#the event passed a long while ago so i think its safe if i post these now

[yuzuuu4]

stickers i once made for a small event

[katyawriteswhump]

the power of love, part 14

Sorry about Sunday's empty post ☹️ I must've accidentally put a draft template in my queue because I am basically tired and rubbish and life isn’t the greatest right now. Anyhow.... Whoops and really sorry again!

Alternate ending S4: Steve has a habit of surviving near death experiences then getting sick for no reason. And Eddie and those fatal bat bites? After an impossible feat of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation from Steve, he’s mysteriously fixed. So, Eddie’s back to being banished, this time with Steve and Robin in tow. Eddie’s healing, but Steve isn’t… and life gets even more confusing, when Eddie develops feelings for Steve, which aren’t entirely unrequited.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 15

(also on AO3 here and as part of my steve whump fic series)

Eddie POV

When neither Steve nor Robin show up after ten minutes, Eddie begins to freak out. 

He, Hopper and El are still waiting for the car, out of sight among some ferns. Hopper’s getting antsy, muttering beneath his breath, while Eddie’s wriggling like he’s got ants in his pants. Which he genuinely might have, though that’s not what’s bugging him:

“Uuuuh, shall I see what’s taking them so long?”

“You do that,” says Hopper. “What’s going on with that guy? He could barely stand! How the hell could he…”

Eddie tunes out, retracing their journey into the trees, calling Robin’s name then Steve’s. Maybe Steve passed out, and Robin got lost searching? Somehow, he doesn’t buy it. A heaviness slows his feet, and his guts twist sourly. 

They wouldn’t just ditch him. Surely? Surely!?! 

Fifteen minutes later, he winds up where he started: “They’re not back?” 

“What do you reckon?” Hopper’s breathing hard and red in the face. Evidently, he’s been running in circles like Eddie has.

“This is for you.” El nudges Eddie and presses a scrap of paper into his hand. “I think Steve left it.”

“What? Where?” Eddie’s stomach clamps tight again. 

Her eyes stretch very wide. “Fell out of your pack.”

Turning the note over in his hands, his fingers stiffen, as if shrinking from the task, bracing for… something. In the event, he gets a literal slap around the face.

“You make me sick,” Steve wrote.

Eddie’s skin burns with the blow. Wow! This is why I never have and never freakin’ will write love songs.

“What does he say?” demands Hopper.

Eddie scans the note one more time, scrunches it in his fist. “I’d hazard a guess he’s gone back to Hawkins.”

“Goddammit! Robin’s gone with him?”

“I think that’s a safe bet.” A wobble in the back of Eddie’s throat finds its way into his voice. Because, boy, is he still processing.

You make me sick. 

What does that even mean? To be fair, Eddie did make Steve sick. More than once. But why the heck write… that. Would suck less to be dumped without a word. 

Thanks for the overkill, man.

“Don’t you even think about scooting off,” growls Hopper. “Your uncle would never forgive me.” 

Oh yeah. Wayne. The only person who ever actually cared about him.

Eddie plonks his butt down on the ground and waits for the car.

…

Steve POV

“C’mon, giddy up,” says Steve. He and Robin make their way along the muddy bank of the stream towards home.

“Is this some kind of race?” she asks. “While I’d forgotten your former life as a douchebag jock, you’re doing a stunning job of reminding me, and… Uuuuugh!” 

“Jesus Christ, what’s wrong this time?” He spirals about, plants his hands on his hips—he’d ditched the sling a while ago. 

She scrubs madly at her lips. “I swallowed a bug! Ugh, ugh, ugh, mega-gross. Eeeeurgh!”

“Maybe if you weren’t complaining, like, constantly, there’d be less opportunities for bugs to get in.” 

“You shut up, shit-bird! I could die of malaria.” She spits into the stream. “Ew! EEEEEEEW!” 

“Ssssh! Hop said the military will be crawling everywhere soon, or—”

“Eddie might hear?” His heart heaves a loaded thud. She looks back sharply, purses her lips. “You know, he could be lost in the wilderness, all alone. Being hunted by evil army thugs. Or bears! Did you think of that when you sauntered off?”

“I did, yeah. I left him a message saying not to follow.” He shades his face from the afternoon sunlight, which shafts between the trees. Also, he can’t look her straight on and say this: “It was kinda brutal, I guess. It was for his own good, right?”

“Oh. Riiiight.”

“You done spewing insects?” he snaps.

“Still heavily grossed-out here. Gimme a minute, ’kay?” She plonks herself on a rock, crumpling forward.

He mops his brow, strips his sweater, and takes the opportunity to check in on his bat bites. They’re still sore, the bandages a bit bloody. Nothing too fresh, though. For the billionth time, his thoughts fly back to Eddie. He hopes Eddie doesn’t get hurt and need healing while they’re apart, and… Holy shit, will he ever see him again? He ties his sweater around his hips, trying to make fumbling hands look casual.

“Steve? You okay?”

“Other than the fact I’m modelling a ‘shoot-me-now-why don’t-you?’ Hellfire Club t-shirt,”—and that I want to punch myself in the face about that moronic note—“I’m good, Robin.”

“You know what? I don’t doubt it.” She brushes her flyaway hair from suspicious eyes. “You’ve gone from death’s door to super-human speed in, oh, I don’t know��feels to me that we’ve been marching for a week. I think it’s been barely an hour.”

“Yeah? We got a long way to go then.” He starts off along the stream’s edge, forcibly slowing his pace. He senses her puffing, panting, then following on his heels.

“Look, Steve, this water goddess who’s pulling you back, whispering in your ear—”

“I can’t actually tell if they’re male or female. Does that matter?”

“Not in the slightest. So, your water… deity. Have they, by any chance, enlightened you as to some kind of divine plan? Or told you exactly where you’re heading?” 

“I got an idea where I’m going, yeah.” To the second place he died, swept away on that blood-red tide—even now, he sees it in his head, like a few frames of a horror VHS stuck on eternal repeat. “Where’s the best place for army generals with dodgy agendas to hang out in Hawkins? There’s never been an army base, apart from—”

“You’re kidding me?” She grabs his elbow, jerking him back. “The Soviet tunnels?” He nods, and her obvious dread has her dropping him like a stone. “No way! I don’t think I can go anywhere near without a major panic attack."

“I’m not gonna march straight in.” He’s already wandering on. Trouble is, now he’s said the idea out loud, it’s become real and terrible. And he’s gotta pretend like his blood’s not congealing to ice. “I don’t know how I’m gonna get in anyhow. I mean, the Starcourt lift is buried under a ton of rubble. I think Hop might’ve know other ways—”

“Oooh, I got a great idea. Let’s go back and ask him.”

“Yeah, real subtle.”

“Steve!” She seizes him again, twisting him around with a furious force. “I know you want to help El, but what can you ACTUALLY DO?” He shrugs before he can stop himself. “Rain? Lightning? How does that benefit us—especially in underground tunnels? Plus you’ve had literally zero time for practice. If we don’t slow down and come up with a decent plan, this is tantamount to suicide.”

“We? Seriously, Robin, I…” His teeth clamp his lower lip. Any moment now, he’ll tell her how terrified he is, how he really, really doesn’t want to get tortured again, let alone die; how the idea of anything bad happening to her is as frightening as any of it. “I don’t think I have much choice.”

“Steve,” she says, gentler now, though her grip gouges into his flesh. “It’s screamingly obvious you’re not thinking straight. You’ve been ill for days and now you’re in a funk, beating yourself up over Eddie.”

He yanks himself free, glares. “That doesn’t make any dif—"

“Bullshit! Trust me, however ‘mean boy’ your literary masterpiece got, Eddie won’t want you to do anything this dumb. Oh, and your resident gender-fluid angel saved your life. They’re not gonna want you to sacrifice it pointlessly.”

He opens his mouth to argue, then shuts it again. He laughs—not a particularly happy laugh, but not totally miserable either. “You win,” he says, kinda sagging with relief. “You got a plan, smarty-pants?”

She laughs with him, equally edgy. “I say we go to Lover’s Lake, wait till it’s dark. If that’s too dangerous, we find some hidden pool where you can practise whatever badass moves you think you got. Hopefully without the puking. It’ll be a bit like Band Camp. But for Magic. Magic Camp. Okay?”

“You really aren’t gonna be happy until I’m a bigger nerd that any of… Shit!” 

He’s been considering hugging her. Instead, he seizes her sleeve, dragging her down into a deep, wet gully. They land with a splash, crouching low, close. She doesn’t complain, because she’s heard what he has.

The distant sound of barking dogs. Likely, army search dogs.

“Dog barks travel for miles, huh?” he whispers.

“Possibly.” She sucks in a scared breath. “One thing for sure—those sniffy wet snouts can pick up a human scent from the next county.”

“We’re in a stream, Robin. They can’t pick up our scent here, right?”

She crinkles her nose, dubious. “Dogs’ sense of smell is pretty amazing.”

“Yeah? Let’s hope this bunch caught colds or something.” 

He’s now the one clutching her way too tight, and he half-wishes he’d ditched her with a bitchy note too. Though, not quite. She smart; he needs her, and she’s really has gotten him thinking clearer: 

“We head for Lover’s Lake. C’mon.”

…

Eddie POV

When the sound of the car engine finally reaches his hearing, Eddie feels almost nothing.

“Don’t move.” Hopper pitches Eddie a forbidding look and grabs El, keeping them low behind the ferns. 

An owl hoots. Despite the hollowness in his chest, Eddie silently cracks up. Seriously? Top secret government goons can’t think of a better signal than me and Robin? 

Hopper’s grip slides to the firearm at his side. He rises slowly. “Over here.”

Peeping between the foliage, Eddie can make out a limo-style saloon with blacked-out windows. A severe-faced woman in lethal stilettos climbs out. “Chief Hopper, I presume? I apologise for the delay. O’Sullivan’s got men everywhere. We must leave right away.”

Hopper, nevertheless, remains stood well off the road with Eleven, not rushing for the car. And Eddie? 

You make me sick.

Steve’s made it simple for him. He should cut his losses and take this chance of escape. Wayne would want him to. Apart from… Eddie literally can’t. What was it that Steve said? Oh yeah. That he was being stretched in the wrong direction. Or something along those lines.

Yeah, I’m feelin’ it, Stevie. 

Nothing supernatural, nothing hinky. You kill me that bad, Babe—even after you turned meanie-King-Steve and dumped me. Oh, and went back to goddamn Mordor without me! 

Gonna trust you had your reasons, and I’m coming anyway.

He turns on his dirt-clotted heels and flees as fast as he can.

Part 15

...

tags: @estrellami-1 @kal-ology @finntheehumaneater (thank you, thank you, thank you!) If anybody else would like to be tagged on this fic or any of my writing, please let me know :) Reblogs, comments and likes also very much appreciated :) Thank you for reading so far :)

(also part of my steve whump fic series on AO3)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 15

[rj-drive-in]

Strange Brew Department:

Happy Halloween! Happy Tricks! Happy Treats!

OCTOBER WINE © 2023 by Rick Hutchins

For October Wine, one must gather the ingredients one year in advance, because that’s how long it must ferment.

Wet orange maple leaves collected from the forest floor no later than the ides; pine cones that have yet to drop, along with a bed of needles for their repose; a cupped handful of wild blueberries picked at dawn; a handful of chestnuts no bigger than your thumbnail; the longest continuous strip of birch bark possible; a baker’s dozen of Honeysuckle flowers collected while trespassing; a pumpkin; a patch of moss; and, most importantly, seven Hedgehog Mushrooms, collected in the nude under the full moon.

Halloween night, as the Witching Hour approached, I gathered the ingredients on my kitchen counter and pulled out my grandmother’s yellow, crumbling recipe, sealed in its clear plastic sleeve (no fear– I also scanned it and backed it up to the cloud).

Normally I would use that nice vintner kit that I got from Amazon a couple of years ago, but this was to be something special. I used Gramma’s old fermenting bottle. It was the size of a large baby and made of thick green glass, with a finger handle and an ancient cork clamp lid.

Following the recipe to the last handwritten letter, I poured the mix into the mason jar, sealed it tight, and stored it away in a cabinet in the back of my garage.

An eventful year passed, and most of the events were not welcome. Few of them, but all of them, affected me personally.

As October rolled around again, many felt that the gallows humor and graveyard mischief of Halloween were inappropriate after all that had happened, but my appreciation of the holiday ran deeper than that.

Keisha caught up with me at the mall on Friday. “Hey, Hester,” she said, hugging me. “I’m having a little get together at my place on Halloween. Just a quiet thing, no costumes or anything. I hope you can be there.”

“I think I’ll just stay home,” I lied.

“Just a half dozen people or so. Some single boys.”

I laughed. “That’s okay.”

“Chips and hard cider.”

“Nah.”

“Still missing your gramma, huh?”

“Yeah. Always.”

“She was a real sweethearted lady.”

“Best ever.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” I smiled for her.

She hugged me again. “Okay, but the invitation is open if you change your mind. We’d love to have you.”

“Thank you. I’ll think it over.”

She continued on her way and I continued on mine.

I met Violet coming out of the supermarket with an armload of Halloween candy, just as I was going in.

“Hi, hon,” she said with a one-armed hug and a cheek kiss. “I guess you’re all ready for All Hallow’s Eve.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sexy Hippie costume.”

“Just my regular clothes,” I laughed.

“Same thing,” she said. “What are your plans?”

“Just home,” I lied.

“No date?”

I shook my head and she shook hers back at me teasingly. “You’ve got to move on eventually,” she said.

“And I will. But it was nice. I’ll let it linger a little.”

“Mmm,” she said. “I know what you mean. That’s why I never brush my teeth right after eating ice cream.”

I laughed. She was always coming up with crazy, but accurate, metaphors like that. “What about you two?” I asked.

“We’re staying the weekend at his sister’s place in Nashua. We still don’t want to take too many chances with the pandemic.”

“Good idea.”

“Well, I gotta run. Stay safe.”

She continued on her way and I continued on mine.

Piyali got me on Skype me that night from her parents’ house in New Jersey. She was still recovering from the injury to her face that she got at the beach over the Summer, and I’m pretty sure she had some kind of post-traumatic stress thing going on.

“Sorry I haven’t kept in touch,” she said.

“That’s okay. How have you been doing?”

“All right. Mom and Dad want me to stay for the Winter, so I might not be back in town until Spring.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

She nodded. “I’m getting some therapy. Dad offered to pay for plastic surgery. It’s cosmetic, so the insurance won’t cover it.”

“They’re hardly noticeable.”

She shrugged. “I just want them gone.”

“I understand,” I told her. “What are you doing for Halloween.”

“Staying in. Dad likes those old black-and-white monster movies.”

“Same here,” I lied. “Movies and popcorn.”

“Sounds good,” she said. “I should go now. Let’s talk again before Thanksgiving.”

She continued on her way and I continued on mine.

Halloween night came. I turned off the porch light and most of the indoor lights. I didn’t expect any Trick or Treaters this year, but I didn’t want to deal with any that might show up.

When I brought out the mason jar of October wine and popped it open, it smelled sweet and wet and a bit smoky, just like October should. I took a deep breath of the aroma, but resisted the temptation to try some and closed it back up, leaving it on the kitchen table. Instead, I put on the Turner Classic scary movie marathon in the background, with the sound turned low, and meditated in the darkness as the hours went by.

About 11oclock, I stretched and got up and got ready to leave. In my bedroom, I undressed and put on the short cotton nightgown, blue as a daisy, that Gramma gave me last year when she found out she was going to die. She bought it especially for this occasion and this was the first time I took it out.

I wore my car starter fob on a chain around my neck. I would have to carry my phone and the jug of October wine.

My carport is through a door off the kitchen, so I didn’t have to go outside yet. I used the remote garage door opener and drove out into the quiet streets. There would be few cars and fewer people about at this hour, but I really hoped I wouldn’t get pulled over. The air was chilly enough to raise goosebumps, and the stars in the clear sky were bright and crystalline, despite the suburban streetlamps. I liked the feel of my bare feet on the gas and brake. It was a fifteen-minute drive to Houghton’s Pond.

Blue Hill River Road posed the biggest risk for getting pulled over, but the only other parking lots were on the other side of the pond, which would have meant an hour’s walk through the dark woods before I even got to the right trail. Fortunately, I had no trouble. The parking lot between the picnic grounds and the ballfield was deserted and I sat there in my parked car for a minute, listening to the quiet, before getting out.

The yellow swing gate that blocked the trail to car traffic was right beside the parking lot and easy to find. I didn’t bother using the flashlight app on my phone to light my way, because the Google home page threw enough of a glow to see by in that deep darkness. I went around the gate and, after carefully picking my way barefooted through the weeds and rocks of the disused trail, I came to the edge of a crumbling asphalt road. This was the abandoned ruin of the original Route 128, which has sat here ghostly and mostly forgotten since it was replaced by the new highway system back in the 50s. Here the going got a little easier and I continued down that road for several minutes.

Gramma had left me very specific instructions on what to do next, written on the back of the recipe for her October wine. I’ve scanned that too, but I’m not going to include any details of it here. Let it suffice to say that the passage to the hidden pathway that I needed to find would have been invisible in broad daylight, let alone the dead of night, but her step-by-step guide allowed me to slip unscratched through a wall of thorns, like an interpretive dancer maneuvering through a maze.

The trail on the the other side of the bushes was very narrow and I had to pick my way through carefully so as not to lose it. But it was only a matter of minutes before I broke through to the clearing that Gramma had described.

The clearing was circular, about to fit a Burger King and covered with an even bed of grass. Just as Gramma had said, it looked as well kept as a front lawn, even though nobody ever came this way. The trees that surrounded the clearing were Autumn bare, and I could see the cold white light of the rising Moon starting to peek through them to the East.

I pulled my nightgown off over my head, folded it up and lay it in the grass at the clearing’s edge. Switching my phone to airplane mode, I placed it on top of the nightgown. Then, holding the jug of October wine in my arms like a baby, I walked deeper into the clearing.

About a third of the way across, facing the hint of the rising Moon, I sat down cross legged with the jug in front of me. The grass was cool and moist with dew. It was just before midnight.

After several relaxing breaths, I unclamped the old cork and popped it out, raised the jug to my lips and took my first drink.

It was somewhat thicker than store wine and tasted like wet leaves and berries. It was also warm, and I could feel that warmth go down my throat and spread into my shoulders. I closed my eyes and sipped at it slowly.

When I opened my eyes again, the half disk of the last-quarter Moon had risen above the treetops and was casting shadows across the clearing almost to my knees. A soft breeze moved through the bare branches. It was cool on my skin but I still felt warm. I saw what looked like swarms of fireflies floating lazily in the dark woods, and they seemed to be flying in pairs. Perhaps they were the eyes of Halloween spirits.

Gramma had not told me what to expect, except for anything and everything. I smiled, feeling calm and warm, closed my eyes and took another sip.

When I opened my eyes again, the Moon was higher, lighting more of the clearing. Spread throughout the carpet of grass before me were a thousand mushrooms, some as tall as lilies, some as tall as corn, with slender stalks waving slowly back and forth. They were pale gray, almost white in the moonlight, except for red spots on their small umbrellas. The mushroom closest to me was being ridden by a small snail.

I sat watching the calm waves moving back and forth through the field of unusual growths until I fell in rhythm with them.

Then I closed my eyes and took another sip.

When I opened my eyes again, the Moon was higher and the shadows shorter. The mushrooms were gone, but their place was taken by scores of frogs. There were frogs of all types, from warted bullfrogs as big as footballs to small pebbled tree frogs that would fit in the palm of my hand. They were spread in front of me across the clearing in a great half circle, arranged in rows, like an amphibious parliament.

They sat still and staring at me, slowly blinking, their throats expanding and contracting. Occasionally a distinctive croak would arise from somewhere in the crowd to be answered elsewhere.

Nodding, I closed my eyes and took another sip.

When I opened my eyes again, the Moon was straight overhead and it was now full. This did not seem odd to me. I tilted my head back and looked up and realized that the Moon was also larger than it should be. Every time I blinked, it grew larger still and soon it nearly filled the sky, its edges obscured by the treetops around the clearing. It was so close that I could see the crisp details of mountains and valleys and craters as if I were looking straight down at them. There was the Sea of Tranquility. There was the Apollo lander and the American flag. There were Neil Armstrong’s footprints.

The surface of the Moon was now just inches above my head, almost as close as the cool grass under my bum. I had a brief moment of vertigo and suddenly I was kneeling in the lunar dust and the grassy field was above my head like a low ceiling. The astronauts’ footprints, in their stark clarity, were right in front of me and gray moondust clung to my knees and bare feet. I was afraid to exhale, not knowing if I’d be able to breathe in again.

I reached out to touch the footprint before me and stopped, not wanting to disturb its perfection. There was a moment of vertigo again and I was back in the clearing and the Moon was back in the sky, in its normal phase.

Closing my eyes, I took another sip.

When I opened my eyes again, the Moon was behind me, the shadows of the trees stretching out in front of me. A wide dirt path, almost a road, had opened up in the forest straight ahead on the other side of the clearing. Far off in the distance, at the end of that road, a thousand miles away, was a light, and silhouetted in that light was somebody walking away. He seemed familiar, but he never turned around and soon disappeared down that relentless road.

I blinked and the path was gone.

Closing my eyes, I took another sip.

When I opened my eyes again, the Moon had almost set, leaving only traces of moonbeams peeking through the woods in back of me. The clearing was very dark now, but I soon became aware that there were other people present, moving quietly at the treeline. They were all separate, spread apart, just shadows in the darkness.

There were three of them, all unaware of me and each other. Each time I blinked, they were in different positions in the field, but seemed to be gradually, randomly, coming nearer to the place where I was sitting.

After a while, I began to make out details. They were all girls, all as naked as I was. One was brown with black curls; one was pale, with red hair and freckles; one was olive with glossy hair to her waist. It was Keisha, Violet, and Piyali.

They continued to drift slowly closer, each in her own world, until they stood in a row in front of me, staring silently at their own feet.

It was hard to find my voice. I felt like I hadn’t spoken in a hundred years. Finally, I managed to say, “What’s the matter?”

I blinked again and the clearing was empty.

With a heavy heart, I took another sip.

When I opened my eyes again, the Moon was gone and the clearing was black, the only light coming from the starry sky above. It took a very long time for my vision to adjust. Eventually, I knew that there was another human figure standing under the trees on the other side of the field. Again, it was a woman, and, again, she was as naked as I was. But this was an old woman. An ancient woman.

This was my Gramma.

She started walking slowly toward me and with each step the years melted away and the stars grew brighter. By the time she reached me, she was young, as young as I was, and I could see her clearly. She sat down cross legged in front of me so that our knees were touching and the jug of October wine sat in the tangle of our ankles.

She tilted her head at me with an odd smile and then lifted up the jug and took a long drink. She seemed to savor it for a moment, and then handed it over to me. I took a sip, but she shook her head with a wry twist to her mouth, so I took a longer drink. I placed it back down between us, feeling a little dizzy.

“It’s very good,” she said.

“I followed your recipe to the letter.”

“Next time you won’t have to.”

She took my hands and placed them on top of the jug, then placed her hands on top of mine, and squeezed firmly. For a long time, she just smiled at me and stared into my eyes with a look of adoration that broke and healed my heart.

“Gramma,” I said.

“Yes, Hester.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You do know what to do.”

“Tell me. What?”

“You don’t need me to tell you what to do,” she said. “You know what to do.”

My eyes suddenly filled with tears and when I wiped them clear, she was gone. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes and took a long last drink.

When I opened my eyes again, the Eastern sky was just barely turning blue. I got to my feet a bit stiffly and stretched out all the kinks with a groan. I replaced the cork in the mason jar of October wine, noting that there was still more than half left. Plenty left over for next year. Plenty for me to continue this old and new tradition.

Picking up my nightgown and phone, I slipped back into the narrow pathway in the forest, retracing my steps to the road and the parking lot and my car and my life. I was ready to continue on my way, knowing that all the other ways, of both the living and the dead, were mine as well.

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

Christmas Reruns 2023 Day 11: Home for Christmas

Merry Christmas if you celebrate it and happy holidays if you don’t!  One of the things I love about Christmas is watching reruns of all the old classic Christmas movies–Christmas is a big time for nostalgia.  A few years ago, I decided to incorporate that tradition into my fandom life and post my CS holiday reruns.  So here you go!  Enough holiday (mostly) fluff to get you to New Year’s Day. (With a new story posting on Christmas Day.)

Rating: G

Word Count: 2642

Other chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32

Notes: Today’s story was written during the hiatus between 5a and 5b, so obviously a number of the Underworld events referred to in the story did not come to pass. We’ll just call this a canon divergence. Newly back from the underworld, Emma finds a way to give Killian the best Christmas present he could ever hope to get.

Genre: CS 5b canon divergence

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Emma woke, as she woke every morning any more—with a smile on her lips and a song in her heart.  The sun shone brightly into her bedroom window, letting her know it would be time to get up soon, but her bed was warm and cozy and she had no intention of leaving it until she had to.  She stretched and turned over, hoping to spend a few more minutes snuggling with her husband before it was time to start the day.

Only her hand landed on empty sheets rather than a furry pirate chest.  Emma sat up abruptly, her heart stilling before beginning to race, the panic hitting with no warning.

It had been three months since she, Killian and the rest of her family had returned from the Underworld, and though time had eased the pain of their two-month-long ordeal with the darkness and Killian’s subsequent death, it was still difficult for Emma to let her true love out of her sight; it was still difficult to keep the fear at bay whenever they were apart.

Emma tossed the covers aside, stepped into her furry slippers, and wrapped herself in her warm bathrobe.  She tossed open the bedroom door, and hurried into the hall.  No sooner had she stepped out of her room then the smell of frying bacon teased her nose, and the sound of her boys talking and laughing met her ears.

She let out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.  They were fine.  They were both fine; safe, happy, and here with her.

“Come on, Killian!” Henry cajoled.  “It’s Christmas morning!  Can’t we just wake her up?  She’ll sleep all day if we let her, and I can’t wait for you guys to open my present!”

Emma grinned as she stepped into the kitchen and leaned against the doorframe waiting for her two true loves to notice her.

“You know as well as I that’s a dangerous prospect lad,” Killian said, turning toward the stove and flipping the pancakes with the handy spatula attachment he’d replaced his hook with for the task at hand.  “You know full well that waking your mother is akin to bearding the lion in its den.” 

Emma cleared her throat, masking her amusement with a fierce scowl.  “Excuse me?”

Two pairs of startled eyes met hers, and then Killian reached up to scratch at that much abused spot behind his ear.  “Merry Christmas, love!  I just…I wanted to let you sleep.  I didn’t mean…you see, we understand.  But when you don’t get your sleep you are sometimes…not that you aren’t bloody brilliant at all times, but…” 

Emma chuckled, sauntered up to him, and placed a quick kiss against his lips.  “Merry Christmas, Killian, and I think you’d better stop while you’re ahead.” 

She noticed the tips of his ears reddening as she pulled back.  “Aye, love.  Perhaps you’re right.”

Henry launched himself at her, wrapping her in an exuberant hug.  “Merry Christmas, mom!”

“You too, kid.  From what I heard, it sounds like someone’s excited to open presents.”

He grinned.  “Yeah, maybe a little.  But Killian convinced me it would be better to have breakfast first.”

Emma’s stomach growled.  “Smart man.  So what can I help you guys with?”

Killian stepped to her side, kissed her cheek and handed her a mug of hot cocoa, topped, of course with whipped cream and cinnamon. “Not a thing at all, my love.  You do so much for us, for all of the townsfolk.  It’s time you allow your men to spoil you.”

“Yeah, mom!” Henry said, turning her toward the living room.  “Why don’t you go relax; maybe turn on some Christmas music.” 

Her smile widened.  “How could I say no to that?”

After turning on the stereo, Emma settled into their plush, comfortable couch, looking up at their magnificent Christmas tree as she sipped at her cocoa. 

This was Killian’s first Christmas in the land without magic, and Emma and Henry had been determined to make this a holiday to remember.  Her inquisitive husband had jumped into the holiday traditions with both feet, spending long hours searching out books and movies about the season, peppering everyone with questions, setting out to fulfill each and every time-honored ritual.

He and Henry had taken an axe and trekked into the woods on the morning after Thanksgiving, and they’d subsequently returned with the biggest, most magnificent Christmas tree Emma had ever seen.  The three of them had spent hours stringing it with lights, hanging ornaments, positioning it just so, ensuring it was an outward expression of their inner joy.

Killian had gone on to hang three stockings on the mantle–meticulously neat and tidy, of course—and sprigs of mistletoe everywhere he could think of.  Emma had to admit, she was rather glad she’d told Killian about that particular tradition. 

(Henry, not so much.  The way he complained about the two of them making out all the time you’d think the kid was traumatized for life.  Henry couldn’t fool her, though.  She saw the pleased grins he tried to hide behind his eye rolls and groans of adolescent angst.  Truth was, all of them were utterly, stupidly happy just to be together and alive and in the land of the living.  Not much would really annoy any of them for some time to come.)

The result was that their home looked like something out of one of those cheesy Christmas movies, and Emma couldn’t be happier. 

Other than the year with Henry in New York, Emma had never been much for Christmas.  Watching all those happy families smiling and laughing, enjoying each other’s company, the love and joy clearly showing on each of their faces—well, it was nothing short of agonizing for a lonely, lost girl. 

But she wasn’t a lonely lost girl anymore.  She was part of a family—a family she deeply loved, and one that she knew loved her just as much.

She couldn’t ask for anything more perfect or more magical.  Christmas was a time for love, a time for family.  Emma smiled to herself as she thought about the plans she and her parents had made for today.  She had one last plan for making this a Christmas her husband would never forget, one last surprise for the man who’d proven there was nothing he wouldn’t do for her; the man who had given her her happy ending.  When her parents had come to her with the idea, she’d cried, overwhelmed at the beauty of the plan, at the joy it would bring Killian.

Yes, Christmas was a time for family, and she was bound and determined to show her pirate that he never needed to spend a lonely holiday—or any other day—again.

~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~

Emma laughed at something Henry said, and Killian smiled to himself, picking up her hand and lacing their fingers as they walked.  It was a bitterly cold afternoon, but yesterday’s snowstorm had given way to a brilliantly sunny Christmas day, and he and Emma and the lad had decided to walk the few blocks to her parents’ abode for Christmas dinner.

It did his heart good to see his wife so happy.  The darkness and its consequences had weighed heavily on both of them, and for weeks after their return, Emma had woken nearly every night with the nightmares.  The haunted look had finally begun to leave her face; the fear to leave her eyes.  Killian knew her excitement over this Christmas holiday was a large factor, and for that alone, he would adore this holiday to the end of his days.

Killian sighed softly to himself, careful not to let his small family hear the wistful sound.  He was happy; truly he was.  Having Emma as his wife, Henry as his son…it was more than he could have ever dreamed.  Not for anything in all the realms would he give up this life he was privileged to lead.

This holiday, this Christmas, it put such emphasis on love, on family joining together.  He loved Emma and Henry with all his heart; he was profoundly humbled and grateful for the way Emma’s parents had welcomed him with open arms into their family.  (Even now, some three months later, his eyes still welled remembering the moment he realized not only Emma and her lad, but her parents, Regina and Locksley had all travelled to the Underworld for him, because they cared about him, because they couldn’t stand the thought of him being gone from their lives.)

Even so, there was a bit of bitterness mixed in with the sweet.  The truth was, Killian missed his family—his beloved brother and the father he’d been privileged to reconcile with in the Underworld.  It had been a beautiful time among the horror and ashes, and Killian would never be able to fully express his gratitude to Emma for agreeing to wed him there, in the underworld with Liam as officiant and his papa as witness.

But all things must come to an end.  When he and Emma succeeded in breaking Hades’ stranglehold over the Underworld, his father and brother had finally been ushered to their eternal reward in the land of paradise.  Killian had willingly returned to the land of the living with his new wife at his side, secure in the knowledge that the two men he loved more than anyone in any realm (save for the woman beside him) were finally happy and at peace.

Henry ran ahead up the steps and knocked on the Charmings’ door, his gift for Grandma and Gramps held proudly in his free hand.  A moment later, the lady Snow opened the door and soon enveloped each of them, in turn, in a warm, motherly hug.

“So glad you guys got here!” she said, ushering them inside.  “Dinner’s almost ready.”

Killian looked around at the assembled group, the Charmings, the young prince Neal, Regina and Robin with their children–all smiled happily, talking and laughing, welcoming him with joy.  It was enough.  It was far more than enough; far more than he’d ever thought to have.  Far more than enough to push the tiny ache of loss to the far corner of his mind. 

“Smells good in here!” Henry said, peering into the oven.  “Did you make your famous lasagna, mom?”

Regina ruffled Henry’s hair.  “That I did.  And my apple turnovers—and don’t worry, Miss Swan…er…Mrs. Jones, this batch is completely free of sleeping curse—for dessert.”

“Awesome!” Henry said.  “Can we eat?”

“In just a minute kid,” Emma said.  “We just have to wait until a couple more people get here.”

Killian looked around in surprise.  It appeared the family was all assembled.  “Who else are we missing, love?”

Emma shared a look with her parents, and Killian noticed the tears in her eyes, the secret smile on her face.

Charming stepped forward, holding out a small, non-descript canteen, which Killian automatically took.  “Hook…Killian,” he began, “before Merida took the portal back to her land, she gave us a gift as a token of her appreciation.  That canteen you’re holding.” 

“That was…thoughtful,” Killian said, staring in bemusement at the object in question.

“Yes, it was.  It really was,” Snow said, stepping forward in her turn, “but it’s not the canteen, but the ale that’s in it that’s the real gift.”

“Killian,” Emma said, smiling up at him.  “It’s not just any ale.  It’s a special ale Merida got from a witch in her land.  The person who pours it on the ground can bring back loved ones who have passed on—temporarily at least.”

Killian’s eyes widened, and he shot startled looks at all of them.  “You mean…you mean, I could bring…?”

“Yeah,” Charming said.  “We discussed it, and we all agreed.  That last cup of ale should go to you.  Emma wanted to make your first Christmas special; she thought you might like to invite your own family to our feast.”

Killian’s vision blurred as he looked down at his wife.  “You’d do this for me, love?”

She reached up and cupped his face, bringing him down for a quick kiss.  “I’d do anything for you, Killian.  I thought you’d know that by now.  I know how much you miss them, and, well, I just wanted to make you happy.”

Killian smiled shakily, returning her kiss, brushing away a tear from her cheek.  “You do make me happy, love.  Every day you make me happy.  I wouldn’t trade our life together for anything.” 

“I know,” she said with a smile, “but it doesn’t mean you don’t miss those you’ve lost.  I get that.  I really do.  So, when I found out there was a way to bring them back for the afternoon, I hopped right on that.  Besides, I think it would be amazing to have the whole family together for Christmas. 

“I love you,” he said, swooping in for another kiss.

“And I love you.”

“All of this love is great,” Regina drawled, “but you think we could get on with it?  My lasagna just came out of the oven, and if it gets cold because of your yearning looks and doe eyes, I might start throwing fireballs.”

Killian grinned.  “I wouldn’t dare risk such a thing, your majesty.”

Taking a deep breath, he pulled the stopper from the canteen and poured its contents on the floor of the Charming’s loft.  Before it hit the ground, it transformed into a fine, golden mist, and when it cleared Liam and Brennan Jones stood before him, brilliant grins draping their handsome faces.

“It looks like you’ve done quite well for yourself, little brother,” Liam said, stepping forward.

“I think you mean ‘younger’ brother,” Killian said, voice suspiciously gravelly, before launching himself into his brother’s arms.

~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~

Several hours later, Emma lay in bed with her head cushioned on her true love’s chest.  She reached up and absently fiddled with the charms on his necklace as she listened to the winter wind howl outside. 

Killian leaned down and captured her lips in a tender kiss that went on and on.  When it finally came to an end, she rested her forehead against his.

“Not that I’m complaining, but what was that about?” She asked, smiling at him.

“I love you so bloody much, Emma, sometimes I cannot contain myself.”

She chuckled, settling back in against his chest and planting a quick kiss against the space above his heart.  “I love you too.  So how was your first Christmas?  Did it live up to all the hype?”

Killian was silent for a moment, absently running his fingers through her hair.  “It was everything I could have imagined and far more, love.  Thank you from the bottom of my heart.  You will never know what those two hours with my brother and my father meant to me.”

“I think I can guess,” she said.  “We’re kindred spirits, remember?  The lost boy and the lost girl who finally found each other.”

“Not lost anymore, love,” he said, and she felt the deep rumble of his voice as much as she heard it.  “Though we each possess but half a heart now, mine has never felt so whole or complete.  Liam may have spoken of all the wonders he’s found in paradise, but I’d wager no wonder could compare to having you here in my arms on this Christmas night.

NEXT CHAPTER->

[grizzcore]

it’s so telling that you still think we’re going to ever apologize to you when youve literally terrorized our family and traumatized my partner so badly they can’t make friends anymore and needed to to be put into therapy for the trauma you caused -

because your intense emotional abuse over the short time we were ever pleasant to you and then prolonged stalking behavior you’ve exhibited since we cut you off over two and a half years ago, including sending letters to our home after knowing you weren’t ever even supposed to know our address, posting about us on an average of once every week for over two and a half years since we went fully no contact with you for our own safety , writing and posting a SONG ? ABOUT KNOWING WHERE WE LIVE ?? AND ADDRESSING OUR FEAR OF YOU IN SAID SONG??, attempting to shoehorn your way back into our lives countless times despite our only request be that you fully stay away from us, copying our personal styles to a degree of uncanny-ness that even YOUR PARTNER POINTED IT OUT TO HIS MOTHER, and repeatedly calling my husband SLURS ?? MAKING A POST ABOUT MY HUSBANDS RAPIST YOU NEVER KNEW AT ALL AFTER WE HAD ALREADY CUT YOU OFF? Showing up to family events you KNEW YOU WERE NOT WELCOME AT TO BREAK THE NO CONTACT??

Oh and the repeated act of calling yourself a lesbian on this app while ACTIVELY DATING MY BROTHER IN LAW which I cannot even fathom the reasoning behind other than the same wanting to wear our skinness of it all and the jealously you clearly have about lesbianism which I’m not going to sit here and speculate about because its your business, even if it is gross to see as an actual lesbian

All of this. All of this because my partner and I were VICTIMS OF A VIOLENT HATE CRIME two and a half years ago, and while he was venting about the homophobic violence we had JUST SURVIVED , my partner called you straight - and when you corrected him and told him you were bi- which he GENUINELY DIDNT KNOW- he CORRECTLY called you straight passing - which you then had ‘your partner’ (we know you wrote that text) text my husband a paragraph long attack about how you are actually bi and nonbinary and only present femme because of a homophobic home life.

Which …. STILL MADE YOU STRAIGHT PASSING??

You then continue to insist we had to know you were bi because we had followed your insta where you apparently had your pronouns in your bio and posted about queerness -

Newsflash for you . We didn’t look at your insta, because we didn’t care. We are older than you and at the time we met you were a minor and we were in our early 20s and frankly weren’t interested in a close friendship with you at that time. You did not get that and started latching onto us and getting very offended any time we pointed out that we were much older than you. Which is hilarious considering you now paint this as we were adults who started “stalking your social media” since you were a minor - which isn’t even true. We didn’t start regularly watching your social media until you were an adult. People had sent us screenshots of your abuse towards us before then, and we had followed you until the no contact WE ESTABLISHED, but other than that we very rarely saw your socials unless promoted to by someone else informing us you had posted something about us.

Newsflash two- Being straight passing isn’t an insult, it’s a privilege. One you have , undeniably. someone pointing out your privilege isn’t an insult, though I know you struggle with this as you have the biggest victim mentality of anyone I ever met, which is crazy considering you wanted to become a cop when we met- and you being offended that people who are ACTUALLY visibly queer and who face VIOLENCE in the face of that did not appreciate you trying so desperately hard to relate to the real aggression faced by visibly queer people (and I mean VISIBLY as in you can look at someone and tell they are queer, not that you announce your queerness to everyone you deem safe to do so. There is a difference between visible queerness and being uncloseted - nether of which you fully were at the time.) as in ACTUALLY FACED because a man tried to KILL US WITH A BRICK ?? We only got away by risking our lives driving into opposite traffic while actively sobbing with fear for our lives??

You then recently right after we moved back to our home state, something we were horrified of BECAUSE OF YOU- had your sibling who you’ve described as “a violent cyber stalker with homicidal tendencies” start harassing my partner because *checks notes* he liked Harry Potter when he WAS A KID????

At which point we involved two mental health professionals, a social worker- and the police. Who instructed us to watch your social media to keep track of your aggression toward us because you seemed to be escalating toward violence.

You are still obsessively angry two and half years later because my partner wouldn’t falsely let you claim to relate to the violent homophobia faced by actual butch lesbians, especially those who are in butch4butch relationships that can be perceived as gay men on sight.

You were a flowy blouse and long skirt wearer with long brown hair dating a cisgender man who- listen here! Important info! EXCLUSIVELY REFFERED TO YOU BY SHE/HER PRONOUNS AND “GIRLFRIEND” UNTIL FAR, FAR AFTER ALL OF THIS.

So no, basil. We genuinely didn’t know you were nonbinary and bi until that conversation, nor does it make you and your partner any less straight passing. No one would hate crime you for the act of being in the car with your boyfriend.

You can be mad for the rest of your life that we don’t like you. You can be angry we feel unsafe because of you and your laundry list of volatile actions.

The only thing we ever did was tell you that you were straight passing, and then tell you later to leave us alone because of how horribly you reacted and for so long. And for this we have been subjected to years, literal years, of torment from an obsessed ruminator who cannot unlatch from their cycle of emotional disregulation to take a step back and think “hey maybe me posting about these guys who asked me to leave them alone all of the time , writing a song about them, sending a letter to their house in a different state, telling them I’m glad they’re scared of me, vague posting about them constantly, (this is the first time we’ve ever posted about you!) , sent my emotionally unwell sibling with cyber stalking issues after them, and then knowingly showing up to a family event I know I’m not supposed to go to because one of them who is particularly afraid of me because of the way I I targeted him so hard with my aggression when we were still friends and I was really unwell and then blew up at him repeatedly was going to be there, maybe… maybe I really should leave them alone. Stop posting about them. Maybe I’m causing years of trauma to two people who’s biggest crime was feeling unsafe around me when I was really unwell and now they don’t want to forgive me for the way I behaved because it was so damaging to them. Maybe I should just let this go. Maybe I have been the bad person in this scenario and just don’t understand how hard of a boundary has been set here.”

Instead of that you’re angry you won’t get your way and have us crawl back to you apologizing so you can , what? what exactly? tell us to go fuck ourselves ??

We don’t owe you an apology. We owe you nothing. No one owes you anything, not even validation. We don’t even want an apology from you- which we told you when we cut you off, the last time we ever contacted you in any way, directly or indirectly. We just want you to stay away from us and stop posting about us, because the trauma you caused by the constant trauma dumping, constant over attached behavior, lack of understanding of boundaries, the aggression you showed my husband, the lies you told me, the stalking behavior, the song, the letter

You need serious , serious help. All we want is for you to stop. We have had to feel unsafe for years because you were offended once.

We know you looked up to us. We get it’s hard to be cut off from people you had insisted were roll models to you. But your own behavior is what landed you there. You could not listen to basic boundaries and you were causing lasting harm even before you escalated to … all of this

I intended to never contact you in any way, and I will stick to that. I will continue to watch your blog as that is what , again, two mental health professionals, a social worker, and the police told us was necessary to protect ourselves because you behave in a way that indicates serious harm could come from you in the future and we need to document your threats and harassment to defend yourselves from you.

I asked them not to confront you because I felt guilt to even involve the police in this. I genuinely don’t want you hurt. I just want you to stop. Stop posting. Stop watching us. Stop talking about us.

My husband called you straight passing after someone tried to murder him - and for that? For that? we live in constant fear, not of the man who laughed while trying to kill us, but of YOU for making it an event we can never move past because you cannot stop bringing it up with no context and using it to justify your blind, unending, misdirected rage you will continue to take out on us until the second you are happy with who you are without the need for our validation

Let me make this very clear : you are not forgiven. We are not sorry. You are NOT welcome in our lives. You NEED to leave us alone. You are NOT welcome to our family homes. You are NOT going to hear from us directly , ever again. This is the last message I’ll ever write to you until it turns into a court date if your postings don’t stop.

You will never meet our children and if your partner is still with you when they are born; he will not be meeting them either. His disrespect of bringing you to an event he knew his brother would be at solidified to us both that he cannot be trusted to handle delicate family matters respectfully.

My husband has developed seriously debilitating mental health issues because of the stress this has caused. That is YOUR legacy. That two people cutting you off because of how badly you handled your emotions made you so angry you decided it was worth dedicating years of your life to mentally destroying them.

When I knew you you complained often that people abandon you with no reason. That people “intentionally misunderstood” you.

No, basil. People see you. People know that you have serious issues they don’t have the capacity to handle and they grow tired of the lashing out and excuses.

You try so hard , so so hard to ruin our lives and I’m done sitting down and taking it silently.

You’re a monster. You are the single most unwell person I’ve ever met. You made the trauma of two gay people almost getting murdered - about you, somehow - and yet cannot stop this insistence that we make everything about ourselves.

Basil you don’t know us. You barely let us speak in the time we knew you. You took up all the space over sharing, trauma dumping, and lying. We tried hard, and even after my husband realized what you were and distanced himself, I tried really hard to be there for you. I let you tell me anything, I really really tried to support you. But the second I told you that dating during the first year of sobriety was really dangerous and typically lead to abusive behavior and that no real reputable rehab program would encourage you to stay in a relationship you were in while actively using? you split on me so hard it was like a movie. And then you lied and tried so , so hard to convince everyone I made the whole thing up even when you WENT TO THE REHAB I RECOMMENDED. Which is the weirdest gaslighting I’ve ever experienced , to be honest.

I know this post is all over the place. I don’t care to lay it out by timeline- you know what you did. Or maybe you really don’t. Maybe your continued insistence that you don’t understand why people leave you is true. Maybe this stuff is so natural to you it rolls right off your back and doesn’t even register as damaging. Who knows.

What I do know ? Is that you’re never welcome back in our lives. And you’re certainly not getting an “apology”.

[soranociel]

I’m sorry, I love you.

Genre : angst

Pairing : gojo satoru x reader

Word count : 1.4k

Warning(s) : Jujutsu Kaisen manga spoiler, mention of blood and injury, graphic description of wound, a little sad I think, grammatical errors maybe hehe.

A/N : This is the first ever writing I post to the internet! Please take it easy on me, tumblr peeps.

"So you're going alone?" your voice filled in the dark hallway of Jujutsu High, breaking the long silence as you walk beside your comrade, Gojo. You were on your way to the yard to meet your team in order to watch over Shibuya. Layers of curtains had bestowed upon the place, and the whole facility had to hold a meeting to discuss how they would handle the situation.

"Yeah, as they wanted," Gojo replied with a smile on his face, you could feel that he was more tense and serious than usual. How could he not? The group that had invaded Shibuya wanted him all by himself.

"Be careful," you glanced at him with the corner of your eyes, worries filled up your mind with graphic images of how things could go wrong. It wasn't that you didn't trust him and his power, you were scared of losing him.

Gojo let out a chuckle, his head turned to you with a smile plastered on his face. "Don't worry, I am the strongest," there he went again, rambling about he's the strongest though he was right, it was a little annoying to hear him say that. Like come on, he didn't have to rub that to everyone at all times, you thought to yourself.

"Now if you'll excuse me,"

"Satoru, I-"

You both had reached the end of the hallway to meet the cold breeze the weather had to offer. You wanted say something ahead of his departure, but before you could finish what you had to say, Gojo had vanished into the night, leaving you alone to stare up into the starry sky, praying to whatever higher entity that the man you just talked to would be safe.

Now all you could see was the same sky, except that there was no stars splattered all over it because you were under the curtain inside of Shibuya. Your eyes were half open, you could feel a light breeze over the side of your body as you move forward. It was the only thing you felt other than the immense pain on your head and shoulder, it was so intense that you almost felt like you went numb.

You tried your best to recall what had happened, trying progress with the consciousness you had left in your body.

Then it hit you. A flashing imagine of the man with patches on his body, which you believed was called Mahito, touched the side of your head. You were running beforehand, pushing Nobara out of the way of his range. Then you realised Mahito ended up pushing his palm against you, even then you tried to dodge him. Yet to no avail, your shoulder had gotten the same impact he had left on your head.

You couldn't remember anything else, except seeing two Kyoto students behind Yuuji before you collapsed into the ground. It was the buff student who called Yuuji his brother who had participated in the sister school event, and the other you had never seen before. But if you're not hallucinating, you're in his arms right now as he ran, while you could hear Nobara yelled before your eyes gave up on trying to open themselves.

"Can you run faster?!" the red-haired girl exclaimed, looking to her side with her breath short after running from the scene of her teacher trying to protect– or sacrifice herself for her. "I'm trying!" the boy shouted back without looking at her, his eyes focused on the empty street as his feet kept a steady pace. Nobara on the other hand, grimaced at the sight of you. You looked so awful that she could only give one look at you before keeping her head up, biting the inside of her mouth to keep her tears from falling down her cheeks. There was a small hole on the side of your head where Mahito had touched you, it was so deep and anyone with eyes could see your brain through it. And the bone on your shoulder was showing, the blood of it touched the ground like a broken faucet that can't stop the fall of small water drops.

_______

You slowly opened your eyes to see to see an unfamiliar ceiling, trying to recall the past that felt like a minute ago, yet the only thing clouding your mind was Gojo and the fact that he was sealed. You should've thought about anything else, really, but you just couldn't. All you felt was the agonising pain that wouldn’t stop eating at your entire being, and thinking there was no possibility where you can see him again. You wanted to look at how bad your injury were, but you couldn't. The ache had spread all over your body and you could only move your eyes and your trembling mouth.

A familiar palm moved above your head, it was Ieiri's hand trying to heal the wound that's been inflicted upon you. You felt like your ripped shoulder were stitching its skin all by itself, yet it was still painful, and the sting that ruled over your body overpowered the mending she had been trying to do to you.

"Te... S.. Sato.. I lo hi,"

Tell Satoru I love him.

That was what you were trying to say, but you were sure it did not come out that way. It was difficult to speak with your parted mouth and your barely moving tongue, it took so much effort for you just to say a part of his name. Yet you believed that Ieiri understood you. She was your best friend, after all.

She remembered how you cried when you had heard the news that a jujutsu sorcerer assassin had killed Gojo. All because you just couldn't imagine a world– or to live in a world where he's not around. He was like a seeping marker, painting the whole world with his teasy remarks and his full of pride personality. To some people, what he does might be seen as annoying, but to you, everything would become dull and colorless without him. You hated silence because then your intrusive thoughts would always be loud enough to disturb you. It would feel like you were in the dark tunnel with no way out, a loophole. Yet his loud voice ringing in your ears with a wide grin on his face, and his blue eyes peering through his sunglasses made you forget all your worries. Your heart would beat faster whenever he's around to say or do whatever and it would feel like spring in you heart. Flowers bloom and the sun gently giving its light upon whatever is on earth, you felt like your soul was alive and bright. Yet you would never admit your feelings. As much as you loved his behaviour, letting him know you liked him would only boost his ego. So all you did was pretending to hate him and all his actions, which was the total opposite of how you really felt.

She remembered too, how you reacted when you saw Gojo came back to life because of his reverse technique. You wanted to run and hug him, but he was just your upperclassman. Instead, you wrapped your arms around Ieiri's body so tightly and hid your crying face against her shoulder. She knew you loved him. Yet you still wouldn't disclose it in front of his face, and continued your play-pretend of disliking him.

Throwing him 'shut up's every time he opened his mouth, which you knew that wouldn't stop him and he would only speak more and you never really mind it. Ignoring him and saying no, knowing he wouldn't stop talking and bothering you until he get what he wanted. Murmuring your little 'i hate you's to him because you knew he'd be whining and denying that you didn't actually hate him, and of course he was right. Having to suppress a smile everytime he made a silly joke because you knew he would tease you and said that you actually liked it, and of course, you did. Rolling your eyes at his teasings because you knew he would keep going and it actually made you happy. You did all that to avoid your feelings, and you knew it was a hypocrisy because you only found yourself falling deeper as the time passes.

"Tell him that yourself," she stuttered, eyes twitching and her lips curved as she focused, trying her best effort to make sure you live to see another day.

A tear ran down the side of your face, at that point, you didn't know if it was because of the ache that started to strangle your throat as you struggled to breath, or the fact that you likely won't be able to do what Ieiri had wished you to do. To tell Gojo Satoru, that you love him.

I'm sorry, I love you.

[allwaswell16]

This is a fic rec of One Direction fic writers who both appreciate positive, long comments and enjoy replying back to these comments! This was made in honor of an enthusiastic friend who had a few bad experiences commenting in our fandom and receiving less than kind replies. Instead of just fuming about it, I decided to do something about it. I knew that most writers would absolutely love to receive comments like the ones she leaves, so I made a post asking for writers who fit this to recommend their fics to us. And wow did you all come through for us! 

Below the cut are 54 writers, each with one of their fics to recommend to us! But please be sure to check out all their other fics as well! I’ll put the fics in order of wordcount and I’ll list pairing, rating, and wordcount along with the summaries. 

(Please note that there are really lovely writers out there who also very much appreciate each and every one of their comments, but are too overwhelmed or anxious to reply. I am not at all saying that writers who don’t reply are unappreciative!)

Love After the End of the World by @mercurial-madhouse​ / writing_practice [Louis/Harry, E, 162k]

“Wait. Just so I’m clear in me fucking noggin,” Niall says. “An international worldwide takeover is well under way and the only thing standing between having hot showers and a second end of the world is us five fuckers?”

-----

Society shattered when all electricity suddenly cut off across the globe, plunging the world into darkness. Now, Prometheus Industries is the sole remaining supply of power, a saving grace to those who survived Lights Out. As fugitives in no-man’s land struggling to break into Prometheus HQ, death lurks around every corner for Louis and Zayn. Things get complicated when a routine recon falls apart and Louis collides with Harry and his mates Niall and Liam, survivors with their own agenda.

When staying alive is already a constant battle, the deadliest weakness is to be in love. For Harry and Louis, finding each other sits on top of the endless list of What Else Could Go Wrong.

Hold You Now by @solvetheminourdreams​ [Louis/Harry, M, 131k]

The string within Harry's own sweatpants is now dangling outside of his pocket, stretched so far out that the seams of his pants have tightened. His eyes remain hyper focused on Louis, how oblivious he is—scrolling through his phone without a care in the world, while Harry feels his tilt on its axis.

Three years ago, Harry Styles said goodbye to communications consultancy firm McQuiston Worldwide, leaving a life of travel and agency PR behind. When he accompanies his best friend to a family wedding across the Atlantic, he'll be forced to reopen old wounds and face his past—one that no one wants to hash out, but may just have to.

forever is in your eyes by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed​ / we_are_the_same [Louis/Harry, M, 125k]

Harry looks fragile in the moonlight, and Louis stands there, pondering, not even sure what it is that he’s thinking of. It’s all just noise in his head, a mix of melancholy and desire, of longing for something that he doesn’t even have a name for.

He wants-

He wants love. He wants to be held and cherished and have a home. Not just a place to lay his head down at night. He wants to be loved the way that Louis had loved creating Harry. He wants his perfect man, but he wants him to be real. He wants Harry to be real-

His lips press against marble, against something cold and unforgiving, and it’s not until his hand comes up to rest against a sculpted neck that his eyes fly open and he stumbles backwards, nearly falling off the stepladder that he’d stood on.

“Jesus Christ.” He whispers, shaking his head and resisting the urge to brush the back of his hand against his lips, erase evidence that isn’t even visible to the naked eye. Harry stands there, as though nothing’s changed, and of course he does, because he’s a statue.

A statue that Louis has just kissed.

don’t want to fight you by @lt2soon​ / starryharry [Louis/Harry, M, 124k]

Louis hates that it’s familiar. He hates that sparring Harry is familiar because they train together. He hates that he even has to spar Harry at all, because Harry is good.

Louis wonders what his life would be like if him and Harry didn’t hate each other. He can’t picture it, really. The incessant bickering that often turns into real arguing, the nasty looks, the eye rolls, the middle fingers. It all feels very necessary at this point.

Or, the one where two fighters can also be lovers because routines are never permanent.

Mine Would Be You by @crinkle-eyed-boo [Louis/Harry, E, 114k]

Louis blinks his eyes open, his eyelids fluttering as the room swims around him. He takes several gulps of beer once he confirms that he’s definitely not hallucinating, that the very first portrait Harry Styles ever painted of him is hanging on that wall.

Louis stares at the wall, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest as he realizes that there’s not just one painting of him, there’s five, the portraits lined up like they’re some sort of storyboard depicting the rise and fall of his deepest love. His greatest heartache. A pain that cut him so deep that he left the fucking country, severing all ties with his life in New York, now suddenly surrounding him as if he’d never left.

Fucking shit motherfucker fuck.

Louis returns to New York City five years after he left it – and the love of his life – behind. He didn't intend to see Harry again, but fate has a funny way of pulling them together, whether they like it or not. After making a begrudging truce, they both start to wonder: Would it be so bad if history repeated itself?

promise your whispers are mine by @lightwoodsmagic​ / lightswoodmagic [Louis/Harry, E, 94k]

"Where did I say it’s been easy for you, or,” he paused, staring at Harry’s lowered head and willing him to look up, “where have you ever gotten the idea that it’s been easy for me either?” When a few beats had passed and Louis was sure the conversation was done, Harry looked up, straight into Louis’ eyes like he was trying to physically pin him in place. “Our situations are completely different and you know it, please stop trying to - .” “Then let me help you fix it, Harry,” Louis interrupted, desperate to reach out and cover his hand with one of his own. “Let me help, please.”

Harry’s the head chef at Azoff’s Catering, and he loves his job; the opportunity has always been more than he could dream of and he’s proud of the food he creates. Until he meets Louis, an event coordinator rising through the ranks with his own company, and who reminds him of the dreams he once had for his own career. While their easy friendship initially thrives in an industry known for chaos and betrayal, they soon discover they both have their secrets, and maybe it’s too late for either of them to try to find happiness outside of their work. Especially when they realise that their happiness might rely on each other.

Playin’ It Safe and Breakin’ The Rules by @local-troubled-writer​ / local_troubled _writer [Louis/Harry, M, 90k]

In his life, Louis Tomlinson set out to do three things: find a way to make art that he loves, make his mum proud, and have as much fun as he could reasonably fit into one lifetime.

--

“Hello?” Harry’s deep voice calls.

“Hi,” Louis pops his head out of his doorway, motioning Harry back. “Louis,” he holds his hand out for Harry to shake and a small grin takes over the popstar’s face. He’s taller than he seems in photographs, but his smile is just the same as the ones that used to wallpaper his sisters’ walls.

“Harry.” He seems to have just gotten off stage, still sweating in a pair of skin-tight black jeans but a soft-looking blue vest. A beige headscarf holds his long curls off his face and he has all the easy confidence of a world-famous pop sensation, but still slouches in a way that isn't unfamiliar to Louis’ own posture.

“Yeah, I know who you are, popstar.” Louis teases, pulling his hand away and jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. “Shall we?”

--

or the One Where Maybe this Fake Relationship Gets a Little Too Real.

Consequences by @allwaswell16​ [Louis/Harry, E, 78k]

Two years ago Harry let his powerful family come between him and the love of his life, something he deeply regrets. Louis has tried to move on from their devastating break up. Sometimes, he even thinks he has. It only takes one moment to freeze them back in time.

An amnesia au

The Sound The Leaves Make In The Heat Of The August Sun by @sleepwalk-living / anderscones [Louis/Harry, T, 76k]

Louis is an elf who lives in the Kingdom’s forest, as far away from the pompous Castle Court as he can get while staying within city limits. He’s a thief out of necessity and is happy enough to steal from the rich when they’re not looking. He notices something mysteriously dangerous happening in his forest one morning and begs for an investigation from the Court, who of course tells him he’s seeing things.

Intro a shamed knight, a runaway prince, a blacksmith, and a mage with fae blood who figure something is better than nothing. The King is all too happy to make criminals out of them and run them thinner than they already are just to prove a point to his son. With the combined powers of Captain Pla- One Direction, they figure it out.

adjudication by @bottomlinsons​ [Louis/Harry, T, 75k]

Harry's been engaged to Princess Charlotte of Ryde for as long as he can remember. He's come to know her, to love her, through the letters she's sent him over the past three years.

But when the wedding finally arrives, Harry quickly learns that nothing is as it seems. With his crown and country at stake, Harry must decide who to trust in this strange new land. And the sly Crown Prince of Ryde doesn't seem inclined to make things easy.

The Ground Below is Above My Feet by @zanniscaramouche​ / zanni_scaramouche [Louis/Harry, E, 63k]

“-ouis, are you awake?”

“M’ff,” Louis manages. Slowly he remembers where he is. Who he is. His nerve endings take stock of his body, the soft sheets twisted around his legs and the warm rush of breath on his face. Harry.

“You were sleeping like the dead,” Harry muses, calloused fingers delicately brushing through Louis’ fringe. “Could barely tell if you were breathing.”

Louis' heart stutters, his throat working hard to swallow the lump of ugly truth. Blinks until Harry’s bright eyes come into focus across the pillow.

He holds back the obvious joke.

Plant New Seeds in the Melody by @vintageumbroshirt​ / 28sunflowers [Harry/Louis, E, 58k]

After losing his husband in a tragic car accident, the last thing Louis needs is to keep running into popstar Harry Styles, who David was quite fond of.

Obviously, that’s exactly what keeps happening.

But as their unlikely friendship blossoms, Louis realizes that, maybe, having Harry in his life was the only good thing that came out of his adverse circumstances. Harry could be just the right person to help Louis find trust and intimacy in someone new.

Live a Thousand Lifetimes by @laynefaire​ / Layne Faire [Zayn/Liam, E, 57k]

It’s 2025.

After secretly writing and producing their first album in ten years, One Direction is weeks away from releasing their first new single and announcing a world tour.

With the whirlwind about to begin again, Liam re-evaluates the last ten years - the fame, the money, the people who changed his life forever - and the person who walked away.

just a flicker in the dark by @falsegoodnight​ [Harry/Louis, E, 57k]

Harry Styles is his case partner. High and mighty, annoyingly smug Harry Styles who’s known him for years and has fucking seen him naked for fuck’s sake.

He glances at Venus who’s blinking up at him with curious eyes, no doubt sensing the agitation sparking in his magic.

“This is not happening,” Louis says loudly. “This is not fucking happening. I am going to kill Liam, oh my god.” He doesn’t even know if Liam is responsible for this but it feels like something he’d do to drive Louis absolutely insane - exes don’t just show up to your assigned haunted house out of nowhere. “Fucking fuck!”

He nearly jumps when Harry knocks again, his muffled voice carrying through the wood. “I can hear you, you know,” he drawls, sounding frustratingly amused.

Louis exhales, resisting the urge to scream.

-

Or, Louis is a struggling witch desperate to prove himself after yet another magic disaster and finds a calling in the haunted house of client Niall Horan. Things get more complicated when he’s assigned a case partner: acclaimed medium and ex-boyfriend, Harry Styles.

I'm On the Hunt Now (I'm After You) by @afangirlfantasy​ [Louis/Harry, M, 56k]

Omegas haven’t been able to shift into their wolves for two hundred years. That is, until Louis Tomlinson changes everything.

Or...an AU where Alpha Harry and Omega Louis have a lot more than falling in love to deal with after The Mating Ceremony.

That Smile and That Midnight Laugh by @uhoh-but-yeah-alright​ / yeah_alright [Louis/Harry, T, 50k]

Harry’s never noticed how lovely Louis really is. Maybe it’s just that she’s usually so guarded – a little tense, a little irritated, a little put out. At least when she’s at school, and also usually when she’s around Nick, which are the only times Harry has really seen her. Until tonight. Tonight Harry’s seen her with her guard completely down. Too busy laughing and enjoying herself to remember to be prickly, maybe. She seems different.

It feels different.

A Ferris Bueller's Day Off AU that picks up right where the movie leaves off, and imagines what might happen if Ferris' girlfriend and sister become friends. And maybe something more, too.

Baby, Won’t You Look My Way? by @peachbootylouis​ / PeachBootyLou [Louis/Harry, E, 50k]

Louis tiptoed to the door and opened it, looking over his shoulder for a moment. Harry looked absolutely gorgeous, almost enough to make him strip back down and give it another go. But that wasn’t who Louis was. So he sighed and stepped outside, leaving back to his flat. And for the first time in years, he felt alive.

Or the where Louis’ routine centered life runs like clockwork until a chance hook up throws a wrench named Harry into it all. But as it may turn out a change in plans could be what Louis has needed all along.

dirty laundry looks good on you by @tomlinvelvetfics​ / tomlinvelvet [Louis/Harry, E, 50k]

When Louis Tomlinson finds his clothes lying in a sad soapy mess on top of the washing machine in which they are supposed to be, he acts upon his anger and retaliates. What he doesn’t expect is having to deal with a six-feet tall, curly-haired and dimpled man in return, who seems to arouse confusing feelings within him and to make his life take an unexpected turn for the better (or worse?).

OR; the utility room is a great place to fall in love.

Passing By by @larryyouknow​ / Larry_you_know [Louis/Harry, E, 48k]

Sometimes, people are in each other's lives just for the briefest of moments. They meet and then go their separate ways because being vulnerable is scary and it might be easier to not let anybody else in. But some people aren’t meant to be just passing by. Maybe when they open their eyes, they can learn things about themselves they haven’t known before. If they let their hearts speak they will find a way to be together.

Or the one where Harry doesn't even know he's into guys until he meets Louis on a boat trip. There's something more to their friendship but it ain't gonna be smooth sailing.

i kiss you (across hundreds of separating years) by @milkcurls / loveroflou [Louis/Harry, M, 44k]

He reminds Louis of the day he met him, the first day of Harry’s first year and Louis’ second, when he stood on wobbly legs beside Zayn, his cheeks flushed and hair parted to the side and tucked neatly behind his ear. He’s all dainty and soft – he’s pretty, Louis can admit that.

He’s also a rich frat boy who fucks every omega that will throw themselves at him – and they all do – so instead of pretending to be a precious little doll Louis thinks he should spend more time learning how to be a decent human being.

or, the stars and two amused boys are playing cupid, and there are one too many coded love letters and a duck plushie that smells like home

don’t want no other shade of blue by @louisisworthit​ / padfootyoudog [Louis/Harry, E, 43k]

“I know you’re putting on an act,” says Harry after a moment, and Louis scowls when he realises the prince is actually amused.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Louis.

“All I’ve heard over the past couple of years are rumours of Prince Louis’ kindness, and generosity, and oh, he’s so handsome I can barely pour his tea without shaking!” says Harry, putting on a silly, high-pitched voice for the last bit. Louis’ scowl deepens. “I would already know if you were just another selfish, bratty omega prince. You can’t fool me, darling, but I admire your efforts.”

“As you said,” Louis grits out, “those are only rumours. I assure you, I’m a terrible person.”

prompt 339: it was foretold that Alpha Prince Harry would be mated to a beautiful male omega with eyes that could rival the stone amethyst, but Omega Prince Louis refuses to believe it.

A Thousand More by @travelingwinchester​ / Ot5aresoulmates [Louis/Harry, NR, 42k]

Harry wakes up one morning during the separation of April 2015 missing Louis fiercely. He wonders if they had never been on the X-Factor would they have met. Cue the weirdest "dream" he's ever had in which lessons about the course of true love are learned.

fondre ton absence by @scrunchyharry​ [Louis/Harry, T, 41k]

Harry had never really given much thought to the future. He preferred to let life steer him forward and to follow in the footsteps of Louis, his best friend from as far as his memory went, his lover, his everything. Louis knew better than he did what was good for him.

It changed drastically when Louis was ripped away from him, drafted and sent to the front to fight in a war that Harry had always been sure would never reach him. Too young and too sickly to follow, Harry was left on his own for the first time in his life.

When he thought things could not possibly get worse, Louis went missing at the Somme and was declared dead. While everyone buried and mourned him, Harry never moved on. If Louis were dead, he was sure that he would know it. Their lives were too entwined, he would know if half of his heart had died.

Determined to find Louis, Harry did everything he could in his quest to be reunited with him, except prepare for the state Louis might be in.

He did not prepare for the harsh truth he would have to face: was love possible without memories?

I’ve Been Hoping You’d Be Somewhere Better Than This by @runaway-train-works / runaway _train [Harry/Louis, E, 40k]

“Does she know who it is then, from the New York office?” Louis enquires.

“Yeah, some guy Henry? Henry Styles I think she said?"

“Harry.”

“What?"

“Harry. His name is Harry Styles.” His heart sank. Louis hadn’t met him, they had only shared a couple of emails back and forth, but he knew exactly who he was. And Harry hadn’t just been killing it in the Big Apple, he’s been ripping the place to absolute shreds, nailing some of the most lucrative accounts in the business.

Louis is so fucked.

Or

The one where Louis is up for a promotion, he just has one tiny, little problem standing in his way.

Without you it’s a season I ain’t needing by @whatevertearsyou​​ / perfectdagger [Louis/Harry, M, 38k]

Spring was everything in '17, now I'm just cold Summer fell to fall after all November froze Without you it's a season I ain't needing, I want to go come back home The reds and all the greens don't mean a thing when you're gone Winter means nothing to me now without you.

A long distance relationship au in which Harry is away for a year and Louis is left to pick up the pieces.

take my hand, wreck my plans by @daggerandrose​ / amomentoflove [Harry/Louis, T, 38k,]

Louis meets the man in the center of the room, feeling every eye on him.

“Mr. H,” he whispers.

The man smiles brightly and laughs as if he can’t believe his eyes. “It’s you,” he says breathlessly. “I didn’t think I would see you again.”

“Nor I you, especially under these circumstances.”

“Even so,” Mr H says, his eyes bouncing from Louis’ eyes to his lips. “Will you do me a great honor and join me in leading the first … um…”

“Dance?”

Mr. H laughs and nods. “Yes, that’s the one.”

Louis bites his lips and doesn’t hesitate before whispering, “Yes.”

Mr. H beams and reaches for Louis’ hand. Sparks fly at the touch and a zing of excitement shoots through Louis’ body. His face heats up as he’s afraid his scent would give away his feelings towards the other man.

I Wish, I Found Love by @slytherinzouis​ / friendofhayley [Louis/Harry, E, 37k]

A fandom retelling of the Maiden Without Hands.

Solace is a land of religious hypocrisy, demons, and two ostracized families. When prophets from every denomination foretell a boy of unknown origin who might change the tide of the magical world, is any place safe for him?

Harry and Louis grew up together, two pariahs among their peers. Will their love be able to overcome distance, prophecies, and the trials of finding out who you truly become under pressure?

You Try To Be Everything (I Need) by @lululawrence​ [Harry/Louis, NR, 36k]

Wars, and rumours of wars, were nothing new for the world in the twenty-fourth century. The fighting had evolved over the years, and rarely did it involve traditional weapons. A group most widely known as the Southern Powers gained strength amongst portions of the western European continent and spread quickly.

There was a fight the Southern Powers didn’t expect coming from the north of England, though. Resistance came in the form of an organised underground; a group comprised of people with the Touch that did the best they could to enforce a line that would not be crossed. Slowly, that line was moved from the Channel to boundaries further and further north. It seemed only a matter of time before the Southern Powers took over everywhere.

Until that time, people did the best they could to live their lives in some semblance of normality. For Louis Tomlinson, that sense of normality was about to change when his best friend, Harry Styles, goes missing.

Louis embarks on the journey of a lifetime where he uses his newly developed abilities to search for his friend, even when it takes him to places he never thought he would see while surmounting trials he never could have imagined.

Your Wonder Under Summer Skies by @emilee1421​ / Emilee_1421 [Louis/Harry, NR, 34+, wip]

Needing an escape after a particularly hectic year, Louis decides to join Harry in Italy where Harry is working on his next Gucci campaign. While in Italy the two decide to join an old friend at her county home to enjoy a much deserved break from their usually busy lives. Louis and Harry begin to see their friend in a different light and all three are forced to confront the possibility that their friendship may actually be something much deeper.

Work of Magic by @justalarryblog​ / Bekita [Louis/Harry, NR, 34k]

"C’mon Liam, are you really going to use this against me now? You know the kind of humans his kind is! You know very well why we hunt them!" Louis said, done with the conversation and walking down the hall.

"No! We hunt people who don’t care about others, and neither Harry nor anyone in his family is like that!” Liam exasperated, following behind. “Louis, it's been two weeks, don’t you wanna know how Harry is? Has this hatred taken over so fast?" Liam inquired, knowing the hit a nerve.

"You know what, Liam? I'm not going to have this conversation with you." Louis said decisively, turning his back to his friend ready to go to his class.

But life is never fair, is it? When he turned around he was face to face with Harry in the middle of the hallway. The two stared at each other. Do I hate him? Louis wondered as he watched Harry's eyes fill with tears and seem to be begging for something. He preferred to ignore the pang in his chest and the urge to comfort the boy in front of him. He lowered his head and continued on his way.

Or the one that Louis is a WitchHunter and Harry is a Witch and they keep it as a secret, but they fall in love.

Swear I’ve Known You Since Forever by @louinlavender​ / abaddxns [Louis/Harry, T, 33k]

Harry then pats around his trouser pockets only to remember that Gemma has his phone in her bag so he can’t even call her, and he’s far too intimidated to ask a stranger if he can borrow theirs. She has his wallet, too, so all he has on his person are the stick of gum in his back pocket and his muddy wellies and a too-long scarf he’s ready to ball up and throw the ground, because he’s only sixteen and he’s just a shopboy in a bakery and he’s about to cry twenty minutes into his first music festival that he had to beg to attend, all because he lost his big sister and her uni friends, who didn’t even want him to come in the first place, and—

“Oi, y’alright, mate?” a bright voice asks, just as his eyes start to water.

Or: Harry attends his first music festival and promptly gets lost. Little does he know that the first friendly face he encounters is bound to change his life forever.

Part one of three of 'And The Sun Came Out'—a series detailing the growth of Harry and Louis' relationship through the years after meeting at Leeds Fest as teenagers.

i’m gonna keep this love, if you let me by @tomlinbuns​​ / pixies [Louis/Harry, E, 26k]

Louis makes Harry pretend to be his boyfriend one night out. The rest is history.

Dear Diary (series) by @alwayslarry-vol28​ / kikiberosski16 [Louis/Harry, E, 20k]

Life in quarantine is hard, especially if you're an arrogant son of a bitch and your husband is a stubborn little shit. Harry and Louis argue a lot, so much it affects their daily routines. Harry tries to write his feelings down in a diary, but will this cause more trouble for the couple?

The Golden Prince by @behappyhl​ [Harry/Louis, E, 19k]

When He arrives in London, he’s speechless.

It’s so different from his little hometown, he can’t help the feeling that it is an unknown planet. Everything is bigger; The streets, the buildings, the stores. The people are always running somewhere, always in a hurry. Harry instantly feels out of place.

Or, Harry lives a perfectly normal life until he gets a life changing job opportunity.

The Boy with the Tin Chest and a Glass Heart by @louloubabys1992​​ / louloubaby92 [Louis/Harry, M, 17k]

Alpha Harry Styles, world-renowned author of fairy-tales, is being persuaded by the Beta, Liam Payne to hire a new illustrator. Since Harry’s own illustrations are too graphic for what is supposed to be children’s stories, Liam feels the need is dire. Omega Louis does not agree with Liam since he believes that Harry’s stories are fine just the way they are. Of course this has nothing to do with Louis being totally biased or totally head over heels for Harry. It certainly has nothing to do with being jealous of the mysterious omega illustrator Liam has in mind to team Harry up with. Seriously, it has nothing to do with that at all. Nothing, absolutely nothing, zilch, nada. Yeah...

Sweet Heart by @bluecolouredlou​ [Niall/Louis, G, 16k]

Designing clothes, not falling in love.

That was what Niall had in mind when he first met up with Louis. He couldn't be falling in love with the other omega. Not while work as one of the few omegas at the company was getting more stressful. Not when he was supposed to find an alpha and settle down.

just one look (and i fell so hard) by @disgruntledkittenface​ [Harry/Louis, M, 15k]

Louis takes a small step back, breaking the moment first. “Well, I should–”

“Do you want to come up?”

The words are out of Harry’s mouth before he’d even planned them, and he bites his lip.  

“Oh, thank god,” Louis laughs, stepping back into Harry’s space. “I wasn’t, um…”

“Wasn’t ready to let go of you yet,” Harry finishes quietly, glancing up at Louis.

“Yeah,” Louis nods, reaching up and twirling one of Harry’s curls in his fingers. “Yeah, exactly.”

Harry has wanted to go to the Shubert Theatre ever since he moved to New York and lucked into a rent-controlled apartment just outside of the Theatre District. When he finally gets his chance, he hopes the night can meet his sky-high expectations. But the last thing he could have expected was the man seated next to him.

wasting my time when it was always you by @hometothecanyonmoon​ / sunflower_lwt [Harry/Louis, T, 15k+, wip]

A "Married To The Maverick Millionaire" AU. Louis is the captain of Manchester United, Harry's the heir of the richest charity organization in the country as well as his best friend and they have to fake being married to save both of them from impending doom.

Sounds like love to me by @neondiamond​ [Louis/Harry, G, 14k]

“Do you want to hear the heartbeat?”

Louis watches as Harry’s face falls with the realization that this is one of those things he won’t be able to experience. For a second, Louis considers saying no, to show Harry they’re truly on the same boat through all of this. But he nods in the end, reaching over for Harry’s hand as the doctor flips a switch. Noise fills the room then, and it takes a few seconds for the sound to become clear enough for Louis to make out the baby’s fast heartbeat.

“It’s really fast,” he voices his thoughts out loud as he uses his thumb to tap against the back of Harry’s hand, replicating the rapid rhythm of the baby’s heartbeat. It takes the younger man a little while to figure out what Louis’ doing, but a huge grin breaks out on his face as soon as he does.

“Is that them?” He signs with the other hand, his own eyes starting to tear up when Louis nods.

OR: Harry is deaf, Louis is pregnant. They figure it out.

The Prince and the Youtuber by @haztobegood​ [Louis/Harry, E, 12k]

The Annual Rosendal Spring Gala hosted by the Royal Family is the most prestigious fundraiser in the country. When a problem with the honorary foundation arises, Crown Prince Louis Tomlinson must pick a new worthy foundation on short notice. He discovers the perfect replacement in an unlikely place, while watching his favorite YouTuber, Harrysparkles.

One Way Road To Something Better by @femstyles​ [Harry/Louis, T, 12k]

Four years ago when Louis and Harry moved in together, Louis promised Anne that he’d take care of Harry no matter what. But things don’t always go as planned, and sometimes risky choices have to be made.

Inspired by Don't Let It Break Your Heart

stop the world ('cause i wanna get off with you) by @thedevilinmybrain​ / devilinmybrain [Harry/Louis, E, 12k]

Five times Louis and Harry get walked in on at the worst time, and one time Louis makes sure they don't.

my solitude ain’t the same no more by @dryourtearsaway​​ / louisnights [Harry/Louis, M, 10k]

Louis is a traveling homicide detective who goes to the small town of Holmes Chapel to investigate the murder of a young woman.

somewhere only we know by @quelsentiment​ / wordsnnotes [Zayn/Louis, T, 9k]

Their eyes meet again, and the man suddenly frowns, asking: “Do we know each other?” Oh. So maybe that’s why Zayn is so intrigued with him. He’s always been pretty bad at remembering people’s faces, but there is some kind of vague familiarity to the man’s appearance. “Might help if you told me your name”, he points out. “Right. Sorry, I’m an idiot”, the man chuckles. “I’m Louis. Louis Tomlinson.” And of course. With this voice, Zayn should have known. He’s actually surprised he didn’t recognize it right away. “Lou”, he says, his own voice caught in his throat. “It’s me, Zayn.” Or: Zayn and Louis grew up together, but haven’t seen each other in over a decade. Now they're both in their twenties and meet again on a flight from LA to London, with ten hours in front of them to catch up, and maybe start something new.

I'm Asking You Please, Don't Talk Dirty to Me by @larry-hiatus​ / larry_hiatus [Harry/Louis, E, 9k]

Prompt #68: Harry’s best friend Louis is a nice, well-mannered omega, at least when it comes to sex talk. He has always been closed off and quiet... until Harry hears how Louis talks during his heat. Now, it's all Harry can think about before his upcoming rut... (Original prompt wording edited for clarity)

making me sweat by honey_beeing [Harry/Louis, E, 9k]

A not-exactly University AU where Harry and Louis meet at an orgy where the both of them don't intend to have sex at.

Twist the Knife by @snowjosh​ / jishler [Harry/Louis, E, 6k]

Infuriating, but Louis missed it. Louis missed him. His thighs and his chest and breath and warmth and toothbrush next to Louis’. He missed sex with Harry but he missed his presence more: Louis would settle for watching Harry get himself off if it meant he got to see him; hear the voice that was like a soothing balm over all his wounds.

Two weeks after their breakup, Harry wants his toys back.

the stars are coming home by @harrystinyshorts​ / lsforever [Harry/Louis, G, 5k]

For years Harry has been waiting for their schedules to click just right. Finding a day where he’ll not only be available but also is the only visitor on the premises has been near impossible.

After three years together and nearly a full year of marriage, Harry has finally been permitted to sit in for one of the team’s practices. They get more than they bargained for.

My True Love Gave to Me by @ponymom-stuff​ / ponymom [Louis/Harry, NR, 5k]

After puzzling over a Christmas gift for Louis, Harry comes to what he believes is the ultimate gift for his true love.

Fistiana by @louandhazaf​ / YesIsAWorld [Zayn/Louis, NR, 2k]

They met in the center of the ring and bumped their bare knuckles together.

Strawberries and Cigarettes by @hlhome28​ / ThoseFookin_Avacados [Louis/Harry, T, 2k]

strawberries and cigarettes always taste like you

"Need help there, love?" "Oh god, yes-" Harry turned around to look at the source of the voice and his heart dropped to his stomach as they caught each other's eyes.

Or on a very lonely valentines day, Harry's car breaks down in an unknown alleyway, where he bumps into a blue-eyed boy who takes him back seven years ago on the same day.

Safe Like Springtime by @beelou​​ / cherrylarry [Louis/Harry, G, 1k]

On the way out of the park, Gabriel gasps suddenly and points across the grassy area. He starts running.

When Harry catches up to Gabe, - that boy runs fast - he's with a man and his dog and Gabe is petting the dog.

"Gabriel James. You know better than to run off like that! Did you ask to pet the dog?" Harry scolds.

"I'm sorry Uncle Harry. I saw a dog and I just wanted to see the fluffy dog! Look how fluffy!" Gabe exclaims.

Harry rolls his eyes and turns his attention to the dog owner. The very attractive dog owner.

Or, the one where Harry takes his nephew to the park and runs into Louis and his Labradoodle Clifford.

best hangover cure by @loulovehome​ [Louis/Harry, E, 1k]

"A wank will miraculously cure your hangover, honey."

Stay Till The A.M. by @flexible-racoon​​ / goneforbooks [Harry/Louis, G, 1k]

It's 23rd July and Louis reminisces.

[suddenlysackler]

Keep Up

Henry McHenry x Reader

TW: tad bit of angst, mention of divorce, reader feels a bit insecure, henry is an ass but we’re working on him, brief mention of addiction/sobriety

A/N: Writing is hard but I’ve been working really hard on this so I wanted to share it even though there was really no point to the plot I just wanted to write for Henry. I have literally no posting schedule/writing schedule anymore. This takes place post Waltz in the Storm, only we’re gonna say Ann survived and took Annette and divorced Henry okay bye ily all so much.

...

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Your eyes are round and full of mixed emotions — trust, fear, maybe some excitement — as you grip the helmet shoved into your hands with a vice grip.

Henry watches you from the seat of the Harley he had bought with the money from the sale of his and Ann’s estate after the divorce. It’s ridiculous, really. Completely over the top, particularly for someone who was just making a comeback in their career and trying to get back to some sort of financial stability. “Just get the fuck on the bike and try to keep up with me, will you?” His tone leaves no room for argument, his face is playfully skeptical.

The red Harley Davidson motorcycle is “fully loaded” as the sales person had told the two of you as you made your way across the show room floor just a few days ago. It’s completely with heated grips and a backrest in the passenger’s seat and a full scale infotainment system for Henry to blast his favorite music between gps directions as he sees fit. He’d passed on the built in defensive driving mechanism and balked at the Milwaukee-Eight 114 engine and even sprung for the most expensive of saddlebags. Hell, he’d even told you he was planning on getting the leather embroidered with his initials. 

Did this surprise you? No, not in the slightest.

Henry is eccentric. 

It’s your default response to the questions and comments and concerns expressed by each member of your social circle from the moment you’d mentioned that you’d been seeing someone. Questions of who, what, when, where, why, and how and worries about whether or not someone who shined so bright would be good for you and whether it would even work.

Honestly, you ask yourself the same thing almost every day. If you didn’t love him, you wouldn’t be able to see it.

He asks himself how you can see it every time he wakes up to your hair spread across his pillows.

Back to the matter at hand. You. Him. Big scary motorcycle. 

You turn your feet inward almost absentmindedly, standing pigeon toed and letting your shoulders tense up as he kicks off the bike with an exaggerated groan and comes to stand in front of you. “I’ve never done this before.” 

Henry pulls off his own helmet, tosses it to rest on the seat, and smiles knowingly at you. “That’s never stopped you before.”

“Shut up.” 

“Ann never —”

Your eyebrows furrowed and your lips parted just a bit. It was the one thing he continuously did even a year and a half into your relationship that made you lose your mind. He stops mid sentence when he sees the disappointment on your face. 

“I’m not Ann.” You say, trying so, so hard to not ruin the night. He’d been waiting for a break in the much needed rain falling over LA county for the past week to take you out and show you a good time. Try as you might, your lips start to tremble ever so slightly and you let the helmet clatter to the ground, beyond frustrated with him. With yourself even?

He rushes forward, hands all over you and your face before you can even bend at the waist to pick up the discarded the mixture of plastic and fiberglass at your feet. “I didn’t mean it.”

“You did it again.”

“But I didn’t mean it.” Henry says, pleads with you. His brown eyes convey the honest to goodness truth of it all and you know he’s good for his word. He really didn’t mean to. 

The past year was tumultuous, everyone knew that. Finding Ann stranded at sea on the coast just ten miles away from where Annette slept safely on board the yacht with her father. The accusations, the words thrown like daggers. The bliss and fervor and passion of their early days slipping away faster than vinegar leaves the bottle when you pour it, the whole ordeal just as sharp and bitter to taste. 

You’d been introduced to it just as the papers had been served to Henry’s modest home that had been inhabited for six months before Ann had made her final decision. 

He’s grateful for your loyalty and tells you that much just about every day. There isn’t a day where you doubt his love for you — how could you when you watch him work on himself in therapy and in the gym and with the way he tosses his cigarettes to the side and limits himself to a carton a week somehow? 

However, the one thing you had zero tolerance for was being compared to Ann.

Henry bites his tongue as he looks at you. He represses the urge to yell and ask why it always has to be about you, why you always have to nit pick when he does something you don’t care for. He takes a deep breath and focuses on the feel of your skin and how it’s almost as if it’s a balm for all of the negative emotions and thoughts crammed into his head. He reminds himself that you aren’t doing anything wrong by calling him out on this, that it’s appropriate to. Rather than lash out, he takes a deep breath and says the words he had been working so, so hard to work into his vocabulary in sincerity over the past year. “I’m sorry.”

The apology rings through your ears and settles in your mind. You sit with it for a moment and think about the Henry you had heard of prior to meeting him — the violent outbursts, the juxtaposition of his drinking and smoking habits in conjunction with his almost militant like work out routine. The selfishness and the narcissism and the screaming.

Your brow knits together as you process his words. “You’re sorry?” The words felt foreign on your own tongue, you couldn’t imagine how he must feel.

He nods slowly, giving you a once over as his cheeks begin to heat up. “I’m really, really sorry.” Henry promises, swears it. “It’s force of habit and that doesn’t make it right. I’m sorry. I’m working on that.”

You nod after the last word leaves his lips and you’re reminded of the fact that, yes, he is working on it. He’s working on a lot of things and you remind yourself that the whole reason he bought the bike was to celebrate one year of sobriety. With bated breath, you stand on your toes and kiss his cheek bone gingerly, an acknowledgement in it of itself. You know Henry doesn’t need your words.

Henry leans down and kisses your forehead, then crouches and grabs your helmet. He stays close to the ground for a long moment and falls to his knees. He buries his face in the fabric of your shirt and rests his arms just around the small of your back, memorizing the feel of holding you and relishing in the way your hands almost automatically move to thread through his hair, no longer matted from neglect and back to its usual thickness and shine. 

After a few moments of silence, you pull back just a bit to look at him. “I’m proud of you.” You whisper, eyes shining with a mixture of emotion.

His own eyes bore into your face, always working on committing whatever it was he was currently feeling to memory. “Thank you for helping me.”

A smile breaks out on your face and you shrug before leaning down and kissing his temple. “Always.” You murmur. “Now, will you please get me on the bike? Show me what I’ve been missing all these years.”

Henry smiles, the expression of satisfaction much wider than your own flash of your teeth. “You sure?” He asked, repeating your words from just a few minutes prior back to you.

“I’m sure.” You respond while trying to suppress the giggle that threatened to bubble past your lips at his teasing. You can’t help but cackle as he all but drags you to the bike and helps you put on the helmet, letting you inspect the bike before hopping on. When you finally straddle the seat, his left hand comes to rest over your arms, now looped around his waist and hanging on for dear life, before he hits the ignition and punches it, riding off in pure bliss and leaving the events of the past year behind, as it should be.

[missdawnandherdusk]

A Bad Day

Draco X Reader

Requested: @eve-mal1 Can you do a fluffy Draco where you’ve had a rly bad day and he comforts you x💕

A/n: Okay, so Draco might be the cause of your terrible day, but he had good reason okay? Post-War fic and some forbidden love sprinkled in there as well. Love you guys lots, let me know that you think. 

I walked out to the top of the stairs and a large round of applause erupted. I took a deep breath and smiled softly, putting on a charade. I could do this. Everyone staring at me as I descended the stairs, putting in all of my effort not to fall flat on my face.

Ron came up beside me, to escort me. “Harry canceled last minute, he sends his regards,” 

“What?” I squeaked. “But... he was supposed to...”

Harry was the reason that I had even allowed this stupid Gala to take place. He was the one who convicted me that I deserved it. Or at least that everyone deserved a bit of a break and to celebrate whatever they could. It was the reason I was in this constricting dress and pinching shoes with a hairstyle that could only induce a migraine.

“I know, but we need to go before people begin to get worried,” Ron urged.

“Right,”

Taking his arm, we mingled.

“This is... ridiculous,” I decided, among the throng of people, all congratulating and thanking me and Ron for our efforts in the war.

“Why do you think I’ve avoided them for so long?” Ron muttered.

The night was a blur for the most part, there were warm smiles and dancing, most of which I avoided for quite some time. Ron and I had gotten separated after a while and I was left alone. He no doubt went to find Hermione, and I didn’t blame him in the slightest.

“Miss Y/l/n,” A warm voice welcomed me.

I was met with dark brown eyes and a charming smile.

“Just Y/n, thank you,” I offered a polite smile.

“I came to congratulate you. You are a brave woman,” The man took my hand and kissed it.

“Thank you, I just did my job, that was all,” I blushed and looked down, feeling awkward. 

“Do not downplay your achievements, it truly remarkable what you’ve done for this country,” 

“Thank you,” I felt the blush on my face grow stronger and the need to flee growing stronger. For better or worse, I was given an out.

The glass of the great hall shattered black robes and masked figured flooding into the Gala. Amongst the screams and chaos, I drew my wand, ready. My eyes met Ron’s from across the way the same determination in his eyes. I lost him in the fray, throwing hexes and spells to take down as many black cloaked figures as I could. Yet, with each Death Eater I took down, five more took its place.

Caught off guard, I was grabbed from behind. One hand covering my mouth, another grabbing the wrist of the hand that held my wand. The vice grip didn’t let me protest or break free.

“Come with me quietly, or your friends die,” There was something in his voice that I couldn’t place.

But I had no choice. We had just gotten through a war alive. I wouldn’t let their deaths come as a cause of my stubbornness. I went with the cloaked and hooded figure.

The assailant took me with him while Apperating. I barely found my bearings before I fell to the floor. The first thing I did was ditch the death traps that were my shoes. Then I turned on my aggressor, who had made the mistake of letting me go, wand still in hand.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you!” I shouted, my wand poised and aimed at him.

My kidnapper laughed, throwing down his hood, taking off his mask. I gasped. Silvery blond hair and cool grey eyes greet me. Grey eyes that held mischief.

“That reason enough?” Draco chuckled, throwing his mask onto a nearby bookshelf.

“You,” I growled, tightening my grip on my wand. “You...” There wasn’t an insult large enough to the anger I was feel.

“Put down the wand Y/n, you’re not going to hurt me,” Draco raised an eyebrow at me, his black cloak shrugged off and cast aside.

“But you! And the Gala! My friends! Those people!” I yelled.

“Are all perfectly fine.” The glint in Draco’s eye let me know that he knew something that I didn’t. It aggravated me to death.

“What game are you playing Malfoy?” I hissed. “We agreed,”

“We did,” He made his way toward me, taking the wand from my hand. “I missed you too,”

Sighing I gave in, allowing him to pull me into an embrace. It felt good to be home in his arms. It had been too long. I could feel his chest rise and fall with each breath he took, reminding me to steady myself.

“What were you thinking?” I whispered into his shoulder. “All of that for a few moments together? They’re going to come after you. You’ll have to hide again, and it’ll be even longer until we can see each other,”

He drew away, cradling my face in one of his hands. “No, I won’t,” A smile rested on his lips.

“What do you mean no you won’t?” I demanded, pushing out of his reach. “Death Eaters just attacked a post-war Gala! You kidnapped me! Merlin, they’re going to think I’m in actual danger!” My voiced reached a point of hysterics. “Draco what the hell were you thinking!?” The gravity of the situation weighed on me heavily.

“Hey, will you calm down for two seconds?” Draco took a step toward me.

“No! I will not calm down!” I shouted at him, “Of all the stupid, reckless, idiotic things you could have done!”

“I told you she would yell,” A new voice chimed in and my eyes met amused green ones and a tangle of raven curls. “We should have told her,”

“We needed to make it look real,” Draco refuted. “And she never would have agreed.”

“Harry?” I sputtered. “But... you... you ditched me!” I was back to yelling, jabbing a finger accusingly at him. “And you seriously let him go through with this plan!? I know you’re both daft, but this is low for the both of you!”

“She’s got quite a mouth on her,” Harry chuckled.

“Give her a minute, she’ll come round,” Draco grinned, looking at me, expectant.

“Refer to her in third person again and you’ll have bigger problems than my fury,” I hissed. “Now what the hell is going on!?”

“Are you ready to listen?” Draco asked, calmly—condescendingly. 

“Don’t patronize me,” I snapped, crossing my arms.

“Oh good,” Ron burst through the door, “Hermione and I are in, everything else is taken care of.”

“Ron knew!?” I demanded. “Did everyone but me know!?”

Ron slowly backed away, and Draco chuckled, coming toward me again, with no fear that I might take a swing at him. It was a serious consideration.

“Harry, leave us for a moment?” Draco requested softly. The chosen one left without another word.

“Draco, what’s going on?” My anger had passed, and now I was scared and confused with more questions that loomed with the weight of the world than answers.

He took a deep breath in and pulled me to a loveseat in the sitting room we were in. I laid my head on his shoulder and his arm wrapped around me.

“I don’t want to lose you again.” I whispered. “Just tell me what’s going on,”

“Harry and your other friends decided to help me getting back to you in a safe way that wouldn’t threaten either of our lives,” Draco began, shushing me when I began to argue back. “The Gala was put on with a few strings pulled from Harry and Hermione. Some of the attenders will remember the Death Eater attack, but most won’t. Those who do remember will test as if their memories had been altered, not the other way around,”

“Hermione?” I mused.

“Yours truly,” He grinned. “Give me a little credit, there’s only so long that I can stay away from you before I start to get creative. I figured out the spell a week ago. Hermione and I tested it on Ron and Harry. It worked.”

“You... created a spell for me?” I gaped up at him, settling into a warm smile. He pressed a kiss to my forehead and continued. Wandless magic began to undo my hair, and I could only guess that Draco was the cause.

“So, all we needed was you there and ready. Those who do remember would have seen kidnapped by yours truly, the other will think you’ve moved to America to escape the horrors of war,” He gestured here and there with his words.

“But that would mean that some wizards are thinking that I was kidnapped by a Death Eater,” I pointed out the flaw.

“Well, until it comes up in the Daily Prophet that you’re in America safe and sound, putting the entire thing to rest.” His victorious smile made me give up on the notion of any argument against his plan. If he believed it would work, then so would I.

“Any other questions?” He mused, standing.

“Why didn’t Harry show?” I pondered, letting him lead me down the halls of the Manor to our usual shared room.

“Because his word would be the end all be all. And it would create more rumors and conspiracies, and it was easier for him to miss the event all together,”

Draco opened the door to the en suite bathroom, revealing a warm bath and a dozen lit candles. The warm atmosphere wrapped around me like a thick blanket. Draco pressed a kiss to my temple.

“Go ahead and unwind. I’ll be waiting,” He promised, leaving me alone.

Scrubbing off the makeup and washing the hairspray and gel from hair, I felt a bit more like me. The bath must have been charmed to stay warm because though I spent quite some time processing and unwinding, it remained warm. But there came a time that I had to leave the warm silky water and make my way to Draco.

In one of his old t-shirts and sweats, I wrapped a house coat around myself and ventured out. Though, he wasn’t waiting in the bedroom like I thought he would be. Frowning I padded out into the hall, leaning over the banister, searching for some sign of life in the large house. And it proved useful because I heard the faintness of music coming from the great room. Making my way down the stairs I found Draco at the piano, playing softly. A melody that belonged to me. With the hearth ablaze and candles lit, the scene was enchanting.

“Dray?” I asked softly, not wanting to scare him.

“Have a nice bath?” He asked, coming over to me, his attire close to mine. I nodded.

“Did everyone leave?” I asked, looking at the large empty warm room.

“They thought maybe we’d want some time to ourselves.” He smiled leading me to the large sofa where blankets and pillows greeted us.

“They’d be right,” I smiled, curling up with him.

His arms wrapped around me, one hand drifting to my hair and running through the damp tresses. I laid my head back on his shoulder.

“You really put me through a hell of a day,” I muttered.

“I know, I’m sorry,” He murmured, kissing the top of my head. “But it had to work. I couldn’t stand another moment without you,”

A smile touched my lips. A house elf came with mugs of warm tea and assorted biscuits and sweets. I raised an eyebrow and Draco smiled, switching on the large TV that I had convinced him to install as a familiar melody of a favorite movie of mine began to play.

“Really laying it on thick, are we?” I laughed, settling down into the comfort of his arms and the pillows around us.

“You said it, I put you through a hell of a day. I figured I’d have to make it up to you,” With ease Draco pulled me into his lap, holding me closer.

“Even without all of this, you did manage to get us safe and sound together and I owe you a lot for that,” I intertwined my fingers with his. He held to my hand tightly.

“I had at least three ulterior motives,” He smirked down at me, causing me to roll me eyes. 

“Well, I’m glad you did it regardless,”

“Anything to get back to you, my love.”

As the movie progressed, I sang softly to the songs on screen, eventually hearing Draco faint baritone harmonize with my gentle melody. And for that moment, I was certain, no matter what the day threw at me—be it Death Eaters and a stuffy Gala—I’d go through it all for Draco.

.

masterlist

.

more like this:

beautifully beastly

a death eater and a dancer

.

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[hqbbg]

big and bad.

pairing: matsukawa issei x reader

summary: the woods are a dark place.

genre: fantasy

word count: 1.6K

warnings: i didn’t have this beta’d and this was completed at 5:30am so there might be mistakes but uh, none otherwise that i can think of (but please message me to correct me)

author’s note: heyo! 🤪 I’m back with another HQHQ server collab fic! you can check out the other amazing writers’ works here! i have our dear mattsun for both collabs (and both parts are now posted)!! n e ways as always, I hope you guys enjoy! 💕

part two (18+)

Your legs are shaking and you can feel your knees threatening to give out. The cold air burns your lungs as you continue to run through the dark forest, swatting at branches in your way. You don’t know how long you’ve been running, but you know for a fact that you wish you hadn’t skipped gym class all those years ago in grade school.

After what feels like ages, you finally see a dim light ahead of you through the foliage. As if hit with a sudden burst of energy, you try to push through and feel so close to the end, the light practically within reach. Just as you’re about to get to it, your path is suddenly blocked and you’re shrouded in darkness once again. Halting to a stop, you panic, trying to get a grasp of what just happened.

Suddenly, you no longer feel alone and feel every nerve ending stand on edge. Your heart is pounding in your ears and you do everything in your power to refrain from doubling over to catch your breath. The sound of a branch breaking startles you and you whip around.

“You know, it’s not safe for people to be out alone in the woods at this hour.” You’re unsure of what you’re expecting, but it’s definitely not the silhouette of a tall man standing before you.

You open your mouth to speak, but no sound comes out.

“What shall I do with you?” His voice drawls lazily and in any other situation, you might consider being comforted by it.

While you can’t see him, you hear him move. He seems to be circling you and you do your best to remain facing him, though you’re beginning to feel your head spin.

“What’s the matter, doll?” You can practically hear him smirking. “Cat got your tongue?” You jump when his voice sounds right up against your ear.

Before you can react, you feel hands grab you and open your mouth to scream, only to jolt up from your bed in a cold sweat. Your heart is still pounding in your chest and you’re breathing heavily.

It was only a dream.

Laying back down, you sigh softly to yourself. Just as you’re about to close your eyes to go back to sleep, you hear your alarm go off and groan. Great.

You practically throw the blanket off and toss your legs over the edge of the bed, willing yourself up to begin your day. Glancing out your bedroom window, your eyes warily linger on the trees of the forest below before you force yourself to get washed up.

When your parents had asked for you to drop by for lunch, you were more than willing to accept, never one to turn down free food. However, as you begin your walk down the sidewalk towards the bus stop alongside the thick brush of trees, you feel a chill run down your spine and you want to go back home. Something just simply doesn’t feel right.

Swallowing your paranoia, you quicken your pace until you arrive at the small bus stop. You can’t help but feel as if you’re being watched, but when you look around, there’s hardly anyone around and their attention is fixed elsewhere. You hesitate for a moment before turning to glance towards the thicket of trees behind you and nearly jump when you meet a pair of dark gold eyes looking back at you. When you blink, they’re gone and the bus arrives.

Throughout the whole lunch, you do your best to forget the morning’s events. Your parents notice that something is off, but you brush it off with an excuse of just being tired. It’s true; you’ve been exhausted these past couple weeks with moving into your apartment while still trying to maintain the various responsibilities of life. Maybe that would explain the paranoia and the hallucinations—that’s what that was earlier, right?

As you step off the bus, the air feels colder and the sun is already setting. Where has the day gone? You should’ve left your parents’ home sooner before the sun had begun its descent. The streetlights around you flicker on to illuminate the sidewalk, but you see that your path home is blocked due to road work that’s scheduled to last all night long.

You resist the urge to let out a groan. It looks like the construction extends through the whole main road and the designated detour will take you an extra half hour to walk around. You look warily to your right towards the heavily wooded area that separates you and your building, hesitating momentarily. In all honesty, it would be faster to simply cut through the trees and if you’re quick, you might be able to make it before total nightfall.

Weighing your options, you figure you’re just being extra paranoid because of your dream—or rather, nightmare—and simply inhale deeply before stepping off the concrete towards the brush.

The wind whistles lowly and the setting feels eerily familiar. As you listen to the crunching of leaves and fallen branches under your feet, you’re reminded of the stories your grandmother had told you as a child.

“Beware of the big bad wolf,” she had said, though her sing-song voice hardly instilled the same fear that was snowballing within yourself at the moment.

You feel like you’ve been walking for nearly ten minutes, so you should be near the edge of the forest now. However, with the sun finally set, it’s harder for you to navigate your steps and the gnawing in your chest blooms. You try to maintain a straight path, but you could’ve sworn that you passed the same tree five minutes ago.

Deciding to take a brief break, you pull out your phone to check the time and ideally pull up a map to help you navigate your way out. Unfortunately, you have no signal so your phone is deduced into nothing but a glorified clock.

As you had felt this morning, it seems like you’re being watched, followed. When you glance around, you’re alone. Right as you turn back around to face forward, putting your phone back into your pocket, you let out a scream in surprise when a man is standing before you, golden eyes looking directly at you.

“I wasn’t expecting visitors so soon.”

There’s no mistaking that you know this voice; it sounds exactly like the one from your dream. It’s hard to see him clearly, but you can make out the familiar outline of his tall figure as your eyes steadily adjust. You see him take a step forward, making you instinctively take a step back.

“No need to be afraid, sweetheart. I don’t bite.” The low rumble of his voice sends a shiver down your spine. He takes another step forward into a small area illuminated by moonlight seeping through the blankets of leaves above and you can finally see his face.

He has a lazy and almost bored look donning on his features, the upwards tilt of the right corner of his lips being the only thing indicating his amusement at the fear in your eyes. His eyes seem to rake over you, as if evaluating you.

“Are you going to kill me?” You try to steady your trembling voice, unable to look away from him.

“Kill you?” He muses as he takes another step forward. You take another step back. “What’s the fun in that?”

“Well, if you’re looking for fun, I have an idea or two,” you say, trying to look for a way out.

“Do you now?” The man is now smirking. “Enlighten me.”

“For starters, you keep me alive.” He chuckles but it does nothing to calm your racing heart. “Second, you either tell me who you are and how to get out of here, or just cut the formalities and go straight to telling me how to get out of here.”

He laughs as he takes another step forward, taking you another step back. You feel your eyes widen when your back presses up against a tree you were sure wasn’t there before.

“How cute,” he says as his laughter dies down. “I think you’ll be fun to keep around for a little longer.”

He takes two more steps forward until he’s towering directly over you, propping his elbow against the bark above your head. He leans down to be at eye level with you and you can feel his breath fan over your face. You turn your head slightly, wanting to avoid him in any way you possibly can.

“Issei.”

“Excuse me?” Looking up at him with a frown on your face, you realize just how close he is and feel your cheeks heat at the proximity.

“My name. I think you’ve earned it.”

You’ve hardly done anything, so you’re not sure what that means. Before you can question him further, he cocks his head to the side slightly.

“Tell me, doll. What’s someone like you doing in a place like this?”

“Currently looking for a way out of here,” you answer truthfully. You know better than to trust a stranger, especially given the circumstances you’re in and the alarms are blaring in your head.

“You’re sure you don’t want to stay? I’m pretty convincing and can make it worth your while.” He smirks down lazily at you.

“I highly doubt that and would like to see you try,” you say, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. Perhaps you could’ve worded your sentence differently, a fact emphasized when he leans in dangerously closer to your face so you can feel the ghost of his lips brush yours whenever he speaks.

Your instincts are screaming at you to move, but it’s as if your brain and limbs are disconnected, failing to cooperate.

“Don’t tempt me,” his voice lowers. You hesitantly lift your eyes to meet his and see that they’ve darkened.

Well, that can’t be good.

[ddaehyeon]

。✧ hyacinth; park serim + reader

— pairing: fashion designer!park serim + photographer!reader

— genre: angst, slight fluff, exes au, post-breakup, slightly suggestive (one scene only!)

— word count: 7.1k

— warning: arguments, heartbreak, mentions of anxiety and emptiness

— summary: years had passed since you broke up with serim; life had been continuously patching up ever since. his name had marked several clothing lines, while your studio was well-known in the small city you lived in. who would’ve known that a sight of him on a bus stop would be enough to bring back wounds you thought had long ago healed?

— navi: playlist | video teaser | cravity masterlist

— a/n: my wips suffered from a major slump and this is quite an overdue fic (i also have another overdue fic help) but i hope someone would still at least read this though >< the first ver of this didn't satisfy me and though this ver didn't satisfy me that much, i feel like after rewriting almost half of the fic, this one's better. i'll do my best to pull something better soon!

autumn must be the most magical part of the year. the leaves experiencing a color alteration, scarlets and golds carpeting the ground— a yearly harvest of the earth where everything was gradually being taken away. long gone was the heat of the summer; the chilly evening breeze sure was much friendlier than of winter. the season served as a comforting quilt. it was such a great time for warm drinks that could lift up the mood even for the wariest.

you let go of a breath as you stared at the window, the sun was setting. the color fleshed out in the sky golden, jiving well with the surrounding that was already of the same palette. with an indoor shoot for a seasonal issue of a magazine, it sure was a tiring day. the sound of camera clicks still ringing in your head, along with the hushed talks and chitchats coming from the staff members and the models.

at first, you were hesitant to accept the project. afraid that you’d bump by one of the renowned fashion designers in your region, park serim. but then, you couldn’t just chicken out when a hefty sum was to be paid. the relief you had when you saw that his name wasn’t on the list of designers was almost the same kind of relief you'd have after preventing big trouble from occurring.

“i finished placing back the props in the room.” hyeongjun’s voice was still as bright as it was this morning as if not touched by any fatigue. he was one of the photographers you hired in your studio, offering only fine shots. “i’ll be going home early, just send me a message about what time tomorrow’s shoot will be!”

“thank you, junie.” a smile was on your brim as you nodded on his words, watching him pack his camera and leave afterward.

silence melted in the room as soon as hyeongjun stepped out. alone in your photography studio, you sat on a stool used earlier by one of the models. the room was dimly lit with only one of the umbrella lights open. it was only by then that you realized your thighs were already stiff from the nonstop work earlier. you wanted to go home and just be in the comforts of your bed.

pulling out your phone, you dialed your brother’s number, frowning when it took him quite a while to pick up. was he busy or did he just forget that he was supposed to pick you up tonight?

jungmo would always fetch you by your studio after his working hours concluded. with the two of you living together in the same house, your brother just found it ideal— bringing you to your work every morning and giving you a drive home every evening. it might seem like he was babying you, but it was a gesture you grew fond of.

“y/n?” jungmo gasped on the other line. it seemed like he was outside, music playing in the background which mingled well with the peals of laughter. “shit, i forgot to tell you.”

you raised a brow, questioning his words. “what’s the matter?”

“can’t fetch you today.” you can already envision the pout he had on his lips. “i’m at a party with allen and woobin, catching up with my colleagues. i’ll make it up to you tomorrow, i promise!”

“alright. i’ll just ride the bus then.” it was your turn to purse your lips. you can’t bring yourself to complain about it though. “have fun! just stay in woobin’s apartment tonight, don’t drive!”

“i will, i will,” jungmo replied, a call of his name following. his friends might’ve been looking for him already. “text me alright? get home safely, y/nie.”

at the end of the phone call came another sigh from you. a tightlipped smile braced your lips as you stood to turn off the remaining lights. you retrieved your camera and placed it back in one of the drawers. making sure everything was back to its place, secured; you gave the place one final look. something you’d do every single day before going home. a reminder of the thing you loved the most. a reminder of what could have been.

the sidewalk wasn’t as empty as you imagined it to be, maybe you weren’t used to walking to the bus stop anymore. strangers of different day occurrences exchanged various looks that shared one same element, tiredness.

when the wind blew, fallen leaves danced along with it. the slight coldness making you tuck your hands inside the pocket of the cardigan you were wearing. you loved the cool breeze, but not when you knew you had to stay out on an open shed with it as your companion. cold weather could be your friend, a company for a better evening sleep. but rather a harsh fellow when you had to be alone, when loneliness can easily be injected to your senses.

tracing the path, a memory went to play in your head. way back in college, this was the same sidewalk you’d walk in with your ex-lover. a camera on your hand while he had a roll of satin in his arms. it was such a usual view for the two of you as you talked about how the day went, ranting about the monotonous lectures, gushing over how you missed each other’s company and how you wished that the two of you could get back to your shared apartment as soon just so you can snuggle on the couch.

you glanced at the sky, the cloud hiding the few scattered twinkling stars. a faint smile spread upon your lips, only to disappear when your gaze went back to the bus stop. the male that passed by in a form of fleeting memory earlier was standing right in front of you as if fleshed out from your mind. a lavender-colored paper bag was hanging on his arm, the logo of his product line delicately stamped on the middle. his phone was resting on his other hand, if he was scrolling through sns or texting someone, you weren’t sure.

the magical feeling he used to offer long gone, your stomach twisting into several knots. a cold sensation went down in your spine as a familiar tug came to pull your heartstring. he’s back? what is he doing here? he lives here again?

your thoughts were loud in your head, but none of it was pulled out loud. each word ending up as a lump in your throat. the air was thickening, your heart beating fast, not out of excitement, but out of the clashing thoughts that left you so nervous and confused. it had been years, how come a single sight of him made you feel like all your resolutions are gone? how did a single sight of him become enough to shatter the glass that protected you from the ache that night had caused you?

it was cold. but no, it was no longer because of the autumn breeze.

“serim?” the name was uttered in the same way you would before everything came crashing, yet it held a much weaker tone. you can’t even remember the last time your voice came to wrap around the syllables of his name.

the male turned his head to look at you, a brow raised as he stared at you. no obvious emotion, his eyes held no recognition.

and his reply? it sent a shiver down your spine, your stomach flipping in a horrendous manner.

“who are you?”

for a moment, the air caused such a nauseous feeling— thin and hard to inhale. it was only three words, yet it was powerful enough to serve as a punch in the gut.

how can he forget?

how can he forget how the two of you first met?

not that it was a very momentous event, just a regular struggle faced by two college students that needed someone else to accomplish a project for a major subject. there were no butterflies involved, nor did sparks fly the moment you met. regardless, up until now, that day burned fresh in your mind.

“i know someone from that department,” woobin said without even looking at you, his eyes focused on his book. though you weren’t sure if he was really paying attention to the words written there as he kept on diving in the conversation every now and then.

“and who might that be?” the dreadful task of having to pair up with the design department had been inhabiting your mind ever since it was given to you. pressure rising as you saw your other blockmates having no hard time getting themselves out there and communicating with the department they weren’t really accustomed to. you still have a month and a half, you were sure you can still make it. it was just a photoshoot anyway, featuring your partner’s designs.

“park serim,” woobin finally answered as if he had to think hard of the person’s name. “i think no one had asked him to become their partner, he’d be available to do it.”

desperate to get over with the task, later that day, you found yourself by the catwalk the design students would take. it was a path that connected their building to the main gate directly. your building wasn’t exactly far away from theirs, but still of a different building. with their building equipped with supplies and machineries for final products, yours were of computers, lightings, and screens.

you stared at your phone, his instagram profile opened. earlier, you already took the pleasure of checking his works out and without much filtering, him as well. he sure does love taking pictures of himself; something that could work perfectly with him being your subject. once satisfied, you left him a dm that was probably one of the most awkward sentences you had ever typed in the entirety of your life.

a notification popped out as you look at your screen, which was shortly followed by another. it was only of common courtesy to follow him before asking him for a favor right? you did that before messaging him and now he followed you back and replied to your dm. unlike you, he didn’t spend much time wandering in your profile. well, as if he had so much to look unto aside from the sceneries and some stories posted.

‘you were the person woobin was talking about? i’ll be out in two minutes. see you in the catwalk.’

it wasn’t too long of a duration, you allowed yourself to simply jump from a social media to another, mindlessly scrolling and liking some post every now and then. only lifting your head up when a wave of students began getting out of the establishment. most were holding mannequins with unfinished clothing attached to them, some were holding rolls of fabrics you weren’t sure what to call.

with squinted eyes, you tried to look for him among the crowds. woobin said that serim was a fashion design major, so he’d probably be holding the same thing as the other students that came out.

and he was.

leaning on his shoulder was a mannequin, asymmetrically dressed in silk. it wasn’t sewn yet, only supported by sewing pins. an arm wrapped around a roll of what seemed to be linen of pastel blue color. there was also a paper bag hanging on his arm which seemed to have some extra fabric and maybe some other supplies.

you walked towards him with a wave to which he gave you a confused look at first, the frown melting away when he realized that you were the one who messaged him not even an hour ago.

“you’re y/n?” he asked, merely to confirm.

you nodded your head and offered a hand in carrying the paper bag. something he didn’t refuse to. “so…” unsure of how to bring up the means of meeting with him after his class, your voice trailed.

“what do you need anyway?” he supported your words as he traced the path of the sidewalk. “take pictures of me or take pictures of the clothes i make?”

“both.” a chuckle left your lips, laced with nothing but sheer abashment, at the same time mentally cursing this project. you were okay with taking pictures, but the negotiation that comes with it wasn’t a task you were so used to doing.

serim hummed, saying an almost inaudible ‘i see’ before taking a big step and stopping in front of you to do a curt observation. his gaze trailing from toes up to your shoulder. “i’ll agree to do it, if you’ll model for me for a project.”

blinking your eyes multiple times, a baffled frown came to mask your countenance. “what?”

“i need a model that will wear the dress i’m doing by the end of the semester,” serim uttered nonchalantly, proceeding to turn his back to you and resume walking. “that would be quits.”

“i’ll do it,” you said, despite still being hesitant. having close to zero knowledge about how such a presentation would work, you were so close to disagreeing. but then again, it would only be a good way to repay him, right? and perhaps the other fashion design students would ask you of the same thing if you try to team up with them.

turning to look at you, there was a curve that formed on his brim. “that’s a deal then.”

how can he forget how the two of you confessed to each other?

two months. it took two months of random meet ups, daily conversations, and occasional hanging out to get to know each other. the awkward messages of checking up on each other’s side of the project turned to asking about each other’s day, sharing rants about academic life or life in general. the occasional hanging out turning to planned dates and spontaneous ones when the two of you both have the time to spare.

you’d usually stay in his unit as he worked on the dress for his project, a clothing that perfectly suits your figure. late night talks induced by the slightest energy given by coffee the two of you had clung into in hopes of being able to finish what was due.

it seemed like time flew by and before you knew it, you were in the backstage. serim was pacing back and forth, more nervous than you were. he wasn’t the one that was going to the stage, but sure his body was restless.

“are you alright?” you asked him once the two of you were left alone in the dressing room.

this was enough for serim’s movement to come to a halt. even when his eyes landed on you, it was obvious that his mind was floating. in fact, it even took him hot seconds before he was able to commit to a verbal response. “i am.”

“you are?” a smile broke out of your countenance which was eventually followed by a chuckle. “are you sure with that?”

your laughter was adequate to ease his nerves a little, a curve appearing on his lips. “i am.”

one of his classmates who was in charge of the flow came knocking to the door, signalling that you should be on standby.

“i’ll do my best,” you said, walking toward the door. it would be a definite lie to say that you were not at all nervous. a deep breath taken before twisting the knob, stopping when serim called you. it was covered with a bit, yet noticeable hesitation that it made you cock a brow for a moment.

“good luck.” it was all that he uttered, along with a gesticulation of him raising both fists. though serim’s mind spoke of different words, words he had little courage to let go of. at least not yet at that moment.

you gave him a smile, nodding your head afterward. “thank you.”

and off you go.

roaring crowds and camera clicks; the auditorium set up for the use of the fashion design students as they exhibit their works through their chosen models. formerly, you’d find yourself among the crowds, snapping pictures and admiring the clothes done by the other students. but this time, you found yourself clothed in a floral print silk-blend asymmetrical dress designed by serim himself.

the lights were blinding, being always part of the photographers, you were quite accustomed with how you were part of the persons behind the camera lense. serim was in the dressing room, watching the runway from the screen that displayed the live broadcast. some of your friends were among the crowds, your older brother even telling you before the show started that he’d be sure to take pictures of you.

fortunately, the few days of practice didn’t go to waste, no major mistakes happened when you modeled serim’s design. perhaps the only problem was you were a little stiff, something too trivial for some audience to notice.

as soon as you stepped by the backstage, serim’s proud smile welcomed you. unable to rest in the dressing room once he saw you getting out of the stage, he practically ran to meet you behind the curtains.

his eyes were filled with adoration, not just for the dress he finished making, but for the overall beauty you radiated. without much thought, he walked closer to you, soon wrapping you in an embrace. tight, yet gentle.

“you did well, y/n,” serim whispered, not letting go.

a soft chuckle was heard from you, your cheeks burning. “you did well,” you corrected. “please, it’s your design.”

“thank you.” releasing you, a smile lingered on his visage. “i’ll make you a better dress in the future.”

“you don’t have to, but thanks,” you replied before the two of you sunk into silence. regardless of how the surrounding was of heavy music and cheers, peace had found its way to emanate in the dimmed part of the area.

no words spoken, yet feelings poured when serim leaned closer. his lips easily capturing yours enough to make your heart pound in your chest, louder than it did while you were in the catwalk.

serim broke the kiss, his lips still close with yours. his eyes were of another glow when he uttered a set of words, familiar yet foreign. “i love you.”

once again, you were under his spell. soft kiss turning into a sloppy one once he guided you to a more secluded area. it would be such a waste to rip the dress off given that it was an original design, yet as the person who sewn each part of the clothing you were wearing, serim had his way to resolve the small dilemma.

the surrounding was silenced, your body frail under each of his touch, breath taken away, chest heaving. sure, it was a night you won’t be able to forget.

how can he forget about how the two of you practically lived with each other for years?

the exuberance exuded while the two of you carried several boxes into an empty unit you called home. maybe it wasn’t really about the place, but it was who you were with. his arms served as a shelter. his hand caught tears of both happiness and sadness. his lips pressed affection that no one else could offer. everywhere with serim was of comfort, of tranquility— a home.

living with another person, being under a single roof wasn’t exactly the easiest thing to adjust to. throughout the first few months of living together, your head was filled with memories of sheer trial and error as the two of you tried to learn the curves. this included adjusting for each other or at least compromising for what the other likes that the other doesn’t. silly mistakes became such a fond memory.

the smell of burnt food that wafted in the air when the two of you decided to stay on the balcony while cooking dinner. astonished by the stars and the almost endless stories that passed on both lips the meal you were preparing was left neglected. that night, the two of you shared bitter food of dark exterior, quite hard to swallow. but the laughter that filled the house after the incident lifted up each other’s mood. despite the bad-tasting meal, it was probably one of the best dinners you had in that apartment.

it didn’t end there. who would forget about the laundry disaster that rendered one of serim’s white long sleeves saturated with colors you weren’t sure what to call. the mixture of forget-me-not blue and azalea pink stood as the most distinguishable pigment along with the other colors. serim only let out of a chuckle at what occurred, even joking that maybe the two of you could start a business of dying white clothing in such a way.

the best memory thus far was a late-night run by the convenience store when the two of you were chasing a morning deadline. a grumbling stomach that broke the mutual silence the two of you exchanged, along with a suspecting look that ended up with laughter.

“let’s buy some food,” serim suggested, removing the tape measure from his shoulder and settling it to the mannequin.

you hit save on your laptop, the editing could wait for a few minutes.

pulling yourself off the chair, you gazed at him with a smile. it wasn’t a surprise that he had the same beam, as bright as the morning, regardless of how the evening was already crawling onto the whole city. sometimes, you wondered how a simple smile could give you so much energy. what kind of magic does a beam flashed by the person you love hold?

a few snacks picked up by the convenience store; a bag in his hand, your hand on the other as the two of you walked back to your unit. the evening sky and the soft gush of wind amplifying the peacefulness provided by the city. no words were exchanged, yet the silence was enough of a word.

deadlines momentarily escaping the mind as you allowed yourself to be engulfed by his presence. his soft voice breaking the silence, the phrase that left his lips drew a curve on your lips. “i love you, y/n.” you weren’t looking at him, but you could perceive the smile he had. “so much.”

“i know,” you replied.

serim’s steps became slower as he looked at you, waiting for the actual response. with a tilted head and shining eyes that reflected your figure and the street lights, his gaze didn’t waver.

a chuckle left your lips, finding yourself lost in his eyes for a moment. “i love you too, serim.” you squeezed his hand, cueing him to continue walking. “so much.”

sighing out of content, a radiant smile decorated his lips.

at that moment, the two of you wished nothing more but just to be next to each other for as long as life would grant you.

how can he forget about your first anniversary?

it wasn’t grand, just the two of you sitting by the balcony. the bouquet he bought abandoned on the dinner table as the two of you gushed over plans you were sure were realistic enough to be achieved. your eyes twinkling with mirth, a lifetime with him sure was the ideal one you’d want to spend.

“y/n,” despite being just beside you, serim called.

you looked at him with a brow raised, catching his eyes on yours. “mhm?”

a smile simply spread onto his lips before he broke the gaze. his hand seeking for an item inside the pocket of his hoodie, a small box retrieved afterward. there, a necklace sat. the pendant was of a ring that was not entirely decorated with fancy stones, rather a lone blue sapphire stone was on it.

“the pendant is a promise ring,” serim explained before scooting closer to you. his hand reached for the back of your head while the necklace rested on your skin. he locked the jewelry on your neck, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead after.

you were silent the whole time, not because you didn’t like the gesture. but because you were sure words wouldn’t be enough to express the satisfaction and light feeling that was blanketing your heart.

serim had a faint smile as he admired the necklace for a moment. just like you, his heart was in an ocean of peaceful joy. lifting his head to look at you directly, he gave your lips a light peck. “i’ll buy you a better one once we’re ready for it.”

“thank you.” your countenance mirrored the same expression serim had— of joy and serenity. “i love you so much.”

“i love you too.” serim leaned in for another quick kiss, swift yet lingering. “i can’t wait to spend a lifetime with you.”

the evening droned on and on with the two of you staying by the balcony, exchanging conversations about the future. two hearts in one home, seemingly able to find the path where both can hold each other’s hand. minds filled with dreams where the other can also be spotted. a considerably spacious studio apartment became the foundation of your plans and dreams.

aspirations that soon became the neglected cause of why your relationship with him gradually crumbled down.

how can he forget about your very first fight?

gazes that held no definite emotion, silence that cut through the air— it was all an unfamiliar experience, hard to swallow. something that you weren’t able to forget easily as it was the first time you’ve ever seen serim with such a cold expression.

the coaster of shows on the television had long passed, a few recaps played. something that wasn’t really able to get a hold of your attention. your mind drifting elsewhere and the few notifications appearing on your phone were the only ones that managed to pull you out of your daze momentarily.

“where’s serim?” for the nth time that day, you asked. the room was quiet with only a few chatters from the screen in front of you. the evening was growing older and older, but you haven’t received any message about serim's whereabouts. neither had he sent you a message the whole afternoon.

worried, you opted to stay up and wait for him. even prepared a meal that can be easily heated so he can have something to eat once he arrives in case he hasn’t eaten anything yet.

with the door clicking, you were quick to get off the couch. the faint footsteps signaling you right away.

“you’re finally home,” you said, a smile easily located on your brim. only for it to melt away at the sight of serim’s stern look. his gaze piercing through, enough for chills to trace your spine.

he walked past you, not even offering you the regular hugs and kisses he would do every time he’d arrive. all that was left were cold stares. something you attempted to break. and heck did you regret doing so.

“why haven’t you been answering your phone? have you already eaten?” the worry you had accumulated coming through in waves of questions.

a sigh was emitted out of his mouth as he went to get himself a drink. it seemed like a verbal response was not an option for him since he continued to ignore your questions. at this point, it was as if there was no one else in the room. it was like you weren’t there.

“did something happen, serim?”

a minute. it was all it took for the entirety of your relationship to come to an unknown turn. the curve strange, it crawled to the skin with such a frigid touch enough for your stomach to flip horribly.

“can you give me a break?” serim hissed, a glare shoot in your direction. his voice growing power word after word. your breath was taken away, how can words suffice to make you feel so small? he placed his glass on the sink, the item almost meeting its demise. he turned to look at you once again. “can’t you see, i’m tired?”

“i waited for you.” the words spilled out of your lips, disappointment hugging your tone.

“who told you to wait for me?” serim snarled and before you knew it, you were already standing on the same page. similar expression, different cause. yours were anchored in concern, while his were of fatigue from the whole day of heavy workload. those seemed to have lulled both of your senses, blinding each other.

“oh well, i was just worried about you because you didn’t send me a message the whole afternoon up to this point.”

“do i really need to report my actions to you?”

“no, but you have to at least tell me if you’re going home late.” your voice gradually softened, a tear held back.

no, you can’t cry. no, not in front of him. no.

“i was worried,” you broke out. but it wasn’t enough for his fumes to dissolve. like gasoline poured into flames, each of your replies only intensified the exasperation boiling in his stomach.

“i’m going to rest.” serim sigh was audible as he stormed off to your room, leaving you with tears in your eyes.

a minute.

it only took half a minute for everything to fall out of its order. that fight wasn’t the last one and each passing day, the unit you once called home was stuck with unfamiliarity.

it was no longer a home.

how can he forget about that night?

cold meals by the table had your eyes fixated on them. the date encircled in red, a supposedly special day that turned bitter. different from how you used to spend it before—of laughter and warm touches— serim wasn’t there. he was far too involved with projects that your shared unit only became a short shelter. words were barely exchanged, yet alone gazes. you still sleep on the same bed as him, but no warmth was offered.

you weren’t sure which was better, to continue living with him even if it felt like you weren’t living with him or to have him gone in your life for real. regardless of the turns that occurred, the continuous erosion of your relationship, you couldn’t find it to yourself to let go. still tied by your attachment to the former serim.

a sigh left your lips, desolated gaze trailing on the table. you tried. but it seemed like those attempts were futile. it takes two people’s efforts. you can’t revive a relationship alone.

switching place, you went to the living room and sat by the couch. the place dimly lit by a lone lampshade. the city lights filtering through the window. the air gradually thickened around you, it held your throat in a vice grip. the photographs displayed by the shelves were foreign to you, despite how it was simply you and serim. it was like you were staring at completely different people. smiles had long been taken away, touches had melted, flutters subsided— all that was left was a terrible feeling of helplessness. something that seemed to guide you to nowhere. you were lost.

before, you were sure of how the story was to be written. how the chapters were to unfold. but right now, you weren’t even certain what would be on the next page. it was like the next ones were torn from the spine, gone. oh hell, you weren’t even sure what page you were on right now or if the story was bound to be written in the first place.

serim’s arrival went unnoticed at first. only until you heard the clink of the glass meeting the sink did you turn in his direction. an empty gaze was earned and for some reason you found yourself offering him a faint smile. a small gesture packed in pain that was quick to course through your senses.

sighing had become his way of greeting. dark circles under his eyes and the disheveled look emanated how his work had been weighing him. but your mouth was closed regardless of how you wanted to speak of reassurance and praise. it was strange, the inability to speak of warm words around him. why were you so held by fear?

“serim,” you called, breaking the floating silence.

he looked at you, eyes deep like he was examining a piece of fabric. it was enough for your stomach to churn. the stillness continued after your call. you weren’t sure how to continue it; it was as if his name was unnatural in your tongue. not only was your breath sucked, but also all the possible words had dissipated.

yet again another sigh as he tore his gaze away, stepping towards the bedroom. “i’m so tired, y/n,” he uttered, setting a line for you to not cross onto. “very tired.”

resurfacing on your brim was a smile. your eyes weren’t exactly skillful of lying though as tears soon gathered on it. heart hollowed in emptiness as if a scream would echo on its wall. likewise, your voice decided to betray you— shaking. “serim, i’m getting tired too.”

for a swift moment, serim tried to come up with an answer. but just like you, comforting words seemed to be an unfamiliar language. even aware of how a look would be inadequate, he only stared at you. his eyes don’t speak of words nor radiated comfort— it was vacant. lowering his head, he carded his fingers on his hair before letting go of a breath.

serim finally stepped inside the bedroom.

and that was how the two of you parted ways.

how can he forget about you?

it went on and on in your head, the question continuously striking.

a gush of autumn breeze pulled you out of your daze. serim was still looking at you, his eyes slowly lightening with recognition. a few blinks and he spoke. “oh, wait.” he tilted his head to the side. “y/n?”

you weren’t exactly sure what kind of answer to give, but you gave it your best to offer a faint smile. “yes.”

still— despite how other people were walking on the sidewalk and how vehicles passed by the road, the surrounding seemed to come to a stillness you didn’t ask for. denying and pushing away the feelings you’ve long ago tried to bury and made yourself believe that you’ve healed from only brought a new wave of pain. as if you were its child, sadness came to hug you.

just in time, the bus arrived as if to save you from further drowning in emotions you didn’t wish to engulf you in. to your surprise, serim also boarded in. while you chose to sit somewhere just nearby the driver, he went to the last row.

usually, your rides on the way home were the most relaxing ones. a time to just stare at the window and watch the night spread into the city. it will always be accustomed by jungmo asking you on and on about how your day went and also sharing about how his day went. but your brother wasn’t around for that kind of support right now. and you can’t blame him for it. you can’t blame anyone for this unexpected meeting with the person you never knew you’d ever meet again.

the ride was sickeningly slow, all you wished was to get home and allow your voice to echo in your room. to release the emptiness if it was even possible to empty something that was already vacant. the sky held no comfort. its color dissipated and all that was left was an empty canvas that like a broken record, played memories. it was silly how despite those quick memories popping in and out of your mind, questions still managed to penetrate.

serim was living in another city, why did he ride the same bus? was he to meet his new lover? maybe to meet an old friend?

or did he perhaps mean to meet you? this was a guess you despised. the hope it brought that maybe an answer for all the questions formed that night were to be given tasted bitter in your mouth and offered restlessness in the heart.

an urge to talk to him surfaced, but then you asked yourself why. why would you want to talk to him? for what?

despite being curious about the reason why he left that night, a certain fear crawled onto your senses. the fear of knowing.

what could knowing his reasons possibly bring you?

the time when the two of you loved each other wasn’t of the best timing. two newly graduates seeking career growth, wanting nothing but to achieve various goals. those were dreams drawn with the other person placed as a part of it. however, during the process of achieving those, that same person where the aspiration was rooted gradually disappeared from the mind. the path the two of you promised to take together came at crossroads and you ended up taking something different from what he preferred to go to.

at first, there was a powerful yearning that made the two of you grow more fond of each other. but it was slowly replaced by numbness towards it, making love such a foreign word.

you understood. but it wasn’t something you had fully accepted.

a familiar shed came to flash on the window, your stop nearing. and when the vehicle finally came to a halt, you gave serim a final glance. he was looking at you, not moving from his seat. dismissing the contact, you walked down the bus and began tracing the sidewalk with heavy steps.

disappointment curled into your stomach when you arrived near your house, realizing that the recurring questions will not be answered. however, fate played its game. anxiousness arose when once again you heard your name wrapped around serim’s voice.

you turned to look at him, his lips hesitant to let go of a word.

serim was also in deep thoughts, mind all over the place despite how he already had the resolution to talk to you, not to explain and justify himself, but to apologize for the damage done.

“i’m sorry for that night,” serim began, the initial words already clinging into his chest, weighing down. “i should’ve been more honest with you and trusted you more with my struggles.”

there was nothing serim wanted but to prove himself worthy of you. achieve things that could make you be proud of him and deem him as someone who deserves you. working up to late hours, diving into designs in order to perfect his craft. the thing was, he forgot that you already loved him even when he was simply that serim. that you loved him as park serim.

blinded by the goal, the mean diminished. as he was too caught up with it, he was no longer striding towards it for you, but for himself.

“it was selfish of me to decide for something we both should be deciding for. i left that night thinking it was better that way without even considering how you will feel,” serim continued, his voice weakening. he lifted his hand as if to hold you, but stopped midway. it fell to his side as he breathed in. “i’m sorry. i’m really sorry.”

“i was hurt, but you were probably hurt as well.” the way those words left your lips ever so calmly surprised you. “it wasn’t the most pleasant experience, but i hope we both learned from it.” a smile became evident on your visage. “promise me one thing serim, do not make the same mistake with your future lover.”

“i will not,” serim replied.

both of you never really imagined the end of your relationship and as the page of it was torn years ago, an ending was deemed impossible to earn. closing a book would never be that easy, but some stories were meant to end— yours included.

“also, this is for you.” serim handed you the paper bag he was holding. “i told you years ago that i’ll make you a better dress, and here it is. i figured that i wouldn’t be able to keep the promise laced on the ring i gave you before but i at least want to have one of my promises kept.”

you looked at the item for a moment before turning to serim once again. “thank you.”

“i also want you to know that i truly loved you.”

never at once did you doubt serim’s love for you. the thing about it is that people will grow and know love from a better perspective. know how to best keep it. know how to best show it. but it will not change the fact that back then, you felt that it was love.

serim had a single flaw and that was to hold everything to himself to the point that those created a wide gap between the two of you. the distance far enough that reaching his hand became impossible despite how you wanted to hold him.

and maybe during that time, parting was the best solution. and up to this point, it was too.

“it’s nice seeing you again, serim.”

“likewise, y/n.” a genuine smile crossed his lips. “goodbye?”

“goodbye.”

tonight, you gave him a piece of your heart. it was his, to begin with. whatever he was to do with it— keep it, throw it, crush it— it was a decision for him to make. keeping something that shouldn’t be there would only bring further destruction, it’s way better to have an empty spot in your heart rather than keep a damaged one.

the breeze embraced you. the goodbyes uttered were to serve as a beginning. there were new questions that formed and you knew there were tears that were yet to be spilled. but it was a start. opening a buried wound would never be pleasant, but it was way better to open it yourself than have it bare you.

staring at the newly planted hyacinth in the neighboring flower bed, you let go of a sigh. they will bloom in the spring. and you hoped that you would experience the same.

[rj-drive-in]

Strange Brew Department:

Happy Halloween! It's the most wonderful tiiime of the year....

OCTOBER WINE © 2023 by Rick Hutchins

For October Wine, one must gather the ingredients one year in advance, because that’s how long it must ferment.

Wet orange maple leaves collected from the forest floor no later than the ides; pine cones that have yet to drop, along with a bed of needles for their repose; a cupped handful of wild blueberries picked at dawn; a handful of chestnuts no bigger than your thumbnail; the longest continuous strip of birch bark possible; a baker’s dozen of Honeysuckle flowers collected while trespassing; a pumpkin; a patch of moss; and, most importantly, seven Hedgehog Mushrooms, collected in the nude under the full moon.

Halloween night, as the Witching Hour approached, I gathered the ingredients on my kitchen counter and pulled out my grandmother’s yellow, crumbling recipe, sealed in its clear plastic sleeve (no fear– I also scanned it and backed it up to the cloud).

Normally I would use that nice vintner kit that I got from Amazon a couple of years ago, but this was to be something special. I used Gramma’s old fermenting bottle. It was the size of a large baby and made of thick green glass, with a finger handle and an ancient cork clamp lid.

Following the recipe to the last handwritten letter, I poured the mix into the mason jar, sealed it tight, and stored it away in a cabinet in the back of my garage.

An eventful year passed, and most of the events were not welcome. Few of them, but all of them, affected me personally.

As October rolled around again, many felt that the gallows humor and graveyard mischief of Halloween were inappropriate after all that had happened, but my appreciation of the holiday ran deeper than that.

Keisha caught up with me at the mall on Friday. “Hey, Hester,” she said, hugging me. “I’m having a little get together at my place on Halloween. Just a quiet thing, no costumes or anything. I hope you can be there.”

“I think I’ll just stay home,” I lied.

“Just a half dozen people or so. Some single boys.”

I laughed. “That’s okay.”

“Chips and hard cider.”

“Nah.”

“Still missing your gramma, huh?”

“Yeah. Always.”

“She was a real sweethearted lady.”

“Best ever.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” I smiled for her.

She hugged me again. “Okay, but the invitation is open if you change your mind. We’d love to have you.”

“Thank you. I’ll think it over.”

She continued on her way and I continued on mine.

I met Violet coming out of the supermarket with an armload of Halloween candy, just as I was going in.

“Hi, hon,” she said with a one-armed hug and a cheek kiss. “I guess you’re all ready for All Hallow’s Eve.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sexy Hippie costume.”

“Just my regular clothes,” I laughed.

“Same thing,” she said. “What are your plans?”

“Just home,” I lied.

“No date?”

I shook my head and she shook hers back at me teasingly. “You’ve got to move on eventually,” she said.

“And I will. But it was nice. I’ll let it linger a little.”

“Mmm,” she said. “I know what you mean. That’s why I never brush my teeth right after eating ice cream.”

I laughed. She was always coming up with crazy, but accurate, metaphors like that. “What about you two?” I asked.

“We’re staying the weekend at his sister’s place in Nashua. We still don’t want to take too many chances with the pandemic.”

“Good idea.”

“Well, I gotta run. Stay safe.”

She continued on her way and I continued on mine.

Piyali got me on Skype me that night from her parents’ house in New Jersey. She was still recovering from the injury to her face that she got at the beach over the Summer, and I’m pretty sure she had some kind of post-traumatic stress thing going on.

“Sorry I haven’t kept in touch,” she said.

“That’s okay. How have you been doing?”

“All right. Mom and Dad want me to stay for the Winter, so I might not be back in town until Spring.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

She nodded. “I’m getting some therapy. Dad offered to pay for plastic surgery. It’s cosmetic, so the insurance won’t cover it.”

“They’re hardly noticeable.”

She shrugged. “I just want them gone.”

“I understand,” I told her. “What are you doing for Halloween.”

“Staying in. Dad likes those old black-and-white monster movies.”

“Same here,” I lied. “Movies and popcorn.”

“Sounds good,” she said. “I should go now. Let’s talk again before Thanksgiving.”

She continued on her way and I continued on mine.

Halloween night came. I turned off the porch light and most of the indoor lights. I didn’t expect any Trick or Treaters this year, but I didn’t want to deal with any that might show up.

When I brought out the mason jar of October wine and popped it open, it smelled sweet and wet and a bit smoky, just like October should. I took a deep breath of the aroma, but resisted the temptation to try some and closed it back up, leaving it on the kitchen table. Instead, I put on the Turner Classic scary movie marathon in the background, with the sound turned low, and meditated in the darkness as the hours went by.

About 11oclock, I stretched and got up and got ready to leave. In my bedroom, I undressed and put on the short cotton nightgown, blue as a daisy, that Gramma gave me last year when she found out she was going to die. She bought it especially for this occasion and this was the first time I took it out.

I wore my car starter fob on a chain around my neck. I would have to carry my phone and the jug of October wine.

My carport is through a door off the kitchen, so I didn’t have to go outside yet. I used the remote garage door opener and drove out into the quiet streets. There would be few cars and fewer people about at this hour, but I really hoped I wouldn’t get pulled over. The air was chilly enough to raise goosebumps, and the stars in the clear sky were bright and crystalline, despite the suburban streetlamps. I liked the feel of my bare feet on the gas and brake. It was a fifteen-minute drive to Houghton’s Pond.

Blue Hill River Road posed the biggest risk for getting pulled over, but the only other parking lots were on the other side of the pond, which would have meant an hour’s walk through the dark woods before I even got to the right trail. Fortunately, I had no trouble. The parking lot between the picnic grounds and the ballfield was deserted and I sat there in my parked car for a minute, listening to the quiet, before getting out.

The yellow swing gate that blocked the trail to car traffic was right beside the parking lot and easy to find. I didn’t bother using the flashlight app on my phone to light my way, because the Google home page threw enough of a glow to see by in that deep darkness. I went around the gate and, after carefully picking my way barefooted through the weeds and rocks of the disused trail, I came to the edge of a crumbling asphalt road. This was the abandoned ruin of the original Route 128, which has sat here ghostly and mostly forgotten since it was replaced by the new highway system back in the 50s. Here the going got a little easier and I continued down that road for several minutes.

Gramma had left me very specific instructions on what to do next, written on the back of the recipe for her October wine. I’ve scanned that too, but I’m not going to include any details of it here. Let it suffice to say that the passage to the hidden pathway that I needed to find would have been invisible in broad daylight, let alone the dead of night, but her step-by-step guide allowed me to slip unscratched through a wall of thorns, like an interpretive dancer maneuvering through a maze.

The trail on the the other side of the bushes was very narrow and I had to pick my way through carefully so as not to lose it. But it was only a matter of minutes before I broke through to the clearing that Gramma had described.

The clearing was circular, about to fit a Burger King and covered with an even bed of grass. Just as Gramma had said, it looked as well kept as a front lawn, even though nobody ever came this way. The trees that surrounded the clearing were Autumn bare, and I could see the cold white light of the rising Moon starting to peek through them to the East.

I pulled my nightgown off over my head, folded it up and lay it in the grass at the clearing’s edge. Switching my phone to airplane mode, I placed it on top of the nightgown. Then, holding the jug of October wine in my arms like a baby, I walked deeper into the clearing.

About a third of the way across, facing the hint of the rising Moon, I sat down cross legged with the jug in front of me. The grass was cool and moist with dew. It was just before midnight.

After several relaxing breaths, I unclamped the old cork and popped it out, raised the jug to my lips and took my first drink.

It was somewhat thicker than store wine and tasted like wet leaves and berries. It was also warm, and I could feel that warmth go down my throat and spread into my shoulders. I closed my eyes and sipped at it slowly.

When I opened my eyes again, the half disk of the last-quarter Moon had risen above the treetops and was casting shadows across the clearing almost to my knees. A soft breeze moved through the bare branches. It was cool on my skin but I still felt warm. I saw what looked like swarms of fireflies floating lazily in the dark woods, and they seemed to be flying in pairs. Perhaps they were the eyes of Halloween spirits.

Gramma had not told me what to expect, except for anything and everything. I smiled, feeling calm and warm, closed my eyes and took another sip.

When I opened my eyes again, the Moon was higher, lighting more of the clearing. Spread throughout the carpet of grass before me were a thousand mushrooms, some as tall as lilies, some as tall as corn, with slender stalks waving slowly back and forth. They were pale gray, almost white in the moonlight, except for red spots on their small umbrellas. The mushroom closest to me was being ridden by a small snail.

I sat watching the calm waves moving back and forth through the field of unusual growths until I fell in rhythm with them.

Then I closed my eyes and took another sip.

When I opened my eyes again, the Moon was higher and the shadows shorter. The mushrooms were gone, but their place was taken by scores of frogs. There were frogs of all types, from warted bullfrogs as big as footballs to small pebbled tree frogs that would fit in the palm of my hand. They were spread in front of me across the clearing in a great half circle, arranged in rows, like an amphibious parliament.

They sat still and staring at me, slowly blinking, their throats expanding and contracting. Occasionally a distinctive croak would arise from somewhere in the crowd to be answered elsewhere.

Nodding, I closed my eyes and took another sip.

When I opened my eyes again, the Moon was straight overhead and it was now full. This did not seem odd to me. I tilted my head back and looked up and realized that the Moon was also larger than it should be. Every time I blinked, it grew larger still and soon it nearly filled the sky, its edges obscured by the treetops around the clearing. It was so close that I could see the crisp details of mountains and valleys and craters as if I were looking straight down at them. There was the Sea of Tranquility. There was the Apollo lander and the American flag. There were Neil Armstrong’s footprints.

The surface of the Moon was now just inches above my head, almost as close as the cool grass under my bum. I had a brief moment of vertigo and suddenly I was kneeling in the lunar dust and the grassy field was above my head like a low ceiling. The astronauts’ footprints, in their stark clarity, were right in front of me and gray moondust clung to my knees and bare feet. I was afraid to exhale, not knowing if I’d be able to breathe in again.

I reached out to touch the footprint before me and stopped, not wanting to disturb its perfection. There was a moment of vertigo again and I was back in the clearing and the Moon was back in the sky, in its normal phase.

Closing my eyes, I took another sip.

When I opened my eyes again, the Moon was behind me, the shadows of the trees stretching out in front of me. A wide dirt path, almost a road, had opened up in the forest straight ahead on the other side of the clearing. Far off in the distance, at the end of that road, a thousand miles away, was a light, and silhouetted in that light was somebody walking away. He seemed familiar, but he never turned around and soon disappeared down that relentless road.

I blinked and the path was gone.

Closing my eyes, I took another sip.

When I opened my eyes again, the Moon had almost set, leaving only traces of moonbeams peeking through the woods in back of me. The clearing was very dark now, but I soon became aware that there were other people present, moving quietly at the treeline. They were all separate, spread apart, just shadows in the darkness.

There were three of them, all unaware of me and each other. Each time I blinked, they were in different positions in the field, but seemed to be gradually, randomly, coming nearer to the place where I was sitting.

After a while, I began to make out details. They were all girls, all as naked as I was. One was brown with black curls; one was pale, with red hair and freckles; one was olive with glossy hair to her waist. It was Keisha, Violet, and Piyali.

They continued to drift slowly closer, each in her own world, until they stood in a row in front of me, staring silently at their own feet.

It was hard to find my voice. I felt like I hadn’t spoken in a hundred years. Finally, I managed to say, “What’s the matter?”

I blinked again and the clearing was empty.

With a heavy heart, I took another sip.

When I opened my eyes again, the Moon was gone and the clearing was black, the only light coming from the starry sky above. It took a very long time for my vision to adjust. Eventually, I knew that there was another human figure standing under the trees on the other side of the field. Again, it was a woman, and, again, she was as naked as I was. But this was an old woman. An ancient woman.

This was my Gramma.

She started walking slowly toward me and with each step the years melted away and the stars grew brighter. By the time she reached me, she was young, as young as I was, and I could see her clearly. She sat down cross legged in front of me so that our knees were touching and the jug of October wine sat in the tangle of our ankles.

She tilted her head at me with an odd smile and then lifted up the jug and took a long drink. She seemed to savor it for a moment, and then handed it over to me. I took a sip, but she shook her head with a wry twist to her mouth, so I took a longer drink. I placed it back down between us, feeling a little dizzy.

“It’s very good,” she said.

“I followed your recipe to the letter.”

“Next time you won’t have to.”

She took my hands and placed them on top of the jug, then placed her hands on top of mine, and squeezed firmly. For a long time, she just smiled at me and stared into my eyes with a look of adoration that broke and healed my heart.

“Gramma,” I said.

“Yes, Hester.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You do know what to do.”

“Tell me. What?”

“You don’t need me to tell you what to do,” she said. “You know what to do.”

My eyes suddenly filled with tears and when I wiped them clear, she was gone. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes and took a long last drink.

When I opened my eyes again, the Eastern sky was just barely turning blue. I got to my feet a bit stiffly and stretched out all the kinks with a groan. I replaced the cork in the mason jar of October wine, noting that there was still more than half left. Plenty left over for next year. Plenty for me to continue this old and new tradition.

Picking up my nightgown and phone, I slipped back into the narrow pathway in the forest, retracing my steps to the road and the parking lot and my car and my life. I was ready to continue on my way, knowing that all the other ways, of both the living and the dead, were mine as well.

[adeleneblack]

We just passed the 20th anniversary of 9/11. I watched a video of someone expaining how she remembered that day when she was 8 and realized that we don’t really talk about that.

There’s an occational comment, a breakdown of how it was weaponized in politics, there was a meme floating around that millennials are the way they are because “we watched thousands of people die on live TV and nothing ever got better” and that’s the end of it. No real unpacking of what that did to us as individuals or as a generation.

I was pretty far removed from the actual events by virtue of not living in the Northeast.  I lived far enough away from New York that I didn’t personally know someone who died or even been at ground zero. I only knew my parents’ two friends that had moved to New Jersey before I was born. We had visited them a few years before and saw them every few years when they flew home for Christmas.

We don’t talk about how the adults in our lives seemed to freeze. Our teachers turned on TVs to see what was happening (totally understandable looking back as an adult). But this meant that we sat in silent classrooms watching as a world that seemed safe a moment ago went up in smoke. I was in seventh grade. Our student teacher turned on the TV and we just sat in silence watching. A second plane hit the next tower. Another crashed into the Pentagon. I don’t remember hearing about the plane that the passengers took back crashing until later in the day.

We didn’t talk about it after. There was nothing to say at the time, we all saw what happened and none of us knew what would happen next. We didn’t know why someone would do it. I didn’t ask my parents if their friends were okay when I got home, I didn’t want to know if I had watched them die. 

The last time I had seen them was a few years before when we went out to visit them. They took us to the Statue of Liberty, Coney Island, and we got some beautiful pictures of us with the skyline in the background. The Twin Towers are the focus of the background in those pictures. They were both okay, but one of them worked in the City and I still have no idea if he saw what happened or how close he was and I doubt I ever will. I do know that he had recently turned down a job in one of the buildings next to the Towers. 

We went home from school and saw clips from the original footage and people digging through rubble for weeks. We watched them give up hope of finding anyone else alive. We watched them keep diggin hoping to find bodies instead. We watched people get so angry, people demanding that we punish the people that did this. We were told to ‘Never forget.’ We watched a war begin. 

After it happened we didn’t talk about the trauma and adults only spoke about it with anger and sometimes sadness. We watched that day become a weapon as the country went through the stages of grief. So many people stopped at anger and never bothered to try moving past it. Some people still haven’t.

We haven’t really spoken about that even being trauma until very recently and its not a very big conversation. Its generally just people doing this, a post with what they remember and the changes they saw. In fairness, I don’t think we really talk about any generational trauma, but we should.

This day was a huge part of shaping our generation in a thousand little ways because it affected all of us so deeply during and through our development. Because it didn’t end on 9/11. I don’t have much of a concept for how long the clips were played on TV or when the music on the radio changed but it always seemed to be in the back of everyone’s mind.

I don’t think we talk about how this made so many millennials anti-war. We got older and understood more of what had happened and how the US responded. So many of us just want the violence to end. We want to move past Anger but there are people who want to stay Angry and are still lashing out either on purpose or because they have no concept of where their anger comes from and how its been fed for 20 years.

I don’t think we talk about how this is the root of so much dark humor in the millennial generation. If you’ve ever seen M*A*S*H you’ll see a similarity in humor that caused it to make a bit of a comeback. That alone is a whole luggage set to unpack.

I don’t think we talk about how, during this very pivotal moment, as we watched those planes hit on the news every night, the country came together. For a while it seemed like there was a single purpose for everyone in the country. And I think that one impression is the one that is overlooked the easiest because it might have been the only bright spot at the beginning and it was unspoken but you could feel it. We all wanted to help, we all wanted to see someone pulled from the rubble alive, we were all so proud of the people on Flight 93, we all wanted to know what happened, we all wanted to know why it happened.

I think there’s a sizable group of our generation that grabbed that feeling as the only thing that made sense at the time and we’ve never let it go. Frankly, I don’t think we should.

Maybe those moments of community and support have helped push us to be the way we are. How much of current progressive politics is from wanting our neighbors to be safe and happy and healthy? A practical way to make sure we’re all okay. Because we once sat there, powerless, as our world became a much scarier place.

[a-lil-perspective]

I have been silent for some time now. I have refrained from exhibiting any plaguing thoughts that might warrant me the label of “that person”, but I’m at the point where I’ve had my fill.

Ramble under the cut so as to not... offend or inconvenience anyone. There’s absolutely no obligation to read this. It’s Tumblr. You can block/ignore me. The option to do so is readily accessible.

I’ve been a Bad Batch fan since day one. While I didn’t start creating that very same day, it was relatively close. Point being, I’m a long-time dedicated fan. As the premiere to their series draws closer, I feel like there is going to be a great shift, rift here. That being said, I figured now is as good a time as any to make this post.

I love those boys beyond words. They’ve been the one constant in my life amidst a rapid and debilitating change. I love getting to give them life, even if my interpretations aren’t the most accurate.

Yes, I am a new Writer and yes, I am new to Tumblr, as I am sure both of those things are painfully apparent.

I get that it is impossible to please everyone. It’s something I’m learning more and more with each passing day. It’s something that gets harder to swallow, even more so.

I’d like to say that being here has been a largely positive experience, with all of these great connections and opportunities. But honestly? It’s been more isolating than anything. I’ve actually never felt more isolated than since I joined a year ago.

As a content creator or even just a general blogger, I don’t ask for much. I don’t ask for anything, in fact. I consider myself very low maintenance. I don’t demand/harass/play the martyr for reblogs. I have never mentioned it once, and never will. Some people on here are so damn passive-aggressive about it, and quite frankly, it’s embarrassing. It’s very stigmatizing. While I completely understand the frustration surrounding the like-to-reblog ratio, I think it’s neither tasteful nor reputable to threaten to call people out for not reblogging your fics. I wish I could say I was joking on that one. But I’ve seen it profoundly. Not cool.

And yet, no one says anything or raises any concern there.

Yet I make metas, harmless rambles, and I get shot down? Seriously?

—I need to “chill”, it’s “overkill”, I’m “overthinking”. I and my content are apparently just so damn arduous to interact with.

If you don’t like me, please just move on. There are plenty of other Bad Batch creators for you to enjoy. You know that. My work is absolutely not the final say, and I’ve never claimed it to be.

What is so wrong, with sharing one’s thoughts? Why do people inherently have a problem with other’s creative efforts? I see it time over again. Why do I feel like if I was making a bunch of smutty posts it wouldn’t be as much of a problem, that it in fact would be infinitely more welcome? (Absolutely NO shade to people who create smut, okay? I’ve made my own share. I admire those bold enough to do so regularly. I absolutely love them. Please teach me your ways).

This ramble really has nothing to do with the most recent event regarding my contributions. Rather, it’s a culmination of experiences over the past several months that have brewed and festered to the point where I can no longer keep downplaying it.

Social media, at its core, is one big popularity contest. It always has been, it always will be. But I’m not here to win. That’s never been my objective. That’s not what I’m about. Surprise (or not), I am not a popular blog. Not by a long shot. I’ll never claim otherwise.

I don’t ask people to view/interact with my content, I’m not an activist, I can’t even fathom exuding that kind of confidence. Even though I, admittedly, crave it. I suspect I crave interaction as much as the next creator. It’s a nice feeling. Yet there’s never been any obligation for it, especially with me, so I don’t understand what the problem is. As I’ve said, there are ample ways for you to block/avoid me. It’s the internet. In this day and age, there’s no excuse for viewing anything you don’t want to.

I came here in the hopes of finding like-minded individuals, uplifting and interacting, and exercising some otherwise stunted creativity.

All Tumblr as taught me is that creating and contributing is largely a thankless, empty endeavor. You can give and give and give and be reduced to nothing. There’s a profound imbalance between “giving” and “receiving”, and in regards to both ends of the scale, it’s became apparent to me that if you don’t cater heavily and in unreasonable degrees or get “noticed” by a popular blog, you get nothing, and your efforts are null and void.

Truthfully? I constantly feel like I walk on eggshells here, and it’s all I can do to not crack under the pressure, even though it’s my blog and my headspace. I should feel comfortable and free to express myself here, and I don’t, and I’m unsure of how to achieve that sense of stability. To be completely honestly I feel like a constant bother and a nuisance. When I post, I literally feel like there is a collective eye-roll that comes with people receiving a notification from my blog. Even though I know, rationally, that can’t be true, that’s an absurd level of thinking. I can’t say I can pinpoint exactly where it stems from.

But regardless: I hardly ever talk about/create the things I actually want. I only recently just got ballsy enough to share some metas, and we all know how well that’s going. I try not to have smut out of respect for my asexual/minor mutuals, even though the tag to blacklist is very much an option. I try not to bring up conflicting topics, Tumblr, political, or otherwise, even though with proper tagging I could. But I try not to even bring that into existence. Even though it’s my right to, I don’t.

I don’t actually feel like I fit into any narrative here, especially in the Bad Batch fandom; even though we are all basically the same steadfast group of bloggers. We all know who we are. We all coexist in the same space. It’s nearly impossible to be unaware of each other, at this point.

And yet, I’m not in a bunch of Discord servers or backed by a team of beta readers and all that jazz. It’s basically just me talking to myself out here. It’s very isolating.

Part of that—most of it—is my own crippling social anxiety, and the genuine belief that I don’t deserve to be in the same space/servers as all of these brilliant creators. Because I’m just me, and there’s not a whole lot of value there. With that mindset, it’s hard to actually feel like I belong anywhere. I know that is a mindset I have to conquer alone.

My excitement over my creations has largely dwindled into nothing. I seldom ever bounce my ideas off of others—another issue that stems from the fear of presenting as a burden—and even though I try to write for myself, even that fire has pretty much died out. I’m not even sure how or if I could even reignite it, at this point. It’s really quite sad. It makes me very sad, actually. All I wanted was to safely ramble, project all my thoughts and creativity that has otherwise been repressed through prolonged detrimental circumstances.

More than anything, I wanted to find and hold onto something that makes me feel useful, meaningful, happy. More and more I wonder if that’s even possible. I don’t think it is, not here. I often wonder if joining and sharing on Tumblr was a horrible mistake. I miss the innocent joy of when I first started creating. It was so simple. I’m trying to find that simplicity again.

But I’m burned out. I’m running on fumes. I have been for some time.

At this point it goes beyond just “taking a break” from Tumblr. It’s the fact that it all feels like this meaningless, monotonous cycle. I wonder every day if I am an isolated case in experiencing these emotions.

And yet, come tomorrow I will still be here, business as usual.

I’m not asking for sympathy or playing the victim or attacking anyone or trying to guilt-trip into more interaction. I am very aware of my shortcomings and incorrect mindsets. I’m just trying to make sense of it all. I feel very disconnected from everyone here and it’s lonely. This took a lot for me to share. I will most likely delete this because anxiety will eat me up, as it does with everything I post. Yes, everything.

[slippinmickeys]

Five Seconds (1/8)

This is the sequel to “Of the Eight Winds,” which began from a small simple prompt from Sunflowerdeedsandscience: “Mulder is unhappily married when Scully is partnered with him, and while he doesn't cheat (because sorry that's not romantic), he falls for her so hard that he finally gets the courage to end the marriage and start fresh.” That prompt took on a life of its own that became ‘Of the Eight Winds.’ This fic immediately follows the events of that piece — I would encourage reading it first if you haven’t.

This is not written in the same Rashomon structure as the original — it is absolutely linear. Hope that doesn’t throw anyone.

I’ll be posting the first two chapters today, and then one chapter a day until next Monday. You can also find it on AO3 here.

PROLOGUE

They say in the heat of the moment, you have five seconds to make a decision. Five seconds between right and wrong. Five seconds between life and death. As Mulder stood watching one gun pointed at his children and another pointed at an immensely pregnant Scully, five seconds seemed an eternity.

XxXxXxXxXxX

6 Months Earlier

She watched the house from the shadows. Occasionally from her car. It was harder to follow the woman as she worked at a secure government facility, but the man was easy. He had a small private psychology practice in a townhouse in Old Town. He usually ate lunch at a Panera near the office or brown bagged it from home.

The kids both attended a private prep school out in McLean. The girl drove herself and her brother most days. The boy would often stay late for sports practice (ice hockey, if the equipment was any indication) and the man would usually pick him up. Their lives were pretty routine.

After two weeks, she finally made an appointment with the man’s scheduling service and waited nervously in the outer office. Right on time, he opened the door.

“Olivia?” Dr. Mulder smiled at her, “come on back.”

She passed him through the doorway and settled into a plush leather couch.

He sat down in a chair across from her and crossed his leg, looking relaxed. Up close, she noticed that his hair was starting to grey at the temples, but he still looked fit, and conveyed an easy manner.

“Thank you for seeing me,” she said, trying to calm her nerves.

“Of course,” he said, looking down at his notebook, “I see you were referred to me by Dr. Heitz Werber?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself,” he said.

She took a breath.

“I grew up here in DC. After grad school… My father worked for the State Department and I, uh, went into the family business.”

Dr. Mulder nodded, his expression neutral.

“I can imagine that’s pretty stressful work,” he said.

“It was,” she said, “I don’t do it anymore.”

He nodded again, waiting for her to fill the silence. She went on.

“The work I did… it hurt people. And I’m… I’m trying to make amends.”

His expression gave nothing away. She steeled herself, took a deep breath.

“Dr. Mulder, my name is Olivia Kurtzweil. Our fathers knew each other a long time ago. I’m here to warn you. You and your family are in danger. Your wife and her baby…”

His nostrils flared, but he maintained his composure.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out several pictures.

“I can prove it,” she said, “This is me and my father, this is me and your sister Samantha. And this is our fathers together.”

“I think you need to leave,” he said, his voice tight for the first time. He was not looking at the pictures.  

She rose.

“There’s not a lot of time.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper with a phone number on it, set it next to the pictures, which she left on the office’s small coffee table. “Call me at this number. Soon. I’ll tell you all I can.”

With that she left, her heart hammering in her chest.

CHAPTER ONE

Arlington Cemetery May 2nd, 2018

Mulder descended the stairs quickly, the leather bottoms of his dress shoes scraping loudly on the dusty grit of the steps. The occupants of the underground lair were the perfect people to call when you needed information, but good housekeepers they were not.

He entered the code on the security box at the door at the bottom of the staircase, and the door swung open.

“Guys?” he called into the cavernous space once the door sealed shut behind him.

“In here!” he heard a muffled call from near the back.

He stepped around gunmetal shelves awash in circuitry and computer parts and turned right into the sanctum sanctorum of the place: the desktop on which sat the AMD Threadripper 3000. Two men were hunched over the screen, one sitting, one standing just behind him.

Grease-stained napkins were wadded up next to the keyboard and crinkled butcher paper sat nearby, sporting the red-splotched remains of marinara sauce and a few errant banana peppers.

“You want a meatball sub, Mulder?” came the nasally voice of the man standing, “We got extra.”

“I don’t relish the thought of being up all night with heartburn, Langly, but thanks,” Mulder said, and Frohike turned from the chair, his wispy hair now more white than grey.

“They’re from Gino’s,” he said around a mouthful, “you’re missing out.”

“Tell that to Gino,” Mulder said, “didn’t he die of a heart attack in ‘04?”

“His wife is still running the place, bursting with health,” Frohike said, and reached for a styrofoam cup.

“But she doesn’t eat the subs,” said Mulder, and swung into a nearby chair. “Where’s Byers?”

“Staying with Suzanne for the weekend,” Langly said, like he couldn’t imagine why.

“Is that safe?” Mulder asked. The Gunmen had been hiding out in a government-built safehouse under their own graves in Arlington Cemetery for more than a decade.

Langly shrugged.

The three men looked at each other for a moment. Finally, Mulder spoke again.

“What did you find?”

“Enough,” said Frohike, turning back to the screen. Mulder stood and walked up behind him.

Frohike tapped a picture on the screen.

“Olivia Kurtzweil,” he said, “born December 4th, 1963, daughter of Dr. Alvin Kurtzweil and Ruth O’Brien Kurtzweil. Graduated from Sidwell Friends School in Washington DC in 1981, got a PhD in both Biology and Virology from Boston University in 1987. Employment records get kind of muddled after that, but it would make sense if she worked for the State Department, though what a Biologist/Virologist would be doing for State is troubling.”

Mulder leaned back. It was the same woman who’d been in his office earlier that day.

“And the pictures?” he asked, “of our fathers together? Of her and Samantha?”

“The real McCoy,” Langly said, “they don’t appear to be altered in any way. Sent them to Chuck Burks, too. He concurs.”

Mulder sighed heavily.

“What’s going on, Mulder?” Frohike asked, his tone serious.

“She came to my office today, Olivia Kurtzweil,” he said, nodding at the screen, “she told me that Scully is in danger.”

“In danger?” Langly said, puzzled, “how?”

“Scully is…” Mulder paused, “she’s pregnant,” he said, and he saw both men’s eyebrows go up. “This woman told me that our family... that Scully and the baby are in danger.”

Frohike and Langly traded looks.

“We haven’t told anyone about the pregnancy,” Mulder went on, “and Scully’s OB is an old friend from med school that she trusts implicitly. This Kurtzweil woman knows about the baby and insists it’s in danger. I need to know what’s going on.”

“Firstly,” said Frohike, who stood and put a hand on Mulder’s shoulder, “Mazel tov.” Mulder smiled at him. “Secondly,” he went on, “it appears as though this woman is telling the truth -- at least about who she is -- I would talk to her. See what you can find out.”

“How’s Scully taking this?” Langly asked.

“I haven’t told her yet,” Mulder said, and the boys traded another look. “I didn’t want to scare her without knowing more.”

Frohike squeezed his shoulder again and then let his arm fall.

“Let us know, huh?” he said, “However we can help.”

Mulder nodded and drifted back toward the door, a ball of worry sitting heavy in his gut.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“Where are the kids?” he asked as soon as he walked in the kitchen. He hadn’t even taken off his coat.

“I had a good day, thanks for asking,” said Scully with a grin. She was loading the dishwasher and turned to look at him. Her face fell, turning serious. “The kids are upstairs. What’s wrong?”

“I had a patient come in today…” he started, and her features softened. She probably thought it was just empathy for one of his patients, a tough case. “Scully, she showed me a picture of herself as a kid. With Samantha.”

“What?” Scully said, standing up straight, “how?”

“I don’t know,” he said, and moved past her and into the living room, making for the bookshelf that held old family photo albums. He pulled one out and skimmed through it. Pulled out another. Halfway through, something caught his eye and he flipped back a couple of pages until he saw it. A picture from the same 70’s-era party at his childhood home on the Vineyard that Olivia had shown him. There was his father standing next to Alvin Kurtzweil, and down in the corner, both wearing swimsuits and gap-toothed smiles, pigtails frizzy and wet, sat Samantha and a 7 year-old Olivia Kurtzweil.

He felt his breath leave him.

Scully had come up quietly behind him, put her hand on his arm.

“Mulder?” she said.

“I need to make a call,” he said.

He pulled the note Olivia had left with him out of his pocket. She picked up on the first ring.

“Olivia, this is Dr. Mulder,” he said. “We need to talk.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

The next morning at 9:00am, they found themselves sitting across their kitchen table from Olivia Kurtzweil, Special Agent Monica Reyes, ASAC John Doggett and Assistant Director Walter Skinner.

Scully was sitting, arms crossed in front of her defensively, at the head of the table. Reyes sat next to her, looking at Kurtzweil with an equal amount of curiosity and distrust. Doggett was too amped up to sit and paced through their kitchen. Skinner sat, quiet and still, looking as menacing as ever at the far end of the table.

Mulder felt a certain odd protectiveness toward Olivia, and couldn’t help but treat her a bit like a patient.

“Olivia,” he said calmly, “why don’t you start at the beginning.”

The tale she spun was as fantastic as anything they’d ever heard in their years on the X-Files. Olivia had been groomed from childhood to work on what she called “The Project.” When Samantha Mulder had been abducted, The Project had used her DNA to create alien-human hybrids. Throughout the years, these hybrids had been used by different factions of The Project to further their agendas in relation to a colonization project that Olivia said once threatened the world. She had fought with others to bring it down and now, The Project’s last ditch effort to resurrect itself lay in the cells of the child Scully was carrying.

“How was my father involved?” Mulder said, his voice like ice.

“Your father did everything he could to protect you and your sister,” Olivia said after a pause. “He was the person I initially approached when I became disenchanted. He and I worked together for years dismantling everything we could.”

Mulder narrowed his eyes at her.

“You were at my father’s funeral a couple years ago,” he said, recognition dawning on him, “I saw you at his wake.”

Olivia nodded.

“He couldn’t save your sister,” she said, “but he saved you. And in the end, he saved me.”

“My sister,” Mulder said, his stomach feeling as though it were in his feet, “is she alive?”

“No,” Olivia said, “I’m so sorry. And that’s the problem. Your sister’s DNA was the only one that was able to create viable hybrids. Her DNA was the key. And the last living hybrid sacrificed herself before a rogue faction could get her. That rogue faction is after Scully and your baby for the DNA markers particular to your family.”

“Then why aren’t they after me?”

“The particular markers they’re looking for are rendered dormant after a baby is born. The genetic material they can use is only found in--”

Scully spoke for the first time, finishing Olivia’s explanation. “Embryonic stem cells from our baby.”

Olivia looked pained and nodded. “It’s their last, best hope for restarting the program,” she said.

“How do they even know about the pregnancy? We haven’t told a soul.”

“A hack on your medical records is my guess. HIPAA means nothing to these people.”

“I’m less concerned with the how and more concerned with the why,” Mulder said. “You say embryonic cells. That means they’re on a clock, right? Once the baby is born...”

“Destroy the umbilical cord. The placenta. Those cells are only found in a few places. Destroy anything they might be able to use. After that… you and your baby will be safe.”

“So no one else in our family is in danger?” Scully asked. Her eyes darted unconsciously to a family picture that was framed on the wall above Olivia. It was a candid photo, taken the year before when they had hired a photographer to take Lily’s senior portraits. In it, Mulder and Scully were holding hands, looking at their two kids who were laughing about something Will had said. They were all smiling and carefree. In the moment, it felt like a world away.

“I know the technology and the biology it draws from,” Olivia said, “I helped design it. Their only hope is getting their hands on the embryonic stem cells from your baby. If you were planning on getting an amniocentesis test -- don’t.”

“Why not?” Skinner asked, “why not just give them what they want?”

“Because they’ll never stop,” Reyes said.

Olivia shook her head sadly. “She’s right. They take and they take, and they don’t care who gets hurt or what is lost.” She looked to Mulder. “Your father and I worked for years to shut it down. Finish it. Hide your wife. Protect your baby. Once it’s born, you should all be out of danger.”

“Tell me about this rogue faction,” Doggett’s voice coming from the corner of the kitchen startled everyone.

“Mercs for hire,” Olivia said, “Only one of them that I know of is familiar with the working pieces of The Project. I don’t know him well. I only ever saw him in the periphery.”

“Do you have a name?” Doggett asked.

“I doubt it’s his real one,” Olivia said.

“We’ll take whatever you can give us,” said Reyes, who shot a look to Doggett.

“I only ever heard him called ‘Krycek,’” she said.

Mulder felt his gut drop.

XxX

“What do you think?” Mulder asked Scully, as they sat together around their empty dining room table. Doggett, Reyes and Skinner had left and it was nearly noon, the sun bright outside their windows. Nevertheless, the room felt cold. Mulder could feel anxiety press on him from all sides as though he were under water.

“I don’t know what to think,” Scully said, a hand resting unconsciously on her stomach, which had just started to push out. “Mulder, for almost fifteen years our lives have been ordinary, calm. After all this time…? It strains credulity.”

“Scully I would agree with you. But… some of the things we saw when we were on the X-Files… We know credible threats. This feels like a credible threat.”

“Do you really believe everything she said? About your sister?” He could see her skeptical reserve crumbling.

Mulder let that question sit in the air for several long moments. “Just tell me if the science checks out,” he finally said.

Scully huffed an almost amused sigh. “I couldn’t even begin to-” she started.

“Scully, you yourself were filling in the blanks of Olivia’s story. If what she says is true, does the science check out?”

Scully gave him a long look. “Yes,” she finally said.

He held her gaze, a feeling of overwhelming affection coming over him. “Scully,” he said quietly, “we have to get you somewhere safe.”

She looked down, added another hand to her abdomen so she was cradling it with both. On the countertop, there was a half drunk bottle of Deer Park and a single yellowing banana. Someone had left their iPhone headphones sitting in a semi-coiled loop, and there were crumbs in front of the toaster, dishes in the sink. They sat in the middle of a half-lived life.

“I won’t leave without you,” she finally said, “without you and the kids. We all do this together. If the threat is really what Kurtzweil says it is, I couldn’t bear the thought of them trying to use you or the kids to get to me.”

Mulder nodded curtly.

“I’ll go to the guys,” he said, “see what they can do for us. Skinner and Doggett and Reyes will do what they can to protect us, but I think given everything we’ve heard, it’s best to avoid… governmental oversight.”

“I’m inclined to agree with you,” Scully said.

“We need to leave soon. We can’t wait.”

Apgar jumped on the table then, looking for affection. Scully, who normally wouldn’t tolerate a cat on any eating surface, reached out and pet the cat absently, her eyes far away.

“Where are we even going to go?” she asked.

[shinydelirium]

MLQC Season 2 Chapter 15 (Kiro’s Chapter) Part 4 [Double Courage] & [New Game] Translation [CN]

***SPOILERS*** DO NOT READ IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO BE SPOILED!!! 

I decided to combine 2 parts into one post since 15-5 was short. Enjoy~

For the previous translation of Chapter 15: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3.

[Double Courage]

There was no sound of footsteps coming and going outside the door and I was the only one left in the empty utility room.

I know he is still outside. Looking at the closed door, I slowly stepped forward and lifted my head.

It suddenly occurred to me, when I first arrived at the hospital after hearing that Kiro had an accident.

At that time, he was also on the other side, refusing me.

I turned around, leaned against the door, and sat down. Soon, the sound of footsteps quietly leaving came to my ears.

I have to admit, I really can’t help him. I am not strong enough to make him feel more at ease.

People need to accept their own weaknesses and limitations in order to think about what they can do from their own perspective.

The whole space is quiet and my heart is surprisingly calm.

I closed my eyes and replayed all the scenes of my time with Kiro over and over again in my mind.

If I were Kiro, why would I need to use another identity while insisting on solving the problem alone?

If I was admitted to the hospital and refused to see anyone, it must be because there is a serious illness and I don’t know how to deal with others.

And I act alone because it may be dangerous and I don’t want to be dragged down by others or….

MC: Drag others down with me.

My brain is spinning so fast. I always feel that there is something that has constantly plagued me and I have come to a conclusion.

MC:…Kiro’s illness has not been cured?

So everything makes sense now.

From beginning to end, he never said why he was admitted into the hospital.

If he was attacked because of what he did, then he abandoned the identity of “Kiro” and acted under the identity of “Helios” which made it even more logical sense.

It is precisely because the illness has not been cured. He cannot expose his weakness but at the same time, he will also worry that he will be a burden to others because of this.

MC: Kiro, are you trying to be strong again?

Secretly covering up his wounds and then create an identity of another person to carry everything on his back.

But this shouldn’t be a world where only superheroes get hurt.

MC: Kilo, display location.

Following my instructions, an electronic map immediately laid out before my eyes. I looked towards the center of the map and was shocked.

Next to the little bear wearing a small flower is another bear.

Helios hasn’t left. He was just outside the door.

I remember coming in, passing by the fire control room.

I thought for a while, not worrying about it anymore, I reached out my hand and touched the head of the little bear that was close to me, as if I could the person behind it.

MC: Kiro, can you hear me?

As I expected, there was no response.

I carefully tapped the microphone on the collar twice and then muttered to myself.

MC: Kiro, I know you are there. You can just treat this as me talking to myself but listen to me, okay?

MC: I know that I am very small and there are many things I can’t do and can’t help much.

MC: I don’t think it is shameful to admit that I am weak, because I know where to move forward after realizing this.

MC: For example, right now I’m thinking, do I have to learn some hacking skills or any combat skills?

There was a vaguely violent cough outside the door and I couldn’t help but smile.

MC: I know you must have encountered something sad.

MC: I also know that I can’t help you with this. You are afraid that I will only worry more so you choose to stay away from me.

MC: But Kiro, do you know?

MC: Sometimes you are a coward and then you make yourself look strong.

Kiro:….MC

Kiro’s dull voice rang in my ears as if it came from the collar and also from the door behind him.

MC: Kiro, you don’t have to be so strong.

MC: Difficulty is like a giant beast with its teeth and claws bared. A little bear will inevitably be nervous and scared when facing it.

MC: But it doesn’t have to force itself to fight alone because if it were two bears, the courage would be doubled.

MC: The weapon to defeat the beast is often not any sharp knife, but the power of courage.

MC: My courage can be lent to you at any time.

There was a small voice and I knew he was listening to me carefully.

MC: I know you are working hard for everyone so I hope I can also help you in some way.

Next, I started to tell him all the information about the hunter game, Joker and the little boy I learned about.

Rather than watching him fight alone, I will accompany the superhero in my own way.

After Helios closed the door of the utility room, he took out the hidden mini computer from under the console of the fire control room.

This is his temporary stronghold. It is located in the center of the city so it is convenient for his system to scan the entire terrain of Loveland City.

After he hacked into the opponent’s map program and was kicked out, he came to a decision.

He wants to build a brand new system to replace the other party’s authority and control over Loveland.

He opened the program on the mini computer and took out another device.

After the device started up, a beam of light projected into the air, showing an unfinished 3D map.

He sat down and flicked his fingers quickly in the air and the program projected in the air began to change with his movements.

This is a program he developed overnight to scan a map of the city and it is more intuitive than a 2D map.

At the same time, he tried to hack into the opponent’s system again, only this time, he did not bother to snatch the program they made.

He just wants to use their system to master the information of all players and all supply points so that he can enter the next step of the plan.

He quickly worked out a plan to end the game, with every step interlocking. And the first step of all plans must be that she can stay safe.

He knows that once Kilo is enabled, his identity will be exposed to the girl.

But in such a chaotic situation, he can no longer consider that much to ensure her safety.

After finding her, his ecstatic mood made him temporarily forget the anxiety caused by those recent events.

He forgot for a while that Kiro is broken, lonely and silent.

When she heard that she was looking forward to meeting the healthy Kiro, he suddenly recovered.

He is no longer the same Kiro, at least not the Kiro she was expecting.

He still couldn’t stand in front of her as Kiro.

The girl’s voice chattered endlessly, but it made him calmer than ever.

When she said that she wanted to learn hacking techniques or combat skills, he couldn’t help but cough.

At that moment, he was sure that she was serious.

She said that he was a coward.

She said that he doesn’t need to be so strong.

Helios tapped his fingers on the keyboard and gradually stopped.

Never compromise, never give up.

He feels his heart slowly being peeled off. There is a force pushing him forward.

She was right. As long as she was by his side, he would gain great courage.

This courage can support him to do many things and make him feel even more strength.

And the information she brought was really helpful to him.

Although he had investigated some information long ago, some of it was the first time he had heard of it.

The name Joker and Evol may be the main messenger of the game and the boy who can provide teleportation for him.

The so-called “ghost” to “human” transmission is actually done by this young man.

He frowned and began to think about what changes his plan needed to make as a result.

Fast fingers flew over the keyboard again and a “beep” came from multiple devices at the same time.

He raised his eyebrows slightly and his eyes showed unstoppable sharpness.

After scanning the three-dimensional map of the city, the player’s information points have been fully entered, the locations of the supply points have been disclosed to him, and the girl’s location information has also been erased from the game.

Helios: This game is mine.

[New Game]

I leaned against the door and suddenly felt a vibration from my phone. When I picked it up, I found that the phone had a black screen.

Before I had a chance to restart it, the screen automatically lit up and then a line of words were displayed.

“Welcome to the new hunter game.”

New hunter game? I was stunned for a moment, before I realized what had happened, the word “hunter” was marked with a red “X” by the animation effect.

MC: Welcome to…..the new hunter game?”

The red animation effect keeps flashing on the screen, seeming to constantly emphasize the concept of “new game”.

Did Joker change the rules of the game? Why cross out the word “hunter”? What does he want to do?

Unsettling emotions came to my mind. I subconsciously wanted to call Helios but I heard a familiar voice come over the phone.

??: Now, the game management rights will be changed.

??: I hereby announce, the new game has officially started.

This voice….is Helios!

I looked at the phone in disbelief and saw the screen change along with his voice.

“Hunter Game Is Out”

Helios: All the rules of the hunter game are invalidated.

Helios: There is only one rule you have to abide by—“No harm to anyone.”

I looked at the big words “NO FIGHT” displayed on the screen and faintly guessed what Helios wanted to do.

Helios: The communication method will now be opened, allowing all players to establish contact.

Helios: The game system adds a help platform and anyone who needs assistance can upload coordinates.

Helios: The map resumes normal use and all supply points will be publicly marked.

When he released these rules, the signal of my mobile phone showed full frame synchronously; a dialog box for help also popped up on the screen.

Then the phone automatically opened a brand new Loveland City map which not only showed the locations of all supply points but also a panoramic 3D map.

Helios: But don’t be too happy. My game will only be harder.

Helios: All of you, still have to follow my rules.

His tone was blunt, as if he was really the master of the game.

I was a little puzzled. Helios is clearly helping everyone to restore peace in Loveland. Why is he deliberately being so cold?

Although the fog has not dissipated, he can directly announce the end of the game. Why would he go the other way and announce the new rules of the game?

At this time, the screen switched to the surveillance on the streets of Loveland City and Helios seemed to have set up thermal imaging technology to clearly see colorful figures on the screen.

After seeing the contents of the surveillance clearly, my eyes widened unexpectedly—

Many people still pushed and scrambled for the aerosol at the replenishment point, fighting hard, and the scene was chaotic.

It seems that the so-called “new game” and “new rules” are meaningless to them.

Faintly, I seem to understand something.

Even if the game itself is stripped away, some people will still be dominated by fear or some kind of temptation and continue to dwell in the cold-blooded fighting.

So is this also Helios’ consideration?

I looked back at the closed wooden door waiting for his answer.

Helios: If someone insists on going their own way and continue to compete for limited resources…

Helios: The aerosol that you’re competing for will be ineffective at the moment.

Before he finished his words, everyone on the screen seemed to be taken aback. Several people raised the aerosols in their hands and panicked.

Helios: This is my game.

Helios: If you don’t believe me, you can try it.

The picture automatically zoomed in and the aerosol in the person’s hand was clearly exposed---the aerosol valve was automatically opened.

The crowd seemed to have finally realized the existence of the new game and stood there facing each other.

This is the meaning of Helios building a new game—

If the game is announced directly, everyone will continue to compete for aerosol if the fog is not effectively resolved.

That’s why he created another image of the game controller and introduced new game rules.

The purpose is to establish authority, let everyone follow his instructions, and get out of the mindset of fighting in a more orderly manner.

Helios: If you want to live, you must act according to my rules.

Helios: All players will be divided into three levels and displayed on your mobile phone screens according to the length of the remaining survival time.

Helios: Sub-level players need to help emergency level players to obtain aerosol.

Helios: The more people you help, the higher the ranking will be.

Helios: The highest-ranked person can still get a generous bonus.

Helios: Remember, “you are the game itself.”

Helios: Looking forward to your wonderful performance.

Helios completely changed the rules of the game.

If it can be executed smoothly, it will make the hunter game lose its original meaning.

It turns out that this is his “own way” to solve the hunter game?

While sighing, I was also a little worried.

The current situation is undoubtedly a huge change for Joker. In order to take back control,  he will certainly not give up.

I was about to remind Helios to be vigilant but suddenly there was a slight noise outside the door. Helios opened the door in the next second.

Helios: Let’s go.

Helios: Someone has snuck in.

-End of Part 4-

Continue to Part 5