#loans WILL make my life now more bearable

[ningningkittie]

🐕🧸🪟🕯️

[wildandmoody]

the 'funny' part is, and this is just another example of my problems just not being as big as other people's, is that at this point in my repayment the loan forgiveness program would have covered all of the rest of my loans since i was only a year and a half in when i dropped out of college the first time. now imagine people who have debt in the hundreds of thousands because they completed undergrand AND more advanced programs....i know im preaching to the choir here but the DoE posting a graphic for a suicide hotline that will call the fucking cops on you AND collect your data, because they are AWARE of the fact that ppl kill themselves over this shit because they dont have options or even a sliver of hope for a stable or bearable life, is so fucked. this is all so fucked. they pretend they dont want you to die but then enforce systems that make sure that you die or at least really, really want to.

[shivada-jade]

soulmates!

soulmate!au because im weak. you're weak too.

characters: bennett, zhongli, diluc ➡ mentions: barbara, lisa, guizhong, hu tao, kaeya, crepus warning(s): bennett luck (he gets hurt a lot), wrote this at 2:48am so my writing may or may not make sense

bennett: feels the same emotions from the other, but the emotions have to be strong and genuine

he never understood your sudden bursts of sadness. it would come at the most inconvenient at times.

for as long as he could remember, the emotions that weren't his are mostly sad. he asked his dads about it and gently told him his soulmate system is feeling emotions from the other.

after crying from an unknown pain, he made it his soul purpose to constantly be happy all the time, no matter how unlucky he could be so you can be happy too.

his dads worry when he falls down and scrapes his knee, but he would always reply with, "i'm not hurt! my soulmate is hurt!"

he would then clutch the fabric on his chest tightly, like he's been stabbed with a sword and say, "my soulmate hurts right here."

he heaves a breath, "it doesn't compare to whatever luck i get."

"this pain is bearable," he convinces himself when he comes out a hilichurl camp in cuts and bruises.

"your soulmate needs you to be happy for them," he chastises himself for shedding a tear when another adventurer wronged him.

he visits barbara to heal his wounds and asks how she always looks so... happy, so smiley.

"all it takes is one smile to make yourself happy. it can be a slow process but it works!" she singsongs, "miss lisa showed me a study about it."

ever since barbara explained, he smiles the brightest of smiles in mondstadt. he refuses to let other adventurers let him down, worried he might hurt you more than it is.

soon, he finds out that he feels no sadness coming from you. he feels no weight on his shoulders. he feels happy after Good hunter ran out of food for him.

these are not my emotions, he thinks, a wide grin creeping it's way to his face.

he lets out the loudest laugh, giggles, and various joyous noises. he's never felt so happy in his life. for once, he feels lucky, because for once, you're finally happy in the other end of his invisible red string of fate.

his luck skyrockets when he sees a person around his age, with a gorgeous smile adorning their features. he knows its you, sitting by the fountain making wishes. he knows it's you when he sees your eyes that hold so much emotion.

it was as if his heart was tugging him to where you sat.

he's never felt so lucky to have you as his soulmate.

"thank you giving the best smiles"

zhongli: every time he passes his soulmate, he hears the sounds of bells ringing

now, zhongli never thought he would have a soulmate because of his past title of 'archon.' soulmate systems are a tricky thing. he knows there are so many ways to know your soulmate system.

the common system was their first words tattooed on themselves. many others had the ability to know when they meet them, in other words, a count down.

but zhongli never had those two, nor did he have faith in the soulmate system until the lantern rite festival.

walking by the busy streets, he muses to himself how pretty liyue is under the blanket of the moon and stars. he hears the merchants call to customers, attracting and waving at them to buy their products. he hears the clink of the mora in their bag is loud; the laughter from the children young and old marry a soft smile to his face.

he freezes, hearing something that should not belong in the lantern rite. the sound of bells ringing. it isn't any cow bell, or school bell. it's the sound of echoing, melodious wedding bells ringing his ear.

he vaguely remembers his friend guizhong mentioning about this rare particular soulmate system when she still roamed teyvat.

a soulmate!

zhongli stands straighter, eyes grazing on the sea of people, trying to see if anyone stopped to hear the bells he heard. he mutters a few apologies when people bump into him with lanterns in their hands, but that doesn't matter to him.

fate brought someone for him to love. it's just that... he doesn't know where.

he walks forward, he walks backwards to where he came from. he walks to the docks then to the top of liyue harbour, but he can't hear the sound of the bells again.

he doesn't panic. he doesn't rush, because he knows fate will bring you back together. he just doesn't know how long until he'll hear the bells again.

it came to him a surprise when he hears the bells everyday after that.

everyday when he sits at third-round knockout he hears the sound of bells behind him, but when he turns, he knows you've left already.

he sighs, blowing on his tea before taking light sips. it seems he won't be meeting you today.

one day, the ringing just stops. there's no sign of you, or your presence. zhongli assumes you're just taking a sick day, or you've decided to rest, but after a week of not hearing the bells, he worries.

archons, how he wanted to look for you, but he doesn't even know who you are. hu tao encourages zhongli to take the day off and look for you, so he did.

walking aimlessly in liyue, doubt crosses his mind. what if you were here for a business trip and left? it wasnt until he passes by a stunning figure he hears the bells again. he stiffens and turns to you when you stopped next to him.

"thank goodness," he says, slightly covering his smile with a gloved hand.

your eyes sparkle as you look at him, "thank goodness indeed."

diluc: lost possesions will come to your soulmate

for as long diluc knows, strange things always end up in his possessions: hairclips, pens, coins, and archons forbid- his soulmate's overdue bills.

his father laughs when younger diluc comes home dragging a wagon and the biggest teddy bear in history, because how on teyvat does someone lose a teddy bear taller than a door. crepus watches his son struggling to drag the big toy home and sees his other son pushing the wagon from behind, also struggling.

"what do you have there?"

all the response he gets are grunts. the side of his eyes crinkle with mirth, seeing his two sons having trouble bringing it home.

"father!" diluc calls out with a grin missing two of his front teeth, "i don't know where it came from. it's like it appeared from the sky."

"it actually did fall out of the sky!" kaeya says, "we were at the vineyard and i saw diluc get crushed!"

"i did not get crushed."

"did too," kaeya retaliates, sticking his tongue out.

that was the first time diluc heard of this certain soulmate system. lost things from his soulmate go to his possession; lost things from diluc go to his soulmate's possession.

crepus glances at his boys and gets an idea. he calls for them to follow him, and they do, obediently. he leads them to his room, pulling out a treasure chest full of frilly clothes, dresses, outfits that range from a farmer's outfit to a noblewoman.

"this chest is where your mother kept her favourite things," crepus pulls out a necklace from the bottom of the case. "this necklace was particularly her favourite."

diluc can see why. he's mesmerized by the ruby sparkle it hangs. the gold chain complimenting the red jewel and making it complete.

crepus clutches the necklace, looking at it longingly before placing it back in the chest. he places out all the old clothes from the container and lays it on his bed.

"you can keep your soulmate's things here like i once did. your pops is getting too old anyway, i-"

kaeya interrupts crepus jumps on the clothes that are on the bed, creating a havoc in the room. he jumps on the bed with so much energy even after diluc tells him about the story of the 5 little monkeys jumping on the bed.

though, crepus is having none of that. he picks up diluc by his small arms and flings him to kaeya, looking like a bowling ball knocking down a pin. the two boys gasp for air, shooting dirty looks at their father before they chase him out of the house.

the corner of diluc's mouth twitch up ever so slightly, remembering when he first knew of his soulmate. it would take a very observant person to notice his smile. he polishes the glass behind angel's share's counter. under the filtered sunlight, the glass glints. satisfied with the cleanliness.

the chest his father game him was fill of trinkets his soulmate had lost over the years, and good grief. his soulmate must be the most disorganized person ever. he remembers walking to dawn winery and a sack of mora drop on his feet. it wasn't a pleasant feeling, but the thing that has diluc worried is how his soulmate tends to lose the biggest things like a 7-foot-tall teddy bear.

diluc is about to place the wine glass on a cupboard until SMACK.

a thick paper hits his face from seemingly nowhere and so he knows that is his soulmate losing the tenth thing for the day. he has a room dedicated for the things his soulmate has lost, and he thinks he might need a second room.

he pulls the paper off his face and his eyes widen in shock. this two-inch thick paper are legal documents. loan agreements. overdue loan agreements.

[Name] [Last Name]

he notes the name in his head. [Name] owes the fatui 35 thousand mora as interest. what kind of reckless person- then it hits his mind. that sack of mora that fell from the sky was that 35 thousand to pay off the loans.

he knows where to go. he leaves the wineglass on the counter for charles to pick up and hastily grabs his coat and leaves the door.

"liyue, liyue, liyue, and the fatui." he chants in his head. loans. he greets his maid before ascending to his room. he snatches the mora that dropped on his feet and sprints out the door to retrieve his stallion.

a few hours at most to make it to where his fated partner was at, and so he sets off.

arriving at liyue is strange, seeing diluc's attire did not match the city, and seeing his hands are holding the reins of his horse tightly. a strange traveler from a foreign land... with a majestic stallion. he looks like a prince straight out of a fairytale.

he lightly pats his horse, urging to go a bit faster from the trotting they were doing until he meets the gaze of a distressed person in front of the fatui.

"i swear! i had the money and the papers just today!"

diluc scoffs, knowing who they were now, and they did not have the money today. they lost it a week ago.

"listen," the masked fatui grumbles. "im just here to do my job. if i don't have the money in my hands right now i'll-"

diluc jumps off the saddle and unloads the sack of mora from the side, dropping it on the fatui's hand with a seething glare, yet still polite.

"i believe they owe you 35 thousand? sounds about right, no?" he says, letting his diplomatic side show a bit. "for the sake of it, why not amuse me and take this, david. hmm?"

the fatui goes rigid, hearing his name. he slowly lifts his eyes up, "master diluc." he curtly nods and skittishly walks away. one time david spilled drinks at a mondstadt political gathering. he spilled it on diluc.

the ragnvindr waits for the fatui to walk away before turning to his, supposedly love of his life.

"you're the one who lost a 7-foot-tall teddy bear when i was six," he points out, waiting for your response.

his soulmate sheepishly smiles, "well- i would have a good defense but hey, did you at least enjoy having a 7-feet-tall teddy bear fall on you?"

"i did, along with a glass mug falling on me as well."

"i just cant believe how you never lose your stuff!" they retort, "the only thing i got was a missing tooth from you."

the tip of diluc's ears turn the same colour as his hair, but still wears a stoic expression. "i'm diluc ragnvindr," he greets, slightly bowing his head.

"and i'm yours"

part 2: with ganyu, kaeya and thoma

[kj-1130]

Bullied

@youngjusticeimaginesus​ here is your request!

Main Masterlist

     You had been adopted by the Danvers family when you were quite young; barely a year old. They had been there for you basically since the beginning and you did consider them your family, regardless that you weren’t blood related. 

     While Kara and Alex had been living it up in National City, you were still stuck in boring Midvale. You were still in high school so you couldn’t exactly move with them. They visited every now and then, but you wished you could see them more. They made life so much better. 

     Midvale wasn’t the most exciting place to you. There wasn’t much for you to do--or much that Eliza allowed you to do-- and honestly, the people sucked. A lot of them were close-minded assholes who couldn’t care less about anybody. The students at the school you attended were somewhat bearable, but there was always that handful that thought they were better than everyone and ruled the school. 

     Unfortunately for you, your mouth had put you in the situation you were in now. Some guy--that you were pretty sure had been in eleventh grade for the past three years--had you pushed against the locker, your collar in his hand. 

     Apparently, you were in the wrong when you corrected his grammar and took the last apple all the same day and you guessed it pissed him off. 

     “Got nothing to say now, huh?” 

     You simply scrunched your nose and reached into your pocket to grab something. You held out your hand and in it was a mint. 

     “Your breath stinks. Do you want it?” 

     ‘Ooh’s’ rang out as he punched you in your jaw. Probably shouldn’t have said that. 

     “Ouch.”

     The boy(?) chuckled darkly and shook his head at you.

     “That ain’t nothing. I suggest you learn to keep your mouth closed unless you want some more?”

-

     You didn’t keep your mouth shut. 

     You were currently limping home while holding your jaw that still ached. Your backpack hung loosely on your left shoulder, your right one still sore from when he slammed you into the lockers. Your stomach hurt and you were pretty sure it was bruised black and blue. 

    You stayed the rest of the school day after the fight happened because you knew Eliza would have your ass if you were home early regardless of the situation. And it’s not like the school would call her. They turned a blind eye to every incident, fight, just about everything really. You thought they just didn’t want to do the paperwork. You didn’t blame them for that though; paperwork sucks. 

     So you just sat through it. You tried to make it straight home, but you were tired and in pain and you just wanted to rest, so you stopped at a bench that was on the sidewalk to take a breather. 

     You really could’ve handed his ass to him if you tried. Every now and then, Alex would teach you some self defense moves, but you knew fighting him would give him another reason for him and his buddies to target you. Also, the school system sucks and you would most likely be at fault for ‘agitating the student first’. And for some reason, the dude was a golden student at the school despite being like, three years younger than the youngest of the staff.

    “That’s probably why he gets away with it; bribes ‘em with sex. He’s probably not even that good. Shrimp dick,” you muttered while getting up from your spot. 

     Eventually, you made your way up to the driveway and got the key out to open the door. 

     “Stupid motherfucker. Stanky ass breath. Oompa loompa, noodle head looking ass. Got me fucked up.”

     You were so busy muttering insults, you didn’t notice your sisters sitting in the living room with your mom. You simply stomped--well the best you could--your way upstairs still mumbling any rude remarks that popped up in your head, most of it just angry gibberish at this point. 

     Both sisters looked at each other, then their mother with questioning looks on their faces. They all jumped when the door slammed closed. Alex decided to go check on you and Kara followed. She knocked and waited for you to answer.

     “Mom, for the last time; I don’t want to go to your weekly book club meetings. Who willingly reads Fahrenheit 451 anyway? That book gave me a migraine.”

     Your siblings both chuckled at your comments and opened the door. 

     “Not mom.”

     You pulled your head up to look at your sisters and furrowed your eyebrows.

     “You’re here?”

     Kara nodded her head and took a seat at the end of your bed and Alex watched as your face contorted in pain as you turned to look at them. 

     “Yes. You were probably too busy mumbling and stomping to notice.”

     Alex nodded in agreement and gained your attention.

     “Speaking of which, why were you mumbling and stomping? What’s going on?”

     “N-”

     “And don’t say nothing because I can see you cringe every time you move.”

     You sighed and realized there was literally no point in lying because they could tell if you were.

     “So there’s this dude in eleventh grade; I’m pretty sure he’s like 20 though. My question is how fucking dumb are you where you fail like three times? What type of sense does that make? Okay, maybe once is understandable; the school system sucks major ass and the material is absolutely useless anyway. Like why are we not learning how to start loans or do taxes. What is the point of school anyway? I’m not going to need to know the area or perimeter of the building I work in. The history is all bullshit too. Like I’m supposed to believe Christopher Columbus discovered America. ‘Discover’ my ass. That cracker wasn’t nothing but a racist and rapist. And I’m really supposed to believe Pocahontas willingly married that man? If they don’t go on somewhere with all of these lies. They always said lying is wrong in kindergarten. Why the fuck tell us that when all they do is lie? History is all a lie. All they do is-”

     “(Y/N)!”

     “Right! Sorry. Anyway. So he said something and I legitimately almost had a stroke trying to process it, so I corrected him and tried to make sense of what he was saying. Also I think I was in front of him in the lunch line one day and I got the last apple. I’m pretty sure he was like ‘leave it there or else,’ but I wasn’t worried ‘bout him. A bitch was hungry and I wasn’t about to starve at his expense. So like today he pinned me against the lockers. Lowkey thought he was about to eat my face off cause he was real close. I guess he was still hungry, but whatever. And he was like, ‘got nothing to say?’ And I was like ‘your breath stinks.’ And I handed him a mint. And then he punched me. In the jaw. And then he was like, ‘I can do a lot worse if you don’t shut up.’ I didn’t shut up. He punched me in my guts. I threw up in my mouth a little. Not gonna lie I wish he had hit me a bit harder so I could’ve thrown up on his new shoes. I’m pretty sure my shoulders are bruised too. He’s probably a kinky motherfucker in bed. He was like, an inch away from choking me now that I think about it.”

     You shrugged your shoulders and went back to reading your Dork Diaries book. 

     Alex and Kara both slowly blinked, trying to process your fast rambling. 

     “Hold on. You got beat up?”

     “Mhmm.”

     “You didn’t tell the teachers?”

     “Nope.”

     “So you sat in pain. All day.”

     “Yeah, pretty much.”

     Kara looked at you concerned. 

     “What about those self-defense moves Alex has been teaching you?”

     You put your book down and gave them your full attention. 

     ‘Well, when I thought about it, I was like ‘schools think my shoulders are too sexy and can be a distraction, so I can’t wear tank tops.’ I can’t blame them though. My shoulders are beautiful and apparently they give guys boners. Anyway, I was thinking, ‘if they’re so sexist when it comes to clothing, how far are they willing to take that?’ And the more I thought about it, I was like, ‘wait, that dude is like only 3 years younger than the youngest staff member. So what if he’s like paying them with sex or something?’ And then I thought about it some more, and started thinking of all the times he was late to class and his clothes and hair were messy. And that time when I caught him and the calculus teacher sneaking out of the bathroom. I could probably catch them in the act. That’d be great blackmail…”

     You trailed off, starting to make a plan in your head.

     “What was the point in telling us that?”

     “Oh! I’m saying it’s hard for him to get in trouble. Like I’m pretty sure he’d convince some teacher that he’s innocent and that teacher would convince the principal he’s innocent and boom! I get suspended for no reason.”

     Kara and Alex looked at each other, already knowing they had the same idea about this whole situation. 

     “Well, let’s just get you patched up and talk to mom about switching schools. I don’t know about you, Kara, but I don’t feel comfortable with you going back there.”

-

     That same night, a special someone got a visit from Director Danvers and Supergirl. That same special someone also got their shoes burned to a crisp.

[bloomyn]

baby³

pairing: iwaizumi hajime x reader

tags: fluff

warnings: none

summary: you get knocked tf up 

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

triplets.

your eyes widened at the word that spilled out of the doctors mouth a little too cheerfully. triplets? and you had just thought mother nature was being nice to you by taking your period out for a bit.

“i’m sure this must come as shock but--”

you tuned the doctors words out, more worried about the nauseating feeling starting to build in your stomach. just the thought of having three kids made your legs tremble. 

“miss are you okay?”

you want to tell the doctor that you were fine and you just need a minute, but then you promptly decide to vomit all over the linoleum floors. 

----

hajime’s pissed. 

if oikawa hadn’t been the one to hold him back there would’ve been blood everywhere.(pretty ironic since he worked in a hospital) those interns were just so damn stupid. he knows being in the medical field is hard enough, but it’s even harder when you’re dealing with pesky, arrogant, interns who think they know all because they’re fresh out of medical school. he really ought to teach them a lesson one of these days. 

oikawa had offered to buy him a drink, but hajime knew better. drinking would only get him more pissed, seeing you on the other hand? just the thought of your crinkly smile has him soft.

---

“i’m home.” he says to no one in particular slipping his shoes off. your shoes are already neatly placed on the rack and he can’t help the smile that makes its way onto his face. he’s whipped so what. 

your shared apartment isn’t really one to admire. one bed, one tiny bath, a kitchen (if you could even call it that). student loans and a low paying job don’t get you much in tokyo, but its the pictures on the walls and the hand embroidered pillow you had given him as a gift for valentines day three years ago that makes it a little more bearable.

“[name]? baby?” he calls, peaking into the bedroom a bit worried at your unresponsive figure. he makes his way toward the bed, pulling his shirt off on his way there. he groans falling into the mattress (he’d have to call his mom later to thank her for the memory foam pad she had given you two for christmas), turning on his side so he can wrap himself around your figure. “what’s wrong” he says against your shoulder. slowly you turn back, facing your husbands worried face. running his thumb over your overly-bitten and swollen lips, he plants a kiss on your forehead. 

you don’t want to tell him. not yet at least. you’re only three months in, oh god why does that sound like so long? but then you remember your scene at the doctors office and the idea of telling him goes flying out the window. so you deflect.

“just--really tired,” you mutter against his chest, “long day.”

and your loving husband just hums against you, pulling you closer to his perfect physique. how he maintains it as a resident at one of the busiest hospitals in japan is beyond you. 

“oh are you feeling better?” he says, sitting you up so you’re straddling his lap. you freeze. this morning, the first thing you had done was go to the bathroom to throw up, that was your reasoning to go to the doctors in the first place.

“oh-oh yeah it’s fine.” you stutter, “it’s probably just left over nerves from my interview”

hajime grins, pressing a short kiss to your lips, “you’re obviously going to get it you know.”

you smirk back, completely forgetting about your little situation, “yeah i know.”

“you brat.”

flipping you over, he begins his attack on your neck while his hands roam your waist. giggling, you run your hands through his scalp pulling him closer to your lips. 

“you’re so beautiful baby.” he whispers on your lips. jolting away you pull the covers up against you. hajime’s eyes widened, had he done something wrong? were you not into it? but then he spots the growing wetness on your lash line. 

“babygirl...” 

you think you might cry, no, you’re definitely going to cry. you know that hajime loves you. you know that. but right now the two of you are living in a crappy apartment with no AC with new jobs and now you’re pregnant? with triplets? you don’t even notice the tears until hajime’s wiping them away for you. 

“hajime i-” you croak, unintelligible words garbling out of your mouth. 

he doesn’t show it but on the inside it feels like he’s crumbling. you’re the love of life, and you’re crying right in front of him and he can’t even do anything, and it hurts more when he realizes that when he had gotten home ; you weren’t just tired, something was weighing on you and you couldn’t tell him. you felt like you couldn’t tell him.

you suck in a deep breath. “i need to show you something.”

---

you’re sitting across from him, eyebrows still wrinkled, fingers tapping away with worry. 

“close your eyes.”

“[name.]”

“just, close them, please.”

reaching into your bag you pull the flimsy piece of paper out. you can make out the three tiny bodies, all curled up against one another and one hand subconsciously rests on your stomach. and then a pair of arms wraps around you, placing their hands on your tummy. jerking up, you’re met face to face with a smiling hajime. 

“so, triplets?”

---

its later that night when hajime pops the question.

“why didn’t you want to tell me?”

he’s in a similar position from earlier. you’re back is tucked into his chest, his hands roaming your stomach. you shrug.

“i got scared. we’re not exactly living in an ideal situation for three babies to be running around, er crawling. and i threw up in the doctors office when they told me so i didn’t even want to think about what would happen if i told you.”

at that hajime laughs. you knock a punch to his arm, and give him a playful pinch on the cheek.

“triplets.” he muses out loud, “they’re going to have the best parents you know.”

“japans hottest resident at the university of tokyo’s hospital and a new writer for the asahi shimbun.”

“attending.” 

you whip around, and hajime grins at your expression.

“attending? since when?”

“oh,” he sighs, “maybe six hours ago.”

“HAJIME.” 

you punch him for real this time. 

---

hajime thinks this might be the best day of his life. he’s just become an attending at one of the biggest hospitals in japan, his wife is pregnant with triplets, triplets! he’s pressing kisses on to your bare belly, when he suddenly stops. 

“hajime?”

“we cannot tell oikawa about this”

[myelocin]

home found in the autumn rain | hanamaki t.

synopsis: there are some things that have you recalling an old ache you thought you’ve overcome by now. instead of the comforting words you’ve been used to hearing, takahiro instead reminds you the simple reasons of why you remain despite other’s departure.

characters: hanamaki takahiro, you

genre/warnings: comfort fic, fluff, hurt/comfort, 

wc: 1900+

a/n: i,,,just went on a weird headspace bc i’m at that age where i’m adulting yet realizing that the people i wanted to repay aren’t here anymore,, comfort fic for those who kinda vibe w my emo hours

-

“Maybe I’m so adamant on believing that there’s a life after this because I wasn’t given enough time to really know them just yet in this life.”

“What do you mean?” Takahiro asks.

You look at the room; to where the packed up boxes are stacked into the far end of the corner, the two suitcases that held the tangible pieces of your life right by the door.

“I’m leaving, but it doesn’t feel like I’m starting something,” you answer Takahiro honestly. He looks at you, a little perplexed, but opts to stay quiet when he recognizes the expression on your face. If your heart didn’t ache, that would have been something you’d smile at, but now all you see is a cleared desk and empty space.

“You know how when you get to this age, a lot of our peers’ goals is to give back to their parents?” comes your thoughts again.

Takahiro nods.

You sigh, then continue.

“It’s just,” you begin, then pause only to heave sigh again. “—this is supposed to be a big step, you know? I know you along with the friends around me have said they’re proud again and again, but at the end of the day I’m just finishing something temporary and then staring something that could be just as temporary.“

“I can’t call most places home because I’m not even sure if it counted as home. I don’t have pictures on the walls, and my suitcases are just in the corner of my room always half packed and half ready to go. Buying big furniture or decorating my room wasn’t that practical of an idea because everywhere I was was just a temporary.”

The spot you’ve stared every time you sat in your desk for years now stares back at you. You think of the nights you’ve cried into the four walls of your temporary room, a pillow pressed against your face to muffle the sounds, and the photographs of home framed and looking a little faded on your bedside table.

When you look up, there are still a few of the leftover glow in the dark star stickers you hung up there a few years ago, and you smile despite the ache that settles in your chest. The neighbors who sings karaoke a little too loudly than how they should switches on their system next door, and a few taps to the mic can be heard in the room.

Takahiro next to you chuckles softly; he still doesn’t speak, but he could recall the times where you’d text him in the middle of cramming sessions with your complaints said before even the initial hello when he picked up his phone.

The barely noticeable scratch on the window that’s been there since you first moved in all those years ago stares at you, and it’s that coupled the many things that flood in like the clockwork of your usual schedule that makes you smile a somber smile.

“Was this home?” you catch yourself thinking, then when the image of the house you spent your happiest Christmases in flashes in your mind, the nostalgia in your heart mellows and the ache from earlier finds a home in its place.

It wasn’t, you decide.

After they’ve gone, all the places you’ve passed your nights in just became temporary rooms.

“You okay?” Takahiro asks you, shuffling closer to your form and wrapping an arm around you. You think that with the silence and the timing, that by now you’d hear the steady ticking of the wall clock you hung above your desk the second day you moved in, but you don’t.  It takes a little while longer for it to dawn on you that the mentioned wall clock is probably inside one of the sealed boxes in the corner.

“I don’t really know how to answer that,” you tell Takahiro honestly, scooting closer and leaning your head on his shoulder.

“You don’t have to try to fit it in words,” he says next to you, voice coated in nothing but pure honesty. You smile; that was the very thing you love about him the most.

Hanamaki Takahiro may not have a profound way with words and may not spew poetry from his lips after every eye contact or kiss, but the intention in his words were always as blunt as his presence. Nothing was sugarcoated to the point of exaggeration.

He just—reminded you to be more aware of the pauses in life.

“You think about your sadness a lot,” he continues, and you remain in silence beside him, listening.

He nudges your shoulder and shoots you a smile—which you return—and sigh with your head still leaned against his shoulder.

“Your sadness; the ways to overcome it, the stories behind it, reasons why you shouldn’t feel it…” Takahiro lists. “I just don’t think you ever let yourself feel it, that’s all.”

“But feeling it hurts,” you answer, voice lower than a whisper.

“I know it does,” he tells you softly, kissing your forehead when he turns his head to take a peek at you. “But the thing is, that’s just life. Things will hurt as much as they make you happy. Sometimes the balance is up to us to control, but other times it’s up to the world.”

“A lot of things hurt,” you confess, and you look at him with your hurt visible in your eyes. “And I didn’t realize a lot of things did until now; where I’m at this age and still crying over my friends telling me that they’ll go home for the holidays, or how excited they are to finally be at the stage in life where they can help out their parents with the loan.”

When you feel Takahiro’s hand squeeze your shoulder, you felt safe enough to finally lay yourself bare, so you do just that.

“There’s a lot of things and people I’m thankful for,” you smile, listening to your neighbor’s tap the mic to test the speakers again. “I just think about home a lot, you know? I know I should live for myself because my life is my own, but I was just never given the chance to even see them grow old. I could have done so much for them.”

“People telling me that just by existing and thriving now would have been enough for them, but how would I know if they even thought that?” comes the confession you’ve been denying for years.

Takahiro wraps you in an embrace and rubs circles on your back. Tears can’t seem to find you, but the feeling of loneliness is overwhelming.

Your heart hurts, and you’re even more frustrated because it’s hurting for yourself.

“I never had a conversation with them as the adult I’m trying to be now, Hiro,” you sniffle. “And it hurts because I don’t know if they would even be proud of me.”

As opposed to what others would say, you appreciate the silence Takahiro offers instead of the usual spill from others you’ve heard like a loop. The sentiment—one that’s always appreciated, has times where the words just feed into your false confidence.

“What did they love the most from what you can remember?” you hear his voice ask you softly.

“Flowers,” comes your mumbled reply. “We had a garden back home, and they grew flowers of every kind. They loved coastal towns too; sketching the architecture, taking photographs…” you continue, trailing off.

“I could have given them the world,” you finish, smiling sadly towards the window. They always loved to look outside the window.

“They didn’t bring you here to give them the world, though,” Takahiro says thoughtfully, pulling you tighter towards him as he kisses the crown of your head. “You’re here because they wanted to give you the world.”

“Shouldn’t that be the other way around?” you ask, smiling at his choice of words.

“The world was made for us to look at,” he answers with a familiar sense of conviction.

An honest smile finds a home on your features; Hanamaki Takahiro wasn’t a man who could speak with the most profound poetry, but the bluntness of his words always managed to hit a homerun.

“I can’t bring them back for you,” he says, an apology in his voice. “But I can remind you that home is wherever the flowers bloom the most familiar.”

“I hate driving for more than an hour,” he sighs, then releases his hold for a moment to cup your face in his hands and give you a smile. “—but I’ll drive you to the coastal cities Mattsun’s been telling me about so we can sketch and take pictures there.”

“Neither of us can sketch,” you laugh, leaning into the warmth of his open palms.

“We can just remember that they do, then,” he laughs, his happiness ringing like wind chimes.

“I’m sorry if I can’t take the pain away sometimes,” he later tells you when you’re standing by the door with the doorknob on your hand and the handle of your suitcase in the other.

“Hiro—“ you begin, but he cuts you off.

“It’s okay,” he consoles, smiling. “I understand that there are some hurts from your life that I can’t mend, but for what it’s worth I’m always here.”

“I know,” you answer, leaning into him when he kisses your forehead. “You make the bad moments bearable enough for me to remember that there are still things in the world worth seeing.”

“Thank you,” you tell him honestly when you finally sigh and click the door of your past temporary close behind you. The neighbor’s karaoke machine still can be heard, and the handle gripped beneath your palm still feels familiar.

There’s an ache that doesn’t leave, but when you turn around and meet Takahiro’s smile, you come to realize that it dulls.

“Wait here, I think it’s raining,” he laughs, grabbing the umbrella and one of the suitcases and sprinting towards the trunk of his car.

“Need help?” you call out, laughing when he makes a show with his shivers as a cold breeze comes through with the late afternoon autumn rain.

“No, you’ll get sick!” he laughs, waving you off, before shutting the trunk of the car and making his way back to you, umbrella in hand and lopsided smile in place.

“It’s only autumn, Hiro. Not that cold yet,” you say, rolling your eyes, but tug at his scarf anyway to fasten it more snugly around his neck.  He smiles and keeps his eyes on you as he lets you continue what you were doing.

“Let’s go home?” he tells you with a smile, and the tone he says his words with has a new—much warmer—feeling bubbling up from inside.

Home, you think. The word feels foreign.

“Let’s go home,” you answer, testing the unfamiliar set of words with your mouth.

The warmth settles in, then tingles when you think of the plant you and Takahiro bought for your kitchen counter earlier that morning.

Perhaps the room you return to this time won’t be just a temporary anymore; perhaps this time it really does become home.

[miss-eucatastrophe]

Pairing: Levi x Erwin x Mike x Thick!Reader/PlusSize!Reader

Summary: When you purchased your first home you’d anticipated it being a turning point in your life. You just didn’t anticipate that turn to give you whiplash. 

A new home throws you into a new lifestyle you would have never thought you’d find yourself in-- with three men you’d never expected to be with. 

Rated: Explicit [18+]

Main Tags: Polyamory/Polyamorous relationship, BDSM, Attack on Titain Modern AU, Slow Burn

A/N: Hey all, Just some things about the reader in this fic before you get invested:

I keep the reader ambiguous in appearance and use [y/n]. Use of [y/n] becomes minimal in favor of pet names as the story progresses. 

One thing that is not ambiguous is that the reader is thick, you could also say plus sized though because that’s different in every country I favor the word thick. I also think its kind of a sexier adjective. 

Reader has self consciousness issues and anxiety, both are being treated/have been treated through therapy. I keep it ambiguous as to whether or not the reader is still in therapy-- regardless the reader is insinuated to be far along and doing well in her treatment. Shout out to my peeps who are/have been in therapy, your mental health is important and you’re doing great no matter where you are in it. 

Reader is in her mid to late 20′s because realistically purchasing a home before that is near impossible. Hell even in our 20′s its hard. I also wanted to give a little love to my thick girls in their later 20′s because we out here. 

A lot of AOT reader inserts, if not completely ambiguous, often emphasize a super fit form. Which makes sense in the typical setting when the reader is in the AOT world and maybe a soldier-- but I wanted to give some love to our fuller body types. Maybe I just got tired of reading “...reader’s flat/muscular stomach...” and going-- ooh can’t relate! Haaa. 

That being said, you can read this no matter what your body type because everyone’s perception of self is different-- I just wanted to give the heads up because the reader does struggle a bit with her sense of self in the story because of her body type as her self confidence continues to develop. 

BDSM dynamics ultimately take place in this fic. Some are good BDSM practices/etiquette, some are not good. Professionals know the difference and this is not your guide to polyamory or BDSM. The poor etiquette will be rather obvious but if you’re interested in pursuing BDSM in your real life, please don’t use this work of fiction as gospel. Do your research and practice safely! 

My fictional stories are for ADULTS. Do not read them if you are under the age of 18. 

With all that out of the way, Please enjoy~ 

Chapter 1:

“I got this,” A panted breath.

“I got this,” A strained grunt.

“Nope I lied.” A loud thunk of a heavy box hitting green grass.

“Told ‘ya so.” The brunette breathlessly quipped from her position beside another box, her arms haphazardly flung over its surface. “Can we please take a break now?”

Admitting defeat, you fell in a heap on the lawn and nodded your head, but not before running your forearm across your sweaty brow. “Okay, yeah,” your reply was just as breathless although your friend had given up long before you. “Like five minutes.”

The other female placed her chin on the box, framing her head between her outstretched arms. “Okay, yeah, like fifteen minutes.” She echoed in a tired din, attempting to get you to thoughtlessly agree to her editing of the time.

Though tired with your legs and arms throbbing under the surface of your skin, you shook your head. “No Sasha,” you said firmly. Though it sounded like you were trying to convince yourself over her. “If we take longer than five minutes, we’re gonna quit and we’re almost done!” You gestured with an open palm to the admittedly small moving van parked in the street in front of you. You’d made good headway with it. It was amazing how much stuff you could fit in such a small van.

It was amazing how little space said stuff could take up in such a big home.

Well, big might be a little generous. It was by no means a mansion, certainly not as big as some of the other models on the same street, but it was bigger than your previous living conditions.

More importantly it was yours.

Yours.

You smiled, looking up at the bright sky above you, dotted with a few fluffy clouds.

Your first home.

Your heart sped up when you reminded yourself. You had doubts that it would ever happen. Saving enough money to put a down payment on a home without loans or handouts was no easy feat. But you did it, and that hard work had paid off in achieving your goal. Your down payment was enough to make the house payments bearable; though for the first few months you could see that a majority of your income would go back into the home either in the form of said payments, filling the home with furniture, or renovating some of the areas that needed love.

Like the front yard.

The front yard needed some love.

Not the lawn. The lawn was good. The lawn was providing you and Sasha with a much-needed reprieve. Yes, the lawn could stay.

You loved lawn.

Lawn loved you.

Until your arms started to itch. A less than intimidating growl left your lips as you quickly sat up, your nails digging into your skin as you scratched at it for some relief before flailing your arms about to try and save them from the irritation—as if you could shake it off your flesh.  

“Back to work.” You chirped, making Sasha groan.

“Remind me what I’m getting out of this again?” She mumbled, her face planting itself back to the box to muffle her protests.

Kicking yourself up to standing, you looked over your shoulder with a playful smile, “I’m feeding you.” You reminded her.

After a long pause, perhaps letting your words sink in, Sasha released a huff, lifting her face and flexing her small arms in her baggy t-shirt. “Second wind!” she shrieked by way of a battle cry, her hands clenching the cube between her legs in a vice grip as she moved to a squat, yanking the box off of the pristine lawn.

Who would take such good care of a lawn but ignore the rest of the yard? The previous owner apparently. Then again, it made a bit of sense. It was easy to turn on a sprinkler system to keep a lawn looking fresh whereas the things you wanted to add would take work. Like flowers. You loved flowers. Though you’d struggle on and off with a potentially green thumb, unlike your mother who could make anything grow. Planting flowers was a must. You would work your way to the backyard. But the front yard was like a first impression and you wanted it to be pretty for when friends came over as well as for the strangers that passed by. You wanted people to say, “Oh what a cute house. Whoever bought it really spruced up the place. It looks much better. Oh, it so does, blah blah blah.” Should you care what other people said? No. But you were human. Besides, your mother always kept an immaculate home, you wanted to emulate her in the maintenance of your own home.

As always you were getting too ahead of yourself. You were thinking twelve steps beyond where you were. That could be dangerous. Such thoughts could stimulate anxiety. Something you were unfortunately prone to. You took a deep breath, stealing your resolve to focus on the present moment.

You lifted your gaze, letting it drag over the neighborhood. “Find every color.” You murmured to yourself.

Red, the roses on the bush two houses down.

Orange, the moving van.

Yellow, your shirt.

Green, the lawn.

Blue, the sky.

Purple, your struggled to find purple and made a note to plant some purple pansies to rectify that.

Pink, the flowers of the magnolia tree next door.

You took a deep breath. This was your favorite grounding exercise you’d learned from therapy. It forced you to stay in the moment, steel yourself, and stop racing thoughts—often times before they happened since now you were much better at recognizing the warning signs. It took a lot of work to get to this point. It was work you were proud of.

You took another breath.

First the van. Empty the van. One thing at a time.

A huffing and puffing Sasha stumbled down the shallow steps of the front door—your front door you though joyously—with her hands on her hips, bent slightly at the waist to pin you with judgement. “Excuse me? Am I do’n all the work around here?”

You smirked, nudging the box in front of you with the toe of your shoe, the memory of your struggle to lift it still fresh in your mind. You weren’t in a hurry for a repeat performance in spite of your hassling of Sasha. “Depends, how big of a meal you want?” You teased her.

The brunette scoffed. “If you want me to go at it alone then you better be treating me to a buffet.”

You giggled, though a twinge of envy settled in your chest. Sasha was a petite thing considering how much she ate. You were not. The fact that she could eat so much and still keep her shape while you struggled around your weight made you jealous. The thought of going to a buffet filled you with dread. You always wondered what people thought when they saw someone of thicker size stepping into one of those. It triggered the self-consciousness you were working on diminishing. It wasn’t as though you were lazy, ugly, or any other stereotypical term that so wrongly coincided with your set. Hell, you’d moved over half your old residence by yourself. You were strong! Your body could do amazing things. You just didn’t match the image plastered all over social media and society of what a woman “should” look like.

Size 0 mannequins could go fuck themselves.

You had hips, you had a butt, you had ample breasts—all things sexualized excessively in the female form—you just also had a little extra. Thick thighs, a bit of a tummy—society wanted you to have tits and an ass but when you had the addition that often went with those things naturally, you were frowned upon. It was a complete catch 22. However, society wasn’t going to change, not overnight. So instead you worked on yourself—or rather your perception of self. Therapy helped, but it was an everyday battle to combat two parts of your brain. The half that liked and appreciated the many elements of you, including your body—and the half that was an asshole.

Right now, the asshole was winning. Because of this you had no interest in taking Sasha to a buffet—which meant you had to actually pick up the box you were glaring at.

Bending over, you hoisted the box into your arms with refreshed energy and groaned as you started to your home. “Remind me again why we didn’t recruit the guys?” You mumbled; your voice strained with effort. You probably had books in there. Yeah that was absolutely the book box. Should have spaced those damn things out. What kinda dumb ass were you to put almost all of them in one box?

“Oh, it’s not that much and they’re working, we can totally handle it.” Sasha said, her voice mimicking yours as best it could, though laced heavy with sarcasm. “That’s you. That’s how you sounded.”

You were kicking yourself, “Talk some sense into me next time.” You called, over your shoulder, dropping the box just inside the door where it was going to stay until you either, one, had the energy to move it, or two, had finished putting up your half book shelf.

It was probably going to live there for a while.

“Already thinking about ‘next time’? Oh, no, you’re not moving for at least 10 years. You can’t get me to do this again before that.” Sasha said sternly when you walked back outside to meet her by the van. “I’ll book you for 10 years from now.” You agreed, leaning against the side of the vehicle while Sasha took a moment to fix her ponytail which had gone messy with her unloading efforts.

Walking around to the back of the moving van, you leaned down to pick up another box, a smaller one than the last and took a moment to look over what was left. Just a few bigger items. They were bulky but between the two of you they wouldn’t be difficult to manage. Getting the bed frame and headboard up the stairs was going to be a pain in the ass, luckily TV’s were thinner now so that would be easy to get inside, the bedside tables were small and each of you could carry one of those, the dresser was going to be a bit of a bitch…

You bit your lip, looking over the items and making a list of difficulty in your head. Once again you were filling your mind with ‘to-do’s. Luckily, a voice pulled you out of your own thoughts as you backed down the van’s slope.

“Hello girls!”

You turned around to see an older woman toddling down the driveway beside your own, holding a tray with cookies and two glasses of what appeared to be lemonade.

Putting on your best ‘first impression’ face, you gave the woman a bright smile and placed the box down at your feet to greet the woman who was undoubtably one of your new neighbors. “Hello ma’am,” you said politely. Sasha was too busy drooling over the cookies in the woman’s hands.

“Please, please, call me Della.” She said, lifting the tray in her hands to present the offering to you and Sasha, who was quick to snatch the lemonade and two cookies, chewing both of them at the same time with happy hums and grumbles. You nudged her with your elbow silently scolding her for bypassing the introduction process. Della waved you off, having noticed the subtle action. “She’s absolutely fine! I’m thrilled to have someone enjoy my baking so much.”

All the same, you introduced yourself before taking your own cookie. “It’s nice to meet you Della. I’m [y/n] and this is Sasha.” You took the tray from her and placed it on one of the taller boxes so you could shake the woman’s hand. “Thank you so much for the lemonade and treats.” How on earth had the woman baked that fast? You’d only been there about two hours and these cookies were absolutely fresh out of the oven. Clearly you were living next door to a witch. A kitchen witch. You were totally okay with that so long as she directed her baking powers on you regularly.

“These are amazing.” You mumbled around a mouthful of warm cookie, the flavor sitting on your tongue for a moment, only to have your pallet cleansed by the lemonade.

Della gave a bright smile, “Well thank you dear. It’s nice to have another darling couple to bake for.”

Sasha spit out the lemonade she was sipping, her eyes popping out of her head as she coughed.

You swallowed your bite to try and keep from choking yourself. “Oh! Oh gosh no. No Sasha is just helping me move in. She’s my best friend.” You clarified calmly.

Sasha was thumping her fist to her chest in an attempt to clear her esophagus. “Connie would kill me.” She managed to choke out between wheezes.

“I think he would be down.” You murmured around another sip of lemonade, teasing her.

Della however covered her mouth, looking a little embarrassed by her assumption. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. I guess I’m just so used to our other neighbors.” she trailed off, gesturing to the house on the other side of yours. You took that to mean that your other neighbors were a gay couple.

You shook your head, “Don’t worry about it!” Honestly, you were pleasantly surprised to have an older woman be so openly accepting and progressive. Having a neighbor like that wouldn’t be half bad. Especially if she made a habit of sharing her cooked concoctions.

It seemed you’d managed to move to a rather well-rounded neighborhood. It made a smile tug at your lips.

“Will you be living alone, dear?” Della asked, smoothing her hands over the apron tied around her waist. The action cause tiny plumes of flour to drift in front of her before her green eyes came up to regard you with her full attention. It must be her way to ask if you had a significant other that would be moving in alongside you. To some it may seem prying, but you didn’t blame her for wanting to know a little more about the person living right next door to her.

Nodding your head, you reached for another cookie. You probably wouldn’t have normally, sometimes you felt odd eating in front of others— it might have something to do with your negative self-image—but in this case it seemed rude to not show how much you enjoyed the treats after your neighbor slaved over them for you. So, you justified the second as you answered her question. “Yep, just me.”

Humming her understanding, Della nodded in response. “Well don’t you worry. This is a very safe neighborhood. I’ve never felt nervous living alone.” She assured you.

It was not something you’d even considered. You’d lived on your own before, in truth you just slept with a baseball bat under your bed or a heavy flashlight by your nightstand. You’d never had to use them of course, but better have it and not need it than to need it and not have it. You were confident in your ability to defend yourself. As confident as an untrained baseball bat wielder could be anyway. It’s not as though you knew martial arts.

“That’s reassuring.” You told Della with a smile who returned your kind expression. “If you ever need anything, do let me know,” she said softly, picking up the tray as you and Sasha placed your glasses on it—though she handed you the plate of cookies which was for your to consume at your leisure.  “Us girls gotta stick together.” She winked, pulling a giggle from you before she gestured with her chin to your other neighbor’s home. “We’re outnumbered by boys after all.” She was just teasing but it clarified your suspicion of your other neighbors being a male couple.

“They’re very kind,” she added, “So I’m sure they’ll tell you the same. It’s a very lovely neighborhood.” She gave a little curtesy since she couldn’t wave. “I’ll let you girls get back to it!” She called as she walked back up to her driveway.

You smiled back, waving as she made her way to her home, “Thank you again! It was nice to meet you!” You raised the plate of cookies to Sasha’s view once the woman had retreated into her house after the brief welcome. “These are gonna be gone.” You whispered, walking past her to get them to the empty kitchen before you and Sasha could turn them to crumbs.

“Don’t you owe me a debt?” Sasha called after you, picking up the box the tray had once sat on top of.

You gave her a look over your shoulder. “I’m not giving you all my welcome cookies. I’m ordering pizza later.” For a moment you contemplated hiding the sweets. But that wouldn’t protect them from you. Just Sasha and her ravenous hunger.  

It took a little under an hour to get the remainder of the van emptied, without any interruptions—no matter how pleasant. Assembling the bed was a bit of a pain, as suspected, but it was the only piece of furniture you were going to rope Sasha into helping you with. You’d bought a few new pieces of furniture that were still in boxes, which made them easier to pack, but you still had to assemble them. You were confident in your ability to do so on your own. You’d put together enough furniture in your time; and Sasha had done more than enough to earn her pizza.

Thus, the remainder of the evening consisted of eating said pizza, demolishing the plate of cookies, and yelling at reality stars through the television about their actions even though they couldn’t hear you nor Sasha. Thank god you had gotten the cable hooked up day one. You at least needed internet to watch Hulu and Netflix.

Your spunky brunette friend didn’t stay too late. Bless her, she took it upon herself to take the van back to the rental facility for you so you could continue to get settled. The most important piece of furniture was already complete, ready for you to pass out on it when you gave up on the boxes.

To your credit, you managed to unpack most things that didn’t involve the furniture still needing to be assembled. In fact, you unpacked and sorted all your kitchen ware very easily. The kitchen was a good place to start because it didn’t require the rearrangement of furniture which would inevitably come with unpacking areas like your bedroom. Empty cabinets, drawers, and countertops were a blank slate that only required methodical stuffing. Most people’s kitchens were relatively similar in where cutlery went, mixing bowls, cups, pots, and pans—there was only so much variability. It wouldn’t require the careful placement needed to make a space cozy and inviting. It just had to be functional and neat.

Another aspect that made the kitchen simple was your lack of items. Again, this home was much larger than your previous residence. It had much more space for things. Things you didn’t have but would come with time. You were rather excited to shop around for new things to fill your kitchen as well as the rest of your house.

You’d also managed to unpack some knick-knacks and items that would be set on already constructed furniture, like photographs of your family and friends. One of your favorite pictures included you, Sasha, and Connie in Disneyland. Because you were never too old to enjoy Disneyland. It had been your first trip with friends instead of family when you’d reached adulthood. You smiled fondly back at the joyous photo, all of you wearing Micky Mouse ears and grinning at the camera.

Connie and Sasha were two of your closest friends and though they were together romantically they never made you feel like a third wheel. You enjoyed their company dearly. The picture would get a place of honor in the living room before you went to bed that night, concluding your first day of unpacking.

-

The next two days went by in a blur of screws, hammers, nails, bubble wrap, newspaper, and boxes as you unpacked neatly tucked items and assembled furniture that was somehow always missing a screw or two that probably wasn’t important to the overall design anyway. Hopefully, the instructions were more like guidelines. So long as the furniture was sturdy and looked the way it did in the picture, it was fine. A lot of it was place holder furniture anyway. Rather cheap IKEA stuff that would serve to fill space and allow storage as you’d slowly accumulate nicer goods overtime.

It was a process, you reminded yourself, and the home wouldn’t be perfect or look like a catalog home right off the bat. It was what your mother had told you as well when you told her you were buying your first home. Her encouragement and soothing words also helped to keep you grounded much like the techniques you were still learning and utilizing from your time in therapy.

You’d hardly been out of the house since Friday when you first moved in and in spite of your fatigue caused by tedious unpacking, you were itching to start work on the front yard.

Not the backyard.  

That was an adventure you weren’t ready for. You didn’t have an idea mapped out for that yet and weren’t going to spin out trying to construct a plan for it. The backyard would be last. Mainly because that was going to be a big project. It wasn’t poorly maintained, but it was empty. It had a nice lawn, much like the front yard, but that was it.

A blank slate almost overwhelmed you more. It allowed too many options. When you were ready, you’d likely ask the opinion of your parents or friends. Picking their brain for ideas would be helpful and take some of the burden of decisions from your shoulders.

But that was another day, likely many weeks from where you stood now.

Where you stood now was The Home Depot, in the gardening section, looking over the flowers, shrubs, pots, and yard décor they had to offer.

As you promised yourself earlier, you picked up some purple pansies, leaving every other flower and shrubbery up to the whimsy of your mood. Once you had enough plant life to fill the sparce areas of your new home you picked out a few more gardening essentials that you were severely lacking in. Such as gardening gloves, a trowel, and a small bag of soil to fill the few cute pots you would put on the front porch containing succulents. Because succulents were hard to kill—and admittedly you were still a bit green regarding the whole gardening thing.

Pun very much intended.

You snorted at your own stupid joke.

People looked at you in the checkout line.

You looked away, chagrinned.

Quickly, you paid for your greenery items and scurried out to your car. You would start planting right when you got home. It was still early in the morning, hardly 9:00 am. Way earlier than you liked to get up if you were being honest. But, if you started now you could get most of it done before it got too hot.

-

This was Mike’s favorite way to start the morning. With his heart pounding in his ears to the tune of his running mix, his nose filled with the fresh scent of the creek’s running water, and his bare shoulders gently warmed by the sunlight dancing through the canopy of trees overhead.

Almost every day before work, Mike would jog down to the creek trail not far from the house, enjoy the scenery, make a loop or two around the two mile-long path, and then jog home. It was a routine that never changed. He’d been doing it for years now and the consistency was part of what grounded him. He would credit his morning run with assisting in coping with his PTSD. Going without triggered his anxiety and instantly set a poor tone for his day. As such, his boyfriends were good about allowing him to untangle from the sheets every morning, despite one not being a morning person—because he hardly slept in the first place— and the other being a bit of a cuddlier, though he would insist Mike was the cuddlier. Not himself.  

A smile tugged at Mike’s lips at the memory. He wiped his sweating brow with his shirt which was draped around his neck rather than on his body. He’d discarded it early in his run in favor of feeling the light breeze tickle over his bare torso.

His breathing changed as dirt road turned back into concrete when he turned from the creek trail back onto the sidewalk of the main streets of his neighborhood, making his way towards home.

As home came into view, his jog slowed to a walk, allowing his muscles to feel the rush of blood flow under his skin, the tingling throb of adrenaline cycling through his system becoming more noticeable with the shift of pace. Mike’s arms stretched over his head before bending at the joints. His hands folded behind his skull just under the knot of his blonde hair—the half up hairstyle keeping his shaggy bangs out of his face.

Getting closer to his home, he noticed a difference in the normally consistent pattern of houses along the street. A person was in the yard of the house beside his. Their old neighbor had never spent time tending to the yard. He hummed a curious sound. He hadn’t yet had the opportunity to introduce himself to their new neighbor. The “for sale” sign had been taken down days ago, and he vaguely remembered the presence of a moving van without occupants when he’d left for work that Friday.

Mike pulled his phone from his pocket, pausing his music before taking out one of his earphones as he got closer to the house. Though his own music was silenced, a new tune hit his ears, getting louder the closer he got to the kneeling form. The music wasn’t so loud that he would have to yell over it—he could probably clear his throat and the stranger would hear him.

With every intention to politely do just that, he opened his lips and—

Stopped dead in his tracks the moment he got behind the stranger because of what he was greeted by.

There you were, in front of him, on your hands and knees, back arched and your body at an incline as you dug the hole in front of you. But that’s not what got his attention. It was that your legging covered ass was perfectly on display, high in the air, round and inviting.

Mike stood there; mouth partially agape without realizing it. It was a few moments of ogling before he could take in more than that. He picked up your gentle voice, humming to the tune of what was playing on your portable speaker, he picked up the scent of flowers and damp earth, and he picked up on your doe like eyes wide with surprise. It was only then he noticed you had turned around away from your project, hand on your heart as you let out a yelp of surprise at finding someone standing behind you.

A giant standing behind you.

“H-hello…” you murmured, collecting yourself as you moved to turn down your music to a gentle background noise.  

Mike was able to take that time to gather himself. He quickly closed his mouth, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck. The man made a conscious effort not to stare, though now that he could see your face it was becoming even more difficult. A cute face to go with a nice ass. A blush dusted his cheeks. Hopefully covered by the sun kissed pigment of his skin.

God willing.

“Uh sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” He lifted his hand not currently on the back of his neck, pointing to the house to his left, the one with the magnolia tree. “M’name’s Mike Zacharias, I live next door.” He put on a smile though it was no less sheepish than his previous expression. “I hadn’t had the chance to introduce myself yet.” He was thankful to have a cover up to his staring.

You paused for a long moment, the gears in your head almost audible—then recognition flashed over your face. Part of you was trying to recall the conversation you’d had with Della on move in day, the other part was mesmerized by the husky voice.

The sudden brightness that filled in your eyes when you smiled had Mike’s heart in his throat.

“Oh! Yes,” Pulling yourself up to standing, you rubbed your palms together to brush off the dirt and then pulled off one of your gardening gloves, extending a clean hand to him. “I’m [y/n] [l/n]. It’s nice to meet you.” You were extremely eager to make a good impression on your neighbors. You thought you had done a pretty good job with Della—though her cookie offering had done most of the work for you. It was imperative you get along with Mike and his partner. After all, you’d gotten very lucky with most of your neighbors throughout your life. Most of that was due to your parents. Your mother was friendly, polite, and warm. Your father was boisterous, funny, and generous. You strived to offer the same mix to your neighbors and have a good relationship.

You had seen enough episodes of “Fear Thy Neighbor” to understand that a poor relationship on either side of you could wreck an otherwise comfortable home life.

Of course, “Fear Thy Neighbor” was the most dramatic of examples often leading to violence and murder.

You should probably stop watching the ID channel.

Stick to the stupid reality shows.

Mike swallowed thickly, the dusted pink in his cheeks brightening. His large palm engulfed yours and it was as if his blush traveled from his face, down his arm, through your hands and up to your own cheeks. His hand was huge, it practically swallowed yours. Your palm was completely swaddled by the deceptively gentle squeeze of a rough hand, slight calluses made firm by some sort of labor you couldn’t name.

With your surprise having warn off from the initial contact you found yourself fully registering the man in front of you—

And holy shit if your brain didn’t almost immediately short circuit again.

First of all, he was a giant. Already established—but something you didn’t truly comprehend until you’d stood and fully approached him from your botany project. If you dug the hole you were working on a little deeper, you were pretty sure you could plant Mike up to his knees and he’d continue growing into the tree he so clearly was.

Second of all there was his face which was generously exposed by his tied back dark blond hair. Hazelly-green eyes, pronounced nose—that fit him perfectly, and a strong jaw lightly bearded along it as well as his upper lip.

Your eyes followed the curve of his jaw down his neck, past his broad shoulders and onto a sparsely haired chest just where his defined pectorals met. If you followed the path from his chest down to his toned stomach, which you absolutely did, you found the same light etching of hair extending from his navel down to his—

Your eyes quickly darted back up to his face, your own heating up substantially as your hands all too soon disconnected.  

Mike placed his hands on his hips which served to flex his strong arms and momentarily distract you again.

If you could have slapped yourself subtly, you would have done so. But with those hazel eyes boring into you, you settled for mentally berating your thirst. ‘Get it together woman. He’s taken… and gay.’ But gay came second to taken. It was important to respect a preexisting relationship. It was important to respect sexuality too.

But—

You could look, right? No harm in looking. That’s why people went to museums. To drool over the Statue of David.

That throaty voice pulled you back to focus. “So, is it just you?” If you weren’t completely sure that the man in front of you was gay, the question would have sounded hopeful.

He must have just been asking so he could introduce himself to any other potential newcomers.

“Yep just me. It’s my first house.” He didn’t ask for that second part, but you were proud. You were proud of having your own home and doing so alone. You didn’t have to depend on anyone to get to this important step in your life. That wasn’t something many people could say. You weren’t trying to brag—it was just that residual excitement of having achieved one of your life goals.

Mike to his credit seemed excited for you. His eyebrows raised, as if impressed. Buying a home was getting harder and harder for every generation. Though he didn’t seem too much older than you. Probably in his early 30’s. Even if he were ten years older than you that would be a generational gap and that meant the struggles to find a home were different between the two of you. However, you didn’t think he could be that much older than you considering you were in the later part of your 20’s. 30’s seeming to creep ever closer. But seeing Mike reminded you that your 30’s didn’t make you old in the slightest. The more you looked at Mike, the better your 30’s looked. Because fuck if Mike wasn’t fine as hell.

You were thinking too far ahead again, this time years.

To pull yourself from your spinning thoughts, you looked back at Mike’s face. The smile momentarily dazed you. Because of course he would also have perfect teeth. “Congratulations, that’s wonderful.” He murmured, looking to your house for a moment and then back at you. The house was rather large for one person. “No significant other chomping at the bit to invade your space yet?” The tone was teasing, and you managed a laugh which dispelled your previously spiraling thoughts. God, sometimes you didn’t even notice when they were spiraling.

Mike seemed interested in your relationship status. It put little butterflies in your stomach which were squashed when you looked down at yourself. Even if Mike were interested in females, why would he be interested in you?

You growled internally at those disparaging thoughts to shut the fuck up. You counted to three in your head, a brief distraction from those thoughts used to ground you in the present.

Normally, you preferred your longer methods of distraction, like your colors. However, those weren’t feasible when in the middle of a conversation with your hot neighbor.

“Nope, no boyfriend or anything. Just me and maybe a dog or a cat at some point.” You grinned at the idea, reminding yourself that now that you had your own home no one could tell you if you could have a pet or not. No landlord, no parent, no roommate—no permission needed.

The twinkle in Mike’s eye was easily missed. “My votes’ for a cat,” he murmured offhandedly.

“Not a dog fan?” You asked playfully. Though maybe he was worried about you having a yappy dog that he would have to listen to all day. Understandable.

“No, I like dogs too,” Did his voice get a little deeper? “Just always been fond of kittens.” His eyes slid over you, a smile tugging at his lips that made your blush from earlier give an encore performance.

‘Taken. And. Gay.’ You reminded yourself, willing the blush to dissipate and scolding yourself for reading too much into his gaze. Schooling your expression with the same friendly smile you’d given Della; you nodded your head. “Well I’ll just have to drag you along when I adopt one, then you can play with some pussy.”

Oh lord.

That was a Freudian slip if there ever was one.

You felt your face go hot and resisted the overwhelming compulsion to connect your palm to your forehead. Inappropriate joke for a first meeting—for sure.

Mike’s eyes flashed with something you couldn’t name, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “I’ll take you up on that,” he grinned, and the expression was playful, putting you a bit more at ease. “It’s been far too long since I’ve played with a cute pussy.”

Your thighs squeezed together. Unnoticeably, you prayed.

Mike must have been messing with your somewhat unintentional word choice. Though you were happy that Mike seemed to be the lighthearted type. You could see yourself forming a friendship with the man. Hopefully, his boyfriend (husband?) was half as laid back.

You also hopped his partner was half as sexy.

Because if he was just as sexy as Mike, you were going to suffer a heat stroke.

The giant grinned, tilting his head to gesture to his home. “I gotta get ready for work.” Was it your imagination or did he look a bit reluctant? His grin was back in place too soon to really tell. You nodded your head politely with a little wave just before he turned away.

“It was nice to meet you.” You called, getting back on your knees next to the little pit you’d dug for your shrub.

The blond looked over his strong shoulder as he made his way down the sidewalk and threw you a very obvious wink. “Catch ya later, kitten.” He replied before he rounded his driveway and walked up to his front door, giving you one more glance and disappearing inside the much larger home.

Blinking, you sat frozen for a few moments before your eyes drifted to the hole beside you. Maybe if you dug it a bit deeper you could bury yourself in it.

Because Mike was surely going to be the death of you.

-

When Mike got back into the house, he had to lean against the door, tilting his head back to let the cooling air of the AC drench his heated skin. Though at this point the heat was less from his run and more from the cute new neighbor. It took everything in his power not to pin you to the dirt right there. He let out a little groan, hardly audible.

But just audible enough.

A voice, smooth as honey called from around the corner. “Mike? You alright?”

Mike hummed an affirmative and pushed himself off the door to make his way to the kitchen where the voice was coming from. If he didn’t answer right away, he knew the male would come searching for him and instantly begin to drill him on his mental state. There was no need for that.

His mental state was good. Very good this morning.

His large palm came up to slide over the marble of the kitchen island as he bypassed it to get to the fridge, sticking his head in for longer than necessary to retrieve a water bottle. A soft crack filled the room as he twisted the cap, breaking the seal as he turned to face the kitchen table. Two sets of eyes peered over at him. One set a bright blue; the color of the ocean, the other a stormy grey sky.

The honey voice spoke again, the blue eyes having been peering behind a newspaper completely revealed by its placement on the table. “Good run I take it?”

“Looks a little too happy about a run, Erwin.” The stormy eyed male murmured from behind a teacup held at the rim.

Mike smirked a little. Levi always was perceptive. They both were. But Levi noticed subtleties far more quickly than Erwin did. “I met our new neighbor.” He brought the opening of the bottle to his lips, letting the chilled liquid sooth his throat of the dryness from his run.

“Oh?” Erwin asked, leaning back in his seat and tilting his head back as a silent hint for Mike to lean down to him. Levi was good at noticing subtleties, but Mike was good at reading hints. He leaned down and pressed his lips to Erwin’s, his own cool and water glazed compared to Erwin’s soft and warm ones. “Mm hm,” He confirmed while righting himself. “And Levi,” Mike moved to the other side of the table, tilting Levi’s head back with a fingertip to direct his gaze to him which had been glued upon the novel in his left hand. The ravenette looked up from his book with the giant’s prompting, gaze aloof and seemingly disinterested. However, the look in Mike’s eyes gave him pause.

Since Mike knew Levi, really knew him, he noticed the curiosity lingering behind that seemingly blank expression.

Mike pecked his lips to the shorter male’s, whispering against them. “She’d be perfect.”

[roman-writing]

the spectres vain (2/2)

Fandom: The Haunting of Bly Manor

Pairing: Dani Clayton / Jamie / Viola Lloyd

Rating: M

Wordcount: 6,525

Summary: She had said before, ‘so many people mix up love and possession,’ and now years later she wondered if that was the reason why they had been given so much time. That maybe Viola thought this was love. That maybe she loved this. Loved her. Loved them.

Content advisory: spoilers, horror, and ghost smut

read it here on AO3 or read it below

“The night isn’t dark; the world is dark. Stay with me a little longer.”

    -‘Departure’, Louise Gluck

 --

"I really thought this would go away. But it just hasn't."

They were sitting in a cheap diner, their local favourite down the road. Jamie had already received her meal -- an omelette with a cup of coffee and a side of toast, all of which was going to be far too much for her to eat; she never would get used to the size of American meals -- but Dani had yet to receive her own. Jamie paused in the act of picking up her knife and fork. Dani's eyes were glued to her meal, like a starving man who had seen food for the first time in weeks.

"What would go away? Food?" Jamie asked. She slowly passed the knife and fork between her hands -- clink of chipped cutlery -- and began to eat.

"Yeah." 

Dani tore her gaze away from Jamie's plate and instead focused on the salt and pepper shakers between them, bracketing the serviette dispenser like little guardsmen. She was sitting on her hands, as though that were the only thing keeping herself from snatching Jamie's food away for herself. She worried at her lower lip with her teeth. 

"I mean, I've always liked food. But after -" She made a nodding motion with her head. "- anyway after, it was like I'd never tasted food before in my life. It was so strange. Everything tasted so sweet. I could hardly choke down a cup of apple juice. And a cheeseburger? I thought that I'd died the first time I bit into one. All that sauce."

Dani trailed off. She was frowning contemplatively at her scratched reflection in the chrome-plated dispenser.

Jamie shoved a mouthful of omelette into her mouth and spoke gracelessly around it. "Always thought American food was too sweet, myself. Maybe you got used to Owen's cooking over in England."

Dani gave her a look. "You know that's not why."

"Yeah, I know." Jamie finished chewing, already cutting up another piece and loading up the back of her fork with her knife. "I noticed the appetite change, of course."

"Mmm." Dani nodded. Her mouth was twisted to one side; she was chewing the inside of her cheek and sneaking glances at her wristwatch as though even the ten minute wait was too long for her to bear. "But it just -- it hasn't gone away. It's more bearable now. I still struggle with cake that's really sugary or has too much icing. But food is -- well, it's an experience. Every time."

Jamie made a noise in the back of her throat; her mouth was too full for even her to speak. She finished her bite, and then said, "Anything in particular you two have been craving?"

If anything, Dani seemed startled by the question. The thoughtful groove in her brow deepened, before she answered, "Tarte au citron. She used to love lemons. Anything sour. Not too sweet. Always a hint of bite."

Nodding slowly, Jamie said, "Yeah, all right. We can make do with that. And what about you? Do you like sour things?"

Dani's mouth opened to answer, but before she could say anything, the waitress came by and placed an enormous cheeseburger with all the trimmings in front of her -- bacon, extra cheese and gherkin, the whole lot. "Thank you so much."

The waitress had hardly taken two steps away before Dani descended upon her meal. The cheeseburger was in her hands and then in her mouth in a flash. She took a large bite, and juice dripped all down her fingers. As Dani chewed, she moaned softly, eyes shut in rapture. “God,” she mumbled. “That’s so good.”

Jamie lifted her eyebrows and coughed discreetly. “Blimey. Do you two need a room?”

Dani nodded and took another bite. Jamie laughed, and she could see the way Dani's mouth curled into a smile even as her cheeks bulged.

 --

Later that week, Jamie was passing by a bakery on her way back to their florist's shop. She stopped and peered through the window. All of the baker's wares were on neat display, ranging from little fancies to proud cakes dusted with chocolate shavings.

And there, near the middle, a row of lemon tarts the size of her hand.

When she returned to the florist's shop, the bell attached to the door by a string announced her arrival, along with her accompanying bellow, "I'm back! I see you didn't burn the place down in my absence! Well done, love!"

It was a Saturday, and the sign turned to 'CLOSED' on the door bounced when she shut it. The sound of footsteps drummed down the stairs, and Dani's legs appeared as she descended the steps. "Oh, hey! How'd the bank go?"

"The usual." Jamie walked forward to the countertop with the cash register. "All their old farts with all their old money. And some money that isn't theirs either."

"Uh huh," Dani said. "And the loan?"

Jamie lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. "Sounded like they were impressed by the little talk you had with them last week about tenants and estate management.”

Dani’s face split into a wide smile. “Really? They’re going to give us the money to buy the shop instead of rent?”

“And the apartment, too,” Jamie said, and she couldn’t help it either. Her own grin broadened. “Anyway, I got you something."

She held out a plain brown wax-paper bag. Dani blinked, and took it.

"Oh, thanks, I was just thinking about -" Dani's voice slowed, then stopped. Her smile lessened slightly, when she opened the bag and saw what it contained. A perfect lemon tart with a dash of cream that had been only slightly smushed on Jamie's walk home. "Oh."

Without a word, Jamie pulled from her back pocket the plastic fork that had come with it. "Go on, then. Let's see how it compares to 16-whatever."

For a long moment Dani fiddled with the plastic fork. It were as though she were standing at the edge of a dock, readying herself for a plunge into icy waters. And then with a brave smile towards Jamie, she cut herself a piece and took a bite.

Jamie wondered what it must have been like. Dani's eyes were closed. She looked utterly transported.

"Good?"

Dani opened her eyes again and nodded. "So, so good."

"Yeah?" Jamie leaned her elbows upon the countertop, watching as Dani went in for another bite. "Better or worse than 16-who-even-cares?"

Dani hummed around the fork in her mouth. Pulling it free and chewing, she said, "Better. Way better."

"Why d'you think that is?"

"It's -" Dani went quiet for a moment as she continued to eat, mulling over every morsel. "It's smoother. Richer. Tarter. More depth of flavour."

"Is that the ingredients talking? Or the fact that you've been stuck in a lake without a body for five-hundred years?"

Dani went very still. After a pause she kept chewing. “A bit of both, I think.” She swallowed, then took a deep breath and looked Jamie dead in the eye. “It’s still me, you know. I’m still me.”

Jamie smiled at her. “I know, Poppins. I know.”

When Dani held out the next forkful to her, she let herself be fed. And indeed, she’d been right. Smooth. Rich. Tart. And a depth of flavour. 

 --

At some point -- she could not say exactly when -- Jamie began doing things explicitly thinking of not just what Dani might like, but what Viola might also like. 

She read old books. She asked a friend of a friend who went to university to study textile history for any hints of seventeenth century culture. Anything at all so long as it was between the years of 1645 and 1680. (She knew the dates perfectly, but she wasn’t about to let Viola know that. Couldn’t have their evil aristocratic ghost getting all uppity on them, could they?) 

She grew specialty plants. She bought specialty food. She gave her clothes and jewelry, little trinkets, only what she could afford. Dani loved them all. 

And Viola -- well, Viola was a mystery.

 --

"Did you know that our very own Viola may very well have met Oliver Cromwell?"

Beside her in bed, Dani shifted and the mattress springs creaked beneath her weight. "Are you doing research on my ghost?"

In answer Jamie pointed at the place in the book she was reading and said, "In the year 1658 the daughters of one Mister Willoughby, Viola and Perdita, visited Court, aged fifteen and ten respectively. There they paid their respects and stayed for a few months in a London residence, before returning to the family estate." Jamie set the book down on her legs. "Do you think she actually met him? No. They couldn't have. The Lloyds weren't that reputable, were they?"

"She did," Dani said in a hollow tone. She was staring into the middle distance again, her expression slack. 

"Oh, yeah?" Jamie asked. "She want me to know that, does she?"

Still gazing off into space, Dani nodded.

Jamie gestured with the open book. "Noted." She tried to go back to reading, but her curiosity got the better of her. "Okay, what was he like? Good ol' Ironsides?"

"Cold." Dani's eyelids fluttered and she seemed to come to herself. She cleared her throat, but continued, "And he was so critical of her nice new clothes. But she had the last laugh in the end."

Jamie snickered. "Sounds about right." 

“He died that same year. Right after they’d visited,” Dani said. “She thought his beheading later was very funny.”

Hearing that, Jamie’s eyes widened. "Holy shit. Wait. Was Viola a secret Catholic?"

Dani scowled darkly at her. The air of their bedroom seemed suddenly colder.

"Whoops. Personal question, then?" Jamie held her hands together in mock supplication and thickened her accent. "A thousand pardons, m'lud."

With a snort of laughter, Dani pushed Jamie's hands down, but paused to lean forward for a quick peck on the mouth.

 --

Sometimes Jamie felt like she was stalking a dead woman. Constantly trying to figure out what Viola might like, what might entice her to stay. And then worrying that perhaps it meant Dani was losing a bit of herself everyday. Like a coin rubbed smooth over the years, until the minted face was indistinguishable. One replacing the other. Or perhaps more like losing the line that separated them. Until she could no longer tell where Dani ended and Viola began. 

Yet in time Jamie learned she would do anything if it meant that Dani was here by her side. Every action. Every game pie. Every tight-armed hug. ‘Don’t go. Stay with me. Just for today. Just one more day.’

And every time, Dani caught her eye and smiled as though she had heard the unspoken words, as though they had rung about in the pull-down attic of their little apartment. And every time she would reach out to squeeze Jamie’s hand, and pull her into a reassuring kiss.

 --

Americans, Jamie had learned since living here, were obsessed with Halloween. Personally, she didn’t see the appeal. Now, lighting up the effigy of a Catholic who had once attempted to blow up Parliament? That was more her cup of tea.

Still, when in Rome...And the few friends they had made along the way had invited her to a costume party in town. It would be churlish to decline. They needed more friends. Friends that weren’t linked to a shared trauma.

Besides, as it turned out her friend’s friend at university studying textile history was also an amateur seamstress, and had a few period-accurate pieces that fit without too much trouble. Just a bit nipped in at the waist and -- done. Jamie was set for a ball, or whatever the appropriate equivalent would’ve been called. 

“Hey, Jamie, could you help me with this wig? It’s being a real pain in the -” 

Dani emerged from their bathroom, half dressed in a Bride of Frankenstein white dress outfit, and froze. It was an hour or so before they were set to leave on the night, and Jamie was in their bedroom draped in a seventeenth century gown, seated on the mattress, a thorn-stripped rose in hand. Dani dropped the aforementioned wig to the ground and stared.

“Too much?” Jamie asked. She adjusted the puffy sleeves so that they sat lower on her arms, revealing more of her chest. “I don’t think it suits me, and I was going to go for a bloke’s outfit instead, but she insisted that -”

“No,” Dani breathed, shaking her head. “No, it’s perfect. You’re perfect.” 

“Well, I knew that, obviously.” Jamie winked. Then she made a shooing gesture with the rose, rising from the bed and walking towards Dani. “Now, c’mon! Let’s get that zig-zag wig of yours on. We’re going to be late.”

Dani stepped to one side to block the exit. Her gaze was dark and fixed, unblinking, upon Jamie’s outfit. “I was wrong, actually. What I said just now.”

“What? About me being perfect?” Jamie joked.

“No, not that. It’s just -” Dani reached out with a tentative hand and her fingers were trembling. She thumbed an edge of the dress at Jamie’s sleeve, testing the rose-coloured silk there. “It’s the wrong colour. You should be in green. Laurel as a crown.” 

“Thanks?” Jamie said uncertainly.

Dani stepped closer. With her application of make-up and her pale flowing dress, she seemed more like a ghost than ever. Her hands were on Jamie’s upper arms now, stroking the fabric, following the line of the stomacher’s seams until they rested at Jamie’s narrowed waist.

Dani swallowed, and her voice sounded strained when she asked, “Are you wearing a pair of bodies?”

Jamie huffed with nervous laughter. “Am I wearing a -? What?”

As if coming to herself, Dani blinked and shook her head quickly. “I mean - uh - stays. Uh - What’s the name now? - a corset. Are you wearing a corset?”

“Yeah. And all the petticoats and frills.” Jamie straightened theatrically and tried to stretch her shoulders. “Bloody uncomfortable, too. I tell you what.” 

Any attempt to break Dani out of this spell with humour seemed futile, however. She was tracing the metallic gold thread of Jamie’s stomacher with greedy fingertips. “What exquisite passementerie.”

“Yeah,” Jamie said haltingly. She was being guided back towards the bed, their steps slow. “The girl I borrowed this from is into the real deal. Wanted to make it as authentic as possible. I’m guessing she passed with flying colours?”

Wordlessly, Dani nodded. Her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip, her mouth painted a bold and bloody red. Her hands curled into fists, bunching up the skirts at Jamie’s hips as though she wanted to tear the cloth from her, only for her touch to slacken, and her palms to smooth down that same fabric like a caress. 

Dani continued walking them towards the bed. “I don’t know exactly what’s happening right now, but I really really want you.” 

Whatever reaction Jamie had been expecting, it hadn’t been this. Dani hadn’t blinked for what seemed like an age, and she held herself rigidly, every movement twitchy, as though she couldn’t quite remember how to control her muscles properly. 

“Can I -?” Dani started to ask, fingers already slipping towards the laces at Jamie’s front.

Jamie lifted the rose between them and used it to bop Dani gently on the forehead. “‘Course you can, Poppins. So long as it’s still you in there.” 

Dani blinked furiously and her head jerked back. Then she laughed softly. “Yeah. I’m - I’m here, too.” 

Jamie’s mouth curled in a smirk. “All right, then.” She tossed the rose onto the ground, and reached to the laces that held the gown in place. “Help me out of this thing.”

“No.” Dani grabbed her wrists and held them firmly in place. She shut her eyes for a quick moment, shaking her head back and forth. “Not yet.” 

“I thought you said -?”

“I know. And I do. Just -- slowly.” 

Jamie stared, searching Dani's face for some hint of her there, but her eyes were still tightly shut, and her fingers were pressed coldly around Jamie's wrists. 

"All right," Jamie said. "What do you want me to do?"

Dani's eyes opened then, and her gaze was piercing as a shot in the night. She let go of Jamie, stroking her wrists in silent apology, then said, "Be still."

Jamie lowered her arms, then tried her best to not move at all. A long silent moment stretched between them like a bolt of cloth flaring across a table for measuring. The muscles of Dani's face leapt, then settled, and it were as though the nervous energy ran right out of her to pool at their feet. She straightened to impeccable posture, and her expression was nothing but hunger.

It came as a shock, when Dani first tugged at the strings at Jamie's chest. Clever fingers, accustomed to such garments, worked the laces loose, criss by cross. When the gown had slackened just enough that it began to part from the under layers, she stopped. She brought her hands around, and dipped her fingers along the gap created between silk and cotton, running a line between them all the way from one of Jamie's shoulders, across her chest, to her opposite arm.

When her fingertips trailed across Jamie's collarbone to rest against her sternum, it felt like there was another set dragging along after them. Twin touches mirroring every movement of the other, until suddenly they weren’t. Dani leaned forward, and though her hand remained at the hollow of Jamie’s throat, Jamie could feel an icy caress continue to graze her warm skin.

Then Dani was kissing her neck. Jamie tilted her head to one side, only for some other presence to nudge it back upright. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt a second pair of lips against her throat. She swallowed, neck craned back, and teeth scraped against the sensitive skin there, harder than Dani would have ever bitten, hard enough to make her jolt. From the corner of her vision she swore she could almost see another figure shrouded in white, but when her eyes darted in that direction, there was nothing. 

When Dani felt a hand reach around her throat, she stiffened. "No," she said. "Not around my neck."

Immediately Dani went very still against her, and the hand withdrew. "Sorry. Better?"

Jamie nodded mutely, but could not bring herself to relax. Not when those pairs of hands had moved to part the robe gown from her front. The ruffled bunch of rose-coloured silk dropped to the mattress just behind her in a rustle. Dani was kissing her mouth now, a long deep drawn out kiss, cupping Jamie's cheeks between both hands, but something was still expertly reaching beneath a layer and untying the ribbons that held the padded pillow around her waist under the over skirt, until that, too, was dropped to the floor.

That phantom touch roved, then began to trace the intricate patterns of the stomacher again. There was more strength behind the caress now. As though, the person responsible were gaining confidence, or perhaps becoming more grounded in reality. The warm lamplight on the bedside table behind them cast too many shadows, and over Dani's shoulder Jamie could clearly see the silhouette of three people instead of two.

Those hands pressed against the seams of the stomacher, and Jamie broke off the kiss to gasp, "Careful. There are pins holding that in place."

"I know," Dani murmured against the side of her mouth. The hands passed right over the pins, leaving them in place. "I don't want it off."

"And miss out on all the fun?"

There was a certain steely coldness about Dani's answering smile. "Who said anything about that? Now,” she pressed gently at Jamie’s sternum. “Lie down.”

Jamie dropped onto the mattress, which bounced slightly beneath her weight. She made to shuffle up towards the headboard, but stopped when Dani sank to her knees before her. And yet, there was a dip in the mattress on either side of her. The blankets bunched up at four points as though beneath another weight. Jamie held her breath and let herself lie completely flat with her legs hanging over the side of the bed. The air above her was thick and cold and almost solid. It felt like lying at the bottom of a lake and staring up at the watery surface overhead.

She could feel Dani pushing up the over skirt and petticoat and whatever other layers there were. Jamie had been told the names of each one at the time, but hadn't paid much attention then. Now, she wished she had. Now, Dani was running her hands along each one in turn, slowly sliding them up to Jamie's hips.

Something tugged at one of the black ribbon garters just above Jamie's knees, which kept those long white stockings in place. Then Dani was sliding the left stocking down her leg, pausing to press a kiss to each patch of bare exposed skin. She shivered. As Dani removed the first stocking and moved to the second, Jamie felt a kiss at her neck again. The suddenness of it made her twitch. She reached out, but her hands passed right through the air above her. A pair of hands gripped her wrists and pinned them down to the bed.

Jamie made a noise in the back of her throat. Dani paused, and the grip around Jamie's wrists slackened just fractionally until it became clear that she wasn't fighting back.

Once the final stocking was removed, Dani pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Jamie's inner thigh. Jamie squirmed. Though Dani’s head was only barely visible between her legs, Jamie could not escape the feeling of someone staring intently at her. Dani’s mouth worked its way up and up and -- Jamie hissed, shutting her eyes and clenching her teeth. While the rest of her was cold, Dani’s tongue was a length of heat, licking long warm stripes and small circles. 

With a moan Jamie’s hands jerked, instinctively going to grab Dani’s head, but she was held back, tethered down by an invisible ghost that lingered over her like a dream. There came the sensation of something drawing closer, a draught of cold air that drifted across her face, and Jamie’s eyes flew open. 

If she focused, she could almost see the monochromatic shape. Dark locks of hair dripped down past her head and puddled on the surrounding bedsheets. Viola was crouched over her in all her former glory. Sparkle of light glinting against the pearls at her throat. A rich cool and satisfied smile. Dark weathers for eyes. The cat that had caught the canary in its claws. She leaned down and kissed Jamie, and her mouth was full and soft, and thin and hard all at once, demanding, unrelenting. 

Viola pulled away. She lifted one satin-gloved hand and stroked Jamie’s cheek. “Such a pretty thing.”

Her voice was a hoarse echo across space and time. Dani slipped two fingers into her, and Jamie had to bite back a whimper, her eyes squeezing shut. 

“Look at me.” 

With a hitched breath as Dani’s tongue worked against her, Jamie struggled to open her eyes, to keep her hips still. 

“That’s it, darling,” Viola smiled, and her face began to melt, like a painting that dripped with wax. “Come for me.”

Jamie’s back arched, her head turning against the sheets. She came with a whine that escaped in spite of herself, and it seemed to go on for ages, until she trembled and jerked her hips away. Layers of cotton and silk stuck to her skin with a thin sheen of sweat. Hastily Dani clambered up to take Viola’s place, hands on Jamie’s wrists, crouched over her, her mouth a smear of bold red lipstick, staring intently down, as though trying to memorise every last etch of her face. She swayed closer for a moment to brush her lips against Jamie’s, just softly. 

“You all right?” Dani asked, sounding breathless.

Jamie nodded. “Yeah. Good. Great, even.”

“Yeah?” 

In answer, Jamie reached up and crushed their mouths together in a bruising kiss. Dani groaned, pressing down against her, then gasped her name.

Hands on her hips, Jamie urged her further up until Dani’s knees bracketed either side of her head. She pushed up the sheer white fabric of the costume around Dani’s thighs. Above her, Dani gripped the frame of their headboard, knuckles white, already panting. 

Jamie shouldn’t have been so greedy. She should have taken her time. She should have made Dani writhe, holding her on that ledge for as long as she could until Dani finally broke. But Dani was so wet, her thighs were taught and trembling, and she was grinding down against Jamie’s mouth. Jamie could feel her chin and neck grow slick. She held onto the backs of Dani’s legs and urged her on, coaxing with every roll and swipe of her tongue until she came with a cry. 

One of Dani’s hands was tangled in Jamie’s hair. The other was still gripping the headboard tight. She was resting her sweat-stippled forehead against her own arm. When Jamie scraped her teeth lightly against her damp inner thigh, Dani shuddered.

"Are you all right?"

“I need a moment,” Dani said, her chest heaving. “I want to go again, but - Just - Give me just a moment -”

Wiping at her face, Jamie helped Dani back down to lie beside her. “I’ve got you. Don’t worry.” She kissed her temple while Dani gasped for breath into her shoulder. “I’ve got you.”

 --

She had said before, ‘so many people mix up love and possession,’ and now years later Jamie wondered if that was the reason why they had been given so much time. That maybe Viola thought this was love. That maybe she loved this. Loved her. Love them. Or at least the idea of them. In some twisted way. All that cold rage and loneliness clinging to whatever scraps it could find, winding around its prey like a snake slowly throttling the life out of its victim without even realising it. 

But maybe Viola wasn't squeezing so hard after all. Maybe she couldn't. Maybe Dani hadn't died yet because Viola was trapped, because she could never again return to the lake at Bly. Maybe Viola wasn't possessing her at all. And if she wasn’t possessing her, then - well. 

Even that was too good to be true. The best outcome by far given the circumstances. And really, deep down, Jamie knew that loving Danielle Clayton meant loving her enough to one day let her go. 

They didn’t make it to the Halloween party. Eventually, Dani tired herself out, riding Jamie’s fingers for a third time before collapsing atop her and panting for breath as she seemed to come fully back to herself. Jamie was barely able to convince Dani to join her for a shower before she fell asleep, all a-tangle in Jamie’s arms. 

The bedside lamp was still lit. Jamie carded her hands through Dani’s long damp and honeyed hair. From the light, the shadow of a woman standing at the foot of their bed was thrown in sharp relief against the opposite wall. Staring at the space where Viola stood, Jamie gently kissed the top of Dani’s head. 

Not for the first time in her life she found herself hoping beyond hope that someone could be haunted forever. 

 --

One day she brought back a tin full of loose-leaf tea. It was intended for nobody but herself. A full and earthy black. Not the bog her father would've drunk before descending into the ground, but similar in colour to his lungs perhaps. Jamie pulled it out along with the rest of her shopping, and started to put everything away but the tin. And while she did so, she put on the kettle to boil.

The sound of the kettle whirring away on the stove drew Dani from another room, like a siren's song. She was dressed in an old pink shirt tucked into high-waisted, acid-washed jeans. Her hair was still wet from a recent shower. "Need some help?"

"Sure." Jamie handed over the last bag for unpacking. "Take care of that for me while I handle the kettle, will you?"

Without a word, Dani did as asked. She was the taller of the two, and didn't have to reach up onto her toes to put away things on the high shelves. And Jamie was too proud to admit she needed a stepping stool, herself. Why bother? That's what Dani was for. Among other things.

When Jamie opened the cupboard, she asked, "Don't suppose you want some as well? Might not be your cup of tea, so to speak."

"I'll have one. Thanks."

So, Jamie pulled out two mugs. The kettle hissed. She poured a bit of water into each cup to warm them, then spooned the appropriate amount of tea leaves into the pot. While waiting for the tea to steep, Jamie turned round and lifted herself onto the kitchen bench. There, she drummed her sock-clad heels against the cupboard and reached over to the jar that held an assortment of biscuits. Chocolate-drizzled digestives for herself, and ginger biscuits for Dani, who had the unfortunate American affection for cinnamon and ginger and cloves. Jamie couldn't stand ginger, herself. Tasted too medicinal.

Sticking a digestive biscuit into her mouth, Jamie wordlessly held out the jar. Dani was just finishing putting away the shopping bags, and wandered over. Her hand slipped into the glass opening and she fished out two ginger biscuits for herself. Jamie set the jar aside, and meanwhile Dani insinuated herself between Jamie's legs so that she stood snugly against her.

"Long day?" Dani asked.

"Mmm," Jamie mumbled around a mouthful of biscuit. She finished chewing. "Not too bad of a Sunday, to be honest. What about you?"

"I went for a walk in the park," Dani said, looking mischievous as she nibbled on the first biscuit.

"On a Sunday? The scandal," Jamie tsked, tapping her tongue against the backs of her teeth. "What would dear old Viola think about that?"

In reply, Dani arched her brows and smirked, "I think that was the appeal, actually. Plus, we're in the full swing of Fall now, and we won't have many sunny days soon. I wanted to take full advantage while I still had the chance."

"Buy anything while you were out?"

"A scarf for you," Dani answered. "And a pair of gloves for me."

She had a habit of buying articles of clothing out of the blue. Whenever the fancy seemed to strike her. Today was obviously one such a day.

"How very thoughtful."

"It's green. You look good in green," said Dani. "It brings out your eyes."

"I look good in anything," Jamie insisted. "And nothing."

Dani grinned. "That's true, too."

She stepped back and wandered over to the fridge for milk, when Jamie reached around to pour them each a cup of tea.

"Thanks, love," Jamie said, pouring them each a dollop of milk before handing the jug back to Dani, who put it away in the fridge once more.

Their fingers brushed when Jamie handed over the cup of tea. As ever these days, Dani's hands were cold. They eagerly wrapped themselves around the hot cup, and she pulled the tea close to her chest.

Jamie did the same. It was after all, as Dani had said, the throes of Fall; the weather was taking a turn to the icy. And that first sip of tea was pure heaven. It warmed her all the way down her throat and settled in her stomach. Jamie hummed at the sensation and closed her eyes. She could hear Dani do the same beside her.

"I wish I could take this moment," she heard Dani say in a soft murmur, "and press it into a big book for safekeeping. So, I could come back and look at it whenever I felt sad."

“Aye,” Jamie breathed. Then she opened her eyes, and said, “Though maybe only with another biscuit in hand.”

With a snort of laughter, Dani dragged the biscuit jar closer so they could each indulge again. Jamie took one. Again, Dani took two. 

“There. Now, that -” Jamie gestured with her cup of tea, speaking around a full mouth, “- is a perfect moment.” 

“I could not agree more.” Dani had already finished one biscuit and was busily dunking her second into her tea. 

Jamie watched her finish the biscuit before nudging Dani softly with her elbow. “You’re normally more of a coffee drinker. I could’ve brewed a different brew, if you’d wanted.”

“Yeah. But - I dunno. Somehow,” Dani paused to take a sip. She smiled warmly around the brim of the cup. “This tastes like home.”

 --

Polaroids were getting cheaper and more compact these days. She didn’t have to go cramming them into oversized pockets anymore. Jamie had thrown out countless photos over time, never quite satisfied with the outcomes but always searching for some way to keep a hold of her. The day she bought a new camera -- her old one had died the death of kings; a swimming accident, and cameras as it turned out did not swim very well -- she immediately wanted to try it upon returning home.

Dani had just gotten a new haircut. The barber had done something to her fringe to make it look like the sweep of a wing, and she was constantly brushing it out of her eyes. She did so when she looked up as Jamie entered the living room, greeting her with a curious smile.

Brown paper bag under one arm, Jamie took a moment to remove her jacket and sling it across the coat hanger, but she left the green scarf wound around her neck like a python. “I got a new toy,” she announced.

Dani tilted her head to one side. “I told you I’d buy you that nice pair of secateurs for Christmas.”

“And you still can.”

Immediately, Dani’s eyebrows rose and she seemed intrigued. “Then what kind of toy?”

Pretending to look scandalised, Jamie reached into the bag. “How naughty! Not that kind of toy.”

Dani’s cheeks tinged pink. “Oh,” she said. She sounded disappointed.

With a smirk, Jamie strode forward and pulled out the new camera. She chucked the now empty paper bag onto the kitchen countertop, and gestured for Dani to stand beside her. Shaking her head, Dani nonetheless complied. 

Jamie grabbed a hold of Dani’s shoulders and kissed her on the cheek, before she lifted the camera up as high as her arm would allow. A press of her finger. A flash of light. A click and whir of cogs and internal mechanisms. 

Dani didn’t flinch this time or duck her head. She returned the kiss, then wandered away, humming to herself, without waiting to see the film develop. Jamie watched her go with a warm grin and an appreciative glance. When she looked down at the photo it was to find herself beaming from the square strip of film, and beside her Dani smiling tentatively, grasping Jamie’s opposite shoulder. Both of them were clear and their characters easily distinguishable. She felt herself relax a little. 

Then as the white veil continued to lift from the surface, she went very still. On each of their shoulders rested a pale hand, and in the space between them a shadow in the shape of a woman with hair as long and black as the night. The face was a mask worn of all features, but she swore she could see a pair of dark eyes watching her from the film, and a canny smile haunted the unmistakable likeness of the Lady Lloyd of Bly. 

Wrenching her eyes up, Jamie stared after Dani, who had wandered into their kitchen and was humming over the kettle. Slowly the water began to build to a boil. The kettle began to hiss. Then to shrilly whine. 

Dani removed the kettle from the heat and poured boiling water into the brown betty teapot. "How'd the picture turn out this time?"

Briefly, Jamie considered throwing this one away like all the others, but it were as though a hand was still squeezing her shoulder tight. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to be known and most of all obeyed. Clearing her throat, she took a few hesitant steps forward then held out the square strip of film. 

Dani set the kettle back down, and took the picture. She turned it round for a better look. There followed a sharp inhalation, like tearing in one last breath before the plunge. Her eyes widened and then, a slow smile crossed her face. She gasped out an incredulous laugh.

"Y’know, I - I thought this was going to be terrible, but -" Dani stroked her fingers over the image. "It really isn't half bad. You look - I mean. We look -" 

Suddenly she snatched her hand away from the picture, clenching her unruly fist and lowering it. Her breaths were shaky but when she glanced up, her eyes were bright. She held up the photo. "Can we keep this one?"

Jamie nodded and shrugged at the same time. “Sure.”

Relief suffused Dani’s face. She did not tuck the photo away in some little corner of the apartment, something to be passed by without a second glance. No. Instead, she turned and began pulling magnets from the fridge. She cleared their normally busy little refrigerator, pushing everything aside to make space. And right there at the very centre of the blank white canvas she pinned the photo into place with a single plain black magnet. 

“There,” Dani breathed softly. Her trembling fingertips lingered against the white-edged film. “That looks right. That - It feels just right. Right there.” 

The hand at Jamie’s shoulder withdrew, but then there was the feeling of something drifting from the top of her head to the nape of her neck. As though someone were trying to tame the wild curls there with a gentle, approving touch. 

“Dani,” Jamie croaked, her voice cracking. 

“Hmm?” Dani turned around.

Striding forward, Jamie stopped only when she was close enough that she could peer deeply into Dani’s eyes. They were as they always had been. Variegated as an infected holly. 

“Are you -?” Jamie had to swallow down the burr in her throat. “Are you feeling yourself?” 

Dani’s answering smile was puzzled. “Yeah,” she said, her words slow and thoughtful, as though considering something inward very closely. “Yeah, I am.” 

And she reached up to card her fingers through Jamie’s untamed hair. “You know, it’s strange, really.” Dani’s hand followed the same path as the one had before, coming to rest at the nape of Jamie’s neck, a cool solid comforting weight. She stroked her thumb, and the motion was repeated by one that was colder, like an echo, before the two hands came together at last. “Somehow, I feel more myself than ever.”

[runenc03]

Back to me

Writing date: June 2020

Genre: fluff

Warnings: crazy paparazzi? Lol

Word count: 2.8k 

------------------------------------------------------

You sighed in relief as soon as the fresh night wind hit your face, replacing the thick, musty air inside the building you just got out of. You exhaled, fog momentarily clouding your vision. It made you smile. As a child, you'd always imagined being a baby dragon who couldn't spew fire yet, but instead spit smoke. You sometimes wished to return to the simplicity your life held back then.

A fraction of the buzzing from inside managed to find its way outside, but it was faint, and therefore much more bearable for your eardrums.

Still, you knew you should be inside right now, yelling along with the crowd, head over heels in love with the lead singer, like every other girl, or boy, in there. You knew, however, that being inside just wasn't an option right now. You had tried, for him, but the loud noise was too much for your head, and the lyrics were not sung, but screamed by the singer, too much for your heart.

Carefully, considering you were wearing your only pair of heels right now, you started to walk alongside the wall, breathing in deeply, letting the wind wrap itself around your body. But the more physical distance you created between you and the stage, the more your thoughts seemed to focus on that same stage, and the singer on it.

From an outside perspective, he was everything you would expect from an ideal guy, 'boyfriend material', they'd say, and you saw all of that too, but he wasn't right for you, not in the beginning, and not now.

'The beginning' had taken place around 7 months ago. He had been your new classmate. Whispers had filled the classroom as soon as his famous face had been visible, and all the girls in your class had been jealous of you when the teacher put him next to you. You, however, had grimaced as discreetly as you could, not really keen on giving up your extra space. The jealousy of the other girls had only continued as the two of you constantly got paired for partner assignments. You would rather work on your own than having to compromise with someone else though.

For some reason however, he seemed to have a special interest in you. The interest wasn't genuine and you knew it, but you couldn't turn him, nor the attention he offered you, down. Not because he was irresistible, no, you knew for sure that you'd rather be alone than with him. It was the icy tone behind his charming words, the cold eyes above his broad smile, that made you unable to say no to him. You were scared.

What started as being classmates, ended up in many more labels. Friends, some would say. Lovers, others would gossip.

The truth was much more complicated. The truth was that you didn't really know what to think of the two of you, only that you felt an immense amount of pressure from the outside world to finally get together.

'What do you actually want? He's perfect! If you don't claim him soon enough, he's going to be gone, he won't wait forever. And then that's your loss. Stop being so picky!'

You had lost count of the number of times someone had felt the need to tell you something along those lines. It made you panic, made you feel restricted, invisible claws pinching your throat closed. You didn't know exactly what you wanted from a romantic relationship, all you knew was that he couldn't give it to you. True, he was perfect to the outside world, society, but you knew better. You had soon picked up on the small things, like how he always divided the work of partner assignments and made you do the harder part, or how he treated all girls with an equal, but fake kind of chivalry.

Soon, making duo assignments 'together' had turned into you writing the songs for his band while he claimed them as his own, you taking the pictures he posted on his Instagram, you writing back nice letters to his fans after they had sent him fan mail.

You couldn't do it anymore. Dealing with all the pressure from the outside world, combined with his behaviour towards you...it was too much. You felt trapped in between two walls, getting closer and closer towards each other, waiting until they would finally be close enough to pulverise you.

Suddenly, your eyes and ears started registering flashes. You looked to the left, your eyes quickly scanning the area, looking for the person who was taking pictures of you. When you found them, you gasped. At least 4 photographers were sitting behind a car, hastily taking as many pictures of you as they could.

You rapidly looked the other way again, continuing your walk at a faster pace. It had never been this bad. True, his band had been known before he became your classmate, but he had only really blown up when he began to release the songs you had written. He had started homeschooling as well, not being able to go to school anymore without being followed like this. It worked for him, but you still had difficulties with the press, considering you were often spotted together. This wasn't the first time pictures had been taken from you, but it had never been in a situation like this, with you feeling overwhelmed, at night, alone and in the dark. You didn't want to be seen like this, not by the photographers and not by every other person in the country who bought a magazine the next morning. All you wanted was to get away from these people as fast as possible.

So you ran.

You ditched your heels altogether, never having been keen on shoes anyway, and started to run as fast as you could. You ran through the city centre, turned left, and right, and left again, until you were completely disoriented, stranded in a local park, bright yellow lights the only thing to make you see something. The photographers, however, were still chasing you. You faltered for a second, hands on your knees, your breath being completely knocked out of you. You mentally noted that you should start working on your stamina. You knew the only reason you were ahead of the press was because you didn't have to carry those heavy cameras.

"Hey, come here, quickly, I'll help you."

You looked up again, only now noticing a figure sitting on the bench, about 12 feet away from you. You walked in the person's direction, and upon further inspection, you saw it was a guy, probably around your age. He was wearing a jacket with a hoodie underneath, a guitar was balanced on his lap. The guy smiled at you when he heard you come closer. Before you even had the chance to say something, he pulled something out of his pocket and threw it in your direction. Out of instinct, you caught it. The material felt cold in your hands, and so it took you a second to realise he had given you keys.

"My bike is in the grass, there. You can take it and bike away, so that you're faster than the press."

You looked in the direction his arm indicated, and indeed saw a bike thrown against one of the light poles. You were astonished.

"Why do you trust me? How do you know I won't just steal your bike?"

He only smiled knowingly, not really giving you an answer.

"I have a feeling you'll come back to me."

---------------------------------------------------------------

He had been right. Of course you came back. How could you not? First of all, you were not the type of person to do anything mean, let alone illegal, and second, you hadn't been able to get the kind boy out of your head throughout the entire process of escaping those photographers. It had taken you a while, true, but you had managed to get rid of all of them. Now was the time to bring the bike back to its rightful owner.

Leaves rustled as you entered the park the boy had been sitting in, and the chaos in your head only intensified because of it. Questions swirled through your mind, why he had trusted you, what he had been doing there so late at night, who he even was.

You spotted his figure, hood over his head, slightly leaning forward. You stepped off of the bike and slowly started walking next to it, trying to buy some time, your shyness suddenly coming in full force. How should you approach him? What did you say to a stranger who had loaned you his bike in the middle of the night?

You noticed you had stopped walking altogether because the spikes of the bike were silent, making it possible for you to hear the gentle strumming of a guitar - a guitar he was playing right now.

Your feet decided for themselves to start moving. He only noticed you when your shadow towered over him, blocking the artificial light coming out of the lamp posts from reaching his fingers on the guitar. He looked up, smiling. The artificial lighting didn't illuminate his features at all, but you were still happy to have a better look at his face. And what a face it was.

"Hi there. I see you've found your way back to me. Did they follow you for a long time, or were you just lost?"

His teasing tone made you grin, questions still on your mind, but the chaos gone now.

"A combination of both, I guess. Thank you, really, I don't know what I would've done without your bike."

And then, to change the topic:

"What were you playing?"

"Recuerdos de la alhambra"

"How can you play that piece by heart? I've been practising for months and I still can't get it completely right. And that's with sheet music."

He looked up from his guitar and to your face for longer than absolutely necessary for the first time since you'd come back to him. When you looked into his eyes, you knew his lack of eye contact before hadn't been because you bored him, but because he'd been shy. What had changed now was that his curiosity had won, while the shyness had lost. Your heart fluttered without your permission at the realisation, and suddenly, you were the one having difficulties upholding that eye contact.

"I've always felt like sheets hinder me while I'm playing. It's like I'm too busy trying to decipher the notes on the sheet that I can't actually make music anymore, you know? Anyway, that's not what I where I was going to. Did you just hint that you play the guitar too?"

Your shyness had definitely taken over now. Why had you told him you played?

"A little bit, I'm definitely not as good as you are, I taught myself."

"Okay but that only makes it more impressive. Do you want to play?"

He held his guitar out to you, but you shook your head. You barely dared playing in front of your friends, let alone a stranger. Then, a thought struck you, and the giddy feeling inside you numbed.

"Is this the part where you're going to force me to play guitar, or do something else I'm uncomfortable with, because you let me use your bike?"

His face fell a bit, a worried expression now taking over the smile. The giddy feelings inside you numbed even further now his smile wasn't visible anymore.

"No, no of course not, I honestly just wanted to do something good, and you just needed help in that moment. I'm nothing like that, I'd never ask you for something unreasonable in return for giving you the help you needed, but didn't even ask for. I'm sorry if I came across that way, I should've realised I'm a stranger to you. You couldn't have known my intentions were solely to help you out."

You had seen your fair share of false remorse throughout your life, and so you knew from the tone of his voice and the look on his face that his wasn't false. An immediate punch of guilt attacked your stomach, this wonderful guy had helped you, and you came and doubted his intentions, just because he offered you his guitar. You seriously should work on keeping your fears under control. Carefully, you parked his bike against the lamp post and went to sit on the other end of the bench.

"I'm so sorry, I really didn't mean to doubt you or anything. I should keep my fears under control."

He looked at you again, eyes widened at the fact that you suddenly sat next to him, even if there was still over a foot of space between you.

"You mean, your fear of playing?"

You nodded your head, feeling the heat rushing to your cheeks.

"Yeah, I don't know how you do it. I mean there's no need to be insecure, obviously, but where did you learn to play this well? I've never found a good guitar teacher around here. Then again, where are you from? What's even your name? Or am I asking too much now?"

The mysterious smile was back on his face, and you felt your own smile promptly match his.

"Well, to each their secrets, I guess. You don't want to let me enjoy your musical talent, what makes you think I'd want to share what my name is?"

You could tell he was only teasing you. There was a twinkle in his eye when he looked at you, and you couldn't help but think you'd never been as intrigued by a pair of eyes before.

Suddenly, you had an idea.

"Okay, you've convinced me. Let's play a game. For every song I play for you, you have to answer a question, and vice versa."

"So, like an advanced, musical version of twenty questions?"

"You've got it. You can start with a question while I mentally prepare myself to play the next song."

He played a few random chords before silencing the strings, looking you in the eye. For the first time that night, you noticed the dimples gracing his cheeks. You thought they were cute.

"Okay, first question: what's your favourite song?"

You knew where this was going to, so you told him your favourite song. You even told him the story of why it was your favourite, something that surprised both him and yourself.

And so he started playing. At this point, you weren't even surprised he knew the correct chords right off the bat. You closed your eyes, taking in the gentle strumming of the guitar next to you, allowing yourself to finally completely relax.

And then, when the second verse was about to start:

"Do you want to sing?"

You couldn't exactly pinpoint what it was that made you cave in, maybe it was his smile, or the fact that he hadn't added 'for me' to his question, but you started humming along. Shy at first, not used to singing in anyone's presence but your own. The humming gradually morphed into singing actual words, and when you dared opening your eyes again, you saw that his smile had only broadened, his eyes closed now, fingers dancing across the strings of his guitar.

This is how you spent your entire night, sitting on a bench, with a guy you didn't properly know yet, humming famous and self invented melodies, bonding over smiles and chords.

You hadn't realised it yet, but somewhere during this night, the foundation had been set to eventually fall in love with this beautiful stranger.

He would end up being your first -and last- true, romantic love, and you were going to be forever grateful that you decided that night to come back to him.

[kittymsmithwritesstuff]

Short Oneshot: A smol friend

Fandom: Apex Legends

Characters: Wattson, Mirage, Rampart

Tags: humor, friendship, casual. Slice of life?

Words: 949

Summary:  Natalie is just trying to run an errend when she runs into Mirage and Rampart at the least opportune moment.

I do commissions: link

My ao3: link

---

She felt like one of the secret agents in the old movies her papa used to watch. Dressed in dark clothes with those sunglasses too big for their faces, all serious with their guns and for some reason it was always raining when they ran after the bad guy. She wasn’t running after anyone, or from anyone, but she was running, and she was in dark clothes and carrying a secret and it was raining so…close enough.

She paused under an awning that had a pool of water weighing down, pouring off in a single steady stream. She panted, re-tucking her jacket into her pants. She had to pause for a minute to make sure it was evenly tucked in all around before she could stand to move on; she still had three blocks to go.

“Nat? Oh, wow, hey, hi!”

Her head shot up; eyes wide. Mirage in a frighteningly yellow jacket, Rampart speed-walking alongside him with her hands in the pockets of a pink coat Natalie could have sworn belonged to Ajay. Oh, no, nonono-

“Hello,” she said.

“I thought you hated storms? Oh, wait, you got your headphones on, my bad-oh, they have those Tesla, uh, thingies! On the side! That’s cool.”

She forced a smile. “Ah, yeah. Coils.”

“Whaddya’ doin’ out in the rain, mate?” Rampart asked. She really didn’t like Rampart, at all, but outside of the ring she was far more bearable. Except right now. Right now, she was twice as unbearable. She had to remind herself now was not the time to be blunt, Mirage was her friend and Rampart was his, so it was the time to try and remember the polite social outs from the communications book Crypto had loaned her.

“Walking,” she said.

“In…the rain?”

“Y…Yes. What are, what are you two doing?” Why did I ask a question-oh why, why, why?

“Getting pizza! Well, I’m getting pizza, Witt’s getting a crime against nature.”

“It’s just pineapple, Rams.”

“It’s the pepperoncini.”

“Pepperoncini are great!”

“Not on pizza.”

“You like anchovies and if that is not a crime, I’ll-I’ll…I’ll cut my hair!”

“You’d bet on that?”

Natalie slowly stepped away, glancing behind her as she approached the edge. Just a little closer, she could get in the rain and then to the alleyway a few feet from them. She’d get soaked but she could go through, come out the other side and take the next three blocks to the store and-

“H-hey, wait, Nat, is that, your, uh, is your shirt, jacket-“

“You got a xenomorph in there?” Rampart raised an eyebrow.

Natalie stopped, looking down and realizing it all too late. Before she could run, or scream or cry or something, his little head popped out of the top of her jacket.

“Kitty!” Mirage and Rampart exclaimed with squeals that almost made her wince.

Nikola, with his little soft brown seal-point tips and white fluffy fur all a mess from being in her jacket, let out a meow that could probably be heard all through Solace City. He stopped squirming and instead attempted to stretch while Mirage and Rampart crowded in, then quickly tried to not crowd while coping with their enthusiasm at the mere sight of a feline.

“He doesn’t like to be alone in storms!” She whined, before processing that they weren’t even amused, just excited.

“Can we pet him?!” Rampart was literally bouncing. She did that a lot anyway, but these bounces were concentrated at a source instead of just…being.

It took her a moment to process that too, but she recovered rather quickly. “Uh, sure! His name is Nikola.” She unzipped her jacket just a bit so he could stick his front paws out, he liked to rest them on the rims of things. Nikola was very happy to receive the love touches and cheek rubs. His purring against her belly felt like the hum of the tesla coils she had in her lab.

Mirage went full baby talk to the point of near incomprehensibility, and Rampart called him “pretty boy” ten times in three seconds.

Nikola reveled in it.

“He’s so pretty, pwetty little boy-I never got to see him before!” Mirage was grinning. It made her feel better about everything, and wonder what on Solace possessed her to think the reaction to her carrying her kitty around would be anything but utter joy.

“He’s a homebody,” she said, gently petting the top of his head with one finger. He meowed.

“I wonder if they make earplugs for cats?” Rampart looked at Natalie. “Y’know, cause storms.”

“They do, but he doesn’t like them.” She shrugged, smiling. “He just hates being alone.”

“Well he’s cool.”

“He��s just chillin’ in your jacket. Sweet little dude,” Mirage nodded. She smiled, her nerves having dissipated.

“I just was getting food,” she admitted. A rumble of thunder made her jump and prompted Nikola to pull his head in. “They don’t deliver on Sunday’s.”

The pair glanced between themselves. “You wanna get pizza with us?” Rampart smiled. “I’ll even share my anchovies with fuzzybutt.”

“Meow,” Nikola said, in a tone which Natalie knew meant stark agreement.

Though she wasn’t one for spontaneity, she had nothing else going on… “If I can get pepperoni,” she said, and began walking with them as they continued from the awning. The pizzeria was at the end of the street.

“Hell yeah, maybe I can get Renee to come over. She’ll just roll a whole pizza up and eat it like a burrito,” Mirage said while opening the door, shuffling in behind the two women.

“I’d like that,” Natalie said, finding herself smiling.

Nikola meowed softly from her jacket. Yes, it all sounded very nice.

[technoskittles]

Need help with Medical Bill

Hey y’all. I know it’s been a while since I’ve been really active on here. Been getting through jobs and life after graduation recently and trying to keep my head above water.

I’m about to start testing for ADHD (which I’ve been trying to do for YEARS now) and just got my prospective dues for the testing. It’s going to cost me $535 (and $30 for my feedback appointment but I’m not too worried about that one).

If y’all could spare ANYTHING to help me knock down that cost and make it a little more bearable I would so greatly appreciate it. I’m currently already paying off another medical bill from an ER visit I made while I didn’t have insurance, plus I’m going to have to start paying off my private student loans in December so this bill - though important to me - isn’t really something that I can cover so easily on my own.

My paypal is here

If you’d like to get something for your money’s worth, I’m offering tarot readings for $1 per card (just PM me!) and I’m also considering selling some photographic prints if anyone might be interested in those.

If you can’t contribute anything at this time because of your own struggles, I totally understand, but I would at least ask you to signal boost this so I can afford this process which I’ve been trying to do for years.

Please and thank you!

[sunflowerhazzavol6]

Veto- Chapter One

To Genevieve, morning always seemed to be the cruelest part of the day.

Nighttime was easy. Any and all responsibility was just beyond her apartment door, the only thing left up to her at that point being what she was going to feed herself and what kind of alcoholic beverage she was in the mood for. Typically it was something mixed with vodka and some sort of take-out, or food brought home from work. She could just settle down into her worn couch, lint pebbling on its almost too-comfortable surface, and tune into the blue light that was her TV. The perfect evening to shut out a usually less than perfect day. If that wasn’t exactly the speed she was going for, she would let that responsibility tap it's probably clubbed foot on the outside of a club entrance, Genevieve dancing on top of a table with her best friends while they took turns taking shots. This of course added to the pain of mornings, her hangover rearing its head as soon as she opened her eyes. That was what made this one in particular so gruesome. 

She blinked her eyes open, immediately squinting at the light drifting in through her window. She had blackout curtains for this reason exactly, but last night in her drunken haze she had forgotten to close the blinds in order to protect herself from this exact occasion. She knew she was paying for it now, burying her nose back into her pillow and letting out a strong exhale. Outside she could hear the construction crew that was already bang-bang-banging on the complex that was being built next door. While the noise bothered her to no end in the beginning of her lease, she had grown used to it and knew that it was the reason her rent was so cheap in the first place. Even the catcalling had become white noise, but she still held up a middle finger most days when she walked by to do her laundry. This morning the jackhammering reminded her of the pile overflowing from the basket, and she let out an audible groan before pushing herself up and out from under the covers.

Six months ago she had dropped out of school, packed up all her shit, and moved to a place just outside of Malibu. Cecilia, her best friend from high school, had moved there immediately after graduating with her boyfriend at the time. While they ultimately ended up breaking things off, she stayed there to work and enjoy the sun and freedom that came along with the California heat. When Genevieve had called her for probably the thirtieth time, having an anxiety attack about not being happy or knowing the true direction of her life, Cece had suggested that she move down to the West Coast to figure things out. Within a week she had officially unenrolled from the business school at NYU, dyed her brown hair blonde in a Tesco bathroom, and packed her tan colored 2007 Subaru Forester to trek across the country. She camped in her car along the way, grateful for the couple before her who had tinted the windows. She didn’t tell her mom what she had done until she was pulling onto the Pacific Coast Highway, receiving an earful that ultimately ended as soon as her back tire popped and she had to pull over. She didn’t see why it mattered anyways, leaning against the dirty vehicle while she waited for the AAA guy to pull up and save her ass. Her mom couldn’t afford to help her with school, and so really the only money at stake was her own. That was a whole other tier of stress on her shoulders; the student loan debt that she still had to pay off despite her lack of degree. She was relieved to get her own place after staying with Cece for two weeks, but even after she pushed open the door to her new apartment, the discontentment that she had felt in New York lingered in her head like a fog. It was bearable now, though, and so she took that as a sign that she was taking the right step.

She stands on the cool linoleum flooring designed to look like hardwood, stretching her hands into the air and hearing her spine pop. The rush of blood circulating through her body makes her head throb, causing her to release a pathetic whine and hold her hand to her forehead. She grabs her glasses from her nightstand, putting them on and pulling open the drawer to find god’s gift to the earth. The bottle of Tylenol rolls to the edge of the drawer, it’s only occupant besides an Altoids tin with condoms in it. She grabs the bottle and pops it open, shaking out two pills before throwing her head back to toss them in. She pops her head under the sink in her bathroom to swallow them down, wiping the bit of water that escapes with the back of her hand. Genevieve then gets ready for the day, peeing and brushing the fuzzy feeling and stale alcohol from her teeth. After getting dressed in a somewhat-clean Led Zeppelin t-shirt and shorts she grabs her laundry basket, her keys, and heads out of her studio onto the walkway outside. 

Hidden Hills apartment complex was an old motel that had been converted into a low-income housing space, which had then just been converted into the complex that it was today. It was really nice for the price point and the area, and Gene was incredibly grateful that she had found it while it was still available. When she had moved in the owners had just finished remodeling and had begun work on the buildings that were going up now. Apparently they had knocked down the walls in between two motel rooms to create each space, making it a decent size for one person or a couple. The more expensive suites had become two bedroom apartments across the parking lot, so there were a few small families that lived there too. For the most part, though, it was people just like her who were calling it a rest stop on their way to something better. 

When she walks into the small laundry building attached to the main complex, she’s greeted by an older man in his early sixties hanging up colorful speedos to air dry in the corner. Victor was two doors down from her, and had lived here for at least the last two owners as far as she knew. He never really disclosed how long he had been there, though, which was very purposeful on his part. It wasn’t because he was ashamed by his living situation, being the oldest in the complex by at least thirty-five years. Victor absolutely romanticized the mystery he had created, introducing himself as a flaming homosexual from the south who had participated in the Stonewall Riots of 1969. When he found out that she had moved from New York City herself, he immediately took her under his wing and became the strange gay uncle she never had. Other than his horrible habit of sunbathing in the nude on his balcony, she really liked him and valued his insights and advice on life in general.

“Well would you look at who the cat dragged in! You look something horrible, Genevieve.” He says when he sees her, crossing his arms over his wife beater and kimono. He had on bright yellow swimming shorts too, which were inappropriately small for anyone other than him. She winces at his voice, wrinkling her nose while she puts her basket on top of a dryer.

“Don’t talk so loud. I just woke up.”

“My lord Jesus almighty, honey, it's past noon.” He turns back to his pile of wet clothing, pushing them into a dryer. He starts it and watches it spin for a second before leaning against the white metal, turning to look at her. “Have a good night?” 

“I’m not sure. Can’t exactly remember all of it.” Gene rubs her temples, putting in her laundry soap and starting the load.

“Those are the best kind.” He smiles at her. “You know, Genevieve, I’m very glad that you’re not a prude introvert who just stays in all the time. Have fun while you can, enjoy that hot, young body of yours to the fullest!” He shimmies his shoulders at her while she rolls her eyes. Despite being a very progressive LGBTQ+ man, he was old fashioned in that he didn’t call her by anything other than her full name. He was firm in his belief that a name was important and said a lot about a person, that it was their identity and was a part of them. Whether the name was given or not, he always called everyone by their name even if they introduced themselves with a preferred nickname. There was a guy that had moved out a few months ago, whose name was actually just Nick, but Victor called him Nicholas anyways. He felt it suited him better, and was more classy. He claimed he would get further in life as a Nicholas over just a Nick, but never really got the chance to find out. Which was just as well.

“Being a prude introvert is not a bad thing.” Gene points out, raising her eyebrows at him. “Isn’t the whole point of personality and sexuality that it’s your own?”

“Aha, my child, you’ve learned so well. I’m giving myself teacher points for that. I’m just merely pointing out that I saw a very good looking young man leaving your apartment at the asscrack of dawn two weeks ago-”

“A month ago.”

He ignores her. “-and I’m very proud of you for embracing this youth that you’ve been blessed with! Not everyone is so intelligent, Genevieve.”

“I hardly think sex is a factor to intelligence.” She laughs, hopping up onto the washer to sit.

“Perhaps not, but it's exercise, and a healthy body is a healthy mind.” He taps his hairline to emphasize his point.

“So are you keeping a healthy body for your healthy mind?” She teases, kicking her legs back and forth.

“Oh pish. Don’t trouble yourself with an old man’s sex life. That’s the last thing you want to hear about.”

“Then stop meddling in mine!” She laughs, reaching her foot out to tap his side affectionately. This draws out a smile, a chuckle escaping his lips wrinkled from thousands of Kent cigarettes.

“You don’t have to do what I say, sugar, but listen just to humor me, alright?” Gene can tell by his tone that this would be something she would want to hear, so she shuts her mouth and does as she’s told. “I’m very glad that you’re so confident in yourself. Even if you don’t think so, you’re more secure in your body and in your looks than the kids your age I’ve met. Definitely more so than I was. But maybe that's because you’re straight.” She cracks a smile at that, and he puts his hand on her knee. “That being said, honey, I don’t want you to shy away from love when it lands at your feet. Take it from an old man who has made many-a-mistake in his lifetime. When something falls in your lap, take it, run with it, and don’t let it go. Don’t chalk it up to a random hook-up just because that’s what you’re used to.”

She recognizes his seldom solemn face, nodding her head. He returns it with a tight-lipped smile, squeezing his hand. “I’m not saying don’t have casual sex, because that would make me a hypocrite. Just… when something comes along, and you can’t quite put your finger on what about it makes it so special… don’t let go, alright? Even if it scares you. Promise me.”

“I promise, Victor.” She puts her hand over his, smiling at him genuinely.

He seems to accept her sentiment, shaking his head with a small smile and moving to grab his laundry basket. “You know sweetheart, I’m going to be very sad when you become too good for this old shack.”

“Please. Even when I do manage to get out of here, I’m comin’ back to visit you and drink all your wine.”

“That’s a girl. Next time let me know when you’ve got back home safe, okay? I worry about you when your car’s gone, honey, it’s not safe for pretty young girls in the dark of the night. You know that.”

“I will. If you don’t sunbathe naked anymore.”

“Unfortunately, Genevieve my dear, you cannot ask an old man to make promises when he’s already set in his ways.”

[magnoliawhetstone]

what dreams are made of → task sixteen

(tw mentioned of emotional abuse, bad parents)

what was your character like as a child? how about their teen years? what kind of life did your character have growing up?

“As a child?” Lia paused, tapping her fingers on the counter as she thought. “Well, uhm, I was a good child, I think. I don’t know.” She removed her hand from the table and dropped it into her lap, playing mindlessly with her fingers. She could hear Tonya’s voice, reminding her that it wasn’t her choice and it wasn’t her actions that got her sent into exile--she couldn’t hold that weight on her own shoulders any longer. And yet...well, how could she not? Even with all the conversations she’s had with Tonya, with Jack, with Moira (perhaps more vague with Moira than others, but still), there was still the heavy feeling of failure that loomed over her. Seeing Bennett again--no matter how much she knew she shouldn’t place blame on him, her heart still felt strained. “I liked to read a lot--that hasn’t changed. But I think I was more adventurous as a kid. I’d dance in hurricanes, I’d ride my horse for miles when I had the chance--need I remind everyone that I was the one who took the dare at the county fair that night.” She let out a rush of air, passing her fingers through her hair as she felt the weight of her mother’s choice settle in her bones again. “I was so different as a kid. So free. So happy. And then I got on that goddamn plane--” The blonde felt her eyes widened and she placed a hand over her mouth in shock. “I am...I am so sorry. That was absolutely uncalled for--can we just...forget I said that word? Sorry.” Her cheeks were flushed and she rushed to compose herself again. Except...maybe she didn’t want to compose herself. Perhaps, for once, she could let the chips fall where they may.

 “Something inside me broke when Momma sent me away. I stopped thinking the world was mine for the taking, I stopped wanting to take risks and try new things. I wanted a sense of safety, a sense of comfort--the world around me was never stable again, not after she handed me that stupid ticket and pushed me into the car. There wasn’t room for mistakes anymore, not that there really ever had been. But now more than ever it wasn’t safe to take risks, try new things. I just...did what was expected of me and nothing more. It was easier that way.” She closed her eyes to try to stop herself from crying. “Y’know--Jack asked me recently if South Carolina was really a crappy place, or something like that. If I ever missed it. And I do--but not because I miss home. But because I miss me. The one who wasn’t afraid to shoo away barn mice and sneak out to the old oak tree and just live. I miss that little girl who had hopes and dreams and believed in them. And I’m angry that she had that taken from her--and yes, there’s nothing stopping me from having them now, but...I spent fifteen years hiding them in some dusty closet of in my chest and they never got to come out. All because my momma and father said I was too much for them to handle. I think I get to feel a little...pissed off, don’t you?” She didn’t bother apologizing that time--it was well placed, for once.

what were your character’s dream job when they were younger?

“When I was younger I wanted to be a princess. I know, I know--it was definitely not the most realistic career aspiration, but you asked.” She snickered to herself, shaking her head as she thought harder. “Realistically, I wanted to be an English teacher. Or maybe a writer. I think I’ve always wanted to be a writer--I am just enthralled with the idea that putting words together could make people feel things and capture what it means to be human. Even if all I ever write is young adult novels, being able to have my words be apart of someone’s life? Something that gives them comfort, helps them understand themselves better? That’s really something special. But I’d be just as happy as an English teacher. I loved my teachers--Mrs. Buchanan was always someone who thought I had a lot more potential than I let myself believe. English teachers are always looking at you as more than a student--a person. I thought that was special, really special. Mrs. Buchanan did a lot for me, more than I think she even knows. I often think about her when I write today--she’s a special lady. But alas,” She smiled softly, tapping her foot on the ground as she thought. “I’m not called to be a writer--but that’s honestly ok. I don’t mind writing for fun, it’s less stressful that way. I don’t know if I’d want to publish anything, it all feels a little too...personal now. Which, again, is ok. I’m ok with that.” 

what does your character do for a living today? do they enjoy it or not so much? if they could choose any other career, what would it be?

“Oh, today? I’m Mr. Worthington’s personal assistant, of course. I think everyone probably knows that about me--which might not be a good thing.” A large sigh passed through her lips, but she was trying to be...less controlled here, so she would let her emotions come as they may. “Do I like it? Well, some days yes--I really enjoy the work I do, despite what some might think. It’s all about organization, keeping schedules, making sure things work and flow in an efficient, supportive way. I play around with excel sheets, calendars and other task management software and it feels really...satisfying to see it all work the way it should. So I like the work--but the work environment leaves much to be desired.” A hesitant pause sat in the room before Lia gained the courage to continue to speak. “He’s mean. He’s absolutely terribly mean--and I don’t tell people that, because they are already up in arms that I need to quit, if I told them the extent of it, they’d lose their minds. His comments--it’s like he knows exactly how to cut to the core of who you are and stab you in the softest spot. He’s cunning like that--which works in real estate but not in the workplace. I mean, is it necessary to always comment on some part of my outfit? Or the way I do a task? Is it always appropriate to make me feel small and insignificant after a mistake?” It wasn’t like Magnolia to complain--she spent so long doing her best to readjust her mindset to make it bearable, but she didn’t want to do that anymore. “I know I need to quit, I know--but I can’t. If I quit, I’m homeless--and my entire life is in this hotel.” Her face flushed slightly, knowing that she meant more than just her friends--but she wasn’t about to admit that outright, not right now. “Not to mention, I need a job and I really...I really don’t think I have that many more skills to make me employable to anywhere else. Plus it’s all I’ve ever done. I literally have never worked in a different job--I don’t even know what I could do. Jack said open a bakery--but that takes years to set up, right? I mean, its really not a bad idea and I kind of like thought of it--but I, I can’t just do that.. can I?” Her nerves had taken over and she was rambling now. “I just...I feel so trapped, y’know? I either sit and get emotionally abused,” the words flew from her mouth, a label she’d never, ever said aloud but she knew it to be true. “Or I am sitting on the side of Michigan Ave pushing pencils. It’s the worst feeling and I wake up everyday with this stupid choice. And I’m so tired of it.”

as far as school goes, how far did they take their education? did it help lead them to their current position?

“I have a high school diploma and that’s it.” Magnolia could feel the red hot ball of shame growing in her gut. She knew that college wasn’t something she could do when she was 18--no savings, no idea on how to get a loan and the worst part was that she had the money to pay for it. Or her parents did. But they had abandoned her and she was suddenly...completely on her own in a world that she had no training for. She might have been able to get scholarships, but she hadn’t thought that far. And who could blame her? Her parents had always told her college was Bennett’s thing--not hers. It wasn’t her fault the idea had never crossed her mind. Not really. “I think, uh, other things helped me land my position and I really don’t think Mr. Worthington cared too much about my education level.” At the time it was a blessing--but a curse surely followed that choice. 

to this day, what has been the hardest thing for your character to come up against or overcome, whether personally or professionally?

Lia’s gaze dropped and she took a deep breath in. “I mean, overcome feels like a weighty word but I think the hardest thing that I’m still working through is not letting my parents choice define who I am. I’m not who they thought I was. But it still hurts--like, it was so easy for them to just....write me out of their life. Like I meant nothing. Do you know that’s one of my greatest fears now? That the people I love will get...tired of me, frustrated with me, dislike me and then....leave? or kick me out? Why do you think I spend so much time doing things for others? I mean, of course because I care about them--but also because I think, somewhere deep inside of my heart, I’m terrified if I don’t I’ll be disposed of. I can’t keep losing people. I just can’t.” She took a deep, shaky breathe and looked away. “So, obviously, I haven’t overcome it. But Tonya says I’m doing good work--and that, that’s good. Baby steps, right?”

ten years ago, did your character ever think that they would be where they are now? are they happy with that spot in life? what do they hope to achieve yet in the future?

Finally, a truly genuine smile tugged at the corner of her lips. For the first time in this whole conversation she could talk about something that was positive for her. “Ten years ago? Absolutely not. Ten years ago, Magnolia Barnes thought her life would be nothing like it is today. In all honesty, I don’t think she thought ahead ten years. Not that she was too sad too or anything--but it was easier to just...stay in the moment as best she could. Going too far in the past or future just...hurt, and she needed to focus on the work at hand. I don’t think she would have ever believed she’d be in Chicago, that she’d have such a marvelous group of friends around her and that she’d ever see Jack again.” Let alone kiss him. And, to be fair, she also never  thought she’d see her brother again either. She felt herself stop at the word happy. Was she? What did a measure of happiness look like? Could she quantify that? Blinking for a moment, she opens her mouth for a little giggle to pass through. “Yes. I think I am happy--given all the insanity that is currently happening in my life right now, there are things and people and experiences I never thought I’d be able to experience again--the universe doesn’t give second chances very often, so I feel very thankful I was offered a few. As for the future? I don’t....know. I’m sure I’ll figure something out--it feels weird, but I guess life isn’t meant to always have a plan.”

where do they see themselves within ten years from now? are they still at the malnati? are they moved to a different city? transitioned into a different job? where would they want to be in ten years?

Magnolia hummed softly, letting her mind wander. While it felt nearly dangerous to do this a few years ago--things were different. Future didn’t seem like such a risk anymore. “I mean, in all honesty--I hope I’d be married. Moira got me thinking about that and I mean, I know that at one point I’d like to be. I don’t--I don’t know who I’d be married too, no matter what Moira says.” She shot a playful smirk in the direction of the woman’s room. That wasn’t to say that she didn’t have a hope, but she felt like announcing that would just be...too much. “But yeah, married with kids for sure. I don’t know how many I want, but more than two I think. A big family seems just...something that would be really nice. But I’m not set on that, I’m flexible.” She tapped her fingers on the table again, falling deeper into thought. “I love the Malnati, I do--but not to raise kids. I want them to have space to run around, explore, imagine,” Like I did, even if it was only for a short time. She didn’t want to raise kids in a concert jungle--she wanted to give them as much of the world as she could. She would not become her mother, boxing them in. That she could promise. “I don’t know where that’d be, but it’d be, uh, nice to maybe go back home. Or closer to it, I suppose.” Another sigh fell from her lips and she shook her head. “I will not be Mr. Worthington’s assistant forever, absolutely not. I always imagined that once I go married, I’d make a career switch--maybe? I don’t know, but I can promise you that I will not be having children working for that man. Not at all. I--Jack’s bakery suggestion is still really rumbling around in my mind, and I can’t seem to let it go. It sure would be a fun idea--and he’s right, I’d definitely enjoy it. I just...I guess I need to do more work on figuring out how I’d ever go about doing it. But yeah, in ten years--I just hope things continue to progress and I don’t fall back into something else. That’s really all I want.”

[disruptedvice]

Lead the way (Modern setting/NASA interns AU)

Summary: “I think my parents had a little something different in mind when they named me than doing math with my life.”

Or Thor and Valkyrie are both NASA interns pulling an all nighter on the project they're working on together, and bonding and flirting happens (not necessarily in that order)

Also, Valkyrie’s a mechanical engineer who picked Thor as her partner cause boy’s got some drawing skills for these plans they’re drafting up, so if that sounds like something you’d be into...

AO3 Link

___________

Lead the way ___________

“I didn't know they let design students in this program,” she said, looking over at him, no judgement in her tone, just… something like a idle curiosity. It was late. Seriously late. There was something about being so utterly exhausted that made her more open to conversation that she normally would have avoided.

Usually she avoided small talk with the other interns, much preferring to focus on the task at hand than bonding over student loan debt and shared misery of a grueling, intensive program. At least it was a paid internship. And she had to work her ass off to become a better applicant than the hundreds, if not thousands of applications the program received. The NASA internship was highly competitive, but now she was here.

And fucking exhausted.

There was something so cool about being in the observatory this late at night though. That's probably what had her in such a good mood. She was tired as hell, much more tired than cramming for even the most intensive finals, but she was exhausted and satisfied.

The was almost something otherworldly about the atmosphere, being alone this late at night, this whole section absolutely deserted, like maybe it was haunted or something, which was fucking awesome. There was something so creepy about being in this building in the middle of the night when no one was around that made her want to go explore all the other dark rooms and twists and turns and halls she had never been down before. It totally had that haunted vibe at night. Even the observatory here, the single lamp illuminating the table, casting shadows on the walls around them. Totally spooky atmosphere.

Maybe that was just the sleep deprivation talking. Valkyrie made a mental note to look up if anyone had been murdered in the near vicinity, or any conspiracy theories about the facility after she was done for the night.

“Double major,” her sleepy cohort explained, blearily blinking before rubbing his eyes like that would wake him up or something.

She raised a curious eyebrow at him.

Thor was… well, he was something.

Valkyrie still didn't know the interns as much as they seemed to know each other (she wasn't exactly ‘social’, despite the camaraderie of them all being tired interns). She didn't take the time to get to know them, preferring to eat her lunch alone than making small talk with the rest of them.

Thor was definitely the only intern she was even slightly familiar with. Over the past couple weeks they had built up a report and a mutual friendly sorta rivalry that was filled with sarcastic barbs and lots of eye rolls and genuine smiles.

He was surprisingly funny, and had a different way of thinking about things- solutions to problems that made her lower her brows in puzzlement because could that actually work, and then her inevitably being impressed because his work around solution that was just weird and out there in a befuddling sort of way actually did work.

She actually buddied up with him on this project because she had seen his art skills, and if they had to draw up drafts for this new- machine they were making, she definitely wanted him on her team.

As a mechanical engineer, Valkyrie could sketch out a rough plan well enough, but that's where her artistic ability began and ended.

This was the most they'd talked to each other in one sitting. They still didn't know each other all that well. Their relationship was more built upon sharing a similar sense of humor and trading quips throughout the day than sitting down and actually getting to know each other.

She looked down at the cup in her hands- he knew her well enough to know how she preferred to take her caffeine, brought her this huge cup of tea for this all nighter they were pulling. Maybe they actually were friends.

But, as he adjusted the plans with the modifications they were brainstorming a couple of moments ago, she had the bizarre urge to actually ask him a personal question. And she actually followed through on it.

He'd answered that he was a design student when she inquired to his artistic ability (he was clearly talented, and his rough sketches were always next level compared to the other interns), but that actually confused her even more.

She didn't know they let non-STEM field applicants in this program. But double major, that explained it.

“Overachiever,” Valkyrie scoffed with a teasing smile, and Thor chuckled.

“Yeah, maybe a bit,” he conceded, still smiling as he worked.

And that smile of his was a little too cute. How had she never noticed that before? She definitely noticed how his teasing smile was infuriatingly attractive, and how he had a nice, full, resounding laugh, that she liked the way his eyes twinkled when she made a sarcastic comment or quip. And he had a stupid hot smirk that he wore during their verbal sparring matches with each other.

But she'd never noticed how cute his smile was until now. Maybe it was because she'd never seen this one on him before.

With his exhaustion written all over him, the small smile that matched his sleepy expression, somehow he seemed more unguarded than she's ever seen him too- more bare, vulnerable. And this soft, sleepy smile of his was definitely cute.

“So,” she shot him an expectant look (and gave him a light little elbow to his arm). “You not gonna tell me what you’re an actual overachiever in?”

Thor looked confused for a moment, like he didn’t realize he just left her hanging without revealing what his second major was. Left her curious, actually interested in what his answer would be, not just trying to make dreaded small talk with a fellow intern.

“Oh, oh yeah,” he said, seeming a bit sheepish. She couldn’t blame him for forgetting the unspoken rules of human interaction like you don’t just tell your NASA project partner you’re a design major and a something else major and just leave it at that. If exhausted intern was a competition, he might be winning right now.

“Yeah,” Thor mumbled, dragging his hand over his face, like his tired brain still needed time to process the statement. “Yeah, uh, design and astronomy. Astronomy. That’s the second one. Design wasn’t just an art thing though- we did a lot of like, aerodynamics stuff in some of those classes. Like this,” he tapped the plans they had sketched out in front of them, for this projectile that they would theoretically be sending into space.

Valkyrie smiled. “Nerd.”

“Hey!” He whined, like it was something to actually get offended about. “You can’t call me a nerd! You’re a nerd too!”

“Yeah, I know,” she raised her eyebrows, genuinely amused, still waiting for him to get she was being facetious. “It’s called a joke. People do that sometimes.”

Thor’s eyes widened, actually blushing at the realization cause yeah, duh. Then buried his face in his hands, groaning in embarrassment. “Sorry. I am way too damn tired right now.”

“I can tell,” she chuckled. When he still didn’t look up, she nudged him, once and then again. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just fun messing with you right now. We’ll both be lucky if these plans actually make sense in the morning.”

She took another sip from her drink, the one he had so graciously brought her, saying he didn't really do caffeine when she asked him why he only came in carrying one, with nothing nothing sugary or caffeinated to carry him through this all nighter.

She looked at the cup in her hand, how Valkyrie was spelled out in black scribbled sharpie beside her order, and thought it was kinda nice. Even though she’d gotten the same order for herself from the same local coffee shop with the same cups and the same cardboard handle, this was the first time she had seen Valkyrie on one of her cups of tea before. She always just gave her last name for coffee orders. People didn’t ask her if she was ‘making that up’ when she said Thompson when prompted for her name. Didn’t get weird looks like Valkyrie would garner with her chai latte.

It was almost a novel sight, seeing her first name scrawled on the cup Thor brought her this evening. Not an unwelcome one, though. It was kinda nice.

“You want some tea?” She offered, holding it out to him. “I know you said you don’t do caffeine, but it really does make all nighters a bit more bearable.”

Thor eyed her cup, like he was weighing his options, with a calculating and almost suspicious look that made her certain he was doing a cost benefit analysis of whatever pros caffeine had to offer versus whatever reason he avoided it for. He apparently decided just screw it, swiping the precious caffeine from her, and Valkyrie grinned like caffeine was something to be a corrupting influence about.

After taking a drink, Thor suddenly looked down, staring at her cup like it was a wonder. “Man, I have really been missing out,” he murmured. “That is delicious.”

She laughed. “I know. ‘S why I like it so much.”

Thor turned the cup over in his hands, pursing his lips something thoughtful in his focus. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that,” he said suddenly, still focused on her cup. “Your name, I mean. Valkyrie. Did you pick that, or was it given to you?” He had an oddly sincere look on his face as he fiddled with the cardboard holder, spinning it around the warm drink, and she realized that’s what he was focused on. Those eight letters scrawled out on the side in black ink.

“I mean,” he started again, licking his lips almost nervously, “don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I’m one to talk,” Thor chuckled a bit at his self deprecating jab, since the plight of uncommon names was something they shared. “And your name is so much cooler than mine- I was just wondering if you chose a superhero name for yourself as like a personal decision or like… is there a story behind it?”

“It’s the one on my birth certificate,” she shrugged. “Think my parents expected me to be doing something a bit different with my life than math.”

Her parents were supportive when she took a statistics class and found herself much more interested in calculating test statistics from population parameters and sample means, and from there it was a quick slide into math centered courses and then landing in her university’s mechanical engineering program. She thought she hated math since 5th grade, but found out that wasn’t the case in college, much more interested and engaged in it than any humanities subject she had ever taken or anything her high school math teachers had put before her.

Still, math and engineering were a pretty far cry from mythological warrior maidens

She had a stage in middle school where she tried going by a normal name, just the average identity crisis that all kids with uncommon names went through at some point, especially kids named after mythological figures. But that was when she was 12 years old.

Now she was an adult, and she quite liked her name. She didn’t care to go through the hassle of having to explain it to a barista and answer all their questions every time she ordered a cup of coffee (she was more the get in get out kind of person), but she did like her name. She agreed with his assessment. Valkyrie was a pretty cool name.

She had expected him to laugh at her little math joke, since he was obviously familiar with the historical origins of Valkyrie to call it a superhero name, and all the calculus they had to do in this program was a pretty far cry from a warrior figure. But he didn’t.

“What? You’re literally leading human exploration into space,” he said, pointing down at the project they’ve been working on for the past couple hours. “Celestial bodies and into the cosmos. Don’t think you can get more Valkyrie than that.”

Valkyrie just stared at him for a second. Maybe a couple of seconds.

“What?” Thor asked carefully, like he might have said something wrong, but he wasn’t sure.

She felt the heat rise to her face, and she quickly looked away, focusing on the table instead of the absolutely earnest look in his eyes when he was saying stuff like that.

“Nothing. I just… that’s a nice way of thinking of it,” she mumbled, really having no better way of describing the pleased feeling rising in her chest at his words. ____

Maybe it's the sleep deprivation. Maybe it's the sound of his voice. Maybe it's his smile that's so cute it's doing stuff to her head. Maybe it's how open he is. Maybe it's how there's something entrancing about the way his pencil glides across the paper as he draws out all the modifications according to her specs. Maybe it's how many times she's laughed in the past half hour. Maybe it's the way he looks at her, how it's 3 AM and they're both exhausted, and he's too tired to even attempt to hide how he lights up when she says his name, too tired to not look absolutely taken with her as she talks about thermodynamics and gets really passionate defending how the only B she ever got in her whole college career was from a complete asshole who failed her final project for not following instructions because she found a quicker, more efficient loophole that technically wasn't following the project guidelines.

Maybe it's how he keeps chiming in and making her laugh, how his eyes are so intense it makes her heart flutter, how some of their tired banter has drifted much closer to flirtatious than it ever has before, how she's felt the heat creep up her neck from something he said in a way that wasn't bad at all, how they're both tired out of their mind and just have their guards completely down, just talking and not trying to hide anything, unable to hide anything, and having a genuinely good time together.

Maybe it's a lot of things.

Probably the tired thing. Like 98% of it is being utterly exhausted, because normally she preferred to keep anything with a peer from classes or someone she works with to a strictly platonic level, and would always steer a conversation away from exactly what this felt like it was going to if it even started hinting at this.

Maybe it's because she likes him. She really, really likes him.

Whatever the reason, she broke her informal rule of never so much as entertaining the idea of striking something up with a professional colleague, wouldn't risk it.

Yeah, she's pretty sure it's the tiredness that makes it seem so doable right now, breaking that equilibrium. But she's feeling confident, and he's cute, and she maybe actually really likes Thor, and is pretty sure the feeling is mutual. So she takes the dive.

“Would you tell me if you had been flirting with me this whole time?” Valkyrie asked suddenly.

Thor blinked, still staring down at the table as his face flushed, even the tips of his ears turning red.

“Uh… maybe not this whole time,” he answered, endearingly awkward. He still wasn't looking up, still wasn’t looking at her. “Would you- be okay with that?”

Valkyrie had to bite her tongue and clench her fists to hold back the snort of laughter because that would've been so mean, to laugh at him, but he was just so cute, and did he seriously just ask for permission to flirt with her?

Though she was pretty sure she knew what he was actually asking. If it was… reciprocated, if any advances more overt than subtle flirting would be welcomed on her part. Still, the way he phrased it just made it sound like he was asking her permission to flirt with her which was downright adorable.

Valkyrie took a sip of her chai latte, hiding her smile behind the brim of the cup.

“Yeah, think I'd be pretty okay with you flirting with me a lot more often,” she informed him, a silly sorta happiness on her face that she really wasn't used to letting show. She more went for the brooding looks, tried to put out a don't talk to me vibe because she hated most people and would really like her life to have a lot less human interaction in it than it did. She tried to put out the brooding don't bother me vibe, she wasn't used to making a silly little smile like this in the presence of another person. She found she was pretty okay with that too.

Thor looked up, saw the twinkle of amusement in her eye, just the general- warmth about her, and oh that smile. Yeah, she was definitely okay with him smiling at her like that a hell of a lot more often.

“Duly noted,” he said with a barely suppressed grin, and she actually did snort at that. She couldn't help laughing, and when he laughed too, she didn't really want to help it.

They'd kinda devolved into smiling these ridiculously dorky smiles at each other, but Valkyrie had the presence of mind to remember they still had a project to finish.

“Okay, pretty boy, back to work. We still got a long night ahead of us.”

Thor gasped, “Would you tell me if you were flirting with me the whole time?”

Despite how much he brightened, she had to shoot him down, because no, she had not been flirting with him the whole time.

“Nope, I’m much more overt than that when I’m hitting on someone. Say stuff like ‘pretty boy’,” she smirked, and there was that laugh from him again. That full laugh from the very center of his being that filled her bones with warmth.

Maybe in the morning she’d repay him for the tea and introduce him to all the other caffeinated drinks he’d been missing out on.

____

~Fin~ ____

Author's note: so I was browsing @shittyaus last night and saw their prompt “I, an astronomy major, and you, an engineering major, are working together to design a new type of spaceship in our free time” and then I was up all night writing this

PS. America’s accomplishments in the space race never would’ve happened without the women and women of color working at NASA in the 60s. You know what they called the female mathematicians they employed at NASA? Human computers. Because all the calculations had to be done by hand, and guess who was doing the computations for NASA? I haven’t seen the biopic yet, but I’ve heard it’s good, and you can always read the book Hidden Figures is based off of if you want a good nonfiction read about the black female engineers and mathematicians at NASA from the 1930s-1960s

[thedeviltohisangel]

How The Night Changes//4//You Mean Everything

Olivia has a date to a gala that is not Duncan.

Warnings: physical fight, mentions of noncon acts, attempted noncon acts

my URL /writing will bring you other parts and also my series’ with Michael and Jim!

Thank you to @kellysimagines for the request!

“I was there because the President invited me, mom...Yes, Olivia was there too...No I didn’t get a chance to sweep her off her feet...Listen I have to go I’m in the middle of the grocery store, I’ll stop by before the gala tomorrow, okay? Love you too, bye.” Olivia watched him roll his eyes from where she was poking her fingers into the kitten crates, allowing them to playfully swat at her.

“Your mother wants you to seduce me?”

“Something like that,” Duncan muttered as he returned to looking at the varying kittens as he had been before his mother had called. “Did you decided on one yet? Any of them speaking to you?” Olivia had decided her new townhouse was too empty, her belongings from Paris not filling up as much space as would be necessary in order to make it a home. She decided she needed a cat to keep her company and she had enlisted Duncan’s help in accompanying her to the shelter to find. “I don’t know why you couldn’t get a dog.”

“Because I’m not home enough now to take care of one. My little kitten will be able to travel with me easier too.”

“Please do not be one of those girls that keeps her animal in her bag.”

“If that’s going to be a dealbreaker then…” She didn’t have time to run away as he lurched forward and ghosted his fingers over her ribs, the tickling sensation enough to make her squeal and attempt to curl in on herself. The volume of their laughter and their public display of affection was of no concern, the Secret Service making the shelter stay open later than usual to accommodate the special guest.

As Duncan paused to allow her to catch her breath, she noticed an orange kitten watching them intently from a crate at the bottom. Enamored, she bent down and placed her hand flat against the bars on the cage, the kitten mimicking her actions with its paw. “This one. Definitely this one. Let me go find that lady.” He watched her scurry off and bent down to assess the kitten she had chosen.

“She’s the best person to be loved by, you’re a lucky fluff ball.” All he got was a ‘meow’ in response.

“What do you think I should name her?” Olivia asked as she came back with a clipboard and a pen.

“How about something to remind you of Paris? Maybe Eiffel? You can call her Effie, for short.” He shrugged as he said it, returning to looking at the kitten while she mulled it over.

“That’s actually perfect. You’re much more sentimental than I originally thought of you.” She squatted down next to him and puckered her lips, Duncan pecking them. “Come on, you can help me carry all of her accoutrements to the car.”

When the SUVs pulled up to Duncan’s building and she made no sign of getting out he groaned.

“You’re not spending the night?”

“I have to take Effie home and get her settled. And I have to be at the White House early tomorrow for the gala. I’ll see you there though, right?”

“Yeah and if you look too good in your dress I might regret it.” She snickered as he leaned over and kiss her soundly, pulling apart with her lip between his teeth.

“Not fair! I’m not going to get to kiss you all day tomorrow.”

“The price we must pay to keep certain people out of our lives.” He opened the door and when his feet hit the pavement she called out his name.

“I love you.” The day after they had exchanged affirmations of their love on the beach, the two had murmured the words into each other’s mouth over and over before making a pact that they would only say it when they really meant it, it was not a feeling either of them took lightly.

“I love you more than you’ll ever know,” he replied. Effie meowed from her crate in Olivia’s lap. “You too Eiffel.” Duncan couldn’t help but be amused that even his girlfriend’s, if he could call her that, cat had him wrapped around her finger. “Until we meet again.”

She had spent the past few nights with him and he was unafraid to admit that he had gotten used to the feeling of going to sleep with her in his arms and waking up to her legs tangled in his. Had fallen in love with it even. As he walked into his dark apartment, her camel colored jacket over the top of his couch, he felt lonely. His bed looked cold and uninviting without her in it and his bathroom smelled bland without her rosemary scented shampoo wafting through. Duncan looked at himself and had only one blunt thought: he was fucked.

Olivia sat with Effie in her lap while her hair and makeup were being sorted for her mother’s gala to welcome the Prime Minister of Malaysia. She hadn’t heard from Duncan all day but she was buzzing with anticipation of seeing him that night. She had already fallen in love with the blue Roberto Cavalli dress that had been loaned to her for the night and she couldn’t wait for Duncan to see her in it. He had never seen her all dressed up and done up before and she hoped it would go just as the fairytale in her mind did.

A knock on the door startled Olivia out of her daydream, her mother’s head poking into the room. “Ladies, can I have a moment alone with my daughter, please?” The hairstylist placed the curling iron on the vanity, the makeup artist tucked the eyeliner into her pocket and the two walked out without even a nod.

“Do you no longer like the color I’m wearing? You said it made my eyes pop.” Olivia always expected her mother to have a criticism to present to her. She had never reached her full potential, and most likely never would, if you asked her mother.

“I need you to take a date tonight. Henry Macy. A big vote is coming up on my Equal Pay Amendment and his happiness would go a long way in getting his father’s vote.”

“Are you expecting me to...to physically persuade him?” She felt sick to her stomach over pretending to flirt with another man that wasn’t Duncan, let alone if her mother was going to ask her to ensure his happiness by any means necessary.

“We’ll see how the night goes. Thank you, sweetheart. I’m sure even your attention will make it the night of his life.” Her mother left after kissing the top of her head, Olivia no longer as exciting for the evening as she had been before their conversation.

“Duty calls, right Effie?” The women tasked with making her glamorous emerged once again and got back to work. Olivia took out her phone and sent a text to Duncan: I love you and only you. Please don’t think tonight is a reflection of something else. My mother is making me. She didn’t want him to think she was ignoring him or that her laughs and touches meant anything substantive. She was his and he was hers and Olivia was just hoping they could get through the night still in tact.

Duncan stood in conversation with his mother and a group of people, but he wasn’t listening in the slightest. He had to resist his urge to pace while he waited for Olivia to make her entrance. He had spent all of last night and all of this morning missing her and then when she had texted him his stomach had dropped. The line about her mother had lead Duncan to anticipate that she would be walking in with a man on her arm. A man that wasn’t him. The mental image had made his blood boil and he was already on his second vodka neat in preparation for the reality to be in front of him.

“Duncan, you seem so anxious. Have you overheard something detrimental?” He shook his head at his mother as he swallowed the sip of alcohol he had just taken.

“No. Just can’t wait to eat is all.” He snagged a deviled egg from a tray as it passed him as a way to emphasize his point.

“Well I am sure Clare will be arriving soon. This will be Olivia’s first big appearance at a state event. We’ll have to really read up on the media reports tomorrow, see how she can fit into our plan.” Thankfully, Annette was called over by another group and she missed the way Duncan’s face paled at the mention of his mother and uncle working her into their master plan. He had vowed to himself over and over that any capital he had within his family would be used to keep her out of their dealings.

It was when the murmur of the crowd fell to a hush then rose back up to its normal volume that he knew they had arrived. He politely pushed himself towards the front of the room where they had entered in the hopes of catching Olivia’s attention before she was whisked away for the rest of the night. Duncan saw her bare back first, his mouth running dry at the sight of her in that blue gown, her leg slightly exposed and the strapless bodice providing enough of her for him to feast on for eternity. She must have brushed something shimmering over her collarbones because he couldn’t take his eyes off the way they reflected the light. He took a step forward in order to intercept her when he noticed an arm snake around her waist. A hand press itself on the bare skin that resided between her shoulder blades. An arm that wasn’t his. A hand that wasn’t his.

He felt his grip on his glass of vodka tighten and he placed it on the nearest table in the fear he would squeeze so tight he’d break it. It didn’t matter who or what the offensive appendage belonged to but it shouldn’t be touching Olivia. Touching the bare skin of the woman he was in love with.

“Duncan! It’s so nice to see you!” His anger faded only slightly as she finally caught his eye in the crowd and made her way over to him, her shadow in tow and his hand not moving from the small of her back. “It’s been quite some time since I’ve seen you.” The sparkle in her eyes at the game she was enjoying playing almost made it more bearable.

“Too long,” he mused in response. She braced her hands on his shoulders in order to reach his cheeks to place a kiss, whispering a promise in his ear that they’d find time to be alone together later. “And who is this?” Duncan aimlessly gestured towards her date.

“Henry Macy. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Shepherd.” Duncan wasn’t ashamed to say that he made sure to present an extra tight grip when he shook his hand, Olivia watching him intently.

“Henry’s father is the most sought after caucus member in the Senate, isn’t he?” She was doing this for Duncan’s benefit, he was sure of it. Henry looked entirely uncomfortable having the reason for his attendance be broadcast in such a blatant manner but Olivia could not care less. Clearly her warning to Duncan had done nothing to stem the tide of rage that was flowing through him. Answering his questions in non-descript ways would have to suffice until after the event was over.

“I’m sure he receives quite the sought after attention then.” The three of them chuckled politely before an awkward silence set in.

“Shall I get you something to drink, Olivia?” She opened her mouth to respond but Duncan jumped in before she could get the words out.

“Cabernet, if memory serves me correctly.” She shot him a warning glance.

“It does. Thank you, Henry.” He awkwardly placed a kiss to her hand before heading in the direction of the bar. “Duncan, you must behave. You can’t be angry at me.”

“I could never be angry with you, Olivia,” he scoffed, “It’s that prick. He has his hands all over you and it makes me seethe.”

“Anytime you feel the anger becoming too remember that you’re the only man I love.” She took a step closer to him and whispered the next part. “That you’re the only man I’ve considered letting near my-”

“If you’re about to say what I think then please do not because that will do nothing to help me cope with that-” The offensive creature returned with her glass of wine before Duncan could finish his warning.

“Thank you,” Olivia replied warmly while taking a sip and keeping her stern gaze on Duncan over the rim of her glass. He was going to excuse himself to drinking something strong and straight by himself in the corner for the rest of night when her mother approached the trio.

“Duncan, it is so nice to see you. And to see you acquainting yourself with Olivia. I’m sure she’s introduced you to Mr. Macy.” Duncan put on his best political smile and shook her hand warmly.

“An honor to be here tonight, Madame President, and to be in your daughter’s presence.” It was. That bit of his act wasn’t fake.

“I was actually just coming over here to see if my daughter had offered you a personal tour of the floor, Henry. The usual groups don’t come down here but there is still a lot to see.” Olivia’s eyes widened in fear at the thought of her mother expecting her to go on a secluded walk around the White House by herself with this man she had just meant.

“She hadn’t but if you’re willing, Olivia, I’d love to go on one.” Clare didn’t miss the way the Shepherd boys nostrils flared nor did she miss the way his hand twitched as if he was stopping himself from reaching out to her daughter. Olivia looked at Duncan in a silent plea for help but there was nothing he could do without seeming impolite or exposing their secret. He wasn’t unaware of the rumors of the Underwoods using their youthful, graceful, beautiful daughter as leverage but Duncan didn’t think he’d have to see the look of terror in her eyes as it was being asked of her. Or that he would feel a blinding rage to protect her and make sure that any person who tried to have what was his would never be able to have anything again.

“Follow me.” She made sure her hand brushed against Duncan’s as she walked away from the party.

“Stay away from her.” Duncan looked at Clare in horror at her words.

“I’m sorry?”

“You heard me, Duncan. You go near my daughter in any capacity other than for a brief exchange of pleasantries and I’ll bury you.” A biting remark about the extent of the pleasantries he and her daughter had exchanged sat on his tongue but he bit it and nodded once as she walked away from him. There was no question in his mind that the stern glare he had gotten from Olivia only moments before had been a hereditary gift from her mother.

“You know, I’ve heard about the gifts boys who come on these private tours with you get.” Olivia turned around from where she had been leading Henry down a hallway.

“Just nasty rumors. No fear,” she chuckled as she wrapped her arms around herself and continued meandering forward.

“It’s the only reason I agreed to come, Olivia, and I intend on cashing in.” He angled her towards the wall and took measured steps until her back hit against the concrete.

“Stop that. I’m not doing anything with you other than going for a walk.” She moved to get out from the bind he had her in when his hand shot out and tightened around her wrist.

“If your mother wants my father’s vote, then I need something in return.”

“Get your hands off of me,” she spoke through gritted teeth.

“Don’t fight me, Olivia. It’ll only make me go slower.” It was in that moment she realized he wasn’t going to heed her pleas. He was going to take what she wanted no matter what she said in order to stop him. When his head angled to kiss her neck she screamed and used her one free hand to push against his chest which only served him to stumble back a step or two. That was her chance to run back the way she came, her frightened tears obscuring her vision. She didn’t stop until she ran into a body, looking up to see familiar blue eyes.

Duncan looked down at her crying form, the hand shaped bruise around her wrist, and looked up to see Henry adjusting his jacket. It didn’t take him long to put it together.

“Duncan, please. Please just take me home.”

“I’ll only be a moment.” Olivia squeezed her eyes shut, afraid to turn around. “You put your fucking hands on her? Does terrifying a woman make your dick hard?” Duncan wound himself up with each step closer to Henry.

“I’m sure you know of the things people say about that little slut around here, Shepherd. About the things that mouth can do.” Duncan’s fist connected with his jaw with a satisfying snap, his body following him to the ground as he connected again. And again. And again.

It was then that Olivia rushed forward and and grabbed his arm from surging forward again. “Duncan. Duncan, stop! Please! Please, stop!” He grabbed Henry’s collar and pulled his bloodied face closer to his.

“You even look at her again and I’ll fucking kill you.” Duncan let his body drop back to the tiled floor before standing up and turning his attention to Olivia. “What hurts? Where’d he touch you?” He picked up her bruised wrist gently, replacing Henry’s touch with his own in an attempt to remove the imprint from her mind.

“Nowhere. I was running away when you were on your way down the hall.” He nodded.

“The look in your eyes before you left with him...It made me uneasy so came after you.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. He shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

“I’ll have the car brought around. You head out. Let me make a call to get this taken care of and I’ll be right out.” She kissed him gently with a nod, sparing Henry one last glance before exiting the scene and entrusting Duncan to make it all go away.

That night as she lay next to him in bed she couldn’t help the ache in her chest that made her feel like she needed to let go of a secret she had been holding onto for so long. Or at least she thought it had been a secret.

“It happened once. Me exchanging a physical favor in exchange for political capital for my parents.” She turned her head to look at him, tears streaking down her cheeks in the moonlight. “It’s why I moved to Paris. I couldn’t deal with the dirty feeling. The shame.” Duncan pulled her against him soundlessly.

“You’re the strongest person I know, Olivia. You’re not less than because of it.” He wanted to cry with her. Her pain was his pain and it was washing over him as she trembled slightly against his chest.

“I felt I was unworthy of happiness and love because of it. You changed that, Duncan.”

“I’m never going to let a day go by where you feel that way again, ok? You can come to me with anything. We’re stronger together, right Livy?” He bumped his nose against hers. “I’d set the world on fire for you.” And she thinks in a way that he has already set her world on fire. They just had to make sure they didn’t get burned by the flames of their passion.

[porchwood]

Fic Bits 2018: The One That Got Away

Modern AU; Madge POV. Jude/Madge, Gale/Madge. 

They say you can never go home again, and yet here I am, packing to do just that.

The second autumn after you graduate from college is when the niggling feeling starts, like you left town without returning your library books or forgot to put the new insurance card in your glove compartment. When the first one comes around, you’re elated that you don’t have to think – let alone worry – about registering for classes, mapping your daily routes across campus, or buying school supplies of any kind, but by the second you’re starting to feel like something’s wrong. It’s easy to understand why so many people fall into teaching. Your body gets set on that routine, so that going back to school in fall is as instinctual to humans as seasonal migrations are to birds.

Ironically, it was the school year that determined this move – or rather, the school year that necessitated it, though the fall semester is already several weeks underway. Beginning in January, Dad will be teaching again for the first time since I was in elementary school – and, doubt it not, loving every minute of it.

At twenty-three my life could and probably should be independent of my parents’, but no matter which way I turned the situation around in my mind, there was no truly good reason not to move back with them. As badly as I don’t want to go back to the small town where I grew up, there’s nothing substantial enough to keep me here if my parents are gone.

We’ve always been thick as thieves and, oddly, moreso since moving to the capital city. The fibromyalgia and chronic fatigue that kept my mother to a quiet routine in our hometown made her a veritable recluse amidst the constant bustle of squealing brakes and blaring horns, and everything was so blindingly expensive, we rarely partook of the concerts and boutiques and exotic restaurants that had sounded so exciting from our living room back home.

Moving here as a family had been the result of two somewhat predictable stars aligning perfectly: after twelve years as mayor, Dad was elected to the state legislature and I was accepted into the music program at a small private college, a short bus ride from the capitol building. My parents rented a spacious loft halfway in-between the two, which enabled me to keep tabs on my mother while enjoying the independence of living off-campus all through school, while our place back home was loaned out to visiting professors and the like – short-term rentals to keep the utilities running and keep an eye out for any maintenance issues that might arise. I’m told I missed out on the “full college experience” by not living in a dorm, but from all accounts, it’s a party I’m glad to have skipped.

For all intents and purposes, home has been 37 Ash Terrace for the past five years. Four-and-a-half hours isn’t the longest drive, but there was always one reason or another to stay here through the holidays – which is not to say we’ve never gone back, of course. Our family revisits can be counted on two hands, but I’ve made a few extra trips on my own for special occasions, the last of which – the baptism of Katniss’s son Janni – was more than two years ago now.

I look up at my bulletin board, now stripped of everything but the central photo, and have just tugged out the tack when my phone rings. It’s a local cell number – local to our hometown, not to here – but doesn’t pull up a contact, and I cross the first two fingers of my free hand, hoping one of my cover letters has snared an interview as I answer, “Hello?”

“Is this Madeline Undersee?” asks a young male voice.

That was one of the best things about moving away, and one that I’m particularly loath to leave behind: finally getting to be Madeline, not Madge. That a young professional back home is addressing me as such, however, gives me hope.

“It is,” I affirm, and there’s a brief, quickly stifled sound from the other end before the caller goes on, “I was wondering if you might be available to play a wedding in November.”

The pieces snap together in my mind. It’s probably a local boy who went to college in the capitol like myself – it’s a common enough path – and found himself a fiancée, though it is a trifle odd for the groom to call ‘round for an accompanist.

“I’m sorry; I’m actually moving out of the area this weekend,” I reply, “but I can refer you to several other musicians who would be excellent choices.”

“I’m afraid it really has to be you,” he says with what sounds far more like mischief than regret. “What about a wedding in your hometown? Would that be a little easier to manage?”

“In –?” I break off, mind whipping through the possibilities. It’s hardly a secret that the Undersees are moving back after five years in the big city, but we’ve kept radio silence on my own return except where potential employers are concerned, so there’s no way some random local groom could even know about me, let alone want to hire me for his wedding. “Who is this?” I demand more than ask, a shy fifteen-year-old bookworm all over again, bristling in anticipation of the prank.

“You really don't know?” the young man responds, sounding genuinely surprised, and for a half-second my heart skips in hope, never mind that his voice bears no resemblance whatsoever to Gale’s rough, smoky timbre. “I’m wounded, mädchen,” he laments, and my heart trips halfway through its skip and somersaults clumsily forward to faceplant onto the concrete below.  

“Jude?” I squeak.

“You haven’t forgotten me entirely, then?” he teases.

“Don’t be daft,” I retort, my stunned heart now flailing in shock. “So…you’re getting married?” I almost ask if it’s Columbine but that crush is surely ancient history now, never mind that last I heard, she was headed to some fashion design or modeling program out east.

“Don’t be daft,” he throws back with characteristic self-deprecation, but the affection beneath it wraps about me like a blanket – or one of Jude’s incredible lingering hugs. “But I do need a wedding accompanist,” he goes on, “which as I said, really has to be you, but I want to tell you about it in person. When are you back?”

“Well – tomorrow,” I reply, and the whole thing suddenly feels surreal. “Well, the day after, really,” I clarify. “Tomorrow’s the drive up and the U-Haul unload. Mom and Dad hired movers but you still want to go through everything, you know?”

“Of course,” he assures me. “Want to meet at Primavera for Saturday lunch – say, 11:30? My treat.”

“Primavera?” I puzzle. There’s never been an Italian restaurant in our hometown – it’s too small and rural to sustain any such – but the nearby city has a few shopping malls and a much wider selection of eateries; it makes sense that Jude would want to go to one of them. “What – where is that?” I ask.

He gives a little choke of laughter in reply. “Have you really been away so long, mädchen?” he wonders, but something about my ignorance seems to amuse – even delight – him. “It’s Italian – awesome Italian – right next to Mellarks’.”

“There’s nothing next to Mellarks’,” I counter, because our tiny historic downtown has never been able to keep shops for long, not with countless department stores and discount stores not twenty miles off. “Unless…are we having a sidewalk picnic, Judah?” I venture, almost hopefully, and he laughs.

“If the first date goes well, we can do whatever you want on the second,” he replies, and I miss him so much that I snatch up a pillow with my free hand and hug it to my chest as hard as I can. “But I promise: there is a legit Italian restaurant next to Mellarks’,” he says. “I’m going to buy you lunch there on Saturday, and you’re going to love it so much that you’ll refuse to live out of takeout range ever again.”

“Color me intrigued,” I tease. “As much about your mysterious wedding as this new eatery.”

“They’re both worth the wait,” he promises, and I can hear the grin in his voice.

“I missed you,” I blurt and Jude falls suddenly, uncharacteristically silent. There are any number of well-deserved retorts he could hand me, ranging from You didn’t have to to I didn’t go anywhere, but Jude is the sweetest boy I’ve ever known – on a level with Peeta, really – and even in our most frustrated moments, he never addressed me half as harshly as Gale would on a good day.

I think I hurt him a long time ago, though he’s never said as much.

“I missed you too,” he murmurs, and the corners of my eyes prickle hotly.

I don’t want to go home – you can never go home again, everyone says as much – don’t want to explain why I have a music degree from a respectable college and am looking for any old day job in my hometown and living with my parents. I don’t want to see Gale Hawthorne – never mind how wildly I do want to see him – to face all the inevitable jibes about how I “couldn’t make it in the real world.”

But if Jude – sweet, funny, precious Jude – is coming back into my life, it just might be bearable. He’ll have a job and new friends now – a girlfriend, to be sure – and he may not even live in town any longer. But we can grab lunches together here and there and laugh about stuff that happened in high school. Maybe we’ll find new things to laugh about.

“See you Saturday?” I say.

“I’ll be the one with the red ribbon,” he replies.

As always, I’m the one who hangs up.

Jude always let me end our calls, always hanging on in case of one last thought or lament, one more drawn-out Night-night or See you tomorrow.

Looking down at the phone in my hand, I remember the incredibly idiotic reason Jude isn’t saved as a contact anymore and sit on my stripped mattress, both arms curled around the pillow and my chin resting on its edge. It was stupid and childish – and ultimately pointless, because he didn’t try to get in touch at all after that. Oh, he did the usual friendly Facebook stuff – comments on my posts and the like – because Jude is that kind of sweet, but he’d never do anything to make me uncomfortable.

And also, maybe, he was hurt.

It’s not as if I shut him out – there were no calls or texts or emails to ignore – and you could hardly call my across-the-state move for college “avoidance,” but it certainly aided me to that end, especially five summers ago.

I bite my lips together for a long moment, silently call myself an idiot, and save the number as a new contact: Judah Tolliver. Neat, professional, and objective, like a grown-up. After all, if he’s hiring me for a wedding we’ll be exchanging calls and texts over the next few months; there’s no reason not to add him to my phone.

Returning to my call history, I dial Rue, the high school friend I’ve stayed closest to by virtue of us attending the same college. Our courses of study and career veered apart over the past few years as Rue set aside music to pursue dance full-bore and is currently spending her days with a traveling company that does famous ballets in a pared-down, intimate contemporary style, with dreamlike costumes that I suspect her father has a hand in, but we’ve stubbornly kept in touch all this while, meeting for a meal and a chat whenever her schedule allows.

She’s halfway across the country dancing Swanilda in Coppélia this season, so our farewell supper took place about two weeks ago. I don’t expect her to answer and am beyond surprised when she does.

“Hey chickie-babe!” she cries. “Are you home? I’ve only got a minute but I want to hear all about it. How did your house hold up?”

“We haven’t left yet,” I tell her. “We’re loading the U-Haul tonight and driving back tomorrow.”

“So where’s the fire?” she teases. “Don’t get me wrong, I love you to bits, but why call now? Are you getting sad about leaving – or going back?”

Rue understands my misgivings, even if she doesn’t share them. After I told my parents I’d move back with them, I curled up on Rue’s couch and cried myself into a stupor while she nestled her tiny fairy-form around me in a supportive hug. Going home is not failure, she told me over and over again, her husky voice sounding so like her mother’s as she rubbed my back in soothing circles. You and your parents have always supported each other; it makes sense you’d go back with them, at least for a little – and it’s not forever, not if you don’t want it to be.

Rue’s parents – a costumer and a choreographer – left the capitol when they started having kids and heartily embraced small town life in the heartland, but they both had vibrant careers behind them and were ready for quiet inexpensive living, for Piggly Wiggly and the county fair and a fixer-upper farmhouse, and they quickly found avenues to exercise their talents on a smaller scale.

I’m a year and a half out of college with eleven wedding gigs, five funerals, and a teaching slot at the local conservatory to show for twenty years at the piano and a B.A. with high distinction.

“Jude just called,” I reply by way of explanation. “He wants to hire me for a wedding –”

“His?” she interjects impishly.

“No,” I quell, “but he wouldn’t tell me who it is over the phone either. We’re meeting for lunch on Saturday to discuss it.”

“Meeting for lunch to discuss a mysterious wedding right after you move back to town?” she presses slyly. “Maybe it’s yours!”

Rue knows there’s nothing of that sort between Jude and me and never has been, but she’s equally convinced that there must be, or should’ve been. He adores you, you know, she’s told me time and again. Like, Peeta-and-Katniss level devotion. Couldn’t you just kiss him once and see what happens?

“Be serious,” I snort.

“I am,” she insists. “I never understood why the pair of you never got together, or why you fell out of touch after graduation. Jude was crazy about you –”

“He was like that with everyone,” I counter. “The sweet, funny thing – that’s just his natural demeanor.”

“And did he ask everyone to marry him if their respective crushes married other people?” she wonders.

“He said we should go on a date, not get married,” I remind her, the edge of a snap creeping into my voice. “It was a low moment and a long time ago. We were both feeling angsty.”

I don’t mention the other thing, the thing I’ve never told anyone – not even myself when I can help it.

“Well…maybe it’s time, sweetie,” she posits quietly. “Maybe Columbine finally found a husband and Jude wants to give the pair of you a chance.”

“I really don’t think that’s it,” I tell her, oddly wearied by the subject, but judging by the increasing volume of background noise, Rue’s about to be pulled away anyway.

“Sorry, I have to go,” she admits at the selfsame moment. “I’ll be back in a few weeks myself, but call me ASAP after your lunch with Jude, okay?”

“You got it,” I promise, and we hang up. I set the phone on my mattress, next to the photo of Gale Hawthorne from the state hockey finals seven years ago, and sigh.

I haven’t seen him since the reception after Ashpet’s baptism, and it wasn’t the most auspicious encounter.

I’d never struck a man before – or since – and certainly never in a church basement.

“Magpie?”

My father pokes his head through the open doorway. “Movers just got here,” he says. “Is your room ready to go?”

I tuck the picture of Gale inside my battered paperback of Jane Eyre, just behind the Candygram with the red ribbon threaded across the top and tied in a perfect, pressed, bow. “This is it,” I affirm, and slip the book into my purse before following my father downstairs.

As a tween I was enamored of the 1995 remake of Sabrina and resolved to head off to school with a photo of Gale – obligingly supplied by Jude, who worked on the yearbook – to pin on my bulletin board and systematically cover with playbills, flyers, ticket stubs, and the like. But I could never quite bring myself to obscure him completely, and when I went to London for my semester abroad I brought him there too, to try and forget in a foreign land.

The book is a Gale token too, also obtained for me by Jude.

I finagled to take Senior Lit in spring of my junior year in order to free up an elective senior year and as a result took the class with Jude. The first book on the slate was Jane Eyre – which I loved, somewhat to my surprise – and in true high school fashion, each copy had a log card inside the cover for the present user to write their name on, beneath the names of the book’s previous readers. Of course, neither Jude nor I got Gale’s but we knew someone had it, and at Jude’s graduation party – months after all the books had been checked back in – he stole me away to his room to press the prized copy into my hands.

I think you were looking for this, he said as I opened the cover, frantically scanned the names inscribed therein and threw my arms around him with a shriek.

But Jude, I realized, pulling back with a start, you swiped this; what if they won’t let you graduate-?

I just did, he reminded me gleefully, and the diploma is signed, sealed, and securely secreted in Mom’s wall safe as we speak. Anyway, it wasn’t my copy, so even if they do notice it’s missing, it’s not me they’d come after.

I looked back at the last name on the card – Annie Cresta – and shook my head at him. If she gets in trouble for this, I warned.

She won’t, he promised. They don’t care that much about one of twenty-three beat-up paperbacks, and it means a whole lot more to you than to the school.

I hugged him again, fiercely this time, and he curled his arms around me with a little sigh. I’m so glad you like your present, mädchen, he murmured. I know it’s not you graduating, but I wanted to beat the rush.

I spent most of Senior Lit associating Gale with Mr. Rochester, to Jude’s clear chagrin, which was curious as he didn’t seem to like the character any more than he did my sullen, dark-haired crush. I’ll grant you similarities, he agreed, but can you imagine Gale delivering that beautiful string speech in any universe?

We took our Jane Eyre final on Valentine’s Day, and in the class directly following I received an anonymous Candygram with a strawberry lollipop affixed, a red ribbon painstaking woven through neat holes punched across the top and tied in a small bow, and the handwritten message:

“I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you – especially when you are near me, as now: it is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little frame. And if that boisterous channel, and two hundred miles or so of land some broad between us, I am afraid that cord of communion will be snapt; and then I've a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly.”

I wished so badly for it to be from Gale – never mind he wasn’t even in school anymore, let alone inclined to quote Charlotte Brontë – or maybe that I had some other mysterious tall-dark-and-handsome admirer, but I knew exactly who it was from and let my head fall against his shoulder as we sat next to each other in the choir room, his literary Valentine cupped in my hands.

Jude’s breath caught a little at the gesture, then leveled out in a long slow sigh.

Thanks, Jude, I whispered.

We both knew it wasn’t a real love note but I treasured it as one just the same, pressed between the pages of my student planner until finding a worthier setting inside Gale’s copy of Jane Eyre. The book and Candygram went everywhere with me – every summer camp and weekend trip during my senior year and in college, on every choir tour, every visit back home, all across Europe on my backpacking trip with Rue and then on to my bedside table in England. If I couldn’t lay hands on it at a moment’s notice I’m not sure I’d be able to breathe.

The movers are quiet and efficient and the truck is loaded in a fraction of the time we anticipated, prompting Dad and me to hash out the pros and cons of setting out tonight instead, but there are plenty of last-minute little things to wrap up and we’d all prefer to make the drive on a good night’s sleep – which unfortunately, is not to be had for me. Dad booked us a hotel room in the suburbs for convenience, so we could check out of the loft as soon as the truck was loaded and leave in the morning without having to wait for one last walk-through with the landlord, but while he and Mom drift off quickly in their queen bed, I frown up at the ceiling from the sofa sleeper, contemplating Jude and Jane Eyre.

The capitol is a long way off, mädchen…

My junior year – Jude’s senior year – was like high school is in the movies: a charmed, wonderful dream that feels like it’ll never end. In October Peeta finally plucked up the nerve to ask Katniss out, and their relationship brought both her and I – and to a lesser extent, Rue – firmly into the Mellark circle. Jude and I had been friendly before that, but he’s both cousin and close friend to the Mellark brothers, and as a result he and I were thrown together almost constantly at meals, school events, even youth group outings. We jokingly called these “triple dates” or “quad dates” sometimes, since the rest of our group consisted of fast-and-firm couples – Peeta and Katniss, Luka and Johanna, and often Finnick and Annie as well – but no one ever seemed to take the idea of Jude and me as a couple seriously.

We were madrigal seat partners that December, which necessitated all kinds of marriage banter throughout the dinners, then after Christmas came Senior Lit and Jane Eyre and auditions for school’s production of Fiddler on the Roof. Determined not to miss out on a role when my best friends were undeniable shoo-ins, I dyed my hair a deep chestnut-brown the night before my tryout – solidly shocking everyone in my acquaintance, but it served its purpose when I was cast as Tzeitel. I’d had my hopes set on playing any one of the sisters and forgot until the read-through that I was playing the one whose wedding is a major showpiece of the play – and that I would be marrying Jude, made even more endearing in little round glasses.

I’d never had so much fun, before or since.

I left most of my high school mementos at home when we moved to the capitol but the Fiddler album has stayed with me, and from time to time I page through the photos, the notes that came with flowers from my parents and teachers, the programs that we all signed – and the subsequent ridiculous everyday notes from Jude addressed to “Wifey” and “Mrs. Kamzoil.”

Prom came around in April and our school required everyone to attend in pairs, so it was effectively decided over youth group pizza after a highway trash cleanup that I would be going with Jude. I’d nourished a pipe dream that Gale might magically materialize and ask me to go with him – you could attend with someone who had graduated and it happened now and again, with college freshmen coming back to escort their girlfriends – but when he actually did appear at the dance it was with Leevy, his flavor-of-the-month girlfriend, if the rumors were to be believed.

I still had my brown hair at prom-time, which Jude lamented to no end while alternately telling me that I was “gorgeous just the same” and making me laugh at the silliest things. The dance was a blast for the first two hours, and then Katniss and Peeta quietly revealed to our group that they were engaged, with plans to marry the following spring after graduation.

Their courtship had been rapid and intense – emotionally, not physically – and no one was surprised that marriage was forthcoming, but the timetable was shocking to say the least. None of us believed that Katniss was pregnant or anything of the sort but they were both barely seventeen, and neither had any interest in going on to college. Peeta had a career waiting at the bakery he loved and Katniss was supremely adaptable to almost any kind of work – and neither was closing the door on trade schools or vocational degrees, if a good fit should present itself. They had decided – rather practically – to spend their senior year planning the wedding and finding a home rather than fretting over the ACT and college applications, and they would get married at the end of May, before the weather got too hot and everyone headed off to college.

It was a preposterous and entirely sound plan.

Peeta and Katniss skipped the school-sponsored after-prom party, unsurprisingly, while the rest of us splintered off into contemplative pairs. Finnick and Annie and Luka and Johanna both seemed as good as engaged to me, but the announcement had rattled them as well, and Jude and I wound up watching the smarmy stage hypnotist by ourselves in a subdued sort of silence.

It wasn’t that either of us was unhappy at the news, exactly. While I considered Katniss my best friend, we had never been chatty in typical girlfriend-fashion, and yet her impending marriage struck my stomach like an icy stone. You’ll be going to college anyway, I reminded myself, and you’ll stay in touch, but none of this served to soothe.

Jude absently wrapped his tux jacket around my shoulders and then his arm, resting his cheek on the top of my head. He’d barely spoken since the engagement reveal and I couldn’t begin to guess what his uncharacteristic silence meant.

It sounds really nice, he said suddenly, softly. Staying right here, getting married, coming home to a wife and babies.

I wanted to retort something dry and mildly caustic but couldn’t find the words for any reply at all because it was nice, this future Peeta and Katniss were setting up for themselves. I wanted to continue with music as long as I could; to study abroad, to live in the capitol and maybe other cities in due course,, but that wasn’t the future either Katniss or Peeta wanted, and why should they force themselves through the college mold, going eyes-deep in debt for degrees they had no interest in and possibly jeopardizing their relationship with the distance and other, inevitable, obstacles when the future they both craved was easily within their grasp?

Madeline, Jude continued in that same soft tone – I was always Madeline or, affectionately, mädchen to him – if Columbine and Gale marry other people, will you go on a date with me?

Almost as long as Jude and I have been friends, we’ve been aware of each other’s hopeless longing for an oblivious sweetheart and openly commiserated about it, with no fear – or even thought – of annoying each other or hurting feelings. Butcher’s son Jude was in love with Columbine Wilhearn, all black curls and lovely voice, whose mother was a small-scale – if highly in-demand – clothing designer and I was in love with broody, breathtaking Gale, whose mother managed the local laundromat and who despised my very existence because, as the mayor’s daughter, I had surely been born to privilege – never mind that my father had been a music teacher before his election and that as mayor he served a rural town of some 8000 people and dealt with weighty matters like dog waste ordinances and ribbon cuttings for tiny antique shops.

We’d both made periodic, futile attempts to elicit our respective crush’s attentions, but somehow for the course of that year – the year of madrigal seat partners and Jane Eyre and getting married on-stage in Fiddler – the longing had felt a little less pressing. Jude still ordered flowers for Columbine on opening night – she was playing the female lead, after all – but in other circumstances he would’ve done so for every performance, not just the first, and he brought me flowers too – a vaseful of red tulips from his mother’s garden to brighten my corner of the greenroom. And while I knew he’d asked Columbine to prom their junior year – and been turned down, of course – I don’t think he even tried the next time around, just cheerfully stepped up to escort me when the opportunity arose.

In fact, to the outside observer, Jude and I probably appeared to be dating for the past year.

The realization left me cross, embarrassed and oddly weary. Jude and I were just friends, everybody knew it, but could we have inadvertently sabotaged each other’s crushes by spending so much time together? Would Gale have emerged to ask me out if I hadn’t been so immersed in the Mellark circle this year – and in Jude’s company in particular?

We’re at prom, I reminded him, my tone shorter than he deserved. I’m wearing an evening gown and your tux jacket. How much more of a date do you want?

I want to pick you up at your house, he replied without hesitation, a brush of lips against my lilac-threaded crown braid. Just you and me and maybe your dad on the porch, to shake hands and talk about the weather and remind me to have you back by 10:00, and I’ll tell you how beautiful you look as I slide an orchid on your wrist. We’ll go to a fancy restaurant and trade bites of our entrees and steal a pepper shaker when we leave, just to see if we can get away with it. We’ll hold hands under the table and slow-dance like it means something, not just because we came together and it’s obligatory, and when I drop you at home, you might let me kiss you under the porchlight.

I pulled away to look up at him, at those gentle smoky eyes – gray like Gale’s and yet absolutely, utterly, nothing like Gale’s – and tried to decide whether to throttle him or burst into tears, because I knew he didn’t mean any of this the way it sounded but it was still the sweetest thing I’d ever heard – and remains so to this day. But I didn’t want Jude – I didn’t, I was sure of it – and he didn’t want me, he was just getting broody – in the hen fashion, not the Gale fashion – because of Peeta’s engagement and Columbine had remained stubbornly indifferent to him, even in a tux or stage makeup or a doublet and tights.

Please, can I go home? I whispered. I’ll call my parents so you don’t have to leave.

Don’t be daft, he said lightly, but his eyes were sad. There’s nothing left to stay here for anyway.

Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Columbine at the soda table laughing at something Gale had just said and was inclined to agree.

I didn’t go home, though Jude was more than willing to make the detour: I went to Rooba’s, because she had a spacious house and had invited our whole group to stay over after the after-prom party, to sleep till noon and enjoy a lazy brunch before going home. We were a remarkably well-behaved group of teens so it felt more like a church lock-in than anything else, except for the fact that I changed into my pajamas from an evening gown and slept in Lettie Wilhearn’s bedroom – sans Lettie, of course, Rooba having given her older kids the weekend off work and banished them to the lake cabin.

Jude didn’t say a word on the drive. When we got to his house he asked if I wanted anything to eat or drink, then obligingly disappeared after retrieving my overnight bag and directing me to the nearest bathroom.

I belatedly recalled that I was still wearing his tux jacket and intended to hang it on the back of Lettie’s desk chair when I turned in, but somehow I ended up taking it to bed with me as an additional makeshift cover, my nose burrowed in the comforting scent of his collar.

I dreamt about orchid corsages and hand-kisses and sneaking a pepper shaker into my purse and woke with sore, slightly puffy eyes, as though I’d cried myself to sleep. Lettie’s alarm clock read 11:18am in the blaring midday sun and in the papasan opposite me was Jude, curled up like a child with a pile of throw pillows under his tousled head. His eyes were open and contemplative and very carefully focused on the pillow adjacent to me.

Hey, I greeted him in a sleepy croak.

Hey, he replied softly, eyes flickering to mine. Do…do you hate me, mädchen?

I blinked rapidly, trying to think what he might have done to make me hate him or if he was just referring to the fact that we’d ended up sleeping in the same room, which didn’t bother me two pins. We’d fallen asleep on each other on the bus back from Knowledge Bowl tourneys and music competitions more times than I could count.

Why on earth would I hate you? I puzzled.

Because I…asked you out, he reminded me with a wince while still firmly maintaining eye contact, as though determined to stay strong for his sentencing.

At prom, I confirmed, a smile creeping irrepressibly across my mouth. It’s a bit like being in love with one’s own wife, Sir Percy. Demmed unfashionable.

The Scarlet Pimpernel was second on the Senior Lit slate and Jude had loved it just as much as I loved Jane Eyre.

Consequently, my remark won a grateful, crooked smile and I patted the bed beside me: an invitation Jude accepted without hesitation, stretching out his lanky frame with a groan and a breathless oof! as I flung my arms around his waist and pillowed my head on his chest.

I liked the smell and feel of Jude beneath my cheek. It felt like home – or going back there – and I think in that moment I finally realized those moments were numbered and swiftly counting down.

I’ve never been asked out before, you know, I reminded him. It was sweet; the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me. And anyway, you potentially asked me out, under a very specific set of circumstances.

True, he agreed, and that seemed to set everything to rights. Want go find some breakfast? he wondered, tracing my braid with a fingertip.

No, I replied firmly and nuzzled deeper into his t-shirt, hiding my face from the sun.

Me neither, he agreed, and curled his arms around me, hugging me snugly to him.

Jude had clearly passed a rougher night than me because he drifted off almost immediately and was still sleeping hard at 12:30, when the savory smells of Rooba’s thick-cut bacon and handmade sausages roused my belly and brain respectively. (I learned later that Luka and Johanna had commandeered Jude’s bed, not for anything sketchy, but that they were curled together and sound asleep by the time he finally made it there, hence being relegated to Lettie’s papasan – a fine place for reading and cat-naps but miserable for a night’s worth of sleep.) On my way to the bathroom I practically collided with Jenny, Jude’s fourteen-year-old sister, noshing on a bacon sandwich and voracious for gossip.

So are you and Jude together now? she demanded with all the cheerful frankness of their mother. I saw you cuddling in Lettie’s bed.

I had always adored Jenny Tolliver more than I would ever let on. She and Jude were the only full siblings among Rooba’s five children and the similarities were endearingly obvious, despite the fact that Jenny inherited their father’s stunning black hair where Jude was a tow-headed, gray-eyed hybrid.

That was snuggling, I corrected her. Small but crucial difference.

You should think about leveling up, she advised gravely. He adores you, you know, and I hear teenage weddings are coming back en vogue.

Go away, imp, I teased, unbothered by her implication. She’d wanted me and Jude to get together since our first season of Knowledge Bowl and stubbornly refused to acknowledge that we didn’t like each other that way. I need to find some coffee and then we can argue this further.

I’ll be waiting, she said gleefully, stepping aside to let me into the bathroom.

But Jenny and I never reconvened for that argument, because that afternoon was the start of the slow crumble of the perfect high school year. Not because of anything to do with Jude or prom or Katniss’s engagement: because of something I overheard on my way to the kitchen that ended up being far more significant than I could’ve imagined.

Rooba and Marek – the Mellarks’ bachelor uncle – were preparing all the cooked food for the sleepy teenage brunch binge but Peeta’s father had stopped by with an assortment of pastries from the bakery and was on his way out again, talking to Rooba on the back porch, when I passed by en route to the kitchen.

So they’re young, she was saying. They’re hard workers with good heads on their shoulders, and they both went through the wringer at a young age. They know how to provide for a family and will do whatever it takes to put food on the table. They’ll do fine – better than fine, if we help them out a bit.

Janek Mellark’s response to this wasn’t clear – something about waiting – and Rooba replied in a strange, edged tone: Would you wait if Alys was willing?

I moved away before I could hear his reply, if indeed he made one, and enthusiastically engaged burly, cheerful Marek in a debate as to which of his offerings – stuffed French toast, chocolate chip pancakes, or Belgian waffles – would be the best to start off with, but there was a hot thudding in my ears and my eyes couldn’t seem to focus.

Alys, of course, was Katniss’s mother Alyssum – my mother’s best friend and confidante from childhood to the present – and I knew through my mother that Alys and Janek Mellark had been high school sweethearts on the very cusp of getting engaged when she unexpectedly broke up with him to get together with Jack Everdeen. Janek married Raisa Brognar – Rooba’s younger sister – on the rebound and everyone had gone on to produce their respective children and find varying degrees of contentment in their lives, but by all accounts, the Mellarks had rarely if ever been happy together, and of course, Katniss’s father died six years ago, leaving Alys bereft and in a stupor of grief, not unlike my own mother when her twin sister died at sixteen.

According to my mother, Alys Everdeen and Janek Mellark had carefully avoided each other since their breakup in high school, but when Peeta and Katniss began dating, they were thrown together to a certain extent and forced to interact socially. Further, in an unguarded moment that winter, Janek had admitted to Alys that he was still in love with her – feelings, Alys confessed to my mother afterward, that she was troubled to find she returned.

Of course, I discussed this with no one but my mother, though many a time I’d ached to confide in Jude, since we were similarly on the fringes of this relationship – not directly involved but connected through our mothers and their own relationships with the couple in question.

Something about Rooba’s remark that morning after prom implied that things were changing or had done, maybe irrevocably, and when I asked my mother about it that afternoon she gave a long sigh and kissed my forehead as though I were still a little girl. Do you really want to know, petal? she wondered. It might be easier to be ignorant till it all comes out.

Of course, I wouldn’t be me if I hadn’t wanted to know, and that’s how I learned what happened after the newly engaged Peeta and Katniss left for prom. About the argument that ensued when Alys furiously confronted Janek about his son’s proposal – and what happened after the argument.

I suppose it shouldn’t have come as that great a shock, but when you hear about a classmate’s parents getting divorced, you don’t think about his father sleeping with another classmate’s mother – or getting her pregnant. But it was some months before all of that came out, months when I could almost forget the secret burning in the back of my mind as the perfect year wound down to its inevitable, poignant end.