#like its probably Mind Metaphor Hell but how fucking funny would it be if it was literal and right there but like. next door

[boiledegghole]

how funny would it be if the side order dlc and the splatoon 1 square dlc were happening at the same time but like. 3 blocks apart. like you can just walk a few minutes and youve left White Hell and its just normal-ass inkopolis

[renoxvated]

The Glowing Sea sounded….less than ideal, even more so when he’s told he’d need a hazmat suit from the radiation. Sounded like a pretty shitty place to him if that was the case. “Yeah—no thanks, I fuckin’ hate radscorpions anyway and anything I gotta wear a hazmat suit for I’m out. No movement in somethin’ like that, plus I can’t even swim, is it like an actual sea or just one of em’ metaphorical ones or whatever?” Roy muses for a moment in his thoughts, he had a lead belly but not lead skin, didn’t want to end up getting sick or turning into a ghoul. Not that he had nothing against ghouls but it’d just complicate his life more than it already was.

“I ain’t scared by the way, of that sea— just don’t sound like anyone has any business playin’ around in a place that’s glowing…probably like glowing ghouls there too or some shit with a name like that.” It wasn’t as if Jamie was going to call him out on being chicken, well maybe he would, Roy hadn’t been around him long enough to know, but he just wanted to be clear; so he puffs out his chest a bit and lets out a huff. Not a hell of a whole lot scared him, which was more unfortunate for him than anyone or anything else.

The Courier watches as the other man inspects the drink, speaking its name like a foreign curiosity. He supposed most folks might worry about taking anything from a willing stranger, it was suspicious— but truth be told Roy didn’t mind sharing his spoils. He’d seen so much across the wasteland, people that had nothing often shared more than the ones that had it all and Six had been on both sides of that Freeside fence. This wasn’t life or death, he could share, heck maybe if it had been that was all the more reason to.

“I ain’t ever had a Nuka Wild. On principle mostly, cause my gramps told me about how it was made to kill off Sunset, s’ghoul so he’s seen it all from the old world I guess. You’d think you’d see em’ back home more, ya’ know, since that shoulda been the market I guess… but not a damn soul drinks it back home. Nuka Cola though, yeah sure.” Laughing with a shrug in the end, as if it was some local little quirk of half hearted loyalty to the drink.

Roy watches just waiting to see the reaction. It wasn't everyday he got to just have a brief moment like this, it made him think about the days before everything got so serious, before he had to play hero. Roy looks away and hums in a pleased acceptance after seeing his expression and brow quirk.

“If I stop by I could probably give y’all some tips about back home too, just so you have some idea of the place, s’way farther out, like too fucking far.” Roy snorts continuing, “but you never know what information might be useful.” He doesn’t have to tell them everything, at least not about the parts that involved talk of him as ‘The Courier’, ‘Mojave’s Protector’ or it’s ‘Boogeyman’ hell he didn’t even figure he’d go into the full details of the bigger picture of The Strip, because well meaning or not these guys were still mostly strangers to him in an unknown land…they seemed to be decent though and he was enjoying the banter with Jamie for now, maybe they were more decent than Six and like they had their shit together. So if Roy could help? Then he would.

“Glad you liked it,” His words are genuine, without a slew of curse words for a change. Would have sucked if he didn't, Roy thinks, but that’s the gamble he guessed and Roy knew all about gambling. He’d say he wasn’t particularly good at it but for better or worse (usually worse) luck seemed to be on his side. “Yeah I feel that, people will rip your head off for a single bottle cap and not bat an eye. It’s funny ol’ sunset here had these bullshit bottle caps with a star on em’ people killed each other over— wonder if you got one.” As much as Roy hated the idea of those godforsaken bottle caps, habit dictated that he checked anyway, curiosity and what not. He looked into the palm of his hand finally to check the cap, he was still holding onto it from when he’d opened the drink.

Roy grins, “well guess I better watch out, it’s a star. I don’t want anyone after me for these again so you can have it. Don’t reckon it’s much of a thing all the way out here.” Roy flicks the star cap in Jamie’s direction, with the sort of aim that pinpoints it to Jamie’s hands. He’s a good shot, just not as good with a gun. His grin is more shit eating than anything else now and he laughs again.

Ah so those bastards had a name, Mirelurks– Roy would add them to a list of things he hated almost as much as Mole Rats, thankfully Mole Rats were easy enough for him to kill, in fact he enjoyed killing those…those Mirelurks however not so much. “Thanks for the heads up, can’t say I’d like to run into them again anytime soon, tho ain’t never had meat like that fore’, wasn’t that bad, we just got like Rad Scorpion’s kinda tastes the same just with more sand and less uh..lake, ocean?” Roy shrugs, if it was a breeding ground for them he has to wonder how many might travel in a group then, he promptly shudders at the thought.

Six perks back up at the mention of Nuka Cola, if he was being honest he thought the stuff was overrated. Not that he cared much either way, because of course he drank it, after all it was still a change from the twang of radiated water at the end of the day, but his taste buds would always belong to ol’ Sunset, fuck Festus though. If he didn’t see another star bottle cap in a billion years it would be too soon, that damned deputy badge got shoved so far up that robot’s ass– it ought to have come out its stupid mouth. Nuka Cola Quartz though? He had one, once. Inclined to take it borrow it from the Lucky 38 because he refused to pay the price for them now. It was…different, fizzy in a way that Sunset wasn’t. Speaking of–

“Oh shit you ever had one then? I…hold on,” Roy flips his bag around as they walk, he’s barely paying attention ahead of himself, still he walks in stride to Jamie and he rifles through his bag. “Jackpot.” He sticks his tongue out briefly in thought once he finds what he was looking for. Robotic digits grasp onto glass, pulling out a bottle of the liquid in question, slinging his bag back over and offering it to the other man.

“You want this? S’not a Nuka Quartz but…gotta try it if you haven’t, just don’t fall in love with it cause you’ll have a longgggg walk to find em’.” Roy snorts, it was his last one but…he’d make due, thinks he might not need the reminder in his bag to make himself homesick.

Roy gets the feeling that Jamie doesn’t really want to talk about Raiders or gangs…Roy figures he’ll just let his fists do the talking then once they get to where they’re going. He knew the feeling about hashing out things that just made you annoyed and A LOT of things made Roy annoyed to be fair. So The Courier gives way to a soft hum of acknowledgement, that was pretty fortunate for the Commonwealth, the Mojave wasn’t so lucky for a while there. Infantile or not though Raiders killed people all the same. What brought him out this way? Many things, he thinks and nothing worth sharing at all…at least nothing he was fully at liberty to share. House only key’d him in on a few things that he needed to know, the rest Six didn’t really question, maybe because he didn’t know if he wanted to know the answer, the answer to just why he truly needed to come this far from home for a ‘delivery’. That wasn’t to say he didn’t argue some at first, wonder why and vocally say so just as much, that he needed to come to Boston of all places.  Away from the city that needed him, away from its people; HIS people. Like the god dog he was…he still left when given the task. It was for the greater good of the Mojave, and really that was all he needed to hear. He was just a Courier after all…wasn’t he? He’s felt a bit sullen ever since. Roy rubs at his metal arm subconsciously, staring off into the long distance for a moment. “Thanks, I’ll uh probably be fine with the info I got, might still check it out though so I know what I might run into out here. Who knows, s’whole lot of different brands of bullshit out here than back home. Same shit different place though in the end, probably.” There’s a longing in his tone though, a wistfulness that splays out in his eyes, his features; it’s a look that doesn’t last long before he’s back to his usual loud vibrato.

“So, whatcha think about the Sunset, the drink I mean, not a long walk out into one.”

[therealvalkyrie]

Painter’s Hands and Guatemalan Coffee: Part 5

very pretty, very beautiful

Pairing/setting: Levi Ackerman x Female!Reader, modern!college!AU

Summary: When you catch your idiot boyfriend cheating, your grumpy roommate is there to pick up the pieces and watch your back as you toe a carefully drawn line in the metaphorical sand.  

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: intoxication, swearing, feelings, nightmare, fluff, mentions of a deadly car accident

AN: WHOAH OKAY. So I’ve been thinking about the last half of this chapter every second of every minute for the last two days. It has haunted my dreams, y’all. Thanks to that, you get this before the weekend! Yay! Special thanks to @ghostlightprincess, @anlian-aishang, @cant-spell-slay-without-lay, and @horseanon--simpforall for helping me edit and giving me many encouragements and compliments which, quite frankly, made my head the size of Jupiter. I love you all dearly. As always, let me know what you think in my comments/DMs/askbox!! Don’t be a stranger!! And be kind to yourself and others<3 ~valkyrie

—

(read chapter 4 here)

“I think you’re very pretty.”

I think you’re very pretty?

Fuck. Shit.

“I-I-I mean,” Levi feels his throat tighten and cheeks set ablaze, “You’re very, uh, very beautiful.” He says it because it’s true, and the truth is what Levi relies on when his brain is short-circuiting. You’re more than pretty, more than something as trivial as very pretty, you’re gorgeous and smart and funny and it makes his palms sweat. Recently, you’ve been everywhere: in his bed, in his arms, in the periphery of his life even outside of the apartment. It’s overwhelming, this is overwhelming, how his hands are on you and how you’re looking up at him with insecure, anticipatory eyes. They’re glassy and red-rimmed, pupils blown to saucers.

Oh. That’s right, she’s high.

Levi lets his hand drop from the top of your head. He tries to move his other hand away from your cheek, but you grasp his wrist to keep it there. He can feel his own pulse fluttering under your fingertips.

“Very beautiful?” It’s soft, hopeful.

He forces himself not to retract the statement (because it’s true) out of self-preservation.

“Very beautiful, kid.” He can say it without stuttering this time. It’s important that you believe him, and it’s equally important that this is as far as it goes.

You close your eyes against the pet name and turn your face into his palm for a split second, press a swift kiss to it and then drop your hand to your lap. His heart stutters. He drops his hand, too.

“Thank you,” the words fall past your lips, careful and distant, as he takes a step back.

He needs some space. To get his head on straight, to scream into a pillow, to talk some sense into himself. Can’t risk this, not with you, not with you.

“Your, um, your pajamas,” he points to the end of the bed where they’re sitting in a neat pile, then turns tail and strides out of your room, shutting the door behind him.

In his room, his jelly legs finally give out and he flops onto his bed.

Fucking hell.

“Do you think I’m pretty?”

What kind of question is that? Do you not think you’re pretty? Do you care if he, specifically, thinks you’re pretty, or was it intended more generally? Very pretty, very beautiful. What does that even mean?

Levi may not be eloquent in the least, may not know how to confess that you make his every breath burn in his chest, but he does know how to paint. He stands up, wiping sweaty palms on his flannel pants and examining the painting on his easel. His mom stares back, her eyes sparkling, her hair tumbling over one shoulder in ebony waves. It had taken him the last few days to get the curls just right, and when he added the last highlights of shine, it’d finally felt complete.

“Sorry, mama,” he murmurs as he lifts her to set her against the wall under the window.

A new canvas procured from his closet finds its place on the easel. He sifts through his supply drawers for a moment, setting paints and brushes and charcoal neatly on his desk.

He takes a deep breath, situates himself in his wheelie chair, and leans forward to start sketching.

—

It’s 5 AM when you start screaming in a long, shuddering cry, causing Levi to jolt up in his seat, paintbrush poised over your left temple. It breaks off into sobs that make his gut twist and hands clench. A long moment, then you’re letting out another keening wail and Levi is out of his seat. Paint splatters from the brush where he drops it on his desk and his chair rolls back as he runs, ripping doors open and narrowly avoiding furniture in the dark.

You’re sprawled out, thrashing on the bed, sheets tangled with your legs. Levi sits on the edge of your bed, brows pinched in worry, and reaches for your shoulders. This is okay — he can touch you when you ask for his help. When you whimper and reach for him in your sleep, he can pull you close and smooth a hand across the planes of your back. It’s when you’re looking at him, all trusting and expectant for something, that he’s unsure.

He says your name, low and urgent, once, twice, before your eyes open mid-sob. They’re wide and terrified, your jaw tight, muscles clenched. “It’s me, kid, it’s just me,” he intones, “It was just a dream, you’re safe, it’s just me.”

Your heaving chest slows for a second, hitches somewhere in your sternum, and then you’re launching yourself forward and into him. He catches you there, steady against his chest.

“Breathe.” He sets an example with his own deep breaths.

It’s a long minute before he feels you relax at all, before he feels you sigh against his neck. Your arms are tight around his middle and you must be stronger than you look because after a while it starts to pinch. He doesn’t mind, though, just traces patterns on your back and stares at the pale wall.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He feels you shake your head.

“Do you want to go back to sleep?”

You hesitate before you whisper, “Only if you stay.”

Levi thinks about the wet paintbrush currently drying to his desk. He thinks about the mess of clothes on your floor. He thinks of the half-finished painting of you in his room. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

You pull back, and he gets a look at your face in the near-dark. Your eyes are still acutely haunted, but they’ve regained awareness. He lets you take a moment to wipe at your cheeks as he reaches to gently disentangle the sheets and spread them more carefully over your legs.

He looks up at you again to catch your sad eyes with his. Your head is tilted quizzically, knowingly, sympathetically all at once as though he were the one who just woke up screaming. It makes him itch.

“What’s that look for?” he grumbles, toeing his slippers off and tucking them under your bed.

“Nothing,” you hum. “Come here, please.”

He blinks at you for a second. That’s my line. But he goes, crawling into bed with you and slipping under the covers. He lets you tug his arm gently so that he’s on your chest. He gets comfortable there, one arm thrown over your waist and head rested over your heart. Your own arms find a home cautiously around him. You exhale with the grounding pressure of his body on yours and let your mind sink into calm release.

—

The knock on your door breaks your attention from your laptop. You sigh, finish typing your sentence, and push your blue light glasses up your nose before standing up to answer it.

You’re not expecting anyone, but maybe Levi is. He’s been holed up in his room all morning, Chopin drifting lazily under his door, probably studying. Like you’ve been trying to. The second series of knocks on your door makes you jog the last few steps to pull it open.

“Hi—” the greeting dies in your throat when you see who’s standing there.

“Hi,” Annie says. She’s standing, nonchalant as ever, in her winter parka and leggings, holding two to-go cups and a pastry bag.

“What?” It’s a breathless question, genuinely confused. It doesn’t harbor the animosity you would expect — you’re not sure you can feel anything other than queasy right now.

“I got your voicemail.” 

You blink in confusion. She rolls her eyes and thrusts the to-go cups at you with a brief “hold these” before reaching into her pocket for her phone. You just stare at her while she taps and scrolls for a minute. She looks the same as before you stopped speaking: blonde hair tucked into a bun at the back of her head and hoodie peeking out of the collar of her jacket. Maybe a little more tired, though Annie always seemed to be tired.

She holds up her phone for you to hear as a voicemail starts playing and, to your further shock, your own tinny voice spills out. It sounds like you’re crying, and slightly muffled.

“Annie, hi, um, I know it’s late but I couldn’t think of anyone else to call, I just,” sniffle, “I know we’re not talking and I’m still mad at you, like REALLY MAD, okay? But I couldn’t think of who else to call and long story short I think I’m in love with Levi and he might’ve just rejected me but I just couldn’t tell—”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you cut in across your own voice, stepping into the hall with her and toeing the door almost shut behind you. She stops the voicemail. “But why are you here?” You know why she’s here — Annie never backs down from anything, and you had started the conversation, even if you’d been drunk and high and half asleep and you don’t really remember doing it.

“You called, here I am. That’s what best friends do.” Her tone is even.

“Not best friends who fuck their best friends’ boyfriends,” you snap, anger finally bursting from your stomach and into your throat.

She closes her eyes impatiently, sighs, then looks at you again not quite pleadingly.

“Look, if you want me to leave, I’ll leave. But I’m here now and there’s more to the story that you aren’t aware of.”

“What else could there possibly be?”

“Let’s go for a walk and I’ll tell you,” she offers, then holds up the pastry bag. “I brought coffee and donuts. They’re jelly.”

Jelly donuts are your favorite.

You look down at the cups in your hand. You look back at her steady blue gaze. More to the story.

“Fine.” You turn and kick the door open a little too harshly. “Just let me get dressed.”

She follows you in, even though you don’t extend an invitation, and closes the door softly. You put the cups down on the coffee table and watch her sit in her usual spot on the couch to wait for you out of the corner of your eye. You scowl but say nothing.

It only takes you a minute to shuck off to pajamas and pull on jeans, a sweatshirt, and boots. You don’t bother with a bra.

You knock lightly on Levi’s door and call through, “I’m going for a walk, so make sure to lock up if you leave. I have my keys.” You jingle them as evidence and he grunts in acknowledgment. “Let’s go,” you turn and address Annie, who stands.

The walk down your street to the river is short and habitual, your feet carrying you while your mind races. You can feel the anger and hurt, visceral and stabbing, in your chest. But there’s also something tender there, too, something that acknowledges how you missed your best friend. Something that screams at you to tackle her to the ground and feel her stoic comfort. Instead, you shove your hands deeper into the pockets of Eren’s jacket and kick a pebble, sending it skidding down the sidewalk.

The pair of you reach the walking bridge over the river and pause at the railing. The sky is overcast, threatening a snowstorm. A car beeps downtown, reaching you distantly. Annie hands you a coffee and a donut. You lean against the railing and avoid her gaze.

“So. You wanted to talk. Talk.” You bite into the donut.

She sighs through her nose. “I know what you saw. We… we did kiss, but we didn’t do anything else. We never had sex.”

“Hmm.” A sip of coffee.

“I know you have no reason to believe me, but it’s the truth. I’m guessing you didn’t exactly listen to Reiner when you broke up with him?”

“I didn’t have time for his bullshit excuses.”

She breaks off a bit of her donut and stares at it contemplatively for a moment, “I know you don’t owe either of us anything, and this isn’t meant as an excuse, but will you listen to why, at least?”

You press your lips together, sneak a look into her devastatingly blue eyes, and nod. What harm can it do? And you have to admit there’s a large part of you that’s been wondering at the why, even if you’ve refused to hear it.

“Okay. Tell me why.”

She takes a deep breath and leans her elbows on the railing before starting to speak, low and pensive.

“I’ve known Reiner and Bertholdt a long time, since we were kids. We’ve always been this… this odd group. You wouldn’t think we were close if you didn’t know us. But it wasn’t always just us.” She pauses, looking distant. “Do you know Porco Galliard?”

Galliard… “He’s a sophomore on the lacrosse team, right?”

“Yeah. Do you know what happened to his brother?”

“He has a brother?”

“Had. Marcel. He was a year older than us but somehow ended up in our little group. And a couple of years ago, senior year of high school, we were all in a car accident. He was home on winter break and we’d all had a little too much to drink, and we convinced him to take us to Denny’s for midnight milkshakes. And, well, there was a winter storm coming in and it’d been freezing rain that week, and we crashed. Marcel died. It was… I hadn’t…” She pauses, tilting her head back to the sky, blinking away tears. “It was horrible.”

Your eyes have gone wide, cast downriver. You don’t know what you’d expected when you walked down here, but it certainly wasn’t this. It wasn’t Annie, only rivaled in her stoicism by Levi, choking back tears and wiping snot from her nose.

“Hey,” you start, voice gentler than it’s been all day. “You don’t have to—”

“No, no, I want to, just... give me a second,” she interjects, wringing out a hand. She takes a deep, purposeful breath.

“Okay,” you whisper, looking back out across the water.

“It, uh, it hit us all really hard, brought us really close together. That’s why we all ended up at school here, actually. It kinda made us realize that, like, time is limited, you know? We don’t have forever. And Bertl, he…” she smiles, watery and reminiscent. “When he asked me out, it felt like a long time coming. It was just about perfect. He felt safe and like home, and… well, you know how in love we were. But I could see that it alienated Rei, at least a bit. He tried not to show it, but I could tell he felt like a third wheel. He was already drifting away from us, still struggling with all this guilt.”

Your breath catches in your throat. That’s a familiar feeling. Guilt. And yet, you’d never noticed it in Reiner, apparently never got close enough to shine a flashlight into his darkest shadows. He’d always seemed so… sunshiney. You clearly hadn’t given him enough credit to dislodge the aura of jock frat boy he projects so brightly.

Soft dough squishes under your fingertips where you’ve resorted to playing with your food instead of eating it as Annie continues.

“And then he met you and fell in love so fast. I was so relieved, I mean, you and I were roommates and it was just perfect, right?” You look at her and see a flicker of hopefulness still there. “I thought maybe you two getting together would bring him back to us, that maybe we’d be alright after all. And at first, it did. But then you moved off campus for sophomore year and he started drifting away again, though he was at least anchored to you, this time. It scared me, it really did.”

She kicks the bottom of the railing lazily, as if to expend the sadness there rather than in her words. The first fat flakes of snow drift down around you. One dances away on your exhale.

“He’s so withdrawn, sometimes, in his own head, and I never know how to reach him there. I didn’t know if he had told you about Marcel, or anything, so I couldn’t go through you. I don’t… I didn’t know what to do, so I just... let it fester. That night, when we kissed, I hadn’t seen him physically for a month. It hurt.”

She looks at you imploringly, like the weight of everything she’s saying lies on deep hurt. You can relate to feeling as though there’s nothing but hurt and guilt and drifting.

“So I figured out where he was from his Snapchat story, abandoned my group project, and went over there to see him. I didn’t know what I’d say or do when I got there, just that I had to get him back, somehow. He was already plastered, you know how he gets, and he wasn’t listening to me, so I just… kissed him. I don’t know what I was thinking, I didn’t know you were there, I didn’t even know you saw until he called me the next day after you broke up with him to chew me out.

“So, long story short,” her voice breaks on a mournful, almost hysterical laugh, “I fucked up the three most important relationships to me in one night because I couldn’t use my words.” She wipes at wet cheeks, not looking at you. “So, um. Yeah, that’s the why, I guess. I don’t expect you to forgive me, or him, but I just… I needed you to know. It wasn’t like, this elaborate affair.”

You aren’t sure how to right your brain from the way it’s tilted off kilter. It’s so much, so different from what you’d built up in your head. There’s no conspiracy, no grand intention to break you.

Even with all this new information, what stupidly slips out first is, “Did he kiss you back?” You blanch, turn to her with wide eyes, “Sorry, that’s not exactly im—”

“No, it’s fine,” she meets your eyes. “He did kiss me back.”

“Oh. Okay, um…” you trail off, bite your lip. You don’t know what exactly to say. Your skin is tight with the urge to forgive her immediately and wholly, but logic holds you back. Now that you know the truth, you need time to heal and get some perspective. You straighten up from where you’d been slouching against the railing. “Okay. You’ve been honest, so I will be, too.”

She stands up fully as well, facing you with one hand on the railing.

“I don’t know how I feel right now,” you start. “I think I need some time and perspective. But, I… I can see now where I went wrong, too. I assumed the worst, didn’t let any communication happen.” You swallow down the lump in your throat threatening to choke your voice. “And, I wasn’t there for Rei like I should have been. I had no idea — no idea! — what he was going through.”

“Well, he didn’t exactly tell you—”

“And why is that?” Your voice breaks, squeaks with the question. “Did he feel like he couldn’t confide in me? Did I make it too much about me and my trauma? I wasn’t exactly shy about telling him my shit.” You take a long draw of coffee. “Anyway. I should probably talk to him, shouldn’t I?”

She nods. “He’d like that.”

You’re both quiet for a moment, watching the sparse snow flurry around you. Annie finally starts eating her donut.

“I’ve missed you,” you confess into the storm. “A lot.”

“I missed you, too.”

Your chest aches with both the cold air and the conflicting feelings of relief and regret.

“Why, uh… why didn’t you tell me all that stuff about Marcel?”

She leans on the railing again, takes a sip of coffee before answering. “I was still working through it. Still am, rather. I didn’t know how to bring it up, or that it was relevant.”

You hum, nodding. “I get that.”

There’s another silence, but it feels lighter, less charged. There are still questions bouncing around your mind, but you decide it’s better to process through them on your own rather than blurting out something stupid. Perspective.

“So,” she shoots you a look under blonde eyelashes, “what’s this about you being in love with Levi?”

“Aw, shit,” you laugh, leaning your elbows back on the railing and giving her an imploring look. “It really snuck up on me.”

“Is that so? Can’t say I’m shocked.” Her tone is dry, a little amused around the last bite of jelly donut. She wipes her fingers on her leggings and faces you. “And you think he rejected you.”

“Well, I…” you cringe, thinking back to last night. “He called me very beautiful.”

“Doesn’t sound like a rejection.”

“It was the way he said it! Like it physically hurt him to admit, and then he just ran out of the room,” you whine, scrubbing a hand down your face.

“I think that’s just his emotional constipation.” 

You look at her sharply, mouth agape, to catch her eyes dancing and the corner of her lip curling upward slightly. “Annie!”

“What? I’m right.” She finishes off her coffee, tilting back the cup to catch the last dregs of it. “He likes you, or he’s an idiot if he doesn’t.”

You narrow your eyes in doubt, mirroring her half-smile. “Hmm. We’ll see.”

“Yes,” she promises, crumpling up the pastry bag in her fist and stuffing it in her pocket. “We will.”

—

(read part 6 here)

[just-a-quirkless-loser]

The Days of Your Youth

Young Enji Todoroki x F! Reader

Hanahaki Trope + BNHA Universe

Words: 5.9k

Warnings: Angst, Enji is an asshole, sexual content, A bit of the redemption arc at the end, graphic descriptions of violence, Characters are 18+

Asagao flowers bloom so beautifully in Sakai; what a shame that Musutafu is four hours away from those gorgeous flowers. So, you knew whenever Enji came bearing the dark blue edged flowers with purple insides, that he had endured the voyage to get them. It was small things like this that made you fall in love with him. If only you didn’t, then maybe you'd still be alive.

The two of you met in your youth when you both attended U.A. High School, both of you having dreams of being the number one pro-hero for the next generation. You hated him at first, which is understandable seeing as he’s brash and cares for no one but himself. He always argues with you, he doesn’t hold back during training, and he has an unhealthy obsession with your childhood best friend Toshinori Yagi, known to the public as All Might.

Your quirk was strong, the ability to heal from any wound and regeneration of your limbs but, he made you feel trivial in comparison to him.

“You can take a bullet, great. How useless that would be in a battle with a villain? You can’t even inflict any damage,” his words stung. All your life, you’d been ridiculed as having a “rescue” quirk, always being told that you’d never have the chance to fight “real villains.” You wanted to prove them all wrong...although, you didn’t prove anything in the end.

Because of the nature of your quirk, you were often paired with Enji whenever it was time to spar. He’d hit you with his fire, blistering your skin with no mercy. He’d knock your teeth down your throat, making you cough blood at his feet. He’d choke you with your own support weapon, making you feel weaker than what you thought you were. He made your life a living hell. So, how did you fall in love with him?

Your love didn’t happen overnight. Actually, the relationship between the two of you changed drastically after that day. The day is clear in the archives of your mind, almost like you’re watching a movie through your own eyes.

“Are you sure you can handle Todoroki today?” you were walking to the training rooms with Toshinori Yagi. He loomed over you as he glanced anxiously at the man in question. Everyone knew about the obvious tension between the two young men however, that day was different. Something primal was lurking in Enji’s glance whenever he looked your way.

“Regeneration, remember? I’ll be fine,” you pat the large man on the back. “Plus, I don't think he could kill me even if he tried.”

“I’m just worried. He’s off today. More confrontational.”

“He’s like this every day, Toshi. He’s probably just on his man period or something.”

“...Y/N, you do now men don’t have menstrual cycles? Right?”

“Yes, Toshi, you’ve told me dozens of times. It’s just a metaphor...till I can get some proof,” he facepalms as you rub your hands together to mimic scheming hands. “He’ll have to take his clothes off eventually.”

“You’re a menace to society; I love it,” you lean against each other as you laugh, attracting the attention of your classmates. “But, seriously, I’m worried.”

“Toshi, I will be perfectly fine. What’s the worst that can happen?”

***

“More! Get up,” you were gripping the right pant leg of Enji’s training suit, trying to pull yourself up to face him again. You body begged you to stay down but your mind -your pride- forced you up. The right side of your face was scorched. One of your eyes was missing from its socket. The guns you normally wield for support were thrown elsewhere, leaving you vulnerable to his onslaught. “You’re pathetic. U.A. isn’t meant for the weak. You don’t belong here with us.”

“You don’t get to tell me where I belong,” you charge to attack, switching your technique at the last minute so you could throw a hard jab to his abdomen. He countered with raising both of his fists above his head in a gorilla fashion and slammed them down on your spine, once again taking you to the mat. But, this time you heard a crack from your spine.

“I don’t know why you waste my time. Sensei just needs to let Yagi and I fight,” you laid at his feet paralyzed. However, the inability to move doesn’t hinder your ability to speak.

“Awww, Todoroki, you miss your boyfriend? I knew you had a hard on for him,” and, while you felt there was nothing wrong with being homosexual, you knew Todoroki was a traditional man who wouldn’t want a rumor like that to be spread. You snicker at his silence. “Must be true if you haven’t denied it.”

Words are meaningless if he can show you with his actions. He wastes no time dropping to his knees so he can lean over you, pushing you into your back as he slaps your face from side to side.

“You,” smack. “Have,” smack. “Issues,” smack.

“ENJI,” you hear Yagi yell in the background as rushes in to save you from your beating. Toshinori’s strong hands pull Todoroki up by the scruff of his neck, looking at the bloody mess your body has come to be, checking to see the rise and fall of your chest before he deals with the man he’s holding. “You could have killed her!”

“She can’t die,” to prove his point, Enji encircles your form with a ring of Fire, the smoke clogging your lungs as your skin is barely holding its form. However, you don’t feel the familiar tingling sensation of your regeneration.

“It doesn’t matter if she can’t die. She’s still human!”

“I’m making her stronger.”

“You’re abusing her,” they both glance down to see that you’ve stopped twitching. You look like you’ve been hit by a land mine: body bloodied, bones exposed, missing limbs. The smoke has cover you in a fine layer of soot, the particles of your own flesh smothered in your nose. “Fuck, Y/N? Y/N?! ANSWER ME! PLEASE! SENSEI!”

There’s only a few things you can recollect clearly. You were rushed to the hospital and you could hear the urgency in Yagi’s voice. If you closed your eyes long enough, you could still see your Sensei’s face looming over yours as he tried to get your attention. The smell of Enji still invades your nose whenever you remember how he sat next to you in the ambulance. You think he felt guilty for letting his desire to measure up to Yagi blind him once again. It’s just a shame that you had to be beat close to death’s door for him to feel remorseful.

You awoke to an obnoxious beeping to your left, a throbbing pain in you head, and a nuisance fire wielder to your right (you had to do a double take to make sure he didn’t beat the sense out of you).

“You’re awake.”

“No thanks to you,” he winces.

“Let’s just be thankful you’re alive.”

“Unfortunately.”

“That wasn’t a funny joke.”

“Who said it was a joke?” you spot Asagao flowers on your bedside. “Who brought the flowers?”

“I did.”

You move to sit up but hiss and grab your side. “Welp, that’s new.”

“Take it easy,” Enji rises and gingerly presses you back into the bed.

“You expect me to believe you spent eight flowers just to bring me flowers?”

“Yagi told me they’re your favorite. I figured it’d be a good way to start amending for what I’ve done.”

“You almost killed me. All because you have a superiority complex that I’ve done nothing to fuel. And, you call yourself a future hero?” you snort. “Oh, wait, let me correct myself, you call yourself the future NUMBER ONE hero!?” you turn to face him so he can’t escape your eyes. “Everyone’s right about what they say about you. You’d do anything if it meant you’d have a chance at facing Toshinori. You don’t care how many people get hurt in the crossfire. As long as you win this competition Toshinori doesn’t even know he’s a part of,” you laugh at the irony.

“What part of ‘I'm sorry’ do you not understand?” Enji growls as he pushes your body into the hospital bed, face coming to stare you down.

“What part of ‘you almost killed me’ do you not understand?” you return his energy with a sneer. “You don’t intimidate me; I’m not some bitch that will tuck her tail and run just because you try to throw a hissy fit.”

“You’re playing with the wrong person, little girl,” he fingers caress the side of your cheek.

‘Once again, this dude has issues.’

“I’m definitely playing with the right person. You need someone to knock you down a few pegs,” and this was when the doctor came to check on your condition, catching Enji and yourself so close that your foreheads were touching. His hands were parted on the sides of you as he puffed out some smoke through his nose.

“Sorry, lovebirds. I should’ve knocked. I’m Doctor Sugo and I have a few questions,” you nod in comprehension.

“Fire them off,” you intentionally use those words to make Enji tense. After years of verbal, physical, and psychological abuse, this was your opportunity to exact your revenge.

“You came in with extensive burns, missing limbs, choking around your neck, blackened lungs, and, it looked as though you died from asphyxiation. Your sensei notified us of your quirk, however, your behavior was reckless and had unforeseen consequences. I doubt you burned yourself alive. Did someone try to kill you?” this was your chance to end Todoroki’s chance of being a hero and end this silly game he’s created in his mind. It would’ve been easy.

“No, we were sparring and it got intense. Enji wanted to stop but I’ve been pushing my quirk limits to the maximum with the coming of our graduation. He lost control of his quirk,” you’ve never been the type to do things the easy way. “I apologize for the trouble my actions have caused.”

“Are you sure this wasn’t a young-domestic abuse situation?” he eyes Enji’s burly frame.

“No, Enji would never hurt me,” to prove your point, you intertwine your fingers with his and kiss the back of his hand, maintaining eye-contact with him. He blew more puffs of smoke into your face.

“In that case, I’ll notify your Sensei of what happened. Just let me check your vitals and I’ll leave the two of you to talk,” the whole time the doctor was in the room, Enji kept blowing smoke. You figured it was something he did when he was uncomfortable but, you couldn't be sure this was the first time you witnessed something like that in person. You both waited a couple of seconds after the doctor left before you continued the actual conversation.

“What the fuck was that?”

“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you cuss...Do it again,” he gives you a pointed look.

“Answer the question.”

“For someone that’s ranked at the top of your class, you’re pretty dense. It’s simple; I’m blackmailing you.”

“Why?”

“Because, you need to be held accountable for your actions and, selfishly, I want to make your life a living hell. It wouldn’t be practical to let a strong quirk like yours to be sent to prison for attempted murder; you’re useful to the world and there’s no way I can’t acknowledge that you’d be formidable if you chose to become a villain due to my inability to keep my emotions in check,” he just stares. You spot Toshinori in the door frame and wave. “Toshi! Come in. I was just explaining to Enji what’s going to happen to him from now on.”

“Y/N,” he said in a warning tone. “Are you sure this is a good idea. He tried to kill you.”

“Shut it, Toshi. You’re too loud,” you roll your eyes. “Yes, I’m sure. This is perfect.”

And, it was perfect. Graduating U.A. High felt unreal at times; it felt even more bizarre as you managed to become a pro-hero alongside your friend, Toshinori, and your personal butler, Enji. Yep, he became your butler as a way to repent for his actions (his words, not yours) and you actually found his company enjoyable when he wasn’t engrossed with beating Yagi. He’s dedicated to the tasks you give him, even if they’re demeaning like walking around with a collar (the press had a field day with that one) or task oriented (like making you fresh coffee whenever you please).

“ENJIIIIIIII,” you’ve taken to bothering him immensely. “Put on this skirt.”

“Y/N, I’m not putting on that skirt. It would tarnish my image.”

“Hm, guess I’ll have to call Sensei. He'd probably believe me if I said you attacked me again. I mean, I’m just an innocent woman. I could just say I was scared the first time,” and that’s how Enji Todoroki was seen wearing a skirt for training multiple times. In all fairness, he looked like a menacing kitten. And, you've grown to like him. Maybe, it was his guilt for almost murdering you but, he found himself showing you tenderness as well. He just couldn't hate you no matter what you did.

“You idiot. I told you not to jump in front of me,” he was carrying your limp body in his arms as though you were his bride. Holding close to his heart, he could feel the warmth of your breath on his chest.

“Why wouldn’t I? I can’t have you dying on me yet. I haven’t gotten you to dress in drag yet,” blood spills from your ears as you blank out of consciousness. There were plenty of times you protected Enji from a villains attack and each time you told yourself you did it because you wanted to continue to blackmail him to be by your side. But, you just wanted him to yourself.

As the years roll on, you find yourself getting closer and closer to him, just barely missing his flames. You became used to patrolling with him as the Pro-Hero ‘Zombie.’ You enjoy going to Sakai in search of the perfect flowers. You treasure being able to see him every day. But, it’s not all peaches and cream.

“Enji, get over it. Toshi worked hard to be first,” you’re arguing again. Two years after the incident and he still hasn’t let go of his yearning to be the best. While sometimes you want to admire his hard work, you can’t help but question his motives. He’s lost the very reason he wanted to become a hero.

“Toshi just leaves to go to America, didn’t tell you, comes back to climb the ranks of the hero charts, and you’re just okay with that? Meanwhile, you lose your mind on me after I don’t answer your call on the first few rings?” he’s sitting on your bed, his jogging pants hanging down dangerously low on his navel, a few red hairs peeking at you. You lick your lips.

“I’m not saying what he did was okay but, you’re blowing this out of proportion. You’re twenty years old. You need to let go of this foolish rivalry,” you throw your legs over his lap. “It’s not healthy.”

“I’m not having this argument with you again. You always take his side,” you slap his chest, gulping at the strong pecs. You wonder how’d they feel bearing down on your back as he-

“Y/N, are you listening?”

“Flamehead, you know I don’t listen to dumb shit,” he puffs out smoke in irritation. “But, I’m not taking his side. I just think we’re getting too old for this.”

“That’s what you always say,” and you laid there with him watching t.v. The conversation ends like it always does but, you can tell Enji isn’t upset with you. It’s the same routine you always follow whenever he wants to talk about Toshinori’s “false achievements.”

Somehow, you end up cuddled into his chest, head pressed firmly into his neck as you feel the warmness of his pulse move underneath you. His arms keep you against him, caging your legs around his hips (it takes a lot to keep your mind from wandering off).

His fingers play with the exposed skin of your back, leaving scorching trails around his fingertips.

“Are you hungry? I still can cook-” Enji’s phone goes off. He gets up and softly pushes you to the side, answering his phone as he absentmindedly rubs your hair. He’s soon getting up to get his things, pulling on his hoodie and ending the call, staring at the phone for a few seconds.

“Who has you up and in a hurry?” you’re kneeling at the edge of the bed, his jacket in your fist to keep him from leaving.

“My finacé’s family.”

‘Fiancé?’

“Fiancé? Who is she?”

“I don’t know yet. All I know is that her quirk is the perfect compliment to mine, which is the only thing that I need,” he’s pulling away. You’re speechless. Is-Is this jealousy? Is this bubbling fury jealousy? Is this small pain jealousy? Is this mind-numbing sensation jealousy? You can't be jealous. Not of some woman you don’t even know. “I have to go. I need to get ready to meet her?”

“B-But, you don’t even know her!”

“I know she’ll ensure that I beat All Might,” so, that's what this was about. Another last ditch effort to win something with no prize. You should’ve known those touches meant nothing but, how could you when they felt so tender? “Plus, you shouldn’t care. Soon, we’d both have to leave and start our own families; this would have had to happen eventually.”

“You don’t love her. You just want to beat him,” you slump down, your calves touching the back of your thighs as you feel a stirring in your chest. “I just don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret when you’re older.”

“That’s not your concern. I’ve got to go.”

You cough up an Asagao flower, staring at it with trepidation.

‘Oh shit.’

The next time you see him is two weeks later. His hair is still styled upwards, his scowl has deepened making him look older than what he really is, his eyes darker than before. Both of you sit one a rooftop, starting over Musutafu. His body is curled in on itself, the flames of his suit keeping you warm in the brisk fall night. Part of his arm is slung over your shoulder, drawing you into his side.

“Have you ever been in love, Enji?” you see him puff out a few smoke clouds, a telltale sign that you've either made him embarrassed or uncomfortable. “Like, real love? The type of love that doesn’t go away no matter how much you try to kill it?”

“You know I don’t have time for sentiments like that,” he looks at your wistful expression, wondering to himself how you manage to look even more breathtaking than the last time he saw you.

“But, what if you could fall in love? What if things like time and being a hero didn’t matter? Wouldn't you want that?”

“No, there’s no girl good enough for me or my love,” such sweet lies sound true coming from him and that burns you more than his fire ever has.

“What about marriage? Kids?”

“You already know I have an arranged quirk marriage. I met her and she is adequate enough to give me a child fit to be the number one hero of the new generation.”

“Jeez, you sound like you’re quoting a business proposal.”

“It is business,” he sounds like he’s scolding you for not knowing this. You feel your stomach fill with more flowers and you feel some crawling up your throat. It’s suffocating you but, you chalk that up to your nerves bothering you. “I’m guessing you brought this up because you think you’re ‘in love.’ “

“I know I am,” you stop your sentence to cough into your arm, catching a few Asagao flowers in your elbow. So, this is how you’re going to die? Dying from a disease that even your regeneration can’t save you from? Choking on flowers because Enji can’t reciprocate your feelings? “As you can see, it’s one sided.”

“Leave them alone. Feelings go away,” but, they didn’t. It just got worse and worse and worse. Because, as much as you knew you should leave Enji, you just couldn’t. Your heart longed for him. Your heart belonged to him. And, Toshinori couldn't understand why.

“Y/N, please, I don’t understand why you'd die for someone that wants nothing to do with you,” Toshinori chided. “Get the surgery. They can take the feelings out. I’ll be right by your side to help you.”

“You’d never understand, Toshi. You'd never understand waking up every morning, wanting someone so bad you have no motivation to do anything but lay in your own tears. I’d rather die loving him than pretend I never felt these feelings at all.”

“But, why?”

“Because, he’s hurt me so much; this is my last ‘fuck you’ to him. Because, I know one day he’ll change. One day, he'll want to see me and I'll be dead. I want him to feel the same pain that I feel now. He needs to feel my rage, he needs to feel my abandon. HE NEEDS TO FEEL ME!”

“Y/N, I’ve already lost Nana. I can’t lose you too.”

“I love you, Toshinori Yagi. Be great for me,” and that’s the last thing you ever said to your childhood best friend.

***

When you opened the door, Enji wasn’t expecting to see you only in a long shirt, tuffets of a flower stuffed in your mouth.

“What the fuck, Y/N? You look like shit. You can’t open the door like that,” he comes in and you immediately cling to him.

“I love you.”

“What?”

“I’m in love with you Enji.”

“You can’t be.”

“But, I am,” you hold one of your saliva covered flowers to his heart. Your eyes are tired and barely stay open but you can't take your eyes off of him. “This is for you. All of them are for you. Loving you is killing me,” you laugh at the irony. Who would’ve thought Enji would end up killing you anyway?

“Then, stop,” Enji rips the flower from your fingers and throws it to the side. You dive for the flower, causing him to follow you down to your floor. “Let it go.”

“I can’t. It’s all I have right now,” you’re sobbing while retching up flowers. His arms encase you, almost like he’s trying to keep you from falling apart. “I can’t just let go. I can’t just stop loving you, Enji.”

He doesn’t really say anything to you. Maybe, he’s too stunned or maybe he’s too afraid he’ll say the wrong thing but, he finds that it’s better to just hold you.

“Enji, could you do something for me?”

“Anything.”

“Could you make love to me?” he can’t deny you your wish with how pitiful you look. So, he scoops you up in his arms and takes you to your bedroom, heart pumping hard at what he’s about to do. He’s getting married in a week yet, he’s here about to give his body to you.

Laying your body down on the bed, he watches as your covers fan around your head like a halo and, for a moment, he wonders if that’s what you would look like as an angel. Ethereal and tired. The air in the room is growing hotter as he sweats, nervous to strip you down. He’s no stranger to sex but, this is the first time he’s ever focused on someone else’s pleasure.

“Just, lay there.”

“What the fuck else am I going to do? Run off,” he chuckles. Leave it to you to find some comedy in your weakest moments. He starts with stripping you of your long shirt -actually, his shirt that had gone missing the last time he stayed at your house- and stares at your body, naked and exposed to the air.

He takes a few minutes to take in your beauty, ghosting over your skin as he watches you quiver in anticipation. Your eyes are blown and a petal is on your cheek, reminding him of what had happened to you. Your hands wrap around his forearm as you silently beg him to touch you.

“Always have been needy,” when he kisses you, it makes your toes curl from his smokey breath. Envisioning his taste held no comparison to what he really was. It’s like he was breathing his smoke into your lungs, making sweat bead on your skin.

His hand grasps your neck and you moan at the warmth that he gives you, toes curling at the pressure he puts on your throat. The flowers slide down your esophagus, allowing some of your essence to mix with his. He’s weighing you down into your mattress as he’s ripping off his shirt, buttons flying everywhere as he tries to shimmy out of his pants. His kisses trail down the column of your neck and he’s groaning at the way you whine. Your body reacts so wonderfully to his touch.

“You should have told me sooner; you could’ve had all of my cock before this,” you giggle at his attempt of dirty talk. It’s weird to have the proper and correct Enji speaking naughty in your ear. “Damnit, woman, will you stop laughing? I’m trying to be romantic.”

“I can’t help it. You're like Recovery Girl whenever she tries to be cool.”

“Why did you have to bring her up?” he drops his head on your navel. “Are you trying to kill my erection?”

You did a mouth zipping motion and laid your hands on his shoulders, looking down your body to catch him staring at you as he licked below your belly button. The sensation of his textured tongue against your smooth skin is almost enough to send you into your orgasm. He brings his arms up to grab your breasts in his hands as he continues to slide down to your slit. Your smaller body is completely open to him as he tongues your small clit, keeping your legs spread around your head.

“Enjiiiiii, please,” you beg for your release. The inner sadist inside of Enji preens as you beg, his mind thinking you look beautiful at his mercy with a few tears in your eyes. He plunges his tongue inside your hole, only shallowly fucking your tight hole. He brings one of his hands beside his mouth, which is an awkward position for his large frame, and pushes his finger inside your tightness till he’s met with some resistance. You’re met with wide eyes.

“You didn’t tell me you were a virgin.”

“You never asked.”

“I’m serious, Y/N. If I didn’t find out, were you just going to let me pound into you,” he smacks your thigh as a way to punish you.

“As long as it’s you, I’d let you use me like a doll,” the words incite a new type of fire in Enji’s body. He gets hotter as he enjoys the words of someone that’s completely submitted to his control.

“Then, I’ll use you till I can’t use you anymore,” he places one last kiss to your hole and slivers up your body. Everything about this moment is perfect for you; the man you love is hovering above you as he looks at you with adoration and desire.

“Are you ready?” His forehead is leaned on yours as he wavers on top of you, his cock kissing the entrance of your folds. You can’t speak due to the flowers that are lodged in your throat, so you nod as you stare into his eyes. For the first time, you can feel the love he has for you. If only this moment could last forever for you as it would for him.

The first few moments of him stretching you make you whimper in his ear, your nails cutting into his back as you try to ground yourself in the moment. He tries to push into you at a slow pace, bottoming out and sitting there for you to adjust. Your pussy clenches him like a vice, testing his self control as he wants to grab you by your waist and use you like a fuck doll.

It’s hard not to scream when he pulls back slightly and snaps his hips into your own. Both of you are breathing into each other's face as he fucks you with slow, deep thrusts, pulling your hips to meet his thrusts in an angle.

“Such a problematic woman. Couldn’t just tell me you loved me,” you whine as he sits up on his knees and begins to fuck you with fevor. His cock rubs against that spongy spot in your pussy, pushing you toward your first orgasm. “Such a bad girl. I didn’t tell you to cum yet.”

“Enjiiii please fuck please I’ll be good for you,” he smiled through the pleasure that rips through him and pulled out of you to lay on his side behind you. He wasted no time lifting one of your legs and pushed into your heat, fucking you deeper in this position. He could now see the way you try to push your hips against his, fucking you with a patronizing smile.

“Such a horny girl,” you moan into your hands as you try to hide yourself from his gaze but he rips your arms away from your face, forcing you to scream for him. He makes it a point to fuck you harder as he’s addicted to your beautiful voice. “Scream for me little girl.”

“Dadddyyy gonna cum again,” your tearing u again as he keeps brutalizing your pussy.

“Oh I’m daddy now,” he’s grunting as he feels you clench again. You give him no answer as you cum once again, this time pulling him into his orgasm as you feel him spurt deep in your womb. But, even though he cums, he doesn’t stop. He’s determined to fuck you into oblivion.

“I’m not done with you, keep cumming in my cock,” your toes keep curling as you try to push away from him. However, that makes him wrap his arms around your shoulders and slam you down on his cock, keeping your legs spread as he fucks you so hard some of his cum is dribbling down the side of his cock. You’re shaking hard as your pleasure blinds you, the pressure in your abdomen building in a different way.

“Fuuuuckkk Enjiii, I-I- love you,” clear liquid squirts from your pussy as he slows down his thrusts. You lay there in your juices with his cum splurging out of you once he pulls out of you completely. He leaves you there as he runs you a bath, leaving you to think about what just happened.

He didn’t say he loved you back but, you hoped he would. With gentle hands, he put you into your tub, softly rubbing your hair like he had done many times.

“Y/N, we need to talk,” you smiled over at him. His pants were pulled back on his hips but he couldn’t meet your eyes. “You know I care for you and you know I wouldn’t want to hurt you but, you need to get the surgery. I can’t just love you the way you love me and, I don’t want you to die because of that. I’ll pay for the surgery. I’ll pay for you a new apartment and everything. I’ll even-” you droned him out.

“You know,” you shiver in the warm water as you start to tear up. You hacked up flowers and continued with a shaky voice. “I thought that having sex with you and telling you would make it go away. I thought that maybe, just maybe, I meant more to you than what I thought. I’m such a dumbass. You’ll never love me; you’ll never love anyone but yourself. Why can’t you just be a man and tell me I’m nothing to you compared to whatever the fuck you have with Toshinori? IT’S BEEN YEARSSSS,” you croak out as you sob, your heart hurting. “AND, YOU HAVEN’T CHANGED AT ALL. You’re still the Enji Todoroki that tried to kill me. I just tricked myself into thinking that you were a different person.”

“Y/N-

“Get out,” you turn to the shower wall, too heartbroken to stomach the sight of him.

“Y/N, just listen to-”

“GET OUT,” he goes silent as he looks back at you from the door frame. He wants to say something but, the thought of ruining his future keeps him silent. He leaves with a look of pity for you.

“I’ll leave money for the surgery on the table by your bed,” he calls before he leaves, the door slamming pushing you to your last limit.

And, he left you there to you die in your bathtub alone, body worn from the sex you had with the man that you knew you couldn’t have emotionally. Your flowers soaked up the water as they kept falling, your eyes glued on one of the bruises he left on your leg. It’s too painful to try to move, so you lie there as your quirk does nothing against the disease. Getting the surgery would have saved you but, your body and mind would still remember the pain of your first and last love.

Per your request, Toshinori has your body cremated after they perform the autopsy. The young hero, grieving the loss of his best friend, doesn’t contact Enji to inform him of your timely death. He’s pained that he’ll never see you smile or hear your jokes or call your name and hear you respond. You're gone and part of him feels like he’s the blame. He can’t help but think that things would have turned out differently if he told Enji that he never cared about being the number one hero.

As for Enji, he doesn’t look back as he goes on to have his family. He goes on to marry his wife that he’d always compare to you (her hair wasn’t vibrant as yours, her voice wasn’t as smooth as yours, her eyes don’t set him ablaze like yours did). He goes on to have his kids and he wonders what they would look like if they came from your womb. He goes on to be the number one Pro-hero yet, he doesn’t feel like he’s won anything. He goes on to have a decent relationship with Toshinori yet, he feels as though he’s missing something -someone-.

“Toshinori, do you have Y/N’s number?” he called Toshinori one day, tired of letting his pride get the best of him. He’d grovel at your feet, stay by your side, sleep at your doorstep till you find it to forgive him.

“Enji, she’s dead.”

And, he sits in his house alone. His family has left him, their bonds slowly resurrecting from the dead but still fragile. His career being the only thing he has left, slowly showed him how truly unprofilling his life has been. His love for you, eating away at his heart. Why did he have to be better than Toshinori? Why couldn’t he tell you how much he loved you? Why did he let the both of you waste the days of your youth?

He coughs a single Asagao flower, the process of his unrequited love beginning. Because, let’s face it, how can you return his love if you’re dead?

——————————————————————————-

Tag List💕💕

@orokayagi @sakurashortstack @sinclairsamess

[gryphsdeadbones]

so i got to thinking about when the gordons finally get peeled after rescas 2 and the related thought of how often they wear the HEVs and how nice a damn shower is gonna be, feetman IMMEDIATELY takes off the suit bc he only wears it if he HAS to cuz its not the most comfortable thing, freeman wears it more often than not bc he's cautious but takes as much time as he's comfortable out of it so he doesnt have to wear the metaphorical Weight of it (1/2)

but freemind strikes me as the kind of person to just like, never take off the suit because he's paranoid and basically what this is leading up to is Freemind Touch Starved Moments. feetman gives him a good ol dad smack on the shoulder and freemind's gotta fight off the urge to cry bc thats the most human contact he's had in a long time but like hell is he gonna admit that to anybody, even himself (2/2)

gordons with no hevs... peeled....

on god its like a safety thing as well ;; 

feetman at least has an easier time out of the hev bc his most recent memory after finishing black mesa is chuck e cheese party (yeah...)

despite all the fuckery in black mesa with the science team, he seems the most ‘well-adjusted’ to the era- okay not really. but instead of going into stasis after the tram he gets to (stressfully) party and is held at gunpoint to go to the movie theatre with gman and science team. he still has his hev on, but doesn’t really need it. if he got the chance to shower and change he’d definitely go for it

i like how feetman does use the mark 5 hev in the acab stream! i think the crew have kinda referenced science team with casual wear i dont remember

freeman would definitely have the hev on him at all times. the civvies he wore at the start of city 17 was somewhat comfortable but its useless if he gets shot at

nevermind the fact that none of them have helmets its okay the plot hev will protect them

he’d much rather wear the armor when there’s an active battle going on- i like to think when everything ends well and the resistance crew hang out in white forest he just chucks the armor away when he needs to sleep/rest. 

freeman likes to be comfortable ! he just cant afford it at the moment where everythings going to hell in a handbasket. he really is just a nerd in a hev suit, and given the chance he’d wear like.  a labcoat over his hev suit. just for fun

weird to think about but they all probably have very thin casual clothing (shirt/leggings/etc) under their hev suits. the hev underarmor/body suit goes over it and theres some sciencey stuff to it that makes it bearable 75% of the time

freemind would be... very conscious of being out of the suit for sure ! he also doesn’t like the bright orange ‘shoot me here!’ part of the suit so if the underarmor has just enough protection... he’d definitely wear it under his casual wear

but like hes very conflicted about it- on one hand there might still be trackers. on the other hand theres enough padding on the knees and elbows if he has to run/fight- some cover/armor is better than thin fabric layers

freemind also strikes me as the person who does not like people up in his space more than normal- youd have to be a very, very trusted person to get close, and his general asshole-ness and smug attitude helps keep the distance

but he’s both touch-averse and very touch-starved and it sends a number of mixed signals to his brain- he’d rather not deal with it so he avoids contact as much as possible.

before the resonance cascade he didn’t really care for it. he didnt care for contact with strangers in dates and whatnot and it’s like whatever (he does mind being tazed or maced though)

AFTER the resonance cascade those touch-averse feelings explode off the fucking charts and he’s unsure of how to deal with it. people get too close and he’ll freak out- 

he does sometimes freak out when the other freemen get close but he’s learned he can trust them and doesnt react as badly. its just frustrating for him to manage but theyre all very understanding about it- they all somewhat have the same issue to an extent. and theyre kind of linked in a way (like drift compatibility but not that direct??)

theyve all gotten past how weird it is sometimes because ‘you’re me but also not really?? but you’re also me??’ who give a shit... go hug urself.... self care....sometimes bully urself when its funny and not harmful

they are homies and also possibly dumb roommates to each other

if they all stay together and re-adjust to regular kind of society and not worry about combines and stuff, they can...deal with it. physically and mentally recover a little. relearn to love and trust when theres no fear of getting grievously injured and killed in violent settings

freemind is really hard to get close to and he doesn’t make it easy for himself and whoever’s trying to be genuinely friendly

he has no idea how to deal with affection. hes a very rude guy but he’ll probably cry and never admit that god, he fuckin needs this. human people need hugs to survive. thats facts. he’ll look away from that fact. he does not see it

freeman gives him a kind of mocking-yet-sincere pat on the head and mentally he bursts into tears. ‘what the fuck. fuck off. but also thanks i like this’

im rambling and probably being redundant in some parts but [VAGUE HAND GUESTURES @ FREEMIND ]

[welllpthisishappening]

falling feels like flying ['til the bone crush]

Someone should revoke her title. 

They’re trying, Emma supposes. Inevitable death probably means people can’t call her savior anymore, but they shouldn’t call her that now and that’s almost entirely because of what an absolute and complete liar she is. Telling Killian she would have done the same after he admitted he didn’t get rid of the shears isn’t her most massive lie, although it might be her most ridiculous. And they both know it’s not true. She wouldn’t do the same thing, she has. More than once. 

AN: That gif has nothing to do with the story! Here is approximately 3.5K where I once again force Emma and Killian to acknowledge their trauma. Not in the Underworld this time, though! So maybe we’re all evolving here. I blame this gif set, which I saw this morning and felt compelled to write something about. Maybe that evolution is also a lie, actually. 

———

“I lied.” Killian hums, exhaustion clinging to the sound, and Emma understands that. Less so why she’s talking right now, but neither one of those words seemed particularly interested in preserving the quiet calm of this particular moment, and she’s never been a lightweight quite like this. In more ways than one, she supposes. Hazy thoughts drift through her brain, muddled as it is by buttered rum and the steady flicker of flames in the fireplace because naturally this is the sort of house that has multiple fireplaces, and she burrows her face closer. 

To Killian’s chest. 

Takes a deep breath, not quite slow, but maybe a little greedy, and they ordered both things. Pizza and Chinese, half-finished egg rolls and beheaded slices of cheese with extra peppers strewn across the coffee table because Emma always likes that extra bit of crust and Killian’s nothing if not a frustratingly endearing sort of pushover. 

With her, especially. 

She closes her eyes. 

“I lied,” Emma repeats, “in the hospital, I mean. Wrong verb tense.” “You’re not making any sense at all, darling.”

Her nose must be cold — if the way Killian tenses as soon as it brushes his skin is any indication, but Emma knows it’s far more than that and far deeper than that and she might be the world’s biggest idiot. Looming death does that to a person, she supposes. 

Breathing isn’t particularly easy. And that’s not only because she ate four pizza slices worth of crust. Still, using death as an excuse again seems like an emotional crutch and an unreasonable reason, her muddled mind capable of clinging to every single letter in that particular endearment. It might be her favorite. 

She’s not sure she’s ever told him that. 

Stupid, really. 

“I told you that I get it; what you did today, and that part’s definitely true. But, uh, the rest of it. That I would have done the same thing? Total lie, right? I mean, I did it. That’s what happened.” Nothing. Just flickering flames and the quiet hum of a TV, neither one of them has been interested in actually watching all night. Emma doesn’t even know what channel they’re on. For all she knows, the remote’s in the kitchen. 

She counts inhales. Tries to keep her exhales measured, most of her face still pressed into the collar of Killian’s shirt as it is. And it takes about five full seconds before his hand moves, starts tracing a calm line up her spine, following that path until he reaches the base of her neck and the goosebumps that have already exploded on her skin and oxygen is overrated anyway. Holding her breath as soon as his fingers card through the ends of hair is basically instinct at this point. 

“Felt wrong to point that out at the time,” he mutters, “all things considered.” “Been kind of a long day.” “Reuniting with long-lost relatives will do that.” Scoffing is not the best reaction. Nothing about this is funny. Includes far too much death and dismay, and Emma’s gaze flickers up. Of its own accord and something much deeper, like the absolute refusal to accept a world where he does not exist. 

Goddamn Captain Hook. 

She loves him so much sometimes she thinks she’ll simply burst with the force of it all. 

It’s a gross thought, honestly. 

And they’ve already spent far too much time in the hospital today.

“Is he ok? Li—” Cutting herself off, Emma grits her teeth, but one side of Killian’s mouth is already tugging up, and the kiss that lands on her forehead is as soft as anything. Maybe bursting isn’t so bad, actually. So long as she can come up with another word for it. “God, that’s so weird.” Killian hums. “Indeed.” “Thoughts, feelings, et cetera?” “Vast. And none of them particularly pleasant.” “Seems fair. That sort of day, huh?” “Indeed.” They need more blankets. Need more things that are theirs in a collective sort of way, but that’s a dangerous and disingenuous train of thought, and Emma’s fingers twitch towards the fire. To ward off the sudden chill that’s settled between her shoulder blades, and it almost works, but it does absolutely nothing to help the sway of her stomach and the acid lingering in the back of her throat, threatening to burn far more than what these meager flames are able to do. 

“Should have finished high school,” Emma mumbles, “then I could choose more accurate verb tenses from my inevitably vast vocabulary. Did. Have done. Would do again, several thousand times over.”

“That’s the future tense.” None of his words come with any kind of pointed emotion, but Emma hears it all the same. Can see the tightness that lingers in the corners of his mouth and the way he’s holding his shoulders, straight as a line, and some joke about rigging that she no intention of making, and the furrow between his brows makes every muscle in her chest twist. Ache too, for good measure. 

With the promise of everything she wants to say and everything she hasn’t or can’t and—

Fuck magic, quite honestly. And the rules no one’s bothered to mention until now. Seems like poor planning on everybody’s part. 

“You heard me.” “I did,” Killian agrees lightly, and his hand has never actually stopped moving. It’s nice. Steady. Something Emma can almost nearly time her breathing too. “I would also choose that particular tense. If given the choice, that is.” “Do you not think you have that?” “I don’t particularly enjoy the thought. I’m rather partial to the option of whim, you see. Pirate and all that. We don’t much abide by schedules and fated decision.” “Seems like it’d be in the by-laws.” “Well, by-laws by their very nature are rather contradictory to the entire pirate notion, but you’ve got the gist of it at least.” Emma laughs. Doesn’t quite regret the sound, even as out of place as it is — just presses it into the edge of Killian’s shirt and the buttons he never bothers to do, trying to brandh the smell of him and the feel of him into every corner of her memory and she’s not really sure what happens after. Once the prophecy is fulfilled, and all that. 

She’s got too much unfinished business. 

To totally leave this particular plane of reality. 

She doesn’t mention that either. Not when the crux of that business is breathing steadily under her hand, and Emma can’t remember when she moved her hand, only that Killian’s warm under her touch, and he’s always so much warmer. Than just about anything else she’s aware of. 

“I thought you were dead.”

Of all the things Emma expects to happen in the midst of this night and this moment — and it’s really not a very long list, admittedly — that did not even make the cut. Wasn’t a consideration or a fledgling idea in the back of her mind, several different vertebrae almost audibly objecting when she jerks her head up. To find Killian staring straight ahead, lips not much more than a thin line across his face. 

Seriously, the rigging jokes almost write themselves. Which is more than Emma can say about her clearly piece of shit list, as metaphorical as it might be. 

“I don’t—” “—When I saw you,” Killian interrupts, and none of the words shake. Come out like a stream of consciousness and memories neither one of them have able to shake yet. Or talk about. Can’t possibly be healthy. “Chained to that stone, blood dripping into my mouth, and then all of a sudden, there you were. Worried I’d simply dreamt you up, couldn’t imagine how you looked quite that lovely in that hell hole, otherwise.” “Oh, that’s kind of insulting, actually.” “Hair like the bloody sun.” “Better,” Emma murmurs. Reaching up, her fingers tangle with the charms around his neck. Pieces of luck and trinkets she hasn’t learned all the stories to yet. The idea that she won’t makes her nauseous. “You told me ‘you shouldn’t be here.’” “Aye, and I meant it.” “Because you thought…” “Living people don’t often appear in such a God awful place, do they? Not without something tragic happening, and my mind was impressively efficient on that front.” “Which one is that?” “Every threat that’s ever lingered, every person I would have gladly run through if it meant you were safe. Half of goddamn Camelot.” Emma might snicker. Killian’s arm tightens, though. And that’s all she’s really worried about. “I think I could have taken Arthur. Y’know if it had come to that.” “Likely not a very good swordsman,” Killian nods, but that’s only so his lips can trace Emma’s temple and the top of her hair. More than once. Like he’s still making sure. “Pampered prince—” “—He was totally a king, babe. That’s like...the most basic Camelot knowledge.” “Ask me in five minutes if I care at all about anything to do with Camelot.” “Should I time it, or…” He scoffs. Presses another half dozen kisses to any spot he can reach, and he can actually reach a fair amount of places. Emma’s impressed. Swooning too, but also pretty impressed. “I kept thinking about you,” Killian says, softer than the last few words have been, and it sounds like an admission and another promise, and it’s weird that it can be both. At the same time. “This house. What it was and wasn’t. All those possible verb tenses.”

“I’m sorry.” “Ah, that’s not your fault, love. None of this is, really, but—well, it did make it so seeing you, realizing you were there...left all of those thoughts crashing down around my ears, so to speak. Falling apart, like an avalanche of what hadn’t been and what I still wanted so desperately. No matter what Hades did.” “Stupid stubborn.” “I believe there’s something about a pot and a kettle in this realm.” “Don’t have that cliche in the Enchanted Forest, huh?” “Not that I’m aware of, no.” “Maybe you just didn’t go to a good college.” “Tell me every Greek word you know,” Killian challenges, and Emma rolls her eyes. Ignores the first few flutters of a headache brewing at the base of her skull. “It didn’t seem fair.” “Which part?” “All of it is also rather vast, but mostly that if you were there, then it happened again.” Narrowing her eyes, Emma tries to piece together those letters and the syllables they make, only to be marginally annoyed when she can’t make sense of them. Killian kisses the bridge of her nose. 

She might have to go get Tylenol soon. 

“Losing you without fighting, without challenge the goddamn reaper myself, was worse than anything He could have done,” Killian continues, and he doesn’t have to be more specific. “Worse than whatever pain I’ve ever suffered. Cut off twenty more limbs; it wouldn’t even come close.” “Do you have that many?” “Your humor lacks a little something; you know that, Swan?” “It’s a defense mechanism.” He noses at her hair. Drags the soft hum of what could very well be either an agreement or the opposite, or maybe even the sort of deep-rooted understanding that’s allowed him to sneak his way into the center of everything, across her skin. The specifics don’t matter, only that Emma’s magic roars under her skin, an inferno, and a symphony, meeting the challenge that no one has really laid down yet. 

“Do that again,” Killian mutters, a low chuckle as Emma’s scratches at his side. 

“I’m not sure I can, honestly.” “Pity.” “Something like that, yeah. And you’re not totally right, you know?” “Ah, and that’s almost rude.” “I’m serious,” Emma says, “that’s—none of that was your fault either.” Tilting his head only ensures that several strands of hair he still hasn’t bothered to cut fall almost artfully across his forehead, and Emma is grateful to a variety of gods, Greek or otherwise, that Killian doesn’t mention how much her hand shakes. When she tries to brushes them away. His hook finds her wrist instead, cool metal against freezing cold skin, and the state of her tongue is going to be a problem. Large as it is in Emma’s mouth, making it all but impossible to properly swallow while Killian’s lips sweep the bend of her knuckles. 

“Charmer.” “Aye, that’s my endgame.” There’s not enough room between them for him to run his hand across his face like Emma knows he wants to, and part of that isn’t really a bad thing, but the rest just seems like another entirely unfair thing, and Emma knows the rest is coming. Makes tears burn her eyes all the same. “They were just...gone, you understand? No chance to do anything about it. One moment they were living and breathing. Then Liam was dead. Slumped in my arms in the corner of a cabin he was supposed to spend the rest of his career in. He—he would have been a very good captain.” “So are you,” Emma says, fierce and determined, and Killian kisses in the inside of her palm. She’s moved her hand again. To cup his cheek. 

“For a time, maybe. But then she was gone too, and I thought I could feel it, you know. The exact way her heart crumbled in his hand, tiny bits of dust that I never wanted to blow off the deck. Like some of her still managed to stay. Is that—” The muscles in his throat move, jaw clenching, and Emma has to blink. She hopes the moisture on her cheeks isn’t tears. She’s not sure what’s a better option, really. “Must sound daft.” “No. I—I get that too.” “Do you?” “Not the only one who’s watched Rumplestilskin hold the heart of someone you loved.”

He can’t be holding his breath. His chest is moving much too quickly, but the burst of air that all but flies out of Killian is enough to ruffle the ends of Emma’s hair and possibly even dry some of the tears she’s still refusing to acknowledge, and she can’t get closer to him. 

She makes an admirable effort all the same. 

Like occupying the same few inches of space will ensure that she stays there. 

“Did you—” Killian starts, looking almost pained as the words war for his voice on the tip of his tongue. “Did you like her?” That didn’t make the list, either. It’s entirely possible that Emma is just garbage at making lists. She nods. “Anyone who loves you as much as I do is fine with me. Better than, even.”

His expression shifts again. Light lingers in his gaze, cautious hope, and misplaced optimism, gears whirring in his head that Emma can’t almost convince herself she hears. Her verb tense was on purpose that time. 

That’s a confidence boost, all things considered.

“She was something fierce,” Killian says, sounding reminiscent and not as sad as Emma has worried he must be. “Once she got away from him. Could get a grown man to do her bidding with a single look, the kind of glare that’d set you on fire from the inside out. It was—they loved her too. Men on the ship, would have followed her to the ends of the Earth if she’d asked. Probably even if she hadn’t.” 

His next inhale becomes an exhale almost immediately.

“She never would have asked,” Killian adds, almost entirely to himself, but then his eyes are back on Emma, and they’re a little glossy and just as blue and she’s holding her breath now. “She liked you too, I know it.” “I think she thought I was crazy, actually. Gold didn’t really have much tact in the...introductions.” “Ah.” “Right?” “Right,” he echoes, a pale imitation of her voice that makes Emma’s cheeks ache. From smiling. Legitimately smiling. Huh. “But I suppose that’s part of it, though. She was there again, and I—” “—I’m sorry. For...for all of it.” “Still not your fault, love.”

“How did you know?” she asks, and her voice doesn’t sound much like her either. Wobbles and warbles and some other word that fits the alliteration. “About me. And not being…”

“Dead?” Killian’s eyebrows jump. “Strawberries.” “Excuse me?” “That soap you use in your hair. Smells like strawberries, or strawberry adjacent maybe. Manufactured just a bit. I think it’s my favorite smell in the world.” “Backhanded compliment.” “No, no,” Killian shakes his head. His hair moves again. “It’s not. It’s—well, it’s you, love. Smells like everything that you are and—”

“—I’m manufactured?” “If you let me finish,” he chides, and Emma all but yanks her lips behind her teeth, “It smells like home. Smells like falling asleep next to you and a distinct lack of blankets.” He nips at the tip of her nose. She scoffs again; that’s why. “And your distractingly cold feet, and leather jackets, and how the smell clings to the collars, no matter how long it’s been since you’ve worn them. Lingers on your pillow too, and the fronts of my shirt. You fall asleep against me quite often, you know that.” “Can sleep anywhere,” Emma reasons. “Might be my greatest talent.” “I don’t know about that.” “If I call you charmer again, will you hold it against me for lack of synonyms?” “Tell me how charming I am again.” Emma scrunches her nose. “Now it sounds like my dad.” “Let’s leave the prince out of this. He’s only a prince, aye?” “Far as I know, yeah.” “Good, good. Strawberries, love. Touching you helped too, though. If we’re being frank.” “Anything except blunt force honesty seems silly now, doesn’t it?” Killian nods. Slow and measured, like anything else will snap this tenuous peace, and maybe they can just sleep on the couch. Getting up is an impossible prospect right now. Maybe they can make out a little before they fall asleep. 

“It’s a very big house,” Emma whispers, and they should really figure out a schedule for conversations like this. Talking about it all at once is exhausting. 

“It is.” “You don’t want to expand upon that?” “Oh, I want a great number of things I shouldn’t,” Killian admits, “but as much as I appreciate this fresh round of honesty we’re engaging in, the false hope would—” “—There’s no such thing,” Emma interrupts. “False hope. It’s an oxymoron, ask my mother. And I think you should get some sort of crew again.” “How would you suggest I populate such a thing?” She shrugs. Nearly hits Killian in the chin in the process. “Untold stories. Dwarves.” “I will not have dwarves on my ship.” “See, I knew you’d have opinions. And there was a possessive pronoun in there that time.” “Was there not before?” “No,” she says. “Just called it the ship. Like it’s not the most important thing you have.” “Well, it’s not.” Emma’s cheeks warm. “That was very smooth.” “Someone did guarantee I was a very good captain earlier.” Space continues to be relatively minimal between them, but Killian’s nothing if not adaptable, and he works with what he’s got. Swinging Emma’s legs perpendicular over his, she’s nearly sitting on his lap, an arm slung over his shoulders, which makes it even easier to get her fingers into his hair and his head to rest against hers, and he takes another deep breath. “I know you understand, Emma,” he says, soft and serious, and she doesn’t bother doing anything except cling to him. With everything she’s got left. “All of it, from the very start. So I don’t think I’ll apologize, actually. For what I’ve done, or what I’d still be willing to do. I won’t give up on you, do you understand me?” “Didn’t,” Emma says, only a little optimistic that’s the right verb tense. Maybe she can get her GED, or something. Before all of this ends. “In Camelot, or after. Accept or acknowledge, and I probably would have—” 

Announcing that killing Gold for what he’d done to Killian regularly crossed her mind in the twenty-four hours or so before they finally made it to the Underworld doesn’t really have the right sentiment for this conversation. Far too violent, and just as honest. 

She’d consider killing him now, too. 

For everything he’s doing, and everything he hasn’t, and she should have shoved him in that river. 

Killian doesn’t smile. At least not in a way that reaches his eyes, the same ones that are looking at Emma again, all blue and earnest, and his shoulders shift. When her fingers graze his chin, more than stubble there because, she imagines, spending a day or so underwater with a sibling he only sort of wants and kind of knows doesn’t leave much time for facial-type grooming. 

It’s a good look, though. 

Most of them are, in Emma’s experience. 

“This entire time,” she continues, “you haven’t given up on me yet.” “Works both ways, darling.” “That one crosses realms, huh?” “Pick up things spending so much time with you.” There’s nothing extra in the words. No sap-filled sentiment or promises she’s only a little hopeful will become actions. And they haven’t talked about the rest; might not even have time, but Emma will let herself think about all these empty rooms anyway, of the exact shade Killian’s eyes go when he stands at the helm, and she hopes he doesn’t cut his hair. Not yet, at least. Longer strands make it easier to touch him, to leave a lasting mark, and settle into his center the same way he’s taken root in hers. 

They fall asleep on the couch. 

[daaziscoolbesties]

[REPOST] MY 2K WORD COMMENTARY/ANALYSIS OF RANBOO’S LORE STREAM

‼️‼️This post contains lore spoilers from Ranboo’s 4/23 stream, “The Enderwalk Saga. Chapter 1: The Lessons”. If you haven’t seen that stream don’t read ahead unless you want spoilers‼️‼️

disclaimer: this isnt really an analysis as much as a bunch of commentary and half-baked theories.

-on the way to the mansion he was sort of talking to himself saying stuff like "i'm good i'm good" which m a y be a normal thing but also maybe it's not and it flew over our heads cause he talks to chats and donos like that so often

-again, this one may just be a normal thing but when he was climbing up the stairs in the mansion looking for foolish, he repeats some of his words like down to the exact same tone of voice and everything. 12:42,  "this mansion is way too big actually. this mansion is way too big actually." (why the repeated actually? seems odd to me but again it might just be a normal thing that i haven't picked up on). (right after) "okay okay lemme find him lemme find him" again repeated words in the e x a c t same tone.

-does everyone know about ranboo's silk touch hands ability thing? or was that just a techno and ranboo main character moment. bc if it was, how would foolish know that ranboo could pick up the full cake after it'd been partially eaten. unless everyone on the sever knows about that in which case this means nothing. but if they d o n t know... how would foolish know? ranboo wrote about it in the do not read book so maybe if it's not a publicly known thing maybe foolish got his hands on the book and read it??

-14:53-ish, they're talking about the war room and how it was for tubbo or whatever and ranboo says, and i quote "he prepares for lore but he's never gonna do it." now funny thing is at first i couldn't tell if he said "war" like in reference to the war room or "lore". but after playing the clip over and over i can say with ALMOST 100% certainty that he said lore. there is a definite L sound at the beginning of the word. which either means a) this was a slip up (doubtful bc he said later that there were no mistakes), b) he broke the fourth wall because they were supposed to be rping at that point, or c) i'm completely wrong and he said "war" which leads down an entire other road of possibilities

-15:17 "are you a book reader?" "*checks inventory for do not read book* uh yeah i'd say i'm a book reader-" dunno how i didn't catch this the first time I HATE THAT DAMN BOOK

-15:18 there's blue in his hotbar. where did he get the blue.

-16:40 "it's like a metaphor- i have two minds: i have my normal self, my normal little shift-dancing self, and then the builder one. the builder one is demanding. it's a very demanding mind." ranboo then lets out a weird sigh after this. i feel like what foolish was talking about was an indirect(?) parallel to ranboo in and out of enderwalk, there's how he normally is, trying to do best for others, and then there's enderwalk, meeting up with bad guys and "demanding" things (its very late as i write this i really don't know what i'm talking about)

-17:11 "you have your panic closet" i'm sorry his what now 😀 no but seriously how the hell did i miss some of these

-18:04 "you're asking me if i remember?" very funny ranboo thank you for making jokes in these trying times

-18:25 WHY DID HE GET OUT THE AXE WHEN STARING AT THE BEE

-19:38 why did foolish hold the grass block- most of these observations probably mean nothing but- h u h - is that- i'm too tired for this

-19:54 "i never properly thanked you for the deal you made with me" so foolish got something out of this deal, we're not sure if ranboo did. "the green cardboard box" again do you mean dream's house- but seriously the only people i can think of on the server that are associated with green are dream and sam. and i have no idea what cardboard box could be referring to.  foolish got a lime colored shulker from drista

-20:30 "we're supposed to only talk about it at a certain location" hmm now where would that be? panic room maybe? cause like usually after doing a big thing in the enderwalk state ranboo wakes up in the panic room so maybe?  the deal was that they only talk about it in his house

-21:52 how does ranboo receive(?) the lessons? like are they whispered to him in his mind or is he seeing them as words in front of him like we see? hmm

-"Lesson 14: If you have the opportunity to gain a favor, take it." "gain a favor" don't you usually ask people for favors though? how does one "gain a favor"? anyways i'm pretty sure lesson 14 has to do with the deal foolish was talking about. (the deal explained because i now have info: at some point a bit ago foolish met up with ranboo and asked to make a deal, he'd gotten a shulker box from drista. the deal was that ranboo would have ownership of the box, it would be under his name but foolish rents/borrows it indefinitely. ranboo negotiated that if he took ownership of the box he would get a "war favor"  from foolish where if something happens that creates sides, ranboo can ask him a favor that could change his side. but why would foolish want ranboo to have ownership of the shulker you may ask? well i have an answer for you. a theory actually but still. basically since drista technically isn't supposed to give out shit on the server if someone where to have that stuff then they may get in trouble. foolish wants to be able to use the shulker but if it gets found he doesn't want to get in trouble, so he can blame it on ranboo seeing as it's under his name.)

-22:16-ish "i still have this from when you *can't understand whats said here*" well i guess that sort of explains why he had the grass block? idk man (info update: he had the grass block from when ranboo threw it at him telling him to calm down like what ghostbur does with blue)

-31:35 "i figured out how to cause it" how to cause the enderwalk state

-38:30 "ninety three lessons" I STILL DONT KNOW WHY HE KEPT SAYING NINETY THREE AND NOT NINETY FOUR AND ITS DRIVING ME CRAZY LMAO

-39:01 "it's all for the greater good" okay well when are you gonna start thinking about yourself and not everyone else for once huh. self care bitch.

-40:31 he started holding the axe when he was looking at sam- gonna say it i really don't like that axe ahahah- WAIT A DAMN MINUTE THE AXE IS NAMED "axe of ender" I DONT LIKE THAT I DONT LIKE THAT AT ALL

-41:53 is there something?? physically keeping him from telling sam??? or maybe it's sort of like his enderwalk state taking control to make him shut the fuck up??? so many questions and approximately zero answers

-43:18 ranboo raising his voice legitimately scares me 😀👍

-"Lesson 27: Do not reminisce on what you have lost for it will weigh you down." showed up when he was thinking about and REMINISCING about the community house 👀👀

-"Lesson 53: Never fully trust anyone." showed up literally after he said that he thinks he can trust the other people on the server enough to tell them about what he did

-"Lesson 67: Leave no evidence of what you have helped with." this is different from the others because there doesn't seem to be at least a semi-direct connection to it? unless maybe at the time ranboo was near something he may have "helped with"? not sure about this one

-"Lesson 94: DO NOT LET THEM KNOW WHAT YOU HAVE DONE" yeah yeah i get it i get it he's fucked up some shit in enderwalk i don't feel like analyzing this thanks

-OH OH NOTICE HOW HE SAYS "REMEMBERING" WHEN THE LESSONS SHOW UP. IMPLYING THAT THIS ISNT A NEW THING, ITS HAPPENED BEFORE AND NOW HES REMEMBERING IT. MAYBE HE WROTE DOWN THE LESSONS WHEN HE WAS IN ENDERWALK AND NOW THAT HES BEEN EXPERIMENTING ITS BEEN EASIER FOR HIM TO REMEMBER THOSE ENDERWALK MEMORIES

-okokok the experiments are that he's been e x p e r i m e n t i n g on how to purposefully induce the enderwalk state. and we know now that it wasn't from the pain of the water because on the stream afterwords he said that it's caused by the intense fear of something happening. and so the "side effects" of the experiments is that since he's in enderwalk more often(?) he starts remembering more things from it

-OH MY GOD WAIT "there is a reason sam, there's so many reasons, theres ninety three of them" (44:47) WHAT IF EVERY LESSON IS TIED TO A QUOTE UNQUOTE "reason" THAT RANBOO THINKS HES A BAD PERSON/NEEDS TO BE LOCKED UP BUT HE SAYS NINETY THREE INSTEAD OF NINETY FOUR BECAUSE THE NINETY FOURTH LESSON DOESNT HAVE A REASON YET/HE DOESNT REMEMBER IT HAVING A REASON

-dude honestly the whole sam part hurts so much this man is scarily good at acting

-46:46 "i cant put you in the prison you wouldn't be able to see michael anymore" bestie that's the point he doesn't want to accidentally hurt michael or tubbo in the enderwalk state—

-okay but there's no way that sam couldn't tell that ranboo was at least TRYING to confess to something- i feel like he definitely knows more than he's letting on because usually like when people do bad shit or admit to doing bad shit he's like in Prison Guard Mode™️ (he literally cut off ponk's arm because he stole some keycards or something) and whatever and idk what he knows but he definitely knows something and is trying to protect ranboo. or he's trying to manipulate him or smth either one works—

-50:38 "you are a good person" "i am?" you can hear my heart shatter. "yes you are" "i don't think so sam" "i do, even if you don't" "i really don't think so" and there it goes again

-51:25 hello badboyhalo i see you to the left of ranboo

-52:44 "but then my curiosity got the best of me" curiosity killed the cat, bitch

-52:54 "there's ninety three, ninety four, ninety- theres so many reasons!" SEE!! NOT ONLY ARE THERE THAT MANY LESSONS THERE ARE REASONS THAT CORRESPOND IM S O SMART—

-52:56 "i don't want to remember anymore!" *quietly brings forth my theory that when ranboo loses a canon life his memory gets wiped*

-53:13 "ive opened pandora's box" isn't the prison?? literally called pandora's VAULT??? so this m a y be a stretch but i'm thinking that maybe this could be taken in the literal sense that he "opened" the prison and let dream out (the sirens at the end of quackity's stream confirm that dream is indeed out)

-53:42 mans just straight up walked through a ghost i—

-55:37 so are we just gonna ignore the eleventh page of the book? "he's alive, but hopefully soon dream won't be"??? alright nevermind it's most likely bc when tommy came back he recruited ranboo in his plan to kill dream

-55:47 notice how he writes "what am i?" as opposed to "who am i?" no elaboration here idk what it could be

-56:08 just so it's clear for anyone who doesn't know- he's wearing armor at this point, and i'm like 90% sure that when he wears his armor water can't hurt him. and i saw someone say somewhere that like with splash potions when thrown it turns into a gas-like thing? so again, it didn't hurt him, he didn't get hurt. he said in the chill stream that he wasn't comfortable making it where his character had to hurt himself to do that. the thing that causes the enderwalk isn't pain, it's intense and sudden emotions like fear and stress. thank you for coming to my tedtalk.

[nebraska-is-a-myth]

Mourn the living, raise the dead - Part 8

Sorry for such a long wait for this chapter, please don't kill me

Masterlist

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Tommy has had to do a lot of mourning in his short time on earth. For years he mourned the loss of a mother he never met, and the normal life he never had. After that he mourned the loss of friends and family when his father took him halfway across the world to live in some shitty American apartment, which eventually led to the mourning of his dad. Killed in a car accident and leaving Tommy orphaned at the age of 11. He mourned every single failed foster placement until he eventually found solace in the shadow of Technoblades power and willingness to let scrawny little 15 year old Tommy into his life. But good things don't like Tommy. They let him think that maybe this time it will be better, and then everything crumbles before him and he's back to square one. Alone. Another piece of his heart breaking from the hurt. So when he was forced to mourn Technoblade, Tommy had given up any hope that happiness would find him again. Even when Dream took him in and proved to him time and time and again that he wouldn't leave him, Tommy never really let himself be happy in fear of losing everything all over again. But something inside him changed when he met Tubbo. Tubbo was sweet and kind and chose Tommy over everyone else and he never could quite comprehend why someone like Tubbo would choose someone like him. Countless times Tommy had kept on trying to distance himself from the other boy, but every time Tommy was in a bad mood or tried to push him away, Tubbo always seemed to find him with a hug and a smile (and all the proper tools to cause some chaos, weather that be hotwiring a car or setting an abandoned house on fire, where there was a Tubbo, there was a crime) Tubbo forced himself into Tommy's life and chained himself to Tommy. Physically and metaphorically. So over time, Tommy learnt that maybe letting people in wasn't so bad after all. Wilbur, Fundy and Eret came into his life all at once and one by one they all became his family. Something Tommy never thought he would have in this life. He felt loved for the first time since he moved out of his home town, and maybe he would be okay with everything that had happened in his life if it meant it would lead him to this point. 

Mourning Eret seemed different. 

Tommy felt empty and hollow, like a piece of him had drowned with his friend. Parts of what happened are still blurry to him, but he remembers the pain he felt when he realized Eret would never hold him again. He wouldn't be able to tell him to shut up when he told nonsense stories or chase him around town after stealing something when they were supposed to be out grocery shopping. He wouldn't be able to comfort Tommy after a nightmare or play silly games with him in Wilbur's living room. All he could feel was the pain in his chest and the rasp in his throat after crying into the night. Funnily enough, all his physical injuries were gone. His leg had healed past the need for his crutches almost as if there was never any damage there at all. (“Are you sure you're not in any pain Tommy.” “Yes Will I'm bloody sure now stop poking me”) Mourning Eret felt like a punch to the guy or a black eye, he almost wishes someone would punch him just so he could feel something other than the overwhelming sadness that's taken over him.

Wilbur became his rock in the hours after it happened. First Tommy was mad at the older man after dragging him out of the water, but then Tommy just cried into Wilbur's shoulder and he hasn't really left his side since. He doesn't know whether it's because he doesn't want to be alone, or if he’s afraid that he’s going to lose Wilbur too.

They don't get much time to process everything before everyone is thrown back into the reality that they are still going to war in less than a day. (Tommy barely has time to search the smoldering rubble of Wilbur's office for Erets spare glasses before they’re all called back into training and preparations. The glasses are scratched and a little damaged but Tommy just slips a chain around his neck and wears them proudly around his chest) There isn't time for a proper funeral, not yet. Tommy doesn't really like the idea of having to bury an empty coffin either, so for now the remaining four pay their respects by setting Erets car ablaze. Fundy came up with the idea, sort of reminiscent of a Viking funeral. None of them could bear to sit in it any longer without bursting into tears, so after making the final preparation for their confrontation with dream smp the following day, they all ride out to the beach and park the car on the cool sand. Nobody's left in the city to stop them. Once the sun has set and the stars have come out, Wilbur lights the match and the car goes up in flames before them, along with memories of one of their closest friends. 

They all lie in the sand together for a while, looking up at the night sky and reminiscing about the good times when everything was so much simpler. When Eret was alive. 

“Do you remember Fundys birthday, when we all went bowling and Tommy almost got us arrested?”

“I did not almost get us arrested Tubbo.”

Tommy has his resting against Wilbur's midsection as the older man strokes his fingers through the blonds hair, he feels Wilbur chuckle and he thinks he can almost hear him smile.

“You absolutely almost got us arrested, we practically had to sprint out of that bowling alley.”

“Okay so maybe I shouldn't have thrown myself down one of the lanes, but I needed that strike and Fundy was cheating!”

“I was not cheating, if anyone was cheating it was Eret!”

They don't mean for it to go silent, but the wind steals their conversation every time their friend's name is mentioned. But this time, Tubbo doesn't let it get carried away into the night.

“Do you think he’s up there, looking down on us?”

Wilbur doesn't know how to answer, he continues to stroke his hand through tommy's hair and thinks for a moment. He never really believed in heaven or hell, or the afterlife, just a big vast void of nothingness. But as he stares up at one of the brightest stars in the sky, he sees the way it sparkles at him, almost as if it's looking down onto his little family of four, protecting them from what's to come. In that moment, every thought about the afterlife leaves him, and all he can focus on, is the way the star looks at him.

“I think, in some way, yeah, he is. He’s also probably shouting at us for destroying his car.”

He hears the other three chuckle and he smiles up at the star.

Wilbur was never any good at science when he was a kid, but he knows that stars don't just disappear. He knows that stars can fizzle out, and they can burn for over hundreds of years, but they're always there. He finds comfort in knowing that if he ever misses his friend, he can just look up at the stars and everything will be alright.

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The next day the remainder of L’manburg stands tall against the leaders of the dream smp on the outskirts of the city. Sapnap is standing with a gun already in his hands to greet them and Tommy can hear Tubbo swallow his fear. Tommy can feel Dreams eyes on him the second he comes into eyeshot, but Tommy's face remains impartial to the older man. George sniggers when he sees Tommy wearing the ugliest looking sunglasses and almost makes a joke about the boy stealing his brand, but Dream beats him to it.

“Gentlemen, have you made your choice.”

Dream hopes with all his heart that they choose defeat. He doesn't want to fight l’manburg for power or land or money, he wants to run away with his tail between his legs if it means he doesn't have to raise his gun at any of them. But George and sapnap are twisting his arm behind his back, if he doesn't do this then he’ll be kicked from the top spot in the food chain. And even though he doesn't care for social hierarchy, if George or sapnap were in charge, chaos and death would flood through the city. He doesn't want to fight Tommy, or Wilbur, or anyone for that matter, but if it means sapnap or George wont gun them down without a second though, he will pretend that fighting them is what he wants.

“You have taken everything from us dream, even when we thought we had nothing left you took our oxygen and you left us to suffocate. If it means laying down our lives today for independence, then so be it. But that blood will be on your hands.”

Dream wants to stop this, to stop everything now before it's too late. But he sees the fire burning in sapnaps eyes and his throat goes dry.

“How does it feel by the way, does Erets death feel good on your conscious Dream.”

George lets out a high pitch laugh and even sapnap seems to crack a smile.

“Its not fucking funny you-”

“Not now Tommy.”

Wilbur silences Tommy and turns back to the masked man.

“Independence, or death. You chose dream.”

Sapnap steps forwards and points his gun at fundys face.

“Well if you insist.”

Dream raises his hand and sapnap lowers his weapon, disappointment clearly hung across his face.

“Before all that nonsense, do you mind if we call in one more person, wouldn't want it to be an unfair fight now would we.”

As George finishes speaking a red sports car comes revving into view from behind the dream team, Wilbur wants to vomit at how George looks excited by it all. When the car stops just behind the trio, the team watches the driver's side open and sees Punz step out of the car. Wilbur finds it strange how he doesn't seem to be carrying any weapon, and he clearly lacks the same body armor as the rest of his team.

That is until the passenger door opens.

And Eret steps out of the car.

[figonas]

Twilight Re-watch Notes Pt. 1 - A Contest for the Worst Movie Quote in History

I'd like to think I'm funny so please enjoy my scene-by-scene notes from a recent Twilight Saga re-watch.

Hey Catherine Hardwicke, opening with the death of an animal was probably not the best choice but go off I guess??

There is a lot of general Bella awkwardness that I'm skipping over here but the scene in gym class is so horrifically, painfully uncomfortable that I almost passed out from the second-hand embarrassment.

Jessica trying her best to be fake nice to the human embodiment of a crumpled soda can: "Aren't people from Arizona like....really tan"

Bella with all the cadence of a child who just found out Santa isn't real: "yeah..I guess that's why they kicked me out"

Mike clearly just trying to get his dick wet: "HAHAH you are funny"

no mike she is not.

I'm not gonna go into the biology class scene because god knows tumblr has beaten that particular horse to death. BUT the scene in the administration office immediately after that is a TRIP. Edward has one of his most dramatic lines here when they won't let him switch classes: “I’ll just have to endure it” ?!?!?!?!?!?! This is INSANITY, he sounds like he's going to burst into tears like Edward please chill you aren't even being a little subtle.

I will never get over Bella trying to put Ketchup on her burger and then just???? giving up???? when it doesn't come out after she limply shakes it approximately once.

“HOW YOU LIKIN DA RAIN GIRL” Is our first contender for the worst and most unnatural line in movie history, and trust me there are plenty more.

Bella accusatorily saying “you were gone” to Edward as if this dude who she met for approximately 30 minutes 2 weeks ago owes her even a PALTRTY SCRAP of an explanation about anything???????

Actually, this whole scene is a horrific nightmare of awkward intrusive conversation:

“You’re asking me about the weather” HOE WHAT ELSE ARE YOU GONNA TALK ABOUT YOU DON’T KNOW EACH OTHER

“hey did you get contacts” WHO JUST ASKS THAT?!?

and of course; “it’s the fluorescents” [RUNS AWAY]

Charlie and Bella have the only organic-sounding dialogue in the entire movie. Any awkwardness they have is BELIEVABLE father-daughter awkwardness and not like "I'm being forced to film this against my will" awkwardness like every other exchange in this film series.

Bella asks Edward ALL OF ONCE about him saving her from the truck and Edward gets so haughty and smug thinking that Bella won't figure it out

“you’re not gonna let this go are you?” “no” “then I hope you enjoy disappointment” [storms off] MY DUDE LITERALLY 2 SCENES LATER SHE FIGURES IT OUT IN 3 GOOGLE CLICKS

“I had an adrenaline rush, it’s very common you can google it” contender number two for the terrible dialogue award.

Edward saying “if you were smart you would stay away from me” AFTER HE APPROACHED HER LIKE FUCK OFF [skeleton throwing its own skull gif]

Kstew got a lot of flack for her performance in this movie but when she has a good partner to exchange lines with she SHINES. The scene with Angela and her at the beach where she tells her to ask Eric to prom is GOOD. EVERY scene with Charlie in THIS ENTIRE FRANCHISE is GOOD. It is nothing but pure misogyny that Rpatz didn’t catch any flack for his truly, horrifically awkward performance

I cannot believe Stephanie thought it would be a good idea to have Edward save Bella from potentially getting gang r*ped like I get it girl is about the drama but still this is just a TOOOUCH too far

“your hand is so cold,” WHO SAYS THIS TO SOMEONE THEY BARELY KNOW COMPLETELY UNPROMPTED???

SHE TRIES TO REFUSE CARRYING BEAR MACE WHEN SHE WAS ALMOST R*PED NOT 4 HOURS PREVIOUSLY LIKE SIS CARRY A KNIFE?!?!?!?!?

The “you’re impossibly fast & strong” monologue is so bad I want to barf

“I’ve killed people before” “doesn’t matter” BITCH YES IT DOES WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU

“MY OWN PERSONAL BRAND OF HEROIN” IS SO BAD. Like we all recognize how bad this is right? Especially when one considered the target demographic for these films, i.e. teenage girls, have NO FUCKING FRAME OF REFERENCE FOR THIS WHAT.SO.EVER.

“And so the lion fell in love with the lamb” YOU’VE KNOWN EACH OTHER FOR ALL OF 3 SECONDS I CAN’T WITH Y'ALL. AT LEAST THE BOOK HAD SOME BUILD-UP JESUS GEEZUS

Who thought this meadow scene was a good idea, they need to be sent straight to hell. WHY ARE THEY LAYING DOWN LIKE, SIT MAYBE?????? IT’S SO WEIRD AND UNNATURAL THEY LOOK LIKE DOLLS I HATE IT

The scene where they get out of the car and Edward puts his arm around Bella while Spotlight by Mutemath plays in the background is TOP TIER teen drama bs and I love it. Far and away the best shot in the movie apart from The Baseball Scene(TM).

I will never get over the fact that Edward's bitch ass rats Bella out for already eating when she comes over to meet his family. BE FUCKING COOL EDWARD FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE, GOD!!!

Esme is too pure for this world I can’t deal with her, & Emmet waving the knife is my favorite thing in all 5 of these movies

Why tf are Alice and Jasper fucking off doing god knows what in a tree and not helping with dinner like everyone else? Y'all ain't special even Rosalie is helping

Esme talking to Rosalie “Clean this up..now” I LOVE YOU BE MY MOM

Earlier they talk about the fact that vampires don’t sleep BUT the first thing Bella says when she walks into Edward's room is “no bed” girl we know what you after you ain't slick.....

WHAT IS THIS DANCING SCENE IN HIS BEDROOM IT’S HORRIBLE TO WATCH and I want to find whoever thought “well I could always make you” was a good line for Edward to say and slap them directly in the mouth.

“hold on tight spider monkey” excuse me while I VOMIT

Mike offering his opinion on Bella dating Edward HOWEVER justified is automatically invalidated by A. his own romantic interest in Bella and B. the fact that he has also know Bella for all of 10 minutes & has no bearing on her personal life whatsoever

THE PAST COUPLE OF MONTHS THIS MAN HAS BEEN COMING INTO HER ROOM AND WATCHING HER SLEEP THIS IS RED FLAG CITY LIKE BELLA WATCH A TRUE CRIME DOCUMENTARY OR READ THE NEWS FOR FUCKS SAKE

THIS FRANCHISE HAS THE MOST HORRIBLE KISSING SCENES IN MOVIE HISTORY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU CAN HEAR LITERALLY EVERY BREATH, EVERY AWKWARD PRESS OF LIPS. You're telling me THIS was the best take of this???? CAN YOU IMAGINE HOW AWKWARD THIS WAS TO FILM

The whole scene when Bella is telling her dad about her date with Edward is absolutely god tier. Charlie snapping the barrel of the shotgun closed, him motioning that he has a halo on, asking her if she still has her pepper spray. BILLY BURKE LIFTED THIS MOVIE UP AND TRIED SO HARD TO CARRY IT ON HIS BROAD, MUSTACHIOED DAD SHOULDERS, WE STAN

WHERE TO START WITH THE BASEBALL SCENE:

Supermassive Black Hole in the background, Alice going AWF with her pitching, Rosalie getting all pissed when Bella says she's out and Emmett yells "c'mon babe it's just a game" like the puppy dog of a person (vampire?) he is, CARLISLE WEARING A SCARF WHILE PLAYING BASEBALL, I WILL NEVER EMOTIONALLY RECOVER FROM JASPERS BAT TRICKS, EMMET AND EDWARDS LAUGH AFTER CRASHING INTO ONE ANOTHER.

A TRULY IMMACULATE MOVIE SCENE. This scene isn’t long enough

“My monkey man” might be the worst line in this movie, I’m so torn between which one is the worst. Also, I'm just now realizing that this is the second time someone has compared a loved one to some type of monkey and I really don't like it.

Bella's defeated “I can’t hurt him” breaks my heart every time. AND FUCKING BILLY BURKE pulling out his acting chops with Charlie’s poor little broken sounding “I know I’m not that much fun to be around we can do more stuff together” & “I just gotcha back” LIKE LITERALLY EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS SCENE HURTS ME ON A PHYSICAL LEVEL AND I AM ENTITLED TO FINANCIAL COMPENSATION

I know I've skipped over a lot but it's just a lot of like star wipe level montage of nonsense, so we are mOVING ON to what is possibly the biggest plot hole I've never recognized before now: How in the hell was James planning on luring Bella out if he didn’t find that videotape of Bella's mom looking for her????? Or was he just going to bust up in the holiday inn, metaphorical guns blazing & toss Bella out a window???

This fight scene between James & Edward is VERY poorly choreographed and you can practically see the stunt wires pulling on their clothes but no one is surprised..this is Twilight after all.

Who the fuck starts the fire in the ballet studio if Carlisle & Edward are with Bella, Jasper and Emmet are holding James's arms and Alice is ripping his head off???? Esme and Rosalie aren't there so the only explanation is that Emmett's power Stephanie never told us about is his ability to start small, controlled, indoor bonfires with his mind.

If Bella was losing blood from her femoral artery it is HIGHLY UNLIKELY that she would have been cognizant enough to tell them her hand was burning + THERE’S A BIG ASS BITE HOW DID THEY MISS IT???

Let Me Sign is such a good fucking song. Actually, while we're on music every song on every Twilight Saga soundtrack SLAPS. At least 1 department at Summit Entertainment was staffed with competent people. (side note, why the fuck do I know the studio by name that made this movie. I need to go lie down)

Bella acting a damn fool in the hospital bed like clingy much

CHARLIE IS SUCH A GOOD DAD FUCK!

The Edward/Jacob beef is so dramatic at prom can you both chill for 5 minutes we haven't even gotten to y'alls bullshit yet that's not until New Moon.

Bella really thought this mfer was gonna turn her at prom in the middle of the dancefloor??????????

Flightless Bird American Mouth. That's it, that's the bullet point

Victoria coming to prom, like we stan a dramatic bitch.

I will almost CERTAINLY post my New Moon (Extended Edition) notes in a few days. & yes I do have notes on the entire franchise.

[bulletproofscales]

the realest of selves

this is the namkook fic i told yall i was working on, the birthday friend already recived it so i thougth id post it! its not feederism and its very fluffy. hope you enjoy!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28723872/chapters/70426767

9/9 chapters 6.4 words

tags: established relationship, misunderstandings, fluff, happy ending

the one where jungkook falls in love again through namjoon’s poems, without knowing its him

Moma Muji.

That's the brand of the notebook Jungkook has in his hands… or, hand actually. It's rather small.

Must be passport sized.

He doesn’t own one of these.

He fumbles with it curiously. No, Jungkook doesn’t pick random objects he finds laying around; his mother raised him right.

But this wasn’t just any random object, this notebook had been left abandoned at Jungkook’s favorite desk in the college library. Specifically perfect because nobody used it: desk free of bumps from the scribbles or from people who wrote with too much force, minimal amount of gum stuck beneath it (He aspired for zero, but his dreams had been crushed pretty early on to his college life). The positioning was perfect too, far enough that the library’s wifi didn’t reach it, which was practically useless with the amount of work covered students plaguing the place constantly; but if he needed too, he could connect to the wifi from the classrooms nearby (And Jungkook went to the library at night time so… no classes happening at all)

It's the perfect desk and if something was left forgotten here, then it means it isn’t his anymore.

Which means he has the right to investigate.

The ragged, leather like texture feels expensive against his fingers. If he had to name the color, it would be a slightly darker version of a persian green; it's pretty. Jungkook can’t imagine someone using this for any academic purposes, given the size. He keeps playing around with it in his hands, hesitant.

It is one thing to pick up a stranger’s notebook on the desk, but to open it? It's a completely different violation of privacy. And he said it before: his mother raised him right.

Muji is an artsy brand right? These types of stationary notebooks probably have an information slot where he can find information; a name at least. Something to make hipsters who buy Muji, feel like their notebook is more special and personalized.

If he wants to find the owner he has to open it, doesn’t he?

No. Jungkook could simply deliver it to the librarian and let the owner look for it themselves.

Curiosity is killing him, though. To the point he was already opening the notebook even before he finished that thought. Eyes wide and fingers eager as he leans forward to find what he is looking for.

This notebook belongs to:

the Real Me

Oh.

Oh fuck.

This person is more hipster than Jungkook had even prepared himself to.

That tells him… absolutely nothing.

Hope you’re happy, Jungkook thinks to himself, directing it to the random hipster stranger.

As spiteful as he is of this infuriating halt that was brought to his detective adventure, he has to admit, the vulnerability of the stranger’s answer did absolutely nothing to calm his curiosity.

There's a few moments of quiet, just Jungkook and the first page staring at one another, as if daring him to look further, to sink deeper into the real authentic version of someone he has never even met.

I promise I won’t judge. He thinks apologetically as he flips the page.

In the blood you shed in the winter i was born red

Plum blossom in the snow:

Camellia,

Daffodil

Yeah, yeah, you can call me whatever you want

Listen up, winter you’ve bloomed me

Now I’m going to burn my branches blue

06/01/20

He gasps, as if Jeongguk had been holding his breath the entire time while reading it.

Moma Muji, passport size.

He looked it up when he got back to his dorm. It is in fact passport sized, the same exact measurements as a passport: 4.92 x 3.36 inches. How funny is that?

Jungkook had intended to continue reading in the library. But after...that, a feeling took over him that he was opening in a place far too public for the realest self of the (apparently) poet.

A poet…

There's a dreamy sigh that leaves his lips.

Anyways! The point is he took the notebook to his dorm and is now preparing himself to read more of it; from the safety of the locked door.

I’m real good, but a little uncomfortable

I’m still not sure if I’m a dog or a pig or what else

But then other people put a pearl necklace on me

So much blabbering

One says ‘run’ another says ‘stop’

This one says `look at the forest`

That one says ‘look at the wildflower’

My shadow, I wrote and called it ‘hesitation’

So they really are a poet.  

In the back of Jungkook’s head he had expected for that first one to just be a silly quote this person added to the beginning of their notebook; maybe from a song from a band that they brag about listening to before it was popular.

But it's not…. this person is a poet…

This person is a romantic . The thought comes with a warmth that spreads across his cheeks.

It's obvious, these are romance poems. The first one, speaking about falling in love in the winter, about how delicate the poet’s significant other makes them feel; as delicate as these winter blooming flowers, comparing himself to a plant that burns under their love even during the winter. Love is getting them through the cold.

The second poem, however, is a lot less optimistic. Clearly the poet is battling their own feelings of inadequacy with the flattering words of their partner. They think of themself as a pig or a dog while they’re being treated with love. Different directions and orders are being directed to the poet are the contradicting opinions of themself: the ones they hear of their own and the ones from their partner.

So they’re probably in a relationship , he thinks with a little apprehension.

Not that it matters to Jungkook what this literal stranger is doing with their romantic life. He has to remind himself that, given that just the two poems had been able to give Jungkook a sensation of… odd familiarity; as if he knows this person already. It seemed as if with those poems he had gotten a glimpse of the poet’s two sides.

Obviously, the poems already showed two sides regarding the theme of love: safety and doubt. But aside from that, Jungkook couldn’t help but notice the difference in the way of expressing these sides: while the first poem was melodic and metaphorical, the second one held a language that sounded just a lot more accessible and down to earth.

This person must have thought about this relationship a lot.

It doesn’t matter, and it most certainly doesn’t affect him; so Jungkook shuts the notebook closed. He’ll just go about his day.

Moma Muji, passport size, 4.92 x 3.36 inches.

Why does Jungkook remember the exact size?

Hell, why is he thinking about that notebook at all?!

Jungkook had rushed out, stumbling into his running shoes and beanie. Joonie had invited him to go out for a run even though they’re well into winter. And Jungkook… he is smitten enough to say yes.

But, nobody can blame him. He always has so much fun when he is with Namjoon… Or well, he tends to have fun, when his mind isn’t keeping him distracted with useless things!

Useless things like the way Namjoon’s route goes by a huge Camellia bush.

Yeah yeah call me whatever you want

Would Joon like it if he called him Camellia? Would his branches burn blue with love?

“Jungkook-ah, you’ll trip if you keep running that deep into your head, baby.” His endeared tone calls him out of the deep trance. His voice is a little breathless from running, he does so effortlessly while talking after years of taking this same route. The youngest has to shake his head a little bit, for a moment, Namjoon’s voice still sounded a little bit far away.

“You look like you saw a ghost, whats up?” For some reason, his boyfriend’s obliviousness only leads Jungkook to one conclusion: Namjoon hasn’t noticed the Camellia bush.

Of course he hasn’t, why would he?

Jungkook… Can’t ignore the sour disappointment in his tongue.

…

Odd.

They’ve stopped running now.

You still have to answer something, Jungkook.

“Oh.. I was just-..” He cuts himself off. Doing what? Judging Namjoon for not meeting the standards of a random poet?

“Those flowers are pretty.”  Jungkook finds his voice a little softer, gesturing to the bush a little bit behind him; still at arms reach. He can’t help but sound shy, the answer he came with on the spot was… rather silly.

But, at least it was true , he thinks as his eyes linger over the gorgeous splashes of pink.

Namjoon’s expression is startled for a second, before melting into tooth rotting fondness. “You like Camellias?” Jungkook can feel the older’s eyes on him, tender and loving; before his hand is reaching tenderly for the bush.

He can’t lie, Jungkook is a little hypnotized by the way Namjoon’s knuckles look caressing the flower carefully. “So, do you?” The young hadn’t realized he had forgotten to breathe at the sight, Namjoon’s voice grounding him yet again from his wandering thoughts.

His nod comes hurriedly, thank god Namjoon is used to his spacing out; his chuckles help Jungkook’s shoulders sag down relaxed. He hadn’t even realized he had tensed them in the first place. “They only bloom in the winter… Feels special.” A shy smile grows on his face as he eyes up at Namjoon; he is already staring at the younger with a soft look.

“Who would have guessed you knew about flowers.” There's something gently amused about his tone, playful and flirty. It still makes Jungkook feel exposed.

He doesn’t know about flowers. He just looked up the flowers on his way from the library. But of course Namjoon would pick up on it, his boyfriend has been into botany since before they even started dating.  

Meanwhile Jungkook… has no excuse. He tries to hide it in his face. “Only after spending so much time with you! ”He exclaims softly, nudging his shoulder against his boyfriend’s. Jungkook hadn’t realized they were so close, his hand goes to meet Namjoon’s where it's cradling the flower. “Do you have one of these?”  His voice comes out quietly, too caught up admiring the sight of their big hands holding the almost hyperbolically delicate flower.

Do you imagine the poet cares for Camellias and Daffodils?

Namjoon chuckles softly, for some reason, it feels like he is reading Jungkook’s thoughts. “No, they’re a little too hard to maintain just for a pretty flower that comes once a year.”

Oh… He can’t help his disheartened reaction.

“Hey, don’t look so disappointed.” Jungkook’s eyes snap from where they were stranded on the flower, Namjoon’s hand isn’t there anymore; but he can distinctively feel a hand gingerly tucking a strand of hair into Jungkook’s beanie. Handling the younger in a similar fashion than he did the flower. “We can come take care of this one every once in a while; I’m sure I got some ericaceous fertilizer saved up.”  His eyes meet Namjoon, smiling tenderly.

Jungkook can feel his chest tighten in affection. A grin spreads across his face. “This is just an excuse for you to take me in more runs with you, isn’t it?” He can barely hold his accusing laugh, launching forward to press his fists to Namjoon’s chest; it earns a roll of his eyes, but Jungkook can the tremble of a laugh under his hands.

“Can’t even start a nice project with your boyfriend anymore. Romance is so dead.” His attempts for sound annoyed are laughable. And the answer only makes it more obvious what Namjoon’s intentions truly were.

Romance can’t be dead, though. Not as long as that Moma Muji, passport sized, 4.92 x 3.36 inch notebook is sitting in his dorm.

He feels guilt as he side eyes the notebook laying on his bedside table. Especially with the feeling of Namjoon’s plush lips lingering on his cheek from when he just dropped Jungkook by his room.

Especially when that persian green cover is a mocking reminder of the Camellia bush they encountered; reminding Jungkook that the flower mentioned in the poem has no relation to Jungkook’s life outside from the confines of that green leather cover.

Reminding Jungkook of how… oddly disappointed he is by that fact.

He plops heavily on his bed, arm reaching for his bedside table. When he grips the notebook and opens it, he does it spitefully.

I wanted to have the sea so I swallowed it up

But I’m even thirstier than before

Is what I know really an ocean?

Or a blue dessert?

Maybe it's the soothing feeling of his stomach full from the food he had with Namjoon after his run.

Maybe it's the dark outside his window, allowing his thoughts to think of someone, somewhere, who can’t have enough of their lover.

He doesn’t know… But he manages to fall asleep.

Moma Muji, passport size, 4.92 x 3.36 inches, persian green cover.

The guilt follows him like a shadow.

Damn, he is even thinking in poems now.

He can't help it! He can’t help the way that, despite Namjoon giving him everything, he still longs for a romance like the one in the poems. Everyday, Jungkook sinks a little deeper into the vulnerable self of the poet; his heart fluttering at their verses while simultaneously expecting Namjoon to keep up with him. Keep up with his sensitive tugging of his heartstring that his boyfriend doesn't seem to be syncing to.

In fact, Namjoon seems to be more weary of Jungkook’s attempts at romance. Acknowledging them for sure and just, he isn’t de--escalating his gestures… But… he seems weary of them.

We need the scenery of the night more than anyone

You are the only one, that comforts me more than anything

Thinking “don’t think” it's a thought on itself, you know?

With your falling eyes I look at the night sky again

We are each other's night view

We are each other's moon

The poet said, and Jungkook thought while standing on the balcony of Namjoon’s apartment. The both of them are way too under-dressed for the weather; clouds looking menacing above them; hunched over the railing shoulders pressed together.

It's calm, however, Jungkook feels like his heart will beat out of his chest. Too many words, too many emotions that he can feel bottling up in chest; threatening to spill in a way that he fears is quite too vulnerable to present to Namjoon.

“I really need moments like these.” It feels as if with the help of the poet,Jungkook was able to really grow more comfortable voicing out his thoughts like these. A fear he had to explain to Namjoon when they first started dating, nervously reassured him that he did want a relationship; despite his lack of enthusiasm.

He was so embarrassed back then… Still dealing with the aftermath of a self-homophobic past.

“What about them?” He can feel Namjoon side-eyeing him with a smile.

Of course he doesn’t get it.

That’s something else Jungkook has been losing his grip of: the snarky comments that come out of Namjoon's… inadequacy? He shouldn’t even be calling it that, not when Namjoon has given him everything. It's just, lately, the more Jungkook grows in his romantic acts and words, the more it seems Namjoon is just… playing dumb.

He isn’t picking up any of his signals.

It's getting frustrating.

It's like Namjoon is just backing down when things were starting to get serious for them.

And that fucking hurts.

“Nothing, forget it.” He mumbles eyes still strained on the city infront of them. “It's getting late anyways, I should probably head back.” He can’t hide the distance in his voice. They had agreed Jungkook was staying over, and it's obvious how that objection hangs off Namjoon's tongue as he stares a little widened. Jungkook answers before he can speak. “I have early class tomorrow, it's better if I go from my dorm.”

Somehow, the disappointment grows on his boyfriend’s face more at that. “Oh…” Jungkook fights the urge to kiss the pout off his pouting lips. “Yeah you’re right it would just be… inconvenient to stay here.”

When Jungkook leaves, he feels a heaviness in his chest. But he chooses to ignore it.

Moma Muji, passport size, 4.92 x 3.36 inches, persian green cover, 24 pages.

24 of them, ruled,  though only 16 are being used. Jungkook knows because he counted them, even if he hasn’t gotten to read everything he skimmed through the pages in a weak attempt to distract his mind. The unnecessary but easy counting of the pages, most of them double-sided in their use, except for the last one (They must have gotten tired of the ink bleeding through the pages, Jungkook asumes), helps keep his mind off last night.

Not that he has anything he needs distraction from. He is fine.

Him and Namjoon are fine .

No big fight occurred, no insensitive one sided fallout, no revolutionary discovery. But why does Jungkook feel so… off?

So neglected, so scammed, so robbed of a romance he could be having but doesn’t have. That Namjoon doesn’t let him have.

Jungkook always does this, he always feels so intensely, always too needy and too ready to fall in love. At a speed and intensity that doesn’t match others. He had revealed so much of himself to Namjoon, had been so open about his devotion, his complete and thorough adoration; and he convinced himself to believe Namjoon was okay with his arduous loving.

But if Jungkook took a second to think about it, he had been a fool to think that. Namjoon, his Namjoon is a philosopher by default, a thinker, he dissects, and recognizes, and categorizes, and doubts . Namjoon has so many doubts. About everything really, so perceptive of his surroundings he theorizes about things that aren't his business, except they are because Namjoon has an interest for every little thing in this world.

And it's as enamouring, as it is deadly.

Namjoon questions, questions himself, his intentions, his moral, his relationships, his worthiness .

It’s been four years.

But it's never too late for Namjoon to have second doubts. Even when Jungkook is sinked… so, so deep..

Maybe they aren’t meant to b-

Maybe Jungkook should read a poem.

Parting is to me, a tear that blooms unknowingly in my eyes

All the things we couldn’t say flow out

And lingering feelings crawl up my face

Parting is the reward that comes only at the end

Of my play of lies

It feels like hours as Jungkook stares at it, entranced. Only when he sees a teardrop make the ink bleed and smudge, is when he is snapped out of it.

He sets the notebook down in his night stand. Jungkook doesn’t feel like reading anymore of it, the knot on his chest only tightened by the unhelpful words of the poem.

He read enough .

Jungkook curls to his side dejected, as if offended at the poet and his own relationship problems.

Maybe romance is dead after all.

He feels his shoulders tremble in what's a sob shaking its way out of his lungs. Is he really going to give up Namjoon? Just for a romance that clearly isn’t as perfect as he thought it was?

He can’t.

Moma Muji, passport size, 4.92 x 3.36 inches, persian green cover, 24 pages, ruled, only 16 used.

That's what he thinks when his hand reaches for the notebook almost in a hurry. Jungkook had run back from that dreadful early class, he was barely able to concentrate, a plan forming in his head just as he was about to go to sleep dejected and sad. It kept him all night from the nerves of it all. He has to make things right, and the lack of sleep didn’t stop his adrenaline as it made his mind wander even with the professor explaining in front of him.

The point is Jungkook has the notebook and is desperately running to Namjoon’s apartment.

Guess all those winter runs served some purpose at least.  

Maybe he is being stupid for running in negative number weather in clothes that were apropriate for his ac-heated classroom. But fuck it.

Romance is alive, and Jungkook is the breathing, sprinting, embodiment of it.

When he reaches Namjoon’s apartment, his throat feels like it has shards of ice poking at it with every deep swallow of air, the skin across his cheeks and nose sporting a blush from the cold and knife-like wind across his face running here. His hair is a mess, there’s definitely sweat stains under his arms, and he most definitely looks insane.

He also kinda forgot to tell Namjoon he was coming over, he knows his boyfriend’s schedules and routines so he should be home right now. He always has friday morning’s off. So he doesn’t bother letting Namjoon know, rather fumbling with his shaky, numb fingers to reach for the spare key. The ends of his hands are also red from the cold, tingling and making his movements clumsy.

But he manages to put the key into the whole regardless. And feeling quite proud of himself and with adrenaline still pumping through his veins, he opens the door.

Namjoon is standing near the door, hunched over halfway through putting on his shoes, looking up surprised. It seems as if adrenaline was only willing to get him this far, as it leaves Jungkook’s body completely.

“Babe…” Namjoon’s voice is cutely stunned, with his eyes widened and plump lips adorably parted with a mouth that stays ajar. “What are you doing here?”

“Where were you going?” Jungkook asks instead of answering. His voice is embarrassingly small for someone who took a 35 minute run without an ounce of doubt. Maybe he's just out of breath.

Oh god, Namjoon was leaving, he has stuff to do Jungkook came at a bad time, he is probably over exaggerating and took all of this way out of proportion and Namjoon didn’t even think anything was wrong at all and he is just making a big scene for nothing being the big, needy baby that he is; bothering Namjoon with his useless emotions-

“Your dorm.” He replies so simply, like sinceirty costs him nothing when it's to Jungkook. “I asked first though.” And his tone isn't accusatory as it is teasing.

Namjoon doesn’t specify, but something inside him wants to believe the older was on his way to do the same as Jungkook.

“I...I wanted to tell you something?” He can’t help but sound doubtful. Even when he knows Namjoon is on his way to see him, even when his eyes are soft enough to melt the shard of ice growing on Jungkook's throat; he can’t seem to recognize if it's from the run or the anxiety. “It's kinda silly, though.” He can’t help but coax that out as well. from the outside one would consider Jungkook is belittling his feelings, yet belittling it makes it less of a big deal and maybe it can calm the speeding rate of his heartbeat.

“It must be important if you came right after class.” Namjoon says taking off the single shoe he had managed to put on and properly stand up straight eyeing Jungkook. “Did you run all the way from the bus station? Jungkook…” He scolds, taking Jungkook's frozen hands into his own bigger warmer ones and drags him in.

Jungkook for a moment has to hold back a snicker imagining Namjoon’s reaction if he knew  how he actually got here. And he looks so cute with his small frown and determined expression already. He can feel his own heart sizing up as Namjoon drags him by the hands into the couch, hushing about Jungkook being too careless and too underdressed as he drapes a heavy blanket over his shoulders.

He feels cared for, it's nice.

It's only when Namjoon forced a hot cup of tea into Jungkook’s hands, that they slowly start to regain their feeling, that the older sits  back down next to him on the couch. His eyes are concerned, unsure, as if all this had just been an excuse to make time, before he inevitably has to ask. “What-uh--What did you want to tell me?” He manages to smile, but Jungkook knows him all too well.

Jungkook’s expression doesn’t falter though, he is ready to do this. He needs to do this.

“You...you’re probably wondering what happened to me yesterday.” Namjoon’s expression drops at that nodding a bit quickly, eagerly, and all too endearingly. Jungkook really made him worry, didn’t he?

“I was upset over some rando’s romantic poems,because--well its stupid but- they were so corny and romantic, they actually made me doubt what you and I have.” He can't help the incredulous tone of his voice because, saying it outloud finally, it really is so ridiculous. Jungkook shakes his head smiling, as if humored.

When his eyes find Namjoon again, they melt with love at the older’s stunned expression. “I convinced myself we were out of sync, or that you weren’t getting anything I sent your way. But it was just those stupid corny poems getting to me.” He sets the cup down, hands warm enough to hold Namjoon’s.

“But I am stupid, and corny, and in love.” He feels his own cheeks burning. “So I want to dedicate these poems to you.” Jungkook knows his smile is giddy like a childs as he reaches for his pocket taking the infamous notebook and handing it to Namjoon with an excited smile.

His boyfriend still looks stunned, and Jungkook can only think about how much smaller the passport sized notebook fits in his hands; even when Jungkook’s own hands aren’t particularly small, it's his boyfriend’s fault for being so family-sized.

With a great amount of strength, he forces himself to stop looking at his boyfriend’s gorgeous hands as he skims through the pages. He is a little surprised to find a frown on Namjoon’s brow, an anxious feeling settling over the younger at the bottom of his stomach.

“How much did you read of it?” Namjoon asks eyes staying glued to the notebook on his lap, avoiding Jungkook’s wide vulnerable eyes.

“U-uh.. I read… I read the first five, though--though the fifth one isn't romantic I only want the first four of them for you. They--I think they fit perfectly into my--my feelings for you.” Jungkook is growing nervous by the second, Namjoon’s eyes stay strained on the notebook, as Jungkook grows more and more convinced that he is exposing too much too intensely again.

“So you didn’t read the whole thing.” For the first time since Jungkook handed him the notebook, Namjoon’s eyes traveled to meet Jungkook’s unsure eyes. He can’t find his voice so he just shakes his head, and that makes his boyfriend's shoulders relax with a sigh. “Okay that explains it.”

“Ex-Explains what?”

“None of those poems are romantic, Jungkook-ah.”

Moma Muji, passport size, 4.92 x 3.36 inches, persian green cover, 24 pages, ruled, only 16 used, poems 1-5 non-romantic themes (allegedly).

“How--how would you know?” Jungkook asks almost defensively, as if standing up for the stranger poet with fanaticism.

Namjoon winces as if it pains him to say it. “I left the notebook by your desk, its uh--mine.” He was avoiding Jungkook’s eyes until now, staring up at him vulnerable, but with a small smile. “They aren’t romantic poems.”

Jungkook’s world stops for just a second, the shock is evident on his face. He is beginning to open his mouth to speak again but he can’t find anything in his seemingly hollow head to say anything. “Well...That’s embarrassing.” He manages to say, feeling the tip of his ears burn.

He made that whole love scene.

“I believe the reader can find more than one structured meaning to the poems, it's not that my meaning is above yours just because I wrote it.” Namjoon explains, and maybe it's his imagination, but he sounds a lot more comfortable having seen his own loss of words on Jungkook’s tongue.  He is handing him back the notebook, the older’s smile is almost as giddy as his when he first started his monologue.

“That sounds like bullshit to make me feel better.” He manages to joke with a grin.

“You should read it, the ending” Namjoon’s smile turns warm. He didn’t deny it. Sounds like, thinking the creator’s intentions are equal to the perception of the auciende, is bullshit after all. “It's kinda important.” There's humor in his voice and a pout forms on the younger’s lips.

“Well I liked to appreciate them one poem at a time!” He defends but it's harmless under Namjoon’s loving stare.

“You could have just recognized my handwriting, baby.” Jungkook’s face blushes in embarrassment.

“And take away all the mystery? No.”

Jungkook’s fingers are hurried and clumsy as he flips over the pages, at first eyeing the poems that had already plagued his mind for weeks. And as he continues forward finding more scribbles and poems, only recognizing a word or two before skipping until he reached the last pages. His heart threatened to beat its way out of Jungkook’s chest.

He is pretty sure he is on page 14 when he meets what he is looking for.

Moma Muji, passport size, 4.92 x 3.36 inches, persian green cover, 24 pages, ruled, only 16 used, poems 1-5 non-romantic themes (confirmed by author: Jungkook’s boyfriend).

Jungkook

His own name stares back at him as he prepares himself for what's next. But he can't find it in himself to feel afraid, not with the weight of Namjoon’s adoring eyes on him.

If you’ve reached this part is because you managed to read through this notebook and whatever I coax out of myself to write in it. I

If you reached this part, then it means you managed to get through all the ugly that I put in here, all my doubts and fears and sour thoughts, I displayed them to you.

Because you make me believe that all my ugly insides are worthy of love; that my entire self is somehow deserving of you. You make me want to show you my realest self.

So, I did. And even if it hasn’t happened I’m terrified of the thought already; no one has made me sink as deep as you, while simultaneously lifting me up higher than ever.

For some reason, I get the feeling I’m exaggerating, since you always find a way to love the unlovable parts of myself. But despite that, I want to give you something pretty, and worthy of love.

I used to be one of those whatever people

I didn’t believe in what real love is

I used to say habitually “I want to love”

But I found myself. The whole new myself.

I met you and did I realize that I’m a book

I want to be the best man for you

It's probably naturally because you are my world itself

You are my beginning and the end itself

I wanna become part of your bookcase

I wanna interfere in your novel as your lover.

What would it be like if I really went to you?

If I went to you, would you be sad?

If I am not the one, what would I be?

In the end, would you leave me too?

The wind wind wind that grazes me

I hope that isn’t just this.

My feelings are blue blue blue

My entire head is filled with blue

How much much much

How much much much you…

You’re my person

You’re my wind

You’re my pride

You’re my love

You’re my love.

Jungkook, I want to share my ugly and my pretty with you, I want to let you see me whole .

Would you move in with me?

“You...You didn’t just imagine me acting off sync.” Namjoon breaks the suffocating silence as Jungkook’s widened eyes leave the sixteenth page of the notebook. It looks like the older’s expression has softened, even if sadly. “I thought you had read it all and just...didn’t know how to reject me.” He smiles but it's gloomy eyes avoiding the younger, as if he had assumed this was a fact.

A little bit of Jungkook’s heart breaks at that.

A life shared with Namjoon, Namjoon who trusts Jungkook the deepest parts of his being, that trusts in Jungkook’s ability to love, to treat him delicately around ugly insides, and grounding against a weak trembling frame.

Like he looks right now, eyes nervous and strained on Jungkook as his hands fondle with each other shoulders raising and falling shakily with quivering breaths. Jungkook doesn’t even have to think twice.

Both his hands reach for Namjoon’s shoulders, making sure his entire attention is on him. Namjoon's lowered head perks up startled. “Joonie… I’m sorry your plan didn’t work out the way you intended.” He smiles apologetically and he lets his hands slide down Namjoon’s arms and onto his fiddling hands. “But it's not like it matters.” His tone it's relaxed but it doesn’t seem to calm Namjoon, not even with the stroking of his thumbs over the older's hand.

There's a question rising up the older’s throat but Jungkook doesn’t let it. “It doesn’t matter because... I want to move in with you.” He sees all the tension leave Namjoon’s expression into pure surprise, endearing enough that it coaxes a giggle out of Jungkook, tugging his bigger hands closer to him, kissing him softly; surprised to find Namjoon kissing back with what he can only imagine is all the pent up emotion from this week.

He doesn’t question it for long, he can never think all that much when Namjoon is kissing him.

Moma Muji, passport size, 4.92 x 3.36 inches, persian green cover, 24 pages, ruled, only 16 used, poems 1-5 non-romantic themes (confirmed by author: Jungkook’s boyfriend), now sitting on a bedside table on Jungkook’s side of the bed.

“Where are you going? We already have everything.” Jungkook questions his boyfriend as he starts to exit their apartment door; which is currently filled with boxes they just brought back from Jungkook’s former dorm.

“I just have one more thing to get from my car.” He kisses the top of Jungkook’s head and without any more explanation he leaves through the door. Leaving Jungkook by himself for the first time in this entire hectic day.

The apartment looks messy, or well, messier than usual; Namjoon always tried to be neat for his boyfriend’s sake, and succeeded a few times. Most times, Jungkook would find him covered in work and would offer to clean for him, claiming to be ‘trophy wife’ material. Its catastrophic now, covered in boxes, Jungkookisn’t a hoarder but Namjoon’s apartment is what one would politely call ‘cozy’. It's catastrophic, yet Jungkook can only feel his heart size up in excitement and giddiness; as if completely unaffected by the mess like he normally would.

It's just hard to focus on the mess, when every time he tries to he sees traces of himself in this apartment: in his box of old CDs that will go in a shared collection with Namjoon’s, or how his boyfriend indulged him by taking Jungkook’s energy crystals out of the moving box and into the spaces of the apartment here they belong (even when it's obvious he doesn’t believe in them for a second),  or the way Namjoon got some of Jungkook’s photos printed out and framed so they can decide where to hang them sometime this week.

He’s only been living here for half a day, and Namjoon’s place is already his.

Well, to be fair, Namjoon has been his for a considerably longer amount of time. And that fact alone is enough to make Jungkook stand just the slightest bit taller than before.

Yes he is proud, sue him.

“Back.” Namjoon announces softly shutting the door, and taking out his snow soaked boots, with a hand suspiciously behind his back.

In a wave of confidence Jungkook can’t help the flirty smile as he walks over to his boyfriend. “Yes, back.” A hand settles over the short hairs of Namjoon’s nape, caressing softly. “What’s behind it?” He tilts his head to the side with a smile that tries to be seductive but only manages to be bright.

“Can’t get anything past you, can I?” Namjoon’s face splits into a grin staring down slightly to Jungkook; he isn’t that short! It's just… they’re so close.

“No you can not. I own this place and I’ll establish a customs directorate right at the doorstep.” His grin is wide, cocky almost with its jokes; hands still mindlessly playing with Namjoon’s hair with arms hooked over his shoulders.

“You own the place? Does that mean you’ll pay your share of the bill?” A raised eyebrow is all Jungkook needs for his facade to collapse.

“Nooo, I think you misheard me. I just said this is my boyfriend’s place? My super generous, compassionate and broken college student boyfriend, he is great.” If hsi tone sounds desperate he doesn't care, it makes Namjoon chuckle, and that's all that matters. “No customs. But please show me? Please?” Maybe he is whining, laying limp against Namjoon’s firm torso while he whines like a child.

But you can’t criticize him for it, when it works.

“You are impossible to resist, you know it's not fair.” He says rolling his eyes and shoving Jungkook off of him, with the hand that he has available. Once they're at a comfortable distance he reveals.

A potted Camellia.

“I bet that mean poet had you pretty bummed about not having one of these.” His tone is joking but soft, adoring as a pink tone spreads over his cheeks.

Jungkook’s cheeks hurt from smiling as he nears Namjoon again, the potted plant being the only thing separating them. “He did.” He meets Namjoon’s hands helping hold the weight of the plant. Today, his hands are cold instead of Jungkook’s. “I’ll have to make him pay me somehow.”

“I’m sure he’ll find some way.” Namjoon mumbles but leaning over close enough that Jungkook understands. Placing a soft peck to his lips.

Moma Muji, passport size, 4.92 x 3.36 inches, persian green cover, 24 pages, ruled, only 16 used, poems 1-5 non-romantic themes (confirmed by author: Jungkook’s boyfriend), now sitting on a bedside table on Jungkook’s side of the bed, with a cut Camellia on a whiskey glass with water next to it. Both manifestations of how Namjoon is just as stupid and corny and in love as he is.

[macklives]

alright, im actually kind of in the mood to unpack some stuff regarding karkat's character and the way alternia works actually, so i dont mind giving this a go. and while act 5 isnt completely finished yet (so this is an analysis post for act 5 up until page 2305), there is still more to explore, and im pretty sure i have a lot more to read regarding both karkat AND alternia. until then, i will give a general layout as to what i know so far and how i can expand this in a psychological way (especially considering i did my psych exam so my mind is FRESH from studying)

alright, starting with what seems to be the deal with the hemospectrum, theres a total of 12 blood colors. HOWEVER, one of those blood colors is a "mutant" blood which is unwanted in troll culture as it is, well, "mutant", meaning whoever has this blood will get brutally slaughtered. hurrayyy. im guessing it is even lower than aradia's rust blood, as she is allowed to live but is the lowest on the hierarchy triangle. meaning karkats blood is not even ON the hierarchy triangle and simply buried underground where they hope he stays. so its not exactly pleasant to be living in a society where everyone is trying to KILL you or at least keep you away from everything.

from what i remember, troll reproduction is a vital aspect in their culture, that everyone is forced to mate and drones will come by each house to collect the genetic material. this is mandatory apparently, and if someone were to object, they will be “culled" as quickly as they could say no. alternia seems to be really keen on the whole "blood and carnage" thing, which means their probable solution to anybody breaking the law, is to kill them on sight and just leave them there to rot - regardless of who they are and what families they comes from or have. trolls are free to kill whenever or whoever they please without any governmental repercussions. which means revenge upon revenge happens without any policy.

however this is very important when looking at karkat, because karkat may not be able to do the whole reproduction process (not that we necessarily want him to, im saying this in terms of how its mandatory for every troll and there will be a time when the drones WILL come for karkat). but as he is already a mutant and if they were to "collect" from him, they would find out his blood regardless of how he hides it. they will either cull him for saying no, or cull him for his blood. karkat, in this sense, is doomed regardless. which makes his character much more interesting.

and keep in mind alternia kind of sucks, because from the looks of it, trolls are constantly tested throughout their lives to prove themselves to society that they are allowed to live and survive. but ONLY if they are the strongest among them. alternia wants to become this fearful planet where the weak die off and only those proven worthy can stay to grow up and slaughter more of their kind until the world is nothing but blood thirsty strong murderers. im not too sure who is governing alternia but they can suck a dick if they think this is how good morals work. alternia only really has one way to solve things which is to kill those who question/fight back, OR to kill those who CANNOT fight back essentially. which puts all the trolls through a double edged sword where they cannot do anything but follow the guidelines given to them by troll's society and government, and try to survive as much as they can until then.

if i remember correctly, when it comes to the law side of things. if you look at it from terezi's introduction where she explains prosecutions with her plushies (lemonsnout ect ect i forgot the term for them lol), she said "you are guilty until proven innocent" which is the polar opposite of "innocent until proven guilty” used in OUR own society today (tho i guess we are by far the "good guys" in this situation, but we are far different than how trolls live their lives). anyways, what this means is that everyone dies regardless unless theres literal proof that they have not done the crime. even so i wouldnt put it past them to do nothing about their case even WITH proof. terezi even goes to say that technically there is no way to deal with the law on alternia, and most of crimes get solved through death. she even demonstrates this by how easily she hung the "suspect" and flipped a coin to determine his fate. however, even with the coin landing on the side of safety, where the suspect were to be released, she said "im blind remember i cannot see this coin" and essentially "killed" him. while terezi may have just been playing with her plushies, theres something we can take from this which dictates how their actual court cases are actually solved.

NOW, vriska (yes ik pls bare with me here, i will not make it about vriska but i do have a point here), from the last few pages i saw, can basically kill her friends in an instant, without any remorse. i can tell she sees this as the most "necessary" solution for her problems. i wouldnt say its for survival, but she does do it as a way to provide some sort of safety on alternia. she is a higher blood, and apparently the high bloods are known to kill whoever they please as long as its convenient. and since trolls have this whole fad of "killing the ones who cause you trouble so the problem is out of the way", she is wired to think its the only solution when threatened or when you dislike a person. 

god, she killed aradia because she wanted "revenge", because she wanted to get back at aradia for tormenting her with ghosts EVEN IF aradia did so because she threw tavros off a cliff in the first place. this may have worsened their friendship, KEEP IN MIND THEY WERE FRIENDS, but NEITHER, and i mean neither terezi/vriska/aradia, had any remorse if the other dies as long as there was a reason. in the story, vriska didnt care what happened to tavros because she disliked him, therefore becoming pretty bias over his fate. because of this attempt at killing, aradia didnt care what happened to vriska either, and neither did terezi. terezi sold her out to one of the most powerful beings on their planet, solely because of their revenge cycle. as long as the troll in question did something "malicious”, then that plays a factor in their morals. vriska gave no second thought to killing both of her friends (or at least attempt to with tavros), terezi also tormented john in act 4 which led to his “doomed timeline death” and sold vriska out after she realized vriska wouldnt change. so no fucking WONDER karkat tries to hide who he is, he's overly cautious to not let it slip out because even the people he calls friends could backstab him at any given time considering theres LITERAL EXAMPLES OF THESE TROLLS HAVING DONE SO.

to karkat, he sees this as dangerous, which is why he even CALLS vriska dangerous to begin with. she might not even hesitate to kill him herself or maybe sell him out to the drones, because 1. she may not want to be a witness to something society actively seeks to destroy and 2. she cares more for her survival than karkats. EVEN if they were friends (re: aradia and vriska and terezi). so it just shows. 

on that note, i find it funny how karkat indirectly distracted vriska after she baited him with the question of his blood in a past conversation, which prompted karkat to monologue about troll romance. he was, yes, VERY interested in this topic to start with, but it was a nice little bonus for karkat as to not be found out by the one person who would most likely kill him even if it wasnt on purpose. however, we do not know how this will play out IF she does find out, we just know karkat is in the right to be scared of the theory.

and, alright i do have to mention this, while karkat may have been an angry fucker to START with, who spites the world and throws out insults every chance he gets, i feel he does this as more of a survival instinct as well. he doesnt care what he says to people no matter what they rank on the hemospectrum. they dont know his blood color so he feels he has some sort of immunity, but he just needs to keep it hidden. it also may just be his personality, as he IS a character who was given specific traits and andrew went along with it without so much thinking about plot. yet if you look at this from more of the metaphorical route, think about it with uhhhh lets say the perspective of how dogs work. for example, when you put a chihuahua next to a doberman, a doberman is more of an excited, energetic dog whereas a chihuahua will rain hell down on anybody who so goes near them. sometimes this is to make up for their size, to seem as menacing as the larger doberman, as they have nothing else to fend themselves with. another way to look at it is, if you see a bear (i forget if its black/brown or grizzly) you make yourself seem like the bigger person by scaring it off with sounds and eventually it will leave you alone. these sort of tactics work in the sense of survival. this is sort of what karkat could be doing, he uses insults and a defensive shouting to not really "hide" himself, but to have some sort of way as to not be found out if people start to question. someone asks him "hey karkat whats your blood" he goes "FUCK YOU, FUCK OFF, END OF STORY" which could make a person go "yo sorry dude forget i ever asked". so this could be a factor as to why he is so crabby, however on the other hand, he is crabby because that is also his character. andrew probably thought yo cancer = crab = crabby. however i do like how he is perceived and the whole "mutant blood" really made me do a double take on how he views life himself. he has to always hide who he is or he will get physically killed. alternia would take joy in finding out he does not belong there because lets face it, alternia is a bitch of a planet.

this also brought me to ask the question, why does karkat want to be a leader if hes so scared of what would happen to him if he were to be found out? which then, at first i said lol this is just karkat, he wants to a leader because he just wants to be the leader, he likes when things go to plan and that he the most say in their sburb plans considering he thinks everyone else is a "dumbass". to which, i then thought about it more and went ouch what if hes a leader because he knows hes not valued enough in society, that he somehow wants to feel some sort of importance in the world, so he wants to become a leader. i imagine younger karkat, not knowing why his blood is so undermined, finding out he is not wanted and suddenly on the most wanted list without having even DONE anything. even TAVROS said he was on that list, but only because he was weak and had no back-bone, here karkat may have been strong but no matter what, he was to be culled BECAUSE of his blood. something he cannot change no matter what. imagine a little kid knowing he will die at any point because of who he is (rlly sounds familiar if you think about it). so of course, he hides himself from the world, but do you think for an instant, little angry karkat wants to simply be FORGOTTEN about? i doubt that, he wants to be heard, he doesnt necessarily want to be rejected as he knows he will be, so while he does hide his blood, he wants to have a voice no matter what. when being a leader, people dont reject you, they LISTEN. they all may not want to because karkat is just a fucking ticking time bomb, who can lash out at any second, but i feel theres now a reason why he has this superiority complex. he wants to sort of become the person he knows he never will become (if you put it into that perspective). so thats kind of why im giving him the benefit of the doubt here.

i would also like to point out a sort of.... comparison?? not with the dogs but with unwanted children in a family household. this doesnt necessarily apply to karkat, but sub in family household with society and it might as well. (on that note, a warning/viewer discretion, if you have any problem with this kind of discussion, i wouldnt read further into this paragraph and skip to the next one) alright, the unwanted child psychology basically deals with the process of a child which is neglected by their parents, and/or know that they were never wanted in the family. i read an article a while back when we were discussing this in a lecture, we were browsing multiple people's perspective on the matter, and one said "An affective relationship may be suffocating to [the unwanted/neglected child]: it’s a defense against intimacy of which they know nothing. Normally they fluctuate between egotism and deep feelings of inferiority. They don’t understand what a balanced and healthy self-esteem looks like." it explains how the child who grows up in an unwanted home admits great emotion deprivation, because the child's bonds of affection are extremely fragile, and this can lead to both egotism and feeling like they are inadequate. and it really strongly shows karkats personality. we havent gotten that much from him in general, but considering how he uses this egotism to cover up the fact that he may be doomed, really shows the similarity. i liked this short article so i want to give some points to take into consideration, specifically this part: "It will be very difficult for unwanted children to build healthy relationships of affection in their adult life. Love is a foreign language to them. They don’t know how to decipher the codes and much less how to build them. It’s very hard for them to need and to be needed. That’s why, more often than not, they completely shirk their conflicts with peers and superiors, or do nothing but generate them. They speak incessantly about the broken relationship that marked their arrival in the world. A person with such a background will need help to get through those abysses of love that live in their heart. The most important step is that they recognize that their discomfort doesn’t depend on who they are, but the circumstances that led to their being." it may not be 100% tru for karkat but theres a small portion of it that can link back to karkats view on life and how being this mutant can really change who he is as a person. and i hope you can see the similarity between karkats character and this form of psychology. yet i also do not fully know the depth of karkat vantas. however i do hope it continues to build up in this way, as it would be both interesting and make us feel more for him as a person.

alright, i think if i write any more i will never stop aghjsk, which is a bit too much for a sunday afternoon, basically to sum up this post, trolls are violent and karkat will be killed if hes found out, even by his friends if it comes down to it. so karkat cannot really trust anybody, hes alone and imagine the thrill he had when he saw jack cut his hand to show the bright red blood? that he finally has someone LIKE HIM. imagine when he finds out about the kids. so i believe in his growth, while he needs to get a better vocabulary, i do get why hes so defensive all the time. because hes both scared and unwanted. and he wants to make up for it.

and i guess with all that being said, you can tell i now have a slight soft spot for the kid lmao

[anika-ann]

Grease and Pearls - Pt.3

Dreams Meet Reality

Type: One-shot turned three-shot (because does anyone really want a 17k in one go?)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader (main), Tony/Reader, Tony/Pepper

Word count: 3400 or 5100 (yeah, you read it right, see A/N)

Summary: An uptown girl met a downtown guy with a heart of gold. Oh, and he was handsome too. It inevitably leads to their relationship developping… but is there any chance for them at all?

For @cxptain​​ ’s challenge. Prompt: Uptown Girl by Billy Joel

Warnings: swearing (a lot), attempt at angst, ghosting, communication par excellence

A/N: We had fluff and smut. What are we missing? That’s right. Heads up, people! There is an alternate ending to my original one, the one sentence where it breaks is in italics. I hope that makes sense ;) Pick whichever or read both :D Enjoy!

Story Masterlist

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It was bound to happen – you knew as much – but deep in your heart, you had hoped it wouldn’t. You had hoped it would last longer. You had hoped that perhaps a miracle would occur and in some mysterious way, you would be able to convince your parents that marrying you to Anthony was a terrible idea.

You should have known better than that.

The very day you had fell asleep in Steve’s arms after making love – and God, you could still feel him, his touches on your skin, his mouth, everywhere, even in the most intimate places, a pleasant, almost ceremonial ache lingering exactly there, a memory of fire in your belly and your heart – you got caught.

Your parents had been waiting at Potts’ house as you reached it around eleven in the evening, a smiling mess, a sight to behold, and any illusion about the future you had been painting in your mind shattered.

Pepper had tried to take part of the blame, but your parents always believed that you were the faulty daughter in your household and such ways stretched outside your house.

Your father was furious. Your mother was deeply disappointed and even faked a few tears – or perhaps she shed them for real, mourning her reputation, one the family would fight tooth and nail to retain.    

You had literally fallen on your knees and begged when they found a drawing from a street artist, a souvenir of one of your trips to downtown which you had only craved to explore-- and by some miracle indeed, you were allowed to keep it and not to have it torn to shreds right in front of your eyes. Pepper’s teary gaze told you she knew you were making up things up as you went and that the drawing, the one that captured beauty you weren’t sure you possessed, meant much more.

You couldn’t even hope to earn forgiveness, so you only asked for it half-heartedly.

What you did earn was a damn chaperon.

In your age! In this day and age!

Her name was Maria and she was truly efficient and strict to a fault. Nevertheless, she respected your privacy and whenever you were to meet Pepper, she would stand just outside the door and wait if you asked for a confidential conversation… which was always, you didn’t need some goddamned stranger spying on you. What the hell.

But truly, all things considered, you had lucked out; as your parents didn’t fault Pepper for your actions, you were still allowed to meet with her at least and to talk her in private.

However, the marriage plans were sped up.

And naturally, you couldn’t even hope to set your foot anywhere near downtown. You hadn’t seen Steve for two weeks, you hadn’t even found his number in the phone book to explain yourself and you missed him.

Your heart seemed to fail in its basic function; when you were lying in your bed at night, wide awake, it longed after ocean blue eyes with a drop of green, strong hands holding you close, and it wouldn’t stop pounding wildly in your chest. In the morning, your heart appeared to be beating so slowly you had to place your palm over the area to make sure it was still there, that it still had enough strength to keep you upright all day ahead.

And it ached 24 hours a day. For you, for Steve, who must have been clueless on why you never showed up to your set date or any time after. You were hurting and your parents watched you suffer along with your sister, frowning at you and scolding you to stop acting like a five-year old who had a toy taken away.

They could never understand. Was that a curse or a blessing?

Pepper was the only person you could trust, only person you could talk to about your true sorrows and her patience never seemed to wear thin despite her own turmoil – after all, if your marriage was to be sped up… her hopes were being crushed as well.

“Pepper… I don’t want to marry Tony. God, I can’t marry him,” you whispered, a cup of tea in your hands, your palms and fingers curled around the warm ceramics, hoping for it to take away some of the ever-present cold your body radiated these days.

Your friend smiled at you sadly, an honest and heart-breaking lift of the corners of her lips.

“I know, honey.”

You chuckled bitterly at the irony. Here you were, stealing her dreamed man, on she loved, while yearning after another, after the one you loved. You looked up at the ceiling, blinking away the tears gathering in your eyes – again and again, barely a day without their presence. They were always there, ready for the dam to broke so they could run down your cheeks.

When you spoke again, you could barely force the words out of your tight throat.

“I… I truly love Steve. I dreamed tonight, about having a little boy,” you whispered, the image still vivid behind your now closed eyelids. He was so damn pretty, your sweet little boy. “Blond hair, pretty blue eyes full of mischief and such innocent smile with a front tooth missing and I was expecting with another--… I want that. I want to have Steve’s children one day and I want Steve. I need him. It feels like I can’t breathe without him.”

Tender hands reached for your shoulders and pulled you into an embrace, soft and careful, yet very unladylike, not proper for anyone to see in public – at least not here, not in uptown. God, you hated it here. You despised it now, truly. And if that made you an ungrateful brat, then so be it.

“Oh sweety, I know exactly how you feel. I’m so sorry,” Pepper replied in the same manner, comfortingly stroking your arm. She sounded on the verge of tears as well. “But you know what your family is like, they would never accept Steve. As much as it hurts you and me… I’m not sure you really have a choice.”

You swallowed against the lump formed in your throat and shakily breathed in.  

“Don’t I?”

You thought of your chaperon and wondered… just how heartless could she be?

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It was three weeks after his girl’s last surprise visit that had somehow resulted in her and Steve tangled in his sheets when he lost his faith in her and whatever the two of them had had completely.

Three weeks without as much as a glimpse of her or a word, two weeks of not going to bed without few bottles of beer to keep him company, Steve walked into the shop and instantly knew something was wrong.

The usually loud environment full of chatter and teasing was suspiciously quiet.

“Hey guys,” he called out, trying to sound casual. “What gives?”

“Nothing-“ Thor responded swiftly – and way too quickly. Steve rolled his eyes.

“I’m blond but ain’t that stupid. Who pissed in everyone’s cereal? Buck?”

Steve’s best friend looked up from his work, shorty meeting his eyes. The regretful gaze spoke volumes on its own, but the brunet still sighed, tossing the rag in his hands on the nearest hood.

Steve suddenly wasn’t so sure he wanted to hear the news whatever it was. Dread filled his stomach, a feeling that had his gut twist uncomfortably. The blue-grey irises of his friend hid behind his eyelids.

“I… I’ve been in town this morning, Steve,” he explained slowly, cursing under his breath when he took in Steve’s perfectly confused expression, awaiting a metaphorical punch. “Fuck, Steve—I-eh, I saw Carter with Stark and they were-“ The coil in Steve’s stomach tightened to the point of him thinking he might throw up. “-shit, I’m sorry, Steve, they were at jeweller’s, probably picking up a ring.”

A ring.

Right.

Because she was getting married. To Stark. He knew that—he had been, in fact, informed that it might happen at some point.

But no-- like a fool, he had painted an image in his head, stupid and naïve and even found himself thinking about his ma’s engagement ring – once or twice since he had met his stunning uptown girl –, one he had inherited and was planning to give a woman who would take his heart.

Funny how his mind had been purposely leaving out the fact that the very same woman he had given his heart to was the one who could stomp on it and let it bleed on the pavement.

Fuck, he was a complete idiot, wasn’t he?

Steve swallowed against his suddenly dry throat, nodding few times in acknowledgement of the information, lips in a tight line, one corner lifted in an ironic smile as his blood boiled.

“Well… we knew it was comin’, didn’t we?” he remarked and shook his head with a scoff.

God, he was so fucking stupid-

“Steve-“

He waved Bucky off, stalking towards his own station. He dropped his bag, always stashed with clean clothes just in case, to the ground by the counter, hand blindly reaching out. He grabbed the wrench on the top unmistakably, his fingers curling firmly around the metal.

One swift movement, one jerk of his bulging arm and the wrench was sent flying, hitting the momentarily empty chain with an ominous clang that could only hope to echo the mad rage he felt, sizzling in his veins, eating him up from the inside.

“Fuck him!” he roared, the ferocity of his voice startling even his mates who were familiar with his occasional temper.

His breathing turned heavy as he reached for another tool, flinging it the same way, this time hitting the wall, much to his irritation.

Jesus fucking shit-- he was so fucking mad – at her, at himself, at Stark, Stark who thought he could just take and take, greedy asshole, just like all of those uptown snobs that thought they owned the fucking world!  

“Fuck Stark and all of those privileged assholes! I hope they rot in- Fucking! Hell!”

Two more objects Steve didn’t bother to look at flied through the air and hit the chains, the harmless violence not providing him with half the satisfaction he hoped in.

By the time the boss stalked into the shop the check on what was going on – and to yell at his employees to stop fucking around – Steve had been long gone, taking the SHILED bike and driving away until all he could feel was the wind swishing around his head, loud enough to drown out his noisy thoughts.

“Rogers came in sick, we sent him home,” Pietro supplied helpfully, the deadpan expression on Fury’s face telling him that he had none of that shit.

Yet, the bossman sighed and headed back to his office.

“Good, wouldn’t want him to puke all over my fuckin’ garage.”

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She showed up in the shop on week four. Steve was just coming back from a short bathroom break, quickly taking a U-turn when he got a glimpse of her in the overhead door to the garage, wearing black and red elegant dress.

He leaned his back against the separating wall, closing his eyes at the painful jab to his stomach.

Logically, there was no reason for him to be so devastated. He fucked girls before—he liked girls before. So why did he have to be such a missy when it came to her? She was pretty, sure, but there were plenty of cute gals. Steve really tried not to think about the L word they had exchanged, because deep down it had dawned to him a while ago; he was so fucked up because he was in love and then he was dumped by a lady who normally wouldn’t look at him twice, which was something that his brain had been bullheadedly refusing to accept.

“Sorry, he ain’t in today,” Odinson drawled, traces of hostility in his voice.

“Oh,” she sounded surprised and he could picture the gentle confused frown, the slight pout to her lips—shit, those lips tasted like cherry-- "Uhm, do you know when he will be in?”

“Why do ya’ need to know?”

Steve was certain that her frown deepened at Bucky’s words.

“Well, uhm, I need to talk to him, it’s important. Should I come here in few days or-“

“Don’t think he’ll be ‘round here any time soon.”

“Is he alright?” she asked, genuine concern in her voice and it took all of Steve’s willpower not to bang his head against the wall.

Why, just why was she doing this to him? Why would she care?

Now he knew that was cruel to her – he believed that once, she had truly been interested in him – but he told himself multiple times that her looks were deceiving, that she only had been looking for a distraction from her uptight uptown world. Maybe if he told himself enough times, he would start to believe it.

“Ain’t none of your business, princess,” Thor retorted and Steve just knew she winced at the harsh tone, a soft gasp escaping her mouth, that sweet mouth he had  kissed over three weeks ago, sweet, innocent and sinful, the music of her short breaths filling his poor excuse of a loft, keeping him fucking going.

“Nice ring, by the way,” Bucky said nonchalantly.

Steve gulped at that. Yeah, he bet it was; but there was no way Bucky was being polite. The venom dripping from his words was a message on its own.

And she picked up on it, naturally. His –not his anymore, not that she had ever truly been – brilliant beautiful girl.

“Oh. Thank- thank you,” she whispered and Steve had to strain his ears like a creep, catching the crack in her voice; he almost ran out hearing it, ready to comfort her, because God, he couldn’t imagine her crying, salt tears rolling down her rosy cheeks - few had when they had made love, but she had been smiling too.

He was sure that seeing her cry without that smile… it would feel the world was ending. Her eyes were made for shining with happiness, her lips made for laughter-

“The fuck-?“

Steve’s head snapped straight when he heard his boss leaving his office, catching him chilling by the wall, very much not working and instead trying not to break and kiss the woman he loved stupid – no matter how stupid that made him. She was engaged. Promised to another, a much classier man… or at least much richer, Steve didn’t imagine his character being worth a damn penny.

On instinct, Steve put a finger over his own lips, wordlessly begging Fury not to rat him out. The man rolled his good eye – the one that hadn’t been hit by hot oil years ago – and crossed his arms on his chest.

“And—uhm, I see. Tell—please tell him I stopped by if he- and that I am sorry for not coming here for so long. He can leave a message with Mrs.Maximoff if he--- tell him I really need to-- that I would like to talk to him,” her voice trembled a bit as she stuttered, but it was clear she had been aiming for a firmer voice and missed by miles.

“Don’t see why he should want to know, princess, but sure, whatever.”

Fury gave Steve another annoyed look and stalked into everyone’s sight. For a second, Steve panicked – was his boss about to tell on him? – but the bulky man only walked in, a professional greeting on his lips.

“Good afternoon, madam. What can we do for you today?”

“Oh, good afternoon, sir-“

“My name is Nicolas Fury, I own the SHIELD Car Repairs. May I be of service?” he continued pleasantly, a businessman in his heart. And actor in his soul, apparently, because Steve was sure he figured out what was going on from the few words he had heard and from Steve’s cowardice and was now putting up a face.

“Mr.Fury, thank you for your readiness, however I was only just leaving. Your staff was most helpful,” she said, polite and respectful, almost a hint of a kind smile in her tone as if she hadn’t sounded on verge of tears only a moment ago. As if the guys hadn’t been jerks to her, standing up for him and his… ugh, his hurt feelings.

“Very well then. Have a pleasant day. Should I walk you out?”

“I actually already offered to walk Ms. Carter out if that’s alright with ya’,” Pietro quickly stepped in, a voice that hadn’t spoken since she had arrived.

“Thank you for choosing SHIELD Car Repairs, Ms.Carter,” Fury’s voice echoed through the shop, complete silence following for what felt like an eternity.

Steve gulped, knowing all too well Fury was waiting for him to come out of his hiding spot.

And sure enough – the boss’ eye found him the moment he returned. “Mr.Fury-“

“For fuck’s sake, Rogers, don’t pull shit like ‘dat in my shop. And all of ya’ – less chatting, less big-mouthing customers and for fuck’s sake, don’t go jerk into the bathroom now just because a girl in skirt showed up. Get your head in the game… and don’t drop anything on your fucking toes, accidents on a workplace are shit to deal with.”

Steve nodded with fervour, going back to his station, even when he couldn’t say that his head was in the game. No, his head was miles away, with beautiful pouty lips, the sweetest smile and a body to write sonnets for.

When Pietro came back, he didn’t say a word, but Steve could feel him burning a hole in his head with how much he stared.

That night, Steve switched from beer to whiskey, just once, hoping to drown out the sorrow that consumed him at simply hearing her voice.

Two months later, two months of Steve avoiding Maximoff’s diner like a plague and dodging Pietro Maximoff’s attempts to have a minute alone with him, a Good Samaritan left a newspaper on Steve’s doorstep. Steve, utterly confused and bone-tired from the long day at work, lifted it and started flicking through the pages absentmindedly as he went inside of his apartment.

And there, right among the obituaries, were marriage announcements, one single photo from a wedding.

She was stunning in her dress, the fabric appearing as delicate and soft as her skin when Steve had felt it under his rough fingers the day she had asked him to make love to her. A smile, crooked and melancholic, played on Steve’s lips at the memory, her breathless moans echoing in his ears.

In the photo posed a beautiful bride with her husband; and yet, Steve couldn’t make himself think she looked as pretty as she had been when sitting on his bed, misplaced, breath-taking and tempting, as pretty as she had been in the moments of ecstasy he had brought her with his loving; for the first time and for the last time at once.

He abandoned the paper on the counter and poured himself a glass of whiskey, bringing it up, hesitating an inch from his lips.

Eyeing the amber liquid, stirring it in the glass, he recalled a movie he had been to with Buck a long time ago. He had never seen people do it in real life, they certainly hadn’t done that at his ma’s funeral, but it would feel symbolic perhaps; the action of pouring a drink into a freshly dug grave was as outside his reality as the foolish idea of a relationship with her, after all.

Taking the newspaper to his hand once more, straightening the picture, he let himself feast his eyes on her. She was radiant, like sun, like the damn sunflowers on her dress the day he had met her.

Shaking his head, he threw the paper to the trash, picture up. Pouring half the whiskey on it, he buried the bittersweet memory of his untouchable uptown girl;downing the rest, he ignored the burn in his eyes and focused on the one in his throat.

As much as he hated himself for it, his last thought before he fell asleep that night was of her, a minute of wonder if she had ever truly been as affected as he was, at least for a moment; he lulled himself to sleep hoping that perhaps she had.

He dreamed of reaching out to Mrs.Maximoff as she had asked the guys to tell him to do. He dreamed of her being there the next time he came in, with an inviting and yet sad smile, a big-ass diamond on her finger… her cherry-flavoured kiss of goodbye lingering on his lips when he opened his eyes to a new day.

He took the trash out that very morning, adding a half-finished sketch he torn away from his book.

It was the last time he saw her.

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Thank you for reading! Scroll to the end of the fic for notes. ….Or? ;)

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That night, Steve switched from beer to whiskey, just once, hoping to drown out the sorrow that consumed him at simply hearing her voice.

In the night of week four turning to week five, Steve’s eyes snapped open to the darkness of his apartment. Momentarily confused, not remembering a nightmare or anything that would cause him to wake up so abruptly, he groaned when he reached for the alarm clock on his nightstand only to find out it was half past one.

He woke up for no fucking reason barely two hours after he went to bed.  

Furious knocks on his door made him jolt, his irritation only growing.

Not without a reason then – some fucker was-- ugh. People were fucking assholes. He was not getting up from his bed for sure.

“Fuck off,” Steve muttered, lying back down face first, determined to ignore-

His door rattled with the force of the next series of knocks and he growled, scrambling to his feet, shuffling to the door and wiping the sleep from his eyes.

“C’min’, comin’, Jesus, fuck.”

Unlocking and opening the door for a slit, Steve stared at the face of his night visitor, absolutely baffled.

“The fuck, Pietro? Do ya’ know wad time ‘zit?”

“No. Do ya’?” the blond retorted, his voice dripping sarcasm and Steve really wanted to shut the door to his face. It was too early – or late – for Steve to deal with that bullshit. “Pack your bags, Rogers, Natasha has a free room.”

Steve briefly wondered when the fuck the world stopped making any goddamn sense, but opened the door fully for his clearly delusional friend. For all Steve knew, Pietro could be having a stroke, he’d better hear him out.

“Huh?” he hummed, his palms massaging his bloodshot eyes. “Da’ fuck are ya’ talkin’ ‘bout?”

“Natasha? My cousin? Remember her?”

Why the hell was Pietro acting as if it was completely normal to stop by a guy’s loft to talk about his cousin, one Steve hadn’t even met?

Steve sighed, humouring the other man. “Yeah? Married some… general or somethin’? What’s ‘dat-”  

“Colonel, yeah. She’s the one who lives in Baltimore. She got a room for ya’,” Pietro repeated, still not making an ounce of sense.

“The fuck’d I do in Baltimore?” Steve asked tiredly, earning a look that told him that it was fucking obvious. Which it wasn’t really, not to him.

…was this a fever dream?

“Open your own shop, dumbass, or find a spot in some. Make money for that pretty gal of yours and that little cute as fuck babies you’ll make.”

Steve’s heart dropped to his stomach at the mention of you, fully prepared to rip Pietro a new one to wake him in the middle of the night to fuck with him—but  he caught a movement to Pietro’s right from a corner of his eye and his heart leaped right back, suddenly sprinting.

This was most definitely a fever dream. Steve felt his jaw drop, his eyes fixing on the vision in front of him as he entirely tuned out Pietro’s next words.

“She must like you real big if she’s willin’ to sell her family nick-nack to look at your ugly mug every day. And skip town and shit…”

And a vision his beautiful uptown girl was, a mirage his mind must have come up, because there was no way she was standing there, sheepish as always, but instead of her dress, wearing a pair of jeans and a simple red blouse, a denim jacket unbuttoned, hanging loosely over her shoulders. Her hair was in a messy ponytail, threw over her left shoulder.  

And shit, she talked too, which made it appear this was in fact real.

“Good evening, Steve. I am sorry to wake you,” she whispered, leaving him stare at her blankly, dumbstruck, breath stuck in his chest.

“I’ll drive ya’, Dr.Strange’s car needs a test ride. Fury’s payin’ for the gas, by the way, the ol’ bastard,” Pietro continued as Steve managed to only watch the woman he had been missing for the past weeks lower her gaze, her teeth anxiously biting on her lower lip, fingers toying with the edges of her jacket. Hers? “I’ll be back by tomorrow afternoon, even have an hour or two to spare. That’s if you start packin’ now, bud.”

The mention of packing snapped Steve from his trance, all the emotions hitting him like a damn truck. Anger, longing, more confusion, restlessness as his girl was standing only few feet away from him and he couldn’t take it anymore.

He took a hesitant step towards her, ignoring the smirking man clearing his path.

“What—what are ya’ doin’ here?” Steve asked incredulously, his inner turmoil reflecting in his voice. She hadn’t showed up for weeks and now-- what exactly was she doing here? “You- you’re engaged-”

Gulping, she looked up, her eyes glistening with unshed tears; yet, a hint of a smile spread on her lips as she shifted her weight from one foot to another. For the first time, Steve also noticed her shoes, a simple pair of sneakers looking bizarre on her feet.

“To a man who loves my best friend and vice versa, my best friend who has been covering for me whenever we were together before it blew to our faces,” she explained, not daring to raise her voice above whisper. Steve still didn’t understand – not fully, unable to comprehend what was happing on his doorstep. Pietro talking about his cousin, about driving, Fury paying for gas, the woman he still loved standing there as if ready to skip town- “She was too covering for me when I talked to Mrs. Maximoff when she helped me to plan this. Pietro said you would want this as well— but- but if you don’t, I will leave you alone. I-“

The day Steve had met the strange girl from uptown, Bucky hadn’t failed to mention Pietro was the fast one, clearly implying Steve was the slow one.

Bucky should have fucking seen Steve now when she hesitated, unsure of his feelings – he had never acted so fast in his whole damn life.

He crossed the distance in one long stride and his hands shot up to her, grabbing her by her shoulders unceremonially. Before she could react, he pulled her body against his with all he got, claiming her mouth like there was no tomorrow.

He swallowed her yelp of surprise, followed by her happy laugh, feeling tears springing from her eyes, causing him to halt just as she finally started kissing him back.

“But your family-“ he blurted out, interrupted by her shaking her head wildly, hair flying.

“Mr. Ross has an eye on my sister. He is from a good family, of good name, generations of lawyers. My family will do splendidly,” she said with a smile playing on her lips, sweet and watery as tears still rolled down her face – happy ones, Steve believed. He felt the same delight bursting in him, switching from a broody cynic back to the fool in love in no time. “And we might too. We will have each other and I have learned enough to teach—or-- or I can be a waitress if I can’t find another job, it doesn’t matter, just so you are not the only one to-“

God, he loved her. She was so adorable and sweet and was talking about being his and going from basically a modern princess to a damn waitress, because she was willing to be with him whatever the fucking cost, apparently--

And was there really anything else he could do?

He grabbed the back of her neck to connect their mouths again, a hungry open-mouthed kiss, his hand fisting in her hair, because holy fuck, how was this happening, she was here and she was his-

“Alright, alright, smoochin’ later, packin’ your friggin’ bags now, Rogers,” Pietro cleared his throat loudly, sounding only as annoyed as amused. “I have a long drive ahead.”

Later, bags hazardously full and piled up in the trunk and on the backseat next to them, Steve couldn’t stop smiling and yet he felt a pang of guilt, ruminating over everything she was giving up.

She was resting her head on his shoulder, their interlaced fingers in his lap and Steve revelled at the absence of an overpriced engagement ring on her hand, the one from his ma’s securely in one of his bags to take place on her finger one day. She was walking the fine line between the real world and the dreamland, breathing softly to the crook of his neck and she seemed content. For now.

He sighed and pressed what could be the hundredth kiss to her hair that night.

“Doll?” he whispered softly, the question burning on his tongue, the only one he could hope to actually have answered now and not after they would try and started a life together.

“Mm?” she hummed softly, nuzzling into him further, her lips brushing the exposed skin on his throat.

“Why me? You could have any of those-“ snobs “-high-class… uptown guys.”

The smile he felt against his skin had him melt into the seat as he chased away all the grim thoughts about what the future might bring, her regretting her decision and blaming him for her ruined life on top of that list.

“Because I love you, Steve, and you are worth ten of them. My amazing downtown guy,” she emphasized, filling Steve’s chest with the most delicious warmth, his heart swelling, feeling so full it might burst.

He knew she wasn’t just saying that – she meant it. If she hadn’t, she wouldn’t’ have been in his arms right now, heading to damn Baltimore with nothing but her bags, little money and few pieces of jewellery.

“I love ya’ too,” he whispered, this time pressing a kiss to her nose, drawing an exhausted giggle from her lips. Yep, his heart was about to burst before they even reached their destination. “Love ya’ so much. My sweet, sweet uptown girl.”

“Not so uptown anymore...”

Steve chuckled as rather than regret, her voice was filled with relief. “I’m willin’ to put up with ‘dat as long as ya’ stay mine.”

She squeezed his hand, tilting her head up, blinking up at him sleepily and softly pressing her lips to his.

“I think that can be arranged.”

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S.R. masterlist

cxptain’s challenge (check it out, prompts are still available - and who doesn’t like the 80′s?)

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Tags:

@wxstedhexrt, @comicshoplife, @elysianecho, @scentedsongrebel, @orions-nebula, @pies-writes-and-more​, @kayteewritessteve​, @murdermornings, @rinkashirikitateku, @queen-kass-the-writer

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….yes, in the first ending, there might have been a chance of our uptown girl planning an escape and Steve aka heartbroken dummy blew it. But hey, maybe not, perhaps she only wanted to say goodbye like he dreamed of… who knows. 

Aaaaanyway.

You are my hero if you finished reading this fic! Thank you so much for finding time to do that, this one truly was a beast – at least when I consider that it WAS supposed to be a one shot. 

Any feedback is appreciated, as always – good, bad (if constructive), coherent or incoherent, or ‘just’ a like if you enjoyed and don’t feel like putting feelings into words. Thanks again for reading!

[kalypsichor]

five’s a crowd [ beatles x reader ] part seven

summary: You’re not jealous of the fact that girls on Tinder love George, you’re not. John may or may not be sexually attracted to metaphors. Paul may or may not have a professor kink. Ringo is just vibin’ like always. Gigi Hadid terrorizes your dreams. Oh, and y’all finally get the McLennon sandwhich you asked for.

warnings: 2k words of the usual bullshit, some english major bashing, actually it’s just john bashing ( sorry @spaceyantique​ ), i love english majors, and miscommunication babey!

masterlist and parts one | two | three | four | five | six

i’m writing this draft at 3 am. it’s a new low for me. oh, and the poem mentioned in geo’s tinder is lyrics from ‘for you blue’

“Well, it is a flattering picture.”

You have to agree with Ringo. The two of you are perched on the couch, peeking over George’s shoulder at the Tinder profile. John and Paul are sharing the armchair, snickering at something. Probably another scheme. Bastards…

The photo is the one John had snapped a few days ago of George in the kitchen. He’s got this brilliant smile on his face, just having taken his first warm shower in weeks, and he’s gloriously naked from the belly button up. It’s a little blurry, but it captures George’s happiness—though you privately think that no picture could ever really do the boy justice. Take that, stupid Tinder girls.

“‘George.’” Ringo reads the bio out loud. “‘Twenty-one. Majoring in horticultural science, looking for a girl to put the ‘ho’ into it.’ This is terrible,” he says rather gleefully. George turns around and gives his friend a betrayed look.

“You missed the best bit. ‘I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you. You looked at me, that’s all you had to do.’ What’s that?”

George goes stock still. Slowly, his head turns to John and you swear you can hear it creak like a door hinge.

“You.” The word shakes from his throat with a quiet rage. “You looked through mY DIARY???”

“YOU HAVE A DIARY?” Ringo screeches. Paul has the common sense to look a little frightened, but his boyfriend, who borrows a brain cell from Paul from time to time, does not.

“You write beautiful poetry, George,” John croons, and you have to physically hold George down to keep him from tackling the dumbass. Paul, getting flashbacks to the Shower Debacle, shudders.

You, on the other hand, are trying to wrap your head around the bio. Poetry? About who? That didn’t sound like it was about just anybody. Lucky girl, your mind hisses. Or boy. You immediately try recalling every single time George has brought up a classmate. Your brain sputters a bit and spits out an answer to one of the questions you’d skipped on your first midterm yesterday. Except now it’s fucking useless, isn’t it????

Ringo speaks, bringing you out of your downward spiral into insanity. “Hey, the app says you’ve got a match.”

Frowning, George taps on the notification. “But I haven’t even looked at anyone’s profile.”

“I did you a favor and swiped right a couple o’ times,” John says. George groans—no, the sound does not turn you on a little—and hangs his head forward. By ‘a couple,’ John must’ve meant a couple hundred, because George’s phone is blowing up. The only thing keeping George from hurtling the phone right into John’s smarmy little meerkat grin so hard that he shits pieces of it out for weeks is your hand on him. The warmth of it is radiating out from his shoulder to his chest and sweeping down to his toes. When you take your hand away a few seconds later, thinking it had overstayed its welcome, George has to try very hard not to sigh.

“This one is cute,” Ringo comments. The notification had read ‘Maureen Super Likes You!’ and the phone screen is now showing a pretty brunette, around your age, smiling up at George.

“Yeah, well, I’m not interested.”

He didn’t say she wasn’t cute.

“Wait, wait!” John scrambles out of his armchair, nearly pushing Paul off in the process. George’s thumb pauses where it’s hovering over the ‘delete’ button for the app. “Come on, Geo. You haven’t gone out in years. Like, since high school. Since… since…”

“Pattie,” Ringo says. You and Ringo hadn’t known the other three in high school, but, as always, he was good with names.

Pattie? George has never mentioned a Pattie...

“Yeah, Pattie!” John lights up. You wish people would stop saying her name. “Pattie Boyd. Man, she was a catch… I still remember her blonde hair. And those long legs. She looked like, uh… who’s that model?”

“Bridget Bardot.” Ringo, again.

Paul is mirroring the sour look on your face, though he obviously has a better reason for it.

“No, who the fuck is that? I meant Gigi Hadid. Isn’t that why you dated her?”

“She did not/” George protests. “And no, John, unlike some people, I care about more than just looks.”

At this point, Paul looks as though he’s about to cry. “What’s that supposed to mean? I’m more than looks, aren’t I?”

“I didn’t mean you, obviously.” But George’s words are lost under John, who leaps back into the armchair and coos at his boyfriend.

“Macca, you know I love you for more than your looks. You’ve got that big old brain, and you’re the best artist in this whole school… it’s just a bonus you’re so pretty too.”

Paul seems satisfied by this. Stupid fucking English major. John could get anything his way with just a few words.

“John’s right, y’know.” You and Ringo mouth ‘y’know’ at each other and erupt into giggles. “You’ve got to put yourself out there more. You’re in your third year of uni and you haven’t even dated a single person. There’s only one more year before you’re out in the real world! And the sea will be much, much bigger then.”

George scowls, unimpressed by Paul’s little speech. “People aren’t fish, Paul. And I’m vegetarian, so I don’t condone catching them.”

“It’s a metaphor!” Paul cries, throwing his hands in the air. John nods and makes eyes at him as if metaphors were the sexiest thing in the world. He’s probably into that. English majors.

“You tell ‘em, babe.”

The doorbell rings, banishing any homicidal thoughts from your mind.

“That’ll be the takeout,” you say. George flies so quickly to the door, desperate to get out of the situation, that you feel a little gust of wind. You hear him say something to the delivery person and then he’s coming back into the living room, take out boxes in tow and a big smile on his face. Nothing makes the boy happier than food. And maybe leggy blondes that look like Gigi Hadid, your brain suggests, and you sigh.

For a good ten minutes, the conversation is put on hold. You’re all broke college students, after all, and getting Chinese is like a luxury.

“What’d you get?” you ask through a mouthful of food, looking over George’s shoulder. He’s sat back down on the floor in front of the couch again and he lifts the box up so you can see it.

“Veggies with fried noodles. You?”

“Same.”

“Twinsies,” George says solemnly, and you high five over it.

Unbeknownst to the two of you, John and Paul share an eyeroll.

“I got shrimp fried rice if anyone cares,” Ringo pipes up from next to you. You bump your shoulder into his.

“Of course I care, Ritchie. Wanna trade a shrimp for my broccoli?”

He nods and you both chopstick over the terms of the trade. George’s grin drops a little. John and Paul roll their eyes even harder.

After a while, having devoured their food like it’s the Last Supper, you’ e all pulled out your phones. You scroll through Instagram and send a funny post to the flat’s group chat, and everyone laughs simultaneously. Everyone except George, who… has opened Tinder again. Christ, how does he have so many matches?

Well, why wouldn’t he? He’s cute… and funny… and gives the best advice when you’re down…

And you’ll be sharing all that with some other girl if you don’t do something about it.

“Why do these girls keep asking about my teeth?”

You scoff, trying to ignore the pit in your stomach. George’s sexy vampire teeth are yours and yours alone to appreciate, thankyouverymuch. “Probably have oral fixations, the lot of them.”

John does a whole body shudder and you all turn to stare at him. “Don’t fucking talk to me about Freud. That Psych course tore my GPA into shreds.”

“Right, like you care about your grades so much.” You lean back against the couch. “What was so bad about that class, anyway? I enjoyed it.”

“Professor Pang fucked me.”

“WHAT—”

“Fucked me over! Jesus, I dunno why my mouth just had a seizure there.” John cradles Paul’s face in his hands, trying to smooth away the frown on his face. “Paul, you know I didn’t mean it.”

“That’s a Freudian slip, that is,” you comment, sticking your tongue out when John turns to glare at you. Ringo starts humming Hot For Teacher under his breath. John leans over and smacks him.

“The only teacher I’ve got the hots for is you,” John says, turning back to Paul, and you and George make gagging noises. “Professor McCartney…”

“Professor?” Paul’s Pout (yes, with a capital P) turns into a grin. “I like the sound of that.”

“I think I’ve been bad… shall I serve detention for you?”

“Okay, just go!” You point towards their bedroom. “Please leave the immediate vicinity right fucking now.”

“I’m gonna hurl,” George says. The two horny bastards giggle and scurry off in the direction of your finger, door slamming behind them.

You go to bed that night with a belly full of noodles and a brain full of thoughts that keep you turning and tossing in bed. And when you finally do fall asleep, you dream about Gigi Hadid, cackling as she chases you around with George’s stupid little towel.

***

Your second exam the next day goes miserably.

Okay, maybe you’re being dramatic. It wasn’t that bad—you’d done a fair bit of studying that weekend, invigorated to overcome the Coffee Incident. Still, you couldn’t stop thinking about George the whole time, and him swiping through Tinder, and whoever the hell that Pattie girl is.

Okay, stop it. You can’t hate her for dating the boy you like. Us women have to support each other, the rational part of your brain tells you.

You grumble all the way back to the flat, fighting with the reasonable part of you. Eventually, you give in. Rational You is right. Hating on a chick you don’t know is what makes up eighty percent of Hollywood’s bullshit romcoms. Yes, you are going to be a good person and take the high route.

That all goes away when you open the door.

John and Paul are standing in the kitchen, whispering furiously to each other. You only catch the tail end of what they’re saying—

“-didn’t think he was actually going to do it!”

—before John sees you in the doorway and smacks Paul on the shoulder.

“Heyyy there,” John says. You immediately know something is wrong. You walk shut the door behind you and eye Paul’s smile warily.

“What are you two doing?”

“Erm, we were making a sandwich for you.” Paul gestures exaggeratedly at the plate on the counter, which John holds up at shoves in your direction.

“Yeah, we knew you’d need a little pick me up after the test.”

You look around the flat carefully. It’s awfully quiet. Ringo’s at his twelve o’clock lecture, but you should be able to hear…

“Where’s George?”

This slaps the smile right off of their faces and neither of the boys can put it back on quickly enough for you to not notice.

“He’s doing yoga,” Paul says at the same time John blurts out,

“He went to visit his mum!”

Paul glares at John and you feel something twist in your gut. “Yes, you see...” Paul looks frantically to the ceiling. God won’t help you out of this one. “George went to pick up his mum… and they’re at yoga together!”

You walk into the kitchen, crossing your arms. “Louise lives in Liverpool,” you say slowly.

“Yup,” John says.

“And the yoga studio is ten minutes away from our flat.”

“Yuuup.”

You can’t believe he’s still keeping this up. “And the drive from here to Liverpool is four hours. And George doesn’t have a car.”

“Yuuuuuuuuu—”

“Oh, I can’t take it anymore,” Paul cries, ignoring John’s frantic shushing. “George went on a date with that Maureen girl from Tinder. He’s at the coffee shop now.”

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

You must’ve said this out loud, because Paul gives you a sympathetic look. After a long moment of silence, John once again offers you the plate.

“Sandwich?” he asks, trying for a smile that comes across more as a grimace.

You take the sandwich and throw it right into the trash, plate and all.

[forestdivinity]

the spirits of my past lives still follow me around

Dear Daddy

What are ghosts but people stuck out of time? What am I but a body stuck out of its grave? 

You killed me, once, twice, a thousand times. How many minutes did I spend in that damn crypt? How many hours did you listen to me scream and scream and scream? You always were a sadist - and not even the fun kind! 

Metaphor meet truth. 

They make us write letters in rehab - why depends on the shrink of the day but all the ones I’ve met seem to think writing out your thoughts will make them more coherent. I haven’t been coherent since I was four years old, ear drums blown out from the screaming.

Hah, you believed me then! Before that, you thought I was as ordinary as Vanya. Worse even, because I wouldn’t stop crying. Least Vanya was quiet. Sure you hated her too, but least she rarely annoyed you. Not the way I did. 

Sorry! I’m a chronic pain in the ass.

I’m not actually sorry.

I want you to know I’m not sorry about any of the fucking stuff I did to piss you off. Wish I’d done more. Wrapped my fingers around your throat and squeezed maybe - wonder if that would have killed you. You always seemed so untouchable, Dad. What’s a little more murder in the family, anyway?

Fuck you, fuck you. Why was I never enough? 

You shoved me in with the dead, maybe you just wanted me to join them. Sounds like a you thing. Got a screaming, sobbing, unruly child you can’t be bothered to deal with? Well, have I got just the thing for them, a crash course in their worst fears, woo! Great fucking plan, Daddy! That’s ironic, Bee-Tee-DoubleU.

Wish you’d let me get into the medicine cabinet earlier. Not like I did anything to please you before that. I don’t think They ever realised. 

Man, I miss drugs. Rehab is like a crash course in trauma. There’s always like one Screamer lurking where you least expect it, Dad. 

Sometimes it’s me, you know. Sometimes I’m the screamer. Everyone is a fucking ghost here, I swear, we’re all stuck in this white walled little crypt, all dreaming of the same fucking pills. I’m like dreaming of ecstasy lately. I see those little babies every time I close my eyes, like they miss me too. Klaus, Klaus, Klaus, they call. Just like the ghosts.

Ever think I was destined to be this? If there're ghosts around and boys with tentacle portals in their stomachs, then maybe destiny exists too? Does god exist then?

Maybe I’m a just fucking psychotic Daddy! Maybe I burst my own ear drums just to get you to look at me, ever think about that? Wouldn’t that be disappointing? I was always a disappointment to you, should have just gone to that little grave early. It might have been pitiable then, not just pathetic.

I want heroin. I love her like a daughter, like a mother, like a wife. I always thought about being a wife, having a wife, but looks like it wasn’t in the plan, huh? Huh! It’s your fault! All of it!

I wish I’d never been born. Fucking miracle birth my ass.

Funny, I wanted to get deep in this, but you just make me so mad and I’m disastrously sober. You never liked me sober, didn’t like me high either. Then again, maybe you just hated kids. Weirdo.

I want the drugs now. I’m so tired and so angry. You ever feel like the walls are just closing in on you? Probably not, I doubt you’re claustrophobic. Honestly, you never seemed scared of anything, like you weren’t even human. Just some monocle wearing robot come to torment us all. Unfair comparison for robots really, Mom definitely tried her best.

I am an imploding star, Dad. Nothing you can do to change that - BEN!! STOP READING OVER MY SHOULDER! 

I’ve been burning up since the day I was born. 

Lovecraft wrote “and with stranger aeons, even death may die” - he was a racist, piece of shit bastard, but I’m waiting for it to come true. Maybe then I’d get some fucking peace. Wouldn’t that be fantastic?

All I ever wanted in life was peace, Dad! Why d'you have to go and leave me to the screaming. Sometimes I don’t know if I ever got free? What if this is all some strange fever dream, the last moments of an addled mind? What a nightmare to dream up as you die. Maybe I’m just in Hell - this life is certainly an eternal torture. 

Seems too easy though, doesn’t it?

I bet the Devil is like, a cowboy. Everyone depicts him as some big, red, fork-tailed thing, but I think a cowboy would be funny. Unexpected. And you would hate it, which only makes it better, you know? Recently I’ve been asking myself “would Dad hate this?” and if the answer is yes, I do it. Wrote a whole ass soliloquy on cock a few weeks back. I was so fucking high. Thought I’d be the next Shakespeare or something.

Turns out I just waffled about dick cheese for three pages. 

Eh.

You’d still hate it, so I count it as a win.

Daddy, I have officially lost the fucking plot of this letter. I blame Ben; he keeps trying to read over my shoulder, you should tell him to leave me alone. Not that he’d listen to you! Like any of us bar, Luther listened to you in the end. I think it would have been a better world if we’d all run away like Five, but alas, it was not the case.

What was even the point of this?

Oh yeah. I hate you. You fucked me up.You left me to rot and die in that crypt and I haven’t been alive ever since. It’s funny, you can go through life as a ghost and no one ever notices.

I hope one day, when you die, I get to piss on your ashes. It would be a fucking fitting end.

Fuck you.

Klaus Hargreeves.

-

The letter never gets sent. For three weeks and a day it sits in the bottom of his coat pocket until Klaus forgets he’d ever written it in the first place. He gets high, beautifully, soaringly high and uses the paper to roll joints when he runs out of skins. 

A fitting end. Gone in the wind.

Klaus laughs when he realises, fingers itching for another hit. Time to move on. Not like it would have made a difference anyhow.

[ninjakitty15]

Chapter 19: Good Impressions (Loki x OFC Pairing)

I looked in the mirror and couldn't help but grin widely, baring my teeth even as a sense of giddiness filled me. It was very rarely I ever actually dressed up or even really did much to prepare for an upcoming battle beyond gathering power, planning and making sure I had all my war ducks in a row, this was extra but it was the good kind in my opinion.

"You know...I read that the Spartans, the fiercest ancient warriors our world had at one point, would pretty themselves up before battle and spies from enemy lines that caught them doing that would overestimate them. Apparently real men don't wear makeup into a war," I told Loki who walked up behind me, watching me check myself out. "Funny thing is in this country and probably a lot of other countries today have this thing called war paint which might not make them look fabulous like a Spartan but it might as well be makeup as it's primarily worn on their face."

"I remember the Spartans, Odin was impressed by their tactics and way of life, especially their stand against the Persians, the odds weren't in their favor and yet somehow they gave them hell before defeat," Loki recalled.

"Quality over quantity," I added. "Those people were literally born to be warriors, only the strong babies survived the first of many tests they were forced into." I combed a hand through my hair, considered messing it but decided against it. "I used to be more of a silk or velvet kinda girl but I gotta tell ya, I'm really digging the leather. It's fashionable, it's sexy even, and it's pretty decent armor, I mean it's no breastplate or Kevlar vest but those are a bit too obvious and that's the last thing we want right now." I took a few swaggering steps, glancing at my backside curiously to see how it all fit together.

"You're enjoying this entirely too much," he mused.

"I know it hasn't been that long since we met, but are you really surprised at this point?"

"No, not really. How long are you gonna fawn over yourself in the mirror before we actually put this plan into motion?"

"Relax, I got this. I just gotta get a few things down pat before we jump head first into this oncoming shit storm." I grinned again. "What's the hurry?"

He watched me, a glint of amusement in his eyes as he shook his head at my antics. "You got the smile right and I'm not sure how you were able to copy my walk so quickly but the humor needs to change if you insist on chattering before things get started."

"But...humor is why I'm still kicking," I protested. "And it's a far cry from your own, which mind you I'm glad you have any at all, some other gods can't seem to grasp that concept despite being eons old. Still, it's a lot more...eloquent than I'm used to."

"Then perhaps don't say anything at all."

"And leave you to do all the talking, hell to the no, spank you very much."

"What's wrong with me doing the talking for once?" he crossed his arms in challenge and arched an eyebrow, daring me to answer.

I gave the god an unapologetic and unamused look. "I'm not the only one that's been muzzled here, maybe your brother was onto something when he did it to you."

"How dare you? You take that back right now!"

"Or what? Whatcha gonna do, huh? Take your shot, green boy, you got me deadbang."

The sound of someone clearing their throat loudly interrupted our usual bickering match and we both turned to see a half amused half arachnid smirking at us with his unnaturally muscular arms crossed as well. "You know this is technically playing with yourself, right? I mean if that's the case, could you get a room that isn't the only bathroom in the apartment, please?"

"How long since this plan was in motion did you wanna use that joke?" I teased the kid.

Peter shrugged and pretended to look bashful but now that he too was throwing in dirty jokes, the facade of him being an innocent kid was now out the window. "You sure I can't tag along?"

"Kid, you got your own enemies to fight and this might be a bit above your skillset which means if you tag along theres much less chance of you coming back."

"But you could just bring me back yourself, right?"

I scowled at his optimism. "Doesn't work that way, I only bring back the ones that can't pass on on their own and want another chance at tying up loose ends, and you better not be one of those people, you're a kid, which goes against my personal code of bringing back zombie kids, that's just fucking depressing having an army of rotting midgets."

Peter sighed in despair and slumped his shoulders. "I never get to do anything fun."

I rolled my eyes at his whining. "I'd also be held responsible for letting you come with and I kinda don't want to be hunted down by a team of go getters and fancyass technology, no spank you. I already have Hydra for the latter. So do me a favor, sit your five dollar ass down, before I make change."

Peter scoffed at my implied threat but stopped bugging me, it might have been his plan that could get the odds in our favor but it sure as hell wasn't his fight and I had no intention of dragging another cute super powered person into my personal vendetta. "Aunt May says you can come back anytime, just give one of us a heads up next time...and maybe something that gets black bloodstains off any surface just in case."

I would've blanched if I wasn't pale already. "Oh no, did I ruin something, I can pay for that."

"No no, just, I think she thinks you'd only come here if you're in trouble like you were this time and she's worried you might miss a spot next time if that's the case, normal blood you can just use hydrogen peroxide, but I'm not too sure it works on corpse blood."

"Noted and tell her thanks for everything, same goes for you of course since you were the one to let us in before she agreed to it. And also not informing the A team, that's important...you didn't tell them right?"

"Not like they take me all that seriously or even answer my calls if I did," Peter muttered. "You're all good there, promise."

"Excellent! You stay sharp and cute, the second either of that fails, you're fucked."

"Thanks, I think."

"Right then." I turned to Loki with another smirk. "How's this for a first impression?" I asked in smooth sorta British sorta something else accent.

He scowled at me but couldn't complain it seemed. "I'm getting the sense you've been working on that before this came to pass."

"Anyone can do an Avenger impression, hell anyone can wear their costumes, right Peter? But I'm not about the hero life, so why waste time on them when I've been giving it all to you?"

Loki was silent at this and it was Peter that actually responded to me. "That was actually really sweet."

"You say that like it's a surprise, physically dead here, not emotionally dead, thank you. My heart hadn't reached that stage where it becomes calcified like a fetus that won't leave its womb."

"You always have the oddest choice of metaphors," muttered Loki. "So you have the walk, the voice, the smile even though I'm not sure that's even necessary at this point."

"When are you going to prepare for the plan then?" I challenged. "Go on, see how well you know your part."

"Don't you worry about my side of the plan, I've been doing this sort of thing for the sheer fun of it long before you decided to do it out of sheer boredom."

I snorted and rolled my eyes at him. "Yes, we're all very aware of your old age, you don't have to remind us like we have to remind you, old man."

"Ye of little faith," he mocked, earning a bar of soap flying at his face he was lucky enough to duck. "Your aim needs improvement."

"I'm sorry, did you actually want to be hit in the head by something solid and hard and not a pillow, because I missed on purpose, you cotton headed ninny-muggins."

"Seriously, is all you two do bicker at each other?" asked Peter.

"Well I mean you wouldn't let us have any real adult fun while we crashed here so we gotta get that pent up energy out somehow, right?" I reasoned.

"She's not wrong," Loki agreed.

"Besides, no one's getting hurt from it, I'm convinced this is our own special way of showing we love each other without being a bunch of saps. I'm 99 things but a sap ain't one."

"What's wrong with being affectionate?" asked Peter, almost sounding offended.

"That implies I have more emotions than I'm willing to admit to anyone including myself, I'm generally not ok with having that much feels." I grinned, slicked back my hair again before doing a little dance for funsies.

"I'd refrain from doing that little jig when the plan's in full swing," warned Loki though he was still smiling in amusement.

"Oh but I like this," I purred with the accent again.

The smirk on his own face twisted, like I said something that somehow offended him and all his ancestors and pissed him off or deeply upset him. "Don't make me take it away from you till right before the fight starts."

"Oh come on, maybe you just need to hug it out and join the fun, bring it in, big guy." I opened my arms wide for emphasis. "There's no better love than self love."

He rolled his eyes at my stellar pun and green magic rolled over him as he changed into character. "I bet you were just dying to make that joke."

I stared at him and it was my turn to glare. "Was that your attempt at a dead joke? Oh hun, you gotta do better than that to fit the bill."

"Don't patronize me, woman, I wasn't even trying then."

I walked over and patted his cheek just to mess with him. "Sure you weren't. Do me a favor and work on that but also turn around for me."

"Why?"

"Just...do it."

He did begrudgingly and I frowned upon studying his form thoroughly before he faced me again. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, you got it right, it's just...I didn't realize it looked like that and now I'm suddenly an insecure teenager. Peter, is this how you feel all the time because, dude, this really sucks and I feel for ya."

"You say that like you were never one yourself," Peter noted.

"I know I was but like, I don't remember what it was like then, I couldn't tell you what I was like as a teen."

"Why not?"

"No memory of it, at all."

"You mean like it was so long ago that you can't remember that far back or lots of stuff happened during it so fast that it's all a blur."

"I mean it's not even accessible, it's gone from my mind completely."

Peter frowned, probably trying to understand what I was getting at. "Amnesia?"

"Mindwipe."

"Like Bucky Barnes?"

"No, that's brainwashed...wait, those do sound synonymous, damn, hadn't even thought about that. Brainwashed is basically having your mind overridden and reprogrammed, there's memories there but they're not real ones. Mindwiped is just nothing there to reprogram at all."

"Did Hydra do that too?"

"No, Hydra can't touch this, something they need to have programmed in their heads for all the times they tried and failed any of their aims when they had me. I can't tell you the who, but I can tell you it was painless and done willingly and without regret."

"You chose to have memories taken from you?"

I nodded simply, unable to elaborate as per the deal.

Loki, knowing there was some things I couldn't talk about for reasons he wouldn't know until hopefully later, chose to cut in then. "I think that's enough curiosity for now, we should get going and finish the plan you concocted for us."

I smiled thankfully at Loki and nodded in agreement. "Yes, of course.  Parker, if I don't make it back by tomorrow...just wait longer."

"Stop teasing the child, Nell, you could be really testing his patience with your antics and we wouldn't be welcomed back."

"You wouldn't, I would because I'm a delight to be around." I strutted after him anyway and he shook his head and beckoned me out of the bathroom and unfortunately out of the apartment.

"The Hydra agents and people that turned on you would say otherwise."

"The Hydra agents don't even know what joy is, the only time they're smiling is when they think they're about to take over the world and people are dying around them...the traitors are just pussies which means it doesn't take much to make em weep."

"Again with the metaphors."

"Maybe you should start taking some notes, eh? Give you a head start seeing as I'm all caught up on my end, unless you got something to add there?"

"Well you still haven't proven you can get the mannerisms right and mannerisms maketh men."

"But we are not men..."

"No, we're immortals."

[join-the-joywrite]

Hamish & Vera soulmate au headcannons

Part two of the first words au suggested by my girl, Sima, as demanded requested.

I am Not Happy about this

I'm a very big fan of saying "fuck canon" in favour of my otp happening but honestly ,,,,, the pain is too great to pass up so here we go.

It took months for Hamish to properly open up verbally. When he did, Vera asked about the ring. He told her all about Cassie and Nico, save the bit about the Knights.

It was a few more months when Hamish started visiting the old places he used to love to favourite with Cassie, but they still weren't the same. He didn't mind, though. They were just places now. Places that held pleasant memories. Now, important places are where he goes with Vera.

Hamish is on his way to meeting Vera when he runs into Randall Carpio. The man is crazy, Hamish first thinks. Then, he'd make a good knight.

"Who's the lovely lady? Hi, I'm Randall Carpio, and you are?"

"Taken."

"Damnit, Hamish!"

Vera finds him endearing, somewhat, as one would a toddler. Two days later, Hamish decides to invite Randall into the Knights. Greybeard chooses him and they celebrate. It feels good to have someone to talk to about things only a Knight would understand. He thought about Vera, but after Cassie, he didn't think he could handle it. Besides, Randall looks like he'd take on a wolf without being one of them. He's perfect for the job.

Hamish knocks on Vera's door late one night.

"Are you okay?" "Can I stay here tonight? Please."

Vera obviously lets him in.

"You ever meet someone and you know they've done nothing wrong at all, but it feels like they're trying to replace someone you've lost?" Vers tries a joke, "This isn't about me and Cassie, is it?" Thankfully, Hamish finds the joke funny. "You, no. Cassie, yes. Randall's made this friend and honestly there's nothing wrong with her but . . . it's like she's wearing Cassie's favourite jacket and I can't get her to take it off."

Hamish intentionally leaves out the part where he was the one who opened the doors for Lilith. Vera would find the metaphor much more impactful if she knew Hamish meant Timber.

Hamish doesn't talk much about Lilith to Vera, though it's not as if they get a chance to talk at all. Now with Randall and Lilith knighted, Hamish has found purpose outside of Vera -- taking down the Order. They were what got Nico killed and they were what got Cassie killed. Hamish knew the Order was the bad magic he's supposed to fight. In addition, Vera's just been made Temple Magus and it is a lot more more work than she'd anticipated. Not to mention, having the university in her jurisdiction included attaining the seat of Chancellor. Fuck the social life, I guess.

At least they're always able to come home to each other.

Unfortunately, that too starts falling apart.

Hamish gets pulled deeper and deeper into uncovering the Order with Randall and Lilith, slowly figuring out how to find the pledges and get rid of them. Since he'd told Vera about Cassie, talking about the departed Knight becomes easier. He struggles a bit to explain it all to Randall, but he's able to speak properly and tell Lilith all about Cassie. When Hamish reveals that Cassie had been Timber's champion, Lilith understands. She is harsh and brash and often rude, but she also has a heart to love, no matter how guarded and hidden. She makes an effort to distinguish herself from Timber and from Cassie. Hamish makes an effort to see Lilith instead of Cassie's replacement. Once they succeed on that, their relationship improves tenfold. (Randall is relieved. He was worried his days as a Knight were gonna be filled to the brim with tension and loathing)

Vera gets pulled deeper into the Order. She's sucked into the position she's been granted and no matter how much she tries to leave it for a break now and then, something or the other pulls her back. It doesn't help that the pledges decrease in number every year due to at least one of them dying.

By the time Jack Morton makes his way to Belgrave, things have quite nearly fallen apart. Hamish has stopped visiting an empty house. Vera's stopped trying to call when she finally leaves the temple, only to reach the voicemail of a sleeping Hamish, who's stopped trying to send texts every odd hour.

Given that Jack never actually said Vera's name to the Knights (I believe, and if I'm wrong shhh it's an au), it's no surprise that the the earlier parts of Finals Pt.2 is slightly more comedy than pain. (Let's assume Lilith never mentions Vera's name upon regaining her memories either)

Let it also be known that I, for the life of me, cannot recall how the entire scene plays out, so we just gonna make it up as we go along =)

Hamish is down in the basement when Jack brings a new ally to the den. An injured Lilith is there.

"Miss Bathory." "Bitch." "Fair enough."

Randall is in next, excited to see Lilith back in the den. "Hey! I knew you weren't dead!"

"Randall?" "Vera! Heyyyyy, long time no see, huh? Wh -- what . . . what are you doing here?" "You -- you're one of them? The werewolves?" "Shiiiiiiiit, you know?? Wait, you're not like,, in the Order, are you?" "How long have you been a werewolf?" *guilty face* "FROM THE START????"

Lilith & Jack: 🤨 wtf is happening here

Hamish returns. "Guys, who's. . ." Hamish stares at Vera. For a while, he wonders how she found the den. Then he wonders what she's doing at the den. Then he recalls Jack mentioning that he was bringing an unlikely ally. He'd figured unlikely ally meant someone in the Order. ". . . here?"

Vera shoots Jack a glare. "What the fuck is this, Mr Morton?"

"Uhh . . . I didn't-- I wasn't aware you guys were, uh . . . friends?"

Hamish is still staring at Vera. "This what you've been doing for years? Magic? The Order? That promotion . . . it wasn't about the chancellor position, was it?"

(Lil bit of comedy = Randall: WAIT, SHE'S THE TEMPLE MAGUS??????)

"You say magic like it's evil. Have you ever once thought about the fact that you've been murdering my pledges every year since Miss Bathory was expelled from the Order? Which is more evil, Hamish, protecting magic or killing its practitioners?"

"Your people got Cassie and Nico killed," Hamish hisses, "those practitioners you're protecting are the reason Cassie and Nico died. Magic. Is. Evil."

"Magic isn't evil! I was barely a Magistratus when your ex-girlfriend was killed! Do you think I enjoyed all those respondeo incantations? Wh-- why do you think I started spending so much time at the temple? Making sure I stayed Temple Magus? I am trying to make the Order better. But you? All you care about is murdering my Neophytes. Children."

(Randall: intense wincing as his parents fight. Jack & Lilith: perplexed but very invested in the drama. Jack's a lil upset that he's got plans to go and confront Edward. He kinda wanted to see the rest of that argument.)

"Oh, that's rich, V," Hamish snaps. Despite the clear rage radiating off of Hamish, Vera isn't afraid. The nickname is familiar and welcome. It's home. Hamish, no matter how far he is from her, is home. Doesn't mean she's not got her own barrel of problems to spill.

"Rich?? I'm not the one out here killing people before they get the chance to even live. You -- you -- you are -- you're a monster, you know that?" She says it factually, as if it's something common knowledge.

"Really, V? Are we doing this now?" "Might as well! If we're all going to die, I'm not going down without getting everything out. You know, while we're on the topic of being brutally honest before we die, Mr Morton, your sense of style is horrendous, Miss Bathory, your temper is infuriating and Randall . . . you -- you -- your jokes are lame!"

Funny enough, Randall is most offended. And then Lilith has his attention because she's hurt. "Can you help?" "I don't trust her." "I don't recall caring, do you want me to save your life or not?"

Hamish is pissed as Vera turns to help Lilith. Amusingly, he's pissed because Vera isn't paying him any attention. But there are more pressing matters, like the incoming army. "We have company."

"Fucking Kepler," Vera mutters.

Both Hamish and Randall squint at Vera. "Bitsy Kepler?" "Isn't she a bit . . . fickle and stupid to be in the Order?"

"Oh, you know Kepler too?" Lilith asks, more of a rhetorical question.

"No, V just complained about her a lot." "Don't call me that, Randall." "Sorry."

"They are circling the house. What are they up to?" "Knowing Kepler, something unoriginal."

*sounds of the order throwing burning spells.* The look of awe on Hamish's face as he watches Vera cast a protection spell does not escape Randall and Lilith.

"How long is that gonna last?" "Long enough for us to deal with them."

Vera is already following an undressing Hamish to the doors. "No killing." "No promises."

Lilith stares at the empty doorway. "Are we going to talk about th--" "Nope. Not at all. Never. Anything else. Anything but whatever just transpired."

When they get into the temple and set the Vade Maecum alight, Hamish thinks maybe it isn't so bad. Maybe Vera's right, maybe she can turn the Order around. Maybe magic isn't evil. Vera takes his hand. He gives hers a little reassuring squeeze. Come hell or high water, he'll always come back to her.

It's what soulmates do.

"So, Grand Magus, huh?" "Mhm." "I didn't think you remembered this spot exists."

Vera, despite her new persona of professionalism and perfection, gets down on the grass beside Hamish. She looks at him carefully. Is she doing the right thing? Probably not. But will it keep him safe from her and the Order? More likely than not.

"What is it, V?"

"Nothing. Just thinking."

"About?"

"Us. What happened to us?"

"Magic," Hamish jokes, lightly tapping his forehead against hers. I missed you.

Vera squeezes his hand twice. I love you.

Hamish closes his eyes. So much trust he has in Vera that despite knowing she's on the other side of the great divide between the Knights and the Order, he still trusts her enough to be around her blind. Vera's guilt starts eating at her insides already. It makes her sick, but she hasn't got a better choice. The alternative is allowing the order to launch an attack on the Knights -- and if the Order could kill werewolves before, they can kill them again. Vera never wants to feel the pain Hamish felt after losing Cassie.

This is losing him, but at least she knows he's alive and safe. Safe from the Order, from magic, from all of Belgrave's dirty little secrets.

She wants to be the one to monitor him, but Grand Magus duties steal her time and attention worse than Temple Magus did. She hates having to leave him in the hands of one of the Medicums, but she can't exactly do it herself, despite wanting to.

"I thought I was the quiet one," Hamish jokes.

"Shh. Some . . . peace and quiet is welcome."

"V, are you--" Vera quickly claps her hand over his eyes. "Sh. Don't . . . don't say anything. Don't open your eyes. I just . . . I just want to see you for a moment."

Hamish smiles and complies. Vera fights to keep her shaking breath quiet. She lowers her hand slowly. Could she spare time for one last kiss? Just one? No. One would never be enough. And she knows that if Hamish kisses her now, her entire resolve will break.

She squeezes his hand twice. I love you.

Before he can respond, Vera blows the powder in his face. She sits up slowly. Dear God, she was sure she'd done something horrible in a past life to warrant this kind of torture. At least for Hamish, losing Cassie hadn't been the product of his own making.

"Your name is Hamish Duke. You go to Belgrave University. You're a TA and -- and you study psychology. Forget the Hermetic Order of the Blue Rose. Forget the Knights of Saint Christopher. Forget . . . Vera Stone."

Vera pulls him up. "Hey, that looked like a nasty fall. Are you okay?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, I'm okay, I think. Thanks."

"Sure." Vera can't help the two subtle squeezes she gives his hand before leaving. I love you. She doesn't want to be there when Selena Durov leaves her class and arrives. She doesn't want to see what Selena says to Hamish, what lies she feeds him and what she does. Vera wants to lock herself in her office and never see another person again.

Hamish frowns as he watches her leave. He wondered what had happened to her that her eyes were so sad. Part of him want to run after her and ask her. Ask her name at the very least. But something keeps him rooted to the spot where he stands.

Who was she and why did he feel like she'd said something very important?

Hamish holds his own wrist for a moment, feeling the ghost of her touch. The slight squeezes he thought he'd imagined.

I love you.

Who the hell was she? And why did he feel like he really ought to know her.

Part 3

Did I win yet, ladies? Or do you want part 3?

@gingersimasnapsandvermishthings @bakulka @everythingabouthatship

See some other soulmate aus I've tried my hand at