#yes if i seem a little fixated on friendship its because i have very little locally and im audhd so its been lonely reaching 30 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

blookmallow · 3 years ago

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hi i binged through all of salad fingers for the first time in like 8 years and im fixating again here are. My Theories. pls talk to me if anyone else has Thoughts or wants to discuss things. this is really long i am sorry :’ )

also shout out to the salad fingers wiki for helping me keep track of details and also for this

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thought: salad fingers is not violent on purpose he did not mean to kill that kid

this is less a theory and more “if you slander my boy with accusations i will Get you” but listen. i see people going “but he mURDERED A CHILD!!” because of the oven incident but listen. listen to me. he didnt mean to and cannot be held to the same standard of morality and understanding consequences as a. person who isn’t..... in whatever situation and mental state he has going on

- yes, the kid getting trapped in the oven was his fault. but it was not intentional or malicious and i sincerely doubt he understands what happened or why.

he was asking for help reaching the fish (there’s no reason to believe he wasn’t just genuinely asking for help. he tears up in gratitude. theres no evidence of him Tricking People Maliciously in any other context i do not believe he would do that) and was distracted by the rusty nail, causing him to let go of the door. it wasn’t “he cares more about rust than about a child’s life” or something, i dont think he can actually hold “hey look at that i gotta check that out” and “i need to hold the door open so the child doesn’t get hurt” in his head at the same time, rust is his favorite stim/an impulse thing that takes over everything else and his perception of reality and the things going on around him changes very quickly and easily. more on that later. but the important point here is it wasn’t a malicious plot, or a neglectful careless action, he literally did not realize letting go of the door would cause harm

he stabbed himself accidentally with the nail and passed out for a while (the fact that he immediately bled that much is concerning too, he probably has hemophilia which is. a medical condition outside of his control, as well) and after all that he had completely forgotten about the child altogether (and says “i must have dozed off” so he doesn’t even understand he passed out. and might not remember the nail thing in the first place)

we don’t see what happened after this, we don’t know how he responds when he investigates the fish and inevitably finds an unexpected charred corpse in there, but i guarantee he won’t remember why its in there or understand that its a corpse. we dont see it again so its. entirely possible he didnt recognize it as a person and either just disposed of it or, uh, ate it. but if he did, it wasn’t with the knowledge and comprehension of it being A Corpse or the memory of how it got there

theory: on salad fingers and memory / comprehension of death and consequences

more on that subject

- we see him frequently doing things and then immediately forgetting he did it or forgetting what was happening. he accidentally squishes the bug (which also was not malicious or intentional, he intended to pet it but just. went too hard) and has no understanding either that its dead, or that he killed it. she has gone flat and gooey for some unknown reason. that’s strange. she needs to go have a wash, that’s no way to be.

he eats the jeremy fisher puppet at one point and then immediately goes “where have you gotten to??”

he even briefly forgets hubert cumberdale’s name and immediately comes up with another one without realizing it, and then later goes back to hubert cumberdale again with no mention of barbara logan-price

he refers to the same little yellow guy as “young child” and also Auntie Bainbridge later on. he keeps up the fantasy of... whatever the fuck yvonne was being his child for a pretty long time but then when he arrives at “auntie bainbridge” ‘s house he suddenly forgets why he’s there, and even apparently forgets what yvonne is and uses ‘her’ as a window rag instead and never mentions it again (I also don’t think she was in the sandwich at the end either. it’s hard to see but the sandwich contents are vaguely brown and theres a visible lump in the black goo behind him. i like the idea that the lil yellow guy made the sandwich for him)

salad fingers is constantly subconsciously adjusting his reality to fit Whatever Makes The Most Sense At The Time and does not consistently remember things (sometimes even major things. he remembers his puppets the most consistently and still even forgets hubert’s name) or have a concept of cause and effect

i think he possibly has some sense of recognition, “I’ve seen this person before,” but doesn’t always remember Why he knows them, and his mind just automatically fills in the blank with whatever makes sense to him. he doesn’t remember who the yellow guy is, but knows he knows them Somehow, so, ah, of course, it must be auntie bainbridge out for her sunday stroll :) and he knows he’s there for a reason, but not what that reason was, so he decides it must be time to clean the windows

- milford cubicle was already dead when salad fingers opens the door, but he has no idea that hes dead. this isn’t even a cause for concern. my, he must be tired, that’s all. he kept milford there until he rotted away, too, so there was never a point where he realized anything was wrong (until he became skeleton. more on That later too)

- he finds a corpse buried in the yard and rather than confronting the confusing and alarming reality of that situation, why it must be kenneth, back from the great war! at no point does he understand kenneth is definitely dead

theory: kenneth vs glass brother

i think he really did have a brother named kenneth who probably died in the war. could be some subconscious connection between “recognizing” a corpse as his brother, but i dont think he realizes any of that. i think the glass family is probably a trauma based hallucination, but a... well, reflection. pun not exactly intended lmao. on how his real family was and how they treated him

i dont think glass brother is the same brother as kenneth, since salad fingers interacts with them completely differently

kenneth is a corpse that salad fingers projects a personality on and speaks for, while glass brother seems independent and malicious toward him. i think he had a good relationship with kenneth (so, when salad fingers imagines that he’s here, it’s cause for celebration and he’s projecting onto something inert and “safe”) and also had another brother (who was probably his twin) who bullied him and acted violently, so when that trauma resurfaces, he hallucinates a vicious Other that he cannot control or speak for.

it also tracks that the abusive brother was his twin - he sees himself reflected in the mirror, and something in his own face reminds him of that lost brother until it “becomes” him

he refers to kenneth as his younger brother, and sees him as a being that does not look like him, while glass brother is literally his reflection, so it would make sense if he had one identical twin and one younger brother

ive seen theories that he had a real sister named bordois too, but i think him calling the bug “little sister” was just. a term of endearment or one of his little odd language quirks, he seemed to be talking to it more like a pet than like a sibling

theory: regarding mable

- ok people are saying salad fingers killed mable at the picnic but i Really Don’t Think He Did

we never see him acting out violently when he gets scared. he tends to try to escape situations that stress him out, he shrinks, he cries, he goes into his cupboard (which is. incredibly upsetting given the fact he was almost definitely abused by his family)

he takes on a kind of Authoritative Tone often, he gets sort of ruffled up and disdainful toward things, but that’s not what he does when he’s scared

when he’s actually distressed (rather than irritated) he tends to break down and retreat. this includes when other independent beings act in ways that unsettle and upset him

so i dont know where the “he freaked out and killed her” idea is coming from. he suddenly goes from outside at the picnic to having a breakdown in his house so. he most likely just ran

i think the Only time we see him act out violently is when he decides he has to punish marjory for not getting a haircut like he asked - he tears her hair out, but for me that scene was particularly concerning because it was so unlike him. that was an anger response, not a fear response, though, and he tends to be harsher toward things that he’s actually controlling (I don’t think we ever see him decide to Discipline something that was independent from him other than the horses, and he didnt hurt them)

ordinarily when something irritates him he just goes “hmph! so distasteful. how rude. i shan’t have this behavior, you know” but doesn’t really actually do anything about it, and moves on

anyway we never see mable again so i think either he freaked out and ran away and she just didn’t come back, or he scared her and she ran away, or both

there’s a dress visible briefly when salad fingers is making his Flesh Boy which could be mable’s (he did comment he liked it) but it’s not 100% clear, and that doesn’t necessarily mean he KILLED her for it. she could have changed into something else and left it somewhere and he found it. she could have died under unrelated circumstances, and salad fingers found her - he doesn’t comprehend death, so. probably he decided they’ve made amends now and she’s given him her dress as a token of friendship, or something

i dont think it really looks that significantly like hers but the fact that it stands out so distinctly from the rest of the Pile could mean something

but i just feel like if he had killed her we would’ve seen her corpse again, he doesn’t have a concept of murder, or death at all, or consequences, and his memory doesn’t hold out that consistently, so if he killed her, he probably would have calmed down later and then forgotten what he did and came up with a new way to explain the corpse in front of him - oh, how rude of me, mable’s here dozing right off and i havent even offered her a blanket. let’s get you to bed

like, he probably would have dragged her home with him, with the intention of being a good friend/host to his guest, not understanding what happened. he kept milford cubicle around a really long time

it wouldn’t be like him to have any concept of hiding the evidence

speaking of milford

theory: regarding milford cubicle

salad fingers keeps milford’s corpse around until it starts rotting, and then after a very confusing series of events, the corpse is suddenly a skeleton, which surprisingly alarms salad fingers considerably, and then he goes out to find a whole bunch of himselves eating various bits of gore. they give him a present, which is a hat very clearly made of milford’s skin

my conclusion: salad fingers, in some kind of dissociative fugue state, skinned and ate the remains of milford cubicle himself and turned the remaining skin into a hat. he also saves some of it to make hubert cumberdale (the real boy) later as well, probably forgetting where it came from. he does not realize he’s done this or remember doing it, so his scrambled mind tries to make sense of it with other selves eating unknown flesh, and a lovely hat appearing (which he doesn’t seem to notice is made of flesh)

you can also see milford’s original name tag in the drawer later on when he’s building the flesh boy, so. he kept that after the mysterious disappearance of milford’s flesh, apparently. more evidence that that skin is probably also his

some other scattered thoughts regarding the most recent string of episodes and salad fingers’ mental state:

ive been trying to figure out what the fuckhell happened with the yvonne incident and everything that happened in the birthday episode

im really concerned for salad fingers’ health and mental state, as it seems to be deteriorating

some yvonne theories ive seen:

1. he ate the burned corpse of the kid who died in the oven, and it made him very sick, which ultimately resulted in a charred mass he couldn’t digest - he steadily gets worse, until his body finally ejects it (yvonne’s “birth”) and after that his health starts to recover again. since the oven incident happens really early on, all the times he mentions his stomach being upset after that until he becomes deathly ill would make sense, so i think this is plausible

2. the hair he found in the cupboard was actually a parasitic worm that grew in his stomach after he ate it and became yvonne. i think this is Possible, it is a really strangely wormy looking hair, but it doesn’t move and he mentions stomach pains before this, so it seems less likely to me

3. i also saw the concept that salad fingers is a trans man who suffered a miscarriage at some point in his past and yvonne represents that, and i can definitely see where the idea is coming from but i do think something really physically happened to him in the present time, i dont think it was all a trauma-based hallucination, since the yellow guy reacts to the black ooze and something was definitely making him severely ill

so. i Don’t Know what the fuck that was about but i think the burnt corpse theory makes the most sense

on that note: there’s a lot of cannibalism imagery in salad fingers

we have no IDEA where he’s getting food from. im pretty sure its been confirmed that he is Not a zombie, we see him bleed, pass out, sleep, etc so it seems like he must be a living person who has ordinary needs. but we see him eat... his own puppets. hairs. sand. the soup glass mother instructed him to make, which made him very sick. he has a working oven but doesn’t seem to have consistent access to water. he had a fish somehow but who knows where it came from. it’s very likely he doesn’t get food often and some of his hallucinations and mood swings could be caused by starvation (and when he does eat, it’s things that are outright inedible or probably not good for him)

the burned corpse disappears and is never mentioned again (though salad fingers is very sick afterward). milford’s flesh disappears and salad fingers violently hallucinates multiple selves gorging themselves on unknown flesh

and what concerns me the most about that is that he loses a lot of time in that episode

he passes out in the woods and when he wakes up, it looks like a shit ton of time has passed

we don’t know how much is reality and how much is his warped perception, but it looks like a tree has grown and his physical condition has deteriorated

he looks really, really unhealthy and haggard for the rest of the episode

i think he had a huge dissociative episode and lost possibly weeks of time, probably due to starvation, and he ate milford cubicle and very possibly other people as well

so my question is. how often does this happen to him

and what happens to him during that state? does he become violent and dangerous without being aware of it when he returns to himself again? or has he just been ravenously scavenging corpses when he gets desperate enough?

its possible dr papanak is another personality he has, one that’s “buried out in the woods” that he becomes when he’s in a really, really bad mental and physical state

he looks much better in the next episode (though that’s also when he has his outburst with marjory. could be that he’s still staving off the violent urges/hasn’t fully come back to himself after the last incident) and I’m really hoping the fact that he was able to finally stand up to his family (at least in some sense) and smash the mirrors could mean he’s making steps toward recovery after whatever the hell all that was

there’s not really much space to do anything with his life or get much help given the circumstances but watching him slowly losing himself even more is Awful :(

i hope we get more episodes im so desperate for more information now

lastly, some random observations

i tried to read this newspaper and it looks like it’s actually written in french, which is interesting given that salad fingers seems to be british (but fond of france, and seems to speak french or at least knows one phrase)

i wonder where he got this, or whether it ever meant something significant to him

theres a lot of evidence that he can’t read (takes no notice of the “harry” nametag and immediately names him something else, “reads” a letter that is actually a newspaper clipping in another language he’s holding upside down, “writes” a letter that is just scribbles) so i dont think he learned his one french phrase from this or anything but, still. vaguely interesting. maybe he has been to france before and brought this back with him for some reason. maybe he’s actually in post apocalyptic france and was just originally from england. We Don’t Know

theres a weird little face in the. heater? whatever that is in the background for a second and i dont like it

salad fingers leaves horace in charge, but then sees him (as a live horse) in the woods, but then comes back to find him both still on the shelf (as a toy) and in the room (as a live horse, now with his, uh, surgery scars) but doesn’t seem to notice this and doesn’t comment on it

i dont know what the hell that means other than possibly his reality is even less consistent and logical than usual/a reflection on his mental state deteriorating

#salad fingers #pinned #media analysis

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bangtanloverboys · 3 years ago

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found again // jhs

summary - forever was a very long time to be alone, but it was the safeest way to save yourself the heartache of losing loved ones. despite that, you still find yourself falling in love with hoseok

pairing - hunter!hoseok x immortal female!reader

genre - fluff, angst; reincarnation au

word count - 5.0k

warnings - strangers to lovers, hisorical inaccuracies, reader is centuries old, takes place in late 1700s, “i can fix that”, falling in love, kissing, proposal, mentioning of harming self, major character death, dogs die, im sorry everything i write of hoseok is sad but happy ending!!

author’s note - another fic inspired by ABC Forever, because i love the concept and i miss it

After nearing three centuries of life, one would think they’d get used to being alone. To the quiet still air of an empty home, void of a family. But it never did, you could never get used to it. It wasn’t that you purposefully chose to live a life of solitude, but rather found it the best way to live. If you were alone, you couldn’t get hurt. With no roots, it made moving from place to place easier. The only thing that got you through it all was thinking back on your family.

They were long gone by now, but that didn’t change the fact you still thought of them often. More than once, you would dream of what they would have thought with each place. How your mother would move every bit of furniture until it looked just right, how your father would go on about how far it was from the village, or how your little sisters would run about the cabin entirely, claiming it was perfect.

Several times you would get so caught up in your daydreams, you would even call out to them, only for your voice to die out before their names could even fully fall past your lips. Each time you’d wince at your own foolishness, before sighing, returning to the task you were doing.

That was simply how you lived until the day that Hoseok arrived.

You were deep into the woods, picking wild berries when a rustling was heard from across the clearing you were in. Cautiously, you made your way over to the rustling bushes. Right as you were about to peek behind them, a young man popped out from behind them. You let out a scream as you stumbled back, tripping over your skirt and sending you tumbling into the dirt.

“Oh my- I’m so sorry!” The young man spoke as he rushed over to you, helping you back to your feet.

“What were you doing? Were you watching me?!” You exclaimed, pushing him away from you as soon as you stood up.

“No! I promise. I was hunting when my dogs stopped.” It was then you were suddenly aware of the two dog heads that poked out from the branches. “I thought they caught a scent of maybe a deer but uh, seems like they found you,” he chuckled nervously, before his eyebrows shot up. “Where are my manners, I’m Hoseok,” he said, holding his hand out for you.

You stared at it for a moment, before you gave him your name, placing your hand in his. Your hand in his grip, he raised your knuckles to his lips for a kiss.

“Pleasure to meet you.” You swore your face grew hot at those words. It had been years since any man had shown you any sort of affection, even if it was the smallest bit. “What are you doing out here?”

“I- uh, berries.” You gestured to your basket that you left across the clearing. “Collecting some for a pie.” You’re unsure why you felt nervous all of a sudden, but with Hoseok’s gaze on your, it made it difficult to not feel shy.

“Berry pie? Oh that sounds delicious.”

Before you could even comprehend what you were thinking, you found yourself asking, “Would you like some?”

“Pardon?” He furrowed his brows at you.

“I mean,” you cringed at yourself before you started over, “would you like to come over? It should only take a few hours?”

A smile lit up his face, and you swear you don’t think you’ve ever seen a more beautiful smile. “I would love that.” The both of you walked across the field, picking up your basket as you reentered the forest, heading into the direction of your cottage. Glancing behind you, you saw the two bloodhounds following close on his heels. No doubt noticing how you kept glancing behind him, he introduced them. “Their names are Mickey and Ann.”

“They’re beautiful,” you complimented.

The rest of the journey back to your cottage was in silence, but it was not uncomfortable. Reaching your small little property, you felt uneasiness wash over you as you motioned to your small cottage. It was already several years old by the time you moved into it, windows didn’t shut right and it took a couple nudges to fully close the door; but it was home. If Hoseok thought any less of it, he didn’t say anything, besides ordering the two dogs to stay put at the front door.

Once inside, you began to prepare the pie crust. On occasion, you’d glance up at Hoseok who was staring at the small things you had collected over your life, mainly assorted coins from each country you visited and a few books. Picking one of them up, he began to flip through it.

“Do you actually understand this?” He asked, gesturing to the words on the page.

“Italian? Yes.” No doubt it was probably one of the first languages you learned when you discovered your affliction. Over the past few centuries, you found out you had quite the knack for picking up languages.

“You must’ve had some fancy schooling,” he whistled as he set the book down.

“Not really,” you flushed as you kneaded the dough. “Just knew someone who taught it to me.”

“Family?” He asked.

You shook your head no. A small Italian artist took you under her wing for a handful of years, deeming you her muse. In return for being the source of her inspiration, she taught you her language.

“Where is your family?”

The question had you cease your kneading. You should have known the question would’ve been asked at some point or another. Not to mention, you were somewhat of an enigma to the nearby village. A young well read woman from far away living in a small abandoned cottage, what could you possibly be doing all the way out here? No one ever said anything to you about it, but you knew they certainly thought something of it, judging by the stares you received when you’d walk into town. If he’d ever been, there was a strong possibility he knew of you already.

“Gone,” you answered, resuming your kneading. “Just me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry about that.” His voice was soft as he apologized, like he regretted asking.

“Not your fault, they’ve been gone for a while.” A long while.

The comfortable silence was gone, replaced with an air of tension. Like a string held so taught that the smallest movement would cause it to snap. The topic of your family always stung, no matter how much time had passed.

Quite possibly wanting to ease the awkward atmosphere he created, Hoseok quietly made his way over to you in your small kitchen. Standing beside you, he smiled.

“What can I do to help?”

Pushing down the butterflies that had erupted in your stomach, you stepped to the side and handed him the basket of wildberries you collected. “Make the filling?”

The rest of the afternoon consisted of both of you struggling to make the pie. Hoseok apparently wasn’t all that good with following directions as whenever you turned your back to do something, he would try and sneak a nibble at the filling. On occasion, he’d inquire about your knowledge of languages; curious to learn different phrases. It was only when you put the pie in the oven did Hoseok finally cease his linguistic questions. Sitting on a stool, you allowed yourself to catch your breath as you watched the young hunter, who’s gaze was fixated on your roof.

You were well aware of the shape your cottage was in, due to its old age it was in constant need of repairs. The most important one being the leaks in the roof, thankfully it was the dry season so you didn’t have to go about fixing them just yet, but you knew you’d have to get to it eventually.

“I can fix that.” He gestured up to the roof.

“Can you really?” You raised a brow at him.

“Consider it my way of repaying you for the pie.”

And that was the beginning of your friendship with Hoseok. He’d stop by every other day, tools in hand and work on sealing up your roof. A few times, he’d even bring in a few of his kills, offering it to you to make some dinner. Each time you refused, but he always insisted.

“A lady needs her food.”

A little over a week had passed and Hoseok finished the roof. It was then you realized how badly you hated being alone. You’d missed having someone to talk to, to cook for. Having grown so used to his presence in that week, you pointed to the old busted chicken coop that resided on your property. It had been empty since you’d moved in and you thought having fresh eggs from a nice chicken coop would be nice. Without hesitating, he agreed to fix the coop. And your front door, and your windows, and your fence. Each time he completed something, you found something new for him to fix.

While he worked on repairs, you’d either read or cook up dinner, not only for you and him, but for his dogs as well. Mickey and Ann were complete sweethearts, waiting patiently by the front door for their owner to come in and join you all for food. When he was working on your windows, more than once you saw him peeking through as you sat at your kitchen table reading as Mickey laid his head on your lap.

Eventually, the cottage was practically brand new. There was nothing else to be fixed and you had to prepare yourself to say goodbye to Hoseok. Your heart ached as he walked away from your home for the last time, his dogs trailing behind him. The following morning, you resumed your usual chores and activities; tending to your (new) chickens, work in your garden, and reread your books.

You’d been fighting off tears all day, and it was as you were preparing supper that the tears began to fall. Perhaps it was foolish of you to get attached to him anyways. No matter what would have happened, it would’ve turned out the way it usually did: with you disappearing.

A knock on your door, pulled you from your thoughts. For a moment you were confused, no one ever from the village ever came up to visit, you wondered what could’ve happened. Quickly, you wiped the tears from your eyes and made your way over to the door, where the unknown visitor knocked away.

“Coming, I’m coming!” You called as you swung the door open, revealing- “Hoseok?”

The young man was at your door, a handful of freshly killed quails in hand, and both hounds standing behind him, panting happily. “What, I’m not late am I?”

“No, no,” you shook your head, “that’s not it at all. I just- I wasn’t expecting you?”

“Why wouldn’t you be expecting me? I thought we had a nice little arrangement going on?” He questioned.

“We did, but I have nothing else for you to fix so I assumed-”

“Y/N,” he cut you off. Cupping your cheek, you had no choice but to look up into his sweet, adoring face. “I thought it was pretty obvious you wanted me around for some other reason besides being your handyman.”

Feeling your face grow hot, you slowly nodded.

He chuckled at you softly, his eyes never leaving yours. “So is it alright, I come over for supper?”

“Of course,” you breathed out. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so happy in so long.

So the two of you fell into a routine of sorts, he would stop by some meat for you to cook for your supper. Over the meal, you’d catch up on your day to day activities. By the time the food was gone, and you were with full bellies, Hoseok would excuse himself.

“Goodnight, I’ll see you in the morning,” was what he would say as he left your cottage for his own home, somewhere in town. A few times you’d stayed up so late that it was well past midnight, so you offered him your place for the night. Purely because you didn’t want him out so late, but each time he refused; saying it wouldn’t be right.

Slowly, your dinner meetings would begin happening in the day time. The last few days of summer were upon you and you wanted to spend it with Hoseok, having a picnic with him.

You dragged him up a tall grassy hill, basket full of bread, cheese, and jam. He laughed as he allowed you to pull him up towards the top, Mickey and Ann trailing behind at his heels, barking happily. Hoseok allowed the dogs to wander around the area, occasionally calling them back if they went too far.

All set up, you both sat down and enjoyed your lunch. It wasn’t long after you finished that you scooted closer to him, and closer until your hands were almost touching. You were about to slip your hand underneath his when Hoseok’s hand moved, taking your’s and placing it in his. His hands were rough to the touch, small calluses riddled his palms. A smile playing on your lips, you rested your head on his shoulder.

Neither of you moved for hours as you watched the day go by from that little spot on the hill, relishing in the late summer sun. Out of all the years you lived, you had to think that that moment there was the most peaceful. There was no need to run, no overwhelming sense of loss, just you and Hoseok.

“What was your family like?” He questioned.

Taking a deep breath, you began talking about your late family. “My father was a miller, he’d often take me on his runs to deliver flour, giving me a little sack to carry as well,” you smiled fondly at the memory, the villagers chuckling at you as you teetered behind him. “When I was even younger, I used to lay down by the fire and watch my mother sew. . . scolding me for growing up so fast.”

“Did you have any siblings?”

“I had two younger sisters, parents weren’t able to have anymore after the youngest,” you sighed, remembering how hard your parents tried. “They adored flowers, wanting to cover the cottage we lived in with honeysuckle and wild flowers.” Your vision started to get blurry as tears welled up in your eyes.

“They sound wonderful,” Hoseok murmured.

“Yeah, they were. . .” You sighed, blinking back the tears.

“Hey,” he pulled his shoulder away to look at you. “You’re okay, it’s okay.” Hoseok’s hand moved to cup your cheek, brushing the stray hairs from your face. “Your parents are looking down on you, so proud of the woman you are today.”

Meeting Hoseok’s eyes, you’re overwhelmed with the love and adoration pouring from his gaze. Never in your three hundred years had a person ever looked at you that way. As much as you wanted to give into his love, you were scared of the inevitable. One day Hoseok would begin to age and he would notice you still look the same as the day you met. He would grow old before your eyes, leaving you no choice but to leave him broken hearted. To love him would be selfish of you.

The sound of his voice calling your name pulled you from your spiral. You watched as his eyes flickered down to your lips for a moment, before he slowly leaned in. For the first time ever time felt like it stood still. There was no inevitable ticking clock, no fear or thoughts of the future. Just you and Hoseok, on that grassy hill on a late August day.

You should’ve known better than to have let him kiss you, as you knew as soon as you felt his lips on yours, there was no way you’d be able to let him go. Being alone for so many years, perhaps this time you could allow yourself to be selfish. One day you’d tell him about your curse, but until that day came, you were going to let yourself be with him.

As the seasons changed, your relationship with Hoseok only grew stronger. He’d visit you daily, bringing gifts of flowers, baked goods, and other assorted courting gifts. The two of you would spend all day together, reading or he’d help you take care of your chickens. Each night, he would leave, despite your insistence on him spending the night.

“I’m courting you, let me do this right,” he whispered once as he kissed you goodnight.

While you appreciated the sweet sentiment, he should’ve known your relationship was anything but orthodox. If your mother was still around, she surely would’ve been scandalized to hear you kissed him before you even married him. In fact the more you thought about it, the more horrified your mother would be at what you’ve done before marriage. But despite everything you may have done in the past, everything with Hoseok felt like a first.

Whenever Hoseok was with you, never did it feel like time was passing. Like it was only the two of you in your own little bubble of the world, frozen in time. Thoughts of your curse were far from your mind, but each time he left for the night, you knew you had to tell him eventually.

As the days grew colder, that ache you felt in your heart only became more apparent. Soon, you’d think to yourself, I’ll tell him soon. But it couldn’t come soon enough.

Snow soon covered the land, leaving you and Hoseok nothing much but to huddle yourselves inside your cottage. Both of you were huddled in front of your fireplace, desperate to keep warm. Hoseok’s dogs were curled up beside you as well, Mickey’s head resting on your lap as you lazily stroked his fur with one hand. You were rereading one of your novels, simply enjoying the warmth of the fire when you could feel Hoseok’s eyes on you. It wasn’t uncommon that he would stare at you as you did any sort of task, but there was something different about him. Behind his eyes, there was a particularly soft warm glow, making your body feel a thousand times more warmed than the heat of the fire in front of you.

“What are you staring at me like that for?” You finally asked, setting your book down.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”

Within an instant you felt your cheeks warmed by his words. “Yes,” you responded shyly, avoiding meeting his eyes.

Scooting closer to you, he took the book out of your hand, placing it off to the side. Both hands now free, he took them in his as he said your name. “I don’t know how else to say this but, I love you. I don’t know exactly when I fell for you, but I don’t think I ever want to stop.” Removing one hand from yours, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a delicate copper band.

A gasp escaped your lips as he held out the ring for you.

“It would give me the greatest pleasure, if you were to be my wife.”

“Yes,” you whispered. “Yes, yes!” You repeated as he slipped the ring onto your finger. Not even looking at it, you threw your arms over his shoulders. Unprepared for your sudden movement, you both went tumbling to the floor, the dogs whined as they rushed to move away from your colliding bodies. You pressed your mouth to his, smiling into it as he returned your kiss.

Until that moment, all your kisses had been brief. Fleeting kisses of hellos and goodbyes, never lasting more than a second. This kiss was different. His hands held your gently at your hips, keeping you in place on top of him. A fire ignited deep in you as you kissed him, you didn’t want to let him go now, not tonight. Keenly, you began peppering Hoseok’s entire face with kisses. His grip on you tightened as your lips traveled lower along the side of his jaw, nibbling at his neck.

“Wait,” his words came out in a groan. Calling your name, you only responded by moving back up to his lips, wanting to kiss him again. “No, not yet.”

“Hoseok, please,” you whined, breathless from the kiss.

“I know, I know, my love,” he panted as his hand came up to cup your face. “It’s getting late,” he sighed, noticing how dark the sky was outside once you were both sitting up again.

“You could stay the night,” you offered once again. Before he could protest, you continued. “Besides, we’re engaged now. What difference would it make?”

Hoseok rolled your eyes at the logic. “The difference is I would like my first time with you, to be with you as my wife.”

“You’re such a romantic,” you huffed as he stood up, gathering his things for him to leave.

Once all his things were together, he lowered his head down, kissing you one last time. “Goodnight, my love. I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that, Hoseok and his dogs left just like they would any other night.

You stared at the door, waiting for the faint crunches of his footsteps in the snow to disappear. Now alone, you knew you had to tell him. Hopefully his love for you would trump any doubts he would have. While you could try to hurt yourself as proof, you doubt he’d want to see you harmed. Death was a jarring thing, no matter if you were to come back or not. Regardless of the outcome, you knew you’d tell him tomorrow.

The following day, you got up like you would any other. You got yourself dressed, and began your daily activities. Everything was the way it normally was, but something felt off. You couldn’t place what was, but you knew deep down that something wasn’t right.

Covering yourself with a thick shawl, you made your way over towards your chicken coop. Picking out the eggs from your hens, ready to make something for breakfast. Once you had enough, you made your way back over to your house. It was then you heard barking.

Turning your head, you saw the familiar faces of Mickey and Ann, but there was no Hoseok. Setting the basket down, you lowered yourself to the ground, ready to greet the hounds.

“Hey, hey,” you cooed as you pet the dogs, both of them clearly very distressed. “What’s going on? Where’s Hoseok?” As the mention of his name, Mickey barked at you while Ann whined, pulling at your skirts.

“Excuse me, miss.” A new voice called from across the way. Looking up, recognizing the face as the innkeeper. You’d seen him a few times in town and Hoseok spoke of him often, as he had been renting one of his rooms the past few months. “You knew Hoseok, correct?”

“He’s my fianceé,” you responded cautiously as you straightened up. You hugged your shawl tighter around you as the innkeeper’s eyes saddened at your words. “Why? What happened?”

“I’m very sorry for your loss, miss.”

“What?” That moment, you could’ve sworn your heart stopped. Deep down, you wish it did. No, Hoseok couldn’t be gone. It couldn’t be. You wanted to accuse the innkeeper of lying, or perhaps he mistook someone for Hoseok. But the look in his eyes was clear: Hoseok was dead.

A ringing started in your ears as you stumbled back into your cabin, the dogs following after you. Barely able to hear any other word the innkeeper might’ve said, but it didn’t matter anyways. Hoseok was gone. There couldn’t be anything else to be said.

Alone once again in your home, you collapsed onto the ground. Opening your mouth, a deafening wail passed your lips. You had died a number of times by now; you’d been poisoned, stabbed, hung, shot, drowned. You’ve felt almost every measure of pain there was, but nothing compared to the pain you felt when you’d lost your beloved Hoseok.

You became a ghost of yourself after that day. Simply going through the motions of each day. Your only company was Mickey and Ann, who too missed their late owner. They were your only comfort, knowing that taking care of them was something Hoseok would’ve wanted you to do. Every night, they slept on your bed, curled up beside you as you lazily pet their aging bodies.

Ann was the first to die. 10 years have passed since you lost Hoseok. You’d moved out of that cottage a few years prior, knowing it was only a matter of time before the village had caught on to your affliction. The move was particularly hard on the two hounds, not wanting to move far from the only town they’d ever known. But you had no choice. It became very apparent that Ann wished to return, always sleeping by the door, hoping you’d change your mind. That’s how you found her one spring morning, lying quietly by the door, having passed in her sleep.

You buried her in your garden, under a bed of roses.

Having lost both his sister and Hoseok, Mickey followed soon after. He rarely left your bed, only getting up to eat or to go outside. It was only three months later did you bury him beside Ann.

The only reminder you had left of Hoseok was the ring on your finger. You rarely took it off your finger, fearing that one day you might forget it or Hoseok. Often you’d find yourself staring at the copper band. It was simple, bearing no special engravings or jewels, but it became your most prized possession.

Unfortunately, time didn’t stay still for you to wallow in your misery. You had to keep moving forward. But as time moved on, so did the world around you. It was strange how fast technology advanced, but as helpful as it was to the people around you, it became your worst nightmare. It became harder and harder to disappear, small towns and far away cabins no longer felt like the safe haven they once were. Which was how you found yourself deep in the city.

It was strange how easy it was to disappear, to simply become another face in the crowd. No one spared you a second glance, no matter how many times you may have seen them over the years, no one recognized you and your lack of aging. As long as you kept to yourself, you managed to stay hidden in plain sight.

Off the corner of 3rd street, you had your own little hole in the wall bookstore. You purchased the store from a sweet old couple a few years back, it was a quaint little bookshop, already having its own group of loyal customers. On occasion, you would get a few new faces, but it was usually the same ones everyday.

Until today when you saw a face you hadn’t seen in almost 300 years.

Per your usual morning routine, you were taking inventory of the store when you heard the bell over the front door ring. “I’ll be with you in just a moment!” You called out, trying to finish the last few rows of books. Finished, you made your way back towards the front of the store, dusting your hands off. “Well, is there anything I can help you with-” You stopped dead in your tracks as you saw the man you had entered your store. His eyes were cast downwards and he looked over the titles of the front shelves. Hearing your arrival, familiar dark eyes faced you.

“I’m just browsing,” he said, lips curling into a smile you swore you almost forgot.

In front of you, was Hoseok. It was, had to be. He looked every bit the same as that cold winter night when you last saw him. Your mouth opened and closed several times, before you finally gained your senses.

“Well, just, let me know if there’s anything specific you had in mind,” you responded, smiling as you spun around on your heel, wanting to make a break for your back office.

“Actually, there might be something.”

Swallowing thickly, you turned back to face him. “Oh?”

“I’m thinking of getting into cooking, do you have any cookbook recommendations?” He asked.

“Y-yeah, follow me.” Quickly, you walked over towards your cookbook section, feeling his eyes on you as you walked him over to the shelves. Dragging your fingers over the spines, you pulled out the one you were looking for. It was an older copy, you recognized from the late 80s. Inside were recipes of different types of baked goods and other dishes. “This one, I think I’ve made just about everything in it twice,” you said, pulling it off the shelf and handing it to him.

As the man flipped through the pages, you found yourself fiddling with the ring that now hung around your neck. Long ago, you strung a chain through it, nearly losing it down the drain. You stared at him in front of you, still not able to wrap your head around it. After nearly six hundred years, you don’t think you’ve ever seen the same face twice. Maybe this was your second chance with him, to start over again. But at the same time, you knew it would be foolish. The man in front of you was a complete stranger, not Hoseok. For all you know, he could be completely different than your long lost fianceé.

Shutting the book, he nodded. “This is perfect.”

Shaking you from your thoughts, you nodded. “Great. I’ll ring you up over here.” Walking back towards the cash register, you both fell into a silence as you rang him up. “Alright, here you go,” you smiled, handing him the book.

“Thank you so much.” Cookbook and receipt in hand, he made his way towards the front door. He couldn’t go just yet, there was something you needed to know.

“Wait!” You called out right as he placed his hand on the door. “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your name?”

That brilliant smile played on his lips again as he responded. “Jung Hoseok.”

#btsghostie #jung hoseok x reader #hoseok x reader #hoseok fluff #bts x reader #bts fluff #hoseok fanfic #hoseok angst #bts angst

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mimik-u · 3 years ago

Text

Togetherness

Summary: The aftermath of Steven transforming into a huge reptilian monster brings back old memories for Pearl, who remembers another time Steven was scared so many years ago.

A/N: This piece was written for the Pearl-focused I am a Pearl! mini-zine a couple of months ago! It was a great opportunity to get to explore Pearl's mind space after the events of "I am My Monster" and how her friendship with Greg has evolved over the years. ;w; Thanks to the mods for a great zine experience! <3

AO3 Link / Zine Tumblr Link / @iamapearlzine

—

Steven is sixteen years old when he erupts into a scaly, pink monster—fifty-foot tall and inconsolable.

Everyone tells him that they love him, but because words are rarely ever enough, they show him that they do; they embrace him; they hold him; they press their fingertips into his reptilian skin. His scales are cold and sharp against Pearl’s palms, keratin hard and impenetrable. She tells him that he shouldn’t have to keep anything from her, all the while burning with shame that he’s kept so much from her.

He’s felt responsible for her fragility and loved her enough to tiptoe around the Diamond in the room.

His mother.

His mother and the complicated history between them.

The love.

The torture.

The grief.

The love.

(Because what is grief after all but a manifestation of love? A reminder, its echo, and its painful, lingering, lovely ghost.)

Connie kisses Steven, very lightly, very softly, and he falls from the sky, a boy again.

Pearl wraps him in a blanket.

Garnet carries him into the wreckage of their home.

And approximately one hour later, they’re all standing on the deck, waiting for Priyanka Maheswaran to finish her professional assessment of him as the sun sinks into a honey-colored sea.

Pearl cradles her face in her hands, elbows sinking into the railing, trying to retrace every missed sign in the blackness of her own head. She sees his skin glowing pink in the darkness—at the Reef, in Little Homeworld, just moments ago in the living room…

So many flares in the night.

And Pearl had watched them all fizzle.

—

Steven is six years old when he moves into the newly minted beach house, and he tells Greg that he’s afraid of the silence. Nearly all of his life, he’s been surrounded by noise—the gentle rumble of the van’s motor, the susurrant murmur of the sea, wind, rain, buskers playing guitars on the Boardwalk, the whoosh of the rollercoasters at Funland.

His dad’s snores echoing off the tin ceiling.

His dad’s laughter.

His softly-sung lullabies, too.

The beach house is really quiet at night, Steven tells Greg who tells the Gems, and he doesn’t like that…

He’s trying really hard to like it, though.

Maybe things’ll get better next week.

Pearl never looks at Greg as he delivers this news, tapping her fingers against the side of her leg as she sits at the kitchen table, ankles primly crossed. He stands in the doorway—right beneath Rose’s painted image—wringing his hands and looking too awkward to be allowed. She resents him for this—for his awkwardness, for his intrusion into their lives, and for everything else, too.

(Namely for Rose.)

She inwardly knows that she’s being unfair.

That loathing a person on the basis of his existence is morally suspect.

Wrong.

But what are rightness and wrongness to emotions? To the sheer primality of grief?

Grief is irrational, she rationalizes to herself—she self-justifies; it knows nothing of ethicality.

“Why didn’t Steman tell us this?” Amethyst asks, absently scratching her nose. “If it’s noise he wants, I got an old drum set he can knock himself out on.”

Pearl frowns, well-remembering the ten straight years Amethyst played the drums through the nineties. Rose loved it; Pearl spent many hours alone in her room to decompress.

“He’s still intimidated by you three,” Greg shrugs kindly. “And shy. You just have to give him reason enough to trust ya with stuff like this. Tucking him in at bed at night, y’know. Checking under the bed for monsters.”

“There aren’t monsters under his bed,” Garnet says, practical as ever. “They wouldn’t fit.”

Greg chuckles, running a flat hand across the back of his neck as he peers between the three gems. When he and Pearl lock eyes, she meets his stare coldly, her mouth pressed into a thin line.

“But Steven doesn’t know that,” he mumbles, glancing away, his cheeks flushing. “You gotta shine a flashlight down there and show him there’s nothing there.”

“Doesn’t that seem patronizing to you?” Pearl asks, taking little care to disguise the condescension in her voice. Across the room, Garnet’s visored stare finds her—blank, inscrutable, and arcane—but Pearl knows her fellow gem well enough to understand that this is chastisement, silent and brutal.

Arching a thin brow, she ignores Garnet.

She demands an answer from Greg.

“Maybe,” the man concedes, but when he acknowledges her gaze again, there’s a little defiance in his eyes, an edge in his scratchy voice. “But maybe not. That’s what being a parent is sometimes. Patronizing the kid! Playing along. Showing him that you’re listening to what he needs. Letting him know that you’re there… haven’t you ever been afraid before, Pearl?”

“No,” she protests immediately, bristling.

“Pssh,” Amethyst snorts. “Last week, you jumped ten feet in the air ‘cuz you saw a snake.”

“You did,” Garnet smiles wryly. “I was there.”

Pearl scoffs, trying and failing to ignore that her cheeks are suffused with blue blush…

… and that Greg is staring at her with an almost distinguishable emotion in his eyes.

If she didn’t know better, she would say it was pity.

—

Dr. Maheswaran tells them that Steven is okay; he’s tired and sore—transforming expended a lot of his energy—but he’s ready to see everyone now. She tells them to be quiet and to maybe go in one by one, so he doesn’t get too overwhelmed.

Firmly, she warns them that it’ll take more than a good night’s sleep for him to heal .

And she doesn’t mean physically.

“Here’s a number of a good therapist I know,” she says, placing a card in Pearl’s hand. “Her office opens at nine.”

Pearl folds her fingertips over the edges of the glossy card stock but doesn’t quite glance down to look at the name—too fixated on watching Greg stand in front of the doorway, palming the screen door as he seemingly steels himself to go in.

He’s aged so much in the twenty-something years that Pearl has known him—from his nearly bald head to the branching lines creasing the corners of his eyes—but for some reason, it is only now, in this ephemeral moment, that she realizes how old he is.

She doesn’t mean physically either.

As the others gather around Dr. Maheswaran, asking her questions, voicing their concerns, Pearl takes one deliberate step and then another.

—

Garnet tells Steven that it’s okay—there are no monsters under the bed—and when she shines a flashlight beneath the mattress, Amethyst is there, shapeshifted into a tiny kitten, purring at the child sweetly.

“See, dude?” She laughs, bounding out from beneath the bed. In an instant of blurred matter and color, she becomes herself again, her bangs sweeping inelegantly over her eye. “No monsters under the bed, only cute kittens.”

“Only kittens?” He repeats, grinning that famous gap-toothed smile that everyone adores. His legs are nearly swallowed by his oversized shirt.

“Kittens and dust bunnies,” Amethyst confirms, knuckling his curls playfully and smiling broadly when he laughs. “G’night, Steman.”

“Night, Amethyst!”

“Goodnight, Steven,” Garnet murmurs, lifting the six-year old into her arms and gently placing him onto the bed. She tucks him beneath the covers. She tenderly kisses him on the head.

“Nighty night, Garnet.”

And then it’s Pearl’s turn. Garnet and Amethyst head towards their temple rooms, and Pearl settles down on the edge of the comforter, balancing her left ankle on top of her right knee.

“Don’t forget about M.C. Bear Bear!” She teases softly, reaching over and placing the stuffed animal next to Steven’s arm. “He needs a snuggle buddy.”

Steven nods in agreement, his brow furrowed seriously over his eyes.

“Yep,” he says importantly. “I’ll be sure to hug him tight.”

“Excellent,” she says primly.

“Excellent,” he echoes playfully.

She lightly skims her knuckles across his soft cheek, smiling when he giggles a little, always ticklish…

… but then, when she withdraws her hand, letting it fall away from his face, the moment that immediately follows is quiet.

Too much so.

So quiet that Pearl can hear the softness of Steven’s breath, quiet enough that Greg’s words from earlier haunt her in the absence of noise.

Haven’t you ever been afraid before, Pearl?

Contrary to what Garnet and Amethyst may believe, she isn’t afraid of snakes —pestilent creatures though they are.

She’s surprised by snakes.

And afraid of much bigger things—five-thousand-year old secrets and equally ancient insecurities, for instance.

Six thousand years ago, after all, she was coded to believe that her highest order in life was to be a slave.

And sometimes—if only sometimes—she fears that her weaknesses were ingrained then, in the very moment she emerged from a shell and was called a pearl

One of so many.

Disposable.

Programmable.

Objectified.

Sometimes, she barely knows what it means to be herself, much less what it means to be a parent .

Indeed, Greg Universe of all people seems to have the idea down better than she ever could.

So, yes, Greg, she is afraid.

(Afraid of failing Steven.)

(Terrified that she’s already failed her. )

Patronize him, Greg suggested.

Play with him.

Show him that you’re listening.

Let him know that you’re there.

—

“Greg?”

Pearl places a light hand on Greg’s arm, startling him from his trance as he turns around to face her.

“Pearl!” He exhales, his breath coming in short bursts. “Y’scared me!”

“I’m sorry,” she says sincerely, not quite moving her hand away yet. His skin is warm beneath her fingertips, soft like wave-washed sand. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Yes,” he returns immediately, and then—taking one look at her imperiously raised brow—just as quickly rectifies himself. “No. I don’t know. I’m freakin’ terrified, Pearl. I feel like a failure of a parent. I don’t know what to tell him. But I gotta go in there anyway.”

He says it all very rapidly, as though he’s talking to himself.

Encouraging himself.

And putting himself down to do it.

“I’m his dad,” he concludes, his voice breaking, tears standing in his dark eyes. “I’m his dad, and I didn’t… I wasn’t there for him, and I should have—“

“ Shh, ” Pearl cuts across him gently, patting his arm as tears threaten to slide down her own face. “Shh. There are so many hypothetical should haves that we’ll all have to face soon when it comes to Steven. But not today, Greg .”

With her free hand, she conjures a tissue from her gem and hands it to him, unflinching and kind, even when he needs to wipe his nose.

“Today,” she murmurs, her voice inhibited, a hundred emotions thick, “we just let him know that we’re here.”

—

“Pearl?” Steven asks.

Pearl blinks rapidly, coming back to herself; she’d been lost in her own thoughts, nearly consumed.

“Hey,” she smiles, placing her hand on top of Steven’s own. His skin is so warm and soft; she absently wonders if her alienness feels sharp to him… hard… cold… “Here’s an idea—how about I sing you a lullaby before you go to sleep?”

“You know how to sing?” Steven’s eyes widen incredulously, his mouth shaping itself into a delighted smile.

“Don’t look so surprised,” she laughs playfully. “When we were younger, your mother and I used to sing all the time—hymns from our home planet and the like…”

A pause, infinitesimal, hesitant.

“...I could sing one for you if you’d like?”

“You could?” The child dares to be hopeful; the very emotion shapes the pitch of his question, the light in his eyes.

He has his mother’s eyes.

Dark and full of stars.

“I could,” Pearl repeats. “I’d sing as long as you wanted me to.”

“How about fooooorever?”

“Let’s just start with until you fall asleep,” Pearl laughs. “That’s a part of forever, yes? This moment?”

“If you say so, Pearl,” he wrinkles his nose skeptically.

“I know so, Steven.”

As she sings him to sleep in her mother tongue, Pearl admits that this must be something that Greg knows, too.

The importance of hereness to a child.

Togetherness on scary nights.

#pearl #steven universe #greg universe #amethyst #garnet #s: future #mimiku #gosh i loved writing this

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xseaxwitchxkpop · 4 years ago

Text

Have Your Cake and Eat It, Too

Yeah, I had no other idea for a title, lmao. Anyway this is part one of a two or three part series. I wanted to break it up because some people want a lead up to smut and some people do not. So this is like a lead up and part two will be the actual smut and a lot longer than this one. Alrighty, enough of my rambling.

Part Two // Part Three

Disclaimer: Everything is consensual, contains mommy kink, fem!reader, dom!reader, dom!Yunho, sub!San, tall!reader, clear communication is always key

Requested: NO

Group: ATEEZ -- San, Yunho

Word Count: 1,637

******************************

You were laying in the bed, San cuddled up under your chin and head nestled in your breasts while you pet his head and played with the hair on the back of his neck. He let out a sigh of content as you two basked in the comfortable silence after a relatively light sex session of stress relieve. You and San were friends with benefits, this arrangement starting about four months ago when he expressed interest in wanting to be dominated by a woman and trusting you to put it into action. “Sweetheart?” you whisper quietly, continuing to pet his head. He met you with a hum and burrowed himself further into your breasts, tightening his grip around your midsection, finding comfort in the protruding tummy you hated, which always broke his heart. “Do you have any wishes for your birthday? It’s a month away and while I like to think I know you well, I want to know what you want,” you asked him, anticipating his typical answer that consisted of nonchalance.There was a beat of silence before he mumbled out, “Whatever you think is best, mommy.”

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

A couple of days later, you contacted Yunho, knowing that San was close with him and Yunho being one of like four of the members you have an actual friendship with; he also knows about your arrangement with San because San has a tendency to overshare when he’s delusionally tired.

“Hey, Yunho, it’s Y/N. I need to know if San said anything to you about what he would want for his birthday...he hasn’t been direct with me. Call me when you have the time and are not within earshot of San.” You hung up after, hoping that when Yunho called you after the group’s practice session that he would have a definitive answer for you because you wanted to spoil San but weren’t sure how to go about doing that.

You returned to eating your sandwich, trying to eat relatively fast but not choke as you only had 15 minutes left of lunch and with it getting close to rush hour, you might not even have five minutes left.

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

A random TV show was playing on your TV and you were scrolling through social media on your cell when Yunho finally called you back around 7pm, and the conversation did not go to a place you anticipated at all.You pressed the green phone and put him on speaker as you turned off the TV.

“Yah, Yunho. You have an answer for me?”The man on the other side of the phone call hesitated a moment before letting out a nervous chuckle. “I don’t want to suggest anything bad, or at least, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable and overstep any boundaries between you and me. But uh….hmm….there is something he mentioned to me quite a while ago.”

You cocked your eyebrow, nervous and yet incredibly curious to where exactly Yunho was going with his answer. “Go on,” you responded. You could already imagine the blush dusting his cheeks and his hand hiding his mouth, the usual for when he gets nervous about anything.

“Well, ah, Sannie and I...hmm…” He stopped, debating if he should go on or if he should stop, especially because he had no idea how you would react and didn’t want to ruin the good thing he had with you. He wasn’t romantically interested in you, but he definitely was interested sexually; the problem was that both you and him are dominants and that would not play out very well in the bedroom with just the two of you...unless…

Fuck it. “Sannie has told me a couple of times that he wanted to try a threesome sometime...with two dominants. And, hmm, him and I have fooled around a few times and considering that...I wanna propose that maybe we can give him that?” Yunho ended on an unsure note, hoping that you would not react with outrage or get mad at him or anything else.

Your side of the line stayed silent, processing what Yunho just told you. San wanted a threesome...you were a dominant and Yunho was an incredibly attractive man who also happened to be dominant, a problem you realized when you found out he was such because you wanted to fuck him, too. This really did offer the perfect solution for the both of you.

“Alright, if you’re proposing that you and I fuck San’s brains out in the way he wants, we can also have fun with each other. I’m down,” you managed to tell him nonchalantly. Yunho breathed a sigh of relief.

“However,” you continued, in which he tensed up again, “I’m the one in charge, not you.” Yes, this was a jealous and competitive streak coming out, but you didn’t care. You also saw this as an opportunity to be a hard dom, something you don’t do often and part of the reason San went to you when he discovered his femdomme kink.

Yunho was intrigued by this part of the response and found it amusing. “How about I come over with food and we talk about it further before talking about it with San?” he asked, not being able to wait to make plans and discuss things because his puppy-like excitement wouldn’t let him. You laughed, adoring his impatience and agreed to him coming over with food.

That night was an extensive discussion of how to talk about it to San and what kinks you two are open to what were hard nos.

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

About a week before his birthday is when you and Yunho agreed to talk to San about the whole ordeal. About two weeks went by and in those two weeks, both of you were giddy with anticipation, nervous with uncertainty, and both doing loads of research about threesomes since it would be everyone’s first time in an orgy.

The day came and the plan was that Yunho was to bring San to your apartment and talk about it simply. However, you felt the need to include food as a comfort for both you and San as a way to ease any nerves that may arise.

The boys came by later in the early evening after practice and after you got off of work. Each of you settled around your coffee table, dishes and soju sitting on the table, waiting to be touched.

San looked at you and said, “Yunho said you wanted to talk to me about something and he wouldn’t tell me what; is everything okay?”

He looked at you with genuine concern and that hurt you a little but also annoyed you because Yunho was being his usual mischievous self. You looked at the male in question who smirked at you through his mouthful of black bean noodles, intentionally making you the one to start the conversation.

You turned your attention back to the shorted male, eyes still fixated on you in concern. “No, Sannie, nothing is wrong,” you reply, giving him a minute to relax before continuing. “Yunho and I talked about what I should get you for your birthday and we agreed to actually team up for your present from us.”

“Y/N, if it’s expensive Yunho should pay for it...he has enough money to,” San said jokingly, a slight chuckle leaving his lips as he proceeded to stuff his mouth with the meat you bought just for him.

A sigh left your lips before you forced yourself to answer, considering that Yunho was still doing everything in his power to not talk. You knew a part of this was because you demanded to be the one “in charge” and you hated how sneaky he could be.

So you decided to just bite the bullet. “No, San, I mean that Yunho and I want to have a threesome with you, if you’ll let us.”

The male stopped chewing for a moment, a little surprised by what you just said. He eyed you up and down, then turned his attention to Yunho and eyed him up and down, then turned back to you and hummed.

He finished chewing the food in his mouth, then swallowed, considering something for a moment. The room felt tense, but not in a bad way, holding its breath for San’s answer and contributing to your growing anxiety. The smaller male’s face split into a big smile, looking excitedly between you and Yunho. “You really want to?” he asked, hiding nothing about how he felt being asked this.

However, that was not the reaction you and Yunho were anticipating, but it was the best that could happen.

Now it was Yunho’s turn to answer. “Yes, Sannie. We didn’t really know how else to ask and I know you mentioned it a couple times and I figured since you trust us, it seemed an obvious perfect gift and a perfect time to do it.” Yunho sheepishly scratched behind his head, looking at San with a mix of embarrassment and nervousness.

You were taken aback in a good way, and now that you had nothing to worry about in terms of acceptance or denial, you wanted to get to setting boundaries and laying out the kinks with San involved. Low and behold, you whipped out a small notebook and pen you had hidden behind a throw pillow just in case it did go well.

Yunho looked at you and cocked an eyebrow, an amused smile dancing on his lips. “I guess we talk about what that night should entail, then.” The three of you let out soft giggles and continued to eat and drink into the night, the boys leaving after the discussion and helping clean, and you, going to bed but getting hardly any sleep out of excitement.

#ateez #lemon hours #fem!reader #plussize!reader #tall!reader #dom!reader #sub!idol #sub!ateez #sub!san #dom!yunho

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protectchara201x · 3 years ago

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(ignoring all the other juicy Deltarune 2 stuff to shove Chara Talks into it lololol)

I haven’t been super active on this blog because frankly I have like, three? looong analysis/theorycrafting posts I’ve been putting off working on and it fills me with shame to log in and see them waiting in my drafts.

But.

With the release of Deltarune Chapter 2, I wanted to talk kinda in general about how I thought it could impact the fandom’s perception of Everybody’s Favorite Demon Baby, and also point out something in specific about the Weird Route that might connect back to Undertale.

Putting it under the cut to avoid spoilers and long-winded ramblings for the unwilling. Includes spoilers for the Weird Route.

(NOTE: may update later if I notice more things for to put in section II. I’d like to make a full list of parallels if I can tidy them up.)

I. Pre- vs Post-Release Thoughts (you can skip down to II if you don’t care, it is genuinely Long and Pointless)

Okay, so first off. I got SO worried like, the day before the new chapter dropped? It hit me that whatever new stuff we got out of this, people would connect back to Undertale, and. Honestly, I really do hate connecting everything back to Chara, because I do think of Kris as their own character and I really like them and don’t want to ignore everything they got going on. But, I am first and foremost a shameless Chara stan and they’re very important to me, so I kinda... did spend a few minutes reeling from all the new DR stuff as its own stuff, and then immediately started thinking about how this would reflect back on Chara in Undertale lol.

But that’s ok for me to do here because this is my All Chara, Only Chara, All The Time blog, so I am gonna only really talk about Deltarune here to talk about them lol.

So yeah, I started getting anxious beforehand worrying about how everyone would take any and all implications and apply it to mean “aha, Chara IS evil!” The fakeout with the pie reveal in the anniversary stream was a big relief, but I still got worried leading up to the release about what could be in it.

Because part of why I’ve always thought that “Chara was genuinely evil from the start” and even “ok maybe not TOTALLY evil, but Chara was still a kinda bad person” were unlikely was, even if you throw out all the other popular Chara-sympathetic theories. To me, both these takes just seemed too below TF’s talent and the way he wrote all his other characters with depth and love; a Chara like the one these theories propose just doesn’t belong in a world created by TF, and the way the Dreemurrs talk about them overall, the way TF made a point of having Chara say they were guided and repeatedly, correctly blame you the player for the destruction in Kill-All, I was sure that he never intended them to ever be as bad as the fandom sometimes tried to make them out to be.

... Like, mostly sure. Like, 80% sure? Because he never ever talks about them, so it’s impossible say for sure, and it is still theoretically possible that “Chara was and is bad” was the cold-ass take he’d intended all along. So yeah, leading up to the release, I started getting antsy that whatever new lore came out of it, either he’d directly confirm “Chara was a villain?” “*cocks gun* Always has been” or there’d be something that’d at least heavily implicate them, or could be twisted to implicate them, as a negative force. More ammo to be used against them in the Chara Debate Circles would be a drag, and outright confirmation of them as a villain would honestly break my heart and I’d be forced to disown Toby Fox, My Beloved Cool Dad.

And, right now? Tell the truth, I’m SO relieved and I am SO happy. And not just because of how much depth and characterization it seems Kris is getting! (imo, because rn I just headcanon them as an unhappy teen desperately trying to keep their new friends going on adventures with them and trying to fight back against the player’s control)

I love how this chapter seems to be TF doing course-correcting based on fandom interpretations. Because Kris just isn’t evil, even if they are a knife teen, even if they are the Knight, they’re just NOT evil and that’s canon, baybeeee; it’s made clear in this chapter and the previous one that they love their family even outside of the player’s control, they care about their new friends even outside of the player’s control, they’re established as a weird creepy kid but no one sees them as scary or evil, they’re just Kris, and even in the Weird Route, TF made a point of hammering in the differences between Kris and the player in the Weird Route: Susie and Ralsei notice how distressed Kris seemed after you have Noelle ice Berdly, Noelle heard a voice that she said wasn’t Kris telling her to kill, and the FUCKING Spamton fight: “Kris called for help... but nobody came” again and again, and then “You whispered Noelle’s name”... you, not Kris.

I know TF has never commented much on fans’ perceptions of Frisk and Chara, or who exactly is pulling strings in different routes. But after all this, and especially after seeing all the little winks and nods to fandom jokes in this chapter (what comes to mind: pulling everyone’s leg by seeming to have Kris attack Toriel with a knife only to reveal that pie theory was right, Susie not liking Ralsei’s real face as much as his shadowed one, Ralsei with a gun getting referenced with the ad, Kris getting a joke fixation with knives after the fans made Chara and Kris have knife obsessions as a joke), and seeing what looks like him try to correct some things (what stuck out to me was doubling down on showing that Kris is loved and valued in their family: lots of fans came away from Chapter 1 thinking that Kris was not valued as much as Asriel, but here we see that Toriel is supportive of Kris’ friendship with Susie, and it’s stated that Asriel is the one who used the crappy controller, not Kris) -

I think while he hasn’t commented directly, while he admitted to being overwhelmed by Undertale’s success, while he tends to be pretty tight-lipped about the lore (whether that’s because it’ll be addressed by future chapters or because he prefers to let fans sleuth it out), this chapter convinced me that Toby does keep tabs on fan reactions in Deltarune, so he probably does with Undertale too and would know about all The Discourse surrounding Little Mx Pink Cheeks (and in turn, popular theories like Narrator Chara... Toby if you integrate Narrator Chara into Deltarune being a borderline creepypasta and have the narrator start talking directly to the characters or to the player or the characters start talking to the narrator I will lose my damn B E A N S).

(Kris and Chara not being demonized and the narrator interacting directly with the characters were the only two things on my wishlist going in, I was fine with literally anything else happening lmao)

I even kinda think he’s going out of his way to separate Kris and the player because we didn’t get it before with Undertale, we still insisted that Frisk or Chara was the one doing it, and he’s even using Kris to show that even if this kid can be scary, maybe even mean, and maybe they’re even the Knight (with their reasons unknown), they’re still not a bad kid, they’re still funny and likable, and they still genuinely love their family and friends - which falls in line with Undertale’s cast of complex but likable people who can be antagonists and make mistakes but still aren’t truly bad people, and imo is a direct response to some people fixating on the idea that Chara was always evil because they seem scary/complicated.

... Which is a long way to say that I came out of Deltarune with my confidence fully restored about TF’s intentions with Chara and Kris. Even if he never comments on Chara directly, now I really don’t think TF thinks they’re evil or ever intended for them to be. Deltarune convinced me more than ever that Chara is meant to be complex, yes, and able to be influenced to do horrible things, but they were never intended to be as malicious or shallow as some fans insist.

TLDR:

Toby Fox read your mean fanfiction where Chara is a bad abusive serial killer no one likes, and he made Deltarune in revenge.

... Hm? Ah, you’d like me to get to the point! Right this way!

II. Undertale, Deltarune, and The Point

While no doubt some will still take the voice Noelle hears to be Chara influencing her to turn her into a murderer (I haven’t gone looking for it yet, but I’m sure it’s already a thing because I know this fandom), since it’s made too clear by the game that they can’t blame Kris for this one, I think at this point that’s just being too stubborn to consider other ideas.

If you believe in the totally made up idea used in so many fanfics that Chara is an evil spirit trying to whisper in Frisk’s ear to kill everyone, literally (for some reason) the embodiment of raising stats, and gets more control over people who have increased LV to take over their body... sure. Could be them, they did talk about moving on to the next world and all. I mean, that wouldn’t really make sense because it’s literally never implied in the actual game that Chara encourages you to kill outside of the Kill-All Run or even wants you to, certainly not as the narrator and we get no hint of them doing this as an unseen, unheard third-party either.

Not to mention they’re NOT literally possessing you because of increased LV; they don’t control you even with high LV in any Undertale route other than arguably the Kill-All, and if you fail the Kill-All and it turns into a high-body count Neutral, Chara suddenly stops using first-person narration and showing up in mirrors entirely even though they were showing themself before, the LV remains the same or even can get raised as high as LV 19, nor do they suddenly take over in any other Neutral runs. We can speculate on why (personally, I’d place this either on Chara’s mindset, such as them sinking into shock from the trauma or becoming more assertive as the player feeds their megalomania, or as a sign of Frisk’s withdrawal, leaving Chara alone in the body to take the reins and act out the player’s orders), but canonically, no, Chara does not take over due to high stats.

In fact, there’s even more evidence against this. First-person narration also exists for fleeing your battles in Undertale, even on Pacifist runs with base stats, 0 EXP, and an LV of 1. Since Chara is established to use first-person narration to refer to themself, is the only one who canonically does so, and is confirmed to be present even in all runs through their name and memories always showing up, it seems pretty likely that Chara can take control to flee battle. That means an increase in stats is not a sign of their presence or control, in Undertale or Deltarune.

The most damning blow to the idea that Chara is the voice corrupting Noelle are the lines in the fight with Spamton I mentioned. Kris called for help, but nobody came. You whispered Noelle’s name. Well hold on. If that’s Chara, shouldn’t it be “I whispered Noelle’s name”? As soon as you’ve officially started the Kill-All in Undertale, Chara starts up their “It’s me, Chara” schtick right away, right there in Toriel’s home in the first area, and if they weren’t the narrator before, they’re beginning to speak through the narration now. If the voice was Chara, surely Toby Fox knows it’d be a way bigger “oh shit” moment if the creepy scary hidden route once again switched into first-person, scaring us the same way he did before when we first saw “It’s me, Chara” and knew something was wrong; unfairly or not, their reputation as a villain is still well established and hinting to Chara’s presence with a simple “I” would drive the menace even further, if he intended for them to simply be a demon that possesses player characters when you grind enough. But it’s still just you. The player.

The Weird Route does even more to help Chara’s case than that. Not only is it made pretty clear that Kris and the player are separate, and the player is the one responsible for corrupting Noelle and making her kill... consider how similar Noelle and Chara are, in the Weird Route and the Kill-All Route.

This “voice” that “guides” them in growing strong, compelling them to kill everyone in order to fight for them, eventually driving them to murder people they know. Chara calls themself “the demon that comes when people call its name”, and you whisper Noelle’s name to have her appear to kill Spamton. Noelle’s conflicting emotions towards Kris and the voice as she is manipulated, as she becomes more violent and sadistic, as she goes into shock; does that not sound like Chara, who flipflops between holding you dear as their partner and wanting to move on to the next world together, to be together forever, and them being disgusted by your refusal to accept consequences and the perverse enjoyment you get in killing everyone again and again? Chara, who clings to their quirky narration for much of the Kill-All, but keeps slipping up, who becomes terrifyingly cold, aggressive, power-hungry, and even sadistic, yet still calls Undyne “the heroine”, still seems to still care about their locket, still has moments where they seem to falter?

Noelle does put up significantly more resistance to the voice’s commands than Chara does, and at least much more visibly shows distress and trauma. I don’t think this is a black mark on Chara’s chara-cter either, or an indication of them being more violent or cruel.

For one, while Noelle is still herself with her own soul, it is heavily implied by Chara, Flowey, and Undertale’s lore that Chara was reincarnated without their own soul, at best perhaps attached to Frisk’s (or yours): as I speculate in one of my currently unfinished theories, while monster souls are made up of love, compassion, and hope and thus Asriel was reincarnated without these qualities, it could well be that human souls are correspondingly made up of their own multiple traits, namely determination, patience, bravery, integrity, perseverance, kindness, and justice; if true, a soulless Chara would be lacking these qualities, which would make them less equipped to resist the player’s commands or to feel as torn up about it.

Also, the player has a hold on them both as “party members” to the player’s vessels, but it is also possible that the player naming Chara and having them directly attached to Frisk also gives them a stronger connection to Chara they can abuse, similar to how Kris and Frisk (as the player’s direct vessels) have much less autonomy than Kris’ party members.

(Fun observation: We know that when the thing controlling Kris forced Noelle into becoming a killer and using her to kill Berdly, Kris was horrified and shaken-up according to Susie and Ralsei. How do you think Frisk felt watching Chara be used to slaughter the Underground and then erasing the world when they’re totally corrupted?)

And lastly... look, Noelle and Chara are both minors, but Chara is significantly younger - a small child compared to Noelle’s teen. I know it’s fiction and strong wills and determination and anime is real and all, but a traumatized young child who died two violent and awful deaths back-to-back, may have literally experienced being a corpse in their own coffin/grave for who knows how long, and then came back ”confused” only to immediately start hearing a voice relentlessly commanding them to kill everyone?? I can absolutely see a traumatized kid shutting down and just going with it out of fear at first, before the LV sets in.

TLDR:

What you do to Noelle in the Weird Route is the same fucking thing you do to Chara in the Kill-All Route.

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trulymadlysydney · 4 years ago

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Somewhere In Time: Nine

“The reason it hurts so much to separate is because our souls are connected. Maybe they always have been and will be. Maybe we've lived a thousand lives before this one and in each of them we've found each other. And maybe each time, we've been forced apart for the same reasons. That means that this goodbye is both a goodbye for the past ten thousand years and a prelude to what will come.”

-Nicholas Sparks, The Notebook

tw: Death, Loss of Parent

Previous Chapters HERE

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

April 18th, 1963, 1:32pm

It’s a warm spring day, one of the first of the year, and ten year-old Tanya Elliot is thrilled to be done with class for the day.

She steps out into the sunshine, forgoing her jacket and instead slinging it over her arm as she says her quick goodbyes to her five best friends. None of them are headed to the same destination; Sherry’s mom picks her up in the parking lot, Marcy and Jana both take the bus, Kelly walks over to the high school to meet up with her brother, and Shannon walks home-- only in the opposite direction that Tanya does.

With an agreement to meet up in their usual spot tomorrow morning before school (and Kelly’s promise to bring some extra sweets from her mother’s baking club), they set off on their separate ways. Tanya shifts her backpack to her left shoulder, and begins her fifteen minute walk home.

She takes a big deep breath of the sweet smelling air, enjoying the way the sun feels against her face. She wonders if maybe she could convince her parents to take a trip to the lake on Saturday; maybe she could work on her tan for a bit. (And besides, she wouldn’t mind seeing Willard, the older boy who lives with his family in a gorgeous house right on the water.)

Tanya stops walking and is completely knocked out of her thoughts when something-- someone-- across the playground catches her attention.

It seems to be another little girl, definitely no older than Tanya herself. Tanya finds her eyes fixated on the girl the moment she sees her. She’s beautiful, but she sticks out like a sore thumb because her clothing is not at all of this time period.

Tanya stops walking, eyeing the girl from afar. As completely out of place as she seems, she looks perfectly calm. She watches the other children, a slight smile on her face. No one seems to acknowledge her much, except for maybe a confused glance or a laugh at her appearance. She brushes off the children’s snickers (as far as Tanya can tell, she doesn’t even react at all) and continues to scan the playground as if looking for something.

The girl seems to feel Tanya’s eyes, because her soft smile only grows in intensity before she turns her eyes to meet Tanya’s gaze. It makes Tanya’s blood run cold, but it also piques her curiosity intensely.

At first, Tanya thinks she’s perhaps seeing a ghost; after all, she’s lived in this town all her life and never noticed this strange girl with the strange clothes. But at any rate, it doesn’t frighten her much, and when the young girl smiles at Tanya, Tanya thinks better of her original assumption.

Tanya glances down at her watch-- a gold watch that is much too big for her wrist-- to read the time: 2:32. Her mother will be expecting her home in fifteen minutes, and will probably start to worry should she be but a minute later.

Still, Tanya can’t shake the feeling that this girl is important. There’s something in her eyes that feels familiar and welcoming, and an overwhelming sense of magnetism radiating from her very being. Tanya knows better than to talk to strangers, of course, but this isn’t a stranger; this is another little girl. A friend, perhaps.

So she bites the bullet and makes her way across the wood-chip covered playground, without any regard as to whether the girl wants to speak to her as well.

“Are you new?” Tanya asks as she approaches, by way of introduction.

The girl smiles an all knowing smile, as if she’s been waiting for Tanya to ask “I’m Violet.”

Tanya laughs at that. “Neat. That’s not what I asked, but neat. I’m Tanya.”

“Hello Tanya.” Violet remains weirdly comfortable throughout this entire interaction, as if she’s spoken to Tanya several times before this. She nods towards her hand. “I like your ring.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m not new, no. I’m from the past.”

Tanya isn’t sure she’s heard Violet correctly the minute the words leave Violet’s mouth. She blinks, waiting for Violet’s face to change to reveal that she is, in fact, joking. But her face never changes. She remains stone faced and unmoving, and it takes Tanya aback.

After a charged yet awkward silence, Tanya speaks. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I—“

“No you did,” Violet cuts her off. “You heard correctly.”

Tanya blinks dumbly back at her new friend. “I don’t…. understand…?”

Violet sighs, almost as if bothered to be explaining herself. “I travelled through time to get here here. From the past.”

Now, Tanya grows skeptical. She wonders if this is one of her friends playing a prank on her, and she glances around to see if anyone is watching her from afar and holding in their giggles. When she’s met only with complete normalcy, however, she turns back to her new friend.

“But how?” She asks. “How is that possible?”

Violet shrugs. “I don’t know. I just know that it is. Because here I am.”

Tanya, still skeptical, laughs in disbelief. “Alright” she says, “well then what year are you from?” She puts air quotations around the question, which only makes Violet laugh in a way that makes Tanya feel immature.

“I come from 1907,” Violet explains. “What year is this? 1967?”

“1963,” Tanya corrects. “But I’m sure you knew that.” She rolls her eyes. “Look, what’s the big idea? I know you’re trying to fool me, and it isn’t working.”

Violet shakes her head. “But I’m not, silly!” She says. “I’ve been working since I was small to learn how to time travel. And I finally did it!”

“Wow,” Tanya deadpans, still completely unconvinced. “How did you do it?”

Violet grins. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“To tell you the truth, Violet,” Tanya says, absentmindedly picking at the dirt under her nails, “I don’t.”

“I didn’t think so.” Violet giggles. “But if you really want to know, I’ll tell you.”

Tanya glances nervously around the playground once again. She knows she’s already going to be late coming home anyway, so there’s no reason she shouldn’t stay here and talk to the odd girl. Still, she doesn’t want to push her own luck with her mother.

She shrugs. “Actually, I gotta get home,” she explains. “But if you wanna walk with me, you can.”

Violet smiles, looking more childlike than she has in their entire interaction. “Really? Gee, I’d love that!”

“Really?” Tanya smiles. “Alright. Follow me.”

The two girls fall into step, side by side, as Violet launches right into her story about time travel. This doesn’t seem to be a secret for her— in fact it seems about as common a topic as the weather for Violet— but Tanya grows slightly embarrassed at the volume of the other girl’s voice.

It’s all so strange really, how trusting Violet is of Tanya. Then again, Tanya could really say the same thing about herself. She doesn’t know what it is about the peculiar girl that causes her to trust her so much, but at any rate she enjoys her company. (Even if her story is a bit odd.)

What Tanya hadn’t anticipated, of course, was the connection and friendship she would develop with this girl. She hadn’t anticipated inviting the girl over for dinner that night, (and she hadn’t expected her mother to say yes). She hadn’t anticipated spending all of her free time with Violet, laughing and playing together and becoming the best of friends. And she definitely hadn’t anticipated that within the coming weeks, she would come to believe Violet’s story whole-heartedly, which would instill within her a deep fascination in the concept of time travel.

And more than anything, she hadn’t expected their goodbye to be so painful.

Violet had explained to her multiple times that this was the first time she’d done anything like this. She had also explained that, although she would try, there was no guarantee she would be able to come back. And although Tanya had listened and valued what her friend was saying, she hadn’t exactly believed her. She had faith that her friend was going to come back. She had faith they would be friends forever.

But when Violet disappears, on exactly the day that she’d said she would and without saying a proper goodbye to Tanya, Tanya grows desperate.

It’s why, in the years that follow, Tanya finds herself immersed in book after book, depicting time travel and its possibilities. It’s why she reaches out, through any means necessary, trying to find some way to communicate with her friend from another time. Her friend, who quickly became a soulmate best friend, who understood her in ways many others did not.

It’s why Tanya finds herself grounded for a week the summer before 7th grade because she got in a fight with a boy at school who told her time travel was bogus.

It’s why she finds herself, on the night of her fifteenth birthday party, being relentlessly teased by her friends for still being interested in time travel.

And it’s why, on April 18th, 1975, she finds herself crying on her bed after another failed time travel attempt.

Her one year-old daughter Veronica sleeps peacefully in her crib as Tanya tries, to absolutely no avail, to travel back to her friend. She wants to tell Violet all about her daughter. She wants to tell Violet that, despite the literal years that separate them, she’s always considered Violet to be her baby’s godmother. She isn’t even sure why she’s still so hung up on this whole ordeal, but in any case she’s desperate to find an answer, and to know if Violet is searching for one too.

Tanya glances out at the night sky, the skyline of New York—so hopeful and inspiring to some, but so suffocating to her— promising Violet that she will never give up.

She promises, out loud, that she will never stop trying to find her friend. In every lifetime. In every timeline. She swears she will do her best to find her.

And with a discouraged heart that she tries to ignore, Tanya goes to bed; dreaming of a world far different than her own, in which times are simpler, and her best friend lives forever.

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

January 9th, 1925, 8:22am

It’s a quiet, somber morning in Harry’s apartment. In the same fashion that they have for the past few mornings, Harry and Roni work side by side to prepare breakfast in the kitchen. Only this time, it’s quiet. Nearly wordless. Their kisses are dry but lingering, and it makes them both feel guilty in a way that neither can explain.

Harry fights to suppress the urge to beg Roni, at least once or twice more, to stay with him; and Roni has to hold back the tears threatening to spill at any moment because she feels entirely too overwhelmed with questions. What if she’s doing the wrong thing? What if she chose to stay? How would all of her loved ones back home manage to live? Or what if they didn’t, and Roni’s decision killed them all off? Would it be quick and painless for all her loved ones in her original timeline? Would they just all together stop existing? Would anyone even remember them?

“I don’t like this,” Harry speaks up, drawing Roni from her thoughts as they sit wordlessly at the dining table.

“Hm?” Roni doesn’t ask it because she didn’t hear what he said. Rather, she asks as a way to fill the silence that follows his words.

“I don’t like that we’re just… not saying anything. I don’t know.”

Roni sighs. “I know,” she admits. “It’s not how I wanted our last morning to go.”

Harry winces subtly at her words-- “our last morning,”-- and Roni wishes more than anything that she could take them back. But she can’t. There is no way around the inevitable any longer.

“I hate feeling like--” Harry trails off, and Roni doesn’t push him to finish the sentence.

“Like we’ve run out of things we can say?” she offers after a moment, tracing the rim of her mug with her fingers. “Me too. It kills me.”

Harry gives her only a sad smile in response, which breaks Roni’s heart even further. She wants to suggest pretending like everything is fine, of course, the same way she has every morning for the past week. But she can’t. Not anymore. The decision has been made, and she can’t change her mind now.

Unless…

“Your food is going to get cold,” Harry chuckles, and Roni glances down at the room temperature piece of toast that’s been sitting in her hand for the past five minutes. She laughs bitterly, and swallows the lump that refuses to go down in her throat.

“Sorry,” she says. “Kinda nauseous. Not in a breakfast sort of mood.”

“Well you’ll have to eat something.” Harry drums his fingers absentmindedly along the tabletop. “Got a long journey ahead of you, y’know.”

He says it with a smile, but the words only cause the lump in Roni’s throat to grow ten sizes. She knows he’s trying to be encouraging, but it hurts far, far too much. She thinks that if the pain of overthinking doesn’t kill her, the suffocating feeling in her throat surely will.

Harry notices her facial expression, and his cheeks go red. “Sorry.”

Roni’s face grows hot and her eyes go a bit foggy. She had told herself this morning that she wasn’t going to cry all day today, at least not until that evening as they were saying their final goodbyes. This vow, however, had come after a silent cry as she lay in bed watching her sleeping lover breathe softly with tousled curls and a sleepy pout on his face. She could lay with him and watch him sleep like that forever.

So she giggles half-heartedly and unconvincingly, pulling away from his loving touch and fanning at her moist eyes with her hands. “Ah!” She groans. “Sorry. I wasn’t gonna cry until—“

“Hey, hey!” Harry leans earnestly across the table, reaching forward and placing his hand comfortingly on her back. “It’s okay, honey. Listen, you’re okay. It’s okay to cry.”

“This blows,” Roni says, her words accented by a bitter laugh. “I fucking hate this.”

Harry chuckles at her words. “As do I, honey. But it’s okay.” He scratches at her spine lightly, his voice softening as he repeats his words for emphasis. “It’s going to be okay.”

Roni looks at him, no longer trying to supress the single tear rolling down her cheek. He offers her the sweetest smile in return, and she leans across the table to kiss it softly. “Angel,” she says. “You’re a fucking angel.”

It makes Harry giggle, and he pulls away to stab gently at his scrambled eggs with his fork.

“Been thinking.” He speaks a moment later around a mouthful.

“Yeah?”

“Mm. Think we should make tonight special.”

“Special,” Roni scoffs. “Not quite the word I’d use for it.”

“I know,” Harry chuckles, “but it might ease the blow a bit.”

Roni rests her elbows on the table, leaning in to listen to him. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well,” Harry says, allowing himself a pause to swallow his food. “It’s going to be cold, so that might put a bit of a damper on the evening.”

“Because it was going to be such a lovely evening otherwise,” Roni says sarcastically, and Harry rolls his eyes at her cheekiness before continuing.

“Was thinking we could build a fire. Pack some food, maybe some candles. Extra blankets. You can wear my coat that you like.” His smile deepens. “You know. Just make tonight as pleasant as we can make it. Maybe a bit romantic. Go out with a bang, so to speak.”

Roni hesitates, trying to fight the subtle smirk threatening to form on her face. “Was that a play on words?”

“Hm?”

“You know.” Roni shifts in her seat, enjoying the playful banter that’s briefly lightening the mood. “A ‘bang.’ Like we’re gonna bang later.”

Harry laughs, an amused furrow in his brow. “I don’t understand. What does that mean?”

“You don’t use the term banging? Like, for having sex?”

“Never heard of that, no.” Harry grins. “It’s catchy. I like it.”

“Right?” Roni raises her coffee mug to her lips. “I figured that’s what you meant.”

“Do you want to-- eh-- bang? Tonight?” Harry laughs at the phrase that feels so foreign in his own mouth, and it makes Roni giggle in spite of herself.

“I mean we don’t have to. We might be too sad to bang. We can see where the wind takes us.”

“The wind is going to take you right on back to 1999,” Harry says sadly, although his smile still lingers on his cheeks.

Roni’s smile fades, and she feels her shoulders visibly sink. “Well,” she says softly, “yeah.”

Harry chuckles. “Sorry. We’re talking in circles here, aren’t we?” He nods towards her plate. “Can I make you something else, darling?”

———————

The rest of the day feels like a strange dream, both dragging on and passing by in a blur. They make slow, quiet love on the couch, and they tease each other playfully when they both inevitably start crying. When the sun begins its natural descent, they turn on some cheerful music to try and ease their anxiety, but it doesn’t help— reminding them instead of all the fun times they’ve had together.

Harry sighs after the third record they’ve put on doesn’t do the trick. “Can I play something else?” He asks, quietly but hopefully. “It’s gonna be a bit sad, but… you know.”

Roni shrugs. “Shoot,” she offers. “Not like you can bring the mood today down any further.”

Harry chuckles. “Well…” he says, then trails off. He gives Roni’s knee a gentle squeeze before rising to his feet, padding barefoot across the carpet to switch songs.

In such a simple act, Roni finds herself particularly overwhelmed with emotion. She watches him, eyes trailing the spanse of his broad back, admiring the way his trousers cling to his pert backside and the way he stands, legs apart and with most of his weight on his right side. She wonders if he’s aware that he stands like that.

In all of her twenty-six years of living, she’s never fallen so deeply in love with the tiniest characteristics of a person before. Not until Harry. She notices everything about him, and finds every bit of it endearing— (even the way he snores in his sleep so loudly it wakes her up). These specific moments of quiet admiration hold as much weight and value in her memory as those instances of passionate love making or deep belly laughter or falling asleep in one another’s arms. It’s all so deliciously him—them— and she can’t seem to fathom continuing on in a world without him.

When the music begins, Roni’s throat feels like it’s closing in around itself. She recognizes the song instantly— it’s one he’d played for her back when she’d first gotten here. It sounds different this time, and it doesn’t take Roni long to realize that this isn’t the instrumental version she’d first heard. This time, it’s the version with lyrics; lyrics that hold a much deeper value in her heart than the first time Harry had whispered them in her ear. Roni looks at Harry, helpless, as the opening notes begin playing.

Gone is the romance that was so divine

‘Tis broken and cannot be mended

Harry joins in, stepping gently towards Roni with a sympathetic, yet understanding smile. “You must go your way, and I must go mine, but now that our love dream has ended…” Harry trails off, his eyes growing misty (though he fights hard to suppress it. “Fitting, innit?”

“Oh Harry,” Roni sighs. She rises to her feet, taking his hand and allowing him to pull her into him. They sway gently, in what could hardly be considered a waltz, and Roni tries desperately to push the anxiety in her throat down. She rests her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes and breathing in his scent by his neck. He holds her like he’ll never let her go.

“Remember the first time we did this?” Harry asks quietly.

“How could I forget?” Roni laughs. “Feels like a lifetime ago.”

Harry rests his cheek lightly on Roni’s head. “It does, doesn’t it?”

They continue to sway, hardly exchanging any words, and Roni doesn’t even realize that she’s crying (again) until she pulls away to look up at Harry and notices her tear stains against his shirt. He’s trying not to cry as well; Roni can tell by the way he refuses to look anywhere but at one spot on the wall. But when Roni kisses the corner of his chin, he softens with a chuckle, shaking his head as if he can’t believe their luck.

“I’m already missing you, bunny.”

Roni sniffs, nuzzling her face back into Harry’s chest. “I’m missing you more than you know.”

Not another word is spoken, and even after the song ends, they stand together in silence. They’re hardly swaying any longer at this point— mostly they’re just holding one another while they still can. After about five minutes, Harry audibly swallows.

“We should probably get going. It’ll be dark soon.”

His words make Roni nauseous, knowing that her time left in this humble apartment is limited now to only minutes. She stops swaying, and Harry makes no effort to let go of her. He sighs, scratching tenderly at her back. “I know,” he whispers, “I hate it, too.”

Roni tries her best to keep a brave face. “Trying to get rid of me that quick are you?” she teases. She’s delighted when she hears a genuine laugh bubble out from Harry’s mouth.

“Oh honey,” he says, kissing the top of her head. “Never, never. Never in a million years.”

They remain still, holding one another in their embrace until they both become painfully aware that they really do need to get going. The process of untangling themselves from one another’s arms takes much longer than necessary, and even as they let go they immediately interlace their fingers.

“I don’t have anything to pack,” Roni admits. “You can keep my party dress from when I got here. It’s too cold for me to put it on and sit on the beach tonight. And as for the ones you bought me—“ She trails off, glancing down at the skirt of the pretty dress she’s wearing right now. “Well, you can keep those, too. Not sure how much use I’ll have for them in the year 2000.”

“You never know,” Harry jokes, trying to keep things light hearted. “Maybe there’ll be a costume party or something--”

Roni giggles, shaking her head and wiping her eyes. “Harry.”

He smiles, leaning forward and kissing her nose. “I’ll pack up some snacks and a few other things we might need. A blanket maybe. You get your stones and such. And,” a crooked smile tugs on his cheek, “that coat you like.”

Roni grins, in spite of herself. “Can I wear your cap?”

“Do you want to wear my cap?”

“I want any piece of you on me that I can possibly get.”

Harry chuckles, and for a moment everything feels completely normal. “Cheeky,” he mutters, pinching her butt before turning to busy himself in the kitchen.

Roni watches him for a bit, and although he’s aware of it he doesn’t make some cheeky, embarrassed little remark requesting her to stop. She watches the way he moves around the kitchen that she’s grown so familiar with. The kitchen, so beyond tiny and cozy, connecting to the living room that has come to smell like home.

The memories they have made in this humble living room in such a short amount of time begin playing like a film in Roni’s mind. Dancing together, cooking, making lol, building puzzles; the most mundane things made to be so magical because they were done together.

Roni smiles to herself at the memory of how unpleasantly she’d treated Harry in the beginning. She feels bad, of course, but it’s humorous to think about now because she was so lost at the time.

“I’m still here!” Roni exclaims, infuriated that Harry doesn’t seem as shocked about this as she does.

“You are.” Harry nods, the scrambled eggs in the frying pan sizzling under the spatula. “Did you sleep well?”

“Harry, holy fuck, how is this happening?” Roni doesn’t dare move, as if moving is going to trap her even further. She feels like the walls are closing in on her as the full extent of the situation hits her. She hadn’t allowed herself to fully feel these feelings the night before, because she hadn’t seen this as a permanent issue. But now here she is, in a year that doesn’t even feel real, with a bastard who doesn’t even seem to care about her concerns.

Harry smiles to himself. “I don’t know, pet. Honestly, I was kind of thinking that maybe you were drunk and just forgot where you were last night.”

“I wasn’t drunk, and I didn’t forget, but thank you for completely invalidating me.” Roni huffs. Stomping across the living room and plopping down onto the most uncomfortable couch she’s ever felt in her life, she figures this is an appropriate time to just pout– especially considering that Harry isn’t going to give into her panicking. “What the fuck am I supposed to do now?” She props her elbows on her knees and buries her head in her hands.

“Eat some breakfast and relax,” Harry answers. “We’ll figure this out. Would you like some tea?”

Roni smiles at the memory of her first morning here, feeling overwhelmed by the complete 180 her heart has done. At the time, she’d wanted nothing more than to go home, and she hadn’t believed Harry when he’d said they would figure it out. Now that they have, she wants nothing more than to stay here.

She makes her way into Harry’s tiny bedroom, the film of her memories continuing to roll through her mind. She had found this place so odd, so minimalistic, and she’d thought Harry was a nutjob for giving up his bed for her. She remembers helping him place the fitted sheets along the mattress, and she remembers waking up early and watching people through the small window.

Her cheeks grow hot, however, as the memory of the first time they made love in this bed plays in her head.

“Don’t do this… unless you mean it.”

Roni sees the earnestness in his eyes, and she’s never been more sure of anything in her life. She brushes the tip of her nose against his before licking her lips and pulling him in for another kiss. This kiss isn’t as elaborate as it had been moments ago, but it’s sweet, and she feels all the tension in his shoulders release.

When she pulls away, she smiles, reaching up to brush a wild strand of hair off of his forehead. She nods her head.

“I mean it.”

She chuckles, running her hand along the thin duvet of the bed and making her way to the small closet. She has to say one final goodbye to her dresses-- the ones that Harry had used his last dollars to purchase for her. The ones that had felt so funny and so foreign on her the first time she’d worn them.

They hang, untouched and cold, among the few dressier shirts that Harry owns, and Roni’s heart clenches at the thought of them hanging here forevermore. She thinks perhaps Harry should give them away, maybe to Daisy— although come to think of it, these may be far too dull for Daisy taste. Maybe Harry could sell them, make a bit of extra cash. Or maybe—

“Veronica.”

Harry’s voice from the doorway startles her out of her thoughts, and she whirls around on her heel with a jump. She hadn’t realized she was crying again (although the ache behind her eyes should have been a dead giveaway), and Harry notices her tears immediately. He doesn’t go to her, he only nods sympathetically when she laughs and gives him a shrug in surrender, as if to admit “yeah, I’m crying again, so what.”

“You alright, darling?”

She takes a slow deep breath in, savoring the smell of his little place that she’s fallen so deeply in love with, and examining it one last time before nodding and turning back to him. “I’m alright,” she says with finality. “Let’s do this.”

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

The beach is freezing, because of course it is, and Roni and Harry shiver as they set up their blanket on the shore. Roni reminds Harry several times that he didn’t have to do all this— he didn’t even have to come with her if he didn’t want to— but he is having none of it.

Roni shivers, wearing Harry’s heavier coat and his little cap that she’s grown so fond of, and her breath comes out in a visible puff of air.

“Can you set up the snacks and the stones and such?” Harry asks. “It’s too bloody cold for me to wait any longer on starting the fire.”

Roni nods, the thought of the warm fire cheering her up. She reaches into the picnic basket and begins sorting through the various snacks they’ve decided to bring.

Harry really had thought of everything, just to add a bit of a sense of normalcy to this whole ordeal. He’d packed some leftover cold pasta salad that they’d had from the night before, along with a bottle of chocolate milk for them to share. It was adorable watching him pack, especially when he got so excited about bringing items to make “these new treats called S’mores! They’re delicious, bunny, you’ll love them!” (Roni of course hadn’t had the heart to tell him that she was more than familiar with s’mores; not when he looked so cute explaining them to her.)

He had offered to bring candles as well, but ultimately had decided against it when he realized it was a bit windy, and starting a fire was going to be difficult enough.

As if on cue, he curses under his breath, causing Roni to giggle and offer him help; which he, of course, immediately turns down. So Roni let’s him do his thing, setting up all of the various items from the picnic basket and trying not to dwell on the finality of the entire situation.

It’s about fifteen minutes later when Harry finally has a solid fire going. They eat together, chatting casually about the weather and occasionally bringing up a few of their favorite memories over the past few weeks they’ve shared. It feels strange, when they really think about it, that their time together hasn’t actually been all that long. Both agree, albeit somewhat glumly due to the circumstances, that that’s what happens when you meet your twin flame. It happens, fast and quick and colorful, and then either softens into a comfortable glow or explodes into a million pieces, leaving the flames lost until the next lifetime in which they find each other.

Neither Roni nor Harry are quite sure where exactly on that scale their situation falls.

After their meal, they work together to clean up the leftover food, shivering and subconsciously moving their bodies closer to the fire. Roni scowls realizing how little either of them ate, and she sighs, looking out onto the dark, cold ocean.

“This feels like… like the last supper. You know like, in the Bible.” Roni scowls. “And I’m the one that’s about to betray you.”

Harry chuckles. “You’re not betraying me.”

“Well that’s what it feels like.”

“Well, don’t think of it like that,” Harry says softly. “Think of it like a romantic picnic between two lovers. I mean, that’s sort of what it is, isn’t it?”

His smile breaks Roni’s heart, but she giggles in spite of herself. “I suppose,” she says, her own words tasting like bile in her mouth. Speaking at all right now feels wrong and completely foreign, and the sense of guilt that lingers in her stomach has only intensified tenfold since this morning. She knows Harry is fully aware of the situation, and that he is prepared for what is about to happen; yet she still can’t shake the feeling that somehow she’s about to betray him. It’s like she’s looking in the face of an innocent puppy that she’s about to completely abandon-- shivering and helpless.

With that thought comes the terrible imagery of Harry packing all of this up once she’s gone. Harry-- alone and cold-- folding up the picnic blanket and the leftover food, walking soberly back to his apartment to sleep in his bed alone. The thought of him tracing the dent made by her head left on his pillow (since neither of them had bothered to make the bed this morning), or him smelling her dresses hanging in his closet, never to be worn again-- it’s all too much for Roni to bear. She lets out a long huffing sigh, accompanied by a gentle “for fuck’s sake.”

Harry barely looks up at her as he continues to set up all of the various snacks. “Hm?” he asks.

“Harry--” Roni’s voice is abrupt. “Am I… doing the right thing?”

Now, Harry does stop. He looks up at her from under his lashes slowly, as if waiting for her to say something else. He doesn’t press her, he only looks at her, and it makes her groan.

“You know,” she tries again, “Like… should I just stay? I don’t want to erase the people that I love from back home… and I definitely don’t want to erase my mom, but I can’t--” She breaks off, tears beginning to well in her eyes, “I can’t lose you.”

Harry’s voice is calm when he speaks. “Do you think you’re doing the right thing?”

“That’s why I’m asking you!” Roni wails, reaching up to wipe at her eyes.

“Well, bunny,” Harry stokes the fire a bit more, the embers dancing against the darkening sky, “You know I can’t make that decision for you.”

“Harry,” Roni sighs in frustration.

“I can’t tell you what you want to hear,” he says slowly, a gentle but sad smile tugging on the corners of his lips, “because I don’t know what you want to hear. I don’t think you do either.”

Roni wipes at her eyes once again, only to realize that it’s in vain. The tears are thick, and are beginning to flow freely down her cheeks. Harry watches her sadly, unsure of whether or not he should move.

On the one hand, he wants to go to her. He wants to take her in his arms, kiss away her tears, beg her to stay; to be his forever. But on the other hand, he knows that what his beloved Veronica needs the most right now is someone to be strong for her. And how can he do that when he’s hurting just as much? How can he hold her in his arms and be strong for her if he knows that the minute he feels her shuddering sob into his chest, he’ll break down as well?

So he stays put, frozen in place focusing his eyes intensely on one spot of the fire. There is nothing more for him to do right now.

The sound of the ocean mixed with the crackling of the fire would be such a beautiful backdrop for a romantic evening together on any other occasion. But given the circumstances, neither Harry nor Roni are feeling very romantic at present. Roni shivers, wrapping the coat tighter around her shoulders as a bitter ocean breeze rips through her.

“I can’t lose you,” Roni repeats quietly.

“You won’t,” Harry answers. “I’ll never forget you as long as I live.” When Roni doesn’t say anything, Harry scoots just a titch closer to her. “Veronica,” he says slowly. “I will never stop trying to find you. Until the day I die, I will try. I will look for you in every corner of the earth. In every lifetime. In every timeline. I will do my best to find a way to find you. I will never, ever give up.”

Roni sniffs, reaching up to wipe at her runny nose. “And what if you can’t find me?”

Harry swallows audibly. “Well,” he says slowly. “Then. I’ll wait for you in the sky.”

Roni’s throat swells, and she blinks back a few more tears, licking away the salty remnants that remain on her lips. “I want you to find me.”

“I’ll find you,” Harry reassures her. “One way or another. I will find you.”

Roni blinks at Harry, so many words hanging on the tip of her tongue but no actual voice with which to speak them; especially because she doesn’t even know where she would begin. She lets out all of the breath in her chest, reaching forward and taking his hand in hers. “I love you, Harry Styles.”

He smiles, giving her hand a squeeze and running his thumb along the back. “I love you too, Veronica Elliot.”

After a brief moment, Roni leans across the way to press a few short pecks to Harry’s lips. When she pulls away, she sighs. “I don’t want to think about it anymore,” she says, “but I’m not sure there’s much else to focus on.”

“Tell me about your father,” Harry offers.

The proposition takes Roni by surprise, and she furrows her eyebrows at Harry. “Forreal?”

“Yeah. Heard all about your mum. Heard nothing about your father.”

Roni blows out a puff of air, wondering where she should start before giving up and shrugging. “Not much to tell.”

“You mentioned he left when you were young,” Harry prompts, “but do you remember him at all?”

Roni shakes her head. “Not at all. He was gone before I was even aware that I existed.” She laughs. “From what I’m told though, he was awful. My grandma never wanted my mom to be with him. But she was… I mean, you know, she was young. And no one really listens to their parents when they’re young. Not that young at least. She thought she was in love.”

“And him?”

Roni shrugs. “He thought she was easy. Knocked her up and poof. Gone.”

Harry furrows his eyebrows. “Knocked her up?”

“Got her pregnant,” Roni giggles. “Nine months later he was gone but—“ she throws her arms up, a sort of ‘tah-dah’ movement, “— the real party arrived.”

Harry laughs, nodding his head. “Absolutely. The world’s biggest blessing came along. I’ll bet he’s sorry he missed it.”

“I doubt it,” Roni says, scrunching her toes into the sand. “Bet he hasn’t even spared a thought for my mom and I.”

Harry says nothing for a moment, only staring deep in thought at the fire and processing Roni’s story. The fire feels warm on his face, and it makes him a bit sleepy. He breathes in, low and slow through his nose before speaking again. “Shame.” He smiles up at Roni, admiring the way the glow of the fire hits her skin. “Can’t imagine doing something like that. As a man. As a father.”

Roni shrugs. “I can’t either. But, you know, it happens. I guess.”

“It shouldn’t.” Harry shakes his head. “I wouldn’t let it happen.”

“You think you would ever get married?” Roni doesn’t exactly realize the weight of her question until it’s slipped past her lips, and she almost regrets asking it. Harry hardly reacts, save for the flash of his dimple that Roni has grown to love so much. He averts his gaze, really giving some thought to his answer, then after a moment, he nods.

“Maybe. But at this point, m’not sure it’s really in the cards for me.”

Roni leans forward, genuine concern etched into her features. “Why not?”

Now he looks back at her from under his lashes. “You really want to know?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

He smiles sadly. “Because the woman I love is leaving me to go back to her home that’s seventy-five years in the future.”

Harry’s words hit her like a ton of bricks. Not that she was really expecting another answer, of course, but god. “Harry—”

“It’s alright though. It’s the way things have to be, you know? I wouldn’t change us. I wouldn’t change what we’ve been through.” He shrugs. “I’d change the circumstances, sure. But I’d take a thousand lifetimes of this over never meeting you. So I have to take that for what it is, don’t I?”

In any other situation, Roni would be fully aware that she’s moving far too quickly. But seeing as her time left with Harry is reduced down to merely a few more hours, she doesn’t care. “I’d marry you in a heartbeat, Harry.”

His face brightens ever so slightly. “Yeah?”

Roni nods earnestly. “In a heartbeat.”

Harry squeezes her hand softly. “Perhaps in another life.”

“And for what it’s worth--” Roni chews anxiously on her cheek, then quiets her voice. “I know my mom would have loved you. You don’t know her, so that might not mean much to you, but it’s true. You’d have her blessing before you could even ask her for it.”

“That means a lot to me.” Harry’s thumb strokes absentmindedly along the back of Roni’s hand. “I would’ve loved to meet her.”

Yet another long silence falls between the two of them, and Roni shivers when a particularly chilly ocean breeze passes through them. The movement doesn’t go unnoticed by Harry, and he smiles gently. “You cold?” When Roni nods, he immediately scoots over a bit. “Yeah? C’mere.”

Roni wastes no time in complying with his request, crawling over to him and making herself comfortable in his lap. He wraps his arms around her, rubbing up and down her arms and kissing softly at her cheeks. “Better?”

Roni lays her head on Harry’s shoulder, letting her eyes de-focus on the ocean. She doesn’t answer him verbally, electing only to nod and just enjoy his warmth.

There are a few minutes of silence between the two lovers, and each time Roni catches sight of the full moon, hanging bright and threatening over their heads, her stomach twists.

“Have I mentioned how badly I’m going to miss you?” Harry chuckles.

Roni can’t help but to giggle. Her eyes burn at the mere thought of more tears falling, but at this point she knows that not much can be done to stop them. “No, I don’t think you have,” she teases.

She tilts her head to kiss at his neck, sucking gently but with completely innocent intentions— until he shivers slightly, his breath audibly hitching.

Roni takes the nonverbal cue, trailing her lips gently and softly up his neck, and taking his earlobe in between her teeth. Harry groans, low in his throat.

“Bunny,” Harry says gently, “you don’t have to. If you don’t want to—“

“Who said I didn’t want to?” She peeks her tongue out from between her lips, rolling it just under this ear now. “Do you want to?”

He doesn’t answer her, he only hums, tilting his head to grant her easier access.

“One more,” she mumbles, angling her body so that she’s facing him more. “Please. Can’t leave you without a proper goodbye.”

Harry, once again, says nothing. He takes her hips in his hands and pulls her further onto his lap, angling her so that she’s straddling him now. He grins up at her, the ocean breeze whipping his curls over his eyes. “God,” he sighs, leaning up to kiss at her neck, “I love you.”

Roni hums, basking in the attention he’s giving her neck and beginning a gentle roll of her hips against his. She turns her head to catch his lips with her own, smiling against the taste of him she loves so much. As he parts his lips, tracing her own with his tongue, it feels different than all the times before. He’s kissing her the exact way she likes, but it’s sad now. Slow, as if he’s taking his time in order to remember every single detail about her lips.

There’s a wordless conversation occuring between the two of them as they lick, slow and gentle, into one another’s mouths. Roni reaches up to cup at Harry’s cheek, mindful of her cold fingertips and giggling to herself when Harry shivers at her touch. He hums, leaning further into her kiss and holding her lower back tenderly in his own.

They stay like this, just kissing and enjoying one another’s warmth, before Harry’s hands begin trailing up her back. He teases his fingertips along her neck, playing with her hair before lifting the cap gently from her head. He allows it to plop down ungracefully in the sand before guiding his hand up fully into her hair.

She can feel his fingers curling around the hair at the base of her neck before he tugs a bit, successfully pulling her head back. She moans when he attaches his lips to her pulse in her throat.

It’s sexy, yes, but he takes his time with it, inhaling her scent as he kisses up her supple skin. Her lashes flutter and she catches a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye; eyes closed, brows furrowed in concentration, as if he wants absolutely nothing to draw his attention away from Roni’s entire being.

Harry is more lost in his thoughts than he intends to be, but he can’t help it. He’s wanting to remember everything about Roni, her taste, her smell, every curve of her jaw and her chest. His hand scratches lovingly down her back before trailing along her sensitive sides and up to her breasts-- so tightly concealed beneath her many layers of warmth, but still so pert and delicious.

“Veronica,” he moans, low in his throat and more of sadness than of pleasure, “I love—“

“Don’t,” Roni says, her eyes burning with moisture. She lowers her head, touching her nose to his in an attempt to raise his face. “Don’t do that. Not right now.” She lets out a shuddering breath, trying to refrain from breaking down. “Please, I can’t—“

“I love you.” He is insistent, wanting her to be sure that his words are true. “I fucking love you.”

“Please,” Roni cries, her voice cracking. “I can’t—“

“We have to—“

“I know but—“

“I fucking love you.”

It’s back and forth for the next few minutes, lips ghosting one another’s and noses brushing— as if breathing one another in and out, as if trying to exist as one person. Roni feels the dampness pooling between her legs, and with every roll of her hips she can feel Harry hardening.

All too soon it becomes quick and hurried, even a bit sloppy, as Roni slips her panties down her legs and Harry works to get himself unbuttoned. It’s far too cold to fully undress themselves, they’re both aware of this, but they can’t seem to move quickly enough. She straddles his cock, and they move so quickly he misses her hole the first time. She giggles, but it’s cut short when Harry attaches his lips to her neck and sucks, guiding himself inside of her gently.

“Fuck, always so tight,” he moans immediately, “holy fuck.”

They take a moment for Roni to adjust before she sinks further down, letting out a sinful moan that echoes one of Harry’s. On any other occasion, the two would be far more mindful of their sounds, considering the fact that they’re in public. But right now it doesn’t matter, especially with the way that Harry sinks his teeth into Roni’s neck, and the way she rolls her hips against his.

Roni gasps when he hits the spongy spot deep inside of her. Her head tilts back as she lets out one of the most pornographic moans she’s ever made. Harry takes this opportunity and hooks his fingers into the neckline of her dress, pulling it down and attaching his lips to the swell of her left breast. He sucks until his teeth meet her skin, and then he bites, causing her to let out a little cry. He’s marking her, and she loves it.

“Harry—“ she breathes, fingers frantically pulling at his hair.

He nips at the red little mark he’s left behind, then licks at it gently to soothe the sting. She hums, tugging at the curls on the base of his neck and shuddering, partly due to the wind and partly due to a particularly delicious thrust.

Lowering her head to rest on Harry’s shoulder, she inhales his scent, shifting her weight a bit so as to not get so easily tired out by her work. He wraps his arms impossibly tighter around her lower back, seemingly trying to get her closer to his body, and Roni groans, loudly, sinking her teeth gently into his shoulder.

She almost misses it when he lets out a soft cry.

In fact, at first she thinks she’s imagining it. But when the movement of his hips slows, and his breathing becomes more ragged than it was before, she stops moving and pulls away to look at his face.

Harry’s eyes are shut, and in the dim firelight she can make out the dampness of his cheeks. His lips are curled into a frown, and he shakes his head the minute he realizes that Roni has noticed. She stops the rolling of her hips and reaches for his face, cupping his cheek in her hand.

He’s sobbing, and he can’t even stop himself.

“Harry,” she says quietly, “Don’t--”

“I’m sorry,” he says, reaching up to wipe at his eyes. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Veronica.”

Now, Roni feels tears well up in her own eyes as she strokes her thumb along Harry’s cheekbone. “Don’t apologize,”’ she says through a whisper. He doesn’t even hear her as he lets out another quiet sob before speaking again.

“I love you. So so so much. I don’t know if I can do this.”

Roni doesn’t even try to stop her own tears from falling now, and she squirms a bit with Harry still inside of her. “Do what?” she whispers.

Harry shakes his head, still not looking in her eyes. “Live without you. I’m not strong enough to lose you.”

“Harry,” Roni cries, using her hand to lift Harry’s face and forcing him to look at her. “We don’t have a choice.”

He lets out a shaky breath, trying to stabilize his chest. “How can I go on when the person I love more than life isn’t isn’t with me anymore?”

Roni scans his face, feeling at a complete loss for words for the first time this evening. She shakes her head. “I don’t know,” she says through a sob. “But we’re going to have to figure it out.”

“Jesus.” Harry wipes at his eyes again, pulling Roni into him and pressing a few wet kisses to her neck. He lingers for a moment with his lips to her skin, and Roni can physically feel her heart breaking in half.

“I didn’t think this was going to be so unbearable,” Harry whispers. “I knew it would be hard but… fuck.”

“Look at me,” Roni says, pulling away and trying to gently guide Harry’s face up again. She offers him the most reassuring smile she can muster, but somehow it doesn’t help. “It’s going to be okay. Hm? We’re going to be okay.”

Roni cups his cheek yet again, and Harry leans into her affectionate touch with closed eyes. She watches him, a lump in her throat so large she’s feeling nauseous, and the reality of their situation hitting her for the hundredth time this evening.

“We’re going to be okay,” she repeats. “You have to promise me you’ll keep going. Keep trying. Live your life. And maybe… in another lifetime--”

Harry cuts her off then with a kiss, passionate and gentle all at once. He allows his hands to trail down her back. He grips her hips tightly, rolling her against him and groaning low in his throat at the feeling of her walls still around his prick.

She gasps, not at all expecting to feel him as deep as she does, and they share sloppy, hurried kisses as they finish what they’d started.

It’s messy and slow, but it’s deep. They’re both crying as they move together, lips hungrily exploring whatever area of skin they can get to. Roni bites down somewhere on Harry’s neck and he hisses, knowing he’s going to have an ugly mark there when morning comes. Harry grips Roni’s hips so tightly they begin to ache, and yet she still finds herself wishing he would hold her tighter.

Minutes later, Harry cums. Roni doesn’t, but she doesn’t care. She doesn’t much feel like an orgasm right now, as strange and as out of character as that seems to her; rather, she just wants to stay like this, with the most intimate part of him tucked into the deepest, most private part of her body. She buries her face in his neck, and he wraps his arms impossibly tighter around her torso.

No words are spoken between the two lovers. No words are necessary, really. They just hold one another, the sound of the crashing waves mirroring their own inner turmoil as they hold one another and cry-- unabashedly and unfiltered.

It feels good, in a strange therapeutic sort of way, to be like this. To be crying this hard together, completely vulnerable both physically and emotionally, and as hard as it is to grasp that these are their last memories together, it lifts the tiniest bit of weight off of both of their hearts.

They aren’t sure how long they’ve been sitting like this when Roni finally makes an effort to move, her sobs quieted now to a few little gasps here and there. Harry instantly misses her warmth the second she lifts off of him, and he reaches for her hand like a little boy.

Roni smiles sadly at him, giggling and offering him a pathetic shrug as if to say, “well, anyway.” She gives his hand a squeeze, running her thumb along the back of it. Her chest flutters as she takes a breath.

“You promise to try and find me?” She doesn’t anticipate her voice coming out as hoarse and as sad as it does.

Harry hates how final this feels, and he shivers-- partly from the cold, but mostly because his body is exhausted from how hard he’s been weeping and how devastated he’s been all day. Seeing Roni like this, looking at him as if he’s her only hope in the world right now, absolutely crushes him.

Truth be told, he’s not feeling optimistic about being able to find her. And if Roni’s honest, neither is she. But the prospect of reuniting some day, sooner rather than later, seems to be the last string of hope that the two can hold on to together. So for both of their sakes, they know they have to put on brave faces.

Harry raises their clasped hands to his lips, and kisses each one of Roni’s knuckles individually-- taking extra care around the mood ring on her finger. She bites her lip, and Harry knows another wave of tears is incoming. He offers her his best smile, as optimistic as he can be, and speaks.

“I promise, sweet girl. I promise.”

---

Harry wakes hours later from a restless and uncomfortable sleep when he feels a stirring beside him. He flutters his lashes open and remembers, all too quickly, the reason he’s here.

Roni sits up, stiff and dazed beside him, staring unwaveringly at the ocean with confused eyes. Harry’s heart sinks to the pit of his stomach as he realizes the inevitable— this is it.

He reaches forward to gently touch her arm but quickly decides against it, not wanting to ruin her one chance at getting home. He instead watches her with bated breath, waiting to see what she does.

“Veronica,” he whispers. “You alright, honey?”

She doesn’t respond. In fact, she doesn’t even look at him. She digs her hand into the blanket beneath them to help prop herself up and onto her feet. Harry moves with her, prepared to catch her when she stumbles a bit. He watches her intently, wondering what she’s going to do.

“Darling,” he says slowly, “Veronica… hey—“

She takes a slow step forward, hesitates, then takes another. And another. And then she’s walking towards the freezing cold waves lapping up against the shore. Harry panics. Is this how this is supposed to go?

“Veronica wait!” He speaks more urgently this time, stepping quickly to follow behind her. “Hey, wait a second, honey—”

Roni stumbles, almost in a drunken state not much different from the first time Harry ever saw her. She really is going, and he knows he shouldn’t stop her. But the waves seem violent, and it makes him more anxious than he already is.

“Veronica,” Harry chokes out, realizing now that he’s crying. “Honey, no, no, don’t go-- not like this… not yet… I’m-I’m not--”

“Let her go,” comes a voice, gentle and melodic behind Harry.

He turns around, no longer trying to conceal the tears in his eyes, and is shocked to see Violet, the mysterious and mystical fortune teller, standing there. Despite the cold, all she has wrapped around her dress is a shawl, and she doesn’t even seem fazed.

“She will be okay,” Violet continues, taking a gentle step towards him. “You have to let her go.”

“She’ll drown.” It’s the only thing Harry can think to say, but it’s not what he wants to say at all. He doesn’t really know what he wants to say at all, actually. His thoughts are running a mile a minute and his heart is aching.

Violet smiles knowingly at him. “She will not drown,” she says. “She will go peacefully back to where she belongs.”

Harry sniffs, a salty tear rolling down his cheek and getting caught in the corner of his mouth. “You promise?” He sounds pathetic, his voice thick and cracking, but he doesn’t even care.

Violet nods. “You have my word.”

Harry glances back towards Roni, who is slowly making her way further into the water. His stomach is in knots. All he wants is to run to her. Has he said everything he needed to say? He’s told her how much he loves her, but does she really know? Has he wasted his last day with her?

As if reading his mind, Violet closes the space between the two of them. She raises a comforting and gentle hand to his back, and he turns slowly back to her. “You did everything necessary.” She speaks quietly, looking straight into Harry’s eyes. “You gave her exactly what she needed. She will never forget you as long as she lives.”

Harry’s tears are flowing freely now, and his face is hot. The blanket previously wrapped around him is long forgotten on the sandy shore, but it doesn’t even matter. He welcomes the cold bitterly, and shakes his head as he watches Roni wade into the sea.

“What are you even doing here?” He asks, sounding a bit more angry than intended. “Hm? Have you been watching us?”

Violet remains calm, despite his accusations. “I just figured you might need someone here with you when the time came.” She takes a deep breath. “And I wanted to see the girl off. I’ve taken a liking to her as well.”

The two watch Roni stumble deeper into the ocean, completely unaware of her own actions. Violet hums, low in her throat. “To answer your question though, no. I wasn’t watching you. I just got here.”

“How did you know we’d be here then? And when?” Harry glances back at Roni, who is now up to her waist. She must be freezing, and Harry wants nothing more than to go to her and stop her.

“Was I not the one who told you to do this?” A bitter wind whips through Violet’s hair as she turns to face the sea as well. “I knew I would come up on you two eventually. Besides, this is the exact moment the moon is at her fullest. Of course Roni is going right now.”

Harry let’s out a pathetic and completely unintentional sob, his emotions getting the better of him as a panic attack rises in his stomach. “Fuck,” he says, then with growing intensity, “Fuck!” He kicks the sand, ignoring the resistance it gives him, then turns desperately back to Violet. “Does she know I love her? Does she know—“ He can’t catch his breath, and voice is loud. “Does she know I’m here watching her go? Jesus, I can’t—can’t do this, I- I mean I didn’t think it would be this fucking hard, Violet. Can I stop her? Fucking hell, can I stop her?!”

Violet takes a step towards Harry, who’s jaw is now trembling in synchronicity with his shaking hands. She puts a reassuring and calm hand on his shoulder. “It’s over, Harry,” she says. “You must let her go.”

Harry reaches up, running a hand through his sweaty, messy hair, glancing frantically from Roni—who is in the water up to her mid back now— back to Violet, who now seems worried about him. He lets out a wail, moving like he’s going to run to Roni, but Violet is quicker; wrapping her arms around him and holding him back.

He struggles against her a bit, eventually falling to his knees in the sand. Violet drops with him, gently holding him securely upright while comfortingly scratching at his back. She keeps a watchful eye on Roni; as does Harry, only his vision is nearly completely blurred. He wails, punching a little mound of sand beside his knees and using his free hand to wipe at his eyes. “Goddammit,” he mutters. “Fucking goddammit. This was a mistake.”

“Harry,” Violet says urgently, sounding more human than she has in the entirety of the time Harry has known her. “Listen to me, it wasn’t a mistake. I need you to breathe.”

He looks at Violet desperately, shaking his head. “I should have begged her. I could have made her stay. I fucking could have made her stay, Violet. I shouldn’t--” He gasps for air between sobs, wiping at his nose with the back of his hand. “Fuck, I shouldn’t have let her go.”

“Yes you should have,” Violet reassures him. “This is the right thing. Think of her mother. Think of her life.”

Harry watches Roni, who is in past her neck now, and he tries to swallow down his panic. He watches her sink further and further, knowing in his logical mind that she’s completely safe. He blinks a few tears out of his eyes, his sweaty hair on his forward moving back and forth with each attempt to catch his breath, and then turns to Violet. “I love her, Violet.” His voice is desperate and pathetic, and he hates himself for it.

Violet looks as though even she herself, in all her powerful glory, wants to cry as well. She nods, wiping a tear that has made its way down to Harry’s chin. “I know you do,” she says softly. “I’m so sorry, Harry.”

The two friends turn back to the sea, and Harry feels a sinking finality when he realizes he can no longer see Roni’s head. His breathing slows just a tick, and he lets out a shaky breath— realizing for the first time that it’s coming out in a hot cloud around his mouth. “Is she gone?” He asks quietly.

He doesn’t wait for an answer. He knows the answer. His head falls, chin to chest, and he holds his face in his hands.

Violet says nothing, she only holds Harry in his desperation, breathing against him to try and subtly slow his breathing and calm him down. His sobs are heartbreaking, but they’re quieter now; less frantic. He cries until his throat feels thick and raw, and then it becomes somewhat silent. He isn’t sure how long he’s been there, and he almost starts to feel bad for Violet, who just sits there with him, patient as ever.

She doesn’t seem to mind, of course, she just rubs her hand up and down his back and holds him in the most comforting way she can manage.

After what feels like ages, he raises his hot, wet face to look at her. Her face is sad, but comforting. She offers him a faint, sympathetic smile.

“Will you help me?” Harry asks.

Violet cocks her head to the side. “Help you with what, Harry?”

“Look for her. Find a way. I don’t know.”

Violet’s face changes as she considers what he’s asking, taking in a deep breath and taking her time with her answer. She glances out at the ocean, which has somehow grown impossibly more calm since Roni’s disappearance. Finally, after a moment, she hums.

“You have to be prepared for any outcome, Harry.” She speaks sternly, as if to a child. “You don’t know if you have the gift—“

“I have to try.” He cuts her off, shaking his head and speaking through a throat that feels thick and raw. “I have to try.”

Violet scans his face, blinking slowly as she considers what he’s saying. “And are you prepared for what would happen should you fail?”

“I don’t care about that,” he says quickly. “I don’t care. Because what happens if I’m successful? What if I do have the gift? Hm? Then what?”

“I don’t believe it’s that simple, Harry.” Violet sighs. “I don’t get the sense that you have it.”

“But I have to try.” Harry emphasizes his words. “And if you won’t help me, then I’ll find a way myself.”

He rises to his feet and faces the sea, already beginning unbuttoning his shirt as if he’s about to undress and follow his darling Roni. Violet stands just as quickly, making her way over to him.

“Harry, Harry!” she says quickly, reaching forward to stop him. “Stop.”

He turns to Violet, and it’s the first time she notices how puffy his eyes are. She sees how determined he is, how absolutely heartbroken, and it hurts her own heart. She’s never been in love, although she’s helped many people who have been. She does understand connections like this, and although she unfortunately doesn’t get the sense that Harry is someone equipped with the gift of time travel, she knows he’s not going to give up any time soon. Not until he knows for sure.

So she sighs.

“I’ll help you,” she says. “But it’s going to take work.” She rubs his arm comfortingly. “And time. You can’t go right now.”

“But I can go? Eventually?” He looks at her with hope in his eyes, reminiscent of a small child, and it makes Violet feel for him even more.

“I can’t promise you that,” she says. “I wish I could.”

Harry looks out at the sea, one last time, then wraps Violet in his arms. It’s the first time all evening he’s reciprocated her comforting embrace, and he can feel her smile as she hugs him back.

Violet isn’t sure how long she holds him, and she knows he’s still crying by the way his back trembles every now and again. When he finally pulls away, it’s with a thankful smile. He groans and laughs at himself, reaching up to wipe at his eyes. “Sorry,” he giggles, “must look a mess.”

“You look fine, darling.” Violet gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before nodding her head towards the setup previously used by him and Roni. “Come along, then. I’ll help you get this cleaned up so you can get home and get yourself a proper night’s sleep.”

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

There’s a buzzing in Roni’s ears, and her hands feel as though they’re vibrating. It comes after an intense, icy feeling in her veins, coursing throughout her entire being then fading all at once. She feels out of breath, but her heart is pounding slower than usual.

She’s somewhere between sleep and consciousness, and she recognizes this feeling in the back of her mind. The blackness behind her eyes somehow grows brighter and brighter with each passing second, as colorful memories flash far too quickly for her to make them out individually. At one moment, she’s a child again. At another, she’s at her mother’s funeral. And at another still, she’s graduating high school, waving out to her grandparents and Oliver in the front row. These specific instances don’t evoke any strong feelings in her one way or another, yet somewhere inside they stir something up.

A vision of herself, as an old woman, flashes behind her eyes, and although in her logical brain she knows that she isn’t old yet, she feels as though she’s lived that moment every second of every day.

The memories get brighter and brighter, buzzing loudly in her ear, and her body feels detached from her soul as she’s suddenly surrounded by nothing but white light.

Roni isn’t even sure when she’s opened her eyes, but all of her thoughts have quieted instantly. There is absolutely nothing surrounding her except white. She is completely alone, but it isn’t frightening by any means. In fact it feels rather peaceful. She presses forward, taking a step towards nothing in particular, and her legs feeling strangely weak as they carry her on.

Her heart feels heavy in her chest as she walks, beginning to regain a sense of consciousness while remaining absolutely at peace. She remembers that she’s traveling through time, yes, but why? Where is she going?

Your mind accepts this absolutely. It is 9:30am on June 16th, 1985. You have travelled back in time. Soon, you will open your eyes---

A voice that sounds familiar to her-- is it her own?-- catches her attention, and a memory comes to her mind like an electric shock. June 16th, 1985… what’s significant about that?

-into the hallway of the home you share with your mother, Tanya Rachel Elliot, and you will walk downstairs to find her cooking-

She smells something, distant and faint, but it isn’t the blueberry pancakes she hears the voice describing. Instead, it smells like… a house? A bedroom she’s familiar with. Who’s bedroom?

It comes to her quickly, her mind filling with images of Oliver, her boyfriend, at a New Year’s Eve party. The voice— her own voice— states that it’s 1985. Her conscious mind knows that it’s almost 2000.

Like a slap to the face, Roni remembers Harry. She remembers the first night she met him, when she was cold and disoriented in the streets of New York. She remembers falling in love with him, quicker than anything she’s ever experienced, and then her heart aches at the memory of leaving him. Knowing why she’s here, and how she’s going back to the modern world.

“Roni,” she hears a voice in the distance, soft and feminine and familiar, and Roni turns on her heel in her dreamlike state. She doesn’t see anyone, but she knows she recognizes that voice.

“Veronica,” it comes again, and Roni blinks in the bright light trying to find the source. Her mind is foggy, but she knows the voice. She knows she does, but she can’t quite put her finger on it.

“Veronica, darling.”

Through the fog in her eyes, she makes out a figure— far, far away, but moving towards her somewhat quickly. It’s a familiar outline, even if she can’t see the details of the person’s face. The closer she gets she realizes it’s a woman, and Roni tries to blink her eyes into some clarity.

The closer the woman gets, the more things start to make sense in Roni’s brain. The woman steps into focus, and it hits Roni like a ton of bricks.

“Mom?” She whispers, afraid that if she speaks any louder she’ll ruin any type of illusion.

The woman-- her mother-- nods gently as she comes into clear view, now only a few mere feet away from her. “It’s me, baby.”

Roni takes a moment, hardly daring to move until she can’t take it any longer. She lunges, awkwardly, running to close the gap between them and falling ungracefully into her mother’s arms.

This moment is one that she’s imagined so many times before in her life, yet she never could have dreamt how good it would feel. Her mother wraps her arms around Roni tightly, kissing her head, as Roni bawls like a baby.

“Is it really you?” Roni asks. “Are you really here?”

“I’m here, my sweet girl. I’m right here.”

Roni hardly hears her mother’s words, she just wraps her arms impossibly tighter around the older woman, as if scared that she’ll slip right from her fingers without warning. “Mom,” she sobs, “I’ve missed you so much.”

“Oh, baby,” Tanya coos. “I’m with you every day.”

Tanya pulls away slightly, despite Roni’s tugging at her, and wipes Roni’s eyes with her thumbs. “Don’t cry, my love.”

Roni lets out a wet laugh, reaching up to wipe at her snotty nose with the back of her hand. She hasn’t seen her mother in fifteen years, and she knows she must look an absolute mess right now. “Sorry,” she says, “I’m just… I can’t believe it’s you.”

“I know, Peanut.” Tanya smiles a smile that is so absurdly kind; a smile that Roni loved being on the receiving end of throughout her entire childhood. “It feels so wonderful to hold you in my arms again.”

Tanya was never a crier, so Roni suspects she won’t be now in the afterlife either. Still, the look on her face tells Roni all that she needs to know, and it’s beautiful. Roni sighs, leaning into Tanya’s hold on her face and staring at her mother eagerly, as if one blink will send her vanishing away again. She reaches up to place her hand on top of her mothers, and notices Tanya’s attention briefly shift.

Tanya squints, then laughs-- a surprised, tinkling sort of noise-- as she removes her hand from Roni’s face. She takes Roni’s hand in her own then and thumbs at the mood ring on her finger. “You’ve kept my ring!”

“Of course!” Roni feels like an overly excitable little girl again, who’s about to overshare about today’s lesson after school. “Of course I did!”

“It’s pink,” Tanya observes. She smiles warmly. “It was always pink with you.”

“It was mostly pink when I was around you,” Roni says. “Oh god, mom, I have so much to tell you.”

Tanya smiles knowingly. “Tell me. I’m all ears.”

“I don’t even know where to begin,” Roni says, through a wet and tearful laugh. “I guess… I mean, first of all, where the hell am I?”

“Where do you think you are?” Tanya’s eyes sparkle mischievously, but her words only make Roni panic slightly.

“Am I… dead?”

Tanya giggles. “No, my love. You aren’t dead. You’re in the between.”

“The…. between?”

“You have been here before,” Tanya explains. “Between timelines. Between time itself. You passed through here when you first traveled back. Of course, you weren’t quite sure of what you were doing, so it may be a blur in your memory.”

Roni tries her hardest to think back to the night she arrived with Harry. It is a blur, but it comes back to her faintly. Lots of stumbling, lots of white light.

She cocks her head to the side. “Were you there that night? Or… I guess, here?”

“I was,” Tanya says, nodding. “I watched you. I tried to reach out, but whatever it was that was calling to you— a soul tie, a connection, whatever— was much stronger than I. So I did my best to just guide you to it.”

“Oh.” Roni processes her mother’s words, marveling at the fact that her twin flame connection with Harry had been that strong that she hadn’t even been able to stop here and speak to her mother. “I see.”

Tanya smiles that ever knowing smile. “Tell me about them,” she says softly.

“What?”

“The person. Your calling.” Tanya takes Roni’s hand in her own. “They must have done a number on you, baby.”

Roni sighs, unsure of where to even begin, but instantly feeling touched just by looking at her mother’s sweet face. She wants to start crying again, but she refuses to let herself. Her mother stays patient, not pressuring Roni to speak until she’s ready.

And with a deep breath, she launches right into it.

She tells her mother everything; about how she was trying to go back in time to save her, about how Harry had saved her that night, about how she tried to stay strong but ended up falling head over heels for him. It’s difficult recounting everything, especially because it feels so fresh in her own mind, and as hard as she’s working to conceal her tears, she can’t stop them from falling down her cheeks.

And Tanya only listens. Kind and understanding, Tanya listens. She doesn’t interrupt, she only nods every now and then, giving Roni the most sympathetic eyes in the world.

Roni laughs, cries, and every emotion in between as she tells her mother the entire story. And at the end of it, her mother wraps her in a comforting embrace while she tries to get her tears under control.

“My sweet girl,” Tanya coos, scratching Roni’s back comfortingly. “My sweet, brave girl.”

When Roni pulls away, confusion clouds her features. She searches her mother’s face for a wordless answer to a question she has yet to ask.

“Mom?” She says through a shaky breath, “Am I… I mean, did I do the right thing?”

Tanya brushes Roni’s hair off of her face, coming through it lovingly with her fingers. “Do you think you did?”

Roni groans. “God, you sound just like him. I just want to know if I made the right decision, but I have no way of gauging that, you know? Like how do I know?”

Tanya laughs. “To tell you the truth, my love, I really think you did. In fact, I can promise that you did.”

“But... Harry…” Roni trails off in a sigh. “I just want to know that he’ll be okay. You know?”

Tanya nods understandingly. “I know.”

“So is there… I don’t know, like, a way? For you to watch over him? I don’t know how the afterlife works.”

Tanya giggles at Roni’s words. “I’ll check in on him, sweetheart. If that’s what you want.”

“And can you—“ Roni sniffs, willing herself not to start sobbing again. “Can you tell him I love him?”

“You love him?” It isn’t accusatory, and her tone isn’t really all that shocked either. It’s a simple question, but Roni’s insides flip.

“I do,” she says decidedly. “So, so much.”

Tanya’s next question takes Roni by surprise. “And Oliver?”

“You know about Oliver? I didn’t start dating him until after you—“

“I know,” Tanya says calmly. “I’m with you always.”

“Oh.” Roni blows a puff of air out from her lips, reaching up to fidget with her hair. “Well. I love Oliver, but it’s not… I mean…. Harry is…” She trails off, looking helplessly at her mother, as if Tanya will be able to fill in the blanks.

Tanya only smiles. “Your twin flame. I know.”

Roni laughs in disbelief. “It’s weird, huh?” She asks. “How does that even happen?”

“How could you possibly travel back to 1925?” Tanya laughs. “Some things are not meant for us to understand, my darling.” She gives Roni’s shoulder a playful squeeze before continuing. “Anyway. I like Oliver. He’s a good kid. He takes good care of you. But Harry,” she smiles knowingly, “Harry set your soul on fire. This I know for sure.”

“I can’t help but feel like I did the wrong thing,” Roni sighs. “Even though I know I didn’t. I jst couldn’t erase you, you know? And everyone back home that I love—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself. Not to me. You did the right thing.”

Roni sighs, eyes scanning the great white abyss surrounding them as she tries to figure out what on earth to say. “So now what?” She tries after a moment. “Where do I even go from here?”

“Back home,” Tanya says, a comforting hand trailing up Roni’s arm. “To live a long and full life. To grow old, and to have children of your own. To stop living in the past.” The last bit is said more pointedly, and Roni blinks through her misty eyes back at her mother.

“I’m not—“

“Veronica,” Tanya says slowly, “darling, look at all you’ve had. My god, look at all you’ve done.”

“I would trade it all to have you back, mom.” Roni reaches for her mother’s hand and squeezes. “All of it. Every bit.”

Tanya smiles. “I know, sweetheart. I know. But I am gone. You have done everything you could have done to bring me back. It was not in fate's design.”

Roni shakes her head, not wanting to believe her mother’s words but knowing she’s right. “But where do I go?” she repeats, quieter this time.

Tanya takes a big deep breath in through her nose. “I told you. You must go on and do even more incredible things with your life.” She laughs softly through her nose, and if Roni had blinked she’d have missed the moisture forming in her mother’s eyes. “I am so, so proud of who you are, Veronica.”

“I don’t want to go on without you, mom.”

“You will never have to. You never have before. I’m always going to be with you.”

“But now I have to like… go into the world again. The modern world, I mean. Knowing that I’ve seen you again, and that I’ve been in love. Real actual love. How can I just... go back?”

“You don’t have to go back, sweetheart. Not like that. You don’t have to be stuck. Life is far too short to be living it in a way that doesn’t make you happy. Do you understand? Do not let it pass you by.”

“But… but you-- and Harry--”

“Stop living in the past, Peanut. Worrying, and not allowing yourself to move forward, will never add any years to your life. It didn’t mine.”

Roni’s shoulders visibly soften, and she blinks up at her mother. She wants to take in all of her mothers advice, but mostly she just wants to drink in as much of her mother’s presence as possible. “I love you, mom.”

“I love you too, Veronica. More than you know.”

In the distance, Roni begins to hear a soft commotion. She looks around, trying to figure out where on earth the noise could be coming from (considering that there is nothing around her except for a great white nothingness). It starts out dull, a faint buzzing that gradually grows louder. She turns back to her mother, only to be met with a sad smile.

“Our time is almost up here,” Tanya explains, and Roni’s heart begins to swell with panic.

“What? No, I’m not ready—“

“You are ready, dear. You are as ready as you’ll ever be.”

The commotion grows louder, and Roni shakes her head. “But I don’t know what to do!”

“Yes you do.” Tanya nods. “You always have.” She reaches forward and wraps Roni into a tight hug, giving her a squeeze and pressing her lips to her head. “Remember what I told you. I’ll always be with you. So will he.”

“I don’t know what to do!” Roni wails again, her puffy eyes aching with pressure as more tears begin flowing. “I don’t know where to go!”

“The answers will come,” Tanya says, pulling away from Roni slowly. “What is meant to be will be. Some things you cannot change, but what is meant to be will always find a way.”

“Why weren’t you meant to stay with me then?” Roni cries, beginning to struggle to be heard over the buzzing noise of an invisible crowd. “To watch me grow up? To help me through life? Why did you have to go?”

“Everything has a reason,” Tanya says, stepping backwards from Roni. “Some reasons, we are never meant to know.”

“Mom—“

“I love you, Peanut.” Tanya continues to step backwards from Roni, and Roni tries to lunge for her. Her legs, however, feel like molasses, as if she’s suddenly dreaming and she can’t seem to move fast enough to where she needs to be.

“Don’t go yet!” Roni calls. “I’m not ready!”

“You are ready.” Roni can barely hear her mother now, and it seems that the further she steps away from her, the louder the buzzing becomes. “Don’t forget what I’ve told you.”

“But mom—“

In a flash, Tanya seems as far away as she can possibly get. Roni panics, turning around as quickly as her legs will let her, in search for some kind of answer. A door, perhaps, or at least the source of the deafening noise she’s hearing.

She calls for her mother, feeling desperately like a child who’s lost in a supermarket. She feels hot tears rolling down her face, and she defiantly wipes them away with the back of her wrist.

“Mom!”

The noise is ringing in Roni’s ears now, and her body feels fuzzy and foreign as she looks for an answer. She raises her palms to her ears to try and drown the noise out, but she can’t— it’s too deep within her head. “Fuck,” she cries, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Veronica,” comes her mother’s voice, as clear in her head as if it were her own consciousness. “Darling.”

Roni’s chest grows heavy as she wills the noise to stop, please; and all the while images of Harry flash in her head. Her mother’s voice comes again, and is the last thing she hears before everything goes completely black.

“Open your eyes.”

#Harry Styles #Harry #One Direction #Harry Styles fanfiction #Harry fanfiction #One direction fanfiction #fanfiction #Harry Styles AU #Harry AU #One Direction AU #AU #Harry Styles fluff #Harry fluff #One Direction fluff #fluff #Harry Styles smut #Harry smut #One Direction smut #smut

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forasecondtherewedwon · 3 years ago

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In the Arms of the Anus

Fandom: Spider-Man, Thor Pairing: Roger Harrington/Grandmaster Rating: T Word Count: 8883

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, @spiderman-homecomeme!!!

Summary: While people all over the world are finding their soulmates, Roger Harrington can barely find time to grab a sandwich. Clumsy, anxious, and stagnating in a mediocre marriage, it's a miracle that he still believes in love.

Today's the day the universe rewards that belief.

Three things about Roger Harrington: he’d just tripped on the sidewalk, he worried daily that he was developing a bald spot, and, at the age of 36, he felt he still believed in love as strongly as did the little girl in his building who’d made all the residents Valentine’s Day cards the year before.

The cards—which Roger had found endearing while his wife had been baffled to the point of annoyance—had been wedged into everyone’s mailbox sometime on the afternoon of last May 19th, and maybe that was why he thought of them today, exactly a year later.

It was helpful, he found, to consider love in markers of time passing, or just numbers. The anniversary of those Valentine’s cards would always be 271 days early, leap year or not. Roger had been married twice, longer the second time. He had zero children, and that was alright with him because he wasn’t totally sure that he did want kids and, anyway, he was too profoundly stressed about the welfare of the teenagers he taught at Midtown to comfortably imagine himself as a fulltime parent.

His wife was cool. Significantly cooler than he was. She drove out of the city to hike every other weekend (he had never joined her and hoped to never be called upon for woodsy companionship), had once performed an emergency tracheotomy on a friend at a dinner party, and had a tattoo on her hip that predated their relationship, which made it consequently, eternally, enigmatic, no matter how many times she told the objectively trite story of its acquisition. Also, she was a casual shoplifter, which made him very, very nervous in a way that he found difficult to differentiate from how he felt when he was turned on.

He was the kind of person who consistently forgot to take his glasses off before stepping into the shower. She was the kind of person who would run into and recognize a famous race car driver at Whole Foods (that had happened) or fake her own death (that had not happened—knock on wood!). Essentially, what and who his second wife was was the natural successor to his first wife (the reckless young bride to his insomniac young groom), who had in turn been the natural successor to the only other romantic encounter of his life worth mentioning: a kiss on the cheek at a birthday party on the day the Berlin Wall fell. Roger had been seven.

So his romantic history was speckled and, in two out of three cases, spoke a little too loudly of a need for legally-recognized codependence. So he didn’t feel like a man anyone would ever get a tattoo in honour of. So his wife had been a little unkind in the long pause before her negative when he’d asked her if she thought he was getting a bald spot. Roger still felt that love was going to happen for him. Hopefully sustained in his current marriage, but if not, there was always what Julius Dell had taken to (highly unscientifically) calling the Love Wave.

If Roger decided to be really delusional, he could pretend that the Love Wave was to blame for his stumble over uneven concrete on his way to grab lunch. That he was finally feeling its cosmic tug. Not that he would be the last to sense it—the inexplicable force that had lately begun guiding people the world over to their new partners—but every day that he didn’t, he feared his wife would feel it first and go careening out of their life together in a Thelma and Louise-style launch that somehow left her intact and him feeling like he’d plummeted to his death at the bottom of a canyon. Sometimes, when he thought about it, he imagined feeling that impulse to go to this destined soulmate and pictured it leading him home. Not in some metaphorical way, but literally home, to the apartment he shared with his wife, to find her arriving at the same time, the two of them matched up, the universe endorsing their marriage.

The reality was that he was a man with clumsy feet (and knees and elbows) who’d forgotten to pack himself a lunch and had just enough self-awareness (though probably not dignity) not to believe that eating in the cafeteria with his students was something he would be able to socially recover from.

He thought about a poorly-cut-out pink heart glued to a fold of red craft paper. He went to buy a sandwich.

At the deli, Roger waited in line and didn’t so much allow his mind to wander—like a dog off-leash in a dog park—as feel his mind jerk insistently away—like a dog on-leash, trying to snap a dropped slice of pizza off the sidewalk. He was violently not present as his thoughts migrated from Valentine’s Day cards to lesson plans to the anxiety he always felt over the fact of never seeming to have enough power to go with the tremendous sense of responsibility he felt for all situations in which he was even remotely involved. He would have, should have, continued to shuffle vacantly forward in line, except that the man ahead of him grumbled something that drew his focus.

What he grumbled was: “Even the Sorcerer Supreme should be able to spare a minute to decide what kind of sandwich he wants.”

Now, Roger Harrington was a man of science, but he was also a man who had previously enjoyed a close friendship with the Hulk (and if anyone challenged him on specific parameters within that assertion, Roger knew that he would cry). Aliens swarmed the sky like clouds of bees. There were compilation videos of Spider-Man nearly getting hit by city buses that could’ve been designed expressly to see how hard Roger could flinch. For a clumsy man with the unathletic, knock-kneed gait of Pippi Longstocking, Roger did his best to roll with the supernatural punches. Hey, this was how science worked too: just because there wasn’t a precedent yet didn’t mean there never would be. Just because he couldn’t explain something didn’t mean no one could. Sorcerers? Alright. There could be sorcerers.

“Sorcerers?” Roger blurted to the man, overeager to expel the word.

All other words had fled to the back of his mind, twitching in an agitated cluster, leaving just the one to be snatched frantically from the surface. Like fishing. (Roger had never been fishing. One of his greatest fears was having a live fish somehow jump into his shoe and stepping on it by accident.)

“Uhhh,” the man droned. He looked uneasy. If Roger knew how to make his eyes a little less wide in situations like these, he would’ve done it.

“No, yeah, sorcerers, sure,” Roger swiftly backpedaled. “I’m a teacher.”

As if being a teacher equaled knowledge of sorcerers. As if that were a normal unit of the high school curriculum. Roger’s understanding of sorcerers began and ended with Mickey Mouse in a blue wizard’s hat. He wondered if that was sort of the standard look.

The man did not appear reassured. Roger thrust his hand forward.

“Roger Harrington, Midtown Tech.”

Face still wary, his deli companion shook hands.

“Wong.”

“So, this sorcerer of yours didn’t pick a sandwich?” The line shuffled forward and, now in reach of the long glass case of food, Roger attempted to lean his elbow casually against it, misjudged the distance, and jerked back upright again before he could fall over.

“No… You heard that part too?”

“If I could hear the part about the sorcerer, why wouldn’t I be able to hear the rest?”

“I think most people would’ve been so fixated on the sorcerer thing that they wouldn’t really absorb the part about the sandwich.”

“Just got sandwiches on the brain, I guess,” Roger said.

God, if Wong knew a sorcerer, odds were that he was a sorcerer too. (Roger based this on being a teacher with almost exclusively teacher friends and acquaintances.) He was making it sound like he cared more about sandwiches, he knew he was. He stared silently at Wong for a few painful seconds and wondered if the man could tell that he had worked for a sandwich shop as a teenager—the role of wearing a full-body sandwich costume and standing on the sidewalk, trying to attract people into the shop.

But Wong surprised him by nodding.

“You could get one of everything,” Roger heard himself suggest.

He was not typically one to make suggestions, but rather one to panic when other people did and he was in the position of having to choose between them. He could never decide on a restaurant for he and his wife’s now few-and-far-between date nights, or provide straightforward feedback when she asked for his opinion on her clothing choices… which movie they should see… what they should buy for her friend’s sister’s housewarming gift...

Oh god, she was probably going to fake her own death and his biggest anxiety was knowing that someone would ask him to choose the casket!

“I have like…” Wong jingled his pockets and extracted a fistful of coins that, when he opened his hand, Roger saw belonged to several different currencies. “…six bucks.”

Like a mirror with a delay, Roger patted his own pockets to locate his wallet. He flipped it open to reveal something promising and terrifying: he’d forgotten to return the school credit card after the last field trip he’d chaperoned. He shouldn’t, but… sorcerer.

“I think this’ll cover it,” Roger said. “It’s for emergency expenses.”

“Like lunch?” Wong asked doubtfully.

“I could be very hungry.”

“They sell seventeen different types of sandwiches here.”

“I could be very, very hungry.”

Wong shrugged in evident acquiescence and Roger marvelled that it was so simple for him to accept this act of generosity. Roger couldn’t recall the last time someone had been as generous towards him. Wait, yes he could. The Valentine’s Day card. Well, handing over a credit card that wasn’t technically his didn’t exactly equate to presenting his ticket at the Love Wave gates (not that there were such things—not that he’d know), but he was hoping to trade this generosity up for a different magical experience in the near future.

When they reached the front of the line for service, Roger ordered a total of eighteen sandwiches. (And received an undisguised groan of complaint from the people still in line behind himself and Wong.) While they waited, Roger buzzed like the posterchild for over-caffeination, doing his best not to let his excitement translate into erratic movements.

Of course, once the sandwiches were presented and paid for, it only made sense for Roger to help Wong carry them all. His own ham-and-Swiss was stuffed into one of the three bags and they were all bulging, threatening to spill. If one of them ripped on Wong’s journey back to wherever he had to take them, who would be there to gather the sandwiches into their arms so that Wong wouldn’t have to leave them on the ground? Roger was clearly the best (only) person for the job.

And if they talked on the way? That would be natural. If Wong stared at him with abrupt, unyielding suspicion the instant Roger attempted to negotiate a visit with this ‘Sorcerer Supreme’ in exchange for buying his lunch? Yeah. Yeah that suspicion would be fair.

“Not for my sake!” Roger defended as Wong blinked back at him. “For the kids!”

“The Sorcerer Supreme isn’t a birthday party magician.”

“No, I would never imply that! These are bright kids. They’d be there to learn, respectfully. They’ve had their own traumatic encounter with Spider-Man already so there wouldn’t be any clambering to meet another person with superhuman powers!”

“What did Spider-Man do to traumatize them?”

Wong looked interested now, in an entertained sort of way. Meanwhile, Roger was having a flashback of his life flashing before his eyes inside the Washington Monument.

“Actually, he saved us,” Roger explained. “That’s not the point. It would be purely educational. You and the Sorcerer Supreme would call the shots. As long as it wasn’t anything dangerous.”

“Dangerous? We would never put children at risk!”

Roger was about to clarify that he hadn’t meant to imply that they would when he realized Wong seemed to be taking this as a reason to prove himself, or to make the other sorcerer prove what he’d just said.

“I would hope not,” Roger said carefully, “because not all of the children I’ve taken on field trips have come back alive and that haunts me.”

“Well, what haunts me is everything I’ve seen and learned from in order to become someone who could now guarantee a safe field trip environment.”

“Well, that would be great.”

“Well, good,” Wong concluded.

Roger looked down at the bag he was holding as he dug out his sandwich. His wrist twisted and he caught the time on his watch. Oh wow, oh no, his lunch break was almost over.

“Ok, deal,” he said quickly. “We’ll come by next Tuesday!”

“I’ll be out here to let you in!” Wong agreed with a parting wave.

Roger took off running in the direction of Midtown and when that got too awful, he wheezed like an asthmatic and waited at the closest bus stop.

—

Roger had expected Principal Morita to say there was no room in their budget for this trip. That they were nearing the end of the school year, that parents and guardians would be reluctant to sign another form for an excursion that Roger could only give a vague, stammering explanation of. At the very least, he’d anticipated the journey via school bus in lurching, stop-and-start traffic to take so long that the kids would revolt; Flash Thompson would lead the complaints that they could’ve walked to their destination faster than the ride took and Roger would feel the primal horror of a confrontation with a self-possessed teenager who wielded the kind of peer influence Roger could only have dreamed of when he’d been Flash’s age.

But no.

Highly improbably (Roger didn’t like to consider it miraculous), things went smoothly. The trip cleared the budget assessment on zero notice because, besides renting the single bus to transport the students, their outing didn’t actually have any costs. Permission slips came back signed. Traffic was light. And dear, dear Flash—who usually gave Roger so much anxiety—slapped the hand Roger raised to shield his eyes from the sun as his students disembarked from the bus, rewarding him with a surprise high-five for getting them out of the classroom on a Tuesday afternoon. It almost knocked Roger’s glasses off.

They were ushered inside by Wong, who was now laying the mystical solemnity on pretty thick. He certainly wasn’t talking about sandwiches or complaining about the Supreme Sorcerer under his breath.

Before Roger could feel too good about himself though, he realized he’d had time to run through his headcount of the students three times without interruption. Normally, something would happen partway through his first count and he’d be uneasy for the rest of the day, sure that one of the kids had fallen down a manhole or been stampeded by a dog-walker’s unruly canine swarm. The universe shoved teenagers into the path of bike couriers with one hand and paired up soulmates with the other. That was just how things went! However, inside this house (or, no, Sanctum, Wong had called it), the air was still and quiet.

“Do you think he’s gonna make himself appear out of thin air?” Roger heard Ned ask at a whisper. “Or out of a wardrobe, or a trapdoor, or one of those boxes people get in to get sawed in half?”

“Those are cheap tricks,” Wong said loudly. He stared unsympathetically at Roger’s motley group, hand closed around his opposite wrist to maintain a serious pose. “The man you’ll be meeting shortly has capabilities that far outstrip those of the kind of magician-for-hire you’d find in a phonebook.”

From behind him, Roger heard Peter ask Ned what a phonebook was.

“What kind of capabilities then?” Flash demanded.

Roger sighed and was turning to reprimand his student when Wong said, “Like this!”

The man faked a sneeze of horrific volume and range, doubling over and cupping his hand around his mouth and nose. When he straightened up and presented his open palm, there was a raspberry sitting in it.

Roger closed his eyes for a moment to collect himself and his teaching career played on a fast-forwarded film reel behind his lids. The Sorcerer Supreme was a no-show; all Roger had accomplished was taking the kids to a weird building to witness a man pretend to sneeze out a raspberry. Midtown Tech was going to fire him. His wife would recognize his unemployment as a reason to leave him. Depressingly, Roger was thinking about how that would almost be a relief—an end to his incessant worrying that they were really kind of a mismatch—and he was thinking it while he blankly watched Wong eat the raspberry he’d just feigned dislodging from his nasal cavity.

He was really unprepared for a different man to come sweeping down the stairs, motion with his hand, and have a red sheet come whizzing down after him to settle itself on his shoulders. Roger blinked. He heard the mixed noises of fright and appreciation from his students.

Then Flash piped up with, “That’s just a trick. It’s wires or something.”

Roger backed into the cluster of his charges and, without taking his eyes off the obvious Magical Guy in front of him, reached over and placed his hand across Flash’s mouth.

Unfortunately, his censorship seemed to be too late. The Sorcerer’s narrowed eyes zoned in on Flash.

“Oh yeah? How ’bout this? Is this just a trick?”

Fingers splayed, the man moved his hands in a precise, practiced way and a window opened up in the middle of the room. No, not a window, but Roger was having a tough time wrapping his head around it. What this non-window showed was something that wasn’t the room, that wasn’t a view of the street, that wasn’t anyplace in New York, if he had to guess.

“You can’t just do it like that,” Wong said wearily. Roger felt himself and his students look from one of the men to the other as though watching a tennis match. “There should be a little more finesse.”

“Look,” the Sorcerer told him. “You don’t get to spring this on me and then expect me to ham it up for the kids. This isn’t a David Blaine show.”

“Maybe you should watch one. You might learn something about showmanship.”

“So, it’s fake, right?” Flash checked.

Dammit, Roger had dropped his hand, distracted as he tried to make out what he was seeing through what he was becoming increasingly comfortable with calling a ‘magic portal’ in his thoughts. He scrambled to take hold of Flash’s shoulder—yanking him back would be bad, but dealing with the fallout of him pissing off somebody who could make magic portals would be much worse—but Flash dodged him, swaggering forward to inspect the Sorcerer’s work.

“What is it? Mirrors? Greenscreen? You buy your tech from Stark?”

“Stark?” the Sorcerer spat out derisively.

Overcome with the terrible feeling that he was about to find out what it looked like when a wizard put a curse on a child, Roger sprang forward. As he did, three things happened: the Sorcerer rotated his wrist slightly, the scene on the other side of the portal changed, and Flash turned to the side.

Without a student to grab onto and pull to safety, Roger’s momentum sent him hurtling through the gateway currently connecting Midtown to parts unknown.

Of all the times to trip, he thought.

—

The world was bright and fast and bad. Actually, Roger was almost positive that what he was seeing wasn’t the world at all, but he couldn’t put a name to where he was any more than he could think of better adjectives to describe it. Unless the Sorcerer Supreme owned a magical slip ’n’ slide that operated at speeds designed to train prospective astronauts for space travel, Roger was no longer in his building.

The colour of the tunnel of light surrounding him turned from something like the intestinal track of a unicorn who ate lightning and nebulas to a dangerous, broiling red. Roger kept waiting for his skin to bubble, his face to melt off. Maybe he was the fabled frog in the pot of boiling water and had failed to notice the heat steadily increasing. Because he didn’t feel hot. He couldn’t tell whether or not he felt cold either and before he could work it out, he finally landed.

It was rough.

He curled his arms up around his head, protecting his face. He hit and tumbled, hit and tumbled, banging his shins and elbows, setting off a series of metallic clangs and thwumps like his body was playing drums made of the contents of somebody’s recycling bin. Roger could see—once, shaking, he was able to lower his arms and open his eyes—that his imagination hadn’t been far from the mark: he was lying in a heap of trash.

Trembling like a baby deer, he got to his feet and assessed his surroundings. There were piles everywhere. Piles of stuff. Roger could identify some of the battered objects, but most were utterly alien to him. This was like the time he’d found his wife’s sex toys all over again.

“Hello?” he called out, because he seemed to be alone. “Hel—”

His throat closed off abruptly when he swiveled in place and noticed the sky. His mouth fell open. Was that what he had just come through? That furious-looking, billowing, volcanic, enormous… disturbance? Weather pattern? Entrance to hell, if hell were a mountain of trash?

Oh man. Where was Spider-Man this time? Roger didn’t know which would come first, but if something distinctly reassuring didn’t happen in the next 30 seconds, he was going to either burst into tears or pee his pants. His cool wife was going to be so bummed to have to declare him dead instead of faking her own death. And his students would be traumatized, having just witnessed their teacher disappear before their eyes. He spent a frantic 17 of his 30 seconds wondering if this were Jumanji and he’d started a game without realizing it; being sucked into a board game was another of his greatest fears, ever since he’d watched the chilling horror film Jumanji in his teens.

“Hello?” Roger croaked a final time.

Some other scientist—a Tony Stark type—would thrive in this scenario, Roger knew. They would scavenge the surrounding mounds of metal, collecting and assembling pieces into some sort of technology that would either get them home or enable communication with a rescue team. Would there be a rescue team for Roger Harrington? Would anyone even try to get him back?

The cry/pee conundrum was looking more like cry with each passing second until suddenly, amongst the broken things Roger was aggrieved to consider the lone sentinels of his demise, some kind of spacecraft touched down. Based on his recent luck, whoever was at the helm was likely here to kill him, but he immediately elected to throw himself on their mercy, whether that meant rescue or just a swifter snuffing out of his life than he would otherwise experience on this sad island of garbage as he died from dehydration, starvation, and exposure to that infernal gateway in the sky.

He mouthed the word “help” more than said it as he staggered forward on legs he could hardly feel. A door in the side of the spacecraft slid smoothly open and party music blared out. Roger flinched back as though he had not heard the sounds of civilization in years.

A woman exited the craft. She wore an expression about as kind as the murderous upside-down mushroom cloud in the sky and when their eyes met, she barked, “Back!”

Roger executed an awkward reverse lunge, pleading hands raised. Ok, now that his time had come, he didn’t want a quick death. Put out of his misery? No, he would learn to live with his misery, the way he’d learned to live with his college roommates, or his wife’s collection of handmade bowls! With food and water to sustain him, he was suddenly confident that he could be successfully miserable for years if this intimidating woman would just leave him to his own pathetic devices.

But then, like a visitation from a tan, eye-liner-wearing angel of indeterminate age, a man in gold robes emerged from the vessel. He beamed like he had always been beaming, and always would be.

Just like that, Roger Harrington got it. He got what Hot Chocolate meant when they sang that they believed in miracles. He got the meaning of Kylie Jenner’s year of realizing stuff. He got why a child would send out Valentine’s Day cards in May and why his wife was so dedicated to her hiking group and why he was here.

“Now, what did I say about that before we left?” the angel seemed to be asking his companion, though he’d locked his eyes on Roger. “Did I say to harass our visitor or did I say to be nice?”

The woman narrowed her eyes at Roger, which he felt more than saw; it was possible that he was crying after all. Tears of joy.

“Harass,” she answered flatly.

The angel chuckled.

“You know, I do like having you around. Before you, I said to myself, ‘Next time, get an enforcer with a sense of humour.’” He sighed as his laughter dwindled. “But you can, uh, skedaddle back onto the ship now. That’ll be all.”

“What if you want to melt him?” she queried.

That was enough to tear Roger’s gaze away from the man and send it zipping nervously to the threatening almost-smile the woman was now directing his way. He’d preferred the murder face.

“Melt him!” the angel said, in a tone that implied her suggestion had been ridiculous. (Roger relaxed. A little.) “Topaz, don’t you realize who this is? Don’t you know?”

She shrugged.

“Trash.”

“No, he’s not trash! Do you think I would’ve left the Grand Arena to retrieve a new gladiator by hand? All those Scrappers don’t do my bidding just so I can dig through the garbage looking for fresh challengers for my champion! I wouldn’t even assign Scrapper 142 this task, and you know she’s my favourite!”

When the woman only grumbled, the man pressed, “You have an unbelievable poker face. Do you really not know why I flew all the way out here for this guy?”

“I’m his soulmate,” Roger blurted, because that was the one thing he did know.

He had no idea what a Scrapper was, or whether the man in front of him was more or less important than the ‘champion’ he’d mentioned, or how his homicidal sidekick planned to melt Roger, but he understood what was happening here. Forget the Love Wave—what had come for him had yanked him violently across solar systems, maybe galaxies. He’d been sucked under by the Love Riptide.

The angel pointed at him and proudly proclaimed, “Correctamundo!”

Then he strode forward and folded Roger into a hug. Roger thought this must be what it was like to be a piece of antique furniture, tenderly wrapped in gold leaf.

“I’m the Grandmaster,” he said.

“Roger Harrington,” Roger offered, feeling that his life was entirely surreal as he cautiously returned the hug.

“As soon as I felt you land on my humble little planet here, I came looking. My orgy guests were disappointed, naturally, but I had to put my interests first. What was I, elected? If they wanted a leader who would pretend to care about everyone equally, they should have organized themselves into a viable political party capable of rivalling my dictatorship, am I right?” He drew back slightly and laughed. “You should see your face! I’m kidding. I would’ve had anyone involved in such a thing put to death. Don’t you worry, Hairball.”

Roger cleared his throat. He’d learned so much in the last few sentences alone. Death. Dictator. Orgy. Any one of those things was a lot to confront and yet… he was calmed by the Grandmaster’s presence. He was alive and unmelted. He’d managed to find his soulmate—a man he’d been almost certain to never meet as things stood with Earth’s individually-impressive but cosmically-insignificant progress with space travel. At long last, the universe had smiled on Roger Harrington.

“Just Roger is good,” he said. If last names ever came up again, he would tactfully correct his soulmate, but with a name like ‘the Grandmaster,’ he doubted they ever would.

“Roger. Anything you say.” Gripping Roger’s shoulders, the Grandmaster leaned in and planted a sound kiss on his forehead with a loud, “Mmmwah!”

He asked Roger if he would like to go aboard his ship, apologizing that it wasn’t the one where he’d just been having the orgy and appearing to check Roger’s face for disappointment. Roger didn’t know what the Grandmaster saw in his expression, but he knew it wasn’t that.

Inside the spaceship, Roger looked around with huge eyes. He hadn’t felt this kind of wonder in a room jammed with so much beyond his understanding since the first time his mom had taken him to the New York Hall of Science as a kid. Everything was bright and white and immaculately clean, and Roger could concentrate on all of it because the Grandmaster had Topaz drop the volume of his party playlist until it was just a low pulse of background noise. Seemingly amused by his awe, the Grandmaster allowed him a peek at the controls before gently herding him into a chamber with seating arranged for socializing. A pneumatic hiss sealed them safely inside and away from the woman’s scowl.

“I really just wanna sit here and, uh, just look atcha, but that look on your face tells me you’ve got about a million questions.”

The Grandmaster settled back into the bench seating, resting his long arms along the top of the seat. Across from him, Roger fidgeted, experiencing sensory overload. Soulmate. Spaceship. Alien planet. He found it hard to decide what to ask first. Was that even polite? Was the Grandmaster just saying that Roger could ask questions when he really wanted Roger to say or do something else? There was an awfully flirtatious look in his eye, the likes of which Roger hadn’t seen directed towards himself in several years.

“What is this place?” Roger asked before he could stop himself. “Where am I?”

“Oh! This is Sakaar! Are you saying you didn’t come here on purpose? I figured you weren’t aiming for a pile of trash, but you really didn’t know where you were going at all?”

Roger shook his head so hard that he had to nudge his slipping glasses back up his nose.

“It was an accident. I fell through a wizard’s—uh, I mean, a sorcerer’s—magic portal. That kind of clumsiness must sound pretty farfetched to someone who’s so obviously…” Roger motioned spastically towards his soulmate, the dictator, with both hands. “…in control of their life.”

The Grandmaster laughed, transparently pleased and preening.

“Oh, Roger, you flatter me.”

He stretched out his leg to playfully tap his shoe (gold) against Roger’s (plain, brown, frayed shoelace). Roger jumped, giddy from an alteration in sea level, possibly, plus life-changing events.

“But it really isn’t so uncommon for people, beings, things… to end up here without meaning to,” the Grandmaster went on. “A lot of junk passes through the Anus. Not that you’re junk, obviously.”

With a winning smile, Roger’s soulmate leaned forward and patted him on the knee. He was a touchy-feely guy, it seemed, and it made Roger cognizant of how very lonely he’d been in his marriage, in the last year especially. How skittish around strangers, how unaffectionate with his friends. This was what he needed, and the universe had understood that.

It took his brain a few seconds to catch up with what his soulmate had said, distracted by the comfort he was taking in his easy warmth.

“The Anus?” Roger asked in a choked voice.

“The Devil’s Anus, to be exact. That enormous, horrifying wormhole out there in the sky!” the Grandmaster explained, gleeful. “Best I can guess, it acts as a funnel for accidental travelers, like yourself. And boy, are we ever grateful for that thing. I’ve never had to post any ‘Help Wanted’ flyers, I’ll tell ya that. We need more people serving drinks? Boom. More entertainers? Boom. More lubricators for the orgies? Boom, the Anus provides, baby.”

Roger didn’t inquire what the duties of a person with the job title ‘orgy lubricator’ entailed; it seemed sleazily self-explanatory. He just nodded.

“And now,” his perfect, golden match continued, “the portal brings me my soulmate. I love that thing. It’s really somethin’, huh?”

“It’s really something,” Roger agreed. “Really, really something.”

“You’re looking just a little stunned there, Rodge. Can I offer you something to eat? A drink? I promise, I’m usually a much better host. I feel like I’m positively, uh, bumbling right now.” He beamed.

This man was so many things at once—possibly too many—but bumbling was so far from being one of them that Roger actually laughed weaky in his state of happy, semi-delirium. He accepted the cold glass that was pressed into his hand, the brush of the Grandmaster’s warm palm across his forehead. He had moved to sit right next to Roger.

“You can get used to this place at your own pace, within reason.” His soulmate chuckled. “Heck, we can stay right here a day or two. My plans are cancelled, and when I stop, the world stops. That’s how it is, being the Grandmaster, and that’s how it’s gonna be for you too. You can give all your worries a big, wet kiss goodbye, my love. You’re living a life of luxury now. A court of sycophants, fights to the death in the evening, orgies on a lazy afternoon. I’m talkin’ a life of pure class—”

“Class!”

“Yeah, baby, that’s what I said.” The Grandmaster was wearing a languid smile as he traced the back of his fingers along Roger’s jaw.

But Roger was suddenly too alert to be lulled by welcome caresses and delicious, exotic beverages.

“I was teaching a class before I fell through the portal,” he said. “I’m a teacher. My students are probably terrified. Some of them might be messed up for life after watching me disappear right in front of them. What have I done…”

“So you gave them a cool story to tell their friends! You don’t need to think about that anymore. Now that you’re living here—”

“I can’t live here!” Roger said, seizing the Grandmaster’s hands in his as he tried desperately to explain. “I have responsibilities as an educator! Jesus Christ, I’m married!”

“Roger. Rodge. Rodge. Hey,” his soulmate said, finally disrupting Roger’s spiral of panic. “That’s all in the past. Do you know how many creatures from just, uh, every darn corner of the universe I’ve made slaughter each other for my entertainment? Thousands, Roger, ok? Thousands. And it’s taught me oodles about life. What I’ve learned is that love is the only thing that matters. What all of those poor bastards scream for in the end is their mom, their partner, their best friend. Now, that doesn’t help them, but it helps us. It helps us understand that we’ve done it—we’ve achieved the one thing in our lives that was worth a damn to achieve. I’m not gonna, gonna now be parted from you, sweetheart. You are the point of me.”

Roger felt himself growing teary at the speech. Yes, this had been a whirlwind—they’d met no more than 15 minutes ago—but he was feeling something just as deep as the love the Grandmaster described. It was a fantasy in the best way, the life his soulmate pictured for them (most of it… maybe not the part about slaughter). But it was a fantasy in the worst way too, something so impossible that Roger felt sick for getting as attached to this man as he already had.

“I can’t,” he said softly. He let his head hang down, solaced when the Grandmaster guided it onto his shoulder and wrapped a protective arm around him.

“Can’t you? For me? Roger, if I put you on a ship and send you back through the Anus, we may never meet again.”

Roger squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to be selfish, but there were people he couldn’t leave in the lurch. People who maybe didn’t care about him in a way that was equal to how he cared about them, but that was how any kind of relationship was, apart from soulmates. There were imbalances. He knew he might not be the most brilliant scientist, the most inspirational teacher, the husband a woman would prefer over the outdoorsy hunk in her hiking group, but he knew who he was: he was someone who couldn’t just walk away.

“We’ll be together again,” Roger said, clutching the Grandmaster’s robes. “After.”

Though he didn’t yet know what ‘after’ would mean.

—

It wasn’t as unexpected as it could have been—Roger had always had a feeling he’d die on a school bus.

The difference between his fears and reality was that he wasn’t departing this world in a fiery crash or zooming out of control between the steel trusses and into the East River. There was confusion, there was chaos, there were screams and the violent honking of horns, but there were elements he couldn’t have predicted. Primarily, the giant alien spacecraft hovering over the city. The ship immediately moved into first place of the most ominous rings in his life (he and his wife were not in a good place). Since its sighting, things had quickly spiraled out of control. Julius had radioed Roger from the other bus of students they were chaperoning to MoMA to report that Ned Leeds had ‘flipped his shit’ and Peter Parker was currently missing. Roger had nearly passed out. The only thing that had kept him conscious was his jittery concern for the rest of his students.

At Midtown Tech, they had drills for almost every eventuality. As of 2012, hostile outer space invasion was actually part of their repertoire, but it had always been assumed they would be at school when it happened, not out on a field trip. The most Roger had been able to think to do was get the kids to a secure location. Which meant getting the buses to a secure location. But the buses were on the bridge, and all over the bridge drivers were panicking, mindlessly stomping on the gas and attempting to swerve around the rest of the vehicles. Above the blood rushing in his ears, he’d heard crash after crash, until their bus was hemmed in and, through the smoking, crumpled hoods of their fellow commuters, the alien ship hung stationary in the sky. Disturbingly tranquil as New York City went to pieces to the tune of apocalyptic dissonance just below.

In the end, the spaceship hadn’t stayed put, but Roger had. The lanes around them were crowded with smashed cars. Glass from shattered windshields glittered on the pavement. Still, more vehicles surged forward as drivers attempted to use the bridge to flee the city; this wasn’t NYC’s first alien rodeo. He hadn’t attempted to force any of his students to remain on the bus—they were some of the smartest and the best of their generation, and he trusted their survival instincts far more than his own—but he did direct the ones who fled to first climb up onto the roof of the bus instead of dropping directly down onto the street and risking injury. Yes, he worried about minor cuts and bruises. Even now.

He thought that Flash was staying with him, and was touched. But then he realized Flash was just gripping his shoulder for leverage as he jumped and grabbed for the emergency roof hatch with his free hand. Roger knew the boy was somewhat neglected by his parents, and so, for the first time, he was happy go hear ‘Hotline Bling.’ It was Flash’s ringtone and it played incessantly as his phone rang and rang until the song, and the sound of Flash running, faded into the distance. Somebody wanted to see that he was safe. Somebody cared about him.

Alone, Roger hunkered down between the seats, knees bent in front of him. He scraped one hand anxiously through his hair and gripped his phone in the other.

He should call his wife. He knew he should. Only, he was afraid that she either wouldn’t pick up or she’d answer and be with the guy from her hiking group. Roger wasn’t even upset; he was glad she had someone, if this was it.

Ever since he’d returned from Sakaar, he’d been different, he was aware that he had. In the past, his wife had been largely responsible for the sundering of their marriage, but Roger knew that he was now pulling away too. It had begun inside him—the tear. He wanted to be with two people for two different reasons. In two places, on two worlds. Commitment clashed with longing. Logical rightness fought emotional rightness. He’d been weak, persuading himself daily to tough it out with his wife (even as he slept on the couch every night because lying beside her made him unhappy), when, for once in his damn life, he wanted to be fulfilled. Somewhere out in the stars, there was a man with blue eyeliner and an entire planet at his capricious command and he was the person for Roger.

If only, he thought, picturing the face he shouldn’t have been able to recall so clearly for the brevity of their encounter months ago. Roger shut his eyes to better remember the Grandmaster, and so he wouldn’t have to see his phone clatter to the bus’s dirty floor when the hand that held it turned to dust.

—

As with his life on regular, non-apocalypse days, not much happened to Roger. Despite his paralyzing breakdown on a school bus, he wasn’t among the billions scattered to the wind like sentient dandruff. He picked himself up and went home. Sure, he was shivering almost out of his skin from the shock, but he didn’t collapse into wracking, snotty sobs until he was safely in his living room, listening to his neighbours’ wails through the condo’s walls.

Roger’s wife wasn’t there, didn’t answer when he called her, and, three weeks later, still hadn’t made contact. It took another two months to hold her wake; the funeral business was booming. Never had so many words been spoken over so many vacant graves. Some members of his wife’s hiking group attended, some had even helped him select the right music and flowers beforehand. They knew her preferences. It felt surreal to be burying a person he couldn’t prove—in any meaningful way—that he’d really known.

With a queasy sense of being very lucky, he accepted that, apart from his marital status, his life hadn’t been upended. His windows weren’t broken, his car wasn’t stolen, the few family members he was out of touch with anyway had also survived. He went back to work before anybody called him in. There weren’t any students at first, just the echo of Roger’s clumsy footsteps tripping over the rug in the staffroom, half-solved equations on the whiteboards in the math classrooms, and the unholy stench of unwashed pinnies when he poked his head into the gym storage room to see if Coach Wilson was around. One day, Roger tipped back in the chair at the front of his own empty classroom and spotted a gigantic cobweb in the corner of the ceiling. It made him think of Spider-Man. He guessed that guy was gone too.

The most important thing for keeping sane was establishing a regimen. Work was a big part of that, but Roger also traveled daily into Manhattan to visit the Sorcerer’s place. It became a kind of pilgrimage. Early on, Wong would come out to say hello, but it was eventually less about commiseration and more of a perfunctory thing. Roger knew (assumed, hoped) that if the Sorcerer ever did return, Wong would let him know and welcome him inside. And then… a portal? And then the Grandmaster? He tried not to think about it too hard. Yearning took up a lot of energy and, when his students began to come back to school in distressingly low numbers, Roger needed to reserve that energy for teaching.

Everything was the same, every day, until it wasn’t.

For a reason he couldn’t rationally explain, Roger knocked on the Sorcerer’s door. While he was waiting—just a few seconds, he planned—a man materialized on the sidewalk right next to him. He tottered and Roger reflexively said, “Whoa!” and grabbed his shoulder to keep him on his feet. Before Roger could hypothesize or ask the man any questions, a teenage girl returned to existence a few feet away. Then a woman holding a toddler tightly in her arms. A little boy. A man with a dog. A bicycle-less bike cop, still wearing his helmet. Releasing the man, Roger spun and pounded against the door with his fist.

Still, no one answered.

Fighting the urge to show up at Midtown Tech, Roger made himself stay put, right there on the Sorcerer’s doorstep.

He waited a long time. As the sun set, New York City rose around him. He watched people hugging, running home down the middle of the street. He fielded unfinished questions as the newly returned began to ask him what had happened, what time it was, what year, before jogging away, more purposeful with every step they took. Roger’s foot began to bounce on the sidewalk and his clammy hands twisted fretfully. It was still another 12 hours before the door opened.

Roger fell backwards into Wong’s shins, delirious from the sickening seesaw between urgency and exhaustion. Everywhere, people were reconnecting. He scrambled to his feet because he wanted to be one of them.

“Is he here?” Roger demanded.

Wong narrowed his eyes slightly, holding the door so it couldn’t be pushed open further.

“Might I remind you that it’s me you’ve been seeing here the last five years.”

“Yeah,” Roger agreed, trying to see past.

“I thought we had developed a rapport.”

Finally, Roger met Wong’s eyes, his own pleading.

“No, yes, you’re right, we have,” he babbled.

“We’re friends.”

“Yes, of course, we are friends. Definitely.”

“So when is my birthday?”

Roger’s mouth hung open as he searched his brain for a piece of information he knew wasn’t in there. A few seconds later, Wong turned mirthful.

“Did you spend the Blip hiding under a rock where there are no jokes? Come inside. We just got back.”

None of the thousands of times he’d come to the door mattered—Roger hadn’t been inside the Sanctum since that first time. He hoped the Sorcerer remembered him.

When he saw the man, Roger’s steps stuttered. The Sorcerer appeared grim and wiped out. He was dirty and he looked older, though Wong whispered to Roger that the Sorcerer had been among the Snapped. Roger understood that, for something to go right and bring everyone back to life, something else had gone wrong. He could dwell on that and awkwardly bow his way back out of there, or he could convince himself that things had gone wrong for him too, and that he’d like them to be righted. He remembered that his soulmate was a dictator and tried to channel that sense of entitlement.

“What do you know about the Anus?”

The Sorcerer blinked.

“What.” The word came out perfectly flat.

“The Anus.”

“I wasn’t that kind of doctor.”

Roger strode eagerly towards him, hands gesturing before his words caught up.

“When I was here about, um, five and a half years ago, I fell through your magic portal—”

The Sorcerer snapped his fingers in recognition and turned to Wong.

“Oh, that’s who this is. I always wondered what happened to that guy.” He looked at Roger again. “How did you get back to Earth?”

Roger hadn’t been prepared to answer this question, just make his demands, and he began to explain what had happened to him, all out of order. The words ‘orgy ship’ had barely left his mouth when the Sorcerer was waving him into silence. His expression told Roger he was sorry he’d asked.

“So you went through the portal…” he prompted instead.

“That’s right! And for a while, I was just falling. I don’t know where I was.”

The Sorcerer stroked his chin.

“The connection must’ve been unstable. I know—one of your students distracted me.”

“That’d be Flash,” Roger said.

“Jesus. This is why I prefer not to be a field trip destination. Normally, the portal would allow you to pass cleanly through one place and into another.”

“And instead he passed cleanly through the Anus,” Wong summarized.

“…Yeah.”

Roger glanced from one man to the other.

“So,” he said, “could you do it again?”

The Sorcerer stared at him.

“The short answer is no. The long answer is also no, but it contains a great deal of vernacular to do with the Mystic Arts, so I’ll save us both some time.”

The last time Roger had defended his intellect and qualifications had been years ago, and he was out of practice. Anyway, he didn’t want a lengthy debate.

“Can’t you just open a portal and shove me through?”

“If you haven’t noticed, I’ve got a lot going on today. I’ve only entertained you this long because you and Wong seem to be friends. I’m not just going to mess around to humour you.”

“What if you had to do it?” Roger asked quickly, beginning to feel desperate and preparing to metaphorically jam one of his clumsy feet into the closing window of opportunity.

“Uh, let me think about that,” the Sorcerer droned disinterestedly. “No.”

“What if I attacked you and you opened a portal in self-defence?”

The Sorcerer squinted at him in disbelief and befuddlement.

“What?”

But Roger was already gracelessly throwing his weight into a wild, uncoordinated punch.

For once, he didn’t think critically of himself; he told himself that the Sorcerer’s portal sparked up between them because he was intimidated by Roger’s tenacity. And that it didn’t show a clear destination because the Sorcerer’s reaction speed was no match for Roger using the element of surprise. And that he dove purposely through the portal—on a mission for love and science and the unknown—instead of tumbling into it sideways because the momentum of his unpracticed punch had gotten the better of his balance. It didn’t matter. His feet went out from under him and he was on his way.

Roger had forgotten how intense the trip was, but he completely recalled the rough landing, bouncing down through a stack of the universe’s lost garbage. He shut his eyes to the whooshing and the brightness and braced himself (probably too early, but he didn’t think he could be too careful on this reckless endeavor).

He felt his body hit open air and gasped as he fell, trying to keep his limbs tucked in. The hat he’d been wearing was torn from his head. Didn’t matter; it wouldn’t have offered much protection anyway. At any moment, his poor elbows and knees would be battered by space junk. Between his velocity and his fear of the coming impact, Roger could hardly breathe.

Music. A familiar voice singing, It’s my soulmate! made his eyes fly open. Right in time to land on his back. Whatever was beneath Roger was soft, but he’d still had the wind knocked out of him and was struggling to fill his lungs. His eyes clamped shut as he began to cough.

“I have no idea how you survived that thing twice, but I sure am glad I caught ya.”

Finally sucking in a stronger breath, Roger opened his eyes and looked up. His glasses were askew. Above him was the opening in the ceiling of a hovering spacecraft, but closer than that, leaning over him, was the face of the Grandmaster. He was beaming.

“Any trouble with the Anus?” he asked.

Roger grabbed for the hand his soulmate had rested on his shoulder and moved it to his chest, right over his heart.

“The asshole who got me here will probably be thrilled to never see me again, but the Anus treated me just fine.”

“Ha!” the Grandmaster barked. His free hand lovingly patted Roger’s windblown hair back into place. “Welcome home.”

#my writing #MCU #spider-man #thor: ragnarok #Roger Harrington #En Dwi Gast (the Grandmaster)#their ship name is Mr. Master and they're what G deserves on her birthday

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heyitsyn · 4 years ago

Text

Prove Me Wrong

M!Reader x Oikawa

a/n: SDKLFJSLDKFJDLSKF OKAY I KNOW I KNOW I KNOW ITS BEEN SO LONG SINCE I LAST UPDATED BUT I REALLY INVESTED MY TIME INTO RESEARCHING AND READING FANFICS WITH AN M!READER BC I REALLY DIDNT WANNA GET IT WRONG SO I APOLOGIZE IF I DID SOMETHING WRONG AND I HOPE THIS ANON LIKES IT!!!

anon:

-heres an interesting thought. what about flamboyant oikawa with a cold boyfriend😳😳

YEYYY I FINALLY UPDATED

LETS GET STARTED SHALL WE?

okayokayokay

so in the request above

this is a m!reader

meaning you will be male in this one so hehe yep the story starts now

you are,,,

distant

and cold

but its mainly just because you were,,,

too tired to actually put in the effort of socializing

between bouncing between part-time jobs to care for your siblings and to schoolwork and book club

the mans can only do so much

so you spend most of your time in school just trying to catch up on sleep bc youre too busy studying up all night for exams since yanno

✨gRaDuaATiOn✨

unfortunately for you, your class had the famous manwhore oikawa tooru

why is that a bad thing?

well, imagine just trying to get some shut eye and suddenly, you just hear a bunch of screaming girls and it gets louder the closer the guy approaches your classroom and when he opens it,

the screams become 10x bass boosted

then imagine that with your sensitive hearing

now,,

it does bother you but it wouldnt bother you as much if he told them to leave

BUT NOOOOOO

he decides to let them in and chat with them and flatter them and continue with that bs until the bell rings

even then,

the girls in your class cant help but keep giggling at him and he always whispers in that obnoxious voice and youre just like two seconds away from ripping his tongue out

now

you dont hate him

you just genuinely dislike his way of living

and the way he talks

and the way he acts

yea see?

no hate

theres a difference

then there was that one time that you got so fed up with it that when oikawa settled on his seat and the fangirls circled him like some cult

they started talking to him all at once trying to get his attention

so it was a garbled mess of sounds and you growled, burying your face deeper in your arms because you would snap really really soon

then one girl shrieked when oikawa smiled at her and then you really just let go of all bearings

your chair made a squeak as you shot up, palms slamming against the wooden desk and your eyes glaring straight at them

‘go back to the farm, ya squealing pigs’

DSKFJLSDFKJSDFKDJS SORRY I LOVE TSUMU

this made everyone silent-even the others in the class just minding their own business

they all knew you as the quiet kid who didnt really talk much but those who did were really scared at you and the way you talked to them with such a cold and monotonous voice that they started spreading rumors about you

even absurd ones like your eyes are so cold bc youve killed so many people that you have no life and empathy left

LIKE WHAT THE HECK YOU STRUGGLED TO GET A SPIDER OUT OF YOUR SISTERS ROOM THE OTHER DAY LIKE EXCUSE YOU

but apparently they were just,,, so scared of you that when you finally got done with them and bursted out, the girls started crying

YALL KNOW THE SAYING LIKE HELL HAS STARTED WHEN THE QUIET KID SNAPS

the females run out of the room scared and the others nervously looks at you

your eyes sweeped through the room and each one of them flinched when you made eye contact with them

YES ASSERT OUR DOMINANCE M/N

the only who didnt was oikawa tooru himself

your eyes landed on him and he still had that stupid smug look on his stupidly gorgeous face and you wanted to ki-WAIT NO SLAP it off of him

‘the hell you looking at?’

you grumbled at him and he just merely shook his head with a smile

‘you remind me a chihuahua, m/n-chan. so cute when its angry’

‘HAH?!’

now it isnt a surprise to hear oikawa tooru say that to a boy bc wowza the school loves him so much that hes a bi icon in seijoh and hes such a king like who cares?

but they were surprised to see you turn red, the tips of your ears to the base of your neck were all flushed

‘see? so cute, right, everyone?’

KSDFJLSDKJFS

THE NERVE OF THIS MAN

the class didnt say anything except just put their heads down bc as much as they wanted to agree with oikawa at how suddenly hot you looked, they were too scared that you might plummet their faces to the ground

maybe thats when everyone started noticing you more

again, you were very quiet, you didnt talk much, you just sat there and listened so obviously you didnt really stand out but then that outburst made you more noticeable

you started seeing girls in your class staring at you then blush and look away abashedly

then the guys in your class started greeting you, even people in the hallways

ngl the attention you suddenly got was overwhelming

especially when oikawa seemed to call out to you all the time now

as you were walking down the stairs, hed see you and he’d shout and wave to you

‘m/n-chan! hiii!!!!’

his loud voice would make everyone turn and look at you and you dont do well with public attention so you turn red and you glare at him

‘shut the hell up, idiot. and dont call me by my first name. we’re not friends’

you turned to walk in the classroom but you looked at him again after taking a few steps

there he was

smiling and giggling with those girls

all he does is smile and giggle and shit

its so damn fake that you cant believe everyone fell for it and the worst thing is oikawa’s doing it to get everyone’s acceptance and validication

it was pathetic and disgusting

poor oikawa :(

now on to baby flatttykawa side,

he was kinda hurt by that

like how the heck are you not friends when youve been going to high school for 3 years?

sure, its only been casual greetings and him waving at you when yall made eye contact

but its still something, right?

right?

when you walked back into the classroom, tooru cant help but feel down at the declaration of the lack of friendship you had

his form slouched and his eyes trailed down but the voice of some girl brought him back to where he was and to fix his attitude

‘oikawa-san? are you okay?’

the others muttered in concern with her but they were eased when he raised a peace sign with the signature smile

‘yep! all good!’

GOD I REALLY CANT STAND IT WHEN HE USES A FACADE TO EVERYONE BUT LIKE I LOVE HIM SO MUCH BC HES SUCH A STRONG CHARACTER THAT DOESNT BREAK AND HES SO INSECURE AND IT PAINS ME SO MUCH THAT HE FEELS THE NEED TO HIDE BEHIND A MASK EVERYDAY AND AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

truth be told,

oikawa has always noticed you

not only do you work at the one bakery with his milk bread but you also work at the convenience store that the team sometimes visits

then he also noticed you picking up your brother from the volleyball practice that takeru’s part of and he cant help but frown at the eyebags under your eyes that he always sees

he lies awake at night just thinking how you would look without those eyebags, without the sickly looking complexion, or even just the lack of life in your eyes

then during class, you sat by the window

tooru knows this bc his eyes always fixes itself on you whenever he opens that door and he has to hold in the need to hug you when he sees you sleeping on your desk

others might call you lazy

others might call you a video game all nighter kid

but they dont notice the things you do

the nervous habits hes seen from you at the times that tooru couldnt help but stare

he knew it was creepy to do it

but you were so silent

you blended yourself into the background and you made sure to stay there

thats why nobody knows anything about you

with good looks like yours and a smart brain (he knew this from mattsun and makki being your students), why exactly were you not known?

maybe thats why it drew you to him

all his life he chased,

but now hes the one chasing?

tooru knows that your left eyebrow lifts when sensei writes something you dont understands

tooru knows that you like to do sudoku in the convenience store while you worked

tooru knows you eat the same meal during lunch every day from the same lunchbox

and he also knows that your brother talks so highly about you from takeru

the little things your brother brags about like your ability to cook f/f or your weird ability to just assemble something without looking at the instruction manual

he notices and knows all these things about you

things that people never really even bothered to

oikawa didnt even know he liked you until iwaizumi pointed it out during lunch

the third years liked to go and eat at the rooftop where it was nice and windy

oikawa was sitting and leaned against the tall wire fence, his eyes fixated on you down below on the bench as you ate your lunch

then you accidentally loosened the chopsticks causing your food to slip off

that made oikawa giggle

he was chuckling and giggling that the others noticed him when he suddenly went quiet

‘oi, oikawa’

makki nudged him back to them and tooru flinched before smiling at them

‘hm? so you do notice me!’

iwa glared

‘idiot. of course we do. youre laughing over there like some damn schoolgirl. did one of your fangirls posses you or something? if not, cut it out. its ugly’

oikawa shot him an offended look

‘what?! iwa-chan so mean!’

mattsun took the liberty to peer over the edge to see what he was looking at and smirked

‘eh? were you looking at l/n-sensei?’

oikawa blushed, feeling like he just got caught doing something bad

‘and what about it? im looking at you too, right now, mattsun!’

makki cackled at oikawa’s poor attempt of reasoning

‘i mean, i dont blame you. if issei wasnt here, id definitely get with him’

SEDKLFJSDLFISDKFJ MATTSUHANA YALL :”)

oikawa’s eyes wandered back down to you and he noticed you put the bento box to the side before sneezing

‘gosh, even his sneeze is cute’

he mumbled then jolted when he heard his own words

iwa sighed

‘what are we going to do with you, shittykawa?’

‘what?! what did i do?!’

iwa’s eyes scrunched and he scrutinized his best friend

‘boke. i feel bad for that kid, doesnt know this stupid idiot likes him’

so thats how oikawa came to terms of it

he thought he was just interested and fascinated with you but he really does like you

and to be honest, he doesnt really want you to know that bc duh, you dont like him so why bother?

baby oiks doesnt interact with you much anymore bc he knows you get uncomfy with attention but he still does look out for you and decides he should just admire from afar

he will live every day just holding his feelings in for you and one day they will disappear

but today just wasnt the day

maybe today was the start of the worst yet the best part of your life

last night was particularly rough as the convenience store you worked in had a drunk person who wanted to fight with you and your manager had to call the police and it was just a mess

to add on to it, midterms were around the corner-like next week- so you were studying up for that

but your sister got sick so you were also trying to take care of her and making sure her fever was going down and her crying ever few hours about her tummy ache didnt allow you to sleep

hehehe single parent working late tingz

ALSO SHE DOESNT HAVE MISS RONA JFC

so yep haha you did NOT get any sleep

so you walked into school that morning, looking tired as hell and mad as hell but you just wanted to sleep bro

the one kid you tutor, matsukawa issei, and his friend who usually tags along, hanamaki takahiro, noticed you dazedly pass them in the hallway and poor dudes felt bad for you

mattsun actually pays you to tutor him bc he knows you need the money while taka preferred to buy you snacks and drinks as compensation

so it was normal that he had an energy drink in his bag that he was going to give you tomorrow during your tutoring day

‘oi! l/n!’

your head perked up at the call of your name and you nodded in greeting at the light brown haired boy

‘hey’

you muttered and mattsun placed his hands on your shoulder to keep you upright

‘oi, l/n, you sure you want to be here? you can go home and we can tell them youre sick or some-’

but you waved your hand

‘nonono todays an important lecture so i cant miss it’

the two guys didnt look convinced but they respected your need to be in school since they too need to be in class for midterms

‘here. at least take this’

makki placed a drink on your hand and you nodded and gave them a small smile

‘thanks’

you mumbled before wandering off

once they saw you at a distance away, makki wrapped an arm around issei to get his attention

‘ya think we should tell oikawa to keep an eye on him? make sure he doesnt keel over and die or somethin?’

mattsun stopped before nodding

‘yea thats a good idea’

SKLFJLSDKJFD NOT MATTSUHANA BEING YOUR PARENTS

oikawa was already in class when you walked in and he cant help but tear his eyes away from the girls to you as you sluggishly walked to your seat

the drop of your bag and the thud of your head meeting the desk made him worried bc you looked worse than usual

his phone buzzed and he checked it to see a message from mattsun

‘keep an eye out for your boyfriend. mightve been working late last night and yanno how he is. just watch out if he faints or something’

okay that made him super worried

totally ignoring what mattsun called you, oikawa knew he needed to talk to you

but these fangirls were the first problem

he shut his phone off and looked up at them with a grin that made them madly blush

‘ladies, class is about to start. oikawa-senpai would hate for you to be marked. so study hard for me, okay?’

like hypnotized cult members, the girls ran to their classrooms and tooru finally had the opportunity to talk to you

he stood up and walked over to your seat

‘m/n-chan’

he called out, looking down at you

‘m/n-chan’

he tried again and was about to put a hand on your shoulder when your hand snatched it

‘dont touch me, oikawa’

you grumbled and tooru furrowed his eyebrows

‘m/n-chan, i just wanted to ask if youre okay’

he whined and you didnt bother to look up but just let go of his hand

‘i was until you came over, idiot’

ouch

tooru was thankful that the teacher came in then and there bc he didnt know how to respond to that

he wanted to brush it off but it hurt him a little

and he knows he shouldnt entertain his crush on you but he couldnt looking at you and watching as you got up to use the bathroom

as class went on, oikawa was starting to worry

now again, hes no stalker bc his observation skills were just phenomenal due to volleyball

so he noticed that youve been in the bathroom for like 20 minutes now

DONT JUDGE US, OIKAWA. WE’RE JUST TRYING TO PUSH OUT THE BIG PIECE OF-

okay nevermind

anyways

tooru, worried that something happened, raised his hand to go and use the bathroom and the sensei wasnt exactly paying attention so he just let him go

thank god he has long legs bc he was able to reach the bathroom quick and he stifled a shriek when he saw your passed out form inside

‘M/N-CHAN!’

he yelled and he cursed when duh you were alone and who knows how long youve been there

and ew bathroom floors is bleh

you were in no way light but you werent exactly heavy either so he was able to muster up all his strength and hoisted you on his back

tooru’s heart thrummed in his chest and he knew it couldnt be that serious but he cant help but think of the worst

and yep

the nurse just told him that your heartbeat was okay and you were snoring so you mustve been exhausted by the dark circles in your eyes

‘keep an eye on him for me. i have to tend to midoriya over there. the kid broke his arm again and i dont know how’

she grumbled at the end but tooru didnt care as he sat on the chair next to your bed

he sighed before laying his head on the cot by your hand

his eyes settled on your face and how peaceful it looked

gosh, you really were so cute

your personality just sucked ass

constantly telling him to shut up and calling him idiot

hmph

not long after oikawa fell asleep, you woke up and cursed, immediately realizing you fainted and you missed class

as you were going to rub your eye, there was weight on your hand and you looked down to see a head full of brown hair that could only belong to a certain someone

a certain idiot

‘oi. oikawa, wake up’

you shook his head and when he didnt budge, you just pulled your hand from under him making him jump awake

at first, he was confused

looking around like a lost puppy and his eyes bleary

yea it was cute and what about it

then he noticed you sitting up and he smiled

‘you feeling better, m/n-chan?’

he asked, leaning close

but you placed your hand on his face to push him away

‘yea. and stop leaning so close, idiot’

you grumbled and he whined

‘youre so mean, m/n-chan! i was so worried about you!’

he complained and you rolled your eyes

‘i didnt ask you to be, idiot’

SLDKFJSDLKFJKL M/N IS SO MEAN WHAT THE FAK

oikawa frowned

‘i cant help it. i like you, m/n-chan’

you froze, looking at him with scrunched eyebrows

then you chuckled dryly

‘yea, okay sure. im okay now so you can go to class’

wOW OIKAWA DESERVES BETTER WHAT

tooru was taken aback

‘wh-what? thats it? after i just told you that i liked you?’

you blinked at him

‘what do you want me to say about that, oikawa? how do you want me to react? im not like your fangirls, squealing and shit’

your words cut deep in him and oikawa held your arm

‘no wait a minute. what do you mean by that? do you not believe me?’

‘who the hell believes something that’s fake?’

there was a snip in your tone and oikawa knew you were talking about this facade of his

‘what? i-’

‘you think i believe you? you telling me you like me? do you even know who you are?’

you asked and tooru sniffled, eyes staring at your chest

‘for years, you told people what you wanted them to hear, regardless if you meant them or not. not once have you ever told them no. who the hell accepts chocolates when they dont even like them to begin with?’

at that last part, oikawa snapped up to meet your eyes

‘how did you know’

you rolled your eyes

‘our brothers are friends, idiot. he gave him some of the chocolates you gave to takeru since the brat couldnt eat them all’

oddly, that brought some warmth in tooru’s chest

so he wasnt the only one who knows the stupid stuff

but you continued on your rant

‘for a guy who doesnt like sweet stuff, youve accepted their nasty treats all the time, like why? oh, wait i know why, because you want them to like you. it doesnt matter if-if this-this persona of yours isnt real because as long as they like you, you dont give a fuck. isn’t that true? am i right? because please, prove me wrong’

maybe your dislike for him came out at that tangent and you half expected him to cry but you were surprised when he glared at you with teary eyes

‘i will. ill prove you wrong, m/n, that i do like you and i will make you like me. ill make you like me with the real me. i swear.’

‘mhm. okay. sure, oikawa’

do you regret it?

i mean,,,

kinda?

but not really?

because you loved watching the girls faces fall when oikawa rejected their treats the next day

you were walking to class when you noticed him with his cult by the entrance and you saw him smiling at some girl before gently pushing away a can of cookies

‘gomen. i actually dont like sweets that much anymore. if you want, you can give me milk bread?’

you stopped and oikawa caught your eye and he grinned

you nodded in greeting before continuing to walk

but he noticed a small smile on your face and gosh oikawa sighed like a lovesick fool

it took iwaizumi to finally send him back and his fangirls were looking at him worriedly

‘could you be less obvious, shittykawa?’

rip iwaizumi hajime in episode 546546546 of daily adventures of oikawa tooru

you noticed that oikawa has started to become distant with his fangirls and hes been sticking to you during lunch, leaving behind the others

makki and mattsun looked like proud parents as they peered down over to you flicking oikawa’s forehead and they smiled

‘god, that kid deserves this’

‘hah? that sounds like more of a punishment to me. but i dont care. it takes him off our hands for a while’

IWA I SWEAR HES SO MEAN BUT HE STILL WUVS TOORU SO ITS OKAY

oikawa would pick your brother up and take him home when youre too busy to go get him yourself and sometimes, he even takes your little sister too which causes them to have a mini sleepover and you sleep there too

also, whenever youre working in the convenience store, tooru would buy sandwhiches and a drink just for you so you can eat them while youre on break and not have to waste money and you told himyou dont want him spending money on you but he doesnt wanna hear it

‘i dont want you buying me-’

‘ssshhhh dont. im doing this because i want to and becaus i care for you, m/n-chan’

overtime,

yea

sure

youve started to like him

youve started looking forward to seeing his stupidly cute face and his stupidly cute giggle

you went to his games and gave him a tight hug when hes about to play as a ritual for good luck and you would open your arms for him wide whenever he wins

then he didnt

against shiratorizawa, you noticed how he was so disappointed

even as you walked home with him, he continued to smile and tell you how good his team played

until you couldnt take it anymore

you pulled him over to some alleyway and you pushed him to the wall

DSKLFJLSDKFJLSDFJ WOW WHAT

oikawa nervously fiddled with his jacket and gave you a shaky smile

‘m/n-chan, what are you-’

‘tell me what youre feeling right here, right now. no bullshit, no lies, tell me everything in that pretty head of yours’

you deadpanned and tooru looked away

‘im fine’

‘are you lying to me, tooru?’

your voice was even but he could tell you were serious

he gulped before taking in a shakey breath

‘im fine. so stop asking about it!’

he exclaimed and you sighed

‘listen, i know its not official yet but you want me to be your boyfriend right?’

tooru flinched before he flushed at the word ‘boyfriend’

then he nodded

‘as your boyfriend, you have to lean on me, tooru. i dont want you to hold it to yourself because i wanna be there for you and i want to go through everything with you because i,,,,,’

you stopped and hesitated, debating if you should say it or not

‘because i like you, idiot’

you confessed and swallowed thickly

oikawa met your eye and his eyes watered

‘im so angry! im so disappointed! but i know my team did their 110 percent! we’re just not strong enough! so its not their fault! but ushijima is such a freak and hes too strong and its not fair!’

he complained and he cried loudly

not once in the 3 years of knowing oikawa have you seen him cry and you were so proud of him for being able to trust you enough to show him being vulnerable

you rushed forward held him close to your chest

‘for what it’s worth, you looked so incredibly hot and cute playing’

you whispered and pecked his neck

of course oikawa couldnt hold his surprise at the feeling of your lips on his neck so he squealed a little

you gigled and continued holding your boyfriend close, even if it was at some nasty alleyway

yall became official and ngl, they didnt see this coming

some nobody dating the grand king oikawa tooru?

what in the wattpad?

yall know that tiktok of like ‘guys you cant dm me anymore. i have a girlfriend now. what else? and i love her’

IF YALL DONT KNOW IM SORRY

but you totally made oikawa tell his fangirls that

YOU KNOW THE FUNNY THING?

when yall became official, you actually gained your own little fanclub

maybe its because you gained clout from your boyfriend but they started noticing you and wowza you were hot

before, it was you getting jealous over tooru but now, it was him getting possessive of you

hes such a brat that he sits on your lap before class and youre just all smirking and feeling all good bc your baby is so cute when hes jealous

YOU CANT DISAGREE THAT HE DOESNT RADIATE UKE ENERGY

but all oiks has to do is pull down your collar and expose your purple littered collarbones and they will know who you belong to

theres a reason why iwa-chan is now the kids babysitter

youre still kinda cold and distant to people but youre soft for your baby and you always hold him close when hes in sight and you just cant get enough of him

:’)

also!!

your sister loves dressing you up and oikawa has his sisters makeup and they both do your makeup and you guys have tea party with the boys and just the cutest domestic stuff

you still call him idiot though

but like affectionately yanno?

and over the years youve turned it down to dummy

and ngl tooru loves it when you call him that

what in the dumbification-

because he knows that equivalent to babe from you and he absolutely just loves you lmao

youre def the more quieter and calmer one in the relationship like you absolutely dont react much

while tooru is the overreactor and hes very animated with his facial expressions and stuff

like the one time

he was cooking some chicken pasta and you cheekily grabbed a piece of chicken and he made a dramatic gasp

‘*le gasp* oikawa m/n how dare steal a piece of chicken!’

you cackled before crossing your arms at the sight ofyour lover with his pursed lips and hands on his hips

‘excuse you. its more of you who’d take my last name’

it was so easy to make him flustered and tooru quickly turned around to tend back to the food but he was really just hiding his red face

‘b-baka. thats not going to happen’

‘not if i do it first’

you shrugged and smirked, wondering if he will fall for it

and as expected with oikawa tooru

‘yea okay sure’

‘i will!’

‘prove me wrong, m/n-chan~’

‘turn around right now’

oikawa rolled his eyes playfully before turning with a smile

‘what are you-*le gasp part 2*’

his hands covered his mouth at the sight of you there in front of him, kneeling on your knee tightly clutching a silver ring between your thumb and index finger

your heart was thrumming in your chest but you gulped and smiled

‘i win. now marry me, dummy’

oikawa screamed

a/n: sorry if this sucked booty :((( but i just really like the thought of uke oikawa and just him with a cute boyfriend for a change like please we all know oikawa is a bi king and thats on docosahexaenoic acid

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boop-le-snoot · 4 years ago

Text

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 27

First time reader click here

TWs/Summary: If you read carefully, you knew this; if you didn't: reader was drugged at the party. Hangover from Hell ft. boys being cute, Loki being best friend material and reader fully integrating him into the Gen-Z community via Monster energy drinks and depressive music whilst being sad. I live for Loki/reader friendship tbh.

So folks, this is the last big plot thing before the endgame. I reckon it's about 10-15 chapters left until out happy ending and the next bit is going to focus on developing reader's and Stephen's relationship. There will be smutty parts too - either chapters or interludes, idk, depending on how well they'll integrate into the story.

I love y'all.

Ow, was my first thought upon waking up. My head throbbed something fierce, the pressure behind my eyelids was unbearable and my mouth tasted like a bog on a sunny summer's day. I was warm, from both sides, and one of the bodies felt foreign in everything besides the smell - sandalwood leaked through the lead curtain of alcohol and sex.

Needless to say, I had trouble piecing together the fine details of last night but had enough coherence to remember our... Activities. I was sore and Strange's long arm was still possessively draped over both me and Tony. The luck was on my side as I carefully wiggled out of his grasp, padding to the bedroom on quiet feet. The sorcerer barely moved, only grumbling briefly at the loss of my warmth and immediately quieting, shamelessly snuggling into Tony.

I would have not exaggerated if I said it was the worst hangover of my life. It was baffling, really, because I'd gone way wilder and didn't suffer half as much after effects; my first attempt to brush my teeth ended with my face resting against the toilet bowl, my empty stomach rejecting what little liquid in it was left as the room spun on its axis. That was incredibly embarrassing and I hoped my boys wouldn't wake up to witness my best impression of a bum - and they didn't, both men still sound asleep and interwined like snakes when I put on the shirt closest to me and departed in search of coffee.

My mood only worsened. Steve and Bucky were already up, shoveling an impressive amount of eggs and bacon, as Bucky quietly teased Steve about his own hangover. The blonde man was slightly greenish, disheveled - we traded equally glum looks and nodded to each other in silence. The smell of food made my stomach churn and I retreated, one black coffee in hand, towards Bruce's lab, having been informed by Friday that neither Tony not Stephen planned on waking up.

"Morning, Princess," Bruce smiled kindly, pushing his glasses out of the way to hold me close and give me a sweet kiss. "Had fun? The boys still asleep?"

I giggled at Bruce calling Tony and Stephen boys. "Yeah. I wouldn't be wearing Stephen's shirt if he was up and about, I think." I pointed out the obvious.

Bruce chuckled, holding my face to give me a long, thoughtful look. I stared back, hoping convey my respect and adoration without having to say a word; like Tony, I wasn't particularly apt when it came to talking feelings. Whatever Bruce was looking for, he found it, and sealed it with another kiss, twice as long and twice as sweet. We stood like that, my head on his shoulder and my arms firmly holding him to myself, until the elevator dinged behind the glass wall, revealing a shirtless Stephen and Tony in his pajama pants, both men bickering animatedly.

"Aw shit, here we go again," I rolled my eyes, unhappy about the possibility of the magic being broken. I rather preferred all three men to be like yesterday: friendly, kind and relaxed.

"I will kick them out if I have to," Bruce shrugged, turning me around to face them.

Tony smiled, seeing me, stopping mid-conversation. "Princess, I am disappointed in your lack of manners. You left me with Merlin and he is mean." The engineer unceremoniously snatched me from Bruce and smooched me, hangover breath and all.

"Gross, Tony," I rolled my eyes, giving the man a light shove in the chest. "Morning, Steph," I addressed the third man who had gone back to his usual stoic expression. Just to see his resolve crack, because I loved pushing his buttons, I gave him a good morning kiss too, and was unexpectedly blown away by the eager response from his side. As I pulled back, I noticed his cheeks dusting a light pink.

"I came to get my shirt but I think you'd rather keep it," The sorcerer's fingers caressed my skin beneath the collar of his shirt, voice still low and scratchy from sleep and those magnetic eyes fixated on the exposed flesh of my chest, no trace of previous awkwardness.

"You sure 'bout that?" I pushed one of the sides off, exposing my shoulder, seeing Tony gulp the remainder of my coffee, one hand already messing with the screen that Bruce was focused on. "I think I look better without it," I would never miss an opportunity to tease the uptight man.

"Quite," He grinned, "It's a shame I didn't get to see much last night..." Two could play this game, okay.

"Oh, but you will," Tony piped up suddenly, a hint of smugness in his voice barely covered by Bruce's fond chuckle. I really didn't know what to say, suddenly overwhelmed with the attention, my emotions amplified by the hangover - party drugs tended to exaggerate my anxiety on the comedown.

And what a comedown it was. My social energy ran out very quickly so I complained about a nasty headache and retreated into my room, Bruce's gentle hands pressing a bottle of Ibuprofen into my own. Despite my attempts to tame my rioting body, it got worse before it got better and shortly before lunch, I had thrown up twice more. Pissed off, I ran a bath with cold water and sat in it until I felt somewhat human to prepare myself for a journey to Wanda's apartment - as a last resort, I was going to chug on of Pietro's Monster energy drinks that I knew he kept hidden there.

The retrieval was a success. Cans securely hidden in the kangaroo pocket of Tony's oversized hoodie I had thrown on, I had to make a haste detour to throw up once again - the closest bathroom was in Loki's apartment and I only managed to knock twice before throwing open the door and making a mad dash for the porcelain throne, a very confused Asgardian following my movements with raised eyebrows.

"Hangover from Hell," I croaked once the first wave subsided. Loki nodded in understanding, waved a hand to summon me a water bottle and shut the door behind himself.

As I sat there, desperately trying to understand why was I feeling like utter shit... It clicked. Bile rose to my throat once again, and I just dry heaving, mulling my revelation over and over again.

I didn't take any drugs. I had been drugged. My memories became hazy and dream-like shortly after someone had given me the drink... Someone, who? It was a split-second moment; Sam, even in his drunk state, didn't keep his eyes off me for too long. Maybe it had been someone the team knew? Possibilities began playing out in my head. Cursed was my overactive brain - the anxiety from the leftover drugs was making me panic.

"Fuck, FUCK," My hands shook - I only noticed it because I had spilled water on myself, adding cold and wet to the unpleasant sensations I was already experiencing. "Why am I such a fucking fuck-up." Taking a drink from a stranger seemed downright idiotic now. Middle school bullshit.

"Are you alright?" Loki's worried voice interrupted my inner monologue.

"Yes," I replied, voice cracking. "No. I don't fucking know."

The door all but flew open, the Asgardian taking several long strides to take a good long look at me. The frown on his face tells me all I needed to know about my physical and mental state.

A slender hand tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. "What happened?"

I laughed tersely, feeling tears to begin welling in the corners of my eyes. "I'm an idiot," Seeing his face get annoyed briefly, I conceded: "I got drugged yesterday. My drink."

The hand that he had slid between my shoulder blades froze. I felt his whole body go rigid and his nostrils flare, the smell of ozone and something foreign - magic - filling the small space. The air around us became charged with the power of his anger. "Pardon?" His voice was dangerously quiet.

I physically fought with the need to flinch away from him, settling for lowering my eyes and staring at the dark stain on my hoodie. "I got carried away dancing. Someone handed me a drink and my stupid ass just shotgunned it," I confessed, picking at the wet spot. "And I can't tell anybody because I had a threesome with Stephen and Tony," I suddenly realised, my voice raising in pitch. "They're gonna think I didn't want it and feel bad. You know how Tony blames himself for everything under the sun..." Another wave of dizziness and nausea hit me as I leaned against the wall closest to me.

"Alright," Loki conceded after a brief pause. "We absolutely are telling the others. I'll make sure they understand," The Asgardian stated firmly in a tone that bore no argument. Seeing me lift my head to protest, he interrupted me before I could say anything: "Did you... Did you want it?" He asked me, hooking a single finger under my chin to look me in the eye.

I nodded, feeling my face heat up.

"You're not lying. The team knows of my ability to detect lies. Nobody will blame anyone..." Loki trailed off, obviously already plotting something. I wished it were a prank both of us were conspiring on instead of... Trying to make sense of this cluster fuck of a shit show. The circus called, they seemed to have left their clowns behind. "Although I will have a word with Sam." The Asgardian muttered darkly.

"No, it's not his fault. I just got too relaxed, I need to pucker up and be responsible for myself," I protested, damn well knowing it wasn't the Bird's fault. Everyone was drunk and I should've known better.

"It's not yours either," Loki sneered, seeing right through my self-loathing. It took a deep, slow sigh for him to calm down. His expression softened and the hand that was on my back resumed the gentle stroking as he scooted closer to me to press my side against his chest. "Vile people of this kind aren't exclusive to Midgard. It could have happened to anyone."

I nodded, my logical part briefly taking over as the waves of nausea and dizziness waned. I stifled a giggle, coming to another sudden revelation. "You holding up my hair as I barf out my hangover? That makes you qualified for the position of my Best Friend," I stated with a snort.

Loki chuckled, relaxing bit by bit. "I accept the position," His voice was unusually soft and a little bit shaky; I chose to tactfully ignore it. "Shall I call for assembly in the war room?"

I sighed, the dread and anxiety creeping it's way back in. "Can we just... Wait a bit? I have something- hold on-" I rummaged around my pocket, taking out two cans of Monster. Loki eyed them curiously and I extended one to him. "It probably won't do much for you but for me it's a last-resort hangover cure." I popped open the metal cap, seeing him do the same. "Be warned though, it tastes kinda funky if you're not used to it," I announced the disclaimer but it simply egged Loki on.

The scrunched up face he made was pretty funny. "It's sour but sickeningly sweet at the same time? I can't tell," He briefly eyed the written ingredients on the can.

"There are a bunch of flavors. Pietro likes the plain one, I like the purple one better, it's not so tongue-burning." I paused to inhale loudly. "If this is what college life looks like, I don't want to go," Mustering up my courage and gathering my balls in a knot, with one broad motion I closed my nose and poured the carbonated acid down my throat until my eyes watered. "Gimme a minute," I hiccuped, trying to keep it down.

Wide-eyed, Loki took a chaste sip of his own drink, eyeing me warily. He looked part impressed part disgusted with the little stunt. "I am pretty certain that is counter-productive."

"Caffeine make brain and body go skrrt," I argued back. "Friday, play my "grant me the sweet release of death" playlist. I'm upset," I announced and the AI obliged silently, the first notes of Placebo's 'Exit Wounds' beginning to play. If I was going to mop in a stranger's bathroom, I was going to do it with style. Even if said style was just simply stealing in my own misery with emo background music.

Loki stared at me, I stared back, both of us lost in our respective minds. At one point, he began swaying to the music slightly, resting the cool tin of the can against his cheek; I followed suit, mouthing along to some of the lyrics. It took us about a dozen songs to finally finish the liquid acid that was Monster energy drink and my ass felt like the bathroom tile itself: flat and hard.

"Do you ever feel like the universe just hates you for no fucking reason?" I groused, taking Loki's outstretched hand and slowly feeling the blood rush back to my legs.

"You wouldn't believe," He rolled his eyes in solidarity, vanishing away the empty containers. "Norns, give me a Hel-damned break."

I laced his arm through mine as we exited his apartment, feeling considerably less upset than I was before. I couldn't protect myself, but one look at Loki's sullen, irritated expression was bound to scare off anyone who dared to interrupt our mission.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie @mikariell95

#party favours #bun writes #tony stark x y/n #bruce banner x reader #stephen strange x y/n #tony stark x you #tony stark x reader #bruce banner x you #bruce banner x y/n #stephen strange x you #stephen strange x reader

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wizardofozymandias · 4 years ago

Text

14 Days of DA Lovers, Day 5: Blushing

Written for the @14daysdalovers prompt event.

Prompt: Blushing

Pairing: Solas/Female Lavellan

Characters: Solas, Sera, Blackwall, Cassandra Pentaghast, and Ellana Lavellan.

Summary: Solas is subjected to some very inappropriate teasing by Blackwall and Sera, who have a bet riding on who can make him blush first.

Solas always tried his best to be patient with the other members of the Inquisition, considering their widely varied backgrounds and beliefs. This decision had served him well, earning him the trust and friendship of most of his companions, although there were still a few with whom he would likely never get along very well.

Sera was one of these, and Solas was uneasy from the start when the Inquisitor announced that the party accompanying her to the Exalted Plains would consist of himself, Sera, and Blackwall. At least the stoic Warden was one of the allies Solas considered a personal friend. He only hoped that the other man’s grave manner would put a damper on Sera’s caprices.

But he quickly discovered that was not the case. They were making their way to one of the many demon-infested forts when Sera nudged Blackwall. Someone less accustomed to monitoring others’ body language than Solas might have missed the gesture. For him, though, it was a clear sign of trouble.

Sera turned to Solas. “So, you and the Lady Inquisitor,” she said. “Interesting.”

Not about to give Sera the pleasure of getting under his skin, he frostily replied, “Your interest is not my concern.”

Sera laughed. “That's all right, because I meant boring. The elf always takes the elf so that banging bits will mean something.”

He heard Ellana let out a slight wheeze—whether from amusement or shock, he couldn’t be sure.

“It is not a topic for discussion,” he insisted.

“Oh, come on,” Sera taunted him. “Drop 'em and rebuild the empire. Phwoar!”

Ellana’s laughter rang out louder this time. She gestured to Sera. “Oh, stop,” she begged her friend. “You won’t get anywhere with him.”

“We’ll see,” Sera said.

“You’re ridiculous,” Ellana teased.

Hands on her hips, Sera insisted, “Not me. It’s him! And you.”

“Only one of us is looking sad and foolish, Sera,” Solas said.

“Oh, go twang your ears!” she snapped.

Sera sulked for the next half hour, and she didn’t speak to him for the rest of the day. Solas was thankful that her odd fixation on himself and Ellana seemed to have passed, but he wondered at her uncharacteristic pouting. And there was also the look she had exchanged with Blackwall.

Something was afoot.

The next stage of their scheme struck the next day. While Solas had anticipated more nonsense, he hadn’t expected its source.

Blackwall looked thoughtfully at him. “Solas, I have a question,” he said, then admitted, “It's probably going to earn me a fireball to the face.”

“But you're going to grit your teeth and work through it?” Solas asked.

Unfazed, Blackwall continued, “You make friends with spirits in the Fade. So... um, are there any that are more than just friends?” He paused, then coughed. “If you know what I mean.”

“Oh, for... really?!” Solas burst out. This had all the marks of Sera about it.

Still feigning innocence, Blackwall said, “Look, it's a natural thing to be curious about!”

“For a twelve-year-old!” Solas was indignant, but he admired Blackwall’s entirely deadpan expression.

“It's a simple yes or no question!” Blackwall insisted.

“Nothing about the Fade or spirits is simple, especially not that.”

That earned a chuckle. “Aha! So you do have experience in these matters!”

“I did not say that.”

Affecting a conspiratorial tone, Blackwall assured him, “Don't panic. It'll be our little secret.”

Solas snorted. “Ass.”

Blackwall roared with laughter. “Now who's twelve?”

Whatever results the conspirators were aiming for, their efforts seemed to have left them unsatisfied. While they had succeeded at annoying Solas, that didn’t seem to have been their primary goal. It left him on-guard against the next series of awkward questions.

The next day, Cassandra arrived from Skyhold to join the Inquisitor’s party. One of the targets from her list of enemies had camped nearby, so she came to eliminate them. She arrived just before dusk, barely in time to eat dinner with the rest of the group.

As they ate, Cassandra glanced at Solas. “You look more somber than the last time I saw you, Solas,” she observed.

“Dirthavaren is not much of a place for merriment, Seeker. My people suffered too many wrongs in this place.”

She looked as if she regretted her words. “I am sorry. I only thought of the last time I saw you at Skyhold. You looked happier than I’ve ever seen you. Ellana had just passed by with a handful of flowers, and I believe you had one tucked behind your ear.”

“I—” Solas felt his face burn red.

“Shit!” Sera swore unexpectedly.

Blackwall coughed, and muttered, “well that’s that, I suppose.”

Ellana turned a suspicious eye on them. “What have you two been up to?”

“I just lost a bet,” Blackwall admitted.

Sera grimaced. “We wanted to see if we could get old Fade-Face to blush. I figured teasin’ him about you would do the trick easy enough, but I guess you just have to mention flowers.”

“You two should be ashamed of yourselves,” Cassandra chided them.

Solas groaned with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, vhenan,” Ellana said, laying her hand on his. “But you really do turn the loveliest shade of crimson.”

“I almost suspect you of colluding with their little conspiracy,” he said, not meeting her eyes.

“This was all them,” she protested. “Although the results were. . .informative.”

He glanced at her face and found her smiling at him. His own face grew hot again, seeing the merriment shining in her green eyes. Well, if the others were going to talk anyway. . .he leaned over and lightly kissed Ellana’s cheek. Sera’s swearing made them both laugh.

#14dalovers #14 days of dragon age lovers prompt events #day 5 blushing #dragon age inquisition #my writing #fanfiction #dragon age #solavellan #solas #ellana lavellan #sera #blackwall #cassandra pentaghast #ozy writes #prompts #cult of fen'harel universe

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chaseatinydream · 4 years ago

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sleazy seonghwa who sneezes (ii) || p.sh (atz)

➳ pairing: reader x park seonghwa (ateez)

➳ word count: 2631

➳ genre: badboy au; fluff

➳ synopsis: by the intervention of fate (namely Choi San), you see a different side to the school’s resident bad boy that you weren’t aware existed.

>>>

One dinner turns into two, two to three, and three to countless more. From both your shared interest in animals, your friendship blossoms, branching out into more and more areas as you spend more time together in each other’s company.

You learn that he likes cleaning and cooking, he watches ASMR to calm down. He’s an Aries and enjoys singing to himself when he thinks no one else is watching. He loves cats, but he’s afraid his father might not like them, so doesn’t bring them home.

He’s gentle and kind hearted. When he loves, he falls deeply. That’s how the death of his mother had destroyed him so utterly. He doesn’t really consider himself a bad boy, but he does admit that he’s been a bit of a rebel. The two of you laugh at it sometimes.

And with every new thing you learn about him, you feel yourself falling a little more.

San never comments about how much the two of you have started hanging out more, merely watches the two of you from a café at the opposite side of the road through the glass window with a content smile, face hidden by a nondescript black cap and newspaper. You laugh and nod your head at something Seonghwa says, the nerves once so apparent in your eyes when looking at his friends completely gone as Seonghwa sets down his cup, wiping the coffee foam from the corner of your mouth.

Your face flushes red in embarrassment and you bat Seonghwa’s hand away shyly, laughing at yourself. San folds up his newspaper, rising to his feet as he places a fifty dollar bill on the table. His work here is done.

“Sir, you haven’t ordered-” One of the waiters try to ask him, but he merely points at the money on the table and brushes past the man out of the shop without a second glance, standing in the street under the gloomy sky. His eyes linger on your smiling face for a moment, the silver cat charm bracelet around your wrist, remembering the days when he was the one who would wipe the cream from your cheek only to dab it on your nose instead, laughing as you attempted to catch him. You never quite managed it, but he stopped running for you.

But now, it’s different.

“She’ll be good for him.” San murmurs under his breath with a soft smile. The heavens open and rain falls to the ground, droplets turning the pavement dark grey with the tears of the sky. He watches as you and Seonghwa leap up in surprise upon feeling the first drops, Seonghwa taking you by the arm and pulling you under the cover of a shop’s tarp, the two of you laughing together uncontrollably as Seonghwa removes the leather jacket from his arms and setting it over your shoulders.

You pull it closer and smile adorably at Seonghwa as you accept the jacket, but then your eyes seem to catch a glimpse of him and you squint, trying to make out his features in the pouring rain.

San immediately hitches up the collar of his coat, stuffing his hands into his pockets as the bell on his bracelet jingles, as if calling out for its partner just a few feet away. He tells it to stay silent in his mind, pulling his coat closer around him as he turns away from you and walks down the street alone in the downpour.

Wetness slides down his cheeks, and his own tongue darts out to chase it. He frowns a little, shaking his head as he continues making his way.

“Rain tastes salty today.” He mutters to himself.

“I think I like Seonghwa.” You tell your best friend one day, sipping at a caramel macchiato at a cafe.

To your surprise, San doesn’t seem the least bit shocked, sucking on his straw noisily before giving you a huge, shit-eating grin. “So, details, details. I need all the juicy bits, you know.”

“Nuh uh.” You pout at him, your charm bracelet jingling at your wrist. Honestly, San’s skill set is so varied you’re not even surprised that he already knows that you like Seonghwa. You’ve often joked that San could either grow up to become a fashion mogul, a politician or even a hitman, but you know somewhere in you that it holds a shred of truth.

“He’s just… really sweet to me, you know?” You tell San, thinking about Seonghwa’s gentle smile and the way he drapes his jacket over your shoulders, the same way San used to do for you with his red coat. That’s how you had known Seonghwa really cared about you.

Your best friend nods, watching the way your eyes sparkle. “Go on.”

“And he really connects with me, cares about me. He even brought me to the vet he works at and he told me he’s going to start studying really hard so that he can be a vet in the future.” You spill everything, a warm smile on your face at the thought of him. “We’re going to study later over at my house, so do you want to come along with-”

Your voice suddenly trails off when you catch sight of the melancholy smile on San’s face. “Sanshine? Sanie? Are you alright?”

At your words, San snaps out of it immediately, shaking his head, a flawless smile erasing all trace of his previous dejection. But you know him better than that and catch his hand, your twin charm bracelets tinkling against each other as you looks at him pleadingly.

“San, what’s wrong?”

San pauses for a moment as his expression tries to ease back into a smile, but you can see his mask splintering under the weight of your gaze, cracked and uncomfortable. When he finally admits to you the truth in a small voice, your heart breaks.

“I don’t want you to date Seonghwa.”

“Then I won’t.” You promise San determinedly. Yes, you like Seonghwa, but San? The boy who has been at your side for so long, the one with a smile as bright as breaking dawn, the one that held you as your cried over your results and the one that puts that red coat around your shoulders? He’s your best friend. You can’t do without him.

But San shakes his head, gently pulling your fingers away from his wrist and setting your hand down on the cold tabletop.

“No. Don’t hold yourself back because of my own selfish wishes. It’s my problem to deal with, not yours.” He tells you softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. You stare at him for a long moment, and he simply ruffles your hair. “After all, that’s why I made you and Seonghwa meet in the first place.” His smile grows a little more genuine, he’s really happy. “I don’t regret it.”

You can’t help it anymore, throwing your arms around San in a tight hug as tears gather in your eyes. “I don’t love you any less, San. I really don’t. I promise you.”

San closes his eyes and rests his forehead against your shoulder. He doesn’t know how to describe the feeling in his chest, the sensation of soaring and falling at the same time lingering in his body. But he forces the thickness in his throat aside, nodding.

“I know.”

You’re sitting on your bed as you flip through your notes for the fifth time the day, cheeks puffed out in frustration.

“Stupid algebra. Stupid calculus.” You huff under your breath and Seonghwa glances up at you from your desk with an amused smile.

“Having some trouble?” He asks, setting his biology textbook to the side and rising to his feet to come peer at the paper you’re attempting to do. His chin rests on your shoulder, like it always does, but ever since you’ve realised your feelings for Seonghwa, you’ve been increasingly jumpy around him.

And to your horror, your reflexes kick in and your elbow flies into his midriff, the school’s ‘bad boy’ choking in pain as he topples off your bed and onto the ground where he wheezes, clutching his stomach.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” You yelp, clambering off the bed in a panic to check if he’s alright. “Are you okay-”

You don’t manage to finish asking your question because your foot catches on one of his long legs and you go sprawling on top of him, face buried in his chest. He catches you with his arms before you can go skidding off him and onto the floor, but the impact knocks the air from your lungs.

“Oww…” You groan quietly, putting one hand on the ground to push yourself off Seonghwa as you glance upwards. “I’m so sorry, I-”

Your words are cut off when you realise that you’re barely inches away from each other, his wide, deep brown eyes interlocked with yours. A gasp catches in your throat as you realise the compromising position the two of you are in, one of your legs slung across his hips with your noses nearly touching.

“I… I’m so sorry-” You babble mindlessly, trying to regain enough sense of mind to get off him before you make this weirder than it already is, but then Seonghwa’s hand catches your wrist and holds tight, refusing to let you go.

Glancing at him in shock, you can count every delicate eyebrow as they sweep against his cheeks, feel his warm body pressed against yours as his eyes blink like the shutters of a camera, as if trying to commit your every feature to memory. He looks equally as stunned as you are by the boldness of his action, but can’t quite seem to pull his hand from yours, eyes still fixated on yours.

The two of you don’t move in the least, frozen in time. Every puff of air that leaves his mouth brushes your lips, as if begging you to take his mouth with yours, and you very clearly see his pupils dilate to twice their normal size, his lips slightly parted as he swallows audibly, the sound sending shivers down your spine.

Then that tongue, that stupid, sinful tongue of his, runs over his bottom lip, wetting it before his teeth catch the piercing there, tugging on it lightly and you just snap.

“Damn this.” You curse, grabbing the lapel of his shirt and Seonghwa’s eyes widen with alarm at your sudden aggressiveness.

“What are you do-”

His words are cut off when you lean forward, taking his chin with your other hand and pulling him up towards you. He barely manages to process anything, every thought fleeing him and his mind goes blank, because there can only be one thing you’re intending to do, but you can’t possibly be intending to do that and he must be crazy for hoping that that’s what you’re intending to do and-

Your lips touch.

It’s soft at first, your mouth brushing his like the faintest whisper of wind, barely slanting over it, but it’s enough, more than enough to send a delightful shiver up his spine, his arms feel weak under him and he’s stunned stupid, barely able to process a thing except the feeling of your lips on his.

After a few seconds, you pull away, glancing at him worriedly. He doesn’t respond, merely staring at you like he’s been electrocuted, completely unmoving. Panic floods through you. Did you read him wrongly? Did you overstep your boundaries? Did you just ruin your friendship in an attempt to reach for something more? You almost feel tears gathering at the corners of your eyes, but you force it down, needing to hear him tell you if you’ve done something wrong.

“Seonghwa? Seonghwa?” You ask him softly, but you can’t help the way your voice almost cracks, terrified that you might have just destroyed your relationship in a single blow. Seonghwa, for all his silent calm disposition, merely starts a little, as if he’s just woken up from a deep dream, unfocused eyes slowly shifting to fix on your face once more.

“Again…” His voice is a low rasp, and you stare at him in shock, unsure if you’ve heard him right. He clears his throat, shifting beneath you so that he’s leaning against the wall, one hand coming up to rest against your cheek. Then he looks at you so earnestly, pupils blown wide, meeting your gaze with a pleading one of his own. “Again… please.”

The last word is practically begging you, relief crashes over you. You didn’t mess up, and he actually wants this. So this time, feeling a little more confident, you take your time, thumb brushing the cool metal of his lip piercing and his lips part in response to your touch, teeth coming out instinctively to nip at the pad of your fingers.

Your heart stops in your chest.

His eyes are closed, utterly vulnerable as he waits for you to take the first step. Cradling his jaw gently with the back of your fingers, you lean forward once more, your mouth pressing fully against his this time.

You feel him tremble underneath you, the two of you lost in your own little space and time. You smell clean soap and feel his body heat rising through his clothes as his arms come up to settle on your waist, resting there lightly but never pulling you forward, not wanting to push you. His lips are soft, ever so slightly chapped under yours, and you can’t help but feel the coolness of the lip ring against your heated mouth.

Unconsciously, your lips part and the tip of your tongue strokes it.

Seonghwa freezes beneath you, every muscle in his body going rigid as desire floods through him. Then he’s reaches for you, thumb pressing your mouth open as his lips move against yours once more. As if in revenge for earlier, you tease his bottom lip with your teeth, nibbling at it until it’s swollen and sensitive, before sucking it into your mouth.

A groan escapes his throat into your mouth.

Every part of him is melting into you, and he doesn’t care one bit.

Finally, after how long, neither of you know, the two of you break apart. Seonghwa’s bottom lip is puffy and red and he’s panting for breath, clothes mussed and you rest your forehead against his, arms around his neck as you smile at him breathlessly.

“So,” You whisper to him with a smile that he thinks he’ll never tire of seeing, “what are we now, Seonghwa?”

His mind is still in disarray, but he knows the words that he’s spent the last few weeks practicing in the mirror by heart.

“Please.” Park Seonghwa takes your hands in his, eyes filled with genuine love meeting yours. The next words that leave his lips change everything between the two of you. “Be my girlfriend.”

“Hello, Mother.” Seonghwa stands before a marble tombstone, a bouquet of baby’s breath in his hands as he smiles at the woman in the picture. Setting down the flowers, he watches as the golden brown and red leaves of autumn twirl around him, dancing with the breeze as they fall to the ground, just like they did three years ago when you had met him back in high school.

But this time, he no longer crushes them with his hand, a gentle smile blooming on his face instead like a flower in the spring.

“Maybe autumn can be beautiful too.”

Turning around, he takes your hand. You smile at him and he drops a soft kiss on the tip of your nose, before the two of you turn around and walk down the path strewn with autumn leaves.

#ateez #ateez seonghwa #ateez fanfic #seonghwa #seonghwa fanfic #w; seonghwa #w; fanfiction

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lov3nerdstuff · 4 years ago

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Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 6.11}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 4.5k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

It was that time of the year again before Robin knew. As always, christmas had approached fast and suddenly rather than steadily, but the festive spirit had been long evident throughout the entire month of December. The holidays this year looked a little different than usual though; Cas had been asked by a fifth year student to attend the new year's ball with him, upon which she spontaneously had decided to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays. Robin had offered to take Jorien to the ball as her plus one, but the girl had decided to just go home as planned. So it was just Cas and Robin who would attend the ball this year.

Honestly, Robin felt weary of the boy who had asked Cas out. He seemed nice enough at the first glance, but something about him was ringing an alarm bell in the back of her mind. Cas obviously didn't care about Robin's words of warning, saying how she at least had a date for the ball, which probably should've hurt Robin more than it did. After this rather uncomfortable conversation however, she had decided to keep her concerns to herself, but an eye on Cas nonetheless. She didn't want her to get hurt, not even by something that, to her, was so ridiculously irrelevant as teenage drama. Because she knew that to Cas, it wasn't irrelevant at all.

The last day of the year came, and before long Robin thanked herself for actually bothering to invest in a dress this year. And she foremost thanked herself for having the endurance last summer to actually make an effort and not just get the first best one in Diagon Alley, which would've merely been a differently coloured version of what pretty much all of the other girls wore (with a few honorable exceptions, of course). No, Robin had made the decision to go with her own taste rather than the attempt to fit in, and she still stood behind it to the fullest.

Cas on the other hand had about five different dresses lying on her bed and was desperate to pick one, which did not even come as a surprise to Robin. The girl's love for fashion had exploded rather than faded, and while Robin had no idea why Cas had packed so many pretty dresses unaware that she would be attending the ball, it also didn't particularly surprise her.

"You should wear the dark blue one." Robin commented from her seat on her own bed, while she unsuccessfully tried to untangle her hair. "It reminds me of the nightsky. And who doesn't love the night?"

"Most people don't, actually." Cas sighed in exaggerated despair. "I was thinking about the peach coloured one with the ruffles."

"You're the fashion guru." Robin shrugged. "But I think darker colours are more classy. And the ball is very classy, most of the time. Or trying to be anyway."

"Classy or stuffy?"

"A bit of both, perhaps. Foremost, it is entirely what you make of it."

"In that case, I'll wear the peach coloured one." Cas decided with a more or less determined expression. "What about you? We're gonna be late if you don't get started at once!"

"Well, I don't have an entire wardrobe of dresses to pick between. I showered and sorted out my hair; I'll literally be done within five minutes from this point on."

"What about makeup? What about hairstyles?! What about shoes?!" Cas asked in return, incredulous about Robin's lack of enthusiasm about these things. "Seriously, aren't you gonna make any effort at all?"

"As you said, I don't have a date anyway. Nobody expects me to make an effort." Robin shrugged in return, unbothered by her roommate's comments. "And since you obviously didn't see me for the last few years, I will kindly let you know that putting on an actual dress this year IS me making an effort."

"I cannot believe you. I just cannot believe you…" Cas rolled her eyes as she muttered to herself, but then went ahead to get ready herself and leave Robin reading on her bed in peace for the next hour and a half. That's how long it took Cas to go through all of her extensive preparations and procedures, and Robin thought it was admirable how much effort she put into this indeed.

Finally, twenty minutes before the ball would begin and while Cas was still in the bathroom making 'last minute' adjustments to her colorful eye makeup, Robin got up from her bed with a sigh, put her book down and dug her dress out of her trunk at last. Like most things she bought these days, it was almost entirely black, but for the silver ornamentations and spiky flowers sewed onto the shoulders. Everything from the waist down was flowing black fabric, as was the long pieces that attached to the shoulders instead of sleeves, billowing down the arms like a backless cape. That precisely was also what made it difficult to put on, without stepping onto the piles of fabric that however barely brushed the ground once she pulled it up. The neckline came in high at the sides, almost high enough to cover up her scar, while the front was curved into a low V shape, that had always reminded Robin of spades. The solid black of the simple corset made up for the detailing on the shoulders and the heavy billowing fabrics of the skirt, and its snug fit and the thick fabric were comforting rather than confining to her. For once, Robin actually felt powerful through wearing a mere piece of clothing. And while perhaps she might not fit in with the other students, she definitely would with the professors.

"Bloody hell!" Cas suddenly exclaimed, and Robin jumped in return, twirling around to face the girl who spoke on in the meanwhile. "How dare you looking that gorgeous?!"

Robin's face heated up in an instant, and even though it was Cas she was talking to, she couldn't help being flustered. "Uh, thanks, I guess."

"I mean, I still stand with my statement that you shouldn't wear so much black, but good gracious… that dress is a piece of art. And it just screams 'Robin' to me, so you actually did pick well for once!"

"Don't sound so surprised." Robin rolled her eyes, while she had to smile nonetheless. "But thank you anyway. I wanted to look like myself tonight, and not like I dressed up as someone I'm not."

"But dressing up as someone you're not for one night is the entire point of it!" Cas replied with a grin, then dimmed it down to a smile. "But I understand you, and I think you look exactly like yourself. Just more beautiful than usual."

"Thanks…" Robin scoffed in humour, torn between sarcasm and honesty, and thus settled for both. "Again."

"So tell me, who do you wanna impress with that dress?" Cas quirked an eyebrow at Robin, smirking while she observed her closely. "And don't tell me no one, because I know you, and you wouldn't have made an effort just for yourself."

"Everyone." Robin answered instead, deeming it just as not-saying as 'no one'. Meanwhile, she tried to find a place to store her wand, which was turning out to be an actual problem now. No sleeves, no real sleeves at least, and no hemlines or pockets. Great. Then however an idea struck her, and in no time she had twisted her hair up into a bun, which she could easily fixate with her wand indeed. Two problems solved with one action, wonderful.

"I cannot believe you just did that." Cas commented on Robin's action in an instant. "And I cannot believe that it actually looks good! I spent an hour doing my hair, and you just… use your wand like a hair accessory within two bloody seconds."

Robin sighed in return, but she had to smile once again at Cas and her view of the world. "Your hair looks a million times better, believe me. I'm not trying to look good, I'm only trying to look acceptable while being functional. That's a difference."

"If you say so…" Cas sighed, and the two girls finally started making their way up to the great hall. "Coming back to my question though; who do you really want to impress? Is it that boy who's sitting next to you in Professor Morgan's class since recently?"

"Alexander? God no!" Robin snorted, shaking her head to herself while she actually enjoyed striding through the hallways quite so elegantly for once. "If you must know, I'm not trying to impress someone, but to prove a point to someone."

"Uuh!" Cas squealed quietly, skipping in her steps next to Robin in glee. "To whom? And which point?"

"You would do well to focus on your own date for now. Where did he want to meet you again?"

"Just outside the hall. You won't scare him off, Robin, will you? I know you don't like him, but he's really cool and so are his friends, and I don't wanna be the stupid third year whose big sister has to watch over her."

"You won't even notice me tonight, unless you need me. Good?"

"Yes. Thank you." Cas smiled, then took a deep breath while her smile widened even more. "I'm actually going to the ball! With a cute boy! Can you believe it?! I've waited for this moment for months!!!"

"I hope tonight is everything you dreamt of." Robin replied with a small smile, but it was tainted by concern no less. Just shortly before they reached the last crossing before the great hall, she turned to Cas once more. "Don't get into trouble, and don't do anything stupid. I don't want to find you drunk in our bathroom later or anything of that sort."

"Yes, professor." Cas rolled her eyes exaggeratedly, but gave Robin a small hug nonetheless, before she skipped ahead and towards wherever she would meet her date.

Robin decided to give Cas a little while at least, to spare her the embarrassment of arriving with her watchdog indeed. When she finally did make her way into the great hall, she was barely still on time, with two more minutes to go until the festivities would begin. The very moment she entered the hall, a few more eyes were drawn to her than in the last years, but not enough to make her feel observed. At least Robin didn't notice enough eyes on her to feel like people were actually paying attention to her. In an instant, she moved to stand off to the side and let her eyes trail over the crowds in the search for her own company.

"Looking for something?" Snape's voice was so close behind her that Robin jumped for the second time this evening, but then turned around to him with a smile. The very moment she did, she believed to see a glimpse of sincere awe flashing through his eyes, but she might as well be mistaken. She probably was, unfortunately. It might just be the candles and some wishful thinking.

"Looking for someone." She smiled up at him in amusement. "But it seems that someone found me first."

"How very fortunate for you." He replied with a not-smirk, as much of it as he would show in public at least, and his gaze flickered over her garments for just a second before returning to her eyes. "Did you have to choose black?"

"Obviously." She smirked, feeling highly amused by his difficulty to show a suitable reaction to her choice of outfit.

"It suits you."

Now, that she hadn't expected, but she appreciated it nonetheless as her smirk turned into a smile. "Thank you."

"How… came the change in your choice of attire for tonight's event?"

"You complained last year that I was wearing the same thing I wore to the conference the summer before." Robin shrugged, observing his almost uncertain expression. "Thought I'd prove to you that I can look nice too, when I actually try."

"You didn't need to." He mused, but before Robin could give a reply, both their attention was drawn to the front of the room where Dumbledore was getting started with his welcoming speech.

Robin turned towards the front to at least pretend to listen, and a few seconds later she noticed the gentle hand that came to rest on the small of her back. She had to smile in an instant, glancing up at Snape out of the corners of her eyes, but he was looking towards the front as neutrally and indifferently as always, always the contrast to his lingering touch. Oh, how she had missed this.

… … …

As soon as the possibility had come up, Snape and Robin had moved back into their usual corner and to their usual table. For a good two hours they stayed sitting there like always, in their usual habit of gossiping and teasing, until at last the inevitable happened, the one thing Robin had indeed seen coming all along.

With the saddest face in history, Cas came approaching them with an expression showing precisely that she was barely able to keep her tears from spilling over. Robin's immediate line of thought went along the path of 'told you so', but she frowned it away and out of her mind, and instead jumped to her feet in honest concern.

"I'll be back in a second." She said to Snape, who nodded in return, then she went to meet Cas a few steps further down the wall. They weren't technically out of sight, but out of earshot at least. "What happened?"

"As if that would be so hard to guess." Cas replied with a scoff, crossing her arms over her chest but making herself so small at the same time that it appeared more as a gesture of holding herself together than defiance. Robin simply went ahead and hugged her then, out of an impulse, and Cas immediately clung onto her in return. "You were right… He's an asshole."

"What did he do?" Robin asked softly, drawing reassuring circles on her friend's back, while on the inside however, she felt furious. Whatever that boy had done, he would pay for making Cas cry. Even if it was just teenage drama, Robin wasn't having it tonight. Or perhaps she just needed a deserving victim for her own annoyance at Cas for not listening to her any earlier.

"He and his two stupid friends wanted to go and hang out somewhere else, somewhere more interesting than here and 'have a little fun'. I said I didn't want to, so they just made fun of me for being such a prudish child and dreadfully boring. Then they just laughed at me and Jos said he should never have asked me to the ball." She mumbled into Robin's shoulder, and only a few seconds later she looked up at her again. "I'm not boring, am I?"

"Not at all." Robin replied with a small smile. "I'm very proud of you for not letting them drag you into something you didn't want to do."

"It's not even that I'm scared to do something forbidden… I couldn't care less, honestly, unless it's something really bad. But I just want to stay here for a while, you know… to enjoy the ball. I like the ball." Cas shrugged, still looking sad about it. "No need to insult me for that, right?"

"Nothing gives them the right to insult you at all." Robin replied pointedly, then let her eyes trail over the room for a second before turning back to Cas. "Did they leave already?"

"No… they wanted to find some other people first who would actually be willing to go with them for their private party." The girl scoffed, pushing her hair behind her ear with a bit more confidence already. "Why?"

"I should have a little talk with Jos, and with his friends as well if needed." Robin stated in a dangerous calm, then started pulling Cas along, back towards her table. Without making much fuss about it, she sat Cas down next to Snape. "Wait here, yes? I'll be right back."

"You don't have to, Robin, really, it's-..."

"Yes, I do have to." She replied calmly, ignoring both Cas' insecure look and Snape's mildly irritated one, and then turned on her heel to find the boy in question. They really needed to have a talk; no one mistreated or ridiculed her friends.

Jos really wasn't too difficult to find, his group of friends practically entertained the entire section of the room. 'Cool and popular' Cas had said… more like 'jocks and jerks'. Robin approached him without slowing down, and even though the boy was only a fifth year, he was a good head taller than her. That didn't intimidate her in the least however, and while being surrounded by so many people, so many strangers, would've made her nervous in any other situation, it did not do so now. She was on a mission, and somehow her body seemed to understand that.

"Jos?" She merely asked in a cold calm tone once she stood facing the boy.

"Uh, yeah? That would be me." He quirked an eyebrow down at her in amusement, while his pals nudged him in the sides with utterly pathetic grins. "The one and only."

"I thought so." Robin returned, then didn't waste a second to follow her impulses once again. The thing about physically strong people was that they usually spent ridiculously little time guarding their minds. Thus it was but an effortless thought on Robin's part, and she was in his mind, staring him down at the same time while he stumbled backwards against a table, then slumped down on the bench behind his legs. She felt his mind trying to lock her out, but it was a pathetic attempt at the most, and thus she went ahead to give him a very clear visual of what would happen to him should he ever dare to say a single bad word about Cas again, in her presence or not. After half a minute of this the boy was a terrified mess, half sitting and half sprawled out on the bench, looking up at Robin with teary eyes while she withdrew from his mind at last. Then she turned to his gawking friends, who hadn't even tried to help their pal.

"Would anyone else like to know what happens when you mess with the wrong people?" She asked politely, and five people shook their heads immediately. As much as she wanted to smirk at that, she kept her face neutral. "Great. Have a nice evening."

Without waiting for their reactions, she turned around once more and made her way through the hall and back towards her own table, feeling her confidence fade the moment she was out of their sight. Geez… she really shouldn't have done that. All those years she'd been doing her best to stand above such impulsive behaviour, and here she was now, mildly torturing a lower year. Letting off steam on other people. Great job, idiot. Perhaps it was the dress that gave her the illusion of too much power. Perhaps it was Snape's company.

"And? How did it go?" Cas asked the very second Robin approached them, and the girl luckily looked a lot more like herself already. Not sad and small anymore, but excited and almost happy again, and Robin found that this was what had made her own uncharacteristic behavior worth it in the end. To see her friends happy, she would gladly go against her higher standards.

"I made him cry." Robin sighed in resignation, and sat down on the bench in between Cas and Snape. "It was a very wrong thing to do though, so don't take it as an example. A negative one, perhaps."

"I don't care if it was wrong, you made him cry for me and that's awesome." Cas grinned, then almost knocked Robin off the bench with a tight hug. "Thank you! I really should have listened to you earlier…"

"It's nothing, really. But yes, you should have." Robin huffed in amusement, even though she still felt mildly concerned about the entire 'revenge leads to more revenge' thing. But she hadn't seen any speckle of that in Jos' mind, so perhaps it really wasn't an issue for once. Not when it was about something so minor, with somebody so imbecilic.

"Uhm, sorry to, uh… to interrupt…" A foreign voice drew Robin's attention to a blond curly haired boy she couldn't remember seeing before, and Cas followed suit while she let go of Robin. The boy obviously seemed unsettled either by Snape or Robin, perhaps by both of them, for he only glanced at them nervously from time to time and otherwise focused on Cas entirely. "I, uh… I couldn't help noticing what my idiot classmates said to you, and well… I just wanted to ask if you were alright?"

Cas blushed a deep crimson, and Robin had to subtly nudge her in the side eventually to remind her that she could speak. "Uh, yeah, I… Thank you. That's… very nice of you to ask."

Robin could practically feel how Snape rolled his eyes at the scene, but she was also very much aware of the fact that he was still here despite everything that had happened in the past minutes. She couldn't help nudging him in the side as well, smirking, and he gave her a glare in return. Robin smiled even more.

"Would you… uh, would you care for a dance perhaps? With me, I mean? I could try to cheer you up with my horrible dancing skills and ridiculous jokes." The blonde boy finally got out with a crooked smile, and Cas nodded immediately. Then she gave Robin a questioning look, but she just motioned for her to go ahead already. Thus, within seconds, Cas and the boy vanished in the crowd.

"I have never seen something more pathetic in my entire life." Snape finally remarked dryly, and Robin had to snort at the comment. It was absolutely only for show, and she knew that just as well as him.

"Oh come on, I think it was adorable." She replied with a smirk. "I feel a lot better about this one than that prick she came here with."

"You are aware that I missed the important bits of the conversation, yes?"

"I know." Robin sighed, then turned to him to explain. "Fifth year, straight brown hair, very tall, called Jos. Might be a nickname though. You know him?"

"Yes. I could've told you from the start that he is a complete dunderhead."

"I for my part knew that from the start as well, but Cas didn't want to believe me when I told her. Either way, he asked her to the ball, she had high hopes, but then he and his friends made fun of her, right before she came here. So much for the pre-story." Robin sighed again, her smile faltering. "Then I did something stupid and very much unlike me. I went over there and basically bashed him in the head with a few pictures strategically placed in his mind, of what I would do to him if he kept on being an arse."

"So that's what got him to shiver in fear at the mere sight of you." Snape mused with a not-smirk, and Robin was twice surprised in return.

"You saw that?" She asked first of all, frowning.

"I did indeed. Most of it, at least."

"And you're not disappointed? Not even telling me how idiotic that was? How imbecile and irresponsible and redundant?" She added the second question right on, and part of her hoped that he would do just what she'd said, and part of her hoped for the opposite. "You've been telling me since first year how stupid impulsive reactions like this are!"

"Why would I need to tell you something you are already well aware of?" He quirked an eyebrow at her, but upon her defeated expression, he finally sighed as well. "Sometimes we do a wrong thing for the right reasons. You defended someone you care about. I doubt that could even be considered wrong in the first place."

"And using legilimency on lower years? How are you going to justify that?"

"I won't, that certainly was wrong by any means. But I enjoyed watching it nonetheless." He said with another not-smirk, which finally got Robin to smile as well. "You certainly know how to intimidate people. It's quite impressive."

"I learned from the very best." She replied with a smirk, and he rolled his eyes in return, while his own smile still lingered on his lips.

They just kept on chatting for a while then, the incident soon forgotten and insignificant, and before long things returned to normal. Almost normal, for they were left sitting closer together than ever after Cas had left, shoulders almost touching now, heat brushing against the bare skin of Robin's arms when her robe sleeves moved out of the way. She knew that he must take notice of the closeness as well, of her shoulder gently brushing against his arm from time to time whenever she moved, and yet he didn't move away at all. The thought made her smile.

They had been listening to the music for a while, merely enjoying each other's company like they did so very often, when Robin caught sight of Cas dancing with the blond boy again. It had been an hour at least since they had left to dance; obviously it was going quite well, and Robin couldn't help being curious.

"Who is the boy dancing with Cas anyway?" She asked Snape, while still keeping her eyes on the couple on the dancefloor.

"Curious, are we?" He mused in return, undoubtedly humoured. "His name is Simon Durrell, fifth year. Ravenclaw. He is quite horrible at potions, but smarter and therefore less of a nuisance than his peers. Wears his heart on his sleeves quite like your friend."

"Good." Robin smiled up at Snape at last. "I would've hated having to behead him if he was a jerk to Cas. She looks happy dancing with him."

"You should be dancing as well." Snape said in a sudden feigned neutrality that made Robin's smile fade in return. "One doesn't wear a gown like that only to hide in a corner all night."

"Why not?" She shrugged, focusing on her hands in her lap. Was he trying to get rid of her? Find a polite excuse to get away? No, that wouldn't be like him at all. He would just get up and leave if he wanted to. Robin didn’t know what he wanted to hear. "Nobody's ever asked me to dance anyway."

"Oh please... You are by far better than waiting for some dunderhead to ask you for a dance. Go and ask someone first, someone who deserves your company." His tone turned from neutral to grave in a broken second, as he turned to look away along with it. "Or at least someone who knows that they never will."

There was something ineffably sad about his words, his voice, his eyes when she looked up at him once more. He wasn't trying to get rid of her… He was giving her the chance to be happier elsewhere, without him. Robbin’s heart skipped a beat, then squeezed all air out of her lungs. If only he knew; if only she could make him understand. Then again… Perhaps she could.

"You know what? I will." Robin replied determinedly, and rose to her feet with one graceful move. Taking a deep breath, she smoothed out her dress with shaking hands, standing straight after sitting for so long, and then finally turned back around to Snape. Gods, he looked so sad under all those facades. She took another deep breath, then held out her hand to him. "Would you do me the honor and dance with me?"

______________________________

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