#so he called me up to ask for my opinion. long story short i ate that question and he liked my reply KAHDHDHFHSHRHSJDHD DIGNITY REVIVED

[jils-things]

lalalla

so like weeks earlier we were assigned to report about a certain Thing. we had ample amount of time to prepare for and i decided to let the work go to two people (who were seemingly close too) to make the presentation. let them do the research and make a cohesive presentation. (i also contributed my small research effort) they sent the work, and i reviewed it. i analyzed my assigned slides in presentation and jotted down a summary for myself to explain in front. the report later got postponed to next week (today)

and suddenly THEY UPDATED THE CHAT TO SAY "heyyy guys we updated the presentation. just follow the flow as we planned". but also btw THE RESEARCH INPUT COMPLETELY DIFFERENT FROM THE LAST PRESENTATION SO I HOPE YOU CAN DO WELL WITH IT"

SO. SO. THE NOTES I WROTE DOWN IS USELESS 😭😭😭 I GUESS ILL JUST IMPROV MY UNDERSTANDING, THAT'S NOT AN ISSUE FOR ME. IVE DONE THIS A LOT BEFORE. IM BLINDLY READING BUT SURELY I CAN UNDERSTAND ALONG THE WAY

AND THEN. THEN. THEN. THE COMPOSITION OF THE PARAGRAPH FELT SO. ODD. AND NOTHING MADE SENSE!!!!! I WAS WONDERING WHY DIDN'T THEY USE MY RESEARCH INPUT TOOO

it's also worth mentioning that the two girls who worked on this ppt made me the punching meatbag to handle my teacher's confused queries about the presentation. WHY ME. YOU BOTH WROTE IT. AT LEAST HELP ME ...? (one of them also just made me READ THEIR NOTED UM. WHY ARENTU READING IT 😭)

I STOOD THERE SO UNCOMFORTABLY 😭😭😭AND THEY JUST KEEP TALKING WITH EACH OTHER IDKIDKIKD EXPLODES I WANTED TO EXPLODE SO BAD I WAS STARING AT MY MERCH TO COPE BROTHER....

and then one of the girls whispered to me "hey 🥺 can u go tell the professor that we have another presentation (the one I STUDIED) we can use instead? 🥺 just tell him so that we can stop this embarrassment 🥺"NGNNGNGBGHFBFBFGJGJHGGHFHFHFF DELTARUNE EXPLOSION SFX WHY!!!! AREYOU TELLING ME!!! TO DO THAT. WHAT ABOUT YOUUUUUU YOU BOTH WERE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE PPT WHY MEEE 😭

so. i walked up to him. explained the matter. he was so surprised and hes like well damn of course go ahead then! but since we were taking too long so we shifted to the next group to reportfngnbfndnfnfnfjff my teacher walked up to the two girls and said "did you use ai? did you copy this word for word somewhere?" then they said "we kinda did but we searched!!!" and it made me realize. they used ai to make the ppt. threw all our research out the windowndjfjfjdjdjdjdjdjj and now im here aggressively writing this down to just calm down

i hate homework ai im genuinely so mad

[mayhemchicken-varneyposting]

Varney the Vampire, Chapter 25: Contraband

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Charles finds his uncle pacing anxiously in the garden. Admiral Bell, having had time to think it over, has reluctantly come to the conclusion that, since Charles issued the initial duel challenge, he ought to be the one to fight Varney. Charles asks him to wait until the next day before arranging anything, and also for him to lend Charles 50 pounds, which he plans to give to Henry to help with the Bannerworth's financial situation. Admiral Bell agrees to both. He then says, by the way this reminds me of a story, and you guessed it - we the readers are about to receive that story in full.

But first, we have to hear a different story about a different weird thing that happened to the admiral at sea. You see, he saw a sea monster one time, which one of his shipmates mistook for a ship.

Now on to the actual story, which takes up the rest of the chapter.

The admiral (presumably not an admiral at the time this story takes place, so I'll just call him Bell) is on a ship bound for Ceylon, when the crew finds a strange man sitting on one of the water casks. Bell asks the man how he got there and he implies he came from the sky, but later when the captain asks he says he is "contraband", and that he stowed away in the hold. The captain asks what he ate and drank while he was down there, and he replies that he didn't, only sucked his thumbs. His thumbs are the size of - well, I shan't say, and he implies that they used to be even bigger.

The man asks the captain for coffee, beef, and biscuits, which the captain brings him. There's something uncanny about the man, which makes everyone on board hesitant to cross him. For weeks he stays on the deck, lying on top of the water cask and whistling - and the more he whistles, the stronger the wind becomes. At first, it is merely a stiff breeze, but soon it becomes a gale, then a hurricane. Through all the rough weather, the strange man lies on the water cask, whistling and drumming on the cask with his heels, apparently impervious to the wind, rain, and waves.

The crew, feeling superstitious, ask the captain for permission to throw the stranger overboard. The captain denies this request, but does tell the crew to talk to the man and get him to stop whistling. One of the crewmen grabs the man's leg to get him to stop drumming on the water cask, and finds him to have inhuman strength, first pinning the man's hand to the cask with his leg, then picking him up one-handed as though he weighed nothing.

They ask the man to stop whistling so that the wind will stop, to which he tells them that bringing the wind is the very reason he's whistling in the first place. They tell him the wind is too strong; in response, he takes off his hat and makes all his hair stand on end, then tells them the wind couldn't possibly be too strong as it's not moving his hair at all. Thwarted, they leave him to his whistling, which he continues for three weeks, at which point he switches to horrible unearthly singing for three days, after which he mysteriously disappears without a trace. The ship reaches its destination a full month ahead of schedule.

Okay, you know what? Rymer can have this one. Out of all the extraneous story chapters in this beast of a novel, this one was actually good.

I don't have too much to say about the first part. Charles does get one baffling line, though.

"I will not thwart you, my boy, although in my opinion you ought not to fight with a vampyre." "Never mind that. We cannot urge that as a valid excuse, so long as he chooses to deny being one."

What the hell kind of logic is this, Charles. I miss when you were the reasonable one.

The admiral's first story is short, and I don't have much to say about it either, except to wonder what sort of whale Ishmael would classify Admiral Bell's sea monster as. He says it was a fish, that its whole head was the size of a ship's hull, and that it had great fins near its head which churned up so much sea spray that the crewman who spotted it mistook them for sails. It sort of sounds to me like they saw a blue whale spouting.

But now, on to the main event. The last chapter-long tangent story I really didn't give a shit about, and I'm pretty sure the next few are similarly forgettable (as evidenced by the fact that I don't remember them that well), but this one is a fascinating little spooky story, with a lot of intriguingly strange details.

It's not written in the voice of Admiral Bell at all, but rather in Rymer's usual narrative style, which I suppose is a blessing as an entire chapter narrated in the admiral's sailor speak would be insufferable to read. He spends a long time on setup; too long, in my opinion, but that's par for the course with Rymer.

The younger Bell, in the story, talks to a crewmate named Jack about the weather they're having. I don't think he's supposed to be Jack Pringle, but it's never specified. Bell is optimistic about the fine winds they're having, but Jack worries that the conditions feel almost too good, a clumsy attempt at foreshadowing what's to come.

"It seems to me as though there was something hanging over us, and I can't tell what." "Yes, there are the colours, Jack, at the masthead; they are flying over us with a hearty breeze."

Three weeks into their journey, the stranger makes his appearance.

The way he's described is a tad uncomfortable; not that there's anything very objectionable in his physical description, but that the author gives him a certain cluster of features, and then goes on to describe how he had a repulsive and sinister air about him, and have the men describe him as "evil-looking".

He was a tall, spare man—what is termed long and lathy—but he was evidently a powerful man. He had a broad chest, and long, sinewy arms, a hooked nose, and a black, eagle eye. His hair was curly, but frosted by age; it seemed as though it had been tinged with white at the extremities, but he was hale and active otherwise, to judge from appearances.

It's not too overt, thankfully, and the stranger's other weird features quickly eclipse this first impression.

"Well," said I, after we had stood some minutes, "where did you come from, shipmate?" He looked at me and then up at the sky, in a knowing manner. "Come, come, that won't do; you have none of Peter Wilkins's wings, and couldn't come on the aerial dodge; it won't do; how did you get here?"

The admiral says a lot of things in this chapter that sound like references I don't get, but I actually did look up Peter Wilkins - he's a character from a story published in 1751, who finds himself in a Robinson Crusoe-esque situation and builds a flying machine to escape. Another date to pin to my "when does Varney the Vampire take place" red string board, and also potentially something to put on my to-read list.

"Well, my man," said the captain, "how did you come here?" "I'm part of the cargo," he said, with an indescribable leer. "Part of the cargo be d——d!" said the captain, in sudden rage, for he thought the stranger was coming his jokes too strong. "I know you are not in the bills of lading." "I'm contraband," replied the stranger; "and my uncle's the great chain of Tartary."

"Tartary" is a term used in Europe through the 19th century to refer to a broad chunk of Central Asia, stretching from Siberia to as far south as Afghanistan and including much of China and Mongolia. It was a region about which the Europeans knew very little, so I suppose if you're Rymer, it seems like a suitably mysterious and exotic place for your supernatural stranger to hail from. I'm not sure why the guy keeps claiming to be "contraband" and "part of the cargo" - as far as I can tell, it's just a weird detail.

Speaking of weird details...

"Why, I sucked my thumbs like a polar bear in its winter quarters." And as he spoke the stranger put his two thumbs into his mouth, and extraordinary thumbs they were, too, for each would have filled an ordinary man's mouth. "These," said the stranger, pulling them out, and gazing at them wistfully, and with a deep sigh he continued,— "These were thumbs at one time; but they are nothing now to what they were."

This bit is utterly baffling to me. Most of the stranger's odd traits are centered around a theme, but I can't work out what's up with the giant life-sustaining lollipop thumbs. I kind of love it, though - it reminds me of the odd details that spring up around folkloric creatures, or storytelling traditions like Jack the Giant Killer. (I'm praying the giant thumbs don't turn out to be some sort of weird 19th century racist trope that's faded into obscurity. Unfortunately, one can never wholly rule that out.)

It takes some time for the action in this little story to kick up. Rymer pauses to soliloquize about what it's like to keep night watch on a ship, in a very un-Admiral-Bell-like way. Barring that, and an exchange between the sailors and the captain which goes on for far too long, the rest of the story is actually well-paced for once. Tension builds as the stranger's whistling seems to whip the wind up into a gale, then a hurricane. Not only does he not seem to mind the weather, but he seems physically incapable of being affected by it.

At length there came a storm of rain, lightning, and wind. We were tossed mountains high, and the foam rose over the vessel, and often entirely over our heads, and the men were lashed to their posts to prevent being washed away. But the stranger still lay on the water casks, kicking his heels and whistling his infernal tune, always the same.

The idea that whistling will increase the strength of the wind is an established sailor's superstition, but this strange man seems to have a much stronger connection to the elements, from his claim to have come from the sky, to the fact that his singing is what ends up calming the winds down, to...whatever this is (emphasis mine):

"Pho! pho! you don't know what's good for you—it's a beautiful breeze, and not a bit too stiff." "It's a hurricane." "Nonsense." "But it is." "Now you see how I'll prove you are wrong in a minute. You see my hair, don't you?" he said, after he took off his cap. "Very well, look now." He got up on the water-cask, and stood bolt upright; and running his fingers through his hair, made it all stand straight on end. "Confound the binnacle!" said the captain, "if ever I saw the like." "There," said the stranger, triumphantly, "don't tell me there's any wind to signify; don't you see, it doesn't even move one of my grey hairs; and if it blew as hard as you say, I am certain it would move a hair."

I would like to remind everyone that this story most likely takes place in the late 17th-early 18th century, a time when men's hairstyles were about as long as they've ever been. This man's hair is down around his shoulders at a minimum, and curly to boot.

The sailors leave him be after this, because how the fuck are you supposed to respond to something like that? He spends three weeks doing his thing and eating enough for three people, until finally he seems to have had enough of sailing:

Well, about that time, one night the whistling ceased and he began to sing—oh! it was singing—such a voice! Gog and Magog in Guildhall, London, when they spoke were nothing to him—it was awful; but the wind calmed down to a fresh and stiff breeze. He continued at this game for three whole days and nights, and on the fourth it ceased, and when we went to take his coffee royal to him he was gone.

They're still another three weeks from land at this point, so presumably the stranger fucked back off into the sky. His meddling has shaved an entire month off their travel time, but the admiral notes that the ship would have been in terrible shape had it not been brand-new.

I...look, as far as I'm concerned, everything in this story happened exactly as narrated. It's canon now. Somewhere out there in the universe of Varney the Vampire is a weather elemental with giant thumbs who likes to fuck with sailors.

Next: Charles leaves, taking the cast's collective braincell with him

[watermelinoe]

Did you have a sudden feminist awakening or was it more gradual? For me it was super sudden and happened at a festival in 2022. I’m Galician and the Feria de Festivala was near my home city. A banda da Loba (5-woman band) came on with Fillas de Cassandra (female duo) and they performed a song called “A Capirota” which tells the story of what happened to Carmen Pesqueira (known as A Capirota) when she stood up to fascists during the Spanish Civil War. (1/2)

i think tumblr ate the second half of this ask unfortunately :(

to answer your question, i didn't have a specific feminist awakening, my parents were librarians and let me be a "tomboy" and my mom's opinion is that forced pregnancy is torture and she almost never wore makeup. my mom likes my leg hair because it's soft and my dad doesn't care because he was a long-haired leftist activist back when women were burning bras.

i actually had an anti-feminist phase in high school because of tumblr and because of feeling alienated from other girls - i thought that i had "internalized misogyny" because i didn't wear makeup and had short hair lol - and this was the era of "eyeliner so sharp it can kill a man" "fight like a girl" "feminism" (i would call it libfem or choice feminism but let's be honest none of this is feminist on any level) where kink is empowering and porn is sex positive and hijab is a woman's choice and trans women are women <3

my radical feminist awakening was over the course of a few weeks and it was instigated by my "peak trans" moment of seeing lesbians called genital fetishists and no push-back except from radfem blogs

and reading these blogs just cut right through the steady drip of bullshit from the past ~3 years since i had made a tumblr account, within the month i made this blog and abandoned my old one

but i would be interested in hearing the rest of your story! my knowledge of the spanish civil war is limited to a semester-long spanish literature course for my spanish minor back when i was a college freshman but i can read spanish if there's any media that you would really recommend. live performances can be so powerful, that sounds like an incredible experience

[alpines-bucky]

No one said Starks weren't a little dramatic

This is the first time I write Tony x daughter reader I hope you guys like it :)

Word Count: 2319 ( Things got a bit out of my hands while I was editing and eventhough it's edited I can't promise that there aren't any typos and I dtill wasn't satisfied with what I wrote but 🤷‍♀️Ig )

Warnings: Major character death, a lot of angst

Y/N loses her dad when he decides to save the universe with a snap of his fingers but when did anyone see a Stark not getting what they want? Let me answer for you, Never. ( AKA Y/N gambles with time and space and universes surprisingly there isn't any VA involved cause in my opinion they suck to save her dad but apparently there are always consequences)

Y/N had arrived at her destination albeit being a little late. She wanted to be there when the team tried to go back in time to get the Stones in hopes of saving aunt Tasha too but she had one and only shot at this so she had to make do with what she had. What she didn’t realise was she accidentally changed universes instead of going back in time.

The way she found out that the place she had arrived wasn’t when or where she intented to was Morgan, the little girl with big Brown eyes who had total control over her older sister the second they met. Y/N had to lay low and do her research before approaching them. But when she heard about Morgan she had to meet her before doing what she came to do. And that’s exactly what she did.

She found Morgan in a house by the lake with a woman who she assumed was Pepper.Her visit was short since she couldn’t afford getting caught by Pepper which would mean jeopardising the whole plan she had spent months making. She left a message for her dad before going off to save the man itself.

Her dad was fighting with Thanos when she arrived to the scene. The more she looked around the more it looked like the place she fought along with her dad and that meant one thing, she had to act quick.

‘’I am inevitable’’ Thanos said as he snapped his finger but nothing happened. Confused, he looked at his gauntlet to find that the Stones that were there a minute ago were no longer in their places. He looked around to see that Tony had them somehow.

‘’And I’m Iron Man’’ said Tony full of emotions as he was about to snap his fingers. He thought having all six Stones in his hands would kill him being a mortal and he was fine with it if that meant she could ensure his family’s security but he felt nothing. He thought he had died instantly but he found out that wasn’t the case when he got startled by an unknown voice.

‘’Oh, the hell with that!’’ said a girl who wore a similar suit to Tony’s. She seemed to appear out of nowhere. Which confused both man further.

‘’Who the hell are you?’’ asked Tony. Who the hell was mad enough decided to mess up the only chance of him stopping the big purple psycho of a man.

‘’Who do you think?’’ said the girl, winking at him confidentally but her eyes told a different story. There was sadness in them, grief and loss but it seemed like she was happy at the same time.What surprised him was the familiarity she carried but he couldn’t put his finger on it. So he searched her suit for some clues which led up to him finding the Stones. She was the reason he was not dead, she somehow got possession of the Stones.

‘’Kid, no!’’ yelled Tony. He attempted to get closer to her but she snapped her fingers before he could stop her. Everything stilled for a second. The other avengers thought Tony had done it as Thanos’ soldiers had started to turn to dust all of a sudden but when they found a girl that they’ve never seen before in the arms of Tony with fetal injuries they were puzzled. They gathered around Tony and the girl who struggled tos tay alive.

‘’I made it! I… I saved you, Dad.’’Tony was shocked at her words. He was processing what he heard as Pepper landed next to them and kneeled. They couldn’t Wrap their heads around what was happening but they both were not going to let a dying kid down for sure.

She had a difficulty breathing, she was in agonizing pain but she had a peaceful smile on her face. She tried to lift her hand but it pained her more, she whimpered. Tony sensed her intentions and put her hand on his cheek for her. He put his hand on top of her, gave it a gentle squeeze. ‘’Friday, what do we have?’’ asked Tony.

‘’3 to 4 degree burns from her right hand up to her face. Internal bleeding. Her lungs are collapsing... Life functions critical.’’ Answered the voice from both of the suits. Pepper grimaced, she didn’t know who this girl was but she had sacrificed herself for Tony, the man she referred ‘dad’. ‘’Who are you?’’ asked Pepper.

‘’I’m–‘’ she coughed, blood was pooling in her mouth. ‘’I’m surprised you couldn’t figure it out yet…’’ she let out a bloody laugh. ‘’I’m Y/N. Y/N Stark.’’ She said with her last breath. That shook the whole group to their cores. The girl wasn’t lying or confusing Tony with someone else. The girl who lied in his Tony’s arms nonbreathing was infact the daughter of Tony Stark. From the moment they realised the truth everything was a blur to the Stark Family and the avengers.

Y/N was Tony’s first daughter who had died in a cross fire 7 years ago. She was a teenager at the time. She would have been a few years older than Peter if she had lived. It was a wrong place wrong time type of situation, she had died on the scene. Tony had nightmares after that, his insomnia got worse. He had blamed himself although it had nothing to do with him. The guilt ate him alive day by day. He realised why the girl’s eyes were so familiar to him now, she was his Y/N/N. A grown, older version of her, but his Y/N nontheless.

He didn’t think he could recover from her death but losing her, seeing her die in his arms for the second time ruined him. He had no idea what was happening outside of his head, he was in a trance, he had stayed still looking at his hands where Y/N laid. Until his little girl, Morgan came up to him with a disk in hand and said ‘’Daddy! Daddy! A girl called Y/N wanted me to give this to you’’ That got everyone’s attention.

Tony told Friday to scan the disk and display whatever is in it. When he saw Y/N in front of her, he couldn’t stop the tears from falling and when she started speaking as if she could see her Tony lost it. He couldn’t hear her because of his own sobs, he didn’t even realised the rest of the avengers and his wife as they piled in the room when they heard Tony and Y/N’s voice. He had to stop the hologram a few times to gather himself. When he got control of his breathing, he built up his courage and displayed it all over again.

‘’Hey dad. I’m assuming since you are watching this I suceed. I’ve saved you.’’ She had to stop for a second to take a breath in to compose herself. ‘This time’ she said under her breath but Friday caught it.

‘’You are wondering how the hell I am alive. Well… For starters, I didn’t know that I was dead in this world which… makes you realise that I’m not from this world. I’m actually from what you call an alternative universe. Things got out of hand in my universe after… after you… Oh shit! This is too hard. I knew I couldn’t do this shit! I can’t even talk to my own god damn suit picturing it as my hypothetical dad without messing it up’’ that made a few people chuckle and a few others tos mile. The girl really was his father’s child after all.

‘’Okay I’m hoping you either won’t have to watch this or I can cut that part before giving it to Morgan. Anyways, I’m rambling.’’ Tony saw his younger self in Y/N which put a sad smile to his face. This was something he never got to experience before. To see her this grown up. To see a pieces of him in her.

‘’ So things went down hill after you did the whole ‘I’m Iron Man’ thing –which by the way I’m still mad at you about­- You… You died in my hands, dad.’’ She gulped. She had begun crying a while ago but now that she was talking about her dad’s death, she felt like the lump in her throat got bigger and bigger, suffocating her. ‘’ I was all alone for years! You were all I had and then within a second you were gone! I didn’t have anyone else!’’ She tried to calm herself. She wasn’t recording this to make him feel guilty or get answers she was possibly never going to hear. This was a goodbye. A goodbye she knew he deserved just like how she did from him.

‘’That’s why I made the decision to change it but I accidentally changed universes instead of going back in time. But this was my only chance, only shot at making it right. And then I found out that I had died in this universe and you had moved on. Good for you, dad. I’m really proud of you. You did what I couldn’t. It was a relief to know that you were happy and that you had a family now. I thought for a second that maybe the blip didn’t happen. That in this universe, you had a lovely life and I thought for a second maybe I could be in it too. Stay with you but that hope was shortly lived.’’ She gave a sad smile.

‘’And now I’m about to go to the battle field. Before I go, I have to say, I don’t know how if there is any way for me to stop you. I can’t take it all back but I will do anything to not let another girl grow up without her dad. And I ain’t going to let my own sister down. Oh, did you know that I always wanted a sister?’’ she chuckled making Tony’s heart warm. It has been so long since he heard his daughter chuckle the damn way he does. She stopped for a second to think ‘’Well, she has the Stark charm, that’s for sure. I only knew her for a few hours and she had me the second we met. I wish I could be there for her as her older sister. I would give anything to see her grow up but if that has to be for only one of us to see, I’d rather that be you because I’ve been there. I know how hard it is to lose your dad. I could see clearly what she would have to go through and the moment I realised that I knew what I had to do. I would stop you at all costs and since this reacording is being played I could sleep peacefully knowing she has you.’’ She smiled with tears escaping her eyes once again. Tony was full of emotions. His daughter he has been longing for years was right in front of him but way too far away at the same time.

With a sigh she started ‘’ You have people you can hold on to. I never did. Pepper, Morgan, Rhodey, the spider kid... Hold on to them Tony. Hold on to the team. Oh, speaking of the team, tell them I love them and I missed them so badly. I’m sorry. I thought I was going to have more time to talk And maybe if a miracle happens and we all can manage to stay alive I could tell you all about it but I have to go now. Have an old man to save’’ She saluted and looked around right where the broken team of Avengers were with longing in her eyes. She moved closer to the disk to cut the recording but decided against it the last second. Tony hung his head, his heart broke to hear the hope in her voice when he knew what already happened. He thought this was the end of the recording but he looked up when he heard her talking and she had turned to him and looked right at him as if she knew where he was stated. That sent shivers up Tony’s spine.

‘’I know you think I made the wrong decision but I saved you. I refuse to let you down once again. I refuse to see you die in front of me once again. I’m not sorry for what I’m about to do, I knew the consequences when I made this plan months ago. I’m only sorry because although I tried so much to have the future we always talked about with you, I won’t be able to, Tones. But Morgan will be. And I would give up anything for that little girl. And for you.’’ She said as she caressed the necklace Tony gave her when she was a child. She took the chain out of her neck and put it somewhere Tony couldn’t see. And Tony knew this was only a tape but he tried to hold on to his daughter, to stop her from going out there. His breath caught in his throat when his hands went through Y/N’s body. He fell to his knees.

‘’ But hey if it turns out that I, this badass manage to get both of us home in one peace one we can laugh our asses off as we watch me being the drama queen that I am… Well, no one said Starks weren’t a bit dramatic.’’ The heart Tony thought had broken to a million pieces broke further as he heard the tremble in her voice as she tried to put her brave face on. But she couldn’t hide it when one last tear escaped from her slightly swollen eyes as she ended the recording.

Why do I never have good endings? Cause I write in the middle of the night when I feel sad most of the time and it's easier to write sad than it is to write happy.

I hope you liked it. I would love to hear your thoughts on this one. I'd also like to discuss if you'd like the alternative ending that could be a happy one :)

[avtrbee]

Unexpected Secret

inspired by the tumblr post above!

this fic defies almost everyhting that is canon but its really cute and fluffy in my opinion so idc idc idc

Petra was furious.

I’m gonna kill her, Petra thought, mopping away the last of the dirt from the stables. I don’t care how but I’m going to make it look like an accident.

Petra was furious.

Putting her anger on the mop she had gripped in her fist she aggressively wiped the stable floors clean, but her thoughts were somewhere else. Y/N L/N was the reason why she was stuck cleaning the stables during a Friday night when she could’ve spent the day in the market with Oluo buying cute clothes or enjoying a new café or getting drunk or just about anything. 

Petra loved her friend but no matter which way Petra tried to twist the situation, Y/N was the sole reason to blame. Y/N was the one who suggested getting drunk in her room that night, Y/N was the one who suggested the game, Y/N was the one who proposed the punishment, and Y/N was the one who called her a pussy for backing out, so of course Petra had to do it. Petra had to run through the hallway, from the stairway and back to the room naked. 

It didn’t help that Y/N’s room was the farthest room from the stairwell. Petra didn’t have a problem getting naked around Y/N and their friends- they’ve seen each other’s bodies enough with the communal showers and the occasional first aid outside the walls. Petra isn’t ashamed of her own body either, she may look petite but she was hardened muscle from all the training she endured to become the one of the best. Though Y/N had her own private room as one of the Survey Corps’ Section Commander, her floor was also near the other superior’s private spaces. 

Once Petra made it out, she dashed to the stairs as fast as she could before turning back and running like there was a titan behind her to the privacy and safety of Y/N’s room. Until Hange, Levi and Mike came out of Erwin’s room from their own private party only to stare at Petra like she was a dog with three heads. 

Petra could’ve died right there. In fact, she would have preferred it if she did. Hange laughed (“Oh, it’s one of those nights, eh?), Levi looked away with disgust evident in his face and walked to another laughing Y/N, who witnessed the entire incident, instead. Mike just stood there with his brain probably short circuiting and nose occasionally twitching. To make matters worse, Erwin came outside to see what Hange was laughing about.

I’m gonna kill her, Petra thought, mopping away the last of the dirt from the stables. I don’t care how but I’m going to make it look like an accident.

Petra looked up from her hard work and wiped her forehead. She smelled like horse shit and probably looked like one too. A few yards away from her clean stable stood Y/N and Eren together under the sun with Mikasa not so far running towards them.

Petra watched as Mikasa hastily put herself between Y/N and Eren with a glare on her face. Was it really a glare or was it just Mikasa’s usual stoic face? Petra didn’t care- a plan was slowly starting to form in her head. 

-

Petra didn’t bother rushing to the cafeteria to get first in line like she usually would. Instead she ate some heavy snacks before and took her time. Thinking back, Y/N was the only one out of her superiors to sit on another table other than the space designated for them. She usually sat with Eren, with Levi occasionally joining them. 

Once she strolled inside, the place was packed with soldiers along with hundreds of conversations going on at the same time. Perfect. Just as she planned. Just as she thought, Y/N and Eren were chatting away alone on one table with Mikasa several tables away shooting them looks every now and then.

Petra smiled. Victory tastes so sweet. She slowed down her steps and savored her way to victory as she walked over to Mikasa. “Oi, Mikasa.” she said obnoxiously loud, gathering the attention of several people.

Mikasa turned her head from Eren and Y/N’s table, and stared at her with her cold gray eyes. “Yes, Petra?”

Petra giggled, unable to keep her mood down. “Y’know, Y/N told me a secret.” She said, voice getting louder with every word.

Behind her, Petra heard Y/N speak. “Done from the stables, darling?”

Faint snickers from around the hall erupted. No doubt the story has already gone around. Petra felt a nerve in her head pop. That almost got her. Almost. 

Ignoring the rest of the people, Mikasa kept her eyes on her. “What did she say?”

She crouched down and put a hand on her cheek like she was about to whisper. “She told me that she loves Eren, very, very much.”

Silence. 

Utter silence. 

From the corner of her eye she sees that Sasha had a spoon halfway through her mouth filled with seconds of today’s dinner, while Jean and Connie’s eyes were darting back and forth to her and Y/N, who had gone up from her seat and was walking towards her.

Petra stood back and let herself smile a truly evil smile. That’s what you get, Y/N. You bitch. To be honest, Y/N was probably going to beat her up. Petra didn’t care. She could try if Mikasa won’t get to her first.

Mikasa blinked. “Well, I sure hope so. Eren and I love her just as much.”

Wait- “What?” 

That wasn’t the reaction she was expecting.

“Oi, oi, Mikasa. You’re going to make your mother cry. I’ve never heard you speak like that before.” Y/N clasped a hand on Petra’s shoulder. Y/N had this smirk as if asking oh is this what you planned?

Huh, wait- “Mother? You mean-”

At the same time, Mikasa looked at Y/N. “Okasan, I have told you I loved you many times.”

“What do you mean okasan- are you-?” Petra turned her head to Y/N. 

Y/N leaned shifted her weight on one leg and crossed her arms. She was smiling, probably enjoying Petra’s confusion. “Yes. I am.”

“But-” Petra stuttered. “Eren too?”

“Yes.” Y/N laughed. Petra should’ve been furious, but at this point she was too focused on solving this familial situation she accidentally uncovered. Plus, everyone was listening in. They were curious too.

Petra shoved her hands in her hair. “They’re siblings?”

“Well, I thought we’ve established that before.” Y/N replied. 

“But I thought- Mikasa was charging at you because you were with Eren just a while ago!” 

Y/N deflated. “Oh, that. I was scolding the brat. He was reckless during the last expedition again. You’d remember, you were the one who saved him.” Fuck. Yes, Petra remembered very well. She almost lost her right hand because of that boy. “Mikasa just came over to protect her brother. I might’ve gone overboard too…”

“Then why isn’t Mikasa sitting with you?”

“Oh, I’ve been encouraging her to interact with people other than family. She barely has friends, y’know.”

“Don’t they have different last names?” Petra asked. She was losing her sanity. 

“What, Jeager? L/N was my dad’s. Jeager my mother’s name, I had him when I was young. And, well, technically, Mikasa isn’t mine by blood.” Y/N sat down beside the girl and slung her arm around Mikasa. “She came with my marriage. She’s still my daughter though.” Petra saw Mikasa hide a smile under her scarf.

“Married?” Petra asked. “You’re married?”

“Yup,” Y/N replied, popping her words. “When are you and Oluo gonna tie the knot, by the way-”

Petra couldn't even be bothered to blush at the question. She saw Oluo choke on his food from their usual table though. “Is he in the military?” 

“Yes. We met years before he was in the military though.”

“Is he in the Survey Corps?”

Y/N grinned. “Yes.”

“Is he a superior officer?”

Y/N’s smile grew wider. “Yes.”

Petra felt dread creep down her spine. “Is it Commander Smith?” If Petra really did just try to call out the commander’s wife in front of everyone, she’s dead meat. She’s probably gonna clean the stables on Fridays forever. 

To her relief Y/N said, “Pssh, Mikasa isn’t blonde y’know.”

Petra was losing her patience. “Then who the fuck is it-”

“They literally have the same last name Petra.”

Silence.

Only this time, Petra wasn’t smiling. Her brain was probably overheated from all the information Y/N gave her.

“Oi, Petra” said Levi who was coming inside the cafeteria. “What the hell is going on?”

“Captain!” She squeaked, not expecting his voice. Perfect timing too. 

“Don’t tease her anymore, Levi. It’s my fault, I was just telling her about our familial situation.” Y/N said. 

“Tch,” Levi lightly slapped Y/N at the back of her head. “What happened to keeping it a secret?” 

“Oh, well, they were bound to know anyway. Your son over there can’t keep his mouth shut, I’m surprised he lasted this long.” Y/N nodded to Eren back to her table while the latter hid his face on the table, occasionally banging his fist on the wood. “Though I didn’t expect them to find out this way though...and the entire Survey Corps for that matter.”

“You’ve caused us a nuisance.” Levi deadpanned at Y/N- at his wife? Petra was still trying to comprehend everything.

“Let’s go home.” Levi announced, heading out of the cafeteria. “I can’t stand to be stared at any longer. It’s making me feel like a pig with fucking wings.”

At the words of their Captain- Father?- Mikasa and Eren stood up and picked up their empty food trays. 

Oh, that's right. Petra knew that Y/N and Levi had a separate house somewhere near their HQ; she just didn’t even consider the possibility that they were living together. Fuck, she has seen them leaving too, but she just assumed that they were walking each other because they lived in the same neighborhood or something. 

Petra even spotted Mikasa and Y/N together in the market shopping for vegetables, but she thought it was only a kind gesture. Y/N can be like that sometimes. She even spotted Eren and Levi inside a cleaning shop when she was buying a new mop once. And Mikasa and Levi’s surnames? Petra didn’t even suspect anything because it was common knowledge in the Corps that two of their strongest soldiers had the same last name- had none of them suspected anything?

Looking around, Petra spotted similar confused faces like her own. Ah, so no one did. 

She felt her legs give up on her and plopped on the seat Mikasa previously sat on. She watched as Levi, Y/N, and their children walked out the cafeteria with a blank stare. What the fuck just happened? 

btww,,,the vibe of reader and petra here are like really close friends that tease each other a lot. i can understand why people think that petra seems like the “villain” here but i swear its just that kind of friendship 😭 im sorry if it didnt deliver properly but ill try better next time !!

[beautifulletdownfics]

Nothing To Him - A Harry Styles One Shot

Harry Styles is a liar.

He lied your whole relationship.

He promised to love you forever and then he walked away.

A lovers to nothing break up fic feat. blisters, heartache & two sides to one story.

Word count: 15k (Sorry! You’re going to want to open this little pal in a browser window probably. Eek)

Story Playlist:

The First Lie: Damn This Love - Thirsty Merc The Second Lie: Do You Remember - Jarryd James The Third Lie: Nebraska - Oh Wonder The Fourth Lie: I Saw You - Jon Bryant The Fifth Lie: Here We Go - Emily Hearn The Sixth Lie: Crying Dancing - Nina Nesbitt , NOTD

+

MY MASTERLIST.

+

The first lie was that you were different.

Harry felt different with you.

You just slipped into his routine and his life. You didn't buy into the spectacle of it all. You told him on your first date that you didn't play games, and that it wasn't often you connected with someone on an intellectual or emotional level. Harry sat there and listened to the woman across from him say she didn't expect to finish the date still attracted to him.

And he fucking loved it.

The next morning he called you at quarter past eight, because he figured you either started work at eight-thirty or nine o'clock, so he'd catch you on your commute or just before you walked into the office. You answered your phone like you would a business call. He teased you for it, but really he was just glad you answered at all. It felt like getting test results telling Harry he was in the clear.

The truth was when Harry first met you at the birthday party the night before he'd been angling towards you being a hookup. He saw you across the bar as soon as he arrived, gaze zeroing in on your legs in That Dress, his ears leaning to the sound of your laugh pulling eyes from around the room. Harry wanted you, and he'd been through a bit of a dry spell. You radiated the kind of energy Harry could get drunk on, the sort of body he wanted to lose himself in for a night.

It was almost an hour before he managed to edge into the same circle of bodies as you. You knew the birthday girl the same way he did; through work. Harry caught early on that you didn't still work for his record label, but did a few years before and stayed in touch with everyone. You seemed like the kind of person who collected people, who everyone wanted to keep in touch with. Harry just wanted to touch you.

Two tequilas in he got you to himself.

You were good at flirting, which excited Harry initially. You had a quip for everything or an interesting addition to each story he told. You were well-read and well-travelled, and you weren't hesitant in showing Harry that you had opinions and ideas of your own. Over the years he'd become good at getting people to talk, good at asking questions that make someone share themselves because the alternative—Harry sharing himself—wasn't something he could do. But something about you and the way you framed questions made Harry feel like it was safe to share a little more, you'd disarmed him quietly, and by the time he noticed Harry didn't feel the need to protect himself anymore.

"That's bullshit," you'd told him when he said he wasn't all that into contemporary fiction. You hated the artsy elites who listed off the Hemingway's and the Kerouac's and the Vonnegut's as though the only literature worth mentioning came from lifetimes ago. Your hair swished back and forth at your cheeks as you shook your head emphatically, "You're being lazy. Imagine saying the same about modern music."

Harry's lips ticked up into a smile, and he raised his eyebrow in concession, "That would be bullshit," he agreed, thinking of the album he'd just released and how he wanted to know if you'd listened to any of his stuff. (Very quickly he decided he probably didn't want to know because it stuck Harry the answer would be no.) His eyes couldn't pull away from watching your lips as you spoke, admiring the shade of lipstick you wore.

"Right," you continued, "Modern fiction teaches me about myself, about my life. It gives words to what my friends and I are experiencing. The classics are amazing—don't get me wrong—but I don't see myself in them."

"Seems like your criteria stem from narcissism," Harry was sure he had you there. He grinned at you happily.

"Exactly," you agreed without hesitation, "Maybe 'Hills Like White Elephants' is genius, and as a woman, I should be grateful to Hemmingway for horrifying his audience in 1927 with a normalised view of abortion but … I don't think he wrote that for me. He was challenging ideas then. I feel more connection and loyalty to an Instagram poet who's painting the world that actually matters to me, the world I'm trying to survive now."

Harry hums into his drink and says nothing. He expects you to back away a little, or ask him some question that watered-down your view and opened up the table to his. But you don't. You let your view sit on the slice of the bar between you and don't apologise for it.

"There's a reason artists burst out of every generation," you add, sitting forward on your stool. "If the classics were the perfect form, the perfect commentary of humanity, then there'd be no need for anyone after them to bother trying to put the world and life into words, or pictures, or music. You can't just dismiss a generation of voices because some smelly, old, white, university hasn't decided to name a building after them yet. I don't think being published as a little orange Penguin Classic is the singular hallmark to good literature."

He didn't entirely agree with you, (he thought it was vital to learn from the past, thought those great authors you reeled off and dismissed set the benchmark artists today should aspire to) but Harry liked hearing your thoughts and seeing the passion burst out of you. He liked seeing how you didn't second guess yourself or try to soften your opinion by asking for his. You just said what you thought, and that was always one of his favourite characteristics in a person.

That night you met him, you were the designated driver for a few of your friends. He should have noticed the way you switched to pineapple juice after you finished your first drink, but he was too busy trying not to look at the curve of your thigh when you crossed one leg over the other. Trying to ignore the smell of your perfume or how you kept licking your lips and he wanted to taste them, desperately. Harry didn't like to say anything when he offered to buy you another gin and dry. Still, when it eventually came out in conversation—that you were strictly only having one tonight—he felt his excitement deflate. His warm buzz suddenly felt pervy and presumptuous.

"Well, that's bloody annoying, isn't it?"

His response surprised you, "Me getting my friends home alive?"

With his hand comfortably resting over your knee, Harry shook his head, "I was hoping to go home with you."

"Oh."

You blinked at him, not having expected him to be so bold. You didn't hate it though, you felt the twinge of realising you were going to miss something that could have been good. Could have been great, probably. The last time you had sex had been … sad. And disappointing. Still, you hadn't come out to meet anyone tonight, why the sudden rush of despondency? These were old work colleagues you rarely saw, and you figured it would be a night of catching up before six months of not seeing each other because life got in the way.

Then Harry asked for your number. Asked if you'd go out with him the next night. He didn't beat around the bush with it, he wanted to see you again and told you so. The way you said you would filled him with relief but also fear. Harry knew he'd need to really deliver with you, he couldn't half-arse it. He was terrified he'd overshoot it and lose the change to be someone who impressed you.

He settled on a Sunday evening picnic where the two of you ate takeaway on a beach towel at the top of a park halfway between your houses. Something told Harry you would be happier with him underplaying the date than you would be getting taken to an expensive, showy restaurant. You wore jean shorts and a long sleeve jumper which churned his body more deeply than the dress with the split from the night before. He was hooked.

"Do you not like olives?" Harry asked, sucking the oil off his fingers after just depositing one into his mouth. You instantly loved the way the inflection of his words rose at the end of his sentences, and you'd mock him for it your whole relationship.

You looked at the plastic container sitting between you, you'd been picking at the cheese and crackers, the antipasto was not your thing, "They don't seem like something humans should eat … Salty and rubbery with a tiny stone on the inside? No, thanks."

A laugh burst out of Harry's mouth as he picked up another green olive, "More for me then."

"I'm happy about the rosemary in these though," you held up a cracker before digging it into the hummus, a plastic-stemmed wine glass with a dry rose in your free hand, "You got the fancy ones."

"Only the best," Harry returned with a smile and then went on trying to playfully wedge more information from you about the secret poetry Instagram he was convinced you had. He was already feeling buzzed from the wine, but more from the way you kept looking at him and he couldn't catch a hint of you being anything other than yourself.

You didn't go home together that night either, despite The Kiss at the end next to his car. Despite Harry's hands on the back of your thighs as things got heated. The way the tips of his fingers feathered against the elastic of your knickers, just slipping under before pulling away. Your chests heaving together in a rhythm you'd never found with anyone else.

He felt like he had just auditioned for a part he wasn't sure yet that you were going to give him. Wine always heightened his anxiety, so Harry also wanted to appear controlled and measured. He wanted to be as thoughtful as you were. As connected to himself as you were to all your wonderful opinions and facts. There was some part of him that feared taking you home too soon might risk that being the only night Harry got. So he pulled away, kissed your cheek and promised to call you later on.

Somewhere along the line, Harry decided he wanted more than a little bit. He was greedy. Harry wanted the whole pie all to himself.

That was a theme, him wanting more. Even now, months since you've seen or heard from him. Harry always knew how to get you to take that one step out of your comfort zone, take that little bit extra risk. Letting go of him in one way felt like small release valve finally letting go. A tiny bit of your safety net tucking closer around you. A little quiet moment to take stock and check every part of you was still connected, still there. A deep breath in. A short pause of calming silence. Like getting your heart back … But then finding it didn't fit in your chest the same way anymore.

So you found it particularly cruel to have received a follow-up email from his assistant this week, checking to see if you were able to attend his show tonight.

The show that six months ago Harry drew you a mock ticket for and hand-delivered to you sitting outside in his garden with a tea and a biscuit. Even then, even as his girlfriend, you'd feigned not knowing if you could say whether you would attend. Now it felt foreboding, the way you'd pulled your features together thoughtfully and told Harry you'd have to see closer to the date. You waited just long enough for him to switch over into thinking you were serious before you laughed and told him of course and where else would I be?

Where else would I be, was right, in a sense. Because this is still your city, and you're here tonight. It's not his anymore. He moved soon after you broke up … Relocated to one of his—what was it you used to mockingly call them?—" location" homes. Houses you never saw in person. Places he never took you. Either Italy or France. Somewhere he could hide, be creative, recenter himself. All three of those things filled you with dread for different reasons.

Were you really going to go tonight though? Walk in through the front door of the venue with a ticket and barcode on your phone, sit in a crowd and listen to Harry for two hours? Look at him from across the room and just take it on the chin?

It certainly seemed you were dressed for it. And you were out of the house with time to get there. Would you get off the train at the stop though? Would you walk down the street with the bright sign his name lit up? Would Harry even know if you didn't go?

Part of you wonders if his assistant didn't mean to email you. Maybe she forgot you were no longer in Harry's life? Perhaps it was a scheduled email she forgot to stop? Probably it was Harry just being fucking nice, and polite, and worrying about how you'd feel if you were uninvited. Or if he didn't check in on you while he was here.

You accepted the reminder too easily and scolded yourself for it. His team was expecting you. Harry was expecting you. And now, sitting on the train and counting down the stops you felt caught. Felt like he had you again, even if it was just winning whatever tonight was.

Harry did always enjoy the chase. Admitted it himself, admitted to loving the beginning of meeting someone. Loving the audition process, the figuring each other out, the get. The Catch.

You wonder now if it was the chase he liked back then. Was it a thrill having you make him feel as though he had something to prove? Or was it Harry experiencing for the first time not having the upper hand, not having even the tiniest amount of weight around who he was count for anything. Now it felt like Harry was nothing but upper hand.

Whatever it was—the Chase, or your endless facts, pancakes on a Sunday morning—the part of Harry's lie about you being different that hurts the most is the way you bought into it so proudly. Wore it later as his girlfriend like a badge of honour. As though it signalled to others you'd been hard-won, and Harry was lucky to have you.

Different turned out to be such a dirty word.

Different turned out to mean nothing. To get you nowhere.

All different got you was Nothing To Him.

+

The second lie was that he saw a future with you.

Harry didn't shy away from talking about it. He made plans for you both.

Sometimes it was in the moments right before you both fell asleep at night, or in the final seconds before the kettle finished boiling. Always in some small window where his mind drifted and sat comfortably stagnant when all there was to think about was the next holiday you'd take together. Or what breed of dog you might have one day. Whether you wanted your kids to be close together in age or have larger age gaps between them. What you thought about silent retreats in Thailand.

He stored your answers away in the file full of you in his head or added them to the note on his phone with ideas for gifts for people or things going on in their lives he wanted to remember.

"My family have always had cats," he told you one night, fingers drawing circles around your bare kneecap, your naked thigh resting across his stomach, "When I'm settled I'd want to get a few of my own."

It was one of those hot summer nights no position felt comfortable for sleep, you raised your arms up over your head and stretched out further on the mattress, fingers dangling off the edge of the bed to feel the cold stream from the air conditioning unit above, "I don't trust cats. Isn't there something about them being evolutionarily build to hunt their owner?"

Harry turned his head to face you, "A fact for everything," he recited fondly, his common quip for your always having an answer for everything, "I'll let the cats hunt me, you'll be spared."

"As long as I can name them," you murmured, your eyes finally closing.

Close to three months later, an hour into unsuccessfully putting together a flat-pack shelving unit in Harry's garage, you heavily plopped yourself down on the concrete floor and hailed defeat. You tossed the small, silver Allen key onto the floor in Harry's direction and rested your chin in your palm.

A few minutes of watching his embittered attempts passed before he spoke.

"Hey Sulky, I can feel you looking at me," Harry was frowning at the short piece of timber in his hand, he was holding it next to what was supposed to be the base of the structure. This was your second attempt at pulling apart the shelves and starting again while you cursed the entire Swedish furniture empire. You were enjoying seeing Harry's stubborn frustration immensely.

He could be such a man sometimes.

"Yeah, 'cause you're hot," you said, mocking him dreamily.

"Ha ha," he drawled, rolling his shoulders back to try to regain his focus.

When he paused a moment later and looked up at you, his arms dropped as his brow softened and he let out a breath.

You grinned at him, "I'm pretty cute too, right?"

"All this shit is going to end up living on the ground because you're sabotaged the assembly!" He gestured wildly at the tools and spare paint colours for the house lying around you. His bike parts and the weird assortment of garden tools Harry collected were leaning against the wall waiting to be put on their new home as well, the shelf neither you nor Harry were skilled enough to put together.

"Baby," you began, but Harry waved you off, and you saw genuine frustration start to emerge on his face, "Okay! Okay, I'm sorry," you stressed, "Are you sure we're looking at this thing from the right way around? Maybe the designer meant for it to be wonky?"

He rolled his eyes at you. As if the mere thought anyone would design anything to look like the mess currently on the floor was purely preposterous—his temper for small frustrations on full display.

"Don't be rude!" You admonished, "It's a fucking shelf, we can do this, Harry."

It took you another hour and a half, but when it was done, Harry draped his arm around your shoulders, kissed you on the head and told you that you were the person he wanted by his side of all his future crisis. Someone to say to him, whatever the challenge was, it wasn't beyond him, wasn't something he couldn't handle or wasn't capable of.

You felt like you were floating that night.

It was one of those few times you could see your imprint on his life. See some evidence of it. There were shelves in his garage only there because you told him he needed storage there, and then you pushed him to keep trying assembling them. It was some proof you'd been in his life. An impression of your influence. A memory that would hover in his garage forever.

Two days after putting the shelves together, you and Harry had an argument about the plastic tubs he went off on his own to buy for all the loose bits and pieces he wanted to go on the shelves. You were annoyed he didn't purchase wooden ones, and he couldn't understand why it mattered that they were white plastic which would apparently be impossible to keep clean.

It's a garage, he thought, who's cleaning their garage?

And because arguments always dredge up things that they aren't supposed to, you made a jab about your relationship being secret.

You said something like, If I'd been able to come with you, we wouldn't be having this row!

Harry knew what you really meant straight away. You'd been together for more than nine months at that point, and nobody knew about it: nobody but your families and very very closest friends. There were no photos of Harry having lunch with you at a cafe, or of you walking a few steps behind him at the shops. Nobody had snuck a picture of you backstage at a show of his. He'd never appeared on your social media, even by suggestion, and Harry had never taken the risk including you on any private Instagram Stories.

Those photographs didn't exist, because those circumstances never had. There wasn't even a celebrity paper trail linking you to knowing Harry, let alone dating him. Harry didn't dedicate performances to you, or even to an unnamed significant other. You never got a song or an album dedication. Harry was so adamant on nobody getting wind of the relationship that sometimes it felt like … Like he enjoyed the sneaking around. The having a secret. (Later on, when you reflected on the relationship once it was over, you really weren't sure how there'd never been even one instance of you being seen coming or going from Harry's house. Hindsight made that feel suss to you.)

Most of the time you liked it, though, liked not having any fuss or interruption to your life but sometimes—a lot of the time—it felt like something silently eroding you from the inside—a silent acid eating your spirit.

But you'd never tell Harry that. Then anyway. Now … You're not sure what you'd tell him now.

The truth was a lot of the time you weren't sure how you'd managed to keep it going so long. Part of it was obvious, maybe, like not being in public together. But still, surely after being together months and having arguments about shelves you could afford a platonic appearing coffee trip or going for a run at the same time, together?

Instead, you'd gear up and run in opposite directions down his street. Or Harry would stay in the car while you went in for the coffee. You'd sit in a nosebleed seat if you went to a show, sneaking through some fire exit and into the main hallways of a venue with the public to get to it. You looked like a sad woman attending a gig on your own, not the girlfriend of the star.

Nobody would know you even knew the man up on stage. That you had something in the slow cooker at home for you both to eat when you got home, or that he'd stolen a tube of your favourite lip balm and had it in his blazer pocket for his set. Nobody would guess you made him late for the soundcheck with just a smile and the undoing of a zip.

Seeing him tonight would be just like it always was, you and Harry from across the room. But then not like always, because Harry wouldn't see you tonight. You wouldn't have the taste of a good luck kiss on your lips. Or the sound of Harry's warm-up in your ears. Yours was always an invisible connection that was kept invisible by design, and now being broken up, it looked no different than together. Not really.

Tonight though it would only be you seeing Harry. Like you see him on late-night talk show promotions and billboards. Like the times you get into an Uber, and his song is playing. How strange it feels, to have your heart crack in your chest again while also lifting somehow. Singing along with a song about you. Or hearing his laugh or even just Harry speaking, and being able to picture the exact expression that would go along with it.

Every raised inflection. Ever breathy giggle. Every brow crease at a thought that Harry was chasing or somehow unable to articulate. All of those turning into you picturing what he looked like every time he knew he was disappointing you. Every whined sorry and all the instances of him loving on you to move your mind away from his deficiencies.

"What's the plan for Y/N?"

If your relationship with Harry was a t-shirt, that would be the slogan across the chest. Those would be the words under the cartoon impression of you banging your head against a wall Harry's standing on the other side of.

How will Y/N get in? Who's staying behind with Y/N? Where will I meet up with Y/N?

There was always a question. Always a plan for you and it was decidedly separate to the plan for Harry. His team organised a second car or an earlier flight for you. A back entrance or some other smokescreen to keep you concealed. In the beginning, it felt like a kindness, but in the end, you were embarrassed by it. The bother, the way what started as a careful consideration for your wellbeing turned into something rotten that painted you a different colour to Harry and his public inner circle, the circle you were never invited or initiated into.

It was exhausting. But Harry assured you it was for the best.

You wonder what the future he saw for you really was though. How much further did Harry see a life like that going? A life with you perpetually operating under cover of darkness. A life of you decidedly not existing. Not really.

So when he said he saw a future with you, you're really not sure what Harry meant.

Did he mean one day he saw himself lifting the veil and telling the world he had a Someone? Or did he mean that he saw himself forever hiding you, forever living that lie?

Maybe he actually saw nothing.

Sometimes you could be convinced the fact Harry hid you was an action pointing to a more profound truth.

That the future he saw was an imagined indulgence; a convenience, and a comfortable lie. Comforting on a temporary level, like bowling alley bumper rails or the plastic covering on a new watch face. The fake sense of security—of protection, of immaculacy—was just that, artificial and temporary. It ceased to exist the minute you plucked the corner and pulled back the protective layer. Crashed as soon as the bumpers were flipped down.

You were a secret only Harry had any power over. He led from the front because you didn't know there was any other option. And in letting yourself be that, you made yourself easily dispensable.

Disposable. Replaceable. Erasable.

Which is precisely what happened when he left.

Harry left, and the You of the two of you ended. But more than any other relationship ever could, the silence that followed felt deadly. It wasn't just a relationship that once was, it was a relationship that never was. A year of your life made no imprint on his. Nobody looking at him could know there was anything—anybody—missing, and maybe that was the whole point.

Maybe that was the design of it.

+

The third lie was that you could tell him anything.

Harry's golden rule always was honest communication.

There's no such thing as an overshare, he'd say when you naturally hesitated.

He was all about that. All about hearing what was worrying you, or the mundane things that were going on in your world. Sometimes you felt like maybe it was an act because nobody had ever found your family, or your friends, or your life in general as interesting as Harry seemed to. He was always telling you he loved hearing the funny text conversations going on, or who was having a row and why, or what each of your friends was stressed about in their jobs or relationships or themselves. And Harry always said he loved hearing it from you the most.

(Now, that struck you as a strange thing to say. Where else would he hear anything about you? Harry was the only line connecting you back to him. You didn't have mutual friends or people who'd known you both before you dated each other. There was nobody for Harry to hear anything from. It's not like your friends were going to reach out to him with gossip about you. Not like how you could sneak a look at update accounts or read about his performance online while he was away.)

Still, you loved the stories he told from the road, ate them up. The missing coffee mugs where everyone got their caffeine fix served in wine glasses and lemonade tumblers for almost two whole weeks. And then the tour t-shirts accidentally ordered in bulk in children's sizes that Harry hand-delivered them to a local children's charity. The crumbs of gossip Harry picked up about who in his team was sweet on who (he loved a setup, loved watching crushes silently and awkwardly orbit around each other).

Your secrets were safe with him, he promised. He wouldn't ever judge you. Wouldn't dismiss your feelings or what kept you awake at night next to him. So you did it. You believed him. And you slowly drained everything inside of you into him. Harry got all your stories, even the ones you vowed to leave exactly where they sat in your past. Even the ones you felt like might kill you to dredge back up. The ones that made you look like a shitty friend or sister or daughter. He got them all.

And even now, he's still got them.

"What's the biggest lie you ever told?" He asked you one night in his kitchen, both of you elbow deep in making dinner. Harry rolled out the lines of gnocchi and cut the inch long pieces while you pressed them over a fork to decoratively indent them. (Although Harry likes to tell you how when he was in Italy he learned in patterns weren't just aesthetic—it was all about soaking up more of the sauce, For the sauce, of course! He'd sing out in an Italian accent, proud of himself.) "Like, a proper lie," he clarified, "Not like how you told my mum you didn't take sugar in your tea when you first met her."

You hinged your knee out to attack his calf for the teasing comment but then rolled your lips together in thought, "I lied to my parents a lot growing up," you told him honestly. "I think about eighty per cent of the time I wasn't where I told them I was. Definitely wasn't with who I said I was with."

Harry shook his head as he rolled out the next lump of dough, "No, I mean like … Like a lie."

A moment passed as you thought more deeply about the question, travelled around your memories until you landed somewhere suitable, "I lied to my boyfriend at university," you begin. "A pretty bad one, I guess."

"And the lie was …" Harry prompts.

"I told him I was a virgin before him."

Harry eyes raised, and then he nodded, accepting it, "I think that's probably a common one, really."

"I thought he'd like me more if I said it," I admitted quietly, pausing the work with your hands. "Wasn't too proud of losing my virginity in a tent in the sixth form … And I mean, at that age you just so desperately want to be the version of you that you think the people around you will like the most. A whole group of us went camping at someone's grandparent's farm during the summer holidays. Not sure how our parents let us, to be honest. Anyway, I had awful, painful, embarrassing sex in a tent with a guy named … Dylan Fraiser."

You were surprised by how long the name took to come to you. Years ago, that was such a defining event in your life. Now it hardly mattered at all anymore.

Progress, you thought.

"A tent," Harry winced.

"Really came back to bite me in the arse when my uni boyfriend went on to tell a group of his mates he was my first and—

—Tent Guy was one of them?" Harry guessed. Correctly.

"Yep. Small towns are a curse."

"I promise never to have sex with you in a tent," Harry teased, grinning at you over his wine glass and then leaning over to kiss your temple. He looked down at the line of gnocchi pieces you'd made together proudly, "We're alright at this."

"Hmmm," you hummed, now lost in the past, "I told that uni boyfriend him I loved him … I didn't though," you say without thinking, shrugging as the words came out, "I thought he was boring. But it was cool to have a boyfriend, so I didn't break up with him … Guess I've told more whoppers than I thought."

Harry gives you an understanding look, "I've said I love you to protect someone's feelings too. Thought it might come a little later, that I was just not feeling it as quickly as them."

It should have made you question whether Harry meant I love you with you. But it didn't. He was speaking in the past tense, and you were imaging that version of him being younger than the almost thirty-year-old you were dating. Now though … You wonder what love meant to Harry when you were together. Whether your wires were crossed by different definitions. Even now, you couldn't vilify him. Not completely. He was too thoughtful in general, there'd be a reason for it. There always was with Harry.

"What's your biggest lie?" You turned the exercise back on him, smiling as he refilled your wine glass and skipped a few songs on the playlist. These were your favourite moments with Harry. The end of the day, where you were the only thing on his to-do list. There wasn't a lingering work call, or a meeting to prepare for, an email to reply to. Harry was just finishing his day with dinner and some time at home. With you.

Harry gave you a withering look, "I think you know already."

"I don't," you said because you really didn't, "What was it?"

"There's no way I'll ever do anything else with The Band," he said tonelessly as he turned to rinse his hands in the sink, unable to look at you while he said it. And even then, Harry didn't admit to the lie. Didn't name it. He just said what the truth was instead.

"Why wouldn't you?" You asked, instead of what you were sure Harry thought you'd ask.

You weren't interested in why he told that particular lie though, the answer to that was pretty apparent to you: he cared about his fans—they all did—and didn't want to disappoint them. And they probably hadn't been able to deal with thinking about the ripples ending it completely, right off the bat, would have caused. Saying you were taking a break was a much nicer way to let a world of fans down. An easier pill to swallow than 'We're done' straight off the bat.

You gave Harry time to respond. He fiddled with the gnocchi pieces in front of him, waiting for the water to boil in the pot behind you both, "Not sure, really."

He was lying now, and you could tell. He was ashamed of the truth.

"You're not sure?"

"I just wouldn't, there's no one reason. No big thing. It's not like I hate them all or anything, I just …"

There was one big thing, though. And it was typical Harry to not be able to name it. He was always so in denial about his own arrogance, about what it was that drove him. Harry thought he was above them. His success since The Band far outweighed anything any of the others had done. Going back to that would be diminishing for Harry's career. Wouldn't help him any. He was stronger on his own, more successful. More widely appreciated. That chapter of his life was done, it had been a stepping stone—yes, a life-defining one—but Harry had moved to bigger and brighter stages on his own.

"It's not what you think," he told you lowly when you didn't ask anything further.

It was so typical of Harry to not see the forest for the trees. To not see how he, yet again, was blurring and confusing the lines between a business decision and an emotional, personal one. He was speaking about The Band emotionally, but his reason for distancing himself from it was all to do with business.

"It's not?" You asked plainly.

"I don't think I'm better than them or some shit," Harry said, "I just … That part of me is done. I'm not who I was back then, and I don't want to go back to that person."

"You also wouldn't get anything out of it," you prod, knowing that you shouldn't have. But it was true. So much of Harry's life was a business decision. Everything was so carefully done, so deliberately set into place by him and his team that results and his successes were almost guaranteed.

At the time, you didn't understand how he couldn't see it. Or you couldn't believe that he didn't. He was so calculating, and he hated you telling him so. But he was. He liked to say he wasn't defined by his job, but Harry's whole life was defined by his career, by the who he was.

He loved to spout off his public shit about staying grounded and having a life away from being Harry Styles ™, but he didn't let anyone see even a skerrick that life. The only thing Harry ever let be projected about him was his job, that was all was ever on the table for discussion. And so it was hardly surprising that became who he was away from the cameras and lights as well.

Hiding you was a business decision, you figured out in the aftermath of The End. It was his way of keeping the narrative about his music and career on track. As soon as there was a You, Harry's private life would distract from his real focus and goal, his career. And you mean, it's not like it didn't work for him. Because here you were, standing outside in the chilly night looking at his name up in lights.

Harry's name always looked so good up on billboards and the fronts of stadiums. You always used to tell him even the letters of his name were visually pleasing, they looked good together, like they fit. So you stand on the street across the road from tonight's venue and take it in—HARRY STYLES, SOLD OUT—for several minutes.

You don't know that you're ready for this. Seeing him. You've so perfectly avoided it until now. Until you felt like there was a promise you made lifetimes ago you now can't break. Even if you felt like he'd broken a thousand promises between the two points in time.

Where else would I be? you'd said when he first drew that stupid mock ticket.

Where else, indeed.

You scuttle across the street and sneak between people to get yourself in through the doors. Dodging lenders selling merchandise and ticket holders excitedly covering their painstakingly planned outfits with t-shirts Harry—aided by his perfectionism, you were sure— probably spent months deciding on.

The barcode won't scan though. And the usher at the door doesn't appreciate you pulling your phone back and trying to adjust the backlight, as though that will help the loud, angry sound his scanner is making each time he aims it at the email on your screen. He eventually reads part of your email and then tells you that you need to stand off to the side, barks something gruffly into his walkie talkie and dismisses you in favour of getting through the backlog of people behind you. You're filled with a white-hot embarrassment as you shuffle over and stand under a neon EXIT sign. A moment later you step forward and ask him to try again, but that doesn't get you anywhere different, and you think you're going to get in some kind of trouble when he insists Just stand back over there for a moment.

Your feet have already started hurting in your too-tight boots when finally the wall behind you opens up, and you very quickly come face to face with Harry's assistant.

"Y/N," she smiles, "I thought I said in the email to call me when you got here?"

You're dumbstruck, you didn't read the email, not properly. "I … I …"

"It's good to see you again," her smile hasn't moved, and it's genuine. She reaches one hand out towards you and deposits a VIP lanyard around your neck, "Follow me."

You get halfway down the emergency exit, and she sidesteps a security guard through a doorway, leading you into the veins of the backstage area where there's a familiar buzz of busy people you'd not realised you missed being around until now. Your heart is racing because you weren't prepared for this. You'd been deliberately dragging your feet getting here, and you've arrived barely fifteen minutes before Harry's due to go on stage. She's walked you right to the side of the stage where there's a curtain just to your left and scaffolding all around. You can hear the audience, and you know that one step through that curtain will take you to the pit side of the stage, where you'd seen Harry's family stand during shows before.

"He wanted to say hi beforehand but," his assistant looks at her watch, "But it's a touch too close now so are you okay if I leave you here for just a second? I'll be back in …" her eyes go back to her wrist, "Probably about twenty-five?"

"That's fine," you nod dumbly. "Are you sure this okay?"

You're looking around wondering if this is where Harry meant you to be. Really, you're sure this isn't where he intended you to watch his show at all. A few people are milling around but nobody you recognise, and you figure the majority of them are probably venue employees. Harry and his band would only walk through here at the very last second. He didn't like standing around beforehand with anyone who wouldn't be on stage with him. Harry got in his zone and needed to stay there.

When you look back at his assistant she's giving you a look you don't want to read too deeply, but it almost looks like pity, "Of course," she tells you, "I'll be back by the end of the first song."

"I might go stand through here now," you point to the curtain, preferring the thought of standing in the dark by yourself than waiting for Harry to walk straight past you during his thirty-second countdown. "Is that okay?"

You get a nod, and she tells you to grab a drink off the table behind you. Leaving you with your heart rattling and the heaviest lanyard you've ever worn burning through your shirt to your chest.

Finding a spot to watch the show was easy. You picked the furthest side of the pit, under the concrete overhand of the seats above, and stand in the shadows, only half the stage in your line of sight. It felt like a little cave almost, and you lean your back against the cold concrete and tap your boots together on the ground below you.

The area starts filling around you as members of Harry's team finish their part in preparing him for the show. There are a few women wearing belts with makeup brushes and combs peaking out of them, and two familiar faces from Harry's executive team. They don't see you, though, and you're glad. You watch the roadies' torches flash on the dark stage as they neaten up leads and manoeuvre over amp boxes double-checking the guitars are in the right order for the sets.

There's a movement in your periphery that draws your attention back, the group of people who joined you in the pit all gravitating towards something back at the curtain. And it's not until one of them steps to the side that you see the floating head that's poking through the dark material.

Harry.

He's staring right at you: no expression on his face, just his searching, green eyes that stop when they see you standing in the dark as far from him as you can possibly be. He takes half a step forward, and the shoulder of an expensive suit peeks out. You hear in your head echos of a moment in Harry's living room unpacking a delivery from Gucci, the way you nearly choked on your tea at the cost of a tailored trouser and his half frustrated dismissal, 'It's nothing, that's standard for me.' You felt small at that moment, thinking about how one of Harry's suits could pay for your education for a year, and that would be nothing for him.

You feel small now too. This isn't the space you're supposed to occupy.

The shadow of a frown barely cross his features, but then Harry tries to pull his dimples up to give you a small smile. But it's testing, it's not a confident smile or one he looks sure he's giving. Like he's smiling at someone he's not sure will smile back.

There's no way I'll ever do anything else with the band, he'd said.

But that wasn't the biggest lie he'd told, just the most public, the widest.

His deepest, biggest lie was you.

+

The fourth lie was that he loved you.

Harry was the one to say it first.

It came out like a compliment. A response to a fact of yours he'd particularly liked. A sort of well done, that was a good one.

It was nearly two months since you'd met, and what started as three or four dates a week morphed into you staying at Harry's house most nights. You spending your weekends off work trailing around after him on his errands or to work things, or hanging out alone at his place until he returned from them. A couple of times, you went to the same exercise class, which involved the two of you going separately and not interacting at all. Still, you'd peek at him from across the room and have to hold your giggles for later when Harry spent the hour concentrating beyond anything you'd ever seen just to stay in the seat of the spin bike.

Saturdays and Sundays he started taking off too though, around a month into dating you. No more 6am weekend PT sessions or midday conference calls with creative teams. The only work Harry allowed himself to do on weekends was housework. Laundry. Food prep. Touching base with his mum.

"Did you know blueberries are actually false berries?"

"No, I did not know blueberries are actually false berries," Harry parroted back to you. You catch the half rolling of his eyes at you where you're sitting up in your favourite spot on the bench next to the hob, peering at him keeping careful watch over breakfast: blueberry pancakes. He was wearing just his pants, chest bare and cool in the autumn morning air. You were rugged up in leggings and a sweater, unsure how he could stand being in such a state of undress.

"It's true," you reaffirmed your tidbit, popping a false berry into your mouth while Harry—with far too much concentration for the job at hand—dropped the small round berries on top of the batter sizzling in the pan. "Berries by definition are fleshy, pulpy ovary fruits that have their seeds embedded on the outside. Blueberry seeds are on the inside. So they aren't really berries."

"Ovary fruits?" He questioned, with a look of mild distaste.

Your shoulders dropped as you realised Harry knew less than you thought he did, "All fruit are ovaries, Harry. Think about it."

He does for a moment, and you can practically see the cogs turning. Harry thinking about how fruit grows on their plants and bushes and shrubs. The fact of what an ovary is when it comes to basic anatomy. And when he comes to the full circle of it, he groans, "That is so weird."

"I think it's cool," you grinned. "Like a little bit cannibalistic in a way."

He barked out a laugh at that, "I don't think that's what it is."

"Well, maybe not technically," you conceded, "But it's something … Really makes you rethink eating eggs."

"Oh my god," Harry was truly laughing then, "Stop, please."

"Sorry," you peeped with a cringed look, tossing back half a handful of the small, round fruit in front of you.

He was shaking his head at you, laughter bubbling out between his perfectly straight teeth, and then it just slipped out, "Fuck, I love you."

The words didn't bump over any hesitation. I love you, Harry said.

Your stomach dropped instantly, but the fond happiness dancing across Harry's face didn't go anywhere. He didn't look back at the pancakes or to where your hands were wringing together on your lap. Harry held your gaze and didn't dodge away from what he said at all. Like he knew you'd need a moment with it, that you weren't expecting him to just come out with that.

"I love you," he repeated after a moment, smiling when he saw your lips start to turn up, "I mean it."

Hearing him yell the same words through the microphone from stage sizzles your heart a little, like the pancakes that day crackled in the pan as Harry pushed himself into you on the kitchen floor. You remember the feeling of his hands under your clothes, your leggings barely halfway down your thighs before he was claiming you in a wave of lust, pushed by the new, invisible force in your relationship—love.

The floor under you now vibrates as everyone gets to their feet to join Harry dancing through his first song. You stare at him, daring him to look over at you but knowing he won't. The longer you stand there, the more you thaw out to it, the more you find yourself with a smile on your face and a slight sway to your hips. His music is fun and familiar and feels like clicking into place.

It's mesmerising. He's mesmerising.

You don't like admitting you'd forgotten how good at this he was. He has the whole crowd eating out of the palm of his hand. Even his crew around you are grinning ear to ear and singing along. Sharing private jokes between them and cutting dance moves in small groups as they watch the show. It's fun. And it reminds you that so much of your relationship with Harry was like that. That there were countless nights spent dancing in the living room or screaming at laptop screens doing board game nights with his family.

You'd forgotten that you could laugh so hard your belly hurt and that Harry was one of the few people who'd ever been able to get you to that point of joy. Watching him throw joy off the stage now at thousands of people was reminding you how very good Harry was—used to be—at making you feel like the only person in the world to him.

"Babe," his giggles filtered down the hallway and into the bathroom where you were plucking your eyebrows, "Babe! Come … Come see this."

You rolled your eyes as you put the tweezers down and padded into his living room, not at all surprised to see Harry pretzeled on his yoga mat in a fit of laughter. He did this a lot, called you away from a task or from work for something hilarious that ninety-nine per cent of the time wasn't hilarious at all. You'd end up snorting out laughter of your own though, at him.

Now, Harry had one of his feet hooked behind his neck while the other was prostrate on the floor behind him.

"You're doing great, baby," you condescended lightly, tilting your head to the side and frowning at his position. It looked awful and not at all calming, let alone comfortable. He wasn't a very good advertisement for yoga at all.

"They say this one's great for—great for," he giggled too much to get the words out, his arms holding his torso back so his legs would do what he wanted them to, he took a deep breath, "It's meant to be the yoga colonic."

Harry was heaving with laughter as he finally got it out, his position faltered, and you watched as his limbs all fell back to the mat as he leant forward cackling. You were grinning too, amused by how amused he was.

"Been feeling backed up, have you?" You asked him, crossing your arms as you hitch one hip out.

He rolled over on his back and wheezed out the final string of laughter, one hand holding his lower tummy as if it ached from the whole spectacle, as his other hand reached out for your ankle, "Come down here with me."

"Hmm," you hummed, pretending to be unhappy to be dragged down on top of him, your hips resting on his thighs as your chin propped up on your hands at his chest, "It's very entertaining how entertaining you find yourself," you mused.

Harry rubbed the tears from his eyes and then settled his hands on your back, breathing in the pleasant weight of you there, "I just—I was thinking about what they think the yoga colonic is going to do." His giggles started again, "Imagine being in a class and it literally working? Everyone just—everyone just shits themselves!"

You can feel his laugher, his bones pushing yours up as his whole body fills with his happiness. The stream of tears coming from the corners of his eyes start again as he squeezed his eyes shut while the sound of Harry's deep, uninhibited laughter filled the whole house again.

The memory brings back a smile, like so many with Harry do.

But there's still the Too Fresh Sting of your final moments with him, your last moments with him. You've not seen him since that evening months ago where you both yapped at each other things that couldn't be unsaid, unhappinesses that couldn't be reverted or unadmitted. It wasn't like the fights you had about Harry's casualised view of money and how he'd drop thousands of pounds on seemingly nothing without thinking how small it could make you feel. Or the times you'd snap in frustration when Harry tuned out of you complaining about an issue with your friends he deemed as superfluous or rooted in something silly or not as essential as the Important Thing He Was Planning. He could be so dismissive when he didn't think something mattered highly enough on his scale of measuring things.

The Harry dancing around on stage in front of you wasn't the man who said you were independent like it was a dirty word. Yelled across the kitchen that it was too easy for the two of you to be apart, you didn't miss him enough. The man who told you he didn't feel like you needed him, thought you were always standing with one foot out the door the whole time you were together. And you can remember being flabbergasted (still are, really) by what he was saying because it just wasn't true at all. You? Too independent? You spent every night at his house, and were at Harry's beck and call the whole relationship. And you can hear all the times you said 'what would I do without you?' when he talked you off a ledge or had answers to questions you believed to be unanswerable.

You can see how it was another classic example of Harry telling a non-truth to cover up what was really there. To distract from his own shortcomings. He accused you of what he was feeling, of his flaws. Making them your problem meant he didn't have to be vulnerable. Didn't have to take a risk his business manager hadn't guaranteed. Didn't have to gamble on your future together.

In the relationship, he always had the upper hand. And maybe you did have one foot out the door emotionally, but that was only because you had to. Harry never invited you in with him completely. You were always on the outer. After nearly a year of dating you were still The Girlfriend He Didn't Have.

But I fucking love you, he'd said when he sensed where that night was going. Like Harry had a list of grievances, and it wasn't until he got to the end of reading them out to you that he realised where it landed him. He told you he loved you as though it would erase all the things about you he seemed to dislike so much. Things about yourself you apparently couldn't see.

Hindsight has taught you that if anyone was too independent, or hesitant to commit fully in that relationship, it was Harry.

Halfway through his set, Harry's assistant comes over to check on you, and you end up chatting for a few minutes about how you've been. She speaks to you like there was some club you were a member of and she missed your meetings. Although neither of you references the breakup, or acknowledge in another life you had a lot more to do with each other, the unspoken things weigh on your chest. You find yourself wiping away a quiet tear when she walks back over to the main group watching Harry.

Of course, that's when he teeters over to your side of the stage and looks straight at you. His expression falls instantly, and you're sure that he only meant to glance at you in passing, but what he sees has him doing a double-take and fixing his gaze on you for two lines of the song he's midway through. He tugs on the collar of his shirt and Harry's eyes are desperately trying to read what you're thinking, just like that day he told you he loved you at the end of the breakup, as though you'd forget everything that came before it.

You stick your thumb out to him and give him your best fake smile. Like he might be led to believe you were crying about something else. As if you hadn't just pulled his attention from a room full of people who'd paid for his attention tonight. At that moment you think the fact there's a secret love and life between you must be too obvious to everyone else. There's a connection, something whirls around the room between you and it feels threatening and perilous to how you've been trained to think things have to be.

You wait until Harry turns and goes the other way across the stage before you push off from the wall and walk out.

At first, love was an encouragement between you. It was approval, a showing of appreciation. Love was a promise that was just for the two of you. A declaration that validated everything you were doing together. Love was a feeling that proved what every action meant.

Then, love was a bandaid, was a line used in desperation to fix something unfixable, and you walk the world with skun knees now because of it. Love was never just love. It was used to fix the wrong things.

And in the end, nothing healed at all.

+

The fifth lie was that he'd always fight for you.

Harry promised you that the two of you would make it work.

You'd make up after every argument, big or small. The little ones that were those tiny bickerings in the car which somehow roared into yelling matches. Or when one person's grumpiness from the day leaked into your evening together. You always expected his call or the long sigh that would precede his apology. You never got halfway home to your house if you left his after a row. He'd call and beg for you to come back, that nothing was worth you physically leaving being near him. You left knowing before the night was done the two of you would reconcile.

Until it was That Fight you were leaving after. The one that began The End.

It started because Harry was overseas for a few weeks. While he was away, you suggested the two of you going on a holiday together during the summer. An anniversary trip. From the other side of the world, it was easy enough for Harry to worm his way of out of it. He went off on a tangent about there being no holidays (rest) for the wicked and then got you talking about something else until you forgot how you'd been sold on the idea of lying on a beach with him for a week.

When Harry got home, you had it stored in an unhappy little pocket in your mind. Top of the agenda for when he returned.

"Can we talk about the holiday thing again?" You asked his first night home.

He sighed against you, his body gearing up for a reunion that didn't involve speaking, lips attached to your neck while his hands danced around the band of your bra, "Do we have to right now?"

"Well," your instinct was to back away from the tension rising between you, "I'd like to."

Harry pushed his hair up off his face and briefly looked at the ceiling, "I don't see how we can, babe. It's too hard, logistically. Just take a week off work and stay with me here."

"I already stay here," you counter, "I'm talking about a holiday somewhere. A beach. Or a ski resort. Something fun and different."

"Those places are all busy," Harry complained, his hands off you. He started to pack the dishwasher from dinner.

"I just want to go away with you, do something normal, you know?"

He clipped the side of the sink with a dinner plate and swore angrily under his breath, "Fuck."

"Don't get angry."

"I'm not fucking angry," he growled, tossing your forks into the plastic crate, "I just fucking got home, and you're straight into this. No 'I missed you so much' or 'It's so great to see you'… Just straight into going on a holiday as if I have endless time to mess about."

"What do you mean? We've just eaten dinner together, you told me all about your trip. I said I was happy to have you home!"

"Yeah, well, feels like you just don't give a fuck that I'm back."

You frowned at him starting to get annoyed yourself, "I cried on our FaceTime call on the weekend because I missed you! You have a lobotomy since then?"

"Don't yell," Harry instructed quietly like he was chastising a child for not controlling themselves.

"What's this about, Harry?" You asked. "Why is it such a crime for me to want to go away with my boyfriend?"

He sighed again, "It's not."

"Right," you crossed your arms over your chest and wondered how many times he could wipe down the chopping board.

Probably one more time.

"So …"

"So what?" Harry repeated, "What do you want from me?"

His words and their harshness shocked you, and that was the exact moment you started worrying this was going to turn into Something Else. Not just a Normal Fight.

"I want you to tell me why you're so annoyed by this?"

It would have been so easy for you to break down and scream about how insane it was that you were talking about celebrating your first anniversary with him and the relationship was still a secret. How badly you wanted to throw that out there, but there was a wise fear in you which said that would be a death wish. (That fact haunts you today, how you knew he'd never step out with you. There wasn't any hope in you or promise from him it wouldn't always be that way. You knew your place and where the boundary line was, don't push past this point. And you always behaved. Never peeped out of your box.)

"It's like you don't even need me," Harry said bitterly, "You're so fucking independent. What's the point?"

"What are you talking about?" You gushed, nearly swallowing your tongue when he turned back to look at you for the first time.

"You don't need me," he accused, "You've always got one foot out the door."

"I don't," came your defence, but you both knew it was the truth. You were halfway out the door because you hadn't been invited all the way in yet.

"You don't want this life with me," Harry shook his head, "You've never been happy where we are. Relationships don't work that way, you can't just keep demanding the same thing hoping you'll wear me down. That's not fair."

Tears shake out of your eyes slowly as your body catches up with what he's saying, "Harry."

"It's not fair!" He repeated loudly. "You can't keep on about it."

About what? You want to ask him because you hadn't mentioned a holiday until the week before. That's not what he was really angry about. He was talking about The Secret. And his guilt was showing. His anger was misdirected, aimed at the wrong thing. He muttered something to himself you didn't hear.

"I didn't hear that."

"I said," Harry looked up at you, and when your eyes clicked together you saw surprise rise and then quickly disappear as if he hadn't expected to see you there. "I said, I don't think we can keep doing this."

"You don't think we can keep doing this?" You repeated it because the words hardly sounded like English the first time you heard them.

I don't think we can keep doing this.

Harry stood across from you with no expression on his face. And it took a few moments for him to own up to what he said, but he does. He nods his head once, awkwardly, and then nods again.

"We can't keep doing this," he tells you, sounding defeated, and then his voice rises again—in pitch, not in volume—"But I fucking love you!"

But I fucking love you.

As if that was enough.

It was days of you expecting a call, and a make up that never came. Expecting the fight for your relationship Harry promised you he'd always put up. You wanted him to prove that you were someone he couldn't do without. You hated the thought of him walking around his house and not feeling the absence of you as some impossible weight he couldn't bear.

"Y/N!" Your name sounds out behind you, but you keep walking, an instantaneous decision that pretending not to hear her might work.

Unsurprisingly, it doesn't.

Harry's assistant keeps chasing you down the hall she initially led you through, calling your name and eventually getting you to stop and turn around because, well, you can't keep pretending she's not there forever.

"I'm just finding a loo," you lie.

"There's one this way," she points over her shoulder, in the direction you both came from, "Harry said if you tried to leave I had to go with you, which, for my own dignity I'd really prefer not to have to do."

You find yourself scoffing, "Who said he's in charge of how long I stay?"

Her expression softens somewhat, "He just wants to see you after."

How dare he think he can control this still, you think.

You know she's not the person to be frustrated with. You should be frustrated with yourself first, for coming, and then with Harry for deciding he could orchestrate this … This whatever it was. Still, you find yourself biting out your reply, "He saw me from stage," you tell her bitterly.

"And he'll have seen that you're not there anymore," she replies patiently,, "It'll throw off his focus if he's worried you've gone home halfway through."

You fall into step beside her but can't give him the win, "Quite frankly, it's not my concern or responsibility anymore if his focus is thrown or not."

She wordlessly points out where the bathrooms are just in front of you. You're trying not to make eye contact with anyone who's in these backstage hallways. They feel like ghosts from a life that's not yours anymore.

The first time you met any of Harry's People you'd felt absolutely mortified. The whole thing felt awkward to you, meeting assistants and managers and creative directors. Putting faces and humans to jobs done for Harry. He was a lot of people's boss, and it made you uncomfortable because you'd not seen that side to him before. You knew things like how hot he liked his showers and what yogurt he liked on his muesli in the morning.

That first—and only—step into his professional world, was in a venue just like this one where Harry was filming a music video for a few days. The stage was set up like it was for live a show, and you overheard someone saying setting up for a shoot was more involved than for an actual performance. Harry wanted you to see what this part of his world looked like and despite them not fitting in either of the Friends or Family categories you'd laid out for People Allowed To Know About You, his "Team" were people Harry felt safe introducing to you. (NDAs were a powerful thing) He led you through the hallways by the hand and stuck his head into every room with a cheery, 'Hullo, just bringing Y/N around to meet everyone.'

You remember one person declaring they were happy to be meeting you. Harry was too young to be married to his job, they said with a relieved tone, That it was good he'd found his Someone. Harry beamed at that, looking down at you as if thinking, Yeah, I have found my Someone.

Now you stand back in the pit side of stage, and Harry looks down at you with a hesitation that makes you more uncomfortable than when you were watching him film that music video. His assistant has brought you back to where his team are standing, and you feel more than one set of eyes take stock of you returning, a shared glance between a manager and the girl shadowing you. A wide-eyed exchange that says, That was the last thing we needed. When Harry comes to the side of stage between songs, he's hunting for a bottle of water, but you can see he's come to that side because his eyes are focused on hunting for you.

When he sees you've returned, he slowly takes a sip of water, eyes not leaving yours. You feel like he's admonishing you in his head, seeing how weak you were, that you ran away after a little eye contact. There's a distaste there, you think, and as he's putting the cap back on the bottle, Harry opens his mouth like he's going to try to say something to you, but he stops. He frowns at his hands as he puts the bottle down and then turns away, bringing the microphone back up to his lips and slipping back into entertainer mode.

"In a lot of ways, I hate this next song," he starts slowly, speaking over the band as they begin to slow down the tempo of the night. A smoke machine whirls to life and pumps out a few big clouds, shrouding the stage behind Harry. "I really hate it."

He pauses. And your insides freeze in your chest. You're hanging off his every word, just like every other body in the room. Harry stands right on the front of the stage, toes almost touching the drop off. He's looking out at the audience and lets the microphone hang at his side. Makes no move to keep talking. Was he looking for someone out there, or was he running over what he was about to say in his head? Rehearsing it, making sure it was exactly what needed to be said.

Where you used to see thoughtfulness you now see calculation.

Give nothing away. Sell only the product. Push the song. Let people come to their own conclusions.

"This is a song about," he says carefully, a crack to his voice that sends adrenaline shooting straight down your legs, "About regretting that you've hurt someone. And about the helplessness of wishing you could make them forget what you said, but … Knowing you can't take it back."

You watched Harry trail around to the upright piano on stage and sit himself down on the stool. He stares at his hands hovering over the keys for a moment too long, but you're sure Harry's audience would let him take a hundred more. You see what perhaps they don't—the hesitation. You'd witnessed it enough to spot it, even across the stage in the dark from thirty feet away.

He's not sure about playing the song.

You think about contacting him by telepathy. Saying, I'll leave so you can go back to your show. You don't have to pretend I'm not here, I'll just go. Like I wanted to. Like I tried to.

But he plays it.

You've not heard it before, but the rest of the room has, and they sing along with him. You hear a couple of thousand people sing with your ex-boyfriend about him regretting the way he treated you. And you're almost able to talk yourself out of believing it's about you, you can nearly reason with yourself that it's kind of vague. Other than naming the cafe he'd sat in the car park of a hundred times waiting for you to return with a takeaway, it could be about anyone, really.

But he sings out a line and looks straight at you, and his eyes say it's yours. The song. The apology that's not been said yet.

I get the feeling that you'll never need me again.

His voice cracks again as he sings it. And the hurt part of you says it's just a vocal technique Harry's trained to call on at any time. It doesn't speak to anything other than a creative choice on his part. But the vulnerability is hard to ignore, the low hanging, remorseful unease in the room. He fumbles a string of notes on the piano as he sings and you're hit by the overwhelming need to make him stop.

Witnessing whatever he's currently feeling with this song is more uncomfortable than you've ever been, and a switch in you to protect him flicks on. You look around at his assistant, his manager, trying to see if there's even a hint of anyone else feeling like this moment needs an intervention, needs to be stopped.

The song ends. And you're glad.

Harry takes a few moments on stage to get ready with a guitar for the next song. He doesn't come over to your side of the stage for a drink, or to ask the roadies for anything. Instead, he flies straight into the next section of the set. Seemingly recovered from the heavy moment you felt as though you nearly drowned in. He'd never sung about you before.

Nothing remotely personal about your relationship ever left Harry's house.

And you find yourself wishing it would all just go back there.

+

The sixth lie was that he wouldn't break your heart.

Harry did though.

He broke your whole life.

So when he comes off stage at the end of his gig, there's little in you that wants to hang around. As soon as the lights go down and you see Harry's silhouette cross the back of the stage and hop down the stairs to the floor, your gut churns, and you wish you were one of the people in the rest of the venue. The ones now turning and slowly filing out of the building. Going back to their lives peacefully.

Instead, you're ushered behind the curtain again, into the small area that's immediately buzzing with life. You watch Harry as if he's moving in slow motion though. As soon as his boots hit the concrete floor somebody is tugging the suit jacket from his shoulders and swapping it for a grey hand towel that he uses to wipe down his face. His hand pushes his hair up over his head as he smiles at a handful of people, and then his eyes find yours. The smile drops, and he takes a steadying breath in.

"Y/N," he says loudly. Straight. Without expression. It's a statement, but also you sense a question there too. As if you might not turn out to be the person who was standing there. He holds your gaze over and through the people walking around and in front of him. He's handed a bottle of water and offered a second one which he takes, "Y/N," he says again, pulling his head back to beckon you over.

You roll your lips together when you've made it to the vacant space in front of him. Harry passes you the extra water bottle and cracks the lid off the one he keeps for himself. You grip yours with both hands but don't make any move to open it. Standing in front of him didn’t feel like you thought it would. It’s less of a kick I in the gut, and more a reinforcing of things that you’d figured out since being without him.

"Hi," he says hesitantly, briefly looking at someone behind your left shoulder. Then, you feel his eyes back on your face.

You speak to his forehead, not ready to have things inside you unlocked by eye contact, "Hello."

"This way," Harry says after a moment, running the towel down his sweaty face again.

He leads you down a hallway, wiping his face on the towel two more times as he walks. Harry continuously looks over his shoulder at you to make sure you're still following him, as if there was somewhere for you to hide in the concrete hallway. When he gets to his dressing room door, he kicks it open and holds his arm out to let you in first. The room smells like his cologne, a whiff of his final moments before going out on stage and a time portal back to mornings you'd spritz it on yourself before leaving the house, it was your scent then too. There was a small sofa and table, a long mirrored table with his laptop open next to a stack of papers, his screen saver bouncing back and white photos across the locked screen. His overnight bag and its contents were sprawled out over the floor in the corner next to where you can see his phone charging.

"You look good," is the first thing he says to you. Trying to pull your attention probably. Maybe hoping to get on the front foot charming you. You could tell him he looked good as well, particularly in the cream suit they had him in tonight, but you were sure there were no shortage of people who already had.

"Your show was good," you deflect away from the personal, eyes tracing the bottles in the corner of the table, "Great setlist."

"Needs a shakeup, if we're honest. Getting stale," Harry shrugs, and you see it in the mirrored wall. He's still standing by the closed door, watching you walk into the centre of the room and take stock of what's around you. "How have you been?"

"Fine."

Harry coughs uncomfortably, "Thanks for coming, wasn't sure you would."

"I wasn't sure either."

You sense Harry realising this conversation was going to be exactly as difficult as feared it might be, he nods his head and moves over to the sofa but doesn't sit down, "Did you want a seat?"

"I'll sit here," you perch yourself on the chair in front of his laptop, crossing one leg over the other and hitching your elbow at the back so you're facing Harry. Keeping the room between you.

Harry sits on the arm of the small, burgundy sofa, and tosses the towel onto the seat next to him, "Looked like you were a little upset there for a moment."

"My boots are new," you quip, kicking your top foot out towards him, "Blisters."

He sighs again, and you start to feel chastised, but there's a more substantial part of you that stubbornly bunkers on down to playing this role, taking power when you'd never had it with Harry before. He knew it wasn’t blisters that had emotion welling up in you during his set. But just the same it wasn’t his place anymore to be privy to your feelings. And you weren’t going to let him gallantly try to take it. You weren’t old friends who could pick up where you left off. You were broken lovers.

"I just thought we could do with talking," Harry says finally.

"You could have uninvited me, you know, I assumed—Well, it's not like I've been expecting to still attend any of your shows the last six months. This one didn't have to be different."

He almost looks hurt, "You live here."

"How was Italy, Harry?” you turn the conversation around abruptly because you didn't like where it was going, and he was starting to frustrate you. You didn’t need him pointing out you lived in this city alone now since he left. As if you didn’t know.

Where watching him on stage hit you with longing and heartbreak, memories you found yourself irrevocably attached to, being in the same room as him now is only making you see the real Harry. The one who's so good at rearranging the energy in the room to make you feel you need to give more of yourself. The one who's an expert at asking a leading question and relying on the other person to be vulnerable first, lead the charge out the gates.

The man who lied to hide you every day for nearly a year, even when it was hurting you more than protecting you. The hurt from him was worse than the invasion of your privacy would have be. The distrust you felt didn't counteract the security you were still afforded by anonymity. The way you felt you still had something to prove—something to earn from him—and that you just needed to earn the right to your place in Harry's life.

"I've missed you," he said finally, "Just …"

"You've been lonely?" You raise your eyebrows at him.

"What?" Harry's defences click into place, "No, it's not that—obviously yes, I've been lonely—but also I just—I miss you."

You start nodding, and your gaze drifts around the room, "Yeah, I … What exactly do you miss, Harry? Because—I mean, it was kind of shit, don't you think?"

"Shit?" he looks horrified, "What was shit?"

"Harry," you say simply, telling him to cut the bullshit with your expression. "Come on."

"I loved you," he declares loudly, proudly, “We had a great time together. I don't think it was kind of shit at all."

That's when you feel tears come to your eyes. Of course he didn't think it was shit. He still didn't see where the problem was. Couldn't see it. He would go right back to That Fight and keep going the way you had been if he could. Harry would keep living that life with you, he would have kept on going the same way. You'd still be the secret. A fight about a holiday would have resolved itself with compromise and make-up sex, and you would have gone right back to sneaking out of venues and pretending not to know him in crowded rooms.

Your lips turn up in a smile of sorts as your tears beg to fall but don't, "You haven't changed," you state with a small, incredulous laugh, "You've not figured it out. Nothing's changed," you repeat, shaking your head.

Harry's confusion is plain, and if he thought your tears were because you miss him there's something like a flicker of doubt, as if he's reading what's in front of him again and maybe getting a different story.

"You can't have a life with someone who doesn't want anyone to know you're in their life," you state simply.

And that was it, really. That was the nuts and bolts of it.

The secrecy eroded any meaning your relationship with Harry had. The doubt that cast. The burden on you to continually prove yourself, to audition for the role every day only to never graduate from understudy.

You watch Harry's throat constrict tightly as he thinks about the words that come from his mouth, "I loved you," he repeats, "I didn't want anything outside of us to fuck us up."

"You can't control the world that way, Harry," you're observing him carefully, "You definitely can't control people that way. I get why we started that way, but a year in, Harry? A year."

He looks at his feet, and it's the first bit of remorse you've ever seen him show over it.

"I know you loved me," you keep going, "But you can't use that as some bandaid for the lying, for the hurt that was. You can't erase the consequences because you thought you were protecting me or us or yourself. The truth doesn't cancel out the hurt of the lie."

Harry's still starring at his boots, "You could have said something."

You blink once.

"Fuck you," bursts out before you can stop it, and Harry's eyes snap up to yours, you laugh at his nerve and rise to your feet, "Fuck you, Harry. I couldn't have. I felt like I had to earn it. Like maybe I was one gold star away from getting there. And then when I did push it, you ended it."

"That's not—

"—It is," you insist, shaking your head at him, "You put all your insecurities and shortcomings on me and then had the nerve to tell me you loved me as if I was the defective cog in the wheel. As if you saying you loved me put all the onus on me spoiling it."

"I'm a private person—

You put your hand up to silence him, turning on your heel to face Harry as your pacing halts, "Stop. I don't … I don't care," you breathe out simply, "I really don't. Our relationship wasn't The One. It's one we'll both learn from for the ones that are coming. I hope you learn from it," you add quietly, "Because I have."

"Y/N," Harry says your name like it's an idea he's unsure of.

"That song wasn't about me, was it?" You ask because on stage he said it was about regretting hurting someone and there's been no hint of a 'sorry' from Harry since.

His brow creased, "It is. I am. I wanted you to hear me play it tonight. It's for you."

You smile, the idea that you've grown beyond this situation blooming inside you, "You've not said it."

"What?"

"You haven't said you're sorry," your head shakes again, a fresh wave of your new perfume—the one that's just yours—filling your nose, "You've said you missed me. And that I look good, but you've not said you're sorry. You can put an apology into the song on stage, but you can't admit you were wrong to the person you wrote the song about."

His shoulders sink, just the slightest amount, and you know that you've seen enough. You've said enough. He's not going to have an epiphany on this, not in this conversation with you. You've gone as far as you can with this. As far as you're willing to.

"I'm going to go," you take a step forward, "Thanks for the song, your voice sounded really nice on it."

And you walk passed him with just a final wave and the slightest touch to his shoulder. He doesn't move from his seated position, but his neck cranes and he watches you leave. Eyes hunting your back for answers, like the manuscript for what just happened might show up there. But it doesn't, and you slip out the door, the clip from your shoes fading from his hearing quicker than he wanted it to.

Your insides are shaking by the time you make it out onto the street. No part of you wants to turn back and look up at his name in lights again. You're done with seeing the best of everything in him. Harry's one of the shitty boyfriends you'll tell someone about one day in the future, and they'll call him a dickhead with anger dripping from their tongue, promising to never treat you the same way.

And they won't.

You'll both have bumped and bruised your way into each other's lives, and there'll be a satisfying click with them there wasn't with anyone else. You'll have journeyed through all the maybes and not-quites, and you'll land in that forever place with the person who wears the badge of Yours with a fervour nobody before them has.

And Harry … You'll go and be Nothing to Him.

+

My inbox is here

[gingerale2017]

“Now, Kiss!”

Based on this hc I made earlier :)

3474 words

Fandom: The Lunar Chronicles

Pairing: Kai x Cinder

Fluff

Description:

Kai knew that the annoyance was part of having a sibling, but he hated it all the same. Nainsi would tease him about everything and when she figured out his crush on Cinder Linh, it only got worse. When Cinder calls Kai on the day that Nainsi brings some friends, she suspects that something might be cooking in the pot. Is she right, or are they friends for another agonizing day?

(Also I decided to name her Nainsi bc I’m too tired to brainstorm anything else I like it)

“WAKE UP KAI!” was the first thing Kai heard after being unfortunately interrupted by a sweet dream involving a certain someone. He was awake now, with a 100-pound pillow being tossed onto his head. Groaning, he flipped to his other side, squeezing his eyes shut as if that would make the tiny monster go away.

“KAI WE’RE GONNA BE LATE!” Nainsi yelled. She threw another pillow at him and when he didn’t show any signs of stopping, she yanked the cover out. Thank the stars for sheets.

“Stars, what time is it?” Kai managed to ask. Knowing his family it was probably five in the morning.

“Seven-thirty, ��� he groaned again. It was way too early to get out of bed. Plus, the school didn’t start until eight-thirty so they were very much not late. He tucked his head in the pillow and wished for his sister to magically vanish away into whatever drama she obsessed with now.

“KAI! GET OUT THE BED RIGHT NOW!” Kai turned his head to glare at her. She glared right back.

“You know Cinder gets up super early for whatever reason. That’s something you two can get along with, ” instead of rolling her eyes like she usually did when Kai talked about Cinder, Nainsi's lips formed into a coy smile.

He cursed.

She somehow smiled even further and cocked her head, “Got any plans with her tonight?”

He could feel his ears turn red, and he tried to kill her on the spot with his eyes. His little sister took the smart choice and sprinted out of his room with Kai on her heels.

She screamed as he followed her down the stairs into the kitchen, seeking refuge next to their father’s chair. Kai could tell he was annoyed by the posture he was in and the way he took another sip of his coffee.

Nainsi shot Kai a smug smile that he wished to wipe off her face, “are you gonna wear pajamas to school, Kaito?”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Ah, yes, but then you’ll spend the rest of your life in jail and will never see your precious Cinder again.”

He glared at her once more and left to go change. When he came back, the aroma of fried eggs was so strong that it filled the whole house.

His father was humming a tune while seasoning the eggs with pepper, now in a less annoyed mood. There were two plates on the kitchen counter already equipped with breakfast. Nainsi rebelliously made cereal instead of eating eggs. Kai, on the other hand, was grateful for the free breakfast.

He sat grabbed a ate and sat at the barstool, preparing to dig into his meal. Dad wanted to make small talk instead, “Good morning, son, and you're welcome for the delicious breakfast that I so graciously made for my marvelous kids.”

“Good morning, father, and us marvelous kids are so grateful for this delicious meal that makes caught us by surprise. But unfortunately, one of your children prefers Lucky Charms to you’re amazing breakfast, ” Kai responded after swallowing his first bite of eggs.

Nainsi looked up from her cereal, “that’s because I don’t like eggs, they’re disgusting.”

“You don’t like anything, ” she stuck her tongue out. Kai picked up his plate and placed it in the sink. Unsurprisingly, he was still hungry, so he went to see what was in the fridge.

“Kai, why don’t you ever want up early?” his father asked.

“Um, because-”

“Because he’s up all night thinking about making out with Cinder in the back of her BMW, ” the little monster interrupted before he could continue. He grabbed a tomato and slammed the fridge shut.

He then threw the tomato at her, “two strikes, Nainsi.”

She dodged the tomato and looked back at Kai with big round eyes.

“Hey, it's too early to fight with your sister just yet, ” interjected his father, “also, if you couldn’t tell, your mother is working double shifts at the hospital today so she wouldn’t be coming back tonight and I have a business trip. I know you have some friends coming over today, Nainsi, so behave better than usual. Both of you.”

“What friends are coming over, Nainsi?” Kai mused, an idea forming in his head.

“Just Geovanna and Emily. Possibly Ben but he hasn’t confirmed yet,” she answered, “why?”

“Just wondering. Anyways, we gotta go now,” Kai pulled on his sweatshirt from the laundry and headed towards the front, “bye dad.”

He nodded at Kai, currently preoccupied with his second mug of coffee while Nainsi rushed to follow Kai.

It was freezing out, as it usually was during winter in Maryland, but today was unusually cold. He turned on the car while Nainsi hopped in the passenger seat.

“Are we gonna go or what?” she barked.

“In a minute. Let me close my eyes for a bit.”

“You always do that, you lazy bum.”

“Your insults are getting drier and drier Nainsi.”

“Just go, ” this time she hit his forearm with her binder from nowhere. Repeatedly.

“Okay, stop hitting me. Ow.”

They drove off towards the school. Although Nainsi lived to tease Kai, they got along pretty well. They talked about this new show and had similar opinions on it during the short car ride. Once they were at Nainsi’s school and she was gone, then he could start playing the radio.

He bid his goodbye’s and see you later’s and now was off to his school.

᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽

Kai was unsurprisingly drained during the last period of the day. He fiddled with the corner of his notes to keep himself awake for at least ten more minutes. When he felt himself starting to doze off, he began to replay the day so far.

When he got to school, Cinder was marked absent which made his day worse. He always looked forward to hearing her sarcastic remarks or her smiling at one of his witty jokes.

Anyways, she was gone and he was sad, but Cress wasn’t. She happily explained to Kai that she and Thorne were going on a date Sunday. He was happy for her, truly, but all he could think about was how he can unsuccessfully tell his feeling to Cinder.

Not telling her felt like he was forgetting something important every day, except he was not forgetting. He knew exactly what he was doing and it killed him, but he also didn’t want to ruin the good that they have now. Then Kai would think about how it would be better and his thought would circle around and around.

After meeting up with Cress, they endured through the first two periods they shared, Scarlet and Thorne joining during the second. Although he had plenty of friends to talk to and enjoy, he couldn't help missing Cinder.

She's gone for one day and you feel like this? he thought, get a break. The little voice inside Kai's head was right.

Then the last bell rang, startling him. He stood up and began to pack his things. Then he fast-walked out and left.

"Kai!" he heard someone call.

Iko and Cress gestured at Kai to come to their lockers. He obliged.

"Look, Winter's birthday is in a couple of weeks, during the break. We want to throw a party because it's her sweet sixteen! We already have all the decorations ready, I know it's early, but long story short, can we throw it at your place?" his blue-haired friend asked as innocently as possible. Although she had to change her posture, tone, and expression to look innocent, Cress had that personality as her default.

"Please, Kai?” Cress pleaded and she knew what she was doing. It was always impossible to say no to her without feeling guilty. Or maybe it was just Kai who hated saying no.

“Of course! My parents are going to their parents during that week, so I’ll just ask to stay behind.”

“Yay! Thank you so much!” Iko hugged him tightly, “also not a word to Winger. It’s going to be a surprise.”

“Sounds nice.”

“Yep. I got to go to my job interview, remember what I was telling you about. Ah, the chance to work a boutique, what a dream,” and with that, his friend walked away.

“Hey Cress, did you hear anything about Cinder, ” he pressed.

She nodded, “Adri was mad at her again so she’s stuck at the garage, ” the blonde began to nibble in her fingernails. Noticing the bad habit, she brought he hand down.

“Oh, ” he hated Cinder’s stepmother, he truly did. And it killed him he couldn’t do anything about it.

They walked silently down the hall. Girls batted their lashes and some greeted him but he ignored it as usual.

“Do you think Adri would let Cinder free tonight?” he asked, now in the parking lot of the school.

“If you’re the one taking her anywhere then, of course, Adri would.”

Cress, Cinder, and Winter all skipped one grade. Cinder and Winter skilled first, and Cress skipped seventh. Cress was the smartest of them all, granted, and they don’t have a driver's license. So Cress got a ride with her older brother Jacin, and so did Winter (Jacin’s girlfriend). Cinder usually rode with Thorne, but on the good days, she rides with Kai.

They reached Kai’s car which was near Jacin’s car and being the super over-protective brother he was, he glared Kai down. Kai found this confusing because his feelings for Cinder were quite obvious, but then he saw Thorne parked next to Kai.

Thorne was currently ‘interested’ in Cress which made her a flustered mess.

Cress walked quickly to Jacin’s car and hopped in the back. Kai called goodbye and started his car. Then there was a rap on his window.

“What?” he asked Thorne, “I got to pick up my sister.”

“What flowers does Cress like?” he lifted an eyebrow at his friend, “not like that,” what Thorne did not know was that Cress told Kai everything about their date. Perhaps Thorne wants to keep it secret until then.

“Uh-huh.”

“Just answer the question!”

He shifted in his seat, “I dunno. Ask Jacin.”

“Great advice,” Thorne deadpanned.

“Get her roses. Those are super romantic and she’s all about the romantic gestures.”

“Nah, too cheesy. Pretend it's Cinder, what would she like?”

“Cinder doesn’t like flowers. Wrenches, however, are much appreciated.”

“I think I’ll just get roses.”

“Yeah, now move, my sister is waiting for me, ” Kai rolled up the windows and drove out.

Time passed very quickly and the next thing he knew, Nainsi was climbing in the passenger seat with her three friends in the back seat.

“I thought it was only two people, ” he whispered harshly.

She shrugged, “Ben decided to come.”

“What are you gonna feed them.”

“Pizza.”

“Who’s money?”

“Yours,” he shoved Nainsi but she shoved back.

“Fine but you owe me.”

“We’ll see, ” she turned in the seat to talk with her friends.

᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽

Once everyone was settled inside and pizza was ordered he began to brainstorm ways Kai could punish Nainsi for this morning.

Then, like a light bulb, a perfect idea formed into his head. He walked into the laundry room where a basket filled with his clothes was waiting for him.

He pulled off his shirt, grabbed the basket, and headed into the living room. His sister was watching a realistic drama with her friends, although Kai wasn’t sure the drama wasn’t ‘realistic’ at all.

This plan happened before on accident with the same friends and they just stared at him while Nainsi shooed him out. Little did he know that her friends would just start talking about him and his looks. When Nainsi told him this, he groaned and whined about how he got enough of this from school. So when Nainsi had people over, Kai would camp in his room to avoid the awkwardness.

Now, he knows how her friends would react. And how she would react.

But before he could do anything, the phone in his pocket vibrated, making him turn a one-eighty back into the laundry.

It was actually Cinder calling and he answered quickly, “hello?”

“Uh, Kai?”

“Yes?”

“Can you do me a favor? Please?” it sounded like she was outside where it was currently raining.

“Yes, of course, what do you need?”

“I need a ride. I’m stuck here in the rain, by myself. Also, this is going to sound weird but, can I also stay with you for an hour and a half?” she defeated like she lost an argument.

“I can pick you up and you can stay with me. Nainsi has some friends over but it should be fine, ” Kai wondered if he sounded too cheery.

“Ok, thanks. I’m at the gas station outside your neighborhood, by the way.”

“Great, see you in a few minutes. Bye.”

“Bye, ” she hung up.

Kai hurried to put on a shirt and grab two rain jackets from the close, just in case Cinder needed one. Then he walked into the living room and out the front door, only to come back in. He forgot to tell Nainsi where he was going.

“Hey Nainsi, I got to pick up someone. I’ll be back soon though, ” she nodded, mouth full of pizza crust, “uh, don’t open the door to strangers. Bye.”

This time he didn’t go back inside after he left. He drove out of the neighborhood, slowly because it was pouring buckets and he could barely see three feet in front of him. After an eternity, Kai finally reached the gas station and parked under the large roof.

He didn’t even see Cinder come in, only heard her, sacring him witless. She smiled apologetically while tossing a white plastic bag onto her lap. It was full of snacks.

“Thanks for coming to get me, I owe you one now, ” she said, handing him one of the bags of chips.

“Of course, Cinder, I would do anything for you, ” the corner of her lip curved upwards as Kai’s cheeks heated, “that came out wrong. I meant that you’re my friend and such. Like the good moral movies where like the one friend reminds the other what friendship is truly about?”

Cinder snorted, “Like My Little Pony?”

“Isn’t that a TV show?”

“Same thing.”

“Is not.”

“Whatever, I know what you meant. Peony had made me watch enough TV shows and movies to last a lifetime.”

“Okay then, ” the rain seemed to finally thin during their conversation making it much more comfortable conditions for Kai to drive in.

Cinder had a habit of talking with her mouth full and the ‘good manners kid’ inside of him cringed. He hoped he hid it well.

Anyways Cinder explained why she was soaking wet at a gas station abandoned with snacks. She was bored and hungry and wanted something to do. So she walked to the gas station, alone, for snacks and a good walk.

Kai raised an eyebrow at that, “you live far away from me, how and why did you walk miles just for a bag of junk food?”

“People can do miraculous things when they are bored, Kai.”

“Yes, and penguins can fly if they really set their minds to it.”

“They are a bird so, hey, nothing’s impossible.”

“Who drove you?”

Cinder shoved a chip in her mouth, “Pearl,” she admitted reluctantly.

“What?”

“I skipped lunch and she knew I was hungry so she drove me here and left me while I was getting snacks. She also called me and said that it was a prank she couldn’t resist.”

“Oh, ” Kai said as they were pulling in his driveway. It was drizzling now so there was no need for the rain jackets.

“I’m also supposed to be at the garage until later so that's why I have to stay that long. If I come back early, Adri would get mad, and I don’t feel like getting yelled at today.”

“Ok,” he said as he walked out of the car.

He opened the door for Cinder and followed her inside. Nainsi and her friends did not move from before he left, but they switched shows. His little sister locked eyes with Cinder, immediately getting up.

“Hey Cinder. I did not know you two were hanging out today?” She said conspiratorially.

Cinder nodded, “yeah it was kind of sudden. Also, Peony is not with me, sorry.”

“That’s okay. I’m going back to my friends now. So you guys can ‘hang out’” Nainsi emphasized the last part then ran off to her friends.

“So, um, what do you want to do for an hour and a half?” he asked.

Cinder turned to him, “I don’t know, what do you want to do.”

“I don’t know.”

“Let’s just go to your room then.”

“Good idea, ” Cinder has been to his house enough to know the layout. He followed her to his room where she fell on the bed.

“Working under cars all day isn't good for the back you know, ” she explained, muffled by a pillow.

“I would expect so because your posture is not up to standards.”

She snorted, “I guess that’s true, ” Cinder sat up and leaned on the headboards, “sorry for taking up your space. And for calling you. Stars, this was a bad idea, you already have people here. I’m like an intruder-”

“Why are you apologizing so much? I don’t care if you light my room on fire, ” Kai accused. It was true, ever since he met her, she would apologize for every single tiny thing, as if every single wrong thing she did was unacceptable. He moved towards her to place a hand on hers, “it’s okay, Cinder. And calling me was a good idea because you saved me from the little demons.”

Cinder let out a genuine laugh that ended with a genuine smile. A smile that never ceased to make his heart twitch. He bashfully realized that he was still holding her hand.

Kai let go but she only grabbed his hand back. He watched her intertwine their fingers, trying to ignore the strong pounding of his heart. He dared to look up and realized that Cinder was staring at him.

He looked into her chocolate eyes that seemed to shine with stars. He wanted to dive into that sea of brown and lie there for eternity. As long she was there.

“Now kiss!” cried a shrill voice. Kai jumped away from Cinder, noticing that she copied his actions.

“Aw, come on just kiss already, the tension was so thick, ” said... Peony?

Cinder’s eyes widened, “Peony, what- how did- why are you here?”

“Well first, I was invited to the sleepover but I had volleyball practice so I had to come late. I just got here. And second, I saw Nainsi sneaking up here so I followed, and oh my stars, we ruined the money, didn’t we?” Peony looked at Nainsi.

“We did. Sorry guys, we’ll go now.”

“Yes, now you can kiss in peace, ” the girls left, leaving Kai very flustered. He glanced at Cinder and saw that her cheeks were also tinted pink.

“So, do you want something to eat, ” he asked finally. He could not bear the silence anymore.

“Yes, ” she nodded, although they already are in the car.

They got up to leave but before he could open the door, Cinder grabbed his wrist and pulls him down. The next thing he knew they were kissing. It was quick and soft and amazing. It felt like everything suddenly clicked and the world was righted. Like the stars finally aligned.

She pulled away and Kai could feel the heat in his ears. His heart was beating so loud that he was sure Cinder could hear it as well.

“Let’s go get some food, ” she breathed and opened the door. She was still holding his wrist, he realized. He intertwined their hands like before, but this time it felt more meaningful. It was like their hands now signified that they were more than friends. That they loved each other, even if they hadn't admitted it yet. But he could feel it and was sure that she could too.

They entered the kitchen and Cinder began to talk about food options but all he could think about was the kiss. He wanted to kiss her again. And to hold her.

Someone cleared their throat behind them, making them turn around. Nainsi, Peony, Emily, Geovanna, and Ben all stood with knowing faces. Nainsi smirked, “finally.”

Peony looked like she was about to explode with happiness, “I already told Iko. She’s ecstatic.”

Neither Kai nor Cinder said anything. Nainsi probably knew because of the looks on their red faces and told Peony. Then Peony told Iko and Iko probably told everyone in their friend group.

So now everyone knows.

“Just to be sure, you guys did kiss, right?” asked Emily.

Slowly, Cinder nodded. Kai opted to stare at his feet. Peony whooped, Nainsi squealed, Cinder blushed, and Kai groaned.

“Ok now we will leave you alone, for real, ” Nainsi promised, dragging her friends away.

“Why are there so many people here?” Kai murmured then turned to Cinder. She leaned on his shoulder. They were still holding each other's hand, “I really want to kiss you again, by the way.”

“Me too.”

“Okay then, ” he cupped her cheek with his free hand and kissed her. Cinder squeezed his hand affectionately. He once again felt like everything was where it was supposed to be, where he was supposed to be, and that was with Cinder.

Tagging: @just2bubbly @winterrhayle @jacihayle @shelbylmkaider @cerenoya @a-salting-the-world @ladyvesuvia @not-the-founder-of-rome @greenalmond @zephyr-thedragon @cinderswrench @cindersassasin @strawberry-seraph (these are just one-shot tags so please tell me if you want to be added or remove for these types of fics <3)

[sneales]

Hi!! if possible can i please request yuuta having a girlfriend that’s his childhood friend? (So like instead of rika it’s y/n and she doesn’t die) that loves to dote on him cause that boy needs some love. Thank you!! <3

Characters: Yuta, female reader Genre: hurt/comfort Warnings: grammar mistakes, mention of bullying Notes: Ok anon, I don’t know if this is what you were really asking for (the more I read it the more I think I completely missed what you wanted T.T), I guess this went a bit too dark but I took your ask as the opportunity to read again volume 0 and damn Yuta’s story is so sad T.T At the end, I mention the jujutsu school, so let’s say he still has some powers, it was just easier for me since most of his insecurities are born from his scary powers. I don’t know why this thing got so long either omg 

→Requests are open!

You could say you knew each other all your life since you met Yuta for the first time in kindergarten. You were two shy kids, so it was natural to become close. You would always spend a lot of time together, it was very rare to see one without the other right by their side.  You also went to the same elementary school and the other kids started teasing you two, so every step you’d take there was always one of them who’d chirp “uuh lovebirds! lovebirds!” while pointing at you. That flustered you a lot and it flustered him even more, but surprisingly one day he took courage and decided to speak up, “So what? We’re gonna get married anyway!”.  The kid remained speechless, “Wow really?” Yuta nodded, “Yes, but not now because we’re too young.” Yuta doesn’t even know how, but he managed to get the other kids’ respect, they were probably so impressed he already had not only a girlfriend but also a soon-to-be wife. As for you, well… you considered that as your little secret so you were so embarrassed when he said that outloud, you probably didn’t talk to him for a couple of days, if you remember well. But anyway, those were precious memories that made you smile whenever you remembered them. After elementary school, you two enrolled in two different middle schools. It was a bit shocking at first, but you managed to get used to it. You found new friends and you spent almost every afternoon with Yuta, maybe studying together or playing games. Your life was good as it was, or at least that’s what you thought for a while. But then you noticed how you two almost never talked about him. It was mostly you telling him what happened to you during the day and if you asked him questions, his answers would always be so short. At first you thought it was normal. You two were always together so it was no surprise he was uncomfortable in school without you, you felt like that too before. As time went by, his sheepish smile was always sitting on his face, he never really talked about school besides what a certain teacher taught them or how much homework he got. You could sense he wasn’t getting along well with his classmates since whenever you asked him if there was someone nice he would always look away, shrug and say, “You are the nicest person.” He learned so well that some flatter and compliments made you happy and switched your focus away from the real topic. It’s their loss, you thought to yourself, if they can’t understand how kind and amazing he is, too bad for them.

In of the afternoon you usually spent together, he was nowhere to be seen even if you agreed to meet. You got worried when he wasn’t answering your texts and calls and decided to look for him at his house. You let out a huge sigh of relief when his mother told you he is in his room and she lets you in. You knocked at his door, a faint yes? came from the other side. You opened and showed your face. He was laying on his bed, the only light was coming from the tv, a documentary about sea-life was airing. “O-oh, y/n!” he sat up quickly, “I’m sorry, I should’ve told you I wasn’t coming today…” As he was talking, your eyes adjusted to the darkness and you saw a big patch on his cheek. “Are you hurt?” “Eh?”, Yuta smiled awkwardly, “N-no, I just fell on the stairs like an idiot.” A lie. You knew you couldn’t force him to talk about it if he didn’t want to, you knew you have to leave him room, but until now you never saw him with bruises, that wasn’t something you could ignore. “Who did that to you?” “I told you I fell from the sta-” “That’s not true”, you almost felt like crying, “Don’t lie to me, please.” “But it’s not a lie”, he mumbled. You closed his door behind you and sat beside him, “Yuta, I’m worried about you.” Silence fell between you two and no one spoke for what looked like a very long time. “It’s not really ok at school”, he said suddenly, his voice so low you feared you could miss his words. You figured that much already, “Do you want to tell me what happened?” He seemed unsure, he looked away, “I don’t think I get along with anyone at school, but it’s not like I can blame them. I wouldn’t want to be my friend either.” Your heart almost broke because no matter how close you two were, you could never see how deep his pain was, how far his worries and fears were taking root in his mind. And that scared you too, because he was sure he was worthless, even a danger for others,  “Don’t say those things about yourself! You are the best person I know, you’re always ready to help others, you’re kind, so don’t belittle yourself like that!” His eyes were opened in surprise, “A-are you getting angry?” Your tone had probably been too harsh, so you hugged him as strong as you could, “I am not angry at you, I’m angry at them. If I could, I would beat them up myself. You are the most important person for me, I want you to be safe.” You two stayed like that for a couple of minutes, until he patted your shoulder, “Hey, can you ease just a bit your grip, it hurts-” You didn’t realize you how hard you were holding him, “S-sorry.” “Don’t worry and thank you for your words.” His sweet smile appeared again on his lips, of course he was afraid he worried you and now he was trying to make you feel better. You grab his hand, softly this time, “You should value my opinion more than theirs because they don’t know you at all while I know you the best, so if I’m saying that you deserve the best you should trust me. And if you feel like you need someone to vent all your worries… well I’m here.” His lips trembled and you were afraid for one second he would cry, but instead he grabbed a chip and ate it. He simply said thank you and you started talking about the documentary on tv. When it was time to enroll in high school, your strongest desire was for him to find kind people or at least decent human beings. Was it so hard? Were people always so horrible like those kids in middle school? Were teachers always so blind and uncaring?

~

“There is a really weird teacher at school.” “Weird?” “Yep, he always walks around with a blindfold.” A blindfold, was it time to call the police? “Then there’s a super strong and cool girl, a guy who only talks with onigiri’s ingredients and Panda.” “Panda?” “Yes”, he grinned, “they’re all great.” You couldn’t really understand a word and what he said made little sense to you, but your worries slowly vanished as he looked way more relaxed and started talking about his new friends and his weird teacher. You could meet each other way less than before, but now you were sure his smile was not a lie to ease you.

[malkumtend]

I Like Your Laugh - A SquirrelCrow AU - Chapter 23.

Crowpaw hadn’t slept.

He wished it was because of the dusty stink of the rabbit warren his clan had been forced into, or the scream of the monsters outside, far away yet never quiet, or the constant growling and parched coughs of his clanmates that carried on throughout the night like a predator’s call.

But it wasn’t anything like that.

It was the never-changing grind in Crowpaw’s chest. Pounding. Stinging. Unrelenting.

All night he’d stirred restlessly as the nightmare of reality picked at his dreams like ravens at fresh kill. It could have been about anything, the failure of the clan meeting, the growing desperation it was clear Windclan was facing, the knowledge that with every passing second the forest was becoming barren of the prey and shelter they needed.

But it wasn’t anything logical.

Instead, the searing pain that flared over his belly was carried by a wildfire of five words.

She’d be ashamed of you.

Crowpaw breathed in the dead air and tried to imagine that it didn’t burn.

“Crowpaw?”

Stopping himself short, he turned to his mother, feeling suddenly guilty for how sadly she was looking at him.

Crowpaw wanted to give the most simple answer of “Yes?”

But that felt too heavy. His ear flicked instead.

Ashfoot looked down to Crowpaw’s feet, her whiskers shuffling. When Crowpaw followed, he saw his right paw inches from a deep rabbit hole. Crowpaw grumbled to himself, hating his own stupidity. Windclan were taught as kits how to avoid tripping in the many holes that engorged their territory. Angry embarrassment prickled along his neck.

“Sorry, Ashfoot.” He rasped, walking around the trap.

His mother looked at him gently. “Don’t worry, I know it’s hard to recognise much about the moors anymore.”

She wasn’t wrong, but it was still the kindness of a hollow excuse. Somewhere inside, she must have felt ashamed that her own flesh and blood had almost made such a ludicrous mistake. Crowpaw certainly felt the shame curl inside him.

She’d be ashamed of you.

He said nothing more as he followed Ashfoot. There would be nothing to gain from scenting these holes; the prey had long since moved on. There was nothing left here for rabbits or hares.

There was nothing left here for any cat.

But the clan was still starving, and someone needed to feed them. Elders, mothers, and kits needed some cat to search this wasteland for them. Crowpaw had been the first to volunteer.

He couldn’t just sit and do nothing. What point would there be to him if he did that?

Ashfoot slowed her pace to walk beside her son. Crowpaw knew she was staring at him. How exactly she was looking at him he didn’t want to see. “When was the last time you ate anything?” She asked tersely.

Crowpaw’s chest fluttered, “It doesn’t matter.”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

It was hard to admit that he was forcing himself to look at his own mother. His tail tried to hide the sink of his ribs along his pelt. “I don’t know.” He lied, “Yesterday morning?” Truthfully, he hadn’t eaten since a few days after he’d left the Tribe’s cave. Even then, he’d been forcing himself. Swallowing just didn’t seem to have a point then. And now he was back, and now that he’d seen every shrinking stomach, the idea of eating felt like something wrong.

His job was to feed those who needed it.

He would survive.

“Then it will do you good to eat when we get back, Crowpaw.” Ashfoot said, “Onewhisker and Tornear caught some prey for the apprentices to share this morning. I’m sure there’ll be spare for you.”

“Give it to another cat. Whitetail and her kits can have it if they saved some for me.”

Ashfoot looked torn between pride and worry. “Crowpaw, I know what you’re trying to do and it’s very noble of you. But we don’t know how long it will be before we move on; you need to make sure you eat as well.”

“If I need to eat, I will. But right now, I don’t.”

Ashfoot’s mew hardened, “And what will happen when you need to and there isn’t any prey? We need to share what we can as a clan! And that clan includes you!”

The clouds overhead didn’t cool the foul winds, they amplified them. Walking toneless underneath the cold grey, Crowpaw felt like an icicle buried in a freezing tomb. When he walked, paws sinking in mud and grot, nothing felt like home. He felt no attachment to this place like he once did. He felt the disorientation of an outsider.

It had been like ever since he’d come back.

“If we don’t know how long we’ll be here for, then it makes more sense for me to make sure the cats who need it the most get fed.”

“It’s not down to you alone, Crowpaw.” Ashfoot said, sighing. “Windclan will do better if you keep your strength up as well. We all work together, like we always do.” She pressed her pelt against Crowpaw’s with an amorous purr.

Crowpaw felt her bony frame and the fur that sagged without weight.

He didn’t like disagreeing with his mother, but she was wrong. It was up to Crowpaw to make sure that cats got the meals they deserved. It was the least he could do after they’d suffered for so long.

“I’m strong enough, Ashfoot.” He said plainly.

Ashfoot gave him a weak smile, “I know you are.” Crowpaw once felt warmed when his mother spoke like this, with the warm drip that stroked her lips and reminded Crowpaw that this powerful Warrior that had raised him and his siblings alone, for the greater part of his life, was his mother.

The mother who despite starving for what must have been a moon, still cared more about the son who had run away.

It was moments like this that made it so much easier for Crowpaw to forget that he was hungry.

Ashfoot pulled away, giving her son a firm look. “But please, you do need to eat Crowpaw. Every cat is hunting, so you mustn’t think you’re being selfish by eating as well.”

“I don’t think that, Ashfoot.” He didn’t. He just knew that someone else deserved it over him.

“You swear?”

“Yes.”

His answer seemed to reassure Ashfoot enough. Good. She could worry about herself now. The same way Crowpaw worried about her.

They travelled over the next two hills and didn’t find anything. Crowpaw could hear the monsters silver claws somewhere, tearing into their home once again effortlessly. He saw his mother shiver, a thin look of dread on her muzzle.

She was no fool.

Crowpaw wished he could say something to ease her thoughts.

But he was no fool either.

“They’re getting closer.” Ashfoot muttered. “It won’t be long until they reach Shadowclan’s territory.”

Crowpaw couldn’t stifle a growl. “Who cares? If they’re going to run away like frightened hares, they won’t need it anymore.”

Ashfoot glanced at him briefly, her tail twitching.

Crowpaw knew how it sounded. The cat who had come back talking of prophecies about the clans leaving together, now damning a clan for fleeing certain death. He didn’t care. He saw Blackstar’s unwillingness to negotiate. The tom had made up his mind before he’d even arrived.

“If he wasn’t even going to listen in the first place, he shouldn’t have wasted our time and just made Shadowclan leave.”

Ashfoot stared ahead gravely. Tallstar had reluctantly informed the clan of the opinion of the leader’s and had advised them to be patient for just a bit longer while they and Thunderclan worked to change their minds.

But no cat had the strength for patience.

“Blackstar has always been…” Her words broke off in a quiet hiss.

“Hare-brained?”

“I was going to say insufferable, but sure.” Ashfoot admitted, the slither of a snarl on her lips. It disappeared with a sigh. “But he is still a leader, and hopefully Tallstar can convince him to leave with us.”

Crowpaw spat, “Nothing would convince that fox-heart of anything!”

“If the monsters make their way through his territory, he may soon be thinking differently.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.”

Ashfoot nodded silently, lifting her nose to taste the air again. “I wouldn’t either. But Tallstar wants all the clans to leave together, and it’s our duty to stand by his wishes until he thinks differently.” A bitter mew muffled out of the molly. “No matter how long that may be.”

Anger. Crowpaw was accustomed to the feeling. For a long, long time, he’d taken a twisted comfort from it. Anger had pushed him on, made him stronger, chased away enemies. Anger had been a red sky that kept him ready for the battle of this forest.

But now, that anger just tasted like bile.

“Yeah.” Crowpaw muttered bitterly. “Well, maybe we don’t need them if they’re going to make us wait like this.”

Ashfoot whipped her tail pointedly, a knowing frown on her muzzle. “Well, at the very least I know you’ve been listening to your mentor.”

Crowpaw cringed. Mudclaw’s stern face froze over a dark corner of his mind. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” Ashfoot asked, “Crowpaw, you’re the one who told Tallstar about the prophecy.”

Crowpaw walked on wordlessly. His nose felt full of tight air that stung when he inhaled. She was right. When it all came down to it, it had been Crowpaw’s idea. Not to leave, in his heart he knew that Windclan definitely would have come to that conclusion on their own. But to leave with the other clans.

‘I bet you’re really proud to have that kind of influence.’

The snarl prodded Crowpaw with an accusing reminder. Even if Crowpaw hadn’t meant it, maybe Webfoot had a point. His story had created influence over Tallstar’s decision. It was because of that that his leader was reluctant to leave with just his own clan.

He’d probably be begging them to leave when he was close to his own death.

And as the days went on, and Tallstar grew weaker and weaker, that didn’t seem as much of a nightmare as a certainty.

“I’m sorry.” His apology crossed the stale air, hopefully reaching more cats than just his mother.

Ashfoot’s tail stiffened as it rose in the air. “What for?”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“And keep Starclan’s message from the rest of us? Don’t be mouse-brained!” Her tail whipped his rump, like she did when he was a grouchy little kit moaning about staying in the nursery.  “It’s good you told us, Crowpaw. Now we know what Starclan wants.”

If it was what Starclan wanted, then where were they while the clans argued last night.

“Sometimes I don’t understand you, Crowpaw.” Ashfoot meowed, “Why would you even suggest leaving the clans after what you told us?” Her stare hardened, “Did Mudclaw say something to you?”

‘Remember where your real allies are if the time comes.’

“Not really.” Crowpaw couldn’t make more trouble for his Deputy.

Ashfoot sighed, giving him the look. The look that showed she knew what he was thinking and how he wasn’t being honest. Even now, it made his head drop.

“Well… maybe he’s right? If the clans won’t help us, maybe we should go on our own.”

“Do you really think we could make it on our own?” There was a soft directness there that was open yet judging all the same.

Crowpaw kept quiet. Windclan was weak, he had to admit that, but if no help was going to come whether they swallowed their pride or not, maybe it was best they just did what they could quickly.

“I’m not saying I don’t understand where Mudclaw is coming from. I’m sure he has only Windclan’s best interest in his heart.” Ashfoot smiled, though it looked perfunctory. “But what he needs to remember, as do you.” She mewed, “Is that he is not Windclan’s leader. We don’t need to be raking up old bones at a time like this.”

Crowpaw snorted, “Why not? The other leaders have.”

When Ashfoot looked back at him, Crowpaw suddenly felt tired again. He frowned and made his eyes go low once again, ignoring the discontent, but mostly ignoring the worry that clouded his mother like hail.

The worry he was the cause off.

Here he was again, making problems like he always did.

“Crowpaw…” His mother sounded closer now.

Crowpaw, against his nature, took a brisk step away and let his mouth move, not caring for what words came out. “No! Why should we have to wait because a few leaders can’t see sense?”

“Because that’s how it is.”

It was hard to tell if Ashfoot said that with assurance or reluctance. Perhaps it was resignation.

Like everything was inevitable, no matter what.

“Fox-dung.” Crowpaw muttered. It didn’t have to be that way at all. Blackstar and Leopardstar did what they did because they could, because circumstances had gifted them the luxury of an escape or shelter that the others could not cling too. What did they even know? What had they done while their clans picked at bones for food or sucked on leaves for moisture?

But then, what had Crowpaw done?

He pushed away the dark, nestling into the nest of anger.

He became aware again of his mother’s presence. This time, when she’d pressed their cold pelts beside each other, she used her tail to make sure he didn’t slip away so easily. She kept him by her purring chest, offering a light lick on the back of his head.

She hardly ever did that.

He sighed. Just how terrible did he look?

The comfort, the understanding she offered felt suffocating. She moved so clearly with the honesty of her care. But everything just felt, at best, hollow or, at worst, like a wasp sting swelling up with doubtful venom. For years, his mother’s advice had been like the word of Starclan.

But here, believing at all just felt worthless and empty.

Nothing felt okay anymore.

“I know it’s frustrating for you.” Ashfoot’s voice came down like soft rain, “After everything you’ve been through, I know this isn’t what you thought would happen.”

Crowpaw began to itch all over.

Frustrating for him?

Everything he’d been through.

“But,” Ashfoot had now become close enough that her heartbeat synchronised with his. Her voice was like a morning mist. “Windclan now has a plan for if we decide to leave. That’s because of what you did, Crowpaw. You should be proud of that.”

Crowpaw didn’t say a word as something began to pound again at the back of his head.

“I’m certainly proud of you.”

The fragments of Crowpaw’s meaningless pride began to twist once again.

“You know that, don’t you?” Ashfoot’s questions sounded like a plea in her son’s whirlpool thoughts.

“Yeah, I do.” He just barely formed the stifled grunts into a reply. He did it at first to end the conversation. He did it more to stop the fear from coating his mother’s eyes.

“I might go check if there’s any prey over there.” Crowpaw said, forcing himself to give a courteous press of his tail to his mother’s flank before he walked away.

“Huh?” The fire of a protest built in Ashfoot. “We should hunt together.” Something hurt in her tone.

“The prey’s scattered since the Twolegs came.” As if he had any right to explain that. “I can check one area on my own.”

“But we need to-”

“I’ll see you back at camp.” He said gruffly, steadily pacing away as his mother stared at his back. He pretended not to hear her sigh as she turned to search her own area, the area that covered their border with Thunderclan.

Crowpaw made sure he’d avoid that.

He knew he’d most likely get a scolding later. There wasn’t really a reason why he needed to go on his own. All that stretched in his direction was dead grass and the remnants of bushes, green bodies turning a sickly yellow in the dusty air. He’d find no prey around here, more than likely returning to his disappointed clanmates a failure.

He could only hope Ashfoot had better luck.

He had no choice but to press on, searching yet not truly hunting. It didn’t matter, he realised. The pounding still batted like enemy paws on his neck. He couldn’t escape it. Really, he was more of a fool for imagining that he could.

The tom grit his teeth as his thoughts turned rogue once again. He lifted his sunken eyes to the hill, his neck cracking at the soft movement.

It didn’t make any sense. He knew where his heart had to lie. He knew what side he was on. And he’d made certain to clarify that last night. In the scheme of the stars, of the clans, he’d done no wrong, he’d only followed the paw prints that had guided the clans long before he was born.

So why…

Why did it hurt so much?

Why did the memory of those eyes, once soft, turned furious, make him want to vomit?

There was no reason to be like this. This was how it was meant to be. All that deserved to be on his mind was Windclan’s safety. Anything else was just him wasting time and energy that could be used to actually help some cat.

But try as he might, every thought he made, every move he took, caused a reaction on his body. A pulse in his chest, a tightness in his throat, and that never-ending pounding against his skull. Every second was like a fight.

And it made him tired.

So very very tired.

He shook himself up. What was he thinking? This was no time to be selfish. Windclan needed prey and he had to return with some.

Or why return at all.

Crowpaw whipped his head from side to side, as if the pain in his neck could be removed like a flea.

They didn’t need him.

He began to walk faster, not caring when he stumbled across rabbit holes and tripped through slumps in the hill.

He was just another cat without prey. Like so many others. He was nothing special. He was no help.

“No!” He hissed to whatever monster was making his sight sting. Windclan needed him, they needed all the help they could get. That was his duty. That was his reason to…

Did Windclan need him?

Or did he need Windclan?

Something had begun to buzz in Crowpaw’s ears. But there was nothing to see wherever he looked. Nothing at all.

What Windclan cat thought of the other clans this much?

“No!” Crowpaw yelled into the moors. Any prey for tree-lengths now would surely be scared off.

He was worried about Windclan, that was all. He was worried about his home. It was Windclan where he had been born, it was in Windclan that he had caught his first prey, it was in Windclan where he had struggled and fought fuelled on his determination to be one of their treasured Warriors.

But so had every other Windclan cat.

Nightcloud, Webfoot, even Owlpaw, they had all lived Windclan just like Crowpaw. Their loyalty was just as strong as his. They had watched as their home was destroyed, and they had done everything in their power to keep their clanmates alive and well, to keep Windclan’s spirit alive!

Did he really have the audacity to savour his loyalty as some kind of pride?

Loyalty was just the necessary goal of his existence.

Crowpaw’s legs had begun to tremble. He sniffed the air, his whiskers pathetically seeming to beg in how they wavered in the air like the shaking paws of a kitten. This had to stop, and it had to stop now. What was he even doing? Arguing with himself like this?! What good was he doing, standing in the middle of a prey-less hill, muttering and screaming at nothing?

He wanted to prove himself, didn’t he?

He had to prove himself.

He needed to prove himself.

He was loyal, he knew he was loyal, he’d do anything for Windclan, that was why he’d given up on his fr-

He pressed a paw to his face, exasperated, and didn’t flinch when he felt claws pierce into his fur.

What was he doing? No. They weren’t that anymore. They should have never been that at all. He needed to regret that, forget about everything, if he wanted to carry on, in order to function. They would travel together, but whatever false ties he’d let materialise for too long were cut. He’d seen to that. He’d made it happen.

They hated him. He was sure of that. When they sat beside him last night, there was nothing there but the same countenance as the beginning. That icy silence that should have carried them through the whole journey. Before his leader, Crowpaw had made it clear where he stood.

Last night, associating those faces with their clan had made it so much simpler to push them away into the dark. The grey tom who’s leader had left his own begging for water, the tabby molly who’s clan wanted to hide away in the den of kittypets and Two-legs, and the brown tom who’s leader refused to see sense and stubbornly put his faith in leader’s who’s hearts were already set on their own ambitions.

Yes. It was so much easier when he did that.

And as for his best-

As for Squ-

A-As for that mol-

She’d be ashamed of you.

She must have hated him.

Even in the beginning, she’d never said anything to him with such venom.

Wasn’t that better? No. It was better. It-It needed to- (Please don’t look at me like that. Please. That had been what he’d thought when she hated him)

Why was this happening? She wasn’t any different. Just another cat he’d been forced to complete a task with. She shouldn’t have even been there in the first place. There was no reason he should dwell on her, or for the molly who had (saved his life) died-

He couldn’t let them do this to him. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. (They were gone. He was alone. All alone.) It wasn’t his fault they’d believed they were anything more than rivals. If they’d been truly loyal they would have kept away. (They were good cats. Such amazing cats.) The hills stretched to nowhere as he wandered. Lost. Unwanted. Unneeded. (He missed them. Even now he missed them so much.)

The buzzing in his ears was dark and hungry. It growled fiercely.

‘Focus on their clans’, he begged himself, ‘They’ve left you behind. They don’t care. They never did. It’s time to wake up. If you care so much about this, you shouldn’t be here. Be a Windclan cat, for starclan’s sake, be a Windclan cat!’

The others were the problem. Not him. Shadowclan were cowards. Thunderclan were foolish idealists. Riverclan were stubborn, traitors who refused to believe their own cats! Ignored their cats last wishes.

(She died for her clan and for you. What are you doing?)

Crowpaw stopped running – how had he not realised he’d been running – listening to the buzzing drift as it twisted over the pounding of his heartbeat. Once again, he was nowhere sufficient. The grass was cracked and caked with dirt. The scents of prey mingled in a forgotten symphony, too far to be of any use. Even the berries on some lonely bushes nearby had long since dried up.

It was silent.

Silent enough for him to consider the words.

Consider everything actually.

What was he doing?

He was prey-less, far from his clan, twisting over thoughts he shouldn’t consider. His clan was waiting for his help. They had been waiting for his help ever since he had returned.

And he’d done nothing.

The prey he had caught was shrivelled and meaningless, any cat could have caught it, if he had never been on that patrol no cat would have noticed.

He had told the clans they needed to leave. But when he looked at them, how long would it have taken them to realise that in the first place. Tallstar had believed him so easily, it was more than likely they would have chosen to left even if he had never given them the message.

So… What really had he done that any other cat couldn’t have? What help was he really?

What did Ashfoot have to be proud of?

She’d be ashamed of you.

Crowpaw looked up to the grey sky, waiting for a chance of rain that could wake him from this empty state.

Riverclan.

Leopardstar hadn’t believed their words. But her clan’s territory was safe, for now. And there was no chosen cat who could return and tell them otherwise.

Who’s fault was that?

Windclan didn’t need Crowpaw to leave. Riverclan may have needed Feathertail.

But here they were.

The clans were waiting for Riverclan, who could not be convinced by the words of their trusted Warrior.

Because the wrong cat died.

Starclan had not come. Was that because there was no hope? Or could it be because their plans had been compromised by the loss of a Warrior who had been needed, and in her place had been left with the selfish remains of some mouse-brained apprentice?

Crowpaw’s blue eyes searched for another reason, they peered over grey hills and smoky skies, searching for some reason that he was here, that he was needed, that there was some logical explanation for him not being the one who had been left behind.

But the other thoughts, the buzzing forces, they had made everything so dizzy.

He only came out of if out of sheer luck, when a high, angry cry broke through the clouds and launched itself towards him.

Crowpaw turned his head just in time to see the hawk, yellow claws spread like ten furious vipers, rush through the air as it raced from the sky, its eyes blazing right on the young apprentice.

Crowpaw didn’t have time to crash his teeth together, he barely had time for his heavy eyes to widen, all he had was a pure desire that struck his body like a thousand hot claws along his back. It was the desire to live, the primal instinct to survive.

That gave him enough time to pounce to the side, the scabby flesh of the hawk’s feet just hitting the tip of his tail. It missed. Crowpaw was still alive. He caught himself, twisting on his feet so he facing the predator as it cried out angrily, before slamming its strong wings in the air and taking flight again.

Crowpaw scowled at the beast as it hovered in a taunting circle above him. What was a hawk doing in the moors? They usually rested in high trees! Had it been scared from its shelter because of the Two-legs? He may have sympathised with that idea if the bird wasn’t clear on making him its new taste of prey.

Even as he hissed at the hawk, Crowpaw could not hide how scared he felt. He’d never seen a hawk like this before, not on his own anyway. Its wings were bigger than maybe a whole clan cat, beating the air with enraged strikes, its whole body was bigger than Crowpaw, and its dark talons glistened in the misty air, poised and ready to sink into his flesh.

Crowpaw found himself needing to dodge again, his body rolling hotly over the hill as he zig-zagged down the base, when the bird swept down with the grace of a fish in the water. The apprentice’s heart pounded like the predator’s wings. There was no way he was going to outrun this thing. And there was no where he could hide from it either. Even if he tried to slip into the bushes, they were thin, and the hawk would pass through them like clouds. It cried again, angrier this time as it missed its kill, screeching into the sky as it rose above the hills again.

Its huge head turned in the air to its prey, its eyes full of hunger, and more strangely, hatred. For some reason or not, this creature hated him.

Crowpaw couldn’t look away from the hateful stare, but as the bird’s rage thickened like black clouds, Crowpaw felt his own body tightening, fixing in an arched, frenetic reason.

If he couldn’t run and he couldn’t hide, there wasn’t anything left to do but fight.

Because he realised just what this bird was. He looked at this bird and saw a dozen full bellies that eased his clan for another few days. He saw a delighted mother nursing her kits with a body full of milk. He saw eyes that would find him with reason for once.

This bird was a reason to be here.

So, forgetting the growl and jolt of his own hunger, Crowpaw felt the blood fix his vision, and he stiffened to survive.

He would kill this bird. He would kill it to show that he was here and he deserved to be.

He watched the bird carefully, a voice digging patience into him, if he rushed into this there was a good chance this could easily go wrong. He needed to find the right moment and take it. A savage thrill had swelled in his stomach and let his anger and terror merge into a powerful shock along his back.

He had never killed anything this big before. But that didn’t matter. It would be done.

The hawk’s fox-like eyes gleamed, it thrust its wings down with the power of a dog’s jaws before it dove once more. Its beak, as thick as a kits head and strong enough to crush one, snapping open to scream.

His breath held captive in his chest, Crowpaw didn’t look away. He needed to watch if he was going to figure this out or not. He needed to get close. The bird was descending quickly, its massive wings solidly held to their furthest reach as they sliced the open air. Crowpaw waited a heartbeat more, just enough for the hawk to curl its talons from its scaly legs, before he launched himself forward on his belly, giving a kick of his paws to the sky as he felt the powerful friction of air above his back. Even as it missed him, Crowpaw knew that this thing was strong.

One of his back paws hit the tail end of the bird, just where it could hit flesh, but Crowpaw had already rolled away by the time the bird to curl its body around. It screeched, pained and angry, but returned to the sky, its tail feather shaking off the blow as well as it could.

Crowpaw snarled at it as it flapped overhead, if it hadn’t been mad before it was now. Crowpaw hoped it was like a cat, where he knew anger made you reckless. It seemed to fly higher than before, soaring in a dart to where the clouds seemed to just touch its head. But even then, Crowpaw could see them burning down at him.

The dark tom licked his lips and let out a hot angry breath.

When the bird spread its talons, it left its chest and throat open. He had a chance, a small chance, but if he could avoid those talons, he just needed to know where to bite.

And he didn’t have long to figure that out.

The bird was coming down again. Feather’s ruffled in complete rage. It was hurt and resentful, and it desperately wanted revenge. It wasn’t going to wait it seemed. It came down like lightning. Crowpaw watched it dart towards him, its wings curved in prepared tension. Their eyes locked, a burst of rage and hunger connecting them. Crowpaw didn’t mutter a prayer as he began to sprint his way towards the bird. With a frustrated yell, the Hawk flapped to position itself. But no prey had actually ran at it before. Adjusting itself to this new concept, the bird chose to flick its talons out once again. All it needed to do was dig those talons into Crowpaw’s soft belly, and it would be over.

Letting a numb sensation compel him from fury or fright, Crowpaw leapt as soon as the birds talons were a tail-length away.

It was an ugly collision.

The talons just slipped on his back, but Crowpaw’s whole weight stormed into the soft meat of the Hawk’s chest, breaking its grip on him. Crowpaw screwed his eyes closed, grunting as two heavy wings slammed onto his face. The pain was heavy and thick, but Crowpaw slipped through it until his teeth were lodged into the bird’s chest.

The creatures, fighting to be predator or prey, landed with Crowpaw’s jaws wrenching with delirious speed on the bird’s stomach. Feathers and blood were thrown into the air as Crowpaw ripped and ripped. The Hawk let out a sound it had never made, one of real horror, as its beating wings became more and more desperate. It twisted, its feet scratching wherever it could to find the dark-fur of its opponent. Cold pain seared Crowpaw’s flank, but he only bit down again, higher this time, his tail curling when he tasted hot blood.

How long had it been since he’d tasted blood?

Immediately, Crowpaw felt his muscles tense, his claws sprang out to pin the frantic wings, tearing down the fragile skin, fracturing ligament and muscle with every punching scratch. The bird screamed and bit at Crowpaw’s scruff, but the cat launched five claws over its face and it let go with a true cry of real, blood-curdling fear.

Crowpaw realised with savage electricity, that he was winning.

The hawk, realising far too late it had misjudged this battle, changed tactics. Its talons didn’t claw now, they tried to grip the cat, furiously attempting to drag Crowpaw off before he found its throat. It rocked frantically to loosen the cat from its blood soaking feathers. But Crowpaw knew this opportunity would never come again. He wasn’t going to let go, even if those talons found his own throat.

The only time Crowpaw did let go was when the hawk stopped shaking and instead used its damaged wings to roll over to its belly. Its large wings already straightening for takeoff. But Crowpaw was quick, and this bird had made a massive mistake in taking its talons from Crowpaw. As soon as he’d slid onto its back, Crowpaw was safe from the claws and beak. It was almost over.

Crowpaw groaned and bit down on its neck, where the head had to be connected to the spine. The hawk screamed, its body convulsing and large eyes bursting in pure agony. Blood coated Crowpaw’s tongue once more, and just to be safe, he dug his claws right into the base of the hawk’s wings, holding it down. Whether they were too damaged or weak, they slowly began to wither in their rabid twitches for survival.

Crowpaw, deep in his chest, realised that this was over.

But stubbornly the hawk continued to fight, dragging itself along with its weak talons or broken wings, even as Crowpaw bit down hard on its neck, hard enough to hear something crack. The tom let out a hiss as the hawk cried mournfully but continued to struggle. This wasn’t meant to happen. It should have been dead by now.

But it didn’t. Its body twitched along, its head craning out to a bush just ahead of them both, probably seeking the dark safety even as its back cracked behind it.

It was impressive but horrible all the same. Crowpaw bit on the neck again, horrified by how it clung to life despite its little hope. This wasn’t how hunting was meant to be. They hunted to be quick, they hunted to survive, this didn’t feel like hunting, this felt like slaughter.

But Windclan needed to eat all the same.

‘Die.’ Crowpaw thought as he bit and tore and shook. ‘Just die already.’

The hawk responded with a series of sounds that may have been the caw of a bird, but not one that any bird, any creature should make. It hissed and bubbled in the bird’s throat. Crowpaw felt it. For the love of Starclan, he felt it rattle out of the shivering beak. It eyes, glazing quicker and quicker, were wide but slow, blinking in jittering convulsions, still calling for the safety of the bush.

It wanted to live

Crowpaw wanted to scream.

With a needing, breaking yell, Crowpaw slid his claws over the Hawk’s thin, torn throat and ripped back.

With a rasping, wordless gasp that sounded too much like a mewling kit for Crowpaw’s liking, the hawk’s struggles relaxed, and its tattered head fell down stiffly onto the grass.

Blood slowly oozed out onto the shadow of the hill. The dirt did not soak it up, denying the gore, letting it flow down into a dark slide in the grass.

Crowpaw fought for his own breath as he stood triumphantly above his prey.

It should have been triumph anyway.

Didn’t feel like it.

He shook his head. That couldn’t start up now. Yes, it had been messy. But it was done. And prey was prey.

This was actually the largest prey he’d ever caught, this was a meal that would last Windclan for days, this was his chance of doing some real good for his clan, this was his reason for standing here.

Something he’d done mattered.

He looked over his own wounds, the wings had battered his head until it was shaking, and there were some deep gash marks along his flank that he needed to clean before they got infected. But other than that, he was remarkably well.

Much better than the blood-soaked, torn apart, ruin under his paws.

But more than ever, he was alive.

Tired, battered, and hungry, but alive.

So hungry.

Crowpaw’s tongue touched the blood on his lips, he couldn’t suppress a shiver. It tasted good. Good enough that his throat began to hurt at the idea of not tasting it again. He looked down at the hawk, thinking. It was a huge catch. If he took one bite, a small one, enough for him to get by, he could get the rest back to Windclan soon.

His joints ached, and his head spun like crazy. He needed to eat, even just a little.

Crowpaw gave the hawk a wane look. Just one tear off the wing. That would be enough for him.

Slowly, his own stomach cleanching, Crowpaw placed his teeth over the soft meat of the wing. He shivered as the sweet blood permeated his senses.

But then his ears twitched.

Almost angry at his meal, his victory, being disturbed, Crowpaw growled. But then he stopped and really listened. Something was letting out high, bristling squeaks. They cracked into the air pathetically, rustling the air with its light whimpers. Then the sound rustled as it doubled, then tripled, and then Crowpaw was sure he heard a symphony of tiny whelping ring around him.

They were coming from the bush.

The hawk’s head still stared at it lifelessly, but a longing melancholy still quivered in the draining colour of its eyes.

Crowpaw stared as the squeaking continued. The back of his head began to hurt again. His whole body felt cold.

With step after reluctant step, Crowpaw approached the bush, becoming more and more aware of the buzzing that came back to his ears.

He pressed his head in. Four pairs of black, terrified eyes glinted wetly back at him. The chicks, from the looks of their thin tufts of feathers, or the way they held their gaping mouths at him in either fright or hunger, could not have been born more than a day or two ago. They huddled together, some peeping helplessly at him under the darkness of their scrambled, hastily put together nest, the others just stared at him. Stared enough to hurt.

It took only a second for the desperation of the hawk to sink in.

With blank eyes, Crowpaw turned back to the hawk that had died to protect what it loved, the blood had now begun to pool around its head.

Another bloody body, another creature that had sacrificed itself to protect what it loved, flashed over Crowpaw’s eyes.

Once she had, everything seemed so much clearer to Crowpaw.

And he didn’t fight the hungry buzzing in his mind, rumbling, screaming, blaming. It stung, it ached, it swelled.

It reminded.

Sacrifice.

A sacrifice was why Riverclan had no cat to believe, a sacrifice was why the journey was tainted, a sacrifice was why the clans may not survive, a sacrifice was why Windclan was suffering, a sacrifice was why his clan could die.

A sacrifice was why his friends, the only one’s he’d ever really had, hated him.

He’d driven them away because he wanted, in his selfish need for reason, to be seen as important for his clan.

But the truth was, Windclan didn’t need him. They would live or die without him. They always would have. All he’d done returning, robbing Riverclan of a reason to leave, was further the dark towards his home’s destruction.

It was all his fault.

This was all he was.

Letting the buzzing attack his mind, and drown out the chicks’ cries for a mother that would never return, Crowpaw began to drag the hawk back. If this was the only good he could ever do, he should at least do it with some effort of care.

But was it good?

How tough could this hawk have been if an apprentice could kill it? It was weak and hungry, that was all. Any real warrior could do it. They probably could have brought themselves to catch the extra prey as well.

But those chicks’ had such familiar eyes.

The eyes of the weak, saved by the strong.

But what did it matter?

It was over now. Whether they were caught by him, or another cat, or a fox, or even if nothing came for them. Their deaths had been set in the dirt.

That was the cruelty of life. The reality that Crowpaw would do better to accept.

It didn’t matter how much creatures tried to fight nature.

Things that were meant to die? They always did. Someway or other.

Crowpaw would make sure of that.

With this realisation, with empty eyes and passing, silent breath, Crowpaw almost felt a shameful peace that made him blink away the tears so easily.

But he was unfit for peace, so he let the buzzing convince him into feeling nothing.

...

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 9

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

When she wakes, she momentarily can’t place where she is. The room is dim and there’s a soft whirring sound, a warm body tucked close against her back. Mulder’s apartment, she remembers. They’d decided to make it a double feature, collecting their clothes and switching out Mars Attacks for Twister. She must have drifted off at some point, with Mulder spooning her on the narrow couch, and the automatic rewind on the VCR kicked on when the movie ended. She pulls in a deep breath and his arm around her waist tightens momentarily.

“Stay,” he croaks from behind her, sounding as though he had also fallen asleep.

“I can’t, Mulder,” she replies, twisting her body around to face him, her nose pressed into his chest.

“Why?” he asks, brushing his palm up and down over her back.

“Because, I shouldn’t.” She knows her tone isn’t all that convincing.

“Says who?” he asks, though not indignantly.

“Says…I don’t know. Me, I guess,” she replies in a defeated tone.

He sighs, then pauses to consider his words.

“I don’t want to pressure you. But the idea of not seeing you again for a week kind of makes me want to die.” His words are soft and measured, communicating honesty, not frustration.

“That’s very dramatic,” she answers with a teasing lilt.

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m pathetic.”

She worms up until she’s close enough to kiss him, pressing her lips to his cheek and then his mouth.

“You’re not pathetic,” she says tenderly, “you’re actually very sweet. I’ll make you a deal; I’m not going to stay the night,” she quirks a smile at his dramatic frown, “but we can get dinner tomorrow, and if you want to have coffee one day this week, you can come down.” She gives him a hopeful smile.

“That seems like a fair deal,” he says, kissing her forehead. “But if you get home, or wake up in the middle of the night, and realize you’ve made a horrible mistake, just call me. I’ll come right over.”

“I promise I will,” she says, then disentangles herself from his arms and collects her purse and shoes. She says goodbye to Priscilla, then bids a very long and very kiss-filled goodbye to Mulder before he finally releases his grip on her. As she waits for the elevator she hears the patter of his bare feet on the hallway floor and turns to see him skittering towards her, pulling her into one last kiss before he runs back to his apartment door, waving at her with a coy little smile.

Once she’s buckled into her car, she lets out a deep breath. She’d barely made it out of there; if Mulder had asked one more time, kissed her once more on the couch, she might have caved. Might have stayed the night, and might have done who knows what else. She can easily see the strong potential for this budding relationship to fast track to being more serious than she feels ready for, and it scares her. She’s never felt this strongly about anyone so soon after becoming involved with them. Clearly he has a strong pull on her, given that she cheated on Ethan with him, it’s just a lot, and she’s a person who likes to think clearly and make rational decisions. When she’s with Mulder, she loses the ability to think rationally.

When she’s home and tucked into bed, she does wish he were there, curled up behind her. Knowing she could call him and he’d be here in fifteen minutes is tempting, but she talks herself out of it. Not yet, not until she’s sure that this is more than just animal attraction. More than wanting to prove she didn’t destroy her relationship with Ethan over nothing.

It has to be more. And she suspects that it will be.

———

“Okay, spill it,” Missy says, and Dana looks at her with a mildly shocked expression, not even having fully taken her seat at the cafe with a mocha in hand before Missy gets down to business.

“Hello to you, too, Missy. How was your evening?” she asks her sister with a facetious tone.

“I hung around by myself and wondered what kind of action my little sister was getting that I wasn’t, so please, indulge me.”

Dana laughs and shakes her head, debating how much detail to give.

“It was nice, we just watched a couple movies, ate pizza, drank beer.”

“...and?” Missy asks expectantly.

“...and, we watched Mars Attacks and Twister,” Dana answers, knowing that this is not the information Missy is asking for.

Missy drops her head to the side with a frustrated glare. “Dana, quit being a prude, or I’ll just make up my own story and tell it to you right here in the coffee shop, I know you’d love that.”

Dana makes a face. “Okay, fine. Yes, we...fooled around. But we didn’t have sex.”

“Really, why not?” Missy questions incredulously.

“Missy, it’s not that abnormal not to sleep with someone on the second date,” Dana retorts with an annoyed tone.

“It is if they’ve already gone down on you and you’ve been obsessing over them for almost a year,” Missy shoots back.

“Well, regardless of your unsolicited opinion,” Dana replies, “emphasis on unsolicited, I’m choosing to wait a bit, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Fine, whatever floats your boat, Sis. Please elaborate on ‘fooled around’.”

Dana scoffs. “We...kissed, and some other things. Why are you asking for all this detail, Missy? I don’t recall you ever asking me to be this explicit regarding my sex life with Ethan.”

Missy rolls her eyes. “I’m willing to bet Ethan was into missionary with the lights off. This Mulder guy has serious sexual energy, he seems like the kind of man who knows what he’s doing. When’s his birthday?”

Scully frowns at the memory. “October 13th,” she answers flatly.

Missy shoots her a surprised expression, but suppresses it quickly. “Oh, wow, okay. Um, so he’s a libra. That’s a good thing, libras are very generous lovers.”

“I have seen evidence of that, however my pants stayed on last night so nothing to report in that respect,” Dana answers, taking a sip of her coffee to avoid looking at her sister.

“But his didn’t?” Missy asks with a smirk, and Dana purses her lips but doesn’t respond. It’s as good as saying yes.

“Dana Katherine Scully,” Missy teases with a knowing smile. “Some things never change.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Dana asks defensively.

“Oh please, Dana, we went to the same school, you don’t think I heard the story about you and Marcus behind the gymnasium?”

Dana’s mouth hangs open in shock.

“Well, I hope he enjoyed his favor being reciprocated nine months later,” Missy continues, then adds “did you swallow?”

Her mouth drops open wider and she slaps Missy gently on the upper arm. “Melissa, don’t be gross!”

Missy is giggling and swatting her away. “You know what Dad always said, Dana, ‘a Scully sees it through to the end!’” She crosses her arms over her face in self-defense as Dana peppers her with little slaps, though they’re both laughing.

Finally, the tittering subsides and they are both back in their respective seats, catching their breath.

“So when are you seeing him again?” Missy asks, tucking her feet underneath her legs.

“Tonight, actually.” Dana answers self-consciously.

“Oh really? So soon?”

“Well he practically begged me to stay the night and said he didn’t want to wait until next weekend, so it was somewhat of a compromise,” Dana answers, the arrangement sounding like a red flag to her own ears.

“Dang, he’s got it bad,” Missy remarks with a little frown. “Is it too much? Are you doing that thing?”

“What thing?” Dana asks defensively.

“That thing where you get overwhelmed when someone is really interested in you and you sabotage it?” Missy ventures.

Dana furrows her eyebrows. “I don’t do that,” she says, but her tone suggests that she may not believe herself. “I just don’t want to get all caught up in the excitement of a new relationship and not look at things objectively,” she finishes.

“You know,” Missy says helpfully, “that exciting new relationship, not thinking clearly, crazy in love feeling is something most people like, Sis.”

Dana shrugs. “You know me,” she says plainly, “I’m not really one for excitement.”

“I have a sneaking suspicion that Mulder is going to put that to the test,” Missy retorts with a smile, and Dana cringes.

“I think you may be right.”

———

Her demeanor when he picks her up for dinner seems just a bit guarded and is markedly different than it had been when they parted ways last night. He brushes it off, figuring that things between them are still new and awkward, and recognizing that he’s probably coming on just a little too strong.

The day has been grey and cool, and she’s wearing jeans and an oversized blue sweater, her hair pulled half up into a little bun. He smiles warmly at her, but stops short of telling her how amazing she looks, sensing that she might not want to hear it. They make their way to a little Mexican place near her house and she is polite but quiet as they order, munching on chips and salsa with a pensive expression.

“Are you okay?” he asks cautiously, and she nods. “I’m freaking you out, aren’t I?” he adds, and she shakes her head gently, but looks at him with wide eyes from beneath her lashes, and he knows it’s true.

He sits back, running his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. Is it the sex part or the feelings part?” he questions, and when her eyebrows lift in surprise he suggests “Both?”

She laughs softly and shakes her head. “It’s really not you, Mulder, it’s me. I’m just not very comfortable with the whole,” she swirls her wrist around in the air, “whirlwind feeling, when things are new.”

He leans forward on his elbows and looks at her seriously. “Tell me what you need me to do differently, Scully, and I promise I’ll do it.”

“Maybe just...don’t act as though I hung the moon?” she offers with a pained expression. “I’m just a human person like anyone else, faults and all. It makes me worry that when you really get to know me you won’t like what you find.”

He gives her an amused smirk. “At the risk of further idolizing you, what’s not to like?”

“You want me to write a list?” She asks, returning his smirk, and he gives her a half shrug, half nod. “Well, if I’m basing this on what my family, friends, and past partners might say; I’m very rigid in my thinking on most matters, take myself far too seriously, am emotionally distant much of the time, don’t really know how to have fun and...I cannot carry a tune in a bucket. Basically I’m a total stick in the mud.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, smiling at her. Her self-consciousness is wildly endearing.

“Okay now you have to go,” she says, picking at her paper napkin.

“Oh, what are my worst qualities?” he clarifies, “Jeez, this could take a while. Um, I’m very singularly focused, as in whatever I’m chasing down at the moment I become completely obsessed with to the detriment of all other things in my life,” he casts her a little glance to confirm that she understands that this is what he’s doing with her, which she does.

“I’m a workaholic, though that’s a lot easier to manage when I’m not all that invested in what I’m working on. I’m terrible with things like birthdays, anniversaries, or generally sentimental things, I just forget them completely. I’m also persistent to a fault, and have a hard time letting things, and people, go, even when I should,” he looks at her again, and she gives him a tight-lipped smile. His worst qualities are the ones that are at risk of scaring her off right now.

“Well then, perhaps,” Scully offers, “I’ll work on not trying to shut you out, and you can work on not trying quite so hard to get in.”

“We’re still talking about feelings here, right?” he jokes, and she rolls her eyes.

“There’s another flaw I forgot, making jokes at completely inappropriate times.”

She smiles at him, with teeth, and he knows they’ll be okay. He needs to be mindful, but he hasn’t totally fucked it up yet.

The rest of their meal goes without incident. He talks about spontaneous human combustion while she calmly explains why it’s medically and scientifically impossible. The way she can disagree with him without talking to him like he’s a lunatic endears to him even further, but he works hard not to let it show. When the waiter comes by and asks about dessert, she shakes her head.

“I have ice cream at home,” she says after the waiter leaves, “saves us five bucks.”

He masks the surprise and delight he feels knowing she’s essentially just invited him back to her apartment, and absolutely does not allow himself to hope that she’ll let him stay the night. It’s a work night after all, and she’s just made clear that she has a tendency towards rules and guidelines; sleepovers on a school night seem like something she’d be against.

Back at her apartment, she gives him a quick tour, having neglected to do so when he was here last week, and he’s impressed though not surprised by how grown up and clean her place is. It matches her personality perfectly, and that makes him like the place immediately.

She opens the freezer and pulls out a pint of ice cream, then retrieves two spoons and hops up on to the counter, which brings them just about face to face height-wise. The cold blast from the open freezer has hardened her nipples and he avoids looking as they pass the pint back and forth, taking alternate bites and talking about their favorite and least favorite flavors. Soon enough, the tub is empty, and she sets it and the two spoons to the side, leaning back against the cupboard behind her. He steps closer into the space between her thighs and places his hands gently on her hips.

“Do you want me to go?” he asks in a neutral tone, not wanting to sound like he’s trying to persuade her.

She quirks her mouth to the side in consideration. “Maybe not just yet,” she says, then hooks her legs around the backs of his thighs and pulls him closer.

He suppresses a victorious smile and instead leans forward to kiss her, simultaneously slipping his hands under the hem of her sweater. She jumps a little at the contact, and he realizes how cold his fingers must be from the ice cream. He pulls his hands free, rubbing them together briskly in the space between their bodies as he continues to kiss her smiling mouth. When he’s satisfied that they are warm, he returns them to her bare sides and she hums in approval. Her hands find the back of his neck, scratching through his hair as his fingers trail their way up the ladder of her rib cage until they meet with the soft underside of her bare breasts. He wants to make mention of the lack of bra, but isn’t sure if calling attention to it would make her self conscious, so he says nothing and just enjoys it. Brushing his thumbs along the seam where chest becomes breast, he moves to kiss down her neck, teasing at the skin behind her ear with the firm tip of his tongue. Finding the spot she seems to like the best, he then runs his thumbs up until they meet with her hardened nipples and she emits a little moan that goes straight to his dick. He stays on this particular combination of rolling her nipples between his thumb and forefinger while licking and kissing her neck until she’s tightening the grip of her legs around his hips, seeking friction. He pushes the fabric of her sweater up slowly enough that she has plenty of time to tell him if she wants to stop, but once her breasts are exposed and his mouth is wrapped around one of her nipples, he is absolutely sure that she doesn’t. She lets her head fall back against the cupboard, breathing hard through her open mouth. He brings the fingers of one hand to the button on her jeans, then pauses.

“Okay?” he asks around the nipple between his lips, and she hums out an “mmmhmmm.”

Flicking the button open and easing the fly down, he slips his hand palm-up under her panties, drifting down through her neatly trimmed hair and into the slick heat of her. She’s deliciously wet, and knowing he caused it makes him feel weak in the knees as he rubs his groin against the edge of the counter, even more turned on than he had been before. He slides his fingers up and down over her swollen lips, his tongue still lapping and sucking at her nipples alternately, and she is panting and quaking beneath him, hips writhing and fingers digging into his neck telling him that she wants more. He circles his dampened thumb around her clit and she whimpers, clutching his head to her chest. His middle finger finds her entrance and swirls around it, not quite entering, and she stills, waiting, anticipating. When he continues with his same teasing movements, she lets out a frustrated breath and speaks.

“Please,” she whispers, her voice pained.

He smiles against her breast, slipping his finger inside, and she moans low and long, throbbing once around him. He experiments with different ways of touching her, inside and out, and soon she’s gasping and breathing raggedly, flexing her hips into his hand, nearly suffocating him with her breast in his mouth and he feels like he’s in heaven.

“Oh god,” she moans, then goes still for a long moment as he feels her walls clench tight around his finger. Then she’s coming, throbbing rhythmically and pulling his face up to kiss her, pouring her blissful moans right into his open mouth and clutching him as close as he can get with one hand in her pants. Finally, she touches his wrist gently and he pulls his hand free, enveloping her fully in his arms as they kiss with just as much passion as they started with.

“That really wasn’t what I had in mind when I suggested ice cream,” she says against his mouth, and he smiles, breaking the kiss.

“So that wasn’t some kind of ‘dessert’ double entendre?” he asks, pulling back slightly and looking at her flushed cheeks and still-dilated pupils.

“No, but I’m not exactly devastated that you interpreted it that way,” she replies with a playful lilt.

“So...what now?” he asks cautiously, neither wanting to overstay his welcome nor do what Frohike delicately calls ‘hit it and quit it.’

She bites her lip and considers the question. “You wanna hang out for a bit and watch TV? I’ll have to kick you out at 9:00, it being a school night and all.”

He feels his mouth stretch into a broad smile at the confirmation of his suspicion that she calls it early on work nights.

“Sounds perfect,” he replies, then steps back so she can jump down from the counter, re-fastening her jeans while casting him a mirthful glance.

They snuggle up on the couch and half-watch whatever is on, but mostly they talk, and kiss, and laugh. He finally asks her about the little gold cross necklace she’s always wearing, and he finds himself further enamored with how complex she is; a woman of science and religion, beautiful and strong, smart and fun. He’s working hard to temper his expression of it, but if he was only ninety-five percent sure he was in love with her when he said it back in August, he is one-hundred-twenty percent sure now.

True to her word, she kicks him out at 9:00 and promises that they will get together for coffee this week once she takes a look at her autopsy schedule and knows which days she’s free.

Once in his car, he drops his head against the back of the seat with a satisfied sigh. All week at work, his colleagues will ask him what he’s smiling about, and he’ll tell them truthfully that he’s just really, really happy.

[heytherejulietx]

“Stop Trying” ~ George Weasley

Masterlists

Requests are OPEN

Notes - I finally got this written! You guys have no idea how long I procrastinated over this. But I’m really happy with how this turned out! I hope you all like it! 💜

Warnings - Mentions of death.

Word count - 2k.

When George first laid eyes on the Huffepuff girl in his potions class, he was shocked. He'd never seen a Hufflepuff so unhappy. It wasn't that she looked sad, she just didn't look happy. There was no smile or flush in her cheeks like basically the rest of the house. And when he got seated next to her, it started to worry him.

She was almost like an empty shell. Her body was slumped a little in her seat, leaning forwards on her forearms with her head down a little. Her hair was down, falling in front of her face a little so she couldn't be seen - and he couldn't help but wonder if that was on purpose or not. She didn't speak to him, not once that whole lesson. The only time they shared any sort of communication was when she held her hand out for the book he had so she could read it too.

"Your partner looks like fun." Fred chuckled as he met up with George after class, bumping his arm with his twin's.

"Yeah," George chuckled humourlessly, watching her walk away quicker than other people, still concerned. "Fun."

It took George three more classes of being sat beside the girl before he decided he wanted to help. The only problem was that he knew literally nothing about girls whatsoever. He couldn't go to Fred; he knew his brother would just tease him about wanting to help a girl, and he knew Fred also had no knowledge on what girls were like. So he went for the next best thing.

"Don't be mean," Ginny told him first of all.  "If she's actually upset you'll just make it worse. So don't try and prank her, either."

"Yeah, I know that one." George rolled his eyes, though he stopped sassing back when Ginny had shot him another look.

"George, just be nice to her. Help her with potions, give her a complement, say hi to her in the corridors." Ginny shrugged a little. "If it works it works, and if it doesn't then at least you tried."

George smiled and nodded, kissing his sister's cheek as he wrapped an arm around her smaller frame. "Thanks Gin, I owe you one."

When George stepped into the potions classroom the next day, he was determined to talk to her and make her smile. He strutted into the class confidently, a confident smile over his lips. This was George Weasley who we were on about. If George had enough courage to literally elbow a Slytherin in the face during a Quidditch game, then he could make a girl smile.

She was already there when he'd walked in, looking down at the potions book everyone had to have for class. So George sat beside her, noticing she didn't even spare a glance at him. Though he didn't take notice of that as he shifted in his seat a little to look at her. "Hey there."

The girl turned to look at him once he'd spoken, simply raising her eyebrows a little.

"I'm George. Weasley. George Weasley," he carried on a little nervously seeing as she'd said nothing. "Since we're partners this year, I kind of need to know your-"

"Y/N." She cut him off by simply stating her name. "I'm Y/N. Can I get back to my book now?"

"Yeah, yes, sorry." George nodded, watching as she simply rolled her eyes before casting her gaze back on her book.

Maybe other people would've been annoyed at how quickly she shut him down, or even irritated by her snappiness, but instead George was a little proud that at least he got her to talk, and now he knew her name. If he was being honest he thought it was a pretty name, and he would've told her that if he didn't want to leave her alone for a little while. Maybe she'd open up a little more as time went on.

She didn't. Five more potions lessons passed and their conversations were only short and snappy, always ended by her. He couldn't understand how someone could be in such a foul mood for such a long time. It was definitely worrying him, and he probably let it show a little, but if Y/N knew then she definitely didn't show it.

Seeing as talking to her in class clearly wasn't working, George had decided to catch her outside of it. So on Friday morning, when everyone was having breakfast before first period - which just happened to be potions - George left Fred sat at the Gryffindor table with Lee Jordan, giving him an excuse about wanting to talk to his potions partner about the work before heading over to the Hufflepuff table to find her. It wasn't any surprise to George that he found her seated alone at the end of the table, her nose in a book as she ate a slice of toast.

He pulled a smile onto his face as he took a seat beside her, causing her to look up from her book and stare at him in confusion.

"Hey Y/N." George greeted, only getting a small nod in return from the girl who still looked a little confused. "Mind if I sit?"

"Well, you're already here." She sighed, shrugging as she took another bite of toast.

"What're you reading?" George asked, trying to spark conversation with her.

Though the spark never lit into a fire, as she continued to shut his attempts of conversation down. It carried on like this all through breakfast, and all through potions. George didn't give up trying, but once class had finished he was even more confused and worried than he had been before. He couldn't fathom why she wouldn't just talk to him. Everyone talked to him and Fred if they weren't yelling at them, but she didn't even seem to dislike him. She just disliked conversation. 

But George was determined, so the next day he sat beside her at breakfast again. Only this time, she spoke first.

"Why do you keep trying to talk to me?" Y/N asked as soon as George had sat down, studying his features with a hard gaze.

George stumbled over his words for a moment. What was he meant to say? He couldn't say that she was interesting, because they barely had spoken properly. So after a moment he just sighed and decided to tell the truth. "Because you just seem a little down, and I want to help." He told her softly with a small smile.

Y/N's eyebrows furrowed as she stared at George. It took a moment for her to process what George was saying, though once she had Y/N frowned. "Stop trying." She snapped almost venomously, grabbing her things quickly and abandoning her breakfast at the table to storm out of the Great Hall.

George watched her walk away for a moment before quickly getting out of his seat and following her against his better judgement.

He found her sat in the courtyard, her head in her hands as she sat underneath a huge oak tree.

Nothing was said as George took a seat beside her. She knew he was there, as she glanced up at him, though she didn't complain that he had followed her so he took it as a good thing.

"Have you ever heard about a boy called Nick Y/L/N?" She asked quietly.

Immediately George knew who she was on about. Nick had been on the quidditch team last year, so he'd seen him a few times. The last summer, word had gotten around that Nick had died after being hit by a car. Nick had been pretty popular, so a lot of people had been pretty sad over it.

"Yeah." George nodded, before frowning as he looked at Y/N. "Was he your boyfriend?"

"No." Y/N chuckled humourlessly, lifting a hand to wipe away tears that George only then noticed were running down her cheeks. "He was my brother.”

George frowned, his stomach immediately sinking. If he'd have known, he would have went around trying to make her talk to him a lot differently. He couldn't help but feel guilty about thinking she was just moody, his gaze softening as he looked at her.

"We were so close," Y/N started seeing as George hadn't said anything. "It was such a shock when he died and I-I just didn't know how to process it. I don't think it's quite hit me yet but.. but he's gone, and I'll- I'll never-" Y/N cut herself off as a sob wracked through her chest, many soon covering as her hands flew to cover her face.

George wasted no time in wrapping his arms around her, pulling her into his chest as he held onto her tightly. He expected her to pull away or start yelling at him, but instead she just wrapped her arms around him and started crying into his chest. The ginger boy frowned, his own eyebrows furrowing as he rested his chin on top of her head.

He couldn't help but pick up on the fact that this was the first emotion he'd ever seen her show properly. Sadness.

After that, George carried on sticking with her. Only Y/N let him. She never spoke about what happened by the oak tree, though George could tell she was grateful. At first it was the same - Y/N didn't really respond to anything George said, and when she did it was just short and snappy replies. But after a while she started talking to him. They conversed through potions, and at breakfast when George had permanently started sitting with her, talking about the most random things. She smiled a little at a few of his jokes, and though it didn't quite meet her eyes, it made George smile twice as wide to know he'd made her smile.

George soon fell in love with the small things she did. Like the way she would fiddle with the ends of her robes in class if Snape was talking. Or how she would bite her lip whenever she was writing or focusing on potion brewing. Or the way she'd subtly smile at George because of a joke he'd said or a funny story. Along with it all, George fell in love with her.

Eventually, he made her laugh.

The two had been talking all breakfast, as usual, playfully bickering about one thing or another. They both knew there was no ill intent behind the words, as it was something they did all the time.

"Are you serious? No, George, pineapple does not belong on pizza." Y/N shook her head, smiling slightly as she spoke.

"When I find where I asked for your opinion I'll take it, but I haven't found it yet so I’ll stick with mine." George quipped back.

Instead of shooting back something else, Y/N couldn't help but break into entertained laughter. The sound was like music to George's ears, causing him to smile as he watched the beautiful girl in front of him laugh. Even after the spout of laughter had finished, there was still the most beautiful smile he'd ever seen painted across her lips.

George couldn't help himself. Without thinking he leaned forwards towards her, a hand lifting to her cheek as he let his lips collide with her's. It was short, as once he'd realised what he'd done the boy pulled away just as quickly with a shocked expression.

"Blimey I'm sorry!" He quickly apologised. "I shouldn't have-" Y/N cut him off by kissing him again.

When she'd pulled away, she had a soft smile across her lips that made George's heart melt with just about the rest of him.

"Thank you." Y/N said softly, looking down at their hands when George had grasped one of hers, lacing their fingers together.

George didn't have to ask what she was thanking him for, because he already knew. Instead he smiled back just as wide, giving her hand a gentle squeeze as he nodded his head. "You're welcome, love."

[corpse-of-bandersnatch]

That's the whole interview with Jeff by Nicole Iskra, in which they also talked about him shaving of his chest hair. It was published in the Moviestar 05/2001 (the interview, not the chest hair).

I won't translate everything word for word, but if you wish a closer translation of a special topic/question, let me know and I try my best. (Also I apologize for the bad quality of the middle part of the scanned magazine).

PARALLAX – Madness from the Internet

„I was the Incarnation of their worst nightmare!“ - An interview with Jeffrey Combs

Before the interview starts, they introduce the latest movie Jeff was in back then, which is Parallax aka FearDotCom (almost the complete first column describes the Plot). Parts of it where shot in Luxembourg, which is also the Place where the interviewer meets Mr. Combs.

They meet in front of the Inter-Continental Hotel. Mr. Combs is PISSED, because the breakfast in the Hotel was awful (slimy fried egg) and the staff was rude (someone came in his room without knocking or apologizing, while he was sitting on his bed, only wearing a T-Shirt and Shorts).

They walk into the City of Luxembourg and Jeff's wondering about the many colourful life-sized cow sculptures, that you can find everywhere in town (quote: „Is this supposed to be art?!“).

He's searching for a souvenir for his wife, but in in his opinion, all of the dresses are outdated and their colours terrible. The interviewer teaches him the very important rule „Grün und Blau schmückt die Sau“.

They decide to eat in a Burger Restaurant called „Maybe not Bob's“, where he orders chicken wings with french fries and a coke (quote: „like a real American“).

Jeff speaks about the results of his genealogical research: Originally, his family came from Devon in England, but settled 1619 in Jamestown (Virginia) to work for Virginian Tobacco Co.

1. Question: The first question is about the renaming of FearDotCom to Parallax (reason being uncertainty about who owns the name). It follows more describing of the movie’s plot, this time from Mr. Combs himself.

His friend Bill Malone directed Parallax/FDC and offered Jeff the role, because they already worked together in Haunted Hill and Perversions of Science.

2. Question: You got along so well with Peter Jackson while filming The Frighteners. Will you at least get a Cameo in Lord of the Rings, even if it's only as Orc Nr. 260?

JC: That's the one Orc, that survived, right? (laughs). Nah seriously, I didn't get a role, unfortunately. I auditioned, , but the problem was the british accent. I can imitate it, but when you're surrounded by actors like Ian McKellen and Ian Holm, it's really not hard to tell who's a „real  Briton“ and who's not.

3. Question: Did your latest movie before Parallax/FDT – The Attic Expeditions –  had it's premiere in America yet?

JC: No, not yet. The world premiere was a couple of weeks ago here in Luxembourg and it was also shown on Festivals in Edinburgh and Amsterdam. Sadly, they didn't show it on the film festival in Brussel.

I'm really enthused by The attic Expeditions, because it's interesting, not linear, not logical, with few horror elements, but the horror is mostly psychological. It's like a dream in a nightmare on a trip. The longer you watch the movie, the less you know, what's real, it's a really complex movie, especially by american standards.

4. Question: In retrospect, would you call your role as Herbert West a curse?

JC: (sighs) Somehow, it's a curse and a blessing at the same time. Thanks to the role, I was branded as „Horror actor“ in Hollywood. After Deep Space Nine I was branded as „Horror- and Sci Fi- actor“. Movie people love to categorize you. On the other hand, the role of Herbert West opened up a lot of possibilities for me.

5. Question: 10 Years ago you told a funny story at a convention in New York, about sth. that happened while filming From Beyond. Could you maybe tell it again for the Moviestar readers?

JC: You mean the one with the children?

MS: Exactly!

JC: (grins) Well, we were already filming for a month – so I've been in this horrible make-up for 30 days already, with this awful head piece that looked like a red dog dick. I looked worse than Quasimodo! That's why I ate mostly in my dressing room. One day, they shot a commercial with a bunch of 4-year-old children in mushroom costumes on the same soundstage. We met in the hallway and as soon as those poor, innocent children saw me, all hell has broken loose. I was the incarnation of their worst nightmare, they screamed and ran to their mothers, who wanted to lynch me on the spot. So now it was me, who ran away.

But that's how it is, when you have a lot to do with make-up and masks and stuff like this. Not long ago, I was strapped to a cross made out of tubes, my throat was „cut“, there was blood all over me. And sometimes, when you're hanging there long enough, the crew just forgets that you're there, because for them, you just turned into a part of the set. Until you give a signal: „Umm sorry, guys, could you..maybe..“ - „Oh yeah sure, sorry Jeff, sorry..“

6. Question: (you might already know this one from this post): After that scene in From Beyond, in which you get eaten by this worm, your chest is as smooth as that of a baby – did they shave off your chest fur?

Jeff: Yes! (laughs)

MS: Did you do it yourself?

Jeff: Yes and I learnt something very important: Never use a normal razor blade, an electric razor is way better and safer and it doesn’t itch as badly, when the hair grows back. I had to shave my chest for a theater role once as well. I was 26 or so and played an 18-year-old.

7. Question: Do you still play in theatres regulary?

JC: No, not in the past couple of years, though theatre is very dear to my heart. Back in the days, I loved to play in theatres – living like a gypsy, 8 weeks in San Diego, and somewhere else afterwards. But that's not how I want to live today, now that I have a family. I don't like to leave my two little girls for several weeks, plus an engagement in a theatre isn't really helpful financially. I earn the same money in 1 week of shooting a movie as I do in 4-5 months of theatre work.

8. Question: I read that Woody Allen pays every actor 5.000 Dollar, because in his opinion, no one is worth 20 Million Dollar, neither beginner nor Superstar. What do you think about the explosive growth of fees nowadays?

JC: I do think that you should take the money, that the market offers you. But somebody, who earns 20 Millions per movie should share at least a million with their not so lucky co-actors.  No, seriously, it's not that easy to make a living. A friend of mine got a job, where he plays the brother of Kevin Costner. When I asked him, if he gets payed well, he shook his head and said, that he only gets tariff plus 10%. Tariff is the lowest wage possible, that was defined by union. My friend had the choice to either work with Costner or don't. And as an actor you always hope that a movie like this becomes a success and maybe improves your chances in Hollywood.

MS: Thank you for making so much time for us!

[daily-dose-of-imagines]

ꜰᴏʀɢᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ɴᴏᴛ | ᴋᴀɪ ᴄʜɪꜱᴀᴋɪ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴏɴᴇ-ꜱʜᴏᴛ

Y’all thought it was oVER? lolol Blame Admin T--- I asked her who I should write for BNHA and she said this SO ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ As always, thank you all so much for the love and support for this blog~! I hope you all enjoy this as much as I did with writing it~!

I do apologize if I don’t capture his character the best ;;” 

I won’t lie, I was listening to Might U as I was writing this.

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Tedious. At least, that’s what it should’ve been. Yet instead of feeling the normal bouts of irritation at the lack of control he had over the situation at hand, he felt...unnerved. The imaginary seed that was implanted in his stomach all those months ago seemed to only gain in mass.

“...Who are you?”

He shouldn’t have allowed himself to grow these...feelings. Not only did he feel contaminated and utterly sick to his stomach, but the strange ache in his chest did nothing to help soothe his frazzled nerves as those curious yet dim (e/c) hues peered into his sorrowful golden ones.

“...My name is Chisaki Kai...”

“Oh! Hello Chisaki.”

A bout of coughing and another grimace as the pain in his chest amplified tenfold at the horrifying sound. It disgusted him. It truly did, yet instead of feeling the need to get away, he wanted to get closer to her. To comfort her-- hell to shake some common sense into her. Even if it meant he would break out, he just had to do something.

“I...apologize if this seems rude...”

“What is it?”

“...what happened to your arms?”

“...I lost them because I was careless. This...I suppose, is my punishment.”

Her curious stare continued to wash over him as he felt the prickle of goosebumps rise on his shoulders. Turning away, he kept his gaze on the vacant wall of the hospital ward. This was torturous. She was torturous. 

Yet still she managed to worm her way into his heart, and he didn’t know whether or not if he wanted to ask for cardiac surgery or to embrace this newfound emotion.

All he really knew was that if he had only been smarter-- hell maybe even faster at coming up with the quirk-destroying drug he could’ve prevented this. He could’ve gotten rid of the parasite that lurked in her veins.

➽───────────────❥

6 Months Ago

“Patient name: (y/n) (l/n). Quirk: Amnesiac.”

Trudging down the corridor, the man once known as Overhaul, walked in step alongside his parole officer / attending doctor. It hadn’t been too long since his arrest and...amputation. In all honesty, he wondered why he was being granted this rare privilege. 

An assistant for a patient. That’s all they had told him. Of course Kai had to scoff. How on earth was he supposed to help? With the lack of usable limbs and knowledge limited to that of basic medical needs he didn’t really find a real necessity in this patient’s apparent ‘recovery’.

“...Amnesiac?”

“As it’s name implies, it’s a quirk that deals the user amnesia--- yet in our patient’s case it not only forces her to lose her memories, but practically breaks down her body’s physical state.”

“...In simpler terms?”

“In short every time she loses her memory her body deteriorates along with it. It’s as if her body is, in a sense...rewinding itself forward to make up for the fact that she lost those memories.”

A grimace. If he could, he would’ve spat out that he had been right in his assumption that quirks were just an infestation to the world, this patient clearly being a poor victim of it.

“...And what is my purpose of ‘assisting’ you?”

“As far as I’m aware, you’re pretty damn heartless and selfish. So it should be easy for you to not catch feelings for her whilst being a constant in her life right?”

“A...constant.”

“Yeah, just someone who she sees everyday until well...”

“She passes.”

“I mean...yeah. Damn you really are heartless.”

“Tch. This is a waste of my time is what this is.”

“Hey, you’re helping me whether you want to or not man. It’s just a visit everyday for like, an hour or two at most.”

Another grimace was given as Kai felt a shiver run down his spine. Despite the place he would be in was a hospital, it still brought the ex-yakuza boss a sense of dread. Especially with the amount of infested bodies that littered the place.

“...how long?”

“Holy shit dude, I get that you don’t want to do this but seriously---”

“How long until she loses her memory you dumbass.”

“..Oh. Well, from what we gather they can last from a day, to a couple of months. Though the longer she stays in a...well, let’s call it a session, the more it harms her body.”

“So say she forgets me tomorrow.”

“Then her body moves forward a day.”

“....After a month?”

“She lurches forward a month.”

“Thus leading to a quick progression in her deteriorating health.”

“...Exactly.”

It was, to say the least, unsettling to hear. Never had he heard of such a sickening twist for a quirk. No matter, the deal was simple. If he was lucky, this would last a year-- as fucked up as it sounded, the sooner she passed the less she would suffer in the long run.

As they neared the door, the clear unease that settled on his features was one that his parole doctor could see from a mile away. 

“Chill dude, it’ll be fine.”

With that, the door cracked open, and there seated quietly whilst reading a book was a woman. By any standards she was normal, average, easy on the eyes with a slight fae-like feel. Though really it was most likely the early evening glow that cascaded into her room the moment they entered. 

All Kai really knew was that it was the moment when gold met glittering (e/c) hues that a seed lodged it’s way into his stomach.

➽───────────────❥

It had started off easy-- well in Kai’s opinion it had. Every other day seemed to be a new start to the ritual that was re-introducing himself to her and making small talk. 

In all honesty, he wouldn’t admit it, but the simplicity of being able to have a normal conversation with someone brought a sense of peace in him. Of course this didn’t mean his usual snark and calculating ways-- or so he says.

For Kai, this change in routine was oddly enough, welcomed. With everything he had gone and the collogues he had imprisoned god knows where, the opportunity to engage in small talk was to say the least, enlightening. It had surprised him. As someone who sought out tactical moves in reading his opponents, he found himself at ease with the simplicity of where he was at.

Granted it was albeit dull in comparison to the interrogations he goes through, it was still a part of his routine that he refused to change. Not when he’s been so invested in it.

That changes when the day he enters her room to find that instead of having to reintroduce himself to her, she remembers him. She flashes him a gentle smile with an endearing, “How are you?” and that in itself has the former yakuza leader lose his breath as he can only comically blink at her before forcing himself to adjust to this strange change.

No later did another change occur that brought a wave of new emotions in him. She had touched him. A caress to his cheek, and unsurprisingly in that moment he broke out in hives. His sight blurring as panic shot through his system at the abundance of thoughts that struck his head as the irritation from the hives had him reeling away from her.

He didn’t see her distressed face. Nor did he see the tears that streamed down her cheeks as she desperately sought out someone to help him. Instead, he awoke to his room laying down with his hives treated. 

He felt violated. Disgusted, yet still. Even with that he found himself at her door a week later. Prepared to start a new with her and a possible replay of what had happened a week prior. Instead, he found her bowed deeply at the waist as she tightly clutched at the thin fabric of her hospital gown.

“I’m so sorry Chisaki! I didn’t know...I deeply apologize for what had happened!”

“...You...remembered?”

“Of course! You’re someone I can never forget.”

The pit in his stomach grew tenfold as his feet began to walk towards the awaiting lounge chair. Golden hues met truthful (e/c) ones as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat before once again bowing.

“I really am sorry...I shouldn’t have reached out to you like that...”

“...just be more aware next time.”

And like that, the pit in his stomach continued to grow. With each passing day she retained her memories, the more the pit swelled in size, and the more she began to work her way into his heart.

➽───────────────❥

Present Day

He didn’t know why he felt an overwhelming pressure in his gut. The lack of food he ate was odd enough, but to actively avoid something out of his daily routine? It was unheard of. He even made that stupid request to ask his parole doctor to grab (y/n) that stupid drink she liked. 

Mentally shaking his head, Kai lightly tapped his shoe against the door before sliding it open. 

The sight bestowed upon him though was one that could’ve brought him to his knees as the pang in his chest seemed to duly ache as he dragged his feet into the room.

“...(y/n)?”

It was quiet. The warm beams of the spring sun settled on her pale features as dim (e/c) orbs glimmered at the sight of him. He should’ve seen this coming. Especially after she had remembered him the day it set everything out of pattern. Instead, he turned a blind eye. Out of pure ignorance? He wasn’t remotely sure anymore. All he knew was that she shouldn’t be like this.

She should be her stupid lively self, cracking jokes and sharing her stupid stories with him. Not laying there like a corpse.

“Ah...Chi-- Kai, sorry you caught me waking up from a nap. I’m sorry I don’t look more presentable...”

“Nonsense. Now, tell me what you’ve done today.”

“Straight to the point huh? Sometimes I wonder how you’d ever date anyone.”

Though weak, the teasing tone she held in her voice was one that added more weight to his chest as he seated himself in what she declared the ‘(y/n)’s best friend’s chair’. A stupid name if you asked him, but he wouldn’t tell her that.

And like that, she spoke of her day, simple tasks and duties she’s done during her stay at the hospital while Kai listened to her as the best friend she claimed he was. 

As for the new name basis, Kai couldn’t tell anyone when it picked up. All he knew was that it didn’t piss him off as much as it should’ve.

As the time neared for him to leave, she stopped him. A look of hesitance on her face as irritation seemed to grow on his own.

“What is it?”

“....Can I hold your face?”

“What?!”

“With gloves on!”

The statement caught him by surprise. Already he felt the disgusting voices in the back of his head whisper at him yet instead of acting on those voices he found himself mutely staring at her as she fumbled over her words.

All he could really pick out was the light blush that was on her cheeks. The spark of color that brought his feet towards her bedside as she stared up at him with shock in those (e/c) eyes. 

“Tch. What are you waiting for?”

Caught off guard, she could only stare at him for a moment before giddily shifting herself to get off the bed. A noise of distaste left his throat at her motion as she merely rolled her eyes and shushed him as she went to fervently clean her hands before snapping on the gloves.

Yet as she did this he couldn’t help but feel the ache in his chest grow even more at the sight of her frail hands and the subtle appearance of a bruise around her wrist at her careless motion of snapping the gloves on. This was immediately forgone as she walked up to him, mindful to keep a distance before she hesitantly held her hands out in a flower cup motion.

At first, Kai had no idea what she was doing, but as he grew to analyze the situation-- as well as remember the odd videos and photos she decided to show him as she sought a sort of relationship herself-- he carefully put his chin into her hands. The hesitancy of her fingers brushing his cheeks pulled a new sort of fondness in his chest as he finally relaxed his cheek against her shy hand.

Golden eyes peered deeply into glimmering (e/c) as he watched her face light up with the most color he had see on her that day. Satisfied, he waited until she finally let go.

“...Thank you, Kai.”

“No problem.”

“No really...thank you...for everything.”

Unease quickly overtook the fondness in his heart as he straightened himself out. Confusion was clearly matted onto his features as he stared down at her.

“...Why are you saying that?”

“What? I can’t say what I want for once? You let me all the time so just let me say this too!”

Finding the whole situation uncomfortable, Kai made his way to the door once more. Though before he left he motioned with his head for her to get back into bed. In response, he got her usual snark as she stuck her tongue out before carefully getting back into bed.

“If you’re on good behavior tomorrow, I’ll have your doctor bring you that drink of yours.”

The light in her eyes was enough to satisfy him and his worries as she nodded quickly before giving him a mock salute as she excitedly got herself comfy in the bed.

“Alright, you promised Kai~!”

➽───────────────❥

“Who are you?”

It should’ve have hurt him as much as it did, but after 6 fucking months. 6 months of her being a daily part of his life where she did not forget him for a single moment came crashing down. The tremble that clutched tightly to his words as he re-introduced himself went unnoticed as he slowly made his way towards the lounge chair that was once considered to be (y/n)’s best friend’s chair. 

“...My name is Chisaki Kai.”

“Oh! Hello Chisaki.”

He could tell she was straining with keeping up a happy front. Her appearance was frail. So delicate that he feared anyone who touched her would be the cause of her disappearing before his eyes. The drink he had requested for her sat innocently on the bedside table as she gave him a reassuring smile.

“It’s going to be okay...”

“...what?”

“You look...distressed, I wanted to just reassure you things will be okay.”

No they won’t. He wanted to scream it at her, that the rasp in her voice was punching holes into his gut. That the frail breathing she had was worse than his quirk being taken away from him.

And in that moment, they stayed in silence. Merely watching one another with mixed emotions before he broke back into the routine he once thought would be meaningless.

“...What did you do today?”

Her words, though slow, told him of a peaceful day. One with little adventures and many simple moments that he’s come to slowly appreciate in his own life. 

Though as the hour of his leave came, he found it hard to get up from the chair. His feet staying practically cemented to the floor as he watched her peer out the window as the warm rays of the early evening sun cascaded over her. Much like it had that day he first saw her.

Forcefully pushing himself up from the chair, he made his way towards the door. Yet each step he took towards it the more the aching feeling in his chest grew as the fear of his last day in that room came to it’s due date.

“...Kai? Can you turn around for me...just once?”

The words caught him completely off guard as he turned to face her. Those eyes no longer were filed with guarded walls. Instead he was met with the face of (y/n). The woman he came to slowly adore within the past 6 months.

He didn’t even think. Instead he surged forward, practically bruising his legs at the force he decided to stop himself with. Though he didn’t care. The bruises be damned, she remembered him. 

“...Can I hold your face? One more time? I promise I won’t ask again. I’ll even wear gloves!”

“...No need.”

The aching in his chest grew tenfold as he found it hard to speak. The overwhelming emotions that sat in his chest were ready to burst out of him. Though he wasn’t sure how. Instead he bent down slightly, finding her confused face even more endearing before he rolled his eyes.

“Well?”

“B-But...the hives---”

“I don’t care. Hurry the fuck up.”

Like that, the confusion vanished as she gently put her hands together in that familiar flower cup motion. Worry was clearly evident in her eyes as she looked at him, but before she could even question again he placed his chin into her awaiting hands. Already the prickly sensation of the hives began to pool as he could feel them form across his skin.

“K-Kai--”

“It’s fine. Shut up. You said you won’t ask again.”

“T-That’s true...”

“Tch. You can make it up to me by getting better so I can show you the world.”

“...when you’re not in prison anymore, right?”

“Right...”

It was hard to speak now. The lump that once was in his stomach had traveled to his throat as he watched her warm (e/c) glisten with unshed tears as she gently caressed his cheeks, ever so mindful of his hives as she tried to at least move her hands. Instead, the male pressed himself further into her touch as the tears began to fall. If anyone noticed the strain in his voice, they didn’t mention it.

“...If you’re gonna be greedy that do what you’ve been wanting to do you romantic obsessed moron.”

With that, she shifted forward before pressing a sweet kiss to his forehead as the tears came down harder. The lump in his throat making it almost unbearable to talk.

“...Thank you Kai...thank you so much for these six months...”

“.....”

“Don’t forget me...okay?”

“Idiot...as if I could even forget the one dumbass that made me breakout after my imprisonment.”

A weak laugh was given as she finally pulled away. With her eyes rimmed red, she shifted to make a call for a nurse, though that was cut short as Kai surprisingly climbed into her bed. No words were exchanged as she reluctantly shifted herself down into the bed-- though it did take time, she managed to curl herself in a way where she left distance between them. 

“...aren’t you supposed to go?”

Featherlike and faint, he strained to hear her as he shifted himself down to properly face her as he melted in her (e/c) gaze. The slow dimming of life in her eyes was enough to tell him that it was time. However, he refused to believe it. If anything he’d find her awake the next day with that silly smile on her face. Yet even as he thought about this, the tears that he once thought were impossible for him, slowly began to stream down his cheeks as he nestled himself closer to her.

“....one day won’t kill them.”

“...mmm...”

“....go to sleep angel, I’ll be right here...”

“...and...you’ll be next to me?”

“...always.”

➽───────────────❥

Patient Name: (y/n) (l/n) Chisaki Quirk: Amnesiac 

Time of Death: 6:05PM

[midearthwritings]

Of Courtship and Patience (PART 1)

It took Naya many decades and three courtship proposals before giving her heart to Thorin.

Words Count : 2,188

Warning : Canonical Character Death, Grief

Author's Note : Ok so, little bit of context. The first part is set between TA 2793 and 2799, during the War of Dwarves and Orcs. I tried to stay as close to the story as possible. I'm really f-ing nervous because this is my first ever OC fic. Hope you will enjoy it.

And a big thank you to my #1 cheerleader @laurfilijames for helping me proof reading this and for her eternal support.

“Will they return to us?” 

Dís’ trembling voice made Naya look up at her. Her face, which was always so calm and composed, was distorted with fear and sorrow. 

Erebor was long lost, and exile had been forced onto them. It took years to get accustomed to the fact that they would never see the Lonely Mountain again. And after losing a home and being condemned to wander the world in search of somewhere to live, one would think there wasn’t much left to lose. It seemed the Gods did not share the same opinion for uncertainty and grief had been haunting the two young ladies’ nights lately.

Even without a king, those who could handle a weapon were taken away to battle. Even without a kingdom, the line of Durin was royalty. Therefore, they were the firsts to run into the deadly embrace of war. Death was their duty.

Slowly, Naya slid her hand into Dís’ in a gesture she hoped was reassuring enough.

“I cannot promise such a thing,” she said in a soft tone. “ For hoping too much might kill you if they do not come back. We can only wait.” 

The fire crackled quietly in the hearth, like a whisper carrying the saddest news and comforting them at the same time. It warmed their hearts when it had destroyed all they ever had, leaving them with nothing but their tears. 

Far from here, far from the safety of these walls, those they cherished the most were fighting vile creatures, exposing their souls to Death’s greedy fingers. Naya’s guts twisted and her eyes dropped to the floor. 

“If we lose them, Dís, will our friendship survive?”

A strong hand grabbed her face and forced her eyes to lock with Dís’. They were burning with determination, challenging her to repeat what she had said.

“Silly, if we lose them, you will be all I have left. So do not say such words, even to jest. I cannot bear the thought of having my greatest friend parted from me.”

The younger lady’s lips curved into a smile, a crooked one for the fingers digging into her cheeks made it hard. It made Dís smile as well, one mirroring the other. Mahal might have not crafted them to be each other's One, but surely, he had made them be the perfect reflection of the other's soul. They were like two sides of the same blade, held together by a bond so strong that neither time, life, or death would ever be able to break.       

      Although time did not break them apart, it did break their hearts. Many moons had passed without hearing from anyone. Dís, as well as Naya, had started to mourn the death of their brothers and friends. Or, at least, their disappearance. They had lost any hope of seeing them ever again. And so one day, they stopped praying for the Gods to have mercy, and silence replaced their hopeful chatter as they held each other’s hand every night. 

One morning, however, someone pounded loudly on Dis’ wooden door. Naya left her baking aside and went to open it. Perhaps was it that dwarf again, the one that was eyeing Dís like she was the most precious thing in this world. Naya wiped her hands onto her apron and pulled the door open.

It was not Dís’ suitor. She could not believe her eyes, at first. But there Thorin was, standing in the doorway, waiting for her to let him in. 

“Mahal, are my eyes fooling me?” She breathed out. “Thorin, is that really you?” 

The words had barely left her mouth when she heard Dís running down the stairs, her footsteps resonating inside the house like a thunderstorm. But all she could focus on was Thorin's blue eyes on her. They reminded her of the clear spring sky, full of promises of new beginnings. It was like when the sun was back from its long sleep, awakening the flowers and birds and people's hearts. And perhaps, at this moment, something did bloom in Naya's heart. 

             She did not hear  Dís call her brother's name and barely registered when she pushed past her to drag him into a tight embrace.

“Oh brother, I thought I would never see you again!” she exclaimed.

“Fear not, sister. A few cuts and scratches are all I had to go through.”

Naya smiled fondly. Dís’ love for Thorin washed over her, making her heart beat faster inside her chest. Only now did she realize it was not a dream. He had come back to them with almost no wounds and, most importantly, alive.

She stepped forward and laid her hand on Dís’ shoulder. Her friend pulled back, releasing Thorin from her arms. He was changed. His features had been hardened by war and his eyes were clouded with something she could not quite pinpoint.

“Won’t you embrace me as well?” 

Thorin’s deep voice sent shivers down her spine and she wrapped her arms around his body. He had lost weight, and she would have to make sure he regained all of it. But he hadn’t lost his muscles. She buried her face in his mane, but its softness wasn’t enough to make the coppery smell of blood go unnoticed. At this moment, Thorin felt like a stranger and like home all at once. 

“Your sister missed you greatly.” Naya whispered, only for him to hear.

“And you?” he asked in an equally low tone.

Naya chuckled and tightened her grip. She had missed him more than the sun missed the moon, more than the birds missed the trees covered in leaves during summer.  

“Yes, Thorin, I did.”

They let go of each other slowly as if to make the moment last longer. She could feel Dís’ eyes on her back, scrutinizing them. She stepped back, giving the prince some space, and offered a smile to her friend. 

“You must be tired, and hungry,” Naya said. “Get yourself comfortable, we will make something for you to eat.”

And so they did. Soon enough, the three of them were sitting at the table, sharing a meal. It was mostly Thorin who ate, in fact, for Naya and Dís did not feel the need to. Surrounded by comforting silence, they watched him eat, making sure he had everything he needed. But peace was something people were granted only for a short amount of time. 

“Thorin, when will Frerin come back?” Dís asked in a voice so timid Naya thought it wasn’t really her who had spoken up.

The prince looked up to his sister and Naya finally understood what it was that filled his eyes. It was grief. Frerin would not return. 

It did not take long for Dís to understand as well. She nodded slightly, tears threatening to fall, but she did not cry. She would when no one was looking because it was how royalty mourned the death of their loved ones. Naya was not royalty. Yet, she kept her head up and held back her tears to pay her respect to Frerin’s family and his memory. 

The following days, candles were lit in memory of the lost heir of Durin. They shone brightly like little stars, guiding Frerin into Mahal’s Halls. Naya held Dís as she grieved, but no words were able to soothe the excruciating pain that had taken over the princess’ heart.

Naya had hoped Thorin would help her, that he would stay by his sister’s side and comfort her, but no one had seen him for days. He had barely returned to them and he was already gone again. She felt anger towards him. For years, he had been away, battling against creatures that wanted him dead, and when Dís needed him the most, he was nowhere to be seen. Naya would have his head if he did not make an appearance soon.

One night, after they had stopped lighting candles and Dís was resting, he came to find her. It was late, and sleep had abandoned her. So she was baking again, hoping to silence the dark thoughts. She heard him coming from behind, his footsteps barely audible like those of a mouse. 

“Have you finally found some interest in your sister’s feelings?” she spat out, keeping her back to him. 

“Naya, I must speak to you.” 

She spun around, her blood boiling with rage. Wiping her hands on her apron, she walked up to him.

“No Thorin,” she said accusingly, her index finger digging into his chest. “It is I who must speak to you. We have not seen, nor heard from you in years. The thought that maybe you had passed away has kept us awake at night. Although I am more than delighted to have you back, you had no right to abandon your sister again. Mahal, Thorin, do you not care for Frerin’s death?”

His hand enveloped her wrist, carefully pushing it away. The feeling of Thorin’s calloused fingertips on her sensitive skin made her heart skip a beat.

“I do care for my brother,” he explained. “Crying over his death will not bring him back to life.”

“Then it is very selfish of you to believe everyone grieves the way you do.” 

They stayed quiet for a while, standing close to each other, their breath mingling together. Through the kitchen window the pale moonlight poured onto Thorin’s face and made his eyes look like the most precious jewels Naya had ever been blessed to see.

“I apologize for neglecting my sister, and you. I hope you will find in your heart the will to forgive my behavior. In my defense, I have been busy.”

“What could be more important than your family, Thorin?” she asked quietly.

Slowly, the prince pulled something out of his coat. It was a folded piece of fabric that looked a little dirty. He handed it over to Naya and she took it, looking back and forth between Thorin and the small bit of material.

“What is it?” she questioned again.

“You must open it if you wish to find out.”

Carefully, she unfolded it, revealing a single metal bead lying in the center. It was beautifully crafted, intricate patterns engraved into it. As she looked closer she recognized some of the symbols. Her eyes widened and she looked back at Thorin. 

“Thorin, I-”

“Naya,” he interrupted, cupping her face with his palms. “This is a token of my love for you. I wish I could offer you more, I wish we were still in Erebor so I could treat you as you deserve. But no matter where or when, no matter the circumstances, I promise to honor and cherish you until Mahal calls us into his halls. In your hands lies my heart and the promise of my eternal love. Please, allow me to court you.” 

Naya’s heart was pounding inside her chest, and she feared Thorin might have heard it because his lips curved into a small smile. The moonlight hit the bead, and the soft light caught her eyes. Her eyes fell back onto the tiny object and she smiled softly.

“This is what you have been up to…” she concluded, her finger brushing against the cold metal. “It is very pretty, Thorin. Your skills are very impressive. But I must refuse-”

As she spoke, she folded the piece of fabric over the silver bead, hiding it from her view and Thorin’s hands fell to his side.

“Why is that, if I may ask? Is it not to your liking? I could make you another one.”

“No Thorin, it is not that.” she said, giving him his gift back. “I must say, your feelings are returned. My heart beats for you, trust me. But we are still young, Thorin. As we grow up, your heart will change and desire other things. I do not wish for you to promise me love when your One could still be out there.”

The prince shook his head and grabbed her hips, pulling her against his chest, causing Naya to huff disapprovingly.

“I do not think my heart will ever love anyone but you.” Thorin affirmed.

Naya chuckled, her forehead falling to his shoulder. She stayed silent, enjoying the warmth of Thorin’s body against hers. 

“How about…” she began, pulling back. “ How about you wait some more? If your love for me has not faded, decades from now, you may propose again.”

She looked at him as he seemed to be considering her offer. Finally, he gave her a small nod.

“I shall wait then.” he declared. “Until then, allow me to steal a kiss?”

“Now, Thorin,” she joked, tilting her head to the side and wrapping her arms around his waist. “That wouldn’t be proper, much less from a prince, to steal kisses outside of courtship, don’t you think? Although, I can grant you this-”

She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his bearded cheek. And the smile she earned from it was worth more than all of the gold in the world.

He would wait for her, and she would wait for him.

[sweetestlamb]

I’m Not Okay(But That’s Okay)

Summary: Mun-Yeong accepts Gang-Tae’s harsh rejection and learns about love and life from unexpected friends, meanwhile Gang-Tae starts to realize what he had and tossed away and fights to win back Mun-Yeong’s heart. 

Genre: Healing Romance and then smutty smut smut. 

Author’s Note: This story started out as a revenge fic because much like my Queen MY I like to get even but then I started thinking, it should be more than just getting back at GT. So this is a story of realizing your worth and learning who you really are, without other’s opinions. Both of our babies realize their worth and find their way back to each other. 11k, my longest one-shot ever. Hope you all enjoy! 

Salty tears fell uncontrollably as she held herself, shaking like a leaf in the bitter winter cold. She felt as if someone had scooped her heart out with a jagged spoon, scrapping everything until there was nothing left. She cried, each drop falling and joining the oceans crushing waves. Wondering if this was how the ocean was first formed, the tears of those who had endured unimaginable pain. Weeping for lovers who would never return. 

You were like a firecracker to me. A one time event. 

Sobbing, she fell to the ground remembering her own harsh words, visceral and acidic on her tongue. She didn’t want to be a bomb, not anymore. She had gotten a taste of what love could be like and it was ambrosia, cloying saccharine on her tongue. With one small press of his lips to hers he had awakened emotions in her that had not only laid dormant, but had been beaten and hardened into something grotesque. He hadn’t healed her, she knew now that she wasn’t broken just a little fractured, a cast had been wrapped around her heart until it was ready to fully beat and pump love, but he had definitely woken up her emotions. 

Now, standing on that beach, the wind whistling through the soft strands of her hair, she clutched at her chest, trying to keep her heart from crumbling into pieces, holding so tightly that her fingers burned and ached from the pain. 

When no more tears came, and all she had left was gut-wrenching sobs, she finally let go. 

Then she started walking, her legs were heavy as if they were filled with lead but she pushed on, each step taking her away from the disaster site. She wondered if she would ever be able to look at the ocean again without feeling like she was drowning in its vastness. What was it about drowning that made you feel so alive? 

The cursed castle looms over her and the idea of being here, alone elicits goosebumps all over her skin. The coldness that had smothered her after his remorseless rejection made her bones ache and she saw her body fall to the ground, as if she were an entity outside of herself. Her body too weighty to lift a second time, she viciously pushes back memories of his strong hands picking her up and keeping her balanced. The ocean pours from her eyes. 

This is how Sang-In finds her, an empty shell of the woman he knows. Openly weeping on the ground, dirt sticking to her hands and her face ash-fallen, heartache visible in her countenance. Gone was her fire and brimstone and in its stead was ash and soot. She hears the footsteps approaching and hates herself for the seed of hope that starts to bud in her mind.  

“Mun-Yeong.... are you okay?” He whispers to her in voice akin to one you would use with a startled animal. Worried, that even the the press of your lips forming around harsh constants will send them bolting.  Arms outstretched as if he too, was waiting for the explosion. The wail she let out sounds inhuman even to her own ears, she can’t fathom that she could make such a sound. Cautiously he approaches her, over his shoulders the wide doe-like eyes of  Seung-Jae are shining bright, unshed tears glistening like fresh dew. Her rosebud lips curl up in despair as their eyes meet and she falls into Sang-In’s waiting arms. 

He exhales a short breath, surprise evident in the tightening of the muscles in his body. 

She sees the castle moving closer through blurry eyes, her tears so hot and pathetic on her face.  She never meant to give anyone this much power over her and he took it easily, until he was done and once again she was tossed away. She wants so desperately to hate him. 

She can only muster up the will to hate herself. 

“I’ll get you some water.” The chair he places her in, scraps across the wooden floors, the sound obscenely loud in the eerie silence of the castle. 

In. Out. In. Out. 

Aching arms ascend up, crisscrossing on her shoulders, tap, tap, tap. The cotton balls begin to clear from her head, the fuzziness declines until she opens her eyes once more and meets those of the little art director. 

“Why are you here? Aren’t you scared of me?” 

She looks long and hard, eyes darting all over Mun-Yeong’s face. Until her heads moves softly side to side. 

“It’s hard to be scared of someone, who looks so afraid them self.” Her lips snap shut and Mun-Yeong feels the usual desire flow through her, scare her, break her, hurt her. The feeling of warmth on her hands yanks her back from the darkness, that swarms inside her. She looks down at the hand that encompasses her own hand on the table. Wanting to pull away and show her that all these hands know are destruction, they are only capable of pain and death. 

But. 

She’s so warm. 

Sang-In’s eyes broaden in sheer astonishment when he returns to the warm scene but he knows better than to comment. Knows that her hands will become razor-sharp, ready to attack if provoked. 

“Here’s your water.” He places the glass to her lips and gently tilts the glass, pouring back all the fluids she expelled from her body. Her eyes begin to droop in exhaustion, he looks at Seung-Jae and her small nod is the only answer he needs. 

Together, they carry Mun-Yeong’s complacent body up the stairs and tenderly place her in the large bed, its sheer size dwarfing her small frame. Sang-In gazes into her empty eyes and lifts his hand, suspended in time before he thinks better of it and simply pats the bed and silently walks out without a second glance. 

Her thick blanket is drawn up to her chin and the warmth almost brings the ocean back to her eyes. 

“Just sleep. “ Seung-Jae murmurs, no words of encouragement or of better tomorrows, just a simple command and again that warm hand encircles her own and she drifts off into a deep slumber.  She dreams of nothing. 

The sounds of morning wake her from her sleep, she lays in bed, still, comatose until she hears movement in the kitchen and she rushes from her bed. Running, Sprinting. Not bothering to get her slippers, rushing down the stairs, gripping the railing to prevent herself from falling, she can’t miss them swiftly turning the corner and-

Her heart fissures. 

No Sang-Tae. No Gang-Tae. 

Yellow and green bags, cover the table instead of hot soup, rolled omelets, fluffy rice, quail eggs, and steamed tofu. Disappointment cripples her heart and she wonders if it will always hurt this much? Will she have to cauterize every memory she has with them? Burn them close so the scars can remind of what everything she lost and stop her from ever doing it again. 

“Oh you’re awake, here we bought breakfast.” Sang-In presses a sandwich into her hands, sitting down to drink his own coffee and on auto-pilot she crosses the cold kitchen, all of its warmth sucked from the room with the removal of the brothers. 

She turns to look at him with a curious eye. Recalling all those years ago, as she thrashed on her hotel bed, apparitions of her mother haunting her dreams, the rigor mortis in her dead hands not enough to stop her from squeezing the air from her lungs. His fist hand banged on the door, before kicking the door open and shaking her from her night terrors. His face had been ghastly as he looked upon her own wet face, words caught in his throat and she had lashed out when he tried to embrace her. 

Vicious scratches like a wild cat, until he finally gave up and sat down on the ground beside her bed. Minutes passed before he started to hum a nameless tune, she had fallen asleep with his baritone hums soothing her back to sleep. After that, there was a minute shift in their relationship, her cruel words didn’t seem to land the same way as they had done before. He looked at her like he was seeing her for the very first time. 

He was looking at her like that once more. 

Then his eyes shifted and he picked up his own sandwich. 

They ate in silence and she vaguely wondered where the doe had gone with her big Bambi eyes and warm hands. But she didn’t inquiry out loud, people were prone to leaving. She would stop letting that shock her. 

Next day, Bambi as she had taken to calling her showed up. Containers of warm food tied in a bag. She forced herself not to think about where they had come from and instead, chewed the delicious food slowly savoring each burst of flavor on her tongue. 

This went on for days. Some days it was just her and Sang-In and other days Bambi- Seung-Jae was there, and sometimes all three of them ate together. She got used to their constant bickering about everything. On days, when one was there without the other, she noticed that they would turn with complaints on their tongues and ready to engage in a verbal skirmish before remembering that the other wasn’t there. She realized that friendship wasn’t always nice. You were allowed to bicker and rage and then deflate and carry on. 

She watched them do it and heard Sang-In’s words echo in her mind when she asked him about it, his face was as shocked as when she had asked him who he liked more, her or the two-faced bitch. He replied with a finger on his newly naked chin, “ Friendship is complicated because people are too. Anything good is always worth a fight.” 

Gang-Tae had looked like all the fight had fled his body that day at the beach. No.  All his fight for her. He was willing to fight for his brother but he had made it clear that she wasn’t worthy of fighting, of complications, she could be picked up for a good time and then abandoned when the show was over. She was temporary. 

She stayed in bed for days after that heart-breaking revelation. 

Only leaving to eat with Sang-In and Seung-Jae. 

Sunlight trickled through her curtains, as she got dressed. All black armor wrapped around her body. The sleeves of her floor length black dress, puffed up daring anything to get close to this dangerous creature. The bodice of the dress was almost too tight across her chest, molding the shattered pieces of her heart into some semblance of normalcy. She completed her ensemble with a large black netted hat that draped into her face, partially covering her eye and her towering black heels. 

Death, itself would shudder at the sight of her. 

Sang-in and Seung-Jae both perked up in admonishment at seeing her in something other than a dressing down. 

“Mun-Yeong, you dazzling beauty!” He sang standing, hands clapping together in joy, he walked around to meet her and saw that the frost that had lined her eyes these past few days had melted a little. 

“Where is my sandwich?” She demanded, humming in acquiescence when Seung-Jae bounded over to hand it to her, eyes lighting up as she informed her that she looked better. 

She felt better. 

It was time to stop mourning she thought ironically enough, whilst looking like the human manifestation of a funeral itself. 

“I have to go to a conference today, so I won’t be here for lunch.” Sang-In stated, pointed looking at his assistant and before she could read between his lines- you need to be here to have lunch with Mun-Yeong. She looked up and said, “I won’t be here today. I called the hospital. I’m going to teach my class today.” 

She didn’t miss the silent conversation that transpired between the two but her mind was made up. She needed to keep moving, staying still wasn’t an option anymore. 

“Okay, I’ll drive you.” Sang-In said leaving no room for argument, she wasn’t used to seeing this side of him. Did he care about her? 

The smile that he was brandishing made her think the answer, might be yes. 

The drive was pleasant, she watched the trees and foliage as the car zoomed past them. Cherry blossom petals falling as if begging someone to catch them. 

Her heart raced as they pulled up in the parking lot, all the times she had done that before flashed in her head, arguing with Sang-Tae about the radio and who should sit next to Gang-Tae all washed over her. She let it. Taking a moment to feel it. Before opening the car door and closing the door on it. 

“I’ll pick you up later.” Sang-In called, pulling out as Seung-Jae waved goodbye, soft smile spread across her innocent face. She ached to wave back but only nodded her head in affirmation, before gripping her bag in her hand. This was it. 

I can’t believe she’s here. Did anyone tell Gang-Tae? What if they run into each other? Do you think they’re still dating? 

She heard all the whispers from the nurses who seemed to have endless time for gossip but none for much less, she had the bruises to proof it, all except Ju-Ri who avoided her like she had the plague and that at least made sense to her, it was just like when they were kids. At least she was consistent. 

Her class had ended a few minutes ago and to her surprise she had missed the idiot patient with the too-bright eyes and endless optimism. Everyone else had nodded in agreement as she told them that “The Little Mermaid” was a tale of making yourself smaller to receive love, that love wasn’t gentle or unconditional but rather controlling and retraining. Trade in your values, beliefs and even voice so you could feel love’s tight grip and even then it wasn’t enough. 

A-reum- she recalled her name-  would have stood up and revolted against her and her bleak outlook on love, would have argued that love was a compromise and sometimes you had to make sacrifices for it but they were worth it. It was easy for her to say that when she had someone who thought she was worth fighting for, Mun-Yeong thought. 

She walked the hallway aimlessly, until her feet brought her to the cafeteria. The same one she had watched him eat in, so many people around him, unlike her people gravitated towards him. Like he had his own orbital pull, but was completely unaware of it or its power. 

Finding an empty table in the back, she walked there not knowing why she felt the need to be here. She slid on the smooth solid plastic of the chair, placing the lunch Sang-In had forced into her hand this morning as she had left the car. 

Soon, she could be a representative for Subways, the way they were consuming it daily. 

The sandwich was cool to the touch, but she didn’t mind. She had high internal heat. She ate alone, taking bite after bite of the sandwich, eyes down at the table before she heard the chair across from her being pulled out. She didn’t look up at first, swallowing her bite and taking a deep breath before she willed her eyes to rise. 

She saw something she had never seen before. 

A warm motherly smiled greeted her. 

“I didn’t know you were back already, you look cheerful.”  Soon-Duk teased, taking in her outfit with an amused grin on her face. 

“This is my happiest black.” She responded, almost jumping at the burst of laughter that her joke garnered and she shyly smiled back, taking another bite of her sandwich. 

“What kind of lunch is that? I will get you some real food.” She moved faster, than Mun-Yeong thought a woman her age should but within seconds, she was back with her delicious home-made food and despite her sandwich she felt her mouth watering. 

Lunch was a compilations of here try this, eat up, no put this with this, you like that? She ate until she thought her stomach would explode. 

“How are you?” Chopsticks stopped midair on their journey to her mouth. How was she. Everyone was asking her that. She had never had so many people worry about her well-being before, it was unsettling. She wasn’t worth any of it. The sooner everyone followed his lead the better. Didn’t they know that everything she touched turned to ruins? She was a harbinger of death, a bomb that would kill everything in its wake. 

She never got a chance to answer that innocuous question. 

Ju-Ri and Gang-Tae were frozen, across the room. Eyes wide in trepidation as she ate with their mother-figure. She wondered if they were scared for her? Terrified, that even being this close to her would result in anguish? 

“Thank you for the food.” She surprised even herself with the words, before standing and walking away, a warm hand on her wrist stopped her escape, “You’re welcome. You can come to me anytime.” She fought back the tears that threatened to spill at the compassionate offer. She nodded. Then continued her escape, never one to stray away from confrontation. She met their eyes, one filled with contempt and the other....too many emotions to read. It wasn’t shocking to see them together, if Mun-Yeong was a firecracker, then Ju-Ri was a wet rag. Dependable. Damp. Lackluster.   Jealousy burned like acid in her stomach as she quickly left the room. 

She never saw those dark soulful eyes, watch her very move, drinking her up like he was dehydrated and she was the only source of relief. 

So lost in her, that he didn’t notice two pair of eyes watching his rapture. 

Life continued, like it always did she thought bitterly. The Earth didn’t stop spinning for any of us. It had been days since her not encounter in the cafeteria, Sang-In had picked her up as he promised and there had been another not encounter, Sang-In’s eyes had hardened while opening the door for her and she turned around to meet those dark haunting eyes. 

He stood silent, as his brother rambled on about... someone named Terry? The circuit when their eyes met had been electric, fizzing through the air. He broke the contact first, eyes gazing over with...something as he looked down at the guiding hand her manager had placed on her back as he ushered her into the car. His other arm looming over her head as he opened the car door for her. The proximity between their bodies minuscule.  That sharp jaw had tightened before he seemed to snap out of it and grab Sang-Tae’s arm, changing their course. 

Giving them a wide berth of space. 

Are you jealous?

Her own words echoed in her mind, as she remembered his aloofness as the fan had sat besides her. Showering her with praise and glowering at her every move, enraptured in her as she was simultaneously enraptured in the pen. The table had jilted from the force with which he slammed the coffee down with, his body turned away from them in overly zealous nonchalance. Until she had started writing her number down, he couldn't stop his contemptuous glances then. She had seen the anger in his eyes has she had pressed this stranger’s hand onto her waist.  She has reveled in his jealousy, mindlessly taking that as proof of his feelings for her. 

His reprimands afterwards had not doused the flames at all, his jealousy was palpable then. The addition of words to his actions, painting an even clearer picture. You’re mine. 

What a load of bullshit. 

Was she is his Mang-Tae? Something you hide away in a drawer only to possessively clutch at it when someone else tried to touch it? 

Anger blistered under her skin, recalling with disdain how happy that moment had once made her. She was a fool to confuse possession with love. 

Not so long ago she had seen them as two sides of the same coin. But she was learning that she was wrong. Everything she had been taught about love was wrong, soured by her mother’s volatile love and her father’s discernible hatred. 

His jealousy brought her no satisfaction now. It might nothing if he wouldn’t fight. She was ready to go to war for them and he could barely pass a punch. It wasn’t equal, and love should be. 

Pale pinks and reds enveloped her body, her pink chiffon dress was soft against her skin, a sheer red covering outset the ensemble resembling Aphrodite herself, her hair was curled in soft waves that framed her face perfectly. The gold-heart necklace that Sang-In had gifted her this morning sat on the prominent clavicle of her chest. On her feet she donned bloody red heels, matching the red of her lipstick that she swiped across her lips. 

Perfect. 

“You look beautiful Ms. Ko Mun-Yeong!” The wide Bambi eyes glimmered in happiness, as Seung-Jae hopped up and clapped her hands, curling wand still in her hands. 

They had been up since morning, the usually frightful art director had dragged her from her a bed with a quick birthday song- do you have a death wish?- before begging her to allow her to help her get ready today. 

It was the first time, she had ever had someone besides her mother touch her hair. She had counted until the panic had subsided. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5...... 

Before looking up and seeing that her hair was all glossy, bouncy curls that she had never been able to achieve on her own.  She had reached up to touch the wondrous curls before a soft hand smacked her own away. 

She looked up in shock and met the terrified eyes of Bambi before she cracked a smile and watched the girl do the same, breathless laughter followed close behind. 

“Don’t touch. Your hair is so silky it was really hard to make it curl, don’t ruin all my hard work.” 

Sang-In pressed in soon after and her skin tingled from all the praises, she looked in the mirror and agreed with all of them. She looked pretty. 

“She’s in a good mood.” She hears one of the patients whisper as she passes by, she can’t deny it. She is. Today she had allowed them to create their own fairy tales, instead of her usual lectures. Their first creative writing session and they were all engaged, stories about princesses and ogres and witches and she smiled as she listened in as a patient defended her decision to make the witch the protagonist and hero. There are good witches! 

Their time soon comes to a close and she hears them all whine in displeasure, “Can we finish them next week and read them out loud?” The old man begs, with pleading eyes, flustered by their evident interest in her class, all she can muster up is a nod. 

Without much thought, she finds herself going to the cafeteria knowing that she will get a few moments with Soon-Duk before they are interrupted. 

She had always relapsed this morning, fingers aching to send him a message. To let him know that today was important. Before remembering that today wasn’t important to him, he had his fun and she needed to leave him alone. 

His rejection still stung and she wouldn’t let it burn her today. 

“Well don’t you look gorgeous.” She perked at the sound of her voice and couldn’t help but smile in response. Warm hands encompass her own and Soon-Duk, walks her to their table, still hand in hand. Mun-Yeong wonders how they look, if they look like mother and daught--

They lapse into a comfortable conversation, she regales her with stories of her class today and how ridiculous some of the stories had been. Soon-Duk’s gentile smile makes her realize that she sounds like a proud teacher speaking of her students and their mishaps. A weird feeling flutters in her stomach. 

“There she is, the birthday girl!” A new voice interrupts their conversation, looking up she sees the kooky director himself, a stupid grin on his weathered face. 

Shock blazes across her face, looking at Soon-Duk who winks in response before leaving without a word. 

“....... my son is a businessman, you would like him! He has always been a big fan of your work. I think it would be wonderful if you two were to met!” She tunes back in, catching the final part of whatever the madman was talking about. 

For whatever reason, she had learned that Soon-Duk liked the director, they teased each other mercilessly, bickering like an old married couple and every once in a while he would join them and bore her with his stories of courtship. How had had fought off a band of thugs to save Soon-Duk’s live with only his watch, as the woman in question rolled her eyes stuffing more food into his ridiculous mouth to shut him up. 

This was the primary reason she found herself agreeing to meet his son later today, This will be his first time visiting me at work, he’s a very busy businessman! 

She liked Soon-Duk a lot, she wondered what had made Ju-Ri such a two-faced bitch when she had that for a mom? 

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Mun-Yeong, happy birthday to you!” That woman must have been a magician in her past life because she suddenly reappeared with a small cake, perfectly round with heaps of sweet frosting and glazed fruits, strawberries and mangoes, her favorite. 

Her cheeks were red from all the attention, the old man is singing terribly and loud, bringing everyone’s eyes to the tables, looks of curiosity and others called out “Happy birthday!” as well and she wasn’t prepared for any of this so she sits quietly, letting emotions she had never had the opportunity to feel wash over her- gratitude, joy, acceptance. 

She felt her throat constrict from the emotions, her body overstimulated. 

A perfectly cut slice was placed in front of her with a fork, “Eat up.”  And she did. Treasuring every bite, like it was her last. 

She felt their eyes before she even looked up and it was her time to leave. Happiness washed over her and without thinking, she pushed out of her chair and wrapped her arms around Soon-Duk. The warm body stiffened and she felt the rejection turn her blood ice cold, before those warm arms melted the frost away. Pulling her tighter into the spontaneous embrace. She hugged and let herself be hugged. 

Remembering where she was and who was watching, she pulled way but not before those those hands were on her cheek, brushing away rogue tears she never knew had dropped.  

Clearing her throat, she picked up what was left of her cake and started walking to the exit. She supposed she could give some to her idiot manager and his hapless assistant. 

A hand shot out and grabbed her elbow, and when she looked up and saw who the hand was attached to- her reaction was immediate, she ripped herself out of his hold and felt fury bubbling under her skin. “Don’t touch me.” 

She watched her words, stab him like daggers and his hand squeezed again as if still feeling the phantom touch of her arm. 

He wasn’t doing good job at hiding his hurt at her words and actions and she momentarily imagined the satisfaction she would feel if she just smashed the cake into his face.  Smeared it all over him and fled without a word. The cake was delicious though and she could feel Soon-Duk’s watchful eyes still on her. 

That wasn’t who she wanted to be anymore. 

She mustered up her courage and walked away, she had imagined what she would do if he ever approached her again, plead for him to stay, ask him to hold her, fall into his arms. Now that he was here, she still felt the desire to just forgive him but.. nothing had really changed. He was still the same coward and she was tired of being strong on her own. 

“Happy birthday.” His soft statement, made her pause for a moment,. Her heart telling her turn around and run into his arms, feel his love for however long he allowed. 

But she knew that she deserved more than he was willing to give. She wanted to be a faithful wife, not a dirty mistress. 

So, she kept walking, until she was outside and sat on the bench, the one where they first met, when she had grabbed hold of him as her destiny, it was now time to let him go and let herself in. 

The day was supposed to be enough, he wasn’t lying when he told her that he had been waiting for that day all this life. Experiencing it with her had made the day even more bittersweet, they had so much fun. Her smiling face had been the prettiest sight and then he had kissed her. 

A quick press of hunger lips, arms folded behind his back to stop them from dragging her into his arms and never letting go. it had been pure torture, resisting her the night before, she had looked at him with those ravenous eyes and sweet mouth and he wanted to let himself be eaten alive. 

But this was going to be his only day and he didn’t want their first kiss to be a drunken mess of tongues and spit, he wanted the kiss that had been taken from him all those years ago, when he had handed her his heart and she had trampled all over it, leaving him bleeding at her magnificent gate. 

That kiss had awakened emotions in his soul that he didn’t know he was capable of feeling, and that should have been the wake up call he needed. But he ignorantly thought that he could have his cake and eat it too, and then Sang-Tae had taken his heart out and slashed it into small pieces. The water that had hit him was nothing compared to the guilt that crushed him, a tsunami wave that shoved him to the ground. 

It was all his fault, he knew that now. He had wanted too much and dreamed a dream that was never his, he had let his brother down and betrayed his mother. You must always protect your brother, that is why I gave birth to you. 

He failed. 

But Sang-Tae had forgiven him, hugged him for the first time in years of his own volition.  And then everything was fine. 

Her crying face had haunted him in his dreams and he woke up in cold sweats, her screams still ringing in his ear, I’m a bomb! I don’t disappear after, I explode and kill everyone! Then dream Mun-Yeong had exploded, her limps sprawled all over and he woke up with silent screams. 

He ignored the dreams and the pain in his chest. This was all for the best, Jae-Su had agreed and reminded him daily. He didn’t need anymore excitement in his life, his brother was enough. 

He didn’t need to celebrate her birthday with her, they weren’t a couple. He wasn’t hurt watching her leave a room every time he entered.  He wasn’t jealous of Ju-Ri’s mother for getting to hold her, a beautiful sight in her airy pink dress, her new hair in curls that he had never seen before. He hadn’t yearned to pluck her from the mother’s arm and hold her in his own, he was fine and everything was fine. 

He didn’t mean to touch her but she had been so close and looked so exquisite, he heard Ju-Ri’s exhale of surprise when his hand reached out to graze her skin and he savored its softness before she had ripped herself away, her words cutting deep, dagger sharp. 

His words had stalled her, but she kept walking not looking back and he wondered what was that breaking noise he heard so loudly in his head? 

“Let’s go sit with my mom.” Ju-Ri stated exasperation profound in her tone, he wanted to tell her to go away and chase after Mun-Yeong. 

He followed her to the table, sitting down before her mother started to share out their respective meals, seeming to have endless supplies of food at all times.  He was always given the most, he noted with shameful pride. 

“Well I got her to agree, to meet my son. I think they’ll really hit it off!” The director exclaimed, pure glee in his eyes as he almost danced in his seat. 

“Leave the girl alone, she has enough on her plate. If your son is anything like you, she’s better off running for the hills!” 

“I told you, he takes after his mother. He is a gentleman if I say so myself, when I mentioned it was her birthday he was adamant about picking up a gift for her!” He said with a voice laced with pride that only a parent could have. 

Gang-Tae felt every muscle in his body harden at his words and the realization at what and who they were talking about. 

He devoured all the food before him to stop himself from, lashing out at the director like he had with Sang-In. She’s mine. She’s mine.

It wasn’t his place to think that, much less act on it. He had said cruel things to her, thrown back all the affection she had given him because she was right he was a coward. He didn’t deserve her. He knew that. But knowing that didn’t stop him from wanting to punch the director in his face as he spouted out more information about his perfect son. 

Who was perfect for Mun-Yeong. 

He couldn’t sit here and listen to this any longer, even his patience wasn’t infinite. He launched himself out of his seat, ignoring Ju-Ri’s cries and her mother’s grasping hand. Tossing the rest of his food out, he pounded out of the cafeteria. Never seeing the twinkle of victory in the director’s eyes. Or Soon-Duk’s slap to his arm, chastising him for his obvious ploy. 

He distracted himself by actually doing his job, something the other nurses seemed to be immune to. Nearly punching Cha-Young in his smug face, when he had boldly asked if he and Mun-Yeong were over and if he wouldn’t mind if he asked her out. His only response was a growl and the slam of his locker door, the lazy nurse had taken his hint and quickly ran off to gossip some more. “Sheesh it was just a question, she’s crazy but she is hot.” 

He eagerly awaited the end of the day, counting the minutes until he could go home and recharge. 

There was no preparation for the scene that greeted him at the hospital’s entrance. Mun-Yeong stood with an overwhelming bouquet of flowers, held tenderly in her small hands. Vibrant pinks, reds and whites that matched her outfit perfectly. She was smiling that soft smile, that usually came before her wrinkle eye smile. He had only ever seen that smile directed at him and felt his heart constrict in jealousy, that someone else was on the receiving end. 

It felt like a sucker punch to the gut, when his eyes leveled with the someone else. That fucking guy from the coffee shop.  He felt satisfaction at being correct about this guy, he was a stalker, how did he even know where she worked? Had they spoken after that first meeting? No. She had told him that she had not been interested in him at all, as she waxed poetry about the beauty of the stolen pen. 

Mun-Yeong was many things but she wasn’t a liar. 

All the female nurses cooed at the flowers and congratulated her as she struggled to wrap her arms about the expanse of the flowers. Coffee shop guy reached out to help her and the desire to beat him to a pulp was almost staggering. 

Then the director swaggered out and placed a hand on the stalker’s shoulders and with another sucker punch to his gut uttered, “My son, you never do anything in moderation huh? This is quite the bouquet for a first time meeting.” Despite the reprimand in his words, he looked jubilant at the sight of his son, his son. How was this possible? 

“Sorry dad, but actually we met before. She was kind enough to take a picture with me. When you told me she was here, I knew it was the perfect opportunity to surprise her on her birthday.” His answering smile made Gang-Tae sick to this stomach.  

He didn’t have enough resolve to watch this. His hand on her shoulder with undeserved familiarity. Her sweet smile in return, as she let herself be guided away by the father-son duo. 

He stomped out of the hospital, ignoring everyone’s calls of goodbye. 

His foul mood lasted all evening resulting in his brother hiding away in his tent, after he had snapped at him for spilling some milk on the floor. He couldn’t stop thinking about her with him. What were they doing? Where they still together? Was she smiling at him? It was driving him crazy, imagining her looking at someone else the way she used to look at him. 

The cool rooftop air did nothing to cool off his anger. 

“You really have some nerve, don’t you?” 

He turned at the voice, meeting the cool eyes of Soon-Duk, calmly walking over to the table and pushing him over to make room for her to sit. 

He didn’t respond to her biting words. 

“She told me what you said to her. If you don’t want her, then let her be happy. You owe her at least that much.” She continued on and his eyes filled up with tears, knowing she was right he had to let her go, she did deserve happiness and he couldn’t give it to her. 

His job was taking care of his brother and nothing else. It didn’t matter if the thought of her with someone else made him want to throw himself off this roof. it didn’t matter if she was his first thought in the morning and his last thought at nights. It didn’t matter if he dreamed of hugging her and kissing her and loving her.  None of it mattered. 

Then why was he crying?

He cried long and hard, finally letting himself feel. Tears scorching as they cascaded down his face and he felt warm arms circle around him. Holding him as he shook, patting his head soothingly, before harshly smacking him. “Stop torturing yourself already, what do you really want?” 

He was scared to answer. The answer was clear but to state it out loud was to acknowledge it and make it real. Was he ready for that? Once he said it he would need to do something, that thought made him hesitate. 

But the thought of her loving someone else, spurred him on. 

“Mun-Yeong.” 

The hospital was abuzz with gossip when he entered the next morning, he tried his best to tune them out, but could’t escape the talk of their date. They had left together, and both entered his car, the female nurses gushing at his chivalry, he had rushed forward opening every door for her. Carefully placing the flowers in the backseat before, driving off to enjoy a quiet dinner. 

He wouldn’t lose her again. Destiny had brought them back together and he had stupidly fought tooth and nail to work against it, he was done with that. 

He was ready to fight for her. 

But first he had to speak to his brother, after work he sprinted home, nervous and anxious but determined, he didn’t have to choose. They could all be happy again, living in the castle together. At least he hoped they could. 

Convincing Sang-Tae that he wasn’t losing him had not been easy. He cried and screamed and retreated to his tent, he waited him out, repeating “I’ll always be your little brother.” Until his brother’s frantic cries finally stopped and the sound of the zipper opening flooded the room. 

“Why can’t it just be us two? We’re brothers all we need is each other, we’re brothers.” He repeated with sad eyes, looking like the world was crashing down on him and Gang-Tae almost lost his resolve. Mun-Yeong’s face flashed in his mind and it came back with a vengeance. 

“Because she makes me happy too. You both make me happy and I don’t want to choose. I want to be happy with both of you.” He answered honestly, smile lighting up his face thinking about the times they had all had dinner together. Smiling and laughing as they talked about their day, Sang-Tae sharing his stories about the pizza shop as they both looked on with fondness. 

“Happy. Gang-Tae is happy.” He felt his brother’s finger trace his smile with juvenile innocence, and he smiled even harder because he was happy and when he got her back, he would be even happier. 

They fell asleep shortly after, he cuddled his brother until his breathing was steady, drifting off to thoughts of her dark tempting eyes and candied smiles. 

He peeked out the closet door, waiting for that familiar head of lustrous short hair and impeccable fashion. She was looking radiant today in midnight blue, he reached out with trembling hands and yanked her into the small room with him. Her indignant, “What the hell are you doing?” was cut short by the slam of the door. She pulled her hand from his grasp, looking up at him in the dark before her vision settled. Her lips formed a perfect o. 

“You’ve been avoiding me.” He accused boldly, recalling all the moments he had attempted to speak to her this week only to see her spin around and walk run in the other direction. Once, he had actually chased her only to collide with the director who needed help picking out a tie for his meeting with a donor, he had looked back in annoyance as he was pulled further and further away from her. Then another time, he had arrived to lunch early, bullying Cha-Young into switching breaks with him.  

As soon as she saw him approaching, she had bolted with all her food in her hand looking like a squirrel hibernating. 

He ignored the amused eyes of Soon-Duk, who appeared to be enjoying his suffering immensely for someone who had told him to stop torturing himself. 

So, now here they were. In this closet. She reached for the doorknob and he extended an arm over her shoulder, forcing the door shut. 

“What are you doing? Do you have a death wish? Let me out!” She pushed at his chest in petulance, he didn’t budge even an inch. 

He placed his other arm over her shoulder and bracketed her in, leaning in close and watching her face. She looked beautiful, face flushed with anger, he really hoped she didn’t have any sharp objects on her. 

“We need to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk.” 

“Fine, then I’ll talk and you can listen.” 

She tried to bolt again, trying to pry his hands off the door, even at one moment seeming to think about kicking him but he caught her leg with his own and pressed her into the door. 

“Stop. I just want to talk.” He pleaded with her. 

“I don’t care what you have to say. Leave me alone.” 

“Mun-yeong please....” 

Her eyes softened momentarily before the frost grazed back over them. 

“What do we need to talk about? if you’re looking for fun I can’t help you, firecrackers only go off once. “ She spat back at him, going for the jugular. The desire to check his throat for blood was immediate. 

He knew those words would be thrown back at him. He deserved them, when he had said them he knew they would hurt her to her core. But he said it anyway, because he was a fucking coward. He had lied to so many people around himself, including himself, he had felt trapped in the vortex of his own deceptions. So he lashed out and pushed her away, angry at himself. As soon as he had uttered the words out loud, he knew that he had damaged whatever trust they had build with tentative hands. He had taken a sledge hammer to the foundation of their relationship. 

“I’m sorry I said that, I’m so sorry. I never should have said those things to you. You were right, I am a fucking coward- her eyes widened at his curse- and I pushed you away because you scared me. What I was feeling for you scared me. I want you so badly, that it terrifies me. But I’m ready to fight now, Mun-Yeong I’m ready to be strong for us. “ He poured himself out at her feet, giving her all the ammunition to hurt him and trusting that she wouldn’t.  

But like he said he had been the one to break their trust. 

Her cold laughter made him take a step back, “Oh you’re ready to fight now? Should I be thankful? Should I drop everything and follow you like a lost puppy? Oh wait, I already did that. You told me to get lost. So about you take your own advice Gang-Tae, stop stirring up my miserable life and get lost.” 

She pushed him out back, harder than before, finally managing to escape, the door slamming behind her. 

Damn. 

That could have gone better. But he wasn’t giving up. Not now, he had hurt her and winning her back wasn’t going to be easy. 

Their game of cat and mouse continued, with her running every time he was in her vicinity and he watched with anguish as he started to pick her up after her classes. 

The first time, she had been on her phone talking to Sang-In berating him for his tardiness, “Get here now or I’ll kill you.” When he had showed up, and he despised the way she smiled at him, hanging up without a goodbye and walking into his open arms. His hands had soothed down the material of her baby blue sundress and Gang-Tae wanted to break each of his fingers. 

“Sang-In told me he was running late and asked me to pick you up.” He offered as a way of explanation, handing her an iced coffee, which she happily took placing the straw between her plush mouth, sucking hard. 

He tightened his fist, watching that punk, watch her with hunger in his eyes. 

“Okay, I won’t kill him tonight then. I’m starving, what are you going to feed me?” She asked him as they left, arms linked, that was supposed to be him. He had taken those moments for granted, her arm linked through his, her adorable face as she consumed pounds of grilled meat and still demanded more.  Now he had to watch another man, take his place and make her happy. 

He didn’t know how much longer he could do this. 

Every time he saw them together it was like salt in his wound. 

He knew this was all his fault, he had brought this on himself. But did it have to hurt this much? Did his heart have to throb this way? 

After the closet incident, it became impossible to find her around the hospital. It was like she knew exactly where to hide so he couldn’t find her. 

It was time to fight harder then. 

The gated loomed ominously before him as he pushed them open with determined hands. He knew that she was home today, he had Sang-Tae text her to make sure, as they were talking again, best friends once more as he was now the outcast. Unlike when he tried texting her, she had immediately responded to Sang-Tae, I am home, you can come over if you want. We can have fun. 

It had been difficult, stopping Sang-Tae from getting dressed and taking up her offer, “That is what best friends do. They hang out and have fun. I have to go!” 

He had distracted him with Teary, explaining that Teary needed his attention right now, it was still early days since the dinosaur had joined their family. 

With a deep breath, he climbed the marble decaying stairs and put the key in the lock, twisting it open. He had never gotten a chance to return it to her and he was thankful for that now. The door creaked open and he glared at it with betrayal, this would only work if he caught her by surprise. 

He heard her sultry voice, coming from the kitchen, “I don’t need a babysitter you can go out with the two-faced bitch. if I get bored I’ll call Sang-Tae or Daniel.” He ignored the pain that shot through his heart at not being one of her options. “ He is working late, but he promised to call me after and drop off food. Okay, have a good time. if she gets drunk and hits you, make sure to hit her back!” 

She meandered out, still unaware of his presence, aimlessly scrolling through her phone, long silk nightgown sheathing her lithe body, the silk draped into each and every crevice of her body and left his mouth dry. Parched. 

“We need to talk.” She jumped at the sound of his voice, grabbing a.....lamp defensively and readying it for her attack. Until she realized it was him, she only lowered the lamp marginally. He was going to take that as a small victory. 

“How did you get in here?  Are you stalking me now? What is wrong with you? Get out!” She fired off her questions and command, all in one breath, her voice higher and frantic. 

“No, we need to talk. I need you to listen to me.” 

“I heard you the last time, you’re ready now. I HEARD YOU. I just don’t care.” 

He sidestepped the lamp as it flew from her hands, and hugged her close to him, feeling the tremors run through her body. She was wild in his embrace, scratching and fighting to break free, he pinned her tighter.  Holding on for the ride. 

“I want you, and I think you still want me too.” 

“No, I don’t. You were just something to pass the time. I’ve moved on now.”

He marched on, “Does he make you feel like I do? Look me in the eyes.” 

He grabbed her chin in his hands, gentle but firm, forcing her eyes to meet his and he watched them surge with anger, so much anger but he also saw lust and he was going to cling to that. 

“It doesn’t matter. “ She twisted out of his hold, sprinting to the stairs, he followed right behind her, grabbing her wrist and jerking her around to face him. 

“It does matter. Answer me, does he make you feel like I do?!” He roared now, his anger so close to the surface, he refused to spend another minute without her, refused to watch her run into someone else’s arms. They went hand in hand, bomb and safety pin. 

She refused to meet his eye, vengeful tears filling her eyes, “No, he doesn’t.” And victory sped through him, his smile was instant, before it fell, “And I don’t want him to. I don’t ever want to give someone that kind of control over me. I like what he makes me feel, it’s easy and fun. it doesn’t hurt like this does. “ 

He should leave her alone. Walk out the door and through the gate. Walk all the way back home. Eat dinner with Jae-Su, Ju-Ri, her mother and Sang-Tae. Should go to sleep and accept his loss. Accept that he ruined the best thing that ever happened to him. Should be happy that she has something fun and easy. 

Well, he doesn’t do any of that. Doesn’t listen to his head, that’s telling him to accept his defeat gracefully. 

He eats her mouth, there is no other way to describe the ravenous way that he devours her, prying her mouth open with his tongue, swirling around, their tongues meet in a heated duel.  Presses her hard, into the wall, hands lost in her hair as she tugs at his shirt, exposing his hot stomach to the cool air. At first, she fights him, biting him hard enough to draw blood, she is vicious. Then her kisses soften and her nails rake over the crevice of his abs, leaving welts in their wake, he moans at the painpleasure. He trails down her elegant neck, sucking the hot skin into his mouth, doing his damnest to leave a mark. 

She pushes him back and he smirks, unashamed. She looks absolutely wrecked, panting on the wall, her nipples hard through the silk of her nightgown. He can’t wait to roll them through his teeth and watch her body writhe in ecstasy. 

Time stands still, as they stand panting, eyes glazed over in pleasure, waiting to see who will make the next move. 

She does. 

She throws herself into his waiting arms and he hooks his hands under her ass, drawing her close as she sticks her wet, slithering tongue into his mouth. She kisses like how she does everything else, explosively. Biting at his lip, forcing him to open his mouth wider to accommodate her demanding tongue.  

He walks backwards, praying that he won’t drop her, she might actually kill him then. Until his knees hit the couch and he collapses onto it, taking her with him. He moans as she straddles his lap, the heat from between her thighs is searing hot and he grinds up into her, dragging her down to meet his thrust. 

Finally, their kisses breaks, both taking a gulp of much needed air, a string of spit connects their mouth, before she licks her lips, splitting it. 

“Only I can make you feel this way.” He proclaims with confidence, everything they have been through has brought them to this moment. They aren’t perfect and there’s still so much they need to learn, but they can do it together. 

She sits in his lap, eyes shining, taking in his declaration before she suddenly grips the bottom of her nightgown and slips it over her head and then he has a lap full of half-naked Mun-Yeong.  Her rose-petal pink panties glow on her pale skin, the moonlight trickling in, makes her look ethereal and he almost pinches himself to make sure this is real. 

He comes alive. 

Running his hands from her neck, between the valley of her breast, down to her wet center, bringing his finger to this mouth for a taste, he moans as he licks her essence away hungry for more. 

She watches in fascination, before grabbing his shirt and dragging it over his head. Her eyes rake across his broad chest, tampering down into a tight narrow waist, he already knows that she likes his body. She had looked like she wanted to lick him all over last time.  Unlike that time, he doesn’t push her away as she presses her body against his. Pleasure shooting through him as her nipples catch on his. 

They spend minutes just grinding on each other, his hard dick presses up into her moist opening, and she bounces on his lap, breathless moans leaving her swollen mouth every time they meet. 

“Please, please I need more.” She begs prettily, the p popping off her lips and he wants to make her beg even more, wants to make her a filthy mess on the couch. 

He hoists her to the side, chuckling at her huff of indignation, his baby has never been patient but right now he can’t blame her. He wishes he was inside her, like yesterday. As quickly as he can he rips his pants off and pauses at his boxers, his swollen length standing at attention, the head visible through the slit. 

He is unprepared for her mouth to slide down his entire length, her hand gripping the base that is still in the boxers. She swallows around him and he fights to keep his hips still, her wet mouth is obliterating all of his thoughts until all he can think is fuck, fuck, fuck ,fuck. 

That sinful mouth, suctions around his heavy dick, licking at his sensitive head causing him to buck up, deeper into the cavern of her mouth. She toys with him, bringing him to the edge only to, slide off completely and start all over. 

Her eyes stay on his the entire time, and it is pure unadulterated gratification, watching his length move in her mouth, in and out, in and out, it is hypnotic and he is lost in the pleasure. With a smirk she releases his cock, with a loud slurp, tongue coming out to lick him from her lips, lest she miss anything. 

With strong hands, he seizes her and tosses her over the arm of the chair. Putting her dripping, wet pussy on full display, he pries her thighs open and laps up all the goodness. He has never done this before, but is eager to please and porn was a great teacher. The girls in those videos had never been able to get him this hard, their moans fake and repetitive. But now with Mun-Yeong naked and squirming in front of him, he understands why men have gone to war for this. 

He would happily wage war for the chance to taste her. 

With broad strokes of his tongue, he licks at her folds, biting at her enlarged clit, chest puffing out in pride at her answering squeaks of pleasure, he presses his tongue inside the hot tunnel and she thrusts back in reckless abandon. 

Riding his face, now. Bouncing on his tongue and demanding more more more so he slips in a finger and the noise she lets us could rise the devil, himself. It is music to his ears. He thrusts his finger in while exploring her with his tongue, both scraping out every drop of pleasure from her body. 

With weak hands, she reaches back and forces his head away from his meal. He sneaks in one more lick, before allowing her to push him away. 

Their pants reverberate off the walls, he looks over and she is still hanging over the arm of the couch, looking every inch the temptress she is. He grips himself in his hands, pumping up and down, squeezing at the base to draw this out, he still has to make her beg after all. 

She watches him over her shoulder with rapt eyes, reaching back to touch her own wet pussy, pressing in two fingers and curling them roughly inside herself. 

She draws those sinfully wet fingers out with a soft squelch and beckons him closer, with the seductive curl of her fingers. He flies across the couch, easily covering the small space that separates them. 

He drags her back into his lap, with her back facing him, grinding into her hot core, groaning when his cock head dips in but moving away before she can fully sheathe him. He takes her soft breast into his arms, rubbing the nipples between his fingers and kissing her neck, as she wraps her arms over her head and around his neck.  Giving him full control and access to her body. 

He sucks hickey after hickey into her skin, in places others will see and hidden places just for his eyes. She is a whining mess in his lap, lifting up to catch his cock, but he snaps his hip away every time, only allowing it to slide through the wet folds. He rubs his dick against her clit and she starts to wail, nails scratching at his shoulders and that’s going to hurt tomorrow. 

He looks forward to it. 

She twists her head around, finding his lips again, distracting them from the hickey they were sucking into her neck. They wrestle for control, pushing and pulling, tongues meeting into a wet battle and he blames that diversion for his surprise as she lifts up and sinks slowly onto him, engulfing his fattened cock in an indescribable heat. 

The connection is like a life wire. 

Their hips smack together, colliding over and over, he can’t help but look down and watch his cock disappearing into her, captivated by humanity’s oldest dance.  She rides him hard, feet planted on the side of his thick thighs, begging him to go harder, faster, more as he squeezes her jiggling breasts and pushes even deeper into her depth. 

Fucking fuck fuck. 

Gradually, she starts to slow down, the movement of her hips faltering, he feels the fatigue in his own body but desire pumps like adrenaline through his veins and he wraps his hands around her slim waist, pushing her into the couch, her chest flat with the couch and her ass high in the air. His cock never slips from her body. 

He fucks into her hard, delighted at how deep he can move in this position, she thrusts back meeting him, and he does it again, watching her ass shake with the impact. His broad hands gripping the globes of her ass, spreading them, to get a clearer view of his dick inside her.  

His movements quicken as he feels the end drawing closer, he doesn’t want it to end, wants to be with her like this forever. But his balls hang heavily, waiting to expel all their fluids into her willing hole, that clutches and pulls him back with every thrust.  Reaching around and pressing his fingers to her mouth, he pants, “Suck.” She sloppily takes his fingers, when they feel wet enough he pulls them out from her mouth, praising her, “You’re so good baby, so good to me.” 

She grows wetter at his praise and presses back even harder, and he winds his fingers down to her engorged clit and rubs against it until she breaks apart underneath him, he wraps her up in his arms and rides her through her orgasm, feels her juices gushing out and the clenching of her walls, shoves him over the precarious edge he’s been on. His thick cum coats her walls, shooting out as he falls in a heap over her back, just catching the arm of the couch before he could bash his head into it. 

Euphoria washes over him in waves, until his vision rights itself and he sees Mun-Yeong still beneath him, fearing that he’s crushing her, he uses the last of his strength to lift his body off hers, flopping onto the other side of the couch. 

“Will you be my girlfriend?” Her heads snaps over to his in shock, he looks back at her, his eyes wide and hopeful. Some might say that they do things backwards, but he just likes to think they move to the beat of their own drum. 

She rolls her eyes before nodding yes.  “if you ever make me cry again, I’ll kill you. “ 

He pumps a victorious fist into the air, take that coffee shop guy. 

They spend the rest of the night, cuddling in her bed as he caresses her head and promises to make her happy for as long as she will allow him to. He whispers apologies onto her skin, until they fall into peaceful slumber. 

He isn’t trying to stake his claim or anything domineering like that, but when he sees Mun-Yeong sequestered in a dark corner with Daniel the next day, he wanders over and catches the tail end of their conversation. 

“I’ve had a lot of fun with you, but there’s someone else I was trying to forget. I hope you understand.” 

“I do, spending time with you has been amazing. if you ever change your mind, I’ll be here.” 

Yeah, that’s not going to happen. Fuck you very much. 

Mun-Yeong starts to walk away, making her way the exit, leaving Daniel despondent in the hallway when he calls out to her, speeding up to catch her by her waist, she stops and rises an eyebrow, challenging him to act and he accepts it happily. 

He drags her into a kiss, pressing his tongue into her mouth while stroking the hairs at the nape of her neck. Her immediate moan, making arousal sear through his blood. Imagining how else he could get her moaning.  

“Oh my god, they’re kissing!”  Sun Byeol’s high-pitched voice reaches his ear and he kisses her harder for good measure.  

Pulling away, he sees Mun-Yeong roll her eyes again but he also sees satisfaction in those eyes, she’s just as possessive as he is. She secretly loves that she brings out his primal side, so different from the blushing shy Gang-Tae. 

He looks over at coffee shop guy with a smirk, before walking out the hospital with his girl on his arm. 

He was never letting her go. Destiny had brought them together, but they had made the decision to stay that way. 

[plant-flwrs]

Eternal Spring // wolfstar

Chapter One: Calholme

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series masterlist!

series summary: Remus was fine being alone until a mysterious and loud man crashes his motorbike into Remus’s life.

a/n: hi!!! i have a series!!! i’ve got a couple of series and chapter stories in my drafts, but i’ve never really had the courage to post them. i have put so much into this story, though, and i really hope you all like it :) leave me some feedback! i’ll probably post more once i know that its not a complete and utter flop. also, i’ve posted it on my ao3 so you can go read it over there too <33 

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It was a drowsy, subdued place, in Remus' opinion, every moment of the year except for spring. Where he grew up, and where he currently resided, the entire town took a green glowing hue for the season. It was cold in the mornings, so when Remus went outside to spread chicken seed on the dewy grass, he put on a sweater. It warmed up as the sun rose, and from the time it took the sun to travel from the horizon to the middle of the sky, Remus was comfortable in a t-shirt and loose-fitting jeans. When the sun was at its peak, Remus might start to sweat through his shirt, maybe going as far as to change into shorts if he was outside, which he usually was. He couldn't stand to be inside during spring.

The gravel driveway that led to a dirt road was sprouting an abundance of weeds and weeds that looked like flowers. The trees captured light, glowing, instead of the way they seemed to absorb and trap light in winter. Remus's backyard was a large forest, and Remus had never taken the time to check where his property line ended, so as far as he was concerned, the entire forest was his. If you went deep enough in any direction, you would come to a clearing where the knee-high grass dove into some grass that only tickled your ankles. After the ankle grass, there was an unnaturally blue and unnaturally large lake. Remus' mom had told him that the lake was so blue and so large because it was natural, that no person could ever make something so beautiful, and Remus found himself agreeing as he got older.

With his mother and father gone to live somewhere where it was spring weather all the time, living on a vast farm with no animals and a huge lawnmower that his father comfortably sat on every weekend to trim the fields, Remus now lived in his slightly renovated childhood home. It was only slightly renovated because it was a great deal messier and almost every surface was covered in coffee or tea stains and a book. Remus also got a television that he rarely used and turned his old bedroom into some sort of reading room/ garden. So, slightly renovated.

Past the gravel driveway littered with weeds and imposter weeds, past the dirt road that served as a crossing and sometimes rest area for the wild animals in the area, was the more populated town. Calholme had two public libraries; three hardware stores, one of which sold exclusively fishing supplies; a psychic who did palm readings and sold handmade jewelry and was rumored to have built the house she did aforementioned things in herself; three gas stations, one on each side of the outskirts of town, and one right in the center; two banks, one of which was relatively new that not many people frequented due to either a lack of trust for banks or simply because it was new; a multitude of fruits and vegetables stands with products grown in the area, delis in which the products ate the grass not 20 miles away, and bakeries that sent a sweet aroma into the air; a record shop that doubled as a coffee shop, candy store, and sometimes a furniture store when the records weren't selling too well; a car repair shop called Matt Mocks's garage that also repaired tractors and other broken farm equipment, and if the right guy was in that day, you could get your television repaired, too; and any other storefront that the simple people of Calholme thought they needed. They were quite resourceful in that sense.

So, down one end of the road was Calholme, and down the other were a few scattered cottages and large farmhouses, and even further down was a paved road that brought Sirius Black into town.

---

Remus had opened the window in his kitchen and stood in front of it as he waited for his tea to steep. It was that wonderfully chilly morning, so he shivered a little as the cold air clipped his crooked nose and sharp chin. He wrapped his long arms around his body to give some sort of comfort but found his lack of sustainable body fat and bony arms were more of a hindrance than not. Sighing and turning away from the window, he retrieved a cardigan that was draped over the couch, shaking off some loose crumbs before putting it on and returning to the window. He passed the sink on the way, a large white ceramic hole in the counter that looked more like a tub than a sink, and filled up a cup of water for the plants on the window sill. The house was in disarray, as usual, but Remus kept his plants alive. Most of the ones on the sill were herbs that he cooked with, with one or two flowers mingled in. If he kept the window open all day during this time of year, butterflies would come to the flowers and find themselves fluttering around the kitchen until they could find the window again. Occasionally, they just make themselves at home.

Window plants watered, arms covered and no longer shivering, tea fully steeped and mixed with the right amount of milk and honey, Remus stood in front of the window again. He could hear his chickens clucking by the other side of the house, and the rustle of the trees, the faint hum of a tractor miles off as people started their day. Then, he heard the roar of a failing engine. Not long after that, he heard the harsh sounds of metal scraping and a yelp of surprise that soon turned into groans of pain.

Remus ran to the door, tripping over his discarded rainboots, then running his shin into a coffee table, then shouldering the wall before falling on his face after tripping on some more shoes. When he finally got to the door, the chickens were louder, and so was the groaning.

His driveway wasn't too long, but it was still long enough and curved enough so that the house couldn't be seen from the road. The gravel crunched under his feet, eyes surveying the weeds, hands warmed by the mug he had forgotten to put down and somehow, miraculously, had not dropped on his way out.

There was a lump that may have been a human body or may have been a Greek god that had fallen down to the earth. Besides this was a discarded and seriously fucked up motorbike. A few feet away was a duffel bag with its contents spilled out onto his driveway. Telling from the skid marks, Remus guessed that this Greek god had lost his footing, or maybe hadn't seen a pothole, and veered into his driveway for somewhat of an easier crash than what would have been in the woods. The marks also told Remus that the driver was coming into town.

"Are you alright?" Remus tried, taking the groans as a sign of life and creeping closer to the body.

"Oh, fuck," they groaned, "fuck, fuck, fuck."

"Do you need help?" Remus knew it was a stupid question, one with the answer right in front of his face, as they began to writhe around the ground and get their wits about them.

Remus moved over to the scattered possessions, setting down his mug and gathering the various items back into the duffel. He ignored the magazine with David Bowie on the cover, ignored the criminally small shirt that had tears in the collar and Remus knew would make the Greek god look even more godlike, ignored the eyeliner pencil, and politely folded things when necessary before putting them away.

"Where the fuck am I?" the body had moved into a sitting position, feet on the ground and legs bent at the knees. There were rips in his black jeans, blood seeping into the denim, and a tattered hole in the sleeve of his leather jacket that also left red dripping onto the gravel. His face wasn't too scuffed, just some road rash on his cheekbone and jaw. Greek god confirmed. Fallen from heaven, straight from Olympius, carved by the hands of Zeus himself.

He was strikingly pale, which made his eyes and hair striking as well. His eyes were a deep blue, blue like Remus' lake, and his black hair was long and cut into a choppy sort of shag with lots of layers. He looked disheveled, obviously, because he was just in an awful motorbike accident, and Remus was staring at him.

"Just outside of Calholme," Remus almost called him 'sir', despite the fact that he hadn't called anyone but his teachers and his father 'sir', and this boy was obviously close to Remus' age. But the boy had a commanding presence, one that made people want to call him 'sir', and tremble with nerves as they did so.

Shuffling a bit, still sat down, he surveyed the damage. No longer groaning nor writhing, he was somehow even more attractive. His brows were furrowed-in pain, concentration, just pure Greek god sternness? Remus could not tell- as he pulled at the new holes in his jeans. He didn't wince, but he did scowl, and his fingertips ran through his blood for a moment before sighing. He twisted to look at his arm, and he winced then, but only because of his beloved jacket.

"Motherfucker," he mumbled, taking care to slip off the arm of the jacket and pinch the torn edges together as if they would magically stitch together.

Remus realized he was still holding the boy's duffel, so he dropped it gently on the gravel between them.

He cast his eyes up to look at Remus for the first time. "Thanks," he said softly, pulling off his entire jacket now.

It was cold, and Remus was wrapped tightly in his cardigan, and this boy was bleeding, his motorbike dented and silent even though he had never taken the keys out of the ignition.

"Can you walk?" Remus asked, surprising himself with the nervous tremble in his voice. Remus didn't talk much during the day, besides to his chickens and the lake and the flowers and the butterflies, and occasionally to the stray cat that would make the long trek from the neighboring properties. This boy was a little different than talking to those things.

He struggled to his feet, easing gently on his knees and not putting his scraped hands on the gravel. He bent his legs, only grimacing a little, and said, "Yeah."

"Do you want to come inside? It's warmer."

The boy craned his neck, looking at the heavily forested area around him, his bike, and Remus. He looked at Remus a little longer than these other things and nodded briskly.

Remus grabbed his mug and turned to walk up the driveway, listening to the crunch of the boy's footsteps behind him. They were strong and sure, despite the trail of blood he was leaving.

"This your house?" The boy said from a few paces behind Remus once they got close enough to see it. He sounded neutral, not apprehensive or suspicious of Remus, but not grateful or relieved. Remus found it a little unnerving, especially with his back to him. He shivered and turned to face him, nodding and opening the front door.