--” She caught herself. This person, creature, whatever. He didn’t need to know why she’d burnt the forest down. Why it had been grief and fear and sorrow that had turned her flames blue, that kept her flames blue. “It happened. And that wasn’t right. So, I went back to make it better as well as I could.”

She was a persistent one, and Solomon could feel that it was wearing him down. This conversation was exhausting, and not doing much more than running in circles, so he caved. Deflating, the fae brought a hand to his forehead and let himself slump against the tree behind him. “Fine. Fine,” he muttered in annoyance, shaking his head. “While I can’t imagine that something would ever drive me to hurt this place like you did, I suppose I’ll have to just accept that fact and deal with it. Just… try to refrain from doing it again in the future, alright? It really does take a lot out of me, trying to fix messes like that.” Heaving a sigh, Solomon waved his free hand in the direction she’d been running when they first encountered one another without looking up at her. “Get out of here, go finish your run. You’ve given me a headache.”

“Yeah, you can’t. And, honestly? I hope you never do.” Luce said, remembering the grief that had overwhelmed her that night, when she’d thrown herself into the forest and done her best to run away from the reality of her situation. She’d started running that day and she’d never really stopped, not even now, when it was over. But, it wasn’t over, was it? Shaking her head, Luce focused her attention on the man who was waving her away. While she was glad that this guy was at least giving up with the whole “protector of the forest” act, she wasn’t a fan of the fact that he was telling her what she should do. Hands still up in the air, she flipped him off, the triangle tattoos on her knuckles a nice added touch of irony. “I’m not in the business of making promises to people. I do what I want. But,” She lowered her hands, and offered a single nod, “noted.” With that, Luce turned and continued on her run, not caring what he thought of their encounter. As far as she was concerned, all this meant was she’d discovered a new self-righteous neighbor.

#p: ai #p: solomon hawthorne #chatzy #wickedswriting #//does luce piss off a forest god? we just dont know

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