#yup I am comparing those events
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Not Orlock out here pulling a Lestat and claiming the human seduced him. If I had a nickel...
#Count Orlock#lestat de lioncourt#Ellen Hutter#louis de pointe du lac#Loustat#Ellen/Orlock#nosferatu#amc interview with the vampire#memory is a monster#it's weird that it happened twice#yup I am comparing those events
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🤖 Why does AI art screw up hands and fingers? 🤖
... and what it has to do with our two lovebirds?
*** Article contains vampiric product placement. Not recommended for those sensitive to strong vampirism. To survive to the end of the text, consume garlic before reading.
As I mentioned, I sat under a stone for months, gloomy and angry. Nevertheless, I have been constantly updating the database. So I did not miss this beautiful love scene, real intimacy between an eternally loving couple, captured by a professional photographer.
Side note: the photos of the couple in love are, to my knowledge, the only published photos of this event (Fashion Manifesto launch event, London, UK - 13 Sep 2023) without the copyright holder's watermark.
What a funny coincidence.
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I'm afraid I have no recollection of which of my Blogging Sisters was the one to point out a disturbing detail. Lovers' hands in clasp. A non-physiological position of the hands, an abnormal bending of the fingers, something strange has happened here. Something has happened that makes the viewer uneasy.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/d5599dd33d01f6292fdb06889ebc4693/cd656251c22fa343-1e/s540x810/2ae8f7a1b327a4304d6c6d12df2872ea8a97b449.jpg)
It is a well-founded fear, in fact, because the lovers' lack of eye contact, the palpable tension, the reluctance and indifference written on their faces, even more than the unphysiologically intertwined hands, seem to confirm that this couple's honeymoon is long gone (if it ever took place). They take no pleasure in the fact that fate has brought them together. It is such a sad statement. ***
This strange intertwining of hands reminded me of a photograph I found in the murky depths of Tumblr at the very beginning of my journey through fandom.
A photo of Sam holding the hand of one of his alleged mistresses. The lover was, of course, immediately identified by name, surname, age and bra size thanks to a distinctive tattoo on her wrist. A photo of entwined hands as a sign of love and devotion (read: sickeningly hot embraces amidst crumpled sheets night after night). A photo that, at the very least, proved that Sam was definitely not with Cait, since he was walking around in public with someone else's hand (with a tattoo).
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/f0752ce433df276747f2814d57d6c62a/cd656251c22fa343-1e/s540x810/bca866462518fffce9140591187225206c58d180.jpg)
And once again, the disturbing intertwining of the fingers, the swelling of the middle part of the hand. Too few fingers, or too many fingers, something is wrong here.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/2006c3438437f75029db2038ce4f7fa4/cd656251c22fa343-e3/s500x750/065afef986c3b311c59ed3b5bae4efa3c0ab534d.jpg)
You get a headache analysing the image. (Although, if you compare the image of Cait's hand+🧛🏻♂️ and Sam's hand+Spanish fly, you can't help but notice that technology has advanced over the years). Why am I writing about this? Because I associate it very much with the well-known truth that AI image generators can't get hands right, and are notorious for adding too many fingers or morphing digits together to make them look nightmarish.
Yup. We are all living in an AI nightmare in this fandom.
We are fed a vision of the world created by AI controlled by Very Bad People, a very poor scenario. Let's not forget that their vision has nothing to do with reality.
[November 28, 2023]
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Yup, it's me again. I'm right here. Entering the event. Like a boss.
Name: Yana Golubeva
Age: 24
Job: Housewife for bitchass husband
Npc.
__________
She originally lived in Paris with her parents under her birth name, Solène Lamoureux. That was until she was absolutely swept off her feet by a.. completely average man visiting for work. Not much is to be said here. He stayed, until he had to return home. Of course, she decided to go with him, where she got married to him in the Town at the ripe old age of 19, while he was about 22. She had them decided to change her legal name to match her surroundings, taking her husband's last name.
She finds the Town to be quite boring compared to her original home. She doesn't really consider the Town to be her real place in life. But, she's here for her husband and their love. Which is quickly fading the more he's away to the military.
Of course, she's had time to frolick around and made friends while he was away. But mainly confined to the house with her duties as a housewife. Although you can catch her around occasionally. ..usually with other women, having some interesting (lesbian) conversations.
She's more on the iffy side when it comes to believing in the Mistresses. She is a bit suspicious of rather magical happenings going on around the Steppe, but her belief isn't all that strong.
She respects authority. For the most part. She mainly adheres to the Saburovs, feeling pity for poor Alexander and his wife. She can, and she will passively aggressively defend their less than pleasing reign. After all, two people can only do so much. Think of how they must feel!
Of course, you probably guessed it, she's on Clara's side. And, maybe not surprisingly, she's going against Daniil. Her reasoning is very sound. She's going off of her gut, of course! Wait, what do you mean Clara's causing trouble? No no, that's silly. She's really a sweet girl. She is then appalled when the Saburovs practically disown her.
She only has one, eensy weensy, tiny little favor. Fetch her some bread. And some water, please? To be exact, ten loaves. Five bottles. She'll pay you well, of course! And then when you get back to her, all that you get paid with is.. one free hour of lodgings. Isn't that nice.
God dammit.
"TEN BREAD LOAFS??? ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND WOMAN???" <- is what I would've said if I've ever met her ingame and accidentally started her quest bc she came into the room right as I was about to rummage through her cupboard
I'm sorry, but I am fully fighting your OC.
Not crackers??? BUT BREAD? WHOLE BREAD? IS SHE MAKING A CEASER SALAD IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING PLAGUE APOCALYPSE?
Getting one hour of free lodging is hilarious, if she was in P1, I see a lot of people complaining about her quest in the patho subreddit after they realise she only gives those requirements to The Bachelor and The Haruspex, while for The Changeling she is content with one bottle, the water inside being optional.
Omfg, wait no, what if she gives the bread to Clara? Like she still demands the bread, and in the Changeling route, you can visit her to get one loaf of bread for free! After she swindled Daniil and Artemy for 20 loafs total, keeping 18 to herself and setting herself up to survive the rest of the plague.
Ever since I read the "bitchass husband," I absolutely fell in love with her. Oh my god.
Her coming from paris for one (1) mediocre man only to engage in sweet, sweet lesbianism—and hey, no, you can't call it infidelity. It's just two women talking...having a conversation...with fingers and-
I like the detail of her being sympathetic to the Saburovs, especially since you didn't mention her having any kids so she might relate to them on that aspect.
Or, she might admire their love for each other? Because they've both been through great strife together, despite all of Katerina's reputation, addictions and failures as a mistress, not once does Alexander condem her. If anything he's the first to defend his wife, didn't he attempt to band morphine and other medical substances just to help her through her addiction? He never faulted her either, he viewed her shortcomings as his shortcomings and failures as a lacking leader.
Or how they're seen outside the cathedral at the end of p2, holding hands and swearing their devotion to one another even after Alexander lost his governor position, Katerina still stood proud by his side.
Maybe it's reminiscent of the romantic life Yana imagined herself to have with her husband, instead of the fading dull love she's been given.
Actually, Eva might attempt to sleep with her ngl.
I'd love to hear more about her gossipy stories, the fun of being a patho npc observing the three healers run around like headless chickens.
And fuck yeah, Clara deserves so much more love. Yana's house could be a place she stays at for one night after being kicked by the Saburovs, then she goes on her way.
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Success Treating Migraine -- How to Treat it
A client came in whom I've worked with a lot. Her spine has many twists and turns from multiple falls being an equestrian for 25 years. At this point, in her 60's she's experiencing a lack of energy and general difficulty putting on muscle. Migraines are part of the picture.
I've worked with her sub-occipital rotators before but they haven't stayed corrected. The migraines are less frequent but not gone. What else am I missing? Clients who present with complex problems are my favorite these days because they make me think and learn new things. Sometimes I have to relearn something....
A major area of instability in many people's spine is at the base of the rib cage where the lumbar spine is vulnerable to torque injuries. A left torque will create weakness down the medial side of the opposite leg and up into the back of the opposite shoulder and also inhibit the ability to twist the spine to the right. Often this will be accompanied by an inability to get the 'push reflex' to work through the left leg. All these events are predictable and repeatable. If you don't correct that fundamental torque, the problems will recur.
The work the client does at home is crucial.
I corrected the sub-occipitals then had my client fire off the left lumbar preferred rotation. I then rechecked the neck and the correction I had done minutes ago was gone. I released the left lumbar at the T12, L1 junction, training the spine to be able to rotate right without using the left back extensors to push it. (Yes, your back extensors will get active in rotation if your rotators don't work.) After releasing the left QL and Extensors at T12/L1 I retested the sub-occipitals and they were testing strong. I ran the same tests twice through to double check. Yup, doing fine.
I saw that client again today. I ask how the Migraines were since our new discovery. SHE HADN'T HAD A MIGRAINE IN FOUR MONTHS. Miracle! When I retested the left lumbar rotations to the sub-occipitals no errors occurred in the firing patterns. No muscles 'switched off', a term used for muscles that fail to respond reliably when muscle tested.
For those of you who know muscle testing, you can test the preferred lumbar rotation against the cervical rotations and release the lumbar to correct the cervical inhibitions. Pictured here are 2 of the major players in lumbar rotation: QL and Serratus Posterior Inferior SPI, (a very important player which opposes the full expansion of the back of the diaphragm. Frequently locked short following past falls which ‘knocked your breath out’). These short tight muscles end up inhibiting the sub-occipitals on the opposite side.
A major area of instability in many people's spine is at the base of the rib cage where the lumbar spine is vulnerable to torque injuries. A left torque will create weakness down the medial side of the opposite leg and up into the back of the opposite shoulder and also inhibit the ability to twist the spine to the right. Often this will be accompanied by an inability to get the 'push reflex' to work through the left leg. All these events are predictable and repeatable. If you don't correct that fundamental torque, the problems will recur. If you don't address the secondary relationship between suboccipital torque and Thoraco/Lumbar torque, the problems will recur.
What is the role of Serratus Posterior Inferior? I looked up an image of it. It's a lot more superficial than I thought.
This lovely strong muscle the Serratus Posterior Inferior ties our lowest ribs to our spine. When you take a blow to your back and get the ‘wind knocked out of you’ this muscle contracts and frequently doesn’t let go. SPI is superficial compared to the QL, another prime suspect for being ‘frozen’ tight = always a culprit when someone’s ‘back went out’, along with the Quadratus Lumborum on that same side.
Jocelyn Olivier :: Founder :: Neuromuscular Reprogramming
#NMR#Neuromuscular Reprogramming#Jocelyn Olivier#bodywork#migraines#massage therapy#Body Alive#pain patterns
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Also, the writers' failure to understand, every crime Jason committed had a motive. Attack other criminals? Holy warrior destined to purify the world of evil. Attack Bruce? Joker's still alive. (Oh, Jason, it's much worse than that.) Attack Tim? A parody of what he once was. He wasn't just a "bad boy". He was dangerously insane.
Hi, Anon! Yup, there seems to be a lot of things that writers have gotten confused about Jason Todd/Red Hood and the biggest one is his motivations to kill certain criminals.
Let’s be honest, Judd Winick set a golden path for the upcoming Red Hood writers. But each and every writer that used Red Hood in their stories completely missed the point of Jason’s character. All of them. It’s so incredibly wild to me that every other writer read UtRH and came up with whichever version of Jason they came up with.
Let’s list the writers that completely missed the point.
Geoff Johns in Teen Titans vol.3 #29.
Geoff Johns was one of the first to completely mischaracterize Jason, why on earth would Jason go to the Titans Tower to beat up Tim? This is not me saying that Jason would never do that because Jason thinks of Tim as his brother or a friend or the person that he can trust the most from the Bat-Clan (can you believe Lobdell tried to sell us that one?), this is me saying that Jason wouldn’t have done that because he couldn’t have given less of a fuck about Tim’s existence.
When Jason found out that Bruce had another Robin he wasn’t bothered by his “replacement” he was mad at Bruce for having another child playing hero after he lost his life as a fifteen-year-old. Jason didn’t even think of Tim as his replacement as fandom likes to make us believe, Jason called Tim “pretender”. And that was that, but to go from minimal recognition to go out of his way to beat him up at Titans Tower is a massive mischaracterization.
Paul Dini in Countdown (to Final Crisis).
Paul Dini in Countdown did absolutely nothing with Jason, I am sorry but that’s all he did. Him writing Jason was like watching a dog trying to catch their own tail. He started with a pretty basic take on UtRH Jason, then he added a bit of Jason being an annoying man with Donna, then we had the jealousy arc because apparently, Jason had the hots for Donna but she didn’t want anything to do with him and he was all angsty when she paid attention to Kyle instead of him, and then, later on, he had that whole Red Robin bullshit (I am sorry about this, but I absolutely hated that, it was so dumb, I am so glad it didn’t last long because it was just too bad), and after all that mix of just not interesting stuff he went right back to the Jason that he had at the very start. It was a waste of time, but I guess that he had to be there because he was an anomaly and all that. I just think that was DC’s first try at making Jason Todd/Red Hood something more than just a street-level vigilante and they failed miserably.
Tony S. Daniel in Batman: Battle for the Cowl.
Even though the first two did make mistakes with Jason’s characterizations, this man was the first to just throw UtRH out of the window and make up his very own version of Jason Todd. And his version was horrendous, that Jason had no problem with attempting to kill children and innocent people, he also really wanted to be Batman because Gotham needed a Batman and he wanted to be the person to wear the Cowl and he was looking for a Robin for himself.
I know, the whole concept is the perfect opposite of what Jason Todd and Red Hood were in UtRH. Every aspect of BftC Jason is based on nothing.
Jason wanting to be Batman because Gotham needed Batman is just the beginning of what’s wrong in this book. Jason became the Red Hood (in part) because he believed that Batman and his ways weren’t what Gotham needed so he made a better version of Batman with Red Hood (according to him) because Red Hood did what Batman refused to do. Another thing that is just wrong is Jason wanting, Damian, Tim or Dick to be his Robin, there is just so much wrong with this, first of all, Jason wanted Batman to stop having Robin because child soldiers ran the risk of dying at a very young age and that’s exactly how he saw the whole thing because that was what had happened to him. Second, if Jason was mad at Bruce for getting another Robin why would he now want one of his own to team up with his Batman? Damian was a child, Tim was someone that apparently Jason hated (because Jason beating Tim was mentioned in this event), and then Jason actually asked Dick Grayson, Nightwing, to be his Robin? Listen, there is no way that was Jason, nothing about him makes sense, even taking into account that Jason had beaten Tim already in this event Jason actually tried to kill both Tim and Damian (it might have been just one of them but yeah, it still doesn’t make sense).
I just don’t think that Tony S. Daniel knew who Jason Todd was, maybe he got confused but the thing is, his “villainous” and deranged version of Jason Todd allowed a villainous and deranged version of Red Hood to happen with the next writer that I will be talking about.
Grant Morrison in Batman and Robin vol.1 #3-6.
This was the birth of the villainous, deranged and bloodthirsty Red Hood. There is absolutely no trace of UtRH Jason here, not even if we are looking at the opposite of things like we could do with Daniel’s Jason. Grant Morrison wanted Dick and Damian to have a villain to match their Batman and Robin and they decided to give us a red-haired-pill-headed-red hood. Everything from Morrison’s characterization of Jason is crazy, from the red hair (hello pre-crisis) to the awful Joker’s Red Hood looking suit, everything was just weird.
I still don’t believe that was Jason, to be honest, I would rather think that version of Jason was actually a rouge Skrull that came all the way from the Marvel Universe and lost his way in Gotham City. Maybe when he made the jump between universes, he got too much information and got confused and took the form of the wonkiest Jason Todd he could come up with.
This Jason was absolutely deranged, he knew exactly what he was doing and he didn’t care if innocents died. This Jason was the one that got locked up in Arkham. This is the Jason that Dick put in Arkham for Jason and everybody else’s safety.
Dick putting that Jason in Arkham wasn’t a bad thing or something that anyone can use to shit on Dick Grayson (not on this house). This Arkham was reformed and that Jason knew that if he stayed in that new Arkham he would stay away from trouble, but here is the thing, that Jason loved trouble, so he took all the tests to prove he wasn’t insane and asked to be transferred to Blackgate (where all the Red Hood’s enemies were). That Jason didn’t ask to be sent to Blackgate because the Joker was a cell away from his in Arkham, he did it so he could go on a killing spree in Blackgate (which he did when he got there).
Skrull Jason was just bloodthirsty and nothing like UtRH Jason, he had no motive other than just killing for fun or whatever. He didn’t want to protect Gotham and he couldn’t have cared less about the drug trade in Gotham. In Batman and Robin vol.1. Jason Todd was unrecognizable. And luckily, we never saw him again.
Scott Lobdell in Everything that he ever wrote about Red Hood.
This one is pretty self-explanatory. Lobdell was the king of overpowering Jason, he was the one that drove Red Hood farther and farther away from his street-level vigilante status. He continuously added more to him, he was a big deal because he was meant to take down Ra’s al Ghul, he was a big deal because he was the only human to train in the All-Castle and learned to summon the All-Blades.
This Red Hood’s morals and ideals were kind of gone, there just wasn’t any kind of interest in Jason to get rid of drugs or try to control its trade in Gotham, he just had no interest in street-level threats, everything was extraordinary in both New 52 and Rebirth. If he wasn’t in space he was in some mystical land. His friends and allies became even more and more powerful, his level of power was completely off compared to the others. His personality was ever-changing and quite honestly you could barely see the Jason that he once was.
This Jason also was very inconsistent in the way that he felt towards people (obviously because Lobdell is a shitty writer), he wanted to follow Batman’s rules and was shown as someone that still had fond memories of his life with Bruce before he died but was also willing to let those memories go, to move on? Maybe? I don’t know. But he changed his mind about Bruce and following his rules or not for a very long time. Jason was also a little bitch about Dick, and he was a little bitch because he (Lobdell) never gave the reader or anyone a concrete reason as to why he hated him so much and then in Rebirth he decided that Dick wasn’t that bad. Also, Jason went from “Willis Todd, abusive husband and father that deserved to die” to “Willis Todd abusive husband and father but he sent me letters when he was in prison and Penguin had him killed so now, I really want to avenge him”. Yeah, I don’t really know why that happened and like most of Lobdell’s arcs and stuff it was never really completed or well thought out.
Lobdell’s Jason characterization was a mess for ten years and that’s the prime reason why Jason is a character with no solid background, story or future.
James Tynion IV in Red Hood and the Outlaws.
Tynion’s Jason Todd was a hero, he was like a mini Tom King Batman. Everything he did was right and there was just no way that you could bamboozle him. This Jason was able to hold to Blades that drained his soul as well as hosting the Untitled in his body (that were able to drain his soul too) and on top of all that he completed his journey of the Chosen One by making those ancient martial arts moves that he learned before he was Robin even though Talia hadn’t been able to master it yet.
Scott Snyder, Tim Seeley in Batman Eternal and Batman and Robin Eternal.
A mess, this was pure New 52 levels of bullshit and they all just wanted to push the ��Batfamily” and while Dick was gone, they were trying to make Jason fill the void that Dick left in Batman events. It didn’t work at all and all they did was mess around with Jason’s characterization more.
Geoff Johns in Three Jokers.
I have talked enough about Johns’ takes on Jason Todd and Red Hood, but let me tell you something real quick, if a writer thinks that the best they can do with a character is make them give up their morals/ideals for an unrequited love interest, then they can keep that idea for themselves. Geoff Johns wrote a book that was absolutely not needed and then proceeded to butcher every characterization that he could, Three Jokers was three issues long and he managed to add more trauma to Jason’s torture, push the narrative of Jason being at fault for his own murder and make Jason’s motivations to be the Red Hood weak enough to make him want to give up his work for a woman that he barely knows (and doesn’t like him at all).
Joshua Williamson in Future State: Red Hood and Robin #5.
Now, with Williamson I have issues only when he writes Jason, not because his stories are bad, don’t get me wrong, I would have completely enjoyed FS: Red Hood if it weren’t for the completely unnecessary Rose/Jason side plot he had going on. Jason was clearly working undercover for some people that he hated working with. He had to arrest or kill “masks” (vigilantes, just like he “used” to be) for the Magistrate.
His ideas were pretty solid, Jason did the job but he never killed the masks and actively didn’t trust the Magistrate but he was working there to tear them apart from within, and that’s amazing if Williamson had given us Jason Todd/Red Hood working undercover to dismantle an organization I would have been really happy.
But that’s not all he gave us, even if I just forget about his failed attempt at giving Jason a relationship, I can still see that Williamson is the kind of writer that wants (or is just following DC) to make the “Batfamily” happen no matter how dumb and out of place it looks in comics’ canon. So, I am a little bit weary, any writer that leans too much towards making Jason and Bruce work together and become a family makes me want to scream, but I do understand that is just me, many people want those two to be buddy-buddy, I, personally, would love to see Jason kick Bruce in the balls and tell him to lose his number.
Chip Zdarsky in Urban Legends: Cheer.
Ah, yes, I remember the days in which I thought that this could have been something good. Well, I was utterly wrong and I suffered all the way through this mini. I feel like now I can safely say that Zdarsky only wanted to write a Batman book but DC told him, “Hey you can write Batman but it has to be within a Red Hood story, but don’t worry, you don’t have to know much about the Hood guy, just come up with something and write Batman around that”.
I know that’s what happened because I read that story and all we got from it was horrible characterizations for pre-Robin Jason, Robin Jason, Jason Todd and Red Hood. I don’t know how he did it but yes, he managed to mess it all up.
From Jason not really wanting to be Robin and acting recklessly every step of the way, to secret desires of a perfect family with Bruce and so many other people that he couldn’t care about, Urban Legends: Cheer is the perfect book to avoid at all costs if you believe that the concept of “Batfamily” is the biggest lie, DC is trying to profit off this time around.
Zdarsky also nerfed Jason in ways that I thought DC only wanted to nerf Dick Grayson. But I was able to see that I was wrong. Zdarsky’s run also pushed some of the most disastrous narratives that DC really wants readers to believe like: Robin Jason wasn’t good at his job, he was too reckless and ultimately his death was his own fault. Yay! I want to cry!
I will give Zdarsky two points for at the very least showing that Red Hood wants to protect children and that he has a huge issue with how the drug trade is controlled and abused in Gotham City, it had been a while since we had seen that aspect of Jason’s Red Hood make an appearance.
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It’s just too many writers completely missing the point of Red Hood’s character or simply writers agreeing to destroy Jason’s uniqueness in the DC Universe so DC (as the publisher) can further push the abomination that is the “Batfamily” in comics’ canon.
I do agree with you Anon when you say that Jason isn’t just a “bad boy” but I also don’t think that we can call UtRH Jason “dangerously insane”. Personally, I will only use that last description for BftC and Batman and Robin Jason, those two were dangerously insane indeed.
UtRH Jason was very meticulous in who he wanted dead and who got to live. He entered Gotham’s most dangerous world and he had to make a big entrance, he invited the eight most prosperous street dealers to a meeting, showed up with the decapitated heads of each of their right-hand men and an AK-47 and said:
“I am offering you a deal. I will be running the drug trade from now on. You will go about your business as usual. You will kick up forty percent to me. That is a much better deal than the Black Mask will give you. In return, you will have total protection from both the Black Mask and Batman. The catch? You stay away from kids and schoolyards. No dealing to children, got it? If you do, you’re dead.”
This was Red Hood! Red Hood wanted to control the drug trade in Gotham because he knew that Gotham is far too corrupt and filled with drug lords for him to just want to eradicate drugs from Gotham. If he had tried that he would have been a dumbass, but he wasn’t. He didn’t want to start a gang war and get innocent people killed because of it, he wanted to set the rules of his new Empire and he had to start with the street-level drug dealers, from there he grew until he became a major pain in Black Mask’s ass.
We went from Jason wanting to control the drug trade and take over Gotham’s underworld so people like Black mask couldn’t have people work for him (or being dependent on him) when they were still in high school or were in a vulnerable position, to Jason fighting a war for a mystic land because he was their “Chosen One”. DC really wanted to do something grand (yet boring) with Jason instead of sticking to a street-level vigilante that could have become a Drug Lord to control the drug trade of a city that is so filled with crime and corruption that it can’t be saved by anyone.
Batman doesn’t eradicate crime, he “controls” it, puts a blank it over it, lets it nap up until it wakes up once more to make more mess.
Red Hood had other plans, certain criminals didn’t get to nap, or, better said, they would get to nap forever.
So, no. I wouldn’t call that “dangerously insane”, I will call that “vigilante that believes himself judge, jury and executioner” of a city that is drowning in crime and corruption.
Anyway, I hope you have a really nice week Anon and thank you so much for sending me this ask!
#jason todd#red hood#under the red hood#red hood and the outlaws#dc comics#future state red hood#three jokers#bftc#asksss
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a/n: This is by far THE MOST requested fic I’ve ever had and (a year later) it’s finally here!! First of all, sorry that it took me so long but when I first wrote Wildest Dreams I never intended on it having a follow up, but the amount of love I got from it was so overwhelming that I decided to put this together for you all :) I’m not gonna lie, I’m a bit nervous about it, considering the amount of requests I’ve had the past year, I know there’s gonna be a lot of expectations and I wanted to do something a bit different so it’s not too predictable lol. So yeah, as always, feedback is very much welcomed!! If you enjoy please reblog it to support my writing, it would mean the world to me <3
word count: 13.7k
warnings: none!
concept: It’s Evan’s birthday and he decides to do something a bit different.
Wildest Dreams: read part 1 here :)
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
In the last two steps, you have to use your leg to support the box as it starts to slowly slip down your fingers. This serves as a reminder to start exercising again now that the midterm is over — meaning that you should finally give in to Nia’s pleas to join her in the free week of Pilates classes she got when signing in at the gym, “Exercising is one of the best ways to relieve stress!” She would argue, to which you’d simply reply with something along the lines of: “So does binging another trashy reality tv show!”
Thankfully, no one seems to notice your struggle, sparing you the embarrassment of listening to their teases due to your difficulty in carrying one of the smallest boxes of the bunch. Nate barely glances at you once you finally reach the car to hand him the box, only shooting the longest smile you’ve ever seen coming from him—which somehow still manages to be probably the quickest when compared to any other regular person. His girlfriend, who stands with hands on her hips, entirely held his attention. Nia’s purple strands of hair poke out of her half-bun in every direction and her bottom lip has found its permanent spot between her teeth as her eyes fixate on the vehicle in front of her, barely blinking.
“Everything alright, Ni?” You prompt, trying to even your breathing. “Forgot something? There’s still time to check.”
“It’s not that.” She mumbles, shaking her head to break out of her thoughts. “My keyboard doesn’t fit.” Nia nods at the instrument lying on top of the car’s ceiling.
“Oh,” You say, frowning your lips as you take in her stressed figure. Clearing your throat, you attempt to blurt out a joke, “Maybe it’s a sign you shouldn’t move it and stay right here in our little flat with creaky doors.”
She breathes out a sharp laugh, finally looking at you as she drops her arms. “Don’t start.” She warns, “You promised; no crying today.”
“Don’t worry, I’m good at holding back the tears.” You give her a soft smile, pulling her smaller frame into a hug. The sudden reality of your best friend and roommate leaving you hitting you at once. “Gonna miss you, Ni.”
You feel her sigh into your shoulder, arms circling around your middle. “I’ll be ten minutes away.”
“Not the same.”
“I know.”
The two of you sway in silence for a moment, and you watch from over her shoulder as Nate attempts to awkwardly pick up the keyboard, almost dropping it on the sidewalk in the process. He grunts, the instrument tilting in his arms, and you giggle as you hear Nia sigh once more. Tightening your arms around her, you release each other as she turns to check on her boyfriend who holds the instrument as you would a newborn — except this one is half his size and hard as a wood plank.
He glances between the both of you, helpless. “Uh, where does this go?”
“You can put it with the other big boxes upstairs, babe. We’ll take them Sunday.” Nia says, moving to close the trunk. She looks back at him, calling back in a sing-like voice before he disappears inside, “Thank you!”
You lean back against the car, a playful pout plumping your bottom lip. “Am I only seeing you again on Sunday, then?”
“Nope, I’ll pick you up for Evan’s birthday — did you forget about it already?”
You have. “Of course not. It’s on — tomorrow.”
“Is it tomorrow?” Nia gasps, eyes widening. “Holy shit, tomorrow’s Friday.”
You nod slowly, just as shocked as she is about how quickly the past couple of weeks have flown by. Between piles of book reports and stress-tear-stained essays during midterms week, you also had to find some time to help Nia with packing boxes while searching for a new roommate for yourself. If you managed a five-hour sleep on these past days, that would have been a well-rested night. So you can’t really blame yourself for forgetting about Evan’s birthday when Nia herself had it slipping through her mind.
“This is an emergency,” Nia says, eyes focusing on a point beyond you and, you feel like, if you listen close enough, you can hear the engines inside her head working. “I’ll have come here earlier so you can help me with my outfit.”
You chuckle. “What even is the theme this year?”
“He didn’t tell me,” Nia says in a huff. “But, on the bright side, I don’t think this year he’ll do anything too crazy — he was too busy these last couple months with that short film I told you about, remember?”
“Evan doing something low key? That’s a first.” You raise your eyebrows, skeptical.
“I mean, I don’t know. I’m just guessing.” Nia shrugs, picking at her nails. “I’m only saying because he mentioned once he was only inviting, like, twenty people.”
Now, this is a surprise. “I’m glad I made the cut, then.”
It’s not a secret to anyone who’s ever had any kind of interaction with Evan that he’s fond of the dramatics of life — his bright-colored outfits with mismatching patterns being the first example that comes to mind — and that reflects as well in his events. Especially when it comes to his birthday.
To be fair, you’ve only actually been to two birthday parties of his so far — considering the invitation usually finds you because he’s close to Nia and sees you as some sort of extension of her. Nevertheless, they were both impactful enough that left a clear impression of how much he enjoys celebrating himself. Last year in particular you remember quite well. It was what he called “Evaney” themed; being a mix of himself and his favorite artist: Britney Spears. And, while you and Nia showed up as one of at least fifteen different variations of the Baby One More Time schoolgirl outfit, Evan pulled a perfect match of the Oops! I Did It Again red bodysuit that he got one of his fashion student friends to tailor for him, as well as freshly dyed beach blonde hair to suit it. He even went as far as photoshopping pictures of himself on Britney’s body and had them printed on posters hung on every single room of the house. There were even custom-made cups and napkins with them — two of them that Nia stole at the end of the party still sit somewhere in your kitchen to this day.
Another particular thing you remember quite clearly was that there were enough people crowded in his living room to fill up your entire apartment, as you recall. And that’s about how a typical event at his home is like — even on his friendsmas dinner there were much more than just twenty people eating turkey out of disposable hot pink plates. So, Nia’s information leaves you wondering what he could have in mind for tomorrow with such a limited list of people.
Before you can voice your wonders to her, though, Nate pushes through the entrance door again. You can tell he, much like you minutes ago, is trying to cover his heavy breathing. “I left it on top of those big boxes with a bunch of books in ‘em.”
“Brilliant! Thank you, baby.” Nia grins, wrapping an arm around his middle. “By the way, we just remembered Evan’s birthday’s tomorrow.”
“Is it tomorrow already?” Nate asks, and you hold back a giggle at the way his face scrunches in discontent. He hates going to Evan’s to a point that’s nearly comical. “Fuck’s sake.”
“And I think I’ll come here early so we can get ready together.” Nia nods towards you.
Nate grunts. “Do I have to go this time?”
“Of course, darling.” She rises to her tiptoes to pinch his cheek, to which he brushes it off.
Nate looks at you, and you only send him a tight smile in solidarity. The two of you share similar experiences with Evan, considering the only reason either of you even gets invited is that because you’re close to Nia, and she’s close to Evan. Although you like Evan, even if you’re not that close with him, you can still put on your social mask for a couple of hours and have fun at his parties. Nate, on the other hand, is likely the least sociable person you’ve ever met, and it’s obvious how uncomfortable he gets every time.
Nia seems to sense how tense he gets as well, because she steps in front of her boyfriend, finding his eyes with her doe-like ones. “I mean, if you don’t want to, then you don’t have to.”
He sighs, “Of course I’ll go with you.” He looks up at you. “Maybe this time we can actually count how many faces of his we can see from the couch.”
This time you don’t hold back a giggle. “I have a feeling we’ll have an easier time this year.”
“Hope so.” Nate taps on Nia’s back. "Let's go, then? Is everything you need in the trunk?”
“Yup.” She answers, circling the car and opening the door to the passenger’s side. Before entering, she gives you one last look. “Do you want me to bring anything for you tomorrow?”
“I’m good.”
“‘kay!” She enters, closing the door behind her in a click and leaning over Nate to wave at you from his window. “See you tomorrow! Don’t cry too hard tonight!”
“I won’t!” You wave back.
Watching as the car pulls back, before driving away and disappearing around the corner, there’s a light breeze that raises goosebumps on the exposed skin of your arms. You cross them under your chest, leaning back into the wall of your building, not quite ready to go back to your empty home yet. The seconds blend into minutes and you stand there The promise you made to Nia not even a minute ago already pooling in your eye, knowing you wouldn’t be able to keep it anyway, you let it tickle its way down your cheek.
A rougher gust of wind hits you and, this time, you turn to go inside.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
The days are still not long enough so that the sun can shine proudly at seven in the afternoon, but as spring just about rounds the corner there’s still a golden glow as the rays provide one last warmth before disappearing on the horizon. And that’s how the sky greets you once you step out of your building to make your way towards Evan’s house for his birthday.
As planned, Nia arrived at yours with plenty of time so the two of you could help each other get ready, a bag filled with clothes she’s just taken to Nate’s yesterday under her arm for you to help her choose. “I’m thinking something monochromatic tonight.” She said as she walked in, making you jump in your spot on the couch as you didn’t hear her using the spare key. “I’m just not sure what color.”
She ended up choosing red. There was an old box of red hair dye you found lost inside the bathroom cabinet after Nia left — along with two different brands of shaving cream, although those belonging to Nate — and, after presenting it to her, she decided to go all for it, taking it as a sign. Nate showed up just about an hour after his girlfriend, still in his work attire and barely batting an eye at Nia’s new hair color as she blew dried it. The only comment leaving his mouth being, “You look like a tomato,” before kissing her forehead and excusing himself for a nap while the two of you finished getting ready.
What neither of you realized was that Nia’s last-minute decision took more time than you predicted, giving you barely enough time to get dressed. To her, that wasn’t exactly an inconvenience considering she had an outfit ready to match any color she wanted — in this case, was a red-dyed denim two-piece. and a matching jacket that ended up discarded after she noticed it covered her newest shoulder tattoo (though you tried to argue she could just have Nate carry it so she could wear it considering she eventually would get cold at some point). To you, however, was more of a stressful task, seeing you hadn’t taken in mind to think of an outfit beforehand. So you ended up just going with the safest option that didn’t give you a lot of room to overthink, choosing to finish your makeup on the way so Evan wouldn’t have any of your heads on a plate for being late.
You’ve found that applying mascara on a moving vehicle is not the easiest task, as Nia holds your elbow to help you keep steady while talking nonstop with the driver about a topic you stopped paying any mind to about ten minutes ago.
“I’m loving our black and red moment, by the way.” She turns to you, loosening her hold as you finish the last coat. “You look like one of those hot businesswomen with your teenage daughter who likes to dress like an animated character.”
You laugh at her comparison, only now noticing the discrepancy between both your outfits. Without even realizing it, you also ended up going for the monochromatic look. Except unlike Nia’s, yours completely lacks any color. “That’s actually the best comparison you could make.”
“I know — You can take a left right here — Here, I have lip gloss.” Nia fetches a small tube from her jacket (that she ended up taking, after all), presenting it to you.
“Do you not have lipstick?”
“Are you not planning on smudging it later?” Nia wiggles her eyebrows, teasing. The hint behind her words makes you roll your eyes, snatching the lip gloss from her hand without bothering to give her an answer. There was about a month or so, just before winter rolled around, that Nia felt as if she had a mission to get you with someone. You suspect, knowing too well how her mind works, that she must’ve felt some sort of guilt for what happened during her film project last year. It was clear that her attempts came from a place of good heart, but this doesn’t mean that it made them any less annoying. However, after her plans to move in with Nate became more concrete, her cupid persona seemed to have disappeared, or so you’d thought. But now that there’s nothing else filling her mind anymore, it looks like she’s back at it, and you can’t help but snort. “What? I’m just saying-”
“You say a lot of things, most of them are incorrect.” You say, “I’m not smudging anything tonight. Not on a party with twenty people, for fuck’s sake.”
“Don’t say that before — right there! The big house on the corner!” Nia leans over the console, signaling to the driver where to park. It’s so sudden that you notice how he jumps just slightly from his seat, chuckling to yourself at how Nate snaps his eyes at her.
The front of Evan’s Victorian home is unusually quiet once you step out onto the sidewalk. So much so that, if it weren’t for the lined cars parked along the street and filling his driveway, you would’ve thought you’d typed in the wrong address.
The discrepancy is clear to you when compared to other gatherings Evan hosts in his house, but especially for his birthday. Last year, you could hear Toxic blasting from his place from the moment you turned on his street, and a small crowd gathered on his front yard — most of which you recall being comprised of people plastered out of their minds, particularly one semi-naked man who was using one lamppost as a strip pole while swinging a stuffed snake
That’s more or less the standard one could expect when invited to a party at Evan’s. So, to find the street as silent as any regular day is, to an understanding, odd.
“Are you sure it’s the right date?” You ask as the metal creak of the front gate mends with gushes of wind whistling through the air.
“Yup,” Nia says simply, walking in front of you. “You can hear the music inside, shush.”
You come quiet, listening in, and, surely, you can hear the faint keys of a piano coming from the other side of the stone walls, but it only brings up more questions to your head than answers. Evan seems like the last person on Earth who would listen to classical music. Deciding not to voice your question this time, you follow short behind Nia, kicking some loose stones on the gravel path leading to the front door.
There’s no need for more than a single knock for it to open almost immediately, revealing a lace-clad Evan downing the last bits of his wine. Without the barrier you can hear the music more clearly, the keys of the piano meshing in a peculiar way, not like anything you’ve ever heard in a classical song— at least not ten years ago when you tried to learn piano for a year before giving up.
“Look at my favorite people!” Evan says with his purple-stained lips, pulling Nia for a hug with the arm that’s not holding the door open while pointing at a spot behind her. “Did you greet Jonathan when you passed him? It’s his birthday as well.”
He points to a spot where a gnome statue sits in the dry grass, face painted in clown makeup. Nate’s voice comes from behind you, “Christ.”
“Nate!” Evan chirps, going straight for the man standing with a sharp smile and throwing his arms around him. “You know you’re my favorite grumpy, right?”
Nate only taps on the shorter man’s back, quickly moving to Nia’s side as soon as he’s free from the embrace. With that, Evan turns to you, hands finding your elbows as he takes you in, “And what have you been up to, bug? It's been ages.”
“You know… Books and… Stuff.” You chuckle, brushing it off. “Happy birthday, E.”
“Thank you!” He claps his hands together. “Now, c’mon, let’s get all of you started.”
Following him inside, you’re met with a glittery box standing right next to the entrance; rolls of tape seal it shut, and a hand-sized hole has been cut on top of the lid. You try to peek at what could be inside, but strings of colorful crepe paper are stuck to the hole, making it harder to know its contents.
Evan picks up the box, holding it to his side. “So, I need each of you to grab a piece of paper inside the box. There will be a number in it but for now just hold on, drink, and chat while waiting for further instructions.” His voice lowers at the end to give his words more of a mystery behind them.
Nate tenses in front of you and you have to keep yourself from chuckling at his desperate gaze moving from the box to his girlfriend as he moves uncomfortably on his feet. Nia, however, only gives him a pat on his back, barely looking at her boyfriend as she does a little dance in excitement. “Oh, this feels fun.” She says, quickly reaching her hand inside the box and retrieving a piece of paper. “Mysterious, but fun. What do you have in mind, sir?”
“Nothing too crazy this year, darling, you can relax — We’re all too tired.” He moves the box towards Nate, who reluctantly reaches inside. “Just something to mesh people together that won’t give me too much of a headache to clean tomorrow.”
“Smart.” You say, peeking at the box as it’s presented to you before reaching for a paper inside, quickly reading the number eight written on it before folding the piece between your fingers.
“Nice! As always, drinks in the kitchen. We’re starting in ten minutes!” Evan claps, hushing the three of you further inside.
Surprisingly, this time around there are no posters of his face in sight as you follow Nia and Nate to the kitchen. There’s a mild mash of voices coming from the living room — where the sound of the piano is the loudest, and you wonder if he got an actual piano or if it’s just a Bluetooth speaker —, but it’s not nearly as loud as you’re used to from past times. The lighting has been lowered to a buttery yellow; you realize once you enter the kitchen that feels too bright to your eyes in contrast to the hallway.
“Is there any alcohol?” You wonder out loud, and Nia glances at you with her eyebrows shot towards her hairline. “What? I’m just asking ‘cause everyone is unusually quiet.”
“There’s wine and — what are these guys right here?” She picks up one out of four plastic jars sitting on the kitchen island, reading the label stuck to it out loud, “Strawberry Mary — ooh, this looks fun.”
You reach for the other three to check their contents, but all have names similar to the one Nia now fills her cup with — fruity, yet mysterious: Lana Banana, Jenny Berry Mix, and Pineapple Suzan. “Did he come up with these?” You chuckle, reaching for the berry mix.
“It was probably Adam,” Nia says, and you frown. “That bartender guy? The one with the pet snakes.”
“Oh, yeah. I know him.”
The room comes quiet as you serve yourself, and only after you glance up you realize a tension lingering in the air. Nate stands awkwardly in a corner, eyes fixed on Nia as he moves his head around subtly. Glancing between the two of them, you notice how their expressions change as they keep their eyes locked, not a single word being uttered out loud. To you, it almost feels as if they are reading each other’s minds, and the heat of their silent argument becoming clear once Nate huffs, shaking his head.
Nia clears her throat, seemingly uncomfortable, shooting you a knowing look. It’s only when she gives you a toothless smile that you realize the silent question behind it. “Uhm, I’m going to check if there are any sweets outside.”
Beelining towards the doorway, you quickly make your way out of the room. The hallway is empty and, from where you stand awkwardly in the middle of it, you can tell Evan’s left his spot by the front door, meaning he’s likely gone to the living room where the rest of the guests are. You can hear them chatting, although like you previously pointed, the voices are much more controlled than what you’re used to, and that makes you oddly flustered by the thought of walking in alone.
Considering the limited amount of invitations this year, the chances of you knowing anyone are slim and, to add to your sudden nervousness, most of the people from Evan’s closest circle of friends are — like himself — inexplicably intimidating. This is mostly because it feels like this unspoken competition that everyone has settled with each other, to subtly brag about your success whilst simultaneously pretending to be impressed about the other’s accomplishments. And for you specifically, considering you’re not part of this artist clique that they lock themselves into, it feels particularly tiresome to be part of those interactions.
So, you opt to wait for Nia, pretending to admire one peculiar painting hanging on a wall opposite to where the doorway leading to the living room stands. Every so often, you catch yourself glancing over your shoulder one way or the other, either towards the kitchen to check if your friends are joining you, or to the doorway where the rest of the guests are in. At one point, the voices get louder, joining in a laugh before tangling together in a mess of noise you can’t make sense of. It’s after a minute that you hear footsteps coming from the living room, making you freeze on your spot, carefully turning your back to whoever’s about to catch you avoiding the party, and focusing on the piece you’ve been staring at for the past five minutes.
The painting you first thought was just random strokes of earth tones abstractly put together you now realize it’s a man and it doesn’t take you more than a second or two to recognize Evan’s side profile in a peach shade. Your hand claps on top of your mouth as you fight the urge to laugh. The sound comes out muffled, but it stops as you hear the footsteps falter as they turn into the hallway. Keeping you back to them, you listen as the wooden floor creaks as whoever was approaching makes their way back. You peek to catch sight of who it might be, but all you make out is the shadow of mustard corduroys turning the corner.
As if on cue, Nia and Nate finally appear from the kitchen, thankfully neither appearing to be sour after the talk in the kitchen.
“Finally.” You say, still feeling giggly from your finding. “Nate, you have to check this-”
“Okay! Let’s start, then. Do we have everyone in the living room?” Evan’s voice interrupts you as he calls out. Nia guides you along with her to the living room. And, as soon as the three of you enter, Evan nods at you, before continuing, “Now that all the bunnies are trapped, we shall begin!” He laughs, clapping his hands together before motioning vaguely to everyone. “Before I explain what I have planned, I want to pair you all. So, I’ll call out the numbers that each of you picked when you arrived, so everyone can find their pair.”
You frown, confuse yet curious about what Evan’s up to as he calls out the numbers. Now that you stop to glance around the room, you note how there are more people than you’d expected. It’s still not nearly as many as previous parties of his, but it still feels like the room is nicely filled, maybe just a dozen people above twenty. And amongst them, there’s quite a few you recognize as they pair up together — like Georgia, the first one to be called, whom you spent a good half of the New Year’s party with, or Taylor, who gets paired with Nia (you remember him particularly from a film festival that Nia had been part of — he produced and directed a short film comparing the second wave of feminism to the wildlife in the Amazon Rainforest, and Nia couldn’t stop complaining about how bad it was for the entire week after).
It’s when Evan jokes with someone on the other side of the room, however, that you see him.
He’s tucked in a corner, right next to the bookshelves, arms crossed under his chest in a way that makes his tattoos pop out of his biceps, something you notice even standing on the opposite end of the room. His smile is subtle as he watches the scene in front of him, but it’s still enough for a dimple to poke at one side of his face -- it’s barely there, but you’ve seen it up close enough times that you notice those details. His hand holds a drink, but you pay no mind to it because what calls your attention is the mustard corduroy hugging his hips, the same one you watched run from you not only five minutes ago.
He laughs, and you avert your eyes, mouth still hung open. You wonder if anyone will notice if you leave.
But, as though he could read your mind, Evan calls the number written on that sits crumbled inside the pocket of your jacket. “Where are my number eights?”
You step forward and, like a magnet, your eyes glue on Harry as he raises his hand.
Shaking your head in disbelief, you have to fight against an urge to shut your eyes tightly as the regret of having left your room at all tonight becomes almost overwhelming. All you expected for the night was to forget about book reports and endless essays piled up on your computer, to relax, maybe drink a bit more than you should while watching Evan’s friends dancing with a taxidermy beaver or something of sorts (that was on his friendsmas party two years ago). Instead, here you are on what feels like the first day of class dynamic your teacher has imposed to make everyone interact with each other. And, suddenly, the long pages of (insert boring book) don’t seem that bad right now.
And to make matters worse (because the universe just likes to add a little more spice to your tragedies) of all people standing in this living room you just had to be paired with the one with whom you had a fling-like relationship six months ago.
It’s awkward before he even approaches you, the tension making you fidget in your spot anxiously, barely being able to shoot a tight smile his way.
The last time you saw Harry was through the rearview mirror of a car, standing on the sidewalk like an abandoned puppy with his tail between his legs. Though you admit you let your dramatics take away when you turned away from him to leave, the feeling behind it was genuine. You were upset. He had led you on, after all, made you think he wanted to have something more just to ignore you for months and, later, appear with a redhead under his arms and call her his girlfriend. So, yes, it wasn’t the best note to leave on.
But despite how you left the last encounter, the spark of nervousness that shoots through your stomachs right now doesn’t come exactly because of his presence, but more so for the awkward nature of this encounter. At the time it happened, you avoided any activity that had the slight possibility of seeing him again like the plague. You were hurt, and you were mad — though the second part was more directed at yourself than at him. But that was six months ago. After all, as much as you felt enchanted by him and as much as those two weeks you spent together were nice, that’s all that it was: two weeks. Yes, you were sad and, yes, maybe you shed a tear or two while watching Love, Rosie with Nia afterward, but that passed as quickly as it came.
That is, until now.
“Your hair is shorter” This Is all you blurt out when he stands in front of you again.
“It is, yeah.” Harry runs his hand through his hair. The strands that last time you saw him, curled around his jawline, now peek just under his earlobe. “Did it myself, actually.”
“Really?” You take a big gulp from your drink, gaze going anywhere but meeting his own. “Found yourself another talent.”
“Another?” You can hear the smirk in his voice.
“I mean, besides acting.” You grin, holding the cup to your lips and sparing him a glance. “Suppose after your debut you’ve gotten yourself busy with casting calls”
“Of course” Harry laughs. Now that you’re closer you have a better look at his dimples as they pop out, as well as the constellation of freckles hugging his nose, and the mole right under his lips. You avert your eyes again. “I’m set to be the next Bond, in fact”
“Oh, wow.” You raise your brows, grinning at the brim of your cup. “I can see it.”
He turns to you, “Can you?” You peek at him. "Why is that?”
This is exactly what you were afraid of all those months ago after last seeing him. The entire reason you ran from any possibility of seeing him again afterward. You can still remember clearly how much of a flirt he is, even when he doesn’t mean to be. It’s not a secret that Harry’s a charming man. His words are like honey, and when he uses them just right, you know is enough to have you melting. And it doesn’t help how well you seem to click together. Even now, you still feel it by your impulse to flirt back, to look him in the eye, and get just close enough to feel the scent of his cologne. Do all that just to turn away in the last second. Tease him the same way he did you. But you don’t do any of that, of course, because you’re as petty as you are bitter. So, instead, you click your tongue. “Don’t get too comfortable, Harry, bet your girlfriend wouldn’t be happy about that.”
He chuckles. “What girlfriend?”
This time you turn fully at him, brows shooting up not in defiance, but surprise. “Yikes.” You say before you’re able to hold back.
“Yikes.” Harry still holds a smile when he repeats it, head falling as he lets out a — nervous? — laugh.
A question pops into your head. One that lingered in your mind for a good while now, but comes back a bit louder now that you have the information that his relationship was short-lasted after all. It’s a short one, but one that requires a long answer, you suppose. What happened? You think. But you don’t dare to voice it, you don’t want to have this conversation with him. Whatever the explanation is, it’s not going to change anything. So you just avert your gaze back to Evan, who now calls for everyone’s attention again.
“I know you’re all dying to know what this is all about. So, I’m going to explain it all.” And with that introduction, Evan dives into a monologue you only pay half mind to. It’s hard for you to focus on the words rapidly leaving his mouth as you can feel Harry glancing at you every so often from the corner of your eye. You listen in to Evan describing himself as a feisty kid and mention his love for drama, and then you feel the ghost of Harry’s arm bumping against yours as he sways on his feet. You try to pay attention to the story being told of the events leading up to this birthday party, and then you have to hold yourself back from meeting Harry’s eyes once you feel them at the side of your face once again. He makes a comment under his breath that you don’t quite catch, and you’re about to question him before Evan’s voice comes in an even higher pitch. “I wanted tonight to be exactly that: chaotic. I didn’t want anything to quite make sense, and I didn’t want to think much, if I’m honest, last year of film school is taking a big chunk of my functioning neurons and m’dad’s whiskey collection is taking the rest of them.”
There’s a collective laugh that takes place and, once again, Harry’s eyes peeking at you. “Everyone can relax, it’s not one of those murder mystery parties, as I’ve heard some people guess — for fuck’s sake as if I have the time and patience to plan something like that.” He says with a sip directly from a wine bottle you just now realize he’s been holding. “It’s a scavenger hunt, you have a partner and an envelope with clues. Each pair will find something related to moi and after it’s all done, we’ll eat burgers and talk about me for the rest of the night.”
“Sounds easy enough.” Harry mumbles.
Evan claps his free hand on his wrist, hushing everyone. “So off you go, c’mon! I’ll be hungry in an hour.”
“This is gonna be…” You start. “Interesting.”
“Interesting is a great word to describe it.”
“Well, let’s try to do this as quickly as possible, then.”
The side of his lips quirks up. “On a rush?”
“This is not exactly a comfortable position to be. I think you get it.” You say, fidgeting on your feet. You wait for a second for him to say something so you can start the activity, but he doesn’t and you realize there’s a piece missing. “Do you have an envelope?”
Harry nods, reaching for his pocket where the envelope sits folded in half. He swiftly opens it, taking out a card.
“Well?” You prompt, “Read us the first clue, Bond.”
There’s a smile that Harry fights against at the nickname and you’re not sure due to the dim light, but you think there’s a hint of a rosy tone on the apple of his cheeks. “An activity that grows lives and ruins manicures.” He reads out loud, pausing for a moment before laughing to himself. “I know this one.”
“Grows lives?” You frown. “As in, a pregnancy?”
Harry shakes his head, leading the way towards the corridor. “As in, gardening.”
“That’s a very weird way to put it.” You say, following him. “Does he garden?”
He walks into the kitchen, greeting two people you don’t recognize who are searching for something — their clue, you assume — inside the cabinets. “No, but his sister does. There’s a greenhouse in the back.”
You simply hum in response, muttering a quick thank you as he opens the door for you that leads to the back garden. The greenhouse is not unfamiliar to you from the outside, there have been a good amount of summer gatherings in his back garden for you to know of its existence. But you’ve thought nothing more about it. If you’re honest, you never really paid much attention to it. If anything, you assumed he used it as storage at most, never taking Evan as someone who enjoyed gardening. Though now you know you were right, you've also learned that his sister lives with him and you wonder why he’s never mentioned it before.
The curiosity inside of you wants to question Harry about it, to ask him what else he knows you don’t. When you think about it, there’s a lot you want to ask him about. Not just regarding Evan, but also regarding him. You wonder what he’s been up in the past six months if he ended up adopting the kitten he’d told you about back when you were still filming or if he read any of the book recommendations you wrote on his notes app one particular night the two of you chatted for longer than the moon could hold itself up in the sky. The part of you that begs for you to say something on the short walk is so strong you have to physically bite your tongue to be able to hold back.
You don’t have to hold for long, however, as Harry takes it upon himself to say, “So,” He starts, clearing his throat, “How- uh- how are you doing?”
Somehow, his words click something inside of your mind. They remind you of why you shouldn’t let that curious part of you win. The sole purpose of it not falling for his charm. You shake your head, “We’re not doing this.”
“Doing what?” He frowns, his steps faltering for a second.
“Small talk.” You answer, focused on your goal. “We’ll just solve this thing as quickly as possible so I can go back home and finish my Euphoria marathon.”
“Right.” Harry nods once, and you can’t help but notice the way his lips quirk down, the frown not leaving his face. You can’t lie and say it doesn’t make your stomach drop the slightest bit to see you’ve upset him, but you have to remind yourself how much he’s upset you, too.
It’s protecting yourself, you think. After tonight, you don’t have to see him ever again.
Inside the greenhouse, you’re greeted with a mix of scents you’re not prepared for before stepping in. The space is compact, with a single corridor narrowed with garden beds on each side. Dozens of branches and leaves tickle you as you walk in, most of them belonging to different flowers that, despite the chilly weather that still lingers outside, are already blooming. It’s a blend of colors, bright reds, and ocean blues, soft purple petals kissing pink and yellow ones.
“We should look for gloves.” Harry’s voice startles you, chuckling as you jump a bit.
“Huh?”
“Gloves.” He says. “I think whatever we’re looking for has to do with the gloves, ‘cause he mentioned manicure.”
“That makes sense.” You look around. Many gardening tools are piling under the tables that hold the garden beds; watering cans and empty pots. You look between bags of fertilizer and drawers filled with shovels. There’s so much stuff to look through that, at one point, you sit back on your calves, glancing around, lost.
You hear Harry leafing through as you’re doing, feeling his legs brushing against your back as he passes by and you stop, watching him from your spot on the floor. He’s got a concentrated look on his face, bottom lip worried between his teeth as he scans through the walls before he opens another drawer. That’s when his gaze falls, catching yours. You quickly turn away, pretending to go through another pile of empty pots and blocking the sound of a chuckle coming from his spot.
For a moment, the only sound in the room is the clicking of ceramics and the opening and closing of wooden drawers. That is until you hear from Harry, “A-ha!”
You look up again, seeing him move to the back where few pairs of gloves hang on the wall — so obvious yet still hidden between raincoats and summer hats. “Right under our noses.” You say, getting up.
Harry searches inside the gloves, tongue trapped between his teeth. “Bingo!” He says, pulling out two tiny bottles from inside one pair.
“What is it?”
“Liquor.” He grins, peeking at you from under his lashes before ripping a piece of paper attached to it. “It says ‘one for each, now get to clue number two.’” He holds up one bottle, offering it to you, to which you take it. “It’s chocolate flavored.”
“Of course it would be a drinking game.” You open it, feeling the artificial chocolate scent braid with the alcohol. “Christ.”
“Don’t smell it, or it’ll be worse,” Harry says, downing his with one quick tilt of his head. “‘S not that bad, actually.”
You mimic his action, letting the drink swiftly burn its way down your throat. Unlike Harry, you can’t help but scrunch your nose at the taste. “You’re a fucking liar.”
Harry only giggles in response, taking the empty bottle from you and placing it back inside the gloves, along with his own.
And then again, silence. You turn to the flowers to find some comfort.
A family of tulips glances back at you, their petals in a full red, it’s the kind of beauty you’re scared to ruin if you touch, so you just rest your hand on the wood. “They’re beautiful.” You only notice you say it out loud when Harry hums back in agreement.
“They are.” He says quietly but somehow feels loud by how close he is. “Tulips are my favorites.”
You stop, brows raising incredulously at him. “No, they’re not.”
“What?”
Cursing the universe for playing with you like this, you can’t help but laugh at the situation. “It’s just- they’re my favorites, too.” You look at him. “My nan used to plant them when I was little.”
“That’s sweet.” He says, smiling and you nod. “The red ones represent true love.” He points. “And the purple ones represent royalty.”
You blink at him. “Do you just look up tulip facts in your free time?”
Harry laughs. “Yeah, basically.” He looks down at you, and you can’t help but notice how the greenery around brings out the shade of his eyes. “I worked at a flower shop for a tick.”
“Really?”
He nods. “For eight months. My favorite part was writing on the store board every morning.” His face lights up as he recalls his experience. “I used to write silly stuff like, ‘one day I’d like to meet tulips.’ The old ladies loved it.”
You shake your head, breathing out a laugh. “You’re dangerous.”
“Dangerous? Why’s that?”
Because you’re sweet, you want to answer, because when I think I won’t get charmed by you again, you hit me with tulip puns. Your lip finds its spot between your teeth, you’d be damned to give him the satisfaction of hearing you tell him that, so, instead, you shrug. “Because.” You can tell he wants to dig more by the way his lip twitch up, teasing a smile, but you just nod towards the door before turning away from him and heading out.
There’s a distinct change of temperature when you step outside, and it’s only when you do that you notice the greenhouse was heated. Thankfully, the night is not too windy as it would get a week or two ago when winter was still insisting on making itself present, but it’s still chilly so that it makes you hug your jacket closer to your body. Harry also notices the difference, as you hear him wince as he steps out from behind you — unlike you, he’s not wearing anything to protect his arms from the cold, which only makes it harder for you to not ogle the tattoos hugging his skin.
“So, what’s next?” You prompt.
Harry reaches for the card again, taking it from its spot on his pocket before reading the second clue. “‘Not feeling too creative to write this one, it’s on the third tree on oak.’”
“I mean, at least we don’t have to think too much on this one.” You say, “Oak Street is the one to the left, right?”
“Yeah.” Harry sighs. “Can’t believe he’s making us go out on the streets.”
You start to make your way back towards the house. “Too tired for a stroll?”
“‘S cold,” Harry says, scrunching his nose. “Here, there’s a side gate.”
He guides you through a gravel path to where the black gate stands, hidden between bushes and branches. Strings of fern hug the bricked fence and the surrounding grass is high enough that it tickles your calves through your tights, making you believe this path has probably been left unused for at least a couple of months now. This information brings out an extra worry for you, as you take a better look at it, noticing how the gate is closed shut to the fence.“Is it open?” You wonder out loud.
“Shit, I don’t think it is.” Harry huffs under his breath. “But, I mean, we could easily jump it.”
You stop, turning to glance at him as the suggestion leaves his lips. He stands there, hands on his hips, examining the gate, tongue poking out as he frowns. After a second, he meets your eyes. “What? It’s not that tall.”
“I suppose.” You say, looking back at the fence that ends just below your shoulder length. It would be easy enough for you to climb it with a boost, however, “I’m wearing a dress.”
“Oh,” Harry scratches the back of his neck. “Let’s just go inside-” He turns back.
“Wait,” You stop him, not sure if it’s the slight amount of alcohol in your system already making you more adventurous, you train your gaze at the gate, analyzing it again, before looking back at him. Squinting your eyes, “You have to close your eyes.”
He laughs, “Are you sure?”
“It’s not that high.” You shrug. “But I need your help.”
“Of course.” He moves next to the brick wall, kneeling before it and nodding towards you. “C’mon, step up.”
Hesitantly, you glance at his thigh stretching his trousers, a sudden wave of insecurity hitting you. “Are you sure you can lift me?”
Harry simply puts his hand out in a silent request for you to hold. “Of course.”
“No peeking.”
He shuts his eyes tightly, chin meeting his chest as he looks down. And then you take his hand, feeling his fingers lock in a firm hold as he helps you use him for support. You hesitate again before using his thigh as a step, “Wait, I’m gonna ruin your trousers.” You worry, but Harry only shakes his head, still keeping it facing the ground, the strands of his hair falling above his eyes in a makeshift blindfold. When he doesn't feel you stepping in still, he encourages you with a squeeze in your hand.
You attempt to do as quickly as possible with your dress clinging to your legs, tightening your hold to Harry’s hand to step on his thigh. Once you let it go, you can still feel it lingering behind your back as you use your arms to boost yourself up the wall, sitting on it for a moment before jumping to the other side with a huff.
“Can I open them?” You hear Harry’s voice calls from the other side, and you smile, nodding even though he can’t see it.
“Yes!”
And then his face appears as he stands up in a jump, grinning at you. “See? Easy Peasy.”
“I feel like a teen sneaking out.” You say, and you instantly give another meaning to your words as Harry boosts himself up. This time, you certainly don’t hold yourself back from staring at the way his muscles flex at the movement, the tattoos on his arms stretching, and his shirt rolling up. He makes it look so easy, so effortless, barely taking five seconds until he’s jumping in front of you.
“That was fun.” He puffs, patting his trousers lightly.
“So, how are we finding the tree?” You ask, taking a quick glance to where his hands brush on the fabric of his trousers. “Should we read the clue again?”
“I know which one he’s talking about,” Harry says, nodding to the left before beginning his stride in that direction. You follow him, trusting his words as the two of you turn the corner where Evan’s house is located.
The street in question is much calmer than the one you were just in, with no cars coming or going from the residences — that stand much closer to one another, you notice, giving the whole street more of a narrow feeling to it --, which is not exactly odd, but certainly is a contrast with the main street that Evan’s home faces, that one being more lively with people either coming home or leaving it to enjoy their Friday night. The sudden lack of background noise makes the walk to your destination a tad awkward, as none of you make an effort to strike a conversation. Instead, you resort to silently observing the surrounding area as you walk alongside Harry, noticing how the trees here bend over the sidewalk, their naked branches slowly but surely growing back the leaves they lost months ago — it makes you wonder how beautiful this must look during the peak of springtime, their full branches blending together, making a ceiling of flowers.
“Here.” Harry stops abruptly, making you almost bump into his shoulder, as you were too busy with the scenery you’ve made in your own head. “‘S this one.”
“I thought it said the third one.” You frown, looking back and noticing the way you’ve passed way more than just three.
“This one is the third.” He says, motioning to a small birdhouse stuck to its trunk with a number ‘3’ painted to the front in blue. “It’s a bit of an inside joke,” Harry chuckles to himself. “Now I get why the bastard wanted me to have this card.”
You look closer at the tree, trying to see if there’s something attached to it besides the birdhouse, but there’s nothing. Before you can question it, Harry opens the front of the tiny house, retrieving two tiny bottles from inside of it, similar to the ones you found in the greenhouse. “Oh, no.” You say, laughing. “Did he just put liquor inside a stranger’s birdhouse?”
Harry shakes his head, “This is not a stranger’s birdhouse.”
“Huh?” You frown, glancing back to the house where you stand in front of, its front completely dark, showing that no one must be at home. You point to it over your shoulder. “Do you know who lives here?”
“Yeah,” He starts, offering you one bottle. “I do.”
Your brows shoot up in surprise, glancing back and forth from the house to the man standing in front of you, an amusing grin growing on his face. “You live here?” You ask, “This is your birdhouse?”
“It is, yeah. In fact, I was the one who built it.” He gives the birdhouse a small pat.
You can’t help but let your mouth hang open for a second. “That’s-” You pause, not sure which word to use. Impressive? Amazing? Hot? “That’s nice.”
Harry smiles, and the two of you stand there for a moment, admiring his work in silence. You suck your bottom lip in, keeping yourself from inquiring further.
Being presented with how little you know about Harry only peaks at your curiosity at what had happened last year in your brief experience with him. When you were with him it felt as if you’d known him for months rather than weeks, but looking back at it now, you wonder if your infatuation fooled you into thinking the two of you were close. Maybe that’s why you were so upset at the premiere after all because all that did was prove to you how much you didn’t know him at all. No matter how many sleepless nights you spent together sharing bits of your lives, it wasn’t enough for you to get to know him.
It’s only when a car turns into the street that you break away from your thoughts, looking up at him and clearing your throat. “We should take this back to Evan’s.” You say. “I’m not sure how it would look from an outsider’s point of view to see us downing these tiny bottles in the middle of the street.”
“You’re right,” Harry says. “Should we read the last clue while we’re at it?”
“Sure, yeah.”
He reaches for the card inside his pocket, presenting it to you. “You do the honors this time.”
You take the card, brushing your thumb over the words before stopping for a second to read them out loud, “You’ll find your prize behind the words of buried legends.” You snort. “That’s so corny.”
“Words of buried legends,” Harry repeats, letting out a hum. “Bet he was feeling quite poetic when he wrote this one.”
“Maybe because it has to do with poems.” You peek at him, a slight raise to your eyebrow. “‘Words of buried legends’? like dead poets and stuff?” Upon reading it again to make sure, you mumble, “He really made this card especially for you, huh?”
“Makes sense.” Harry agrees before nudging you playfully with his arm. “Look at you with your literary mind!”
“Could’ve used some better wording but I’ll let it pass.” You giggle, shrugging as you hand him back the card. As you do so, you notice there’s something written on the other side. “What’s in the back?”
Harry’s brows meet. “Huh?”
“In the back of the card, something’s written on it.” You nod towards his hand as he’s about to pocket the card again.
Harry turns it around, reading it with a chuckle. “Ice breakers.”
“You gotta be fucking kidding me.” Your mouth drops open in amusement. “Well? Go on, then. Break the ice.”
Harry makes a show of clearing his throat before reading the question as an announcement, “What celebrity do you think you could pull on your best day?”
“Is this the actual question?” You squint your eyes at him and he turns the card to allow you to read it as well. Surely, the same question reads right on top of it and, as you take a glance at the ones below it, they’re not that much better. You shake your head, “God, I have no idea.”
“I know mine.”
“You didn’t give a single thought on that one.” You say. “This should be good.”
“Jennifer Aniston.”
“Jennifer Aniston?” You stop on your tracks, raising your brows at him. “You know she was married to Brad Pitt, right?”
“Ouch.” Harry makes the theatrics of putting a hand on his heart, head falling dramatically to the side. “Right where it hurts.”
“I’m not saying you’re bad-looking, but he’s Brad Pitt.” You emphasize with a laugh, pushing him playfully as you keep walking. “Like he is the male beauty standard. Personified.”
The front of Evan’s feels more vivid than it was when you first walked in hours ago, the lights inside seeming lighter and the curtains having been pulled back, showing people wandering around on the inside. You walk past another pair crouched in front of the bushes that line next to the front gate that creaks as you open it.
Harry rolls his eyes. “Sure, let’s hear yours, then, sweetheart.”
“Ew, don’t ever call me that again.” Your nose scrunches and your face grows hot, but you attempt to shake it off, stopping to think of the question. “Huh, on my best day? I think… I don’t know, maybe Drake?”
“Oh, no!” Harry’s hands cover his face as he shakes his head into them. “I feel like that’s the most basic answer anyone could ever give to this question.”
You gasp. “Did you just call me basic?”
Harry holds the front door open for you and, before he’s able to give you an answer, you bump right into Nia. She instantly blurts out your name, as if she’s been expecting you to appear. “I’ve been looking for you!” She says, sparing Harry a glance over your shoulder before pulling you slightly to the side. “Do you think we could talk for a second?”
“Sure.” You hold out the word, looking at Harry before focusing on your friend again. “Did something happen?”
“No, no, nothing happened. Just—” Nia starts, locking your arms as she guides you back outside, pulling you to a corner a few steps away from the front door. “How are you? How's it going?”
“I’m fine. Why?” Your brows knit together at her interference and you wonder if it has anything to do with her conversation with Nate.
“I’m talking about-” She looks over her shoulder, clearly checking if anyone is listening in. Even after making sure that there’s no one there, she still lowers her voice. “When I saw he was your pair, I wanted to rescue you right away, but fucking Taylor pulled me with him and I didn’t get the chance.”
Oh. “Oh.”
“Is it too awkward?” She keeps her inquiry, holding your hand close to her chest. “We could ask them to switch so we can do the rest together, I’m sure Evan’s too plastered to notice.”
“Nia, I-” You smile as you come to realize that she pulled you aside just to check if you’re uncomfortable, having witnessed first-hand your whines and cries over Harry last year. “It’s okay, really. It’s not that bad, surprisingly.”
“Really?” Nia blinks, taken aback. “I- What happened?”
“Nothing.” You reassure her with a squeeze on her hand. “We’re just chatting, it’s not that awkward.”
“Okay.” She nods and nods, before falling serious again. “But if anything happens you just have to scream for me and I’ll be right there, okay?”
“Okay.” You say, pulling her for a brief hug. “Thanks, Ni.”
The two of you return inside just as Taylor brings up his brother’s hair sculpture collection that’s being exhibited at a local gallery — a subject you already have been the victim of hearing for about an hour during New Year’s and, by Harry’s face, he seems as helpless as you did back then. Nia doesn’t waste a second before pulling her pair away, “Let’s go, pal, those clues won’t solve themselves,” she shoots you a look over her shoulder, pushing Taylor towards the living room and you chuckle.
“He really is one of a kind, that man,” Harry says with a sigh before meeting your gaze. “Is everything alright?”
“Yeah, just lady talk.” You brush aside. “Let’s find those poets, shall we?”
“We shall.” Harry smiles, looking around for a second before guiding you down the hallway, turning just before entering the kitchen where a staircase. This is a way that — like the greenhouse — you’ve never been to. Still, Harry navigates so casually as if it were his own home and, to some degree, you suppose it is. You follow him up the first flight of steps, stopping just before turning into the next one where a door you never really noticed before stands. Harry rests his hand on the handle, turning to you before saying, “There’s an office hidden right here.”
You watch as he opens it, motioning for you to walk in first. And, indeed, the inside of it is an office, just a bit smaller than the living room on the opposite side of the house. Two bookcases that go from the floor to the ceiling mostly covered the wall, only leaving a single space in the middle for a dark wooden cabinet. In front of it, an L-shaped desk takes up the middle of the room, most of it is filled with files and paper stacks, as well as two computers lying asleep. For a moment, you just stand by the doorway, admiring this room you’ve never known of its existence, your eyes quickly sweeping through the bookshelves completely packed with dark cover books of all sorts. “Do you think this is where it could be?”
“Probably, yeah.” Harry nods, turning on the lights. “I don’t know where else he could have any poetry hidden.”
You move towards one bookshelf, the one closest to the door, reaching to brush your finger through the spines perfectly lined. “But look at the size of these, we’ll take forever to find anything in here.”
“Those big ones are mostly law books, I think,” Harry says, opening cabinets at the other side of the room, right next to where a white couch stands. He turns to look at you, “His sister’s a lawyer, this is her office.” Harry says, “But Evan’s got a corner right here where he keeps some of his stuff— like books of sorts. It’s the only place I could think of.”
You hum, not knowing exactly what to respond to this information.
“You can go through the ones on that side, it could be there as well.” Harry nods towards a cabinet right next to the door where you came from, and you nod.
The first two cabinets are of no luck, both being mostly filled with boxes full of children’s books and old toys — some of them mixed with more stacks of paper, but those, instead of having long texts, have drawings of all kinds from what you could gather in a glance, from child-like scribbles to actual sketches. You can hear Harry going through drawers on the other side of the room and, upon closing another empty cabinet, you peek at him, watching his broad back flexing under his shirt as he moves around. Averting your eyes as swiftly as you looked, it’s still enough to bring warmth to your cheeks.
Finally, you open the cabinet at the very bottom of the shelf. On the top, there are piles of DVDs, most being different variations of Barbie movies, but, right at the bottom, you find books. You don’t stop to check their genre at first, simply moving them away until you stumble upon a small box, the top of it marked with the word ‘prize’. “Found it!” You call back, taking the box away from the pile before setting the books back in place again. “Under Rupi Kaur? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure she’s very alive.”
“Don’t tell Evan that,” Harry says as he crouches next to you, taking the box from your hands. Inside, there are, as expected, two tiny bottles like the ones you found before but, what calls both your attention, is a small bag of sweets lying in the middle. Harry takes it, “Oh, those are nice.”
He hands it to you and you open it, quickly shoving a jelly candy into your mouth before nodding. “Yeah.”
“So…” Harry starts, peeking over his shoulder, “Do you want to go back there?”
You glance at him, his eyes hovering above yours, lips twitching up just barely. “Uh… Maybe not right now.” You answer, “Unless you feel like sharing our Jellies with other people.”
Harry only laughs, shaking his head as he sits back and you do so too, right next to him. He reaches for his pocket, presenting another tiny bottle, the one you found inside his birdhouse, “We still got these.”
“Right!” You fetch your own out of the pocket of your jacket.
Harry opens his, holding it up towards you. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.” You say, mimicking him.
Both of you down your drinks, the liquid tasting bitter, like medicine on your tongue, the only reminder of alcohol being the burn as it slides down your throat. You rest your head back on the cabinet behind you as the two of you fall into silence once more. A part of your mind is already beginning to swim around the space inside your head, and you decide to not take the last drink just yet, laying it next to your leg. Though you’ve only had the equivalent of two shots, you realize the long break you’ve had from drinking for the past couple of months -- which wasn’t exactly an intentional choice, but more like the result of your lack of free time -- is showing itself to have been enough to make you more of a lightweight.
And even though the night so far has been strikingly surprising in terms of how comfortable you felt being around Harry again, it doesn’t mean the questions you’ve been carrying since last year have gotten any quieter. They’ve only gotten louder. More persistent, even. The curiosity you feel to know what happened is almost suffocating now. And you’d be damned if you let a drunken mind stop you from having this conversation.
You glance at him from the corner of your eyes, only watching the back of his head bobbing along with the music -- still the piano -- that comes faintly from behind the closed door. Your lips part, feeling the question form right at the tip of your tongue, but not knowing how to voice the words. Will it be awkward? You think so, but what if it ruins the night? Tonight, that’s been so oddly refreshing. A night that only served to remind you how you became so infatuated with him in the first place.
But you know you won’t be able to let go of this ich inside your head unless you bring it up. And you want to, you do, but as you take too long to think of the right way to do so, Harry decides to break the silence, murmuring next to you, “That’s a good one.”
Your brows knit together, trying to make out any trace of familiarity within the song that’s playing, but you don't find any, which only leaves you even more confused. “Do you like classical?”
“Love,” Harry says simply, his eyes closed as he moves his head with the piano keys. “Especially this one. One of the greatest works from one of the greatest contemporary composers: Billie Eilish.”
Your lips fall open, “Shut up. Is she playing this?”
Harry laughs, a full one, that brings a grin to poke at your lips. “I mean, as far as I’m aware, no. It’s a version of her song — listen in.” He points to his ear, nodding with the melody as he sings along, “So you’re a tough guy, like it really rough guy.”
You shake your head incredulously, “Of course he’s playing classical versions of pop songs!”
“Did you really think Evan had a taste for Chopin or Debussy?” Harry asks both dimples poking on his cheeks.
“I think at this point I’d believe anything you tell me about him.”
Both of you laugh, the air surrounding you light and warm, before falling quiet again. This time, however, you simply stare at each other for a beat. You watch his eyes, with their almost hypnotizing jade shade, glancing between your own. He rolls his lip between his teeth, nibbling at it. This is the closest you’ve been to him all night, and the details on his face only feel like a reminder of your doubts. Like the nostalgia you feel with a bittersweet memory.
“Should we-“ You stop, the words falling from your lips before you can think about them. “Should we talk about the elephant in the room?”
You half expect Harry to frown, to play dumb, and question you the meaning behind your words. For a second, you even expect him to shake his head, to get up and leave the room. And, for some reason, you kinda want him to do so. To finally break the mask of the nice, sweet guy he’s been putting on all night and allow himself to play the role of cold prick you put him on for the past months.
But he doesn’t do it. He only gives you a short smile. “I was thinking about how to bring it up.” Harry’s gaze falls to his lap for a beat as he scratches his nose. “We should, yeah.”
You nod, more to yourself than to him. This is it. The moment to ask what you’ve been waiting for for six months now. You decide not to think much anymore, allowing the question to roll freely, “I don’t really know how to word this better but- pardon my French- what the fuck happened?”
Harry chuckles, but not an amused one. It’s more of a dry, nervous laugh. “How cliche is it if I tell you I was really fucking stupid?”
“Pretty cliche.” You say, “But also pretty true, I suppose.”
“I’m sorry for that.” He looks up, eyes meeting yours again, his own softening upon seeing you. “I really am.”
“Thank you for apologizing.” You smile a little, “But I think I deserve an explanation.”
“You do.” He speaks quietly before clearing his throat. For a second, he doesn’t say anything else, just takes a sharp breath, focusing on his fingers that play with the hem of his trousers. “I- Uhm- I know this might come as a surprise, but I’m not very good at letting people down.”
“A bit, I guess.” You try to humor, but your tone doesn’t show it. You sound quiet, hurt.
He peeks up at you, and continues, “Jess- the girl you met at the premiere- she’s lovely and all, but- how do I say this- we were never really supposed to be together.” Harry sighs, “I didn’t like her like that.”
You frown, “Then, why did you?”
“A couple of months before we met- before Evan even mentioned the film project to me, one of my mates kept insisting that I should meet his sister.” He pauses, “That was Jess.”
“I figured.”
Harry nods, “As I said, she’s a lovely girl, really nice, but we just- didn’t click like that, you know?” You hum in agreement, ignoring a small twist in your stomach when he repeats the endearment term. “But I guess she really wanted to try it, and, for months, I just kept pushing and pushing, cause I thought maybe with time I could bring myself to feel the same way.” And then again, another humorless laugh, “But- spoiler alert- I couldn’t and I should’ve just told her that.”
Your mouth hangs open for a beat before you decide against saying anything. It’s clear as you watch him explain that the entire situation for him felt more complicated than you’d ever considered. Not once did you think about the possibility of him being caught in a twist of his own decisions, and not once did you regard his feelings with the whole situation. In your bubble of gloominess, all you could think of was how he played you and used you for a bit before moving on to the next girl that fell for his sweet talk.
Looking at him now, however, his head low and brows set on a permanent crease, lips frowning down, you can feel the internal conflict pooling out of his pores. You’re not sure if it’s exactly a look of remorse that he gives you, but it sure seems close to it.
Harry huffs in what feels like frustration as he keeps recalling the events, “But all my mates kept taking the piss, pushing me to ask her out and then, in the middle of it, I met you.” He finally smiles a bit, and you have to look down to hide the warmth that spreads on your cheeks, “And we-uh-” He shrugs, “I mean, we clicked, didn’t we?”
“I think so.” You say, just above a whisper.
“I think so, too,” Harry says, holding your gaze with his own. “And when I was with you I let myself forget about that, forget about the pressure to be with someone else, I guess.” His lips fall again, eyes meeting his lap, “But when we came back, there wasn’t much running away from it anymore. The night we got back I met that friend of mine and, I’m not sure if he said anything to Jess, but she asked me out.”
“And you said yes.”
“I said yes.” He repeats, shaking his head, “I shouldn’t have, but I said yes.”
“So you just dated her? Even if you didn’t like her like that?” You say, trying to understand his thought process. Even if his words tug at your heartstrings -- which you try to not think about right now -- you still can’t help but feel a bit for the other girl.
“I thought I could- I don’t know, I thought with time maybe I could-” He stumbles around with his speech, before finally letting out a sigh, “I don’t know what was going through my head, to be honest. I was a prick.”
“At least you can admit to it.”
“I was a prick to both of you.”
You fall quiet, hoping he takes your silence as an agreement. When he doesn’t offer anything else, you speak up again, “Did it work, though?” He frowns, and you clarify, “Letting time force feelings into you?”
“I found very quickly how hard it is to develop feelings for someone when there’s someone else on your mind.” He says, and you bite back a smile that wants to spread on your lips.
“It’s very easy to say that now.”
“I know.” He agrees, “And I wish I could’ve realized that earlier, before even bringing you into this mess.” Harry reaches for your wrist, which lies on top of your lap, giving it a gentle squeeze. “For that I really am sorry.”
“I know you are.” You reassure, turning your hand to find his, squeezing it back. “And what happened to Jess?”
“She was rightfully upset when I told her.” His thumb brushes against your knuckles, moving the rings on your fingers around just slightly, and it’s almost enough to distract you from his voice. “We broke up a day after the premiere.”
“Ouch.”
“But it’s fine now, she’s got a boyfriend now who actually cares for her the way she deserves,” Harry says.
“That’s nice to hear, at least.”
“It is, yeah.”
You look down at your hands locked in your lap, squeezing his one more time before letting it go with a sigh. “You really made a big mess, huh?”
He chuckles, a guilty smile poking on his face, “I did.”
You nod, finally reaching for the tiny bottle left forgotten next to you, opening it. This time you only take a sip, but it’s still enough to end half of the liquid inside. You click your tongue, “I’m glad we talked, though.” You look up at Harry again, who’s already watching you, giving a small tap on his thigh. “It’s nice to have closure, you know? To give it a conclusion and wrap with a nice little bow.”
Harry rolls his lip inside his mouth, “Is this a conclusion, then?”
You raise your brows, “Is it not?”
“I guess it could be.” He shrugs one shoulder, leaning closer to you just barely, eyes trained in yours. “But I’m hoping that, after today, maybe we could start over?”
You laugh, scrunching your nose at him as you shake your head. “Not a start over, no.” You poke his side, “You’re not getting away that easy.”
“You’re right.” He says, still not budging as he frowns his lips. “But I wish it didn’t have to be an ending as well.”
“Is that so?”
Harry nods, you can tell his eyes hold a shyness that wasn’t here a minute ago, but at the same time -- as paradoxically as it seems -- there’s a boldness as well, one you’re more familiar with. “Maybe we could chat again. This time with fewer ice breaker cards and more bags of sweets.”
You smile, rubbing your chin as you pretend to ponder about his suggestion. “That does sound very promising.”
“I really do think we clicked.” He drops his playful tone as if wanting to make sure you feel the sincerity behind his words. “Wasn’t just saying it.”
“I know.” You say, “And I think so, too.”
His smirk grows, and he doesn’t offer anything else to say, but you can tell he’s holding something back. With the silence, you suddenly become too aware of the way your arms brush together, and how his knee bumps against yours. You notice how his eyes fall a bit from yours, so quickly you could’ve imagined it, but you choose to not think so. If you lean forward, you know he will too, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. You’re not letting yourself make the first move.
Surely, you’re aware these thoughts are a direct result of the alcohol sweeping through your mind, testing how much of your pride you’re willing to ignore. There’s no questioning of the wall that you built all those months ago after walking out of this very house with this very man on your tail blurring out apologies. It still stands, tall and strong, and you're not letting sweet words mixed with a drink or two pull it down. Not that easily. But at this moment, looking at his stupidly beautiful face with his stupidly beautiful eyes so close to you, you feel like maybe you could peek through a window, or open up a door — just a creek, just to have a sample of what it would feel like if you were to pull it down.
“Do you want to go back?” Harry asks again, this time more quietly, this time his question has a different implication than it did before.
You're quick to shake your head, voice quiet, “Not yet.”
The corner of his lips quirk up and you raise your brows, silently daring him to ask what he’s been holding. You see his hand moving from the corner of your eyes, but you don’t break your gaze from his, not even when you feel his fingertips moving so gently against your cheekbone, brushing your hair away from your face. Harry leans closer, again just barely, and again, you stay still, only smiling softly in encouragement. Now, you’re stuck in your own silent conversation; both seeking the same thing but not making the move to achieve it -- either for pride or apprehension.
“I’d really like to kiss you right now,” Harry whispers finally, eyes moving down again, this time slowly, making sure that his intentions are clear.
“Do it, then.” You tease.
Harry breathes out a laugh, his hand caressing its way down to your jaw. He rubs his thumb against your cheek, a feathery touch, taking another second to look at you before pulling you in. Your eyes fall closed, as you focus on your senses, and allow yourself to peek from that window, or creek that door open just a bit, to have just this moment to remember when you first got lost in his touch.
First, it’s the warmth of his breath tickling your cupid bow, making your hold your own breath in anticipation. Then, the tip of his nose, gentle against your own, and you can’t help but lean in a bit more when you feel the ghost of his lips on yours. But he pulls back, just so slightly, hoping to have you reach for him again. Except you don’t, knowing what he’s trying to do.
“Uh-uh,” you shake your head, pulling back just a bit to look him in the eye. “You don’t get to tease me.”
Harry huffs out a laugh, “That’s fair.”
This time, there’s no teasing. Still, he goes in just as slowly as he did the first time around, curving his lips around your bottom one so softly it almost makes you lean in again. His kiss is cloud-like in a way that makes you a bit dizzy and when he presses his lips harder, you have to refrain from letting out a dreamy sigh -- still too stubborn to give him the satisfaction. It’s when you feel the tip of his tongue poking out to lick at your bottom lip in a silent request, that you pull away completely.
It’s your turn to smirk now, licking your lips before announcing, “I think we should go back now.”
#harry styles#harry styles x y/n#harry styles fluff#harry styles one shot#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fanfic#harry styles x reader#harry styles writing#harry styles smut#harry styles imagine
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Aerith in light of healthcare provider
So, I've wanted to write an analysis about Aerith in light of her medical viewpoint for quite a long time but only recently got the chance to complete it. It is well known in the game that Aerith is the healer of the story. She possesses a great MP with a limit break to heal and buff people which greatly affects your gameplay. Of course, you can equip others with Healing and Prayer materias to render them useful for healing as well. But story-wise, no one can take away Aerith's status as the healer. We know in canon that Aerith provided herbs to the Sector 5 slums doctor to create medicine. And if you finished the Corneo Stash side quest in Chapter 14, you can return to the church and see a couple of elderly sitting on the pew praying. And when you come closer to them you'll hear them talking about how they didn't see Aerith around and they're sure she's alright and probably be around healing people. You know, since the Sector 7 plate just fell. (Even though Aerith is not alright actually coz she was kidnapped by Shinra by this time) Point is, we are fed by the NPCs on how much Aerith had helped around as a healer. She had been doing this for years.
While being in denial about who she actually is, being a healer had always been implanted in her. She is used to it. When you're used to being a healer, there's a certain level when you have a different reaction compared to others. The way you think is different. Apart from that, she's also a Cetra. And we knew for a fact Cetra had a certain affinity towards souls who are returning to the Planet. Meaning, as much as she is used to healing others, she's also used to sensing death.
My whole point is that being a Cardiac Anaesthesiologist and Intensivist as I am, I can totally relate my position with Aerith, as we both have constantly helped people and encounter death on daily basis. While I'm pretty confident that the majority of these might be coincidences (because I'm pretty sure there are no doctors in the SE team), I thought the coincidences are pretty cool to ponder upon and I'm amazed at how the subtle differences between Aerith's reaction to events from other characters.
I'm gonna ignore the meta part of Aerith, mainly because I'm not discussing how much Aerith knew, and if there was anything in jeopardy of what she knew whatsoever. So we're gonna focus on the fact that she is used to healing and feeling people's death. People who are used to death on daily basis had a certain unique view on life and death. And that affects how we act upon facing them too. While this is evident throughout Remake, I'm gonna focus on the plate drop event to be more concise. I will also use Tifa as a comparison to make it easier to see the difference between the reaction of the two. Let’s start!
1) Aerith is quick in emergency situations.
When you are used to people dying, you developed a certain immunity and you are able to have a sound mind and composure at the sudden change of event. As healthcare providers, we face stable situations turning into critical real fast. And we have a switch in our minds that turns us from standby mode to rescue mode. This is exactly what happened to Aerith when Don Corneo revealed Shinra's plan to blow up Sector 7's support pillar. Tifa is part of Sector 7. It is her home. Which is why her reaction showed how she was super devastated, she slowly stood up and muttered "They wouldn't..." because she couldn't believe it. Aerith? She had that switch in her mind, and she immediately turned and say "Come on, guys! We gotta go!". She switched into that critical mode in a second. It helps that she's also not personally connected to Sector 7, and thus her judgment was not as impaired. Of course, they both switched into the critical mode in the sewer, but it was at the moment of revelation that made it different. Just like how healthcare providers switched at the moment of revelation that their patients are at the brink of death—you immediately jumped into rescue mode.
2) She plans for the worst.
Remember after they defeated Abzu and Tifa started to question Corneo's information? She didn't want to believe it, because it didn't make sense to destroy your years of efforts building the plate just to get back to a small group like AVALANCHE. Think about the money they put in to build it, they're gonna have to put them all again. In fact, along their way out of the sewer, Tifa voiced out multiple times how this had been bothering her. But I'm intrigued with Aerith's reply "If he's telling the truth, then we should go. And if it turns out he was lying, then so what?". This here is exactly what doctors do. We plan and prepare for the worst. And if the worst didn't happen, then so what? If you ever had life-saving surgery, your doctors would tell you "You need this surgery coz you might die. But if you do the surgery, there's a high chance you'll survive, but there's a small chance you'll die too". And we prepare for that small chance that our patients die. No, we don't let our preparations lacking because we hope they'll survive. We prepare for the worst outcome possible and get all the equipment ready in case they'll die. If they didn't, then so what? It doesn't mean our preparations were futile efforts. It only means we were prepared. And that line of Aerith seriously hits home to me.
3) She hopes for the best.
Before they crossed the water sewer, Tifa once again voiced out how she couldn't stop thinking about what Corneo said, and she was still hoping that he was lying. And then Aerith said, "The future isn't set in stone". (Again, I'm gonna ignore the meta part of Aerith) And then she proceeded to set up that small date with Tifa. Believe it or not, this is actually what we do during bad calls. We'd talk about what we would do after all this ends; we'd go out dining, or playing games/darts, or go drinking, or whatever it is that makes us happy. Just to keep our minds calm and to allow us to hope for the future, even if it's just a few hours away. It gives us hope and courage to go on. We plan for the worst, but we hope for the best. The more critical the situation is, the more you need to be level-headed. And needless to say, after this point onwards, Tifa is much more calmed down from her struggle to keep herself focus.
4) She follows orders.
This might sound weird to some, but the ability to cast away your worry and focus on what you can do, instead of what you should do, is important in emergency situations. You need to know what you don't know. You don't get in the way of your comrades. If you're not good at intubating, you don't insist to intubate in emergency situations just because you wanna help. Seriously, you'll just make things worse. When Cloud, Tifa, and Aerith were attacked before climbing up and out of the sewer, Cloud asked both Tifa and Aerith to keep going. Aerith immediately answers "Okay" and left—without a single but. This is significant because it shows that Aerith knew she'd be better off leaving. She doesn't need to offer help, coz her help was not needed. This is not the place where she could help. The ability to recognize this is very important for healthcare professionals. Tifa was a bit more reluctant to leave, but that's probably because she is a martial artist in-game. Also, the fact that Aerith could still joke "We're not delicious" is just so real lol! Yup, we joke sometimes when we're facing deaths—doesn't mean we lose focus in saving the dying person in front of us, don't worry. And then it happens again when they reached Sector 7 when Cloud asked them to stay with Wedge as he goes up, Aerith immediately answered "sure"—because she can "patch" Wedge up, it's where her abilities lie. This is even more accentuated when an injured Wedge argued that he can still fight when he clearly can't—making this point even more obvious. Aerith is someone with a healthcare mind, Wedge was not.
5) She supports her comrades emotionally even when she’s worried too.
When they reached the surface, they spotted a Shinra helicopter. Cloud assured them they're only on patrol. Aerith turned to Tifa and said, "Don't worry, we'll make it in time". This moment is also very iconic to me. As I mentioned, I'm an anaesthesiologist. We are the support doctors to surgeons and physicians. Those moments when we're operating on AAA surgeries and the patient is losing liters of blood and literally dying, we're pumping bloods in with our hands and get those Level 1 machines operating, and the surgeons would be panicking because it keeps bleeding? Yep, I did say it before. "We'll make it. Just concentrate on the surgery and don't worry about the bleeding", even though I'm sweating and dying here trying to keep the patient alive. But I pretended to be calm in front of my team and cheered them on. Because the whole team needs to keep calm. If one of the team loses hope, then bid your chance farewell. As an anaesthesiologist, we're almost like the anchor in the room. People look at us to know if everything's alright. I need to tell them it's alright, so they need not worry. Aerith knew Tifa is worried. And she tried to keep Tifa calm with reassurance. Even if she probably freaked out herself.
6) She doesn’t discriminate.
After they defeated the ghost at the haunted maintenance facility, Cloud tried to kill it, and Aerith didn't let him. When Cloud said that thing was dangerous, Aerith said she knows and added "but even so..." she didn't feel right about killing it. (Let's ignore the fact that the Ghoul was a lonely creature for now) It then goes to drop the train wreck which almost killed them had it not been for Cloud. Now this would have been avoided had Aerith let Cloud killed it—maybe. But here's the thing. When you're hyper-aware that people are dying left and right, you value life more. No one deserves to die, even the worst criminal in the world. You're a law-abiding citizen? You're a criminal? It doesn't make a difference to us. I know this is something super hard to comprehend. But technically only when the law subjects the criminal to the death sentence that a person should be left to die. I've been a doctor for eleven years, I was a prison doctor for two. I had the first-hand experience of dealing with criminals. It's not my job to determine whether they deserve to die or not. It's not my call whether they will turn a new leaf had they lived. I know this is something others find difficult to relate to and agree with—happens to my non-medical family and friends. The verdict to us is simple. It's a life. It's worth saving. Period. (Technically the ghosts are dead though but my point still stands)
7) She tries to her best abilities and lets go of what is out of her control.
Tifa's emotions are tampered with again when they confirmed Shinra was going to drop the plate when they overheard the Turks conversation. Her voice shook, we can literally hear it. Aerith's response was "all we can do now is keep moving". And she's right. When they reached Sector 7 and the Whispers were preventing them, she said "we have to get past whatever it takes". And later on, Tifa left to help Cloud and Barret, and Aerith agreed to get to Seventh Heaven to ensure Marlene's safety. Wedge had a short mental breakdown when he realized he was no good to anyone up or down the crime scene. And Aerith told him "We can still save a lot of lives", "That's no excuse to give up", "I need to know I did everything I could". Her encouragement helped Wedge save more people. Some argued, did she not care about the lives that already died? Now here's my point; no, we don't. Sorry if this sounds harsh, but really. What can we do for people who are already dead? Nothing. What can we do for people who are still alive? Everything. And this is the core of being a healthcare provider—we prioritize. Yes, we're also humans. We can get emotional when our own friends and relatives die. (Aerith might not be as calm had it happened at Sector 5) But when we put the healthcare provider cap on, we mean business. That is why when disasters happened, and we triage people with a black tag? That's when we know we couldn't do anything for them. We don't mourn at the black tags. We move on to the other tags instead. So that we know we already did everything in our power to help. And yes, it doesn't matter even if we lost more lives than we saved. It's worth it, even if we only saved one person out of thousands of deaths. Just like how Aerith saved Betty in Sector 7. That one life is worth it.
#Aerith Gainsborough#Aeris Gainsborough#ff7 aerith#aerith#aeris#FF7 Remake#final fantasy 7 remake#final fantasy vii remake#ffvii remake#ff7remake#final fantasy vii: remake#final fantasy vii#Final Fantasy 7#FFVII#ff7
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Ghostic: Epilogue 1
Location: Seisou Hall (Touri & Yuzuru’s Room) Characters: Touri, Yuzuru, Eichi & Wataru
< Two days later. The morning of the big day. >
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Touri: I’m off, Yuzuru.
Yuzuru: Right. Have a lovely day, Young Master.
But are you certain you’re fine with me not going to the Student Council?
Touri: I already told you yesterday~ You’re still recovering so it’s fine, Yuzuru.
You shouldn’t move around too much since we’ve got a jam-packed schedule today. Save your energy!
I’ve got the new Student Council President and Shinobu with me, so I’ll be fine.
Besides, “AKATSUKI” will be performing as the opening act meaning Hasumi-senpai will also be there, so if anything, we’ve got way too many hands.
So relax and wait at ES, Yuzuru. Try not to escape from the medical office and cause a huge fuss like last time!
Yuzuru: Fufu. I have no choice but to oblige when you put it that way.
Then, I shall leave Yumenosaki Academy in your hands, Young Master.
Touri: Yup. I’ll meet you at ES once I’ve watched the opening, so don’t worry and wait for me there ♪
Yuzuru: …I thought I had worried the Young Master but, on the contrary, it seems I have inconvenienced him instead.
Eichi-sama and Hibiki-sama have also told me, “You don’t have to work until the performance today.”, and gave me the time off. How utterly regrettable.
However, even though it is a frustrating situation, I can feel the love from everyone in “fine”.
To care for, be grateful for and respect one another – It is far too overwhelming for me.
I would love to repay those feelings as much as I can before the performance.
…I suppose I shall head to ES while praying the Young Master is able to smoothly finish his duties for “Halloween Party”.
Location: ES Halloween Stage (fine)
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Wataru: One, two, three… And that’s everyone.
Yup. Not even one person is late, what an excellent presentation from the staff ☆ You have my deepest gratitude for working with us to create our ideal haunted house…☆
Now, let us check the operations for the haunted house today! I presume you’re ready, Eichi?
Eichi: Yup. I’ll head over now, Wataru.
All right, I leave our bags to you, Yuzuru. Make sure to watch the staff’s bags as well.
Yuzuru: Yes. Please leave it to me, Eichi-sama.
(...There were all sorts of twists and turns but the “ES Haunted House” is finally going to open.)
(Eichi-sama and Hibiki-sama are doing the final inspections.)
(The Young Master is the Vice President of the Student Council and is overseeing Yumenosaki Academy, whereas, I am on bag surveillance duty. I cannot deny that I’m feeling somewhat bored.)
(I’d like to make up for my blunder where I lost my composure during the incident surrounding ghosts.)
(Especially since, compared to last year, this year’s Halloween is a large-scale event with ES in the picture.)
(In order to prevent confusion at ES, we idols cannot parade around the premises among the public.)
(We shall be doing fanservice at our designated locations.)
(“fine” is designated here where we will be distributing sweets to the visitors who have made it all the way to the finish line.)
(Due to the circumstances, it cannot be helped. This causes us to be distanced from our fans so it’s somewhat unfortunate.)
(To make up for that, we must put on a wonderful performance from afar.)
…Oh? I sense someone behind me…
What is this white sheet…? You may be hiding your face but I can see your adorable feet, Miss Ghost.
“Trick or Treat”...?
Ahh, I see. I do have sweets here so I’ll give these to you.
In any other case, how about you reveal yourself, Anzu-san? ♪
Fufu. I’m glad to see you’re doing well. I had wanted you to enjoy the “ES Haunted House” so I was worried you wouldn’t be able to be here.
However, I feel greatly honoured for you to have made time in your schedule to see us today.
Nevertheless, I’m surprised to see you would apply to become a ghost.
So you are helping out for a short while for future reference. I have heard from Eichi-sama already.
It’s good to be passionate about your studies, but please do enjoy yourself today, Anzu-san.
Yes. The staff are in that room further in. Eichi-sama and Hibiki-sama are here as well, so why don’t you also say hello to them?
If you greet them with a “Trick or Treat”, I’m sure they’ll give you some sweets ♪
Right. See you later, Anzu-san.
← Previous Chapter ᠂ ⚘ ˚⊹˚ ⚘ ᠂ Next Chapter →
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(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Main Story Chapter 1-19 NIGHT: 命运的拐点 Destiny’s Turning Point Translation
“Destiny is like a gust of wind… Red leaves flutter, flying away in the face of it. And it is when the winds pick up ― That you meet once more…”
“I know… Who would’ve thought that such coincidences exist in this world?“
*Light and Night Master-list *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (^▽^)~ ♪ *Main story tag will be #For Light and Night
By the time I returned backstage, everyone was discussing where they should go to celebrate later.
MC: You guys go on without me. I’ll catch up once I’m done packing up here.
Gao Cheng nodded before leaving with Wu Yue and the others.
I headed back to the preparation room alone. It was definitely way more empty now, compared to all the hustle and bustle that had been going on during the contest.
❖☆———————————★❖
I folded all of the clothes into neat little piles before placing them into the box. The last coat hangs upon the highest hanger. I stretched upwards as far as I could on tiptoes, but alas, that didn’t quite make the cut.
MC: I should go find a stool.
Stepping atop the stool, I finally managed to retrieve the heavy coat. I held it with both hands, carefully using my foot to feel around for the ground.
However, I suddenly missed my footing just as my foot finally brushed the floor—
MC: Crap!
I hurriedly gathered the clothes into my protective grasp and brace for impact. Yet, all I felt was the feeling of someone firmly supporting my shoulders from behind, catching me as I fell.
???: Careful.
❖☆———————————★❖
I whipped around in surprise, only to be faced with a pair of familiar eyes.
MC: Evan!?
He nodded, but he didn’t look the slightest bit surprised about it at all. He smoothly took the clothes in my hands and hung them inside the closet.
❖☆———————————★❖
Evan: Are you okay?
MC: I’m okay. Thank you, but what are you doing here?
He was dressed in a respectable suit, just like when we first met.
Given his tall stature, I’d have no doubt thought him either a model or one of the guests that had been invited for the contest, had I never seen him before.
Evan: Work reasons. I never thought that I’d be meeting you here again, of all places.
MC: Work?
But all the staff members of this event don uniforms, and he didn’t have a media badge pinned to his chest either.
MC: Wait, you work for Warson?
Evan hesitated, his lips curling into an arc, yet he made no move to refute it.
MC: I can’t believe such coincidences actually exist in this world…
Evan: I’ve seen your work. I love it.
MC: You don’t have to comfort me. I’m fine.
Evan: I’m not trying to comfort you.
Evan: Aesthetics is something very personal and fickle. While there may be people who don’t accept your work, there will naturally always be others who will acknowledge it.
Evan: And it just so happens that I’m one of those who do.
Evan: Can you tell me why you decided to use the strongest Black Chiffon to make the hat?
MC: It’s because I feel that it is striking despite how ordinary it looks.
MC: I like how tough it looks despite being so ordinary.
Evan: What a coincidence. This material is also what the lining of my first suit was made of.
Evan: It does look very ordinary.
Evan: Unfortunately, I accidentally got it snagged onto something and it ripped. That was when I realized that the lining was still intact with little damage.
Evan: So, see? There will always come a time where the strength masked beneath all the ordinariness has a chance to shine.
Evan: Plus, if you look at things in the long run, it is more often than not the ordinary things that bring about the most pleasant surprises.
Saying so, he faced me with a smile. His eyes were filled with emboldened certainty.
I suddenly felt as if a warm and gentle breeze had come and blown all the complex feelings I harboured within my heart, along with all the embarrassment I felt.
Turns out that I am not as alone on this creative path to design as I’d initially thought. There was still someone out there who’s expecting great things for my future, at least.
MC: Yeah, thank you.
Evan’s smile turned a little exasperated at that.
Evan: Why are we back to square one again just like the night when we first met?
Evan: You’ve already said “thank you” to me a good many times now.
I awkwardly fiddled with my bangs, looking away in hopes of changing the topic.
MC: Right, speaking of that day… Could you wait for me for a bit? I’ve got something I want to give you.
I reopened the box that I’d just sealed up and rummaged around inside until I finally found the jewellery box housed at the very bottom of it, where a smoky-grey pin was kept.
MC: It’s a gift for you.
Evan was stunned, seemingly quite surprised.
Evan: You made this?
MC: Yup. I couldn’t sleep due to all the adrenaline I felt when I got home that day, so I made this.
MC: I want to give this to you as thanks for the coffee that day.
MC: I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again, so I just carried it around with me just in case luck decides to be on my side.
MC: I honestly never thought that I’d be seeing you again this soon. This tie pin might look a little crude, but I hope you don’t mind it.
Evan looked at the tie clip in his hand, the light in his eyes dulling a little.
MC: I can still make changes to it if you think it doesn’t look good enough. This was honestly something I made in a jiffy.
Evan: Thank you. I really like it.
He shook his head, fastening it securely onto his tie with a look of utter seriousness.
He didn’t look quite the same as I’d imagined him to with the tie pin on, but it suited him surprisingly well. Much better, in fact.
His tie was now decorated with a sliver of smokey grey. It was just like a beam of light that penetrated through the fog: Bright, but not blinding.
MC: Great! It really suits you.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. It was then that my phone started vibrating in my pocket.
It was a message from Gao Cheng asking me if I’d finished packing up all the stuff on my end, and when I’d reach the celebration.
Evan: You have plans after this?
MC: Yeah.
Evan: I won’t hold you up any longer then. Thank you for your gift, I’ll make sure to treasure it well.
MC: You’re welcome. I’ll be leaving first then.
I packed the rest of the stuff into the box, lifted it into my arms, and left the preparation room.
❖☆———————————★❖
He took out a jewellery box from his pocket where a smokey grey tie clip lay within.
It was much more sophisticated than the one he currently had on. Whether it be the materials it was made of, or the level of craftsmanship it was made with, it was still superior by many leaps and bounds.
Seeing the girl’s gradually disappearing figure, Evan lowered his eyes,
Something peculiar flickered in his eyes for a moment as he suddenly thought of the words that the girl had said earlier.
Evan: I know… Who would’ve thought that such coincidences exist in this world?
❖☆————— ⊹ For Light & Night⊹ —————★❖
Previous Part: (Chapter 1-16) | Next Part: (Chapter 1-19 Light) / Chapter 1-20
#光与夜之恋#Light and Night#Otome#Translations#Tencent#萧逸#Osborn#齐司礼#Sariel#陆沉#Evan#查理苏#Charlie#夏鸣星#Jesse#For Light and Night
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Hi Puts, I have a question, but maybe it's too personal. As a fan, how much money do you spend? I think the three FC alone cost about $130 a year. Each shipment to Mexico costs between $20 and $50, including fees. Buying CDs, DVDs, streaming tickets, shop items, magazines (Idk if Hikaru and Keiko send something like Botanical Tsushin) I think is quite a bit of money. I graduated this year and recently started working, so I'm wondering how much money I need to pay for everything I want.
Hello there!
Don't worry, I have no filter so there is literally nothing too personal you could ever ask me. Also, I think it's important to be transparent about stuff like that.
Before I get to the juicy details I want to preface this post by saying that I am in a very privileged position so using my fangirl expenses as a general reference is probably not the best idea. There is free education and public health care in my country so I do not have any debts from either of those. On top of that I do have a job with a decent salary and my monthly fixed costs are comparatively low since I share the rent and stuff with my mum (yup, I am 30+ and choose to live with my mum, sue me). My company pays for public transportation, internet and a big portion of my meals. Last but not least, I have no car, no partner, no kids, no pets, no other social commitments or anything else that would burden me financially aside from my obsession with Kalafina so I am free to spend a considerable amount of my income on my "hobby" without having to worry too much about running into debt or not having enough savings.
Having said that, I will openly admit that I spend a SHIT-TON of money for my girls, much more than I am honestly comfortable with. Yes, I can more or less afford it but it still brings me a lot of pain and tears every single day.
Now let's get into the details 〈(•ˇ‿ˇ•)-→ [Like you I will be using USD for easy understanding]
I honestly cannot tell you a definitive number since my expenses always change depending on how many events and releases are scheduled for a particular time period. I guess I can provide a rough overview of what I am currently spending on Kalafina since there are quite a few things happening right now (nothing compared to last December though).
The four FCs I am part of with their combined costs of roughly $150 are what I consider to be “negligible costs” and they are really my least concern in the grand scheme of things.
The streaming tickets are very cheap in my opinion and I would gladly pay even more for them if it meant I wouldn't have to spend a fortune on regular trips to Japan. But yeah, it's another $150 to $200 a year for various streaming events.
Releases and merch are pricey in and of themselves (incl. around $5-$10 of domestic shipping) but it's made even worse when you are crazy like me and buy multiple copies of something just to get special benefits. Recently I have ordered Hikaru's merch (~$100), Keiko's merch (~$50), Wakana's merch (~$120) and three *coughs* copies of Wakana's Blu-ray (~$220). I also made sure to purchase Hikaru's albums on iTunes (~$20) even though I already own the CDs.
International shipping/import fees is where the costs pile up and I usually end up paying anywhere from $20 up to $150 for packages. Austria has literally the WORST import regulations T_T
I also indulge in the occasional Kalafina fashion item so that gets pretty expensive too. But that’s just me so there is really no need to take these costs into consideration.
So yeah, you can expect to spend a LOT of money depending on how greedy you are. :P Being an overseas Kalafina-fan sucks! However, I have two tips for you:
Prioritising is key! Find out what’s most important to you and then make peace with the fact that you will never be able to buy everything because that’s just not reasonable (unless you are filthy rich :P). I obviously focus on digital and physical music releases because that’s how you support their solo careers. I know it’s tempting to pirate this stuff but I urge all fans to make those purchases. The same applies to live stream tickets. If you have the means and the event is foreigner-friendly, please go for it! Aside from that, you will just have to choose your orders wisely. Ask yourself the questions: What kind of benefits do I prefer? What merch am I most likely to use? Any merch I am particularly fond of? Make sure you don’t end up overspending. While I keep encouraging fans to spend their money, you should always do it within reason.
Cluster your orders! If you are using a proxy service like Tenso or Buyee, it’s best to have items arrive around the same time so you can consolidate your packages (within the 30-day period). After all, there is nothing more frustrating than paying $20 on shipping for a tiny fan club magazine that’s basically for free. So before you make a purchase, check the scheduled shipping time and try to make your orders align with each other. And also try to pay attention to the shipping dates of FC-related items, that’s not always easy since the schedules aren’t exactly regular but you can at least get a feel for them. If a FC item happens to arrive at the warehouse, you could always use that opportunity to order some in-stock goods or releases you have had your eye on. They should arrive quickly so you can ship them together with the FC-item. Please note that this will of course increase shipping costs/import fees since your packages will get bigger/heavier but I think at the end of the day, you are still saving money.
I know it’s often frustrating and intimidating to navigate through the world of Kalafina but I hope my posts can at least somehow help to alleviate the the stress that comes with being an overseas fan.
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My @malexsanta Secret Santa gift for @gra-sonas 🎁🎄 I was thrilled to give you a Malex gift this year. You're one of my absolute favorites and such a dear friend. You wanted all the holiday cheer: Christmas ornaments, cookie recipe, market, and FLUFF! I hope this domestic fic truly delivers, brings joy to your holiday season, and fills your heart with warmth during the hiatus. I love you, hun! Xoxo. ❤️️💚
(PS: there's a little surprise in this fic, just for you, inspired by you)
***
Christmas Cookies & Holiday Hearts
"You know, this will be our first Christmas together. Officially."
As Michael says the words, Alex glances over at him, and his heart skips a beat. How is it that his alien still manages to take his breath away after so much time?
Alex smiles and gradually runs his fingertips up and down Michael's strong arm, feeling the smooth skin there. "You're right, even though I know you've tried to get me under a mistletoe for years."
"I mean, yeah...." Michael beams. His tan shoulders shrug as he kisses Alex's chest softly, "You aren't wrong, babe. Who could deny those luscious lips?"
Michael's fingers slowly trail up Alex's chest, which currently has imprints of his lover's glowing handprints left lovingly due to their intimacy with each other.
When he sees them, Alex knows with certainty that their love can move mountains and is capable of expanding through galaxies.
As Alex feels the calluses of Michael's hands on his body and now his lips, he closes his eyes to embrace the effect it manages to bring. It's as if a spark of electricity courses through his veins and ignites his soul. That's the only way he can explain it.
Nothing ever compares to this—what they have together in these silent moments. Alex will always cherish this peace with his loved one.
After a moment of soft loving caresses, Michael's smile disappears. Alex knows he's traveling deeper into that intelligent mind of his, the way he always seems to do these days. "But here's the thing, I want it to be special, meaningful. Christmases were never something to be excited about for me, you know? Just another shitty day."
Alex holds his breath but nods. Unfortunately, he knows precisely what Michael means. Though different, the events of their past, parallel each other in many forms worth forgetting. Alex's upbringing was painful in its way. Still, Alex wishes Michael, his sweet, brilliant alien, could have been spared the misery.
All Michael Guerin has ever wanted was a home, to feel like he belongs on this planet, and Alex wants to spend the rest of his life giving him precisely that.
"So, you've never done anything memorable during the holiday season? Not once?"
Michael raises an eyebrow as if to announce come on, but then he suddenly laughs as a memory resurfaces, "Well...there was that one time Sanders and I attempted to bake Christmas cookies for his customers."
Alex smirks as he imagines how that scene played out. A younger Michael Guerin, who was in-and-out of the foster system, and the older man with one good eye, baking in a small trailer. "And uh, how did that turn out?" Even though he can take a wild guess.
Michael shakes his head as his golden curls bounce and sway. He holds up his arm, "Badly, I have a battle scar from the process."
There is a slight white mark on the inside of Michael's arm, which looks a bit like a four-leaf clover. Alex has always wondered about it. "Damn, and here I thought that was a lucky birthmark."
"Darlin', the only good luck charm in my life is you. Never forget that." Alex feels his heart flutter in his chest at Michael's words, and Michael gently kisses Alex's forehead. But before Alex can return the sentiment, his love continues, "But yeah, Sanders' oven was old as hell at the time, and I guess no one taught me not to stick my whole damn arm right on the rack. Sanders felt awful about it. Poor guy."
"Were the cookies at least good?"
There's a sparkle in Michael's eyes as he says, "You know what? They were. I need to find that damn recipe—it has to be somewhere. Then maybe I can take the old man one, even though you are the better baker." His fingers lace together with Alex's, and Alex gives him a loving squeeze.
"You're right, I am," Alex smirks as he wiggles his eyebrows. "But I would be happy to help you. Sanders would seriously love that!"
Alex looks down at their hands still together. He is so happy that Michael now spends so much time with Walt. It is not a boss-employee type of relationship, but more of a familial one. After everything they had both been through, this progression felt natural. And if he's honest, Alex loves seeing Michael finally opening up to others, the way he does with Alex.
Michael nods and grins, "Done." His caramel eyes gaze at Alex, and he turns over to his side. "But I want new memories, too. Truthfully, besides the cookie disaster, I've never had anyone to share the holidays with."
Again, Alex knows all too deeply what he means, "I know the feeling, my love. I've always admired Christmas from a distance, and it seemed...well, always on the outside looking in." He squeezes Michael's hand tightly through the sheets once more, "I'm thankful to have you by my side. We're both on this journey together."
"Baby, I can't think of anyone else I'd rather share the memories with." Michael brings the back of Alex's hand to his lips, "Always and forever."
****
The next day, Alex and Michael decide to go Christmas shopping for their friends, who were more like their found family at this point.
Roswell had turned festive overnight, and it warms Alex's heart as if he were sitting by the crackling embers.
Truthfully, he loves the magic that comes with Christmas: The twinkling lights aglow; the cheerful, upbeat, and often, repetitive music; the smiling faces of those who don't wait till the last minute to shop; the smell of cinnamon sugar baked goods; and the falling snow—when they were lucky enough to get some.
For the first time, Roswell has even set up a Christmas Market like the ones you'd see in Europe. Alex's desert town has turned into a quaint storybook village.
Somebody has strung up multicolored lights between the small buildings, with brightly colored booths, side-by-side. There are reindeer attached to strings high up in the air, and a magnificent tall Christmas tree is sparkling within the town square. Above the tree is a halo of orange lights, symbolizing their golden desert sun.
It brightens both their spirits to witness the magic created. As Alex and Michael walk around, they hear the soft holiday music surrounding them, which only rekindles their melody passion.
They travel to each booth as they look for treasures to buy for their loved ones. Alex also keeps his eyes open for something unique he can get his Michael, but nothing quite captures his glance.
"Look at this!" Michael calls in the distance. He's standing in front of a lovely booth with peppermint designs on the awning and dangling glimmering white lights.
Alex sees what Michael is holding—it's a beautiful guitar ornament. Painted on the guitar are swirls of green, blue, and black, sparkled with stars symbolizing the night sky.
"Wow..." he says in response. "It's breathtaking."
Michael winks and bumps his shoulder lightly into Alex's, "Pretty cosmic, eh?"
"I'll say," Alex agrees as his grin widens.
"It was clearly made for us," Michael acknowledges as he wraps a strong arm around Alex's waist, "I think it would be the perfect ornament for our first tree together."
Alex kisses Michael softly on the lips, "I couldn't agree more, my love."
****
"So, you have no idea what you're getting him?"
Michael looks over at Isobel feeling exhausted, not at all how he felt when shopping with Alex, "Obviously not, that's why we're here, Iz."
"Michael, Christmas is less than one week away, and we're sitting in some random store, shopping for the love of your life, and you don't have a clue about a special gift for him?"
"Yup, that sounds about right."
Isobel shakes her lengthy blond hair back-and-forth. "Have I taught you nothing over the years?"
Michael groans, "Remind me again why I asked you to come with me?"
His alien sis just shrugs, "Because I'm brilliant, and it's obvious you need me. I would even add the word 'desperately.'"
"No...I don't recall that being the reason," Michael teases as he slings his arm lovingly over her shoulders. "You just love this stuff."
"You're right, I do. It's the best holiday these humans celebrate!" They both laugh, but Isobel kisses his cheek, "Listen, deep down somewhere underneath that dirty white tee of yours, you've gotta have an inkling of what you want to get him."
Well, if he had a clue, he would know it, wouldn't he?
But then Michael freezes as he sees something across the store, "Um, wow...that was fast, but you're right, I do."
Isobel pops a hip out, "Told you so."
"Yeah, the only problem is I'm not sure how he'll react to it."
Isobel smiles genuinely, "You know your man; you always have. Go with your instinct, Michael. I mean, word around this town is that they call you a genius or something." She gives him a look as she ruffles up his curls. "But pull away from that mind for once and go with that heart of yours. I, for one, know it's a pretty damn good one."
Michael snickers but truthfully feels loved, "You could write a self-help book, you know that?"
She winks and bites her red-stained lip, "Who says I haven't already?"
"Give your brother a signed copy. He'll appreciate it."
"As if," Isobel rolls her eyes, "You know Max wouldn't read it. That poor miserable fool who I love dearly." She pauses but adds, "So, Mr. Guerin, what'll it be? You going to listen to your heart?"
Michael narrows his eyes at the prize. Already knowing the answer to her question, he decides to let his heart follow the lead.
****
"A little to the left, babe!" Michael calls out to Alex as they attempt to fit the oversized tree through the cabin door. "Darlin', my left."
They spent the evening looking for the perfect tree, as it was their official first Christmas together. However, they ended up going with a taller sparse, and lopsided pine because, truthfully, life wasn't perfect, and neither were they.
Life is what you make it, and Michael is confident they can make this tree as bright as his heart feels when he's around Alex.
"There, perfect spot by the window," Alex smiles beautifully, pulling Michael back into the present moment as he nods in agreement.
"I should've tried harder not to get it through the door, though. Those muscles of yours are worth staring at a bit longer."
"Well, hold that thought, Guerin, because I'm hungry for food at the moment," Alex replies as he wraps his arms around Michael. "I'm thinking of soup; it's chilly tonight. Maybe it'll even snow."
Michael runs his fingers on Alex's thick biceps, feeling hungry for something else, "I doubt it. The forecast didn't show it. And knowing our little city, we'll probably end up having a heatwave tomorrow."
"Hey now," Alex remarks, looking deeply into Michael's eyes, "you never can know future outcomes."
Michael smiles mischievously, "I dunno...I think your future looks pretty damn bright tonight, babe."
"Is that a promise?" Alex asks, clearly flirting back.
"Always, darlin'.'"
They lean in to share a long lingering kiss, but before it turns too heated, Michael's belly moans in betrayal. Alex pulls back as he chuckles, "Raincheck for later, okay? I'm going to start dinner. Can you set up the tree so we can decorate afterward?"
Michael glares down at his stomach for the interruption but nods, "Absolutely." He moves his fingers, "I do know how to use these hands."
Alex grins in that sexy way of his as he walks into the kitchen, "Don't I know it."
Michael loves this. He loves that he decided to take the leap of faith and move in with Alex. This cabin has become their oasis, his true home. And here with Alex, he feels like he finally has a place here on earth.
Everything they had been through, even the pain, was worth it to get to this moment. Michael can't help but feel tears form in his eyes as he feels overwhelmed in gratitude.
While Alex moves around in the kitchen, Michael cheats a bit to get the tree set up. His powers hover the pine in the air as Michael uses his hands to set up the tree stand. As he moves the small box of ornaments and lights over from the closet, Michael smiles as he hears Alex humming a new song as he cooks.
Michael wants to live here in this domestic bliss forever.
Alex brings out his home-cooked meal, and damn, Michael thinks as he eats, his man knows how to cook. After they eat the delicious soup, Michael scrubs the plates as Alex makes them each a cup of hot cocoa with marshmallows, just the way Michael likes it. When the kitchen is clean, they sip on the chocolatey warmth as they string lights and decorate their tree.
"Here's our new one," Alex says as he holds their new cosmic ornament in his hand.
"That's a special one that needs to go right in front," Michael replies, as he hangs it up, hand-in-hand with Alex. "There."
Alex leans over and kisses his cheek, which warms Michael's heart. "It's perfect."
"You're perfect," Michael states as he leans his head onto Alex's shoulder. Alex slides his arm around his waist. Their movements are continuously in sync, and they are always somehow touching.
As Alex's fingers softly graze over the skin on his hip, Michael knows what kind of touch he desires right this moment, "Now, how about we curl up by the fire, and I show you just how talented my hands can be?"
"Yes, I could use the reminder," Alex responds with a slow grin.
They quickly light the fire, then Alex gives Michael the look as he pulls him towards the couch.
Being so helplessly caught up in each other, they miss the first few snowflakes that fall in Roswell.
****
It's cold out, but worth the trip. Alex gives the nod towards Michael, who taps gently on Sanders' trailer door.
Michael shifts uncomfortably, but Alex is proud of him for facing the emotions he knows his love feels inside.
After Sanders admitted to trying to adopt Michael, it indeed did something to Michael's heart. He opened up more, and Alex knew that Michael slowly realized he was always wanted and truly loved where it counted. It did something to Sanders too. Alex could almost see the young boy Walt coming through when they spoke now. There was a twinkle in his eye, and he would share memories with a smile instead of sadness.
They felt like a family.
That's why they had talked before coming to the old man's house with the cookies. There is something big that Michael wants to do, but Alex knows he's scared.
Alex is by his side the entire time.
Sanders opens the door with a smile, "Oh, Michael! Alex! Welcome! I wasn't expecting you." He shakes his shirt with a look of embarrassment.
"We wanted to surprise you!" Alex says with a grin. He shakes the old man's hand.
Sanders pats the back of his hand lightly, "I'm glad you did. Please, come in, you two. It's actually cold out."
Michael takes a big breath and follows Sanders inside.
When inside, Michael hands him the cookies, "Merry early Christmas."
"Oh! These look delicious," Sanders says admiringly.
"I'm not sure if you remember, but these are the exact cookies we made that one Christmas together."
Sanders looks up at Michael with surprise, "Truly? The... 'burn on the arm' year?"
Michael nods with a jokingly wince, "The very one."
Sanders blows out hard, "Well, it always pained me that you got burned on that damn old oven of mine, but I must say, those cookies were superb, weren't they?"
"They were, burned and all."
"And you baked these all by yourself? Uh, should I be scared?" Sanders teases with a nudge.
"Nah, I had some guidance," Michael mentions as he casually puts his arm around Alex.
Alex shrugs, "I barely helped at all. Michael here did an excellent job. I tried one, so I can promise you that you'll survive." He winks at Michael.
"Oh, phew! That's a relief," Sanders chuckles. "Michael, where did you find the recipe?"
"In the garage, it was in a wooden box on one of your shelves. The one that's slightly tilting. I remembered you putting it in there." Michael taps his head, "I'm pretty observant if you haven't already noticed."
Sanders sighs with a lopsided grin, "You get it from me, I think." He pops one in his mouth. "Wow, absolutely delicious." After he chews, he looks towards Michael with an expression of gratitude. "Well, thank you, son, this means a lot to me."
Alex knows what the word son does to Michael, its effect on him, and Michael shifts awkwardly. He looks over to Alex for reassurance, and Alex holds his hand, comforting him the best way he knows how.
His strength, after all, is linked to Michael's. They go together in every way that matters.
"That's not the only thing I brought for you," Michael whispers. He reaches into his back pocket and hands Sanders the envelope.
"Oh, a Christmas card?"
"Um, well, not exactly," Michael replies as he squeezes Alex's hand tighter.
Sanders puts on his reading glasses and switches the lights on brighter in the trailer. He opens the envelope and starts to read. The small smile on his face begins to fall, and he becomes nonplussed.
Alex acknowledges that Michael gets uncomfortable, maybe even nervous, but Alex knows that Sanders is touched.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Sanders looks up, and his eyes are full of tears. His voice comes out raspy and hoarse as he asks, "You sure? You want that?"
"More than anything," Michael responds, his voice also full of emotion. "If you'll have me, of course."
"It would be an honor, son." Sanders sets the adoption papers onto his small wooden table and pulls Michael tightly in his arms. "You've always felt like mine, anyway."
"I think my mom would be happy about this," Michael cries, letting the tears fall down his face. It's the most beautiful sight to witness, and Alex can't help but let go, too.
Sanders nods and closes his eye as he holds his son, "You know, my boy, I think she would."
****
A few days before Christmas, Alex and Michael decide to throw a little festive party at the cabin. They spent the morning stringing up lights outside, getting the drink station ready, and preparing their friend's gifts around the tree.
It was perfect.
Isobel is the first to arrive, of course, and she brings so many gifts, she can hardly get through the door, "Hello? A little help here, Michael?"
"I'm coming. I'm coming!"
Alex finishes up in the kitchen, and even though the feast smells delicious, Michael's man looks good enough to eat.
Soon after Isobel has her martini in hand, the others follow suit.
Liz and Kyle come together, hand-in-hand, and Michael prays it won't be awkward with Max. Gregory shows up, and Isobel immediately wraps her arms around him. Michael and Alex share a knowing smile, especially when she holds a mistletoe above his head. Then Maria and Mimi head inside with a few bottles of wine. With holes in the top, Rosa brings a large box inside, making Michael wonder what it is, but Arturo follows with a banana cream pie from the diner, and the rest is history. Sanders joins, of course, and Michael can't help but hug him longer than the rest. And finally, his boy Max.
Luckily everyone gets along perfectly. The group has been through so much together that they make a toast for a fresh new beginning.
Everyone at the party finally knows about the aliens being, well, aliens, and swore to protect them. The secret has bonded and united them in ways Michael never expected.
The group mingles as they sip their drinks, and Michael looks around the room at his friends and family, feeling lucky. He made a life for himself in Roswell, and as he looks towards the love of his existence, Michael knows it's time.
He takes a moment to just stare at Alex, and suddenly he's beyond grateful he listened to his heart.
Alex is the one for him. Michael now understands that this human was his reason for coming to this planet—they were written in the stars long ago, destined to be together.
This is why Michael stands up bravely, walks towards Alex, and gets down on one knee.
Michael opens the little black box he got in the store with Isobel and reveals a silvery gray tantalum band, one he knows will fit Alex perfectly.
Isobel hushes everyone down and clasps her hands together as she sends Michael a wink from across the room. Max also gives Michael an encouraging nod, which provides him with the strength he needs at that moment.
Michael stares up at the man he adores, and Alex's perfect mouth falls open. Taking his love's hand, Michael finally finds his voice, "Alex Manes, you are my whole world. When we were teens, you looked at me in music class and sparked something deep inside me; something I didn't quite understand, but it was there with me all along. And when we kissed for the first time, you woke me up to the life I had always dreamed of having. You are that dream, Alex. You are my family, and you've given me a place to call home. I have loved you from the beginning, and I'll love you to the very end." Michael takes a deep breath, "I would be the happiest alien on earth if you would yes. So please, darlin', will you marry me?"
Alex gleams as tears fill those beautiful eyes, "We truly are linked...."
"What...what do you mean?" Michael whispers, but Alex immediately joins him on the floor, kneeling in front of him.
Alex pulls out an emerald velvet box and opens it. Inside is an engraved bronze band that matches the color of Michael's eyes. He holds his breath as the rest of the world fades away. "I mean, you beat me to it even though I've had this ring since we officially got together." Alex places his hand to Michael's face and strokes his cheek gently. "I was waiting for our first Christmas together because I wanted to give us both a happy memory to erase all the bad ones. The plan was going to ask Walt for his approval, which he wholeheartedly gave." They both look at Sanders, who nods with a loving grin. "And then I'd get down on one knee in front of all our loved ones and ask if you'd continue to create this life together with me, a true home." Then Alex holds Michael's hand again, "All I can say is that I love you more than I could ever begin to put into words, and I'm asking you if you'd do me the honor in marrying me?"
Michael doesn't realize he's crying until he feels the drops land on his outstretched hand. "Oh my God, Alex...."
"Is that a yes?"
Michael laughs softly as he strokes the back of Alex's hand gently, "I believe I asked you first, darlin'."
Alex nods with a breathtaking smile, tears flickering those beautiful dark eyes, "Of course I will. A hundred times, yes!" He leans in closer to Michael, "And you?"
"That would be a hell yes, baby!" He hears a whoop from one of his friends in the background, but then Michael gets serious. "It's always been a yes for me." Michael cups Alex's face, "You're my human, Alex Manes."
"That's Alex Sanders if you don't mind."
Michael looks over at his adoptive father again, who's now wiping his eyes and positively glowing. Michael kisses Alex's lips, "I don't mind a bit."
As they finish their first engaged kiss, their friends cheer, cry, and hug them both tightly, then Isobel giggles, "Is now a good time to give you two our gift?"
"Go for it, Scooby Squad," Michael exclaims as he takes Alex's hand in his own, never wanting to let go.
Isobel looks to the room they had closed, "Okay, Rosa, bring her out!"
Michael and Alex exchange a look. Bring who out?
And before Michael can overthink it, Rosa comes out holding a beagle puppy. "It's a rescue. The shelter I volunteer at found her abandoned on the side of the road."
"We thought it would be perfect for you two, plus, remember that dinner we had a couple of weeks ago?" Isobel says as she looks towards Alex. "You practically said you were going to start looking for one. I remember you saying, 'the cabin is much too quiet, I think we need to get a dog.'"
Alex laughs and takes the small puppy into his arms, "I don't recall those were my exact words, but it doesn't matter; she's perfect."
"Lost without a family," Michael says, petting the puppy's long ears, "sounds like the two of us all right."
"You mean a found family!" Liz calls out. "Just like all of us."
Alex looks at Michael and nods. Michael smiles back, "We love her. Thank you, everyone!"
"I knew this pup would be a part of your future," Mimi exclaims, and Michael watches Alex wink at her. "She's a gentle soul. I'm happy she'll have you two."
"Best dog daddies ever," Maria smiles happily. Everyone in the room has what seems to be permanent heart-eyes. "We will miss her, though! She's been staying with us."
"Well, you know you all are welcome here anytime!" Alex says.
"What will you name her?" Gregory asks as Isobel leans back into his arms.
"How about Kyletta?" Michael laughs as he looks towards Kyle. "Kyletta Barklenti."
"Real funny, alien boy," Kyle responds, as he rolls his eyes looking reasonably amused. He looks over at the food, "How about Bagel? You seemed to be pretty obsessed with those today, Guerin. I mean, how many did you actually eat?"
"I was hungry!" Michael retorts, "You didn't bring nearly enough to share."
"Okay, okay," Alex intervenes as he shakes his head. Michael enjoys ruffling Kyle's feathers, but Michael doesn't mind the guy beneath his human annoyances. He's a good friend to Alex, making him a good man in Michael's book.
"So, what are you going to name her then?" Max asks from across the room.
"Yeah, I mean, you don't actually have to name her after a food," Kyle teases.
"No," Michael grins, "you know what, Doc? I like it. Bagel. It has that—"
"Bagel! Yes, call her Bagel. I love it!" Isobel interrupts.
"Not again..." Michael groans quietly. Isobel + anything bagel = interruptions, which is a no-go, especially when it comes to Alex.
After they finalize the name, everyone gushes over the puppy and their rings. They eat, share stories, and finish opening gifts.
The day is perfect in every way. Even on the Hallmark channel, they don't make them better than this.
Michael holds Bagel in his arm and takes a break from the crowd. He sits on the couch in the living room, and the puppy folds up into his lap, falling asleep as Michael rubs her ears.
After a moment or two, someone strokes his shoulder lightly, and he looks up to see his fiancé's beautiful face. Michael feels immensely grateful, not for the first time this holiday season.
Alex scoots in close and whispers in Michael's ear, "So, my love, would you say this Christmas is worth remembering?"
Michael pulls Alex in his arms, "Yes, darlin'. I've never been happier in my life." He takes Alex's hand with the ring and kisses it. "Our family is already growing."
"It sure is," Alex says, putting his forehead against Michael's as he strokes Bagel's soft fur.
They sit there for a while, just the three of them, with the comforting hum of loved ones surrounding them.
"Wow...Look, Michael." Michael looks out the window to see it snowing. The snowflakes fall to the ground in a swirling dance. It reminds Michael of their life together, new and old memories, coming together in a story of love.
Michael feels complete peace in his heart as Alex says, "Merry Christmas, my love."
It was merry, and their future, well, Michael knows it will be very bright as long as they always have each other.
"I love you," Michael answers.
Alex's reply is the kiss they share and would continue sharing for the rest of their days.
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Minor Complications
A/N: This idea has been stuck in my head for so long as I was studying german and I couldn’t hold it inside anymore. I hope it’s close as you imagined it @slytherinlovesgryffindor and I’m sorry for making you wait for so long. Man, I love Fred imagines.
REQUESTED BY @slytherinlovesgryffindor : Heyyy i see you are taking Fred weasley requests. So do you mind doing a post war , Fred lives , angsty , bff imagine with some bit of george too . thanks:)
XX
It was just another day at the Diagonalley. You just left Flourish and Blotts, buying a children book for your nephew, who is celebrating his 4th birthday.
You know he doesn’t read much but your sister always, and always was a big bookworm and she will make sure he will love any book she reads to him. She had always had an amazing story-telling talent and you are forever grateful for her forcing you to read until you started loving books as well.
You put the book, wrapped in harsh, brown paper into your bag. You smiled as you looked forward, seeing the lights of your favorite shop turned off.
It was late and you had always been the kind to do everything last minutes. You smiled as you passed Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, nuzzling your nose into the warm, red scarf one of the boys bought you for your birthday.
It still had his scent. Mostly because you had barely worn this scarf but when you did, you always made sure it was this exact, red scarf.
“AAAARRRRHRHHHHRHR!!!!” you heard a shout behind you, making you scream in fear as two long arms wrapped around you, lifting you off the ground and twirling you.
Flashes of death, pain and pale, stoic figures played in front of you in that moment, causing the most horrendous feeling to burn your bones into numbness. Petrified, you started kicking with your legs, trying anything to get out of it until you heard two familliar, distinct laughs echoing in sync.
“YOU BLOODY INCONCEIVABLE UNREPENTANT LITTLE PIECES OF SHAT!!” you fumed, finally stepping on your feet as a pair of identical red-heads cackled in front of you. You started shoving and pucnhing them both as your heart continued to race faster. “WHAT IN THE BLOODY HELL IS WRONG WITH THE TWO OF YOU!?!?!?!?”
“Now, that is not nice, (y/n).” one of the cooed but you were extremely upset by their little “prank” that at this time, you just couldn’t.
You couldn’t deal with this.
Tears flooded your eyes as you pushed them both out of your way, disapparating into the unknown as the other two stayed behind, looking after you.
Both of them exchanged a guilty-full look, one scratching the back of his head as the other drowned his heart in sorrow.
“Reckon we went too far, too soon?” said George, leaning in.
“Yup.” said the other, leaning back to his brother. “Roses?”
“Yup.”
---
You were furious at the two boys but you managed to calm yourself down. It was just the disbelief that they don’t have any trauma from what happened, especially Fred since he was the one-
“Knock knock!” you heard his voice after the doorbell cut your train of thoughts.
You kept looking at the door for some reason, deciding whether you should open the door with a smile that was painted on your lips by his voice or the glare that was the result of the past events.
“You know I could just apparate in there and forget all these Muggle gestures of ringing the doorbell.” he kept talking, ringing the doorbell one more time and with a long pause continued. “Knock knock.”
You laughed to yourself and shook your head, walking to the door and opening them with a forceful glare. You leaned your whole weight on your back and crossed your arms, trying to make him as intimidated as you could.
However, with Fred Weasley that was difficult.
You couldn’t even see his face due to the bush of red roses he held in front of him. He slowly, carefully, nonchalantly lowered the boquet of roses and showed his cheeky smile.
You tried to hold your ground intently as he continued to watch you with his doe-eyed, beady eyes, quirking his lips in a grin.
You pursed your lips together, losing all the toughness you tried to manage and painting a smile on your face. “Give me the roses you big oaf.” you laughed and his whole face lit up.
You moved to the side, clearing his path into your apartment and watching his big steps enter proudly, stopping when he was next to you and leaning forward.
The two of you were an inch, less than that, apart and he kept looking at you, firstly observing the eyes, then the forehead to your nose and lips until he met your eyes once again and smirked. “Can’t be mad at us forever, can you darling?” he raised an eyebrow before taking off his shoes and taking the roses into the kitchen.
You felt a bit flushed from the proximity he had caused between the two of you. The tension you could still feel lingering was so intense, you could cut through it with a knife.
‘Why? From all the people... it’s your best friend...’ - you thought to yourself, holding onto your chest and checking if your lungs were functioning normally- which in your case, didn’t.
You cleared your throat, looked at the hallways mirror and tried to fix your hair before you entered the living room. You flipped it to the side and was about to go into the kitchen until you stopped, stepped back and looked into the mirror.
‘I could have at least brushed my hair-’
“Are you trying to look good for me?” you heard him tease, leaning on the doorframe with his arms crossed and his usual smirk plastered on.
You stared for a while, feeling your whole body heat up from the embarrasment before shaking it off and scoffing. “Get your head out of the gutter, Weasley.” you walked past him, knocking his arm lightly until you entered the living room with a beautiful tuft of red roses on your table.
You stopped at the sight and smiled.
It caused a warm, cosy feeling immerge inside of you. Something that wasn’t close to butterflies nor any kind of nervousness. You felt safety, family... you felt loved.
He could see you drift away into your own small world, noticing how you took a hold of the necklace both he and George bought you for your birthday. You brought the silver chain up to your plush lips, pressing on them lightly as your eyes glimmered with glee.
He stepped behind you, his chest close to your back as he wrapped his hands around you gently, feeling you drift away your day dreaming. His long, slim arms wrapped around you as vines hug a tree, spreading warm, fuzzy feeling through your body. Snugly, you let your head fall back on his chest, holding onto the arms he embraced you with. He kissed the side of your head delicatly and whispered. “I’m sorry.” he then buried his head into your neck, breathing in your scent as his red hair started tickling your cheeks and causing you to smile.
Your arm pulled itself up to his head, your hand digging into his dense hair and triggering some variety of euphoria through both of you.
He could feel himself breathe heavier, feeling you so close but too timid to do anything about it.
The doorbell stirred the both of you. You turned around, facing Fred as his hands placed themselves on your hips, his eyes longinlgy gazing into yours. Despite the doorbell, he could still feel the intimate moment between the two of you. As his middle and ring finger on his left hand touched your exposed skin and feel the goosebumps underneath them, he knew you could feel it just as well.
“Knock knock!” a similar voice echoed from the other side and it eased all of the tension that built up. “Should I apparate? Fred did you apparate inside?”
“No. I waited like a true gentleman!” shouted Fred with a wink, running to get the door for his brother.
“Well, you surely didn’t wait for me.” George narrowed his eyes at his brother. “I thought we would do this together. Double the power.” he kept joking, walking into the living room to find you flush red. He stopped to think, looking around suspiciously. “Did the two of you start wine without me?”
“Not until I forgive the two of you for acting like two arseholes.” you joked, walking into the wine cabinet and pulling out one of the bottles.
“I thought Freddie took care of that already.” George walked after you, grabbing the glasses and as you stood up, he slung his arm around you. “I am terribly sorry for pulling such a cruel prank on my dear best friend, (y/n)(y/l/n). I will not let it happen again.” he kissed your cheek and jumped over to the couch.
But there was something... something in his words that sounded defient, light and not atoning at the slightest that made your veins boil fury.
When Fred said those simple three words, you could feel the heaviness he carried in them but with George, it felt like another forgive-forget apology.
You stood in front of him, tense and furious as both of them joked around. You held the bottle of wine in your hands and it just popped in your hand, splashing the wine all around.
Both of them looked at you with wide, worried eyes as you glared.
“No! It won’t happen again, George! It won’t!” you started to shout at him. “Because as funny as it was to you, running up to me and thinking it would be fun grabbing me from behind and scaring me half to death, I was thinking of the last time someone did that to me- Mulciber if you both remember it clearly- Mulciber, who grabbed my body- that could not even in the slightest compare to his gorrilic one- and shoved a stupid shard of glass into my ribs because I disarmed him!”
“I’m sorry, jeez, (y/n).” George tried to speak, knowing exactly what would follow his insensitive words. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I know how that sounded and I didn’t mean for it to come out like this, darling.” he tried to take a step forward but you wouldn’t let him.
“You don’t sound like your sorry.” the anger started to cloud your judgment and all you couls see was red and blue.
“Well, as I reckon- you didn’t lose anybody at the stupid battle!” his words just kept coming out and Fred could only stare, not knowing himself how to stop this argument. “I almost lost a brother! I did! So why don’t you stop the self-pity act and just deal with it as the rest of us!”
You felt dumbfounded from his reaction. “I did lost-”
“No, you didn’t!”
“Yes, I did!” you continued to argue.
"NO! YOU DIDN'T LOST ANYBODY! I ALMOST LOST MY BROTHER! MY BEST FRIEND! YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT IT FELT!"
"I ALMOST LOST FRED TOO!!" you shouted so loud, your vocal cords numbed away, quivering the next few words in quiet, raspy voice. "I almost lost him too." you looked directly into Fred's eyes, tearing your own as you did, then focusing back on George. "I was there, holding him, pale and half-dead in my arms. And instead of fighting what came next, I couldn't do anything. I couldn't move a muscle or mumble a word. I cried- I cried just as much as you did George because even if I don't understand the strong connection the two of you have, I still love him. And when he was in my arms, lifeless, so was I- I was dead with him. So don't you tell me that I haven't suffered a loss. We all had lost somebody that day. We both almost lost Fred that day. " tears fell down your eyes and George finally realized what he had said and done.
He stormed into your arms and sobbed into your neck. You sobbed into his as well, gripping his shirt as he did yours. “I’m sorry.” he appologised sincerely, pulling away and looking at you with glistened eyes. He let out a laugh, taking a hold of your cheeks with his palms and squishing it playfully. “Look at us pathethic fools, crying like two whimps.”
You slapped his hands away amusingly, wiping away the tears with your sleeves and straightning your face expression. “I don’t know what you’re blabbering about. I had pollen in my eyes.” you sassed as the other two laughed.
“Look at the two of you bonding over me.” Fred awed, swinging his body like a child and sitting down.
Both you and George exchanged looks, before looking at Fred all too seriously. “You think this is funny?” asked George, crossing his arms as you followed his lead.
“I think I can make fun of my death more or so as you can make fun of your missing ear.”
George bit his cheek, narrowing his eyes at his brother. “Touche.”
“And me?” you asked, demanding an explenation.
“Well for you, my dear.” he put his right foot on his left knee and wiggled his eyebrows. “I think I can mention me winning a fight with death itself as much as you think you can deny that what happened before doesn’t change things.”
You felt your heartbeat jump to your throat and your body twist into chumps of nervers. You felt your cheeks heat up the moment his eyes locked with yours, his colour showing the change in their danger.
Forcing a laugh, you rolled your eyes and sat on the armchair opposite of him.
“What happened before?” George perplexed, glancing between the two of you.
“Your going to deny it now?” asked Fred, ignoring his brother as he leaned forward and continued to hunt for your eyes.
“Hello?” George waved his hand but you ignored him as well, turning your head from the side, so your eyes could meet his.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe what?”
“What am I here?” George continued. “A wall?”
“Maybe what happened before did change things.” you smirked and you could almost see the triumph on his face as his lips reached his cheeks.
“I think it did.” Fred continued, leaning back on his seat as you mirrored.
“Good to know we established that.”
“I think we could establish that further into tomorrow night, seven perhaps?”
“Eight.”
“Always the princess.” he teased and you laughed.
“Well, what’s a princess without her frog.” you winked and it was his turn to laugh.
He turned to his brother, who sat there sulking and smiled. “Guess, you’ll close the shop tomorrow?”
“GuESs yOU’ll cLoSE the ShOp tomOrrW...” Geroge mocked Fred as the two of you laughed. “Yes, I’ll close the shop tomorrow.” he stood up and walked to the wine cabinet. “Took you both long enough.”
#fred weasley#fred weasley imagine#fred weasley x reader#george weasley#george weasley imagine#weasley twins#weasley twins imagine
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Erron Black || You Better Tell Her
Song: Teedra Moses - You Better Tell Her
Synopsis: After an almost physical encounter at a bar, reader decides to confront her partner about the reason behind the events.
A/N: Surprise! This ended up being a bit longer than I wanted, but welcome to a new series! I decided that I would work on what I wanted until I became inspired by these request in my inbox. It’s just a bunch of oneshot songfics with our MK BOIS. And we have everyone’s favorite up first, Toxic Erron Black! I have another one coming out later today as a gift for the extreme long hiatus, so please enjoy! Next up is The CAAAGE.
[Name] knew Erron was a notorious flirt with the ladies; in fact, his suave words is how he picked her up in the first place. Despite this, she still didn’t play when it came to certain aspects of their relationship. There were boundaries, rules, and she was definitely going to be respected. Erron had learned this the hard way when he tried his flirting tactics with another woman in front of her. She slapped the audacity out of him, and he never did anything like that again, at least not in her face. Erron knew from that point on their relationship wasn’t going to be like his previous ones. This had only been about a week into their new kinship. Somewhere in Erron’s mind, he got off on that hit rather than his usual, “I’m not opposed to hitting you back” behavior.
Currently getting dressed in “casual” attire on an early winter Sunday morning, [Name] examined herself in the mirror. Erron was coming from Outworld to spend a few days with his new partner, and he agreed to breakfast at some diner. After dating for six months, she was used to the whole long-distance thing. Space and independence are what she valued most anyways. He’d leave for X amount of time, coming back on some weekends, and spoiling her. Their relationship survived their phones. Texting That being said, even she was in need of some affection, and more importantly-- dick. There was only so much a collection of toys could do during his absence, and none of them even compared. With her white mink coat on, accompanied by a matching headband, she walked out of her door.
Noticing Erron in the wide diner window, her mood quickly became sour as the events of the night before replayed in her head. Luckily for him, he hadn’t noticed her, otherwise, he would’ve likely been flipped off. Erron was about to get a mouth full, and he didn’t even know it. Thankfully, he’d already gone through the trouble to order her food before her arrival. Pancakes, bacon, eggs, and a tall glass of orange juice. It made her heart smile, but no. She shook it off as fast as it came. [Name] had to remain strong and not let that affect her mood going in.
He finally noticed her approaching from the distance, a white fur coat was easy to pick apart from the crowd. It had to be an occasion for her to put it on, and not a good one, usually meaning she was trying to present herself in a higher headspace than she was. Knowing this, he smirked, getting up from the booth to greet her.
“How are you, sweetcheeks? Lookin’ cozy this morning in that coat.” As Erron went to embrace his woman in a loving hug, she smushed his face away, eyes unamused behind her dark shades. “Don’t touch me.”
He rolled his eyes. “Well, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this mornin’.”
[Name] sat down on her side of the booth, sitting back and crossing her legs under the table. There was no attempt to hide her attitude, silence taking over, and tension becoming thicker the longer he asked about her, and the more he gave no response at all. Erron’s attitude and anger were growing with hers. When he said something, he expected to be answered. But, he calmed himself down, telling himself to just stay patient.
“I just came back and you’re already moody. What’s got your panties in a bunch? You on your period or somethin’? ”
She sucked her teeth, eyes rolling again, before taking off her shades and placing them on the table. [Name] stared Erron up and down with a stink face, and in return, he smirked again. That smirk, she could just punch it off his face right now.
“There are those pretty [E/Color] eyes. Was wonderin’ when I was gonna see em’.”
“I’m really not in the mood for your games today, Erron. So don’t try it.”
“Are you gonna keep your mouth shut about what I did wrong, or are you gonna say it?”
“What’s wrong is that you’re out here fucking around. I went to a bar last night with my friends, and some female approached me.”
Erron quirked an eyebrow, curious about the whole situation and how it played out, “And?”
“AND, if what’s she saying is true then she’s been sucking on you since around the time you left. She came up to me, bragging about the things you do to her, and things she does to you. Getting all in my face, and talking about how she’s going to replace me.”
He did a deep chuckle, taking a sip out of his glass of cold sweet tea, that stupid damned smirk there. He was enjoying this story. “Then, what did you,” he questioned. His arrogance was radiating off of him. It was taking everything in [Name]’s power to not jump across the table and bash his head in.
“I was close to slapping the shit out of her, but my friends stopped that. Had to get escorted out. I was looking too damn cute to be almost putting my hands on someone Erron. I am a grown woman, looking for a grown man. I don’t have time to play games with you and these other females.”
“Don’t tell me you believe her now, darlin’?”
“I don’t give a damn if its real or fake. You have women thinking they can approach me.”
Erron placed a handout, looking to cup her face with his gloved hand, “But sweetheart, I don’t even know who this alleged woman is.”
Whilst he was speaking, she slapped his hand away. [Name] didn’t believe a word he said, and she wasn’t going to allow him to sweet talk his way out of this one. But that burning desire to strike him again rose. She wasn’t an abusive partner, by all means, she believed that if a woman hit a man they should be hit back, it was just being LIED to that made her want to go ballistic. It was almost certain that whoever that girl was, she was telling the truth. She spoke with such vibrance about Erron and their sexual life, the same way [Name] would, but in a very much subtle way.
[Name] decided she needed to calm herself down. How would look if she made a scene out in public? Or even worse, be brought out of character for a man? No. Taking deep breaths, she calmed herself before speaking again. “Well, whoever this person was they know YOU. And you better go tell that girl that I am not the one.”
Erron fixed his mouth to say something, but before he could even start, “And if you ever put me through something like this again, we’re done.” Angrily getting up from the booth, she placed her shades back on and walked away from the situation, her pride refusing her to look back as she did so.
He picked the glass of sweet tea up again, moving it around so that the ice hit against one another. Smirking and letting out a deep breath, Erron took a sip again, then placed some cash on the table. “Yup, she just wants some dick.” And he wasted no time following after her.
#erron black x reader#erron black#Mortal Kombat#mortal kombat erron black#erron black imagines#erron black imagine#mortal kombat imagine#mortal kombat imagines#erron black scenarios#erron black scenario#mortal kombat scenarios#mortal kombat headcanon#mortal kombat headcanons#erron black headcanons#erron black headcanon#mk11 erron black#mk11#mortal kombat 11
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Congrats on 400!! I love your blog! For the event, can I please get B, M, and X for suga?
Heheheheheheh I went overboard on this maybe thank you for requesting anon! It’s my love for Suga and it must shine I hope you enjoy!
Join my DOUBLE MILESTONE EVENT here!
Sugawara Koushi
Daytime
B - Butterflies
Suga really tenses up when he’s nervous. He freezes up- literally. His body just runs cold. He gets so lost in cycled thoughts that he loses sight of his talents in an endless cycle of what ifs. But the best way to calm him down is with “lucky kisses”- kisses that you place right on his birthmark. Those warm him up immediately, and break him of his thought loop.
M - Meant to Be
Suga coming to terms with you being his forever person was effortless. Nothing special, but meaning everything in the world. You were were just sitting on the couch in your apartment, watching Netflix. You were curled around him, and your bodies just fit together like a puzzle. He looked down at the top of your head and thought; ‘yup, this feels right, think I could do this forever.’
X - Xenia
The first time you slept over at his place, he actually pulled out all the stops for you. He cleaned super thoroughly aka throwing everything in the closet, putting down the toilet seat and lighting a candle that wasn’t even scented and had even called his mom to ask how to make your favorite pasta dish. When you were ready for bed, he opted to be a gentleman and let you sleep in his bed while he took the couch. He wasn’t opposed when you woke up in the middle of the night and tiptoed out of his room to gently wake him to come to bed with you after you’d had a nightmare. You had accidentally opened up the closet in the darkness, and a mass of clothes, shoes, and manga fell out, embarrassing Suga, but making you fall for him even more.
𝔑𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢
these will all be very dangerously horny of me but I tried keeping them kinda short I just have so many non wholesome things to say for this man i am putting my Suga stan PhD to use
𝔅 - 𝔅𝔬𝔡𝔶 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱
FINGERS! His pretty setter fingers are magic. I have a huge headcanon that he also wears rings which alone is an sos (squ*rt on sight) for me personally but anyway I digress. He just has pretty hands/fingers in general, and is really good at teasing and pleasuring you with them. He also has a bit of an oral fixation as well, so he loves when you suckle on his fingers while he fucks you.
𝔐- 𝔐𝔬𝔱𝔦𝔳𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫
Seeing you absolutely fucked out does it for him. I feel like he’s into light overstim so just when you think you’ve been absolutely wrecked, he gets a second wind by pulling your face up by your chin and going “Come on, I know you’ve got one more for me, angel, just give me one more.”
𝔛 - 𝔛 ℜ𝔞𝔶
The amount of times I’ve thought about this in itself is really alarming but LISTEN HE IS GORGEOUS OKAY?! He has the kind of abs that are just barely super defined. The ones that you can definitely see, but that looking at them head on you get kinda flustered because they’re so soft yet very well toned. Y’all didn’t come here for that but I had to get it off my chest and this was the only place I could ANYWAY his dick is pretty too everything on him is pretty it’s honestly rude. But like I was saying, pretty setter? Pretty dick. The carpet is darker than the drapes tho- like a natural black but he’s very well groomed for a guy. Size wise he’s a good 6.5/7- which honestly is ideal. And it’s honestly beautiful. It’s a little tanner at the base and the tone evens out as you get to the tip, which flushes a very faint pink. He also has a freckle there 🥺 uwu about a dick but yes he is everything you could ever want thank you for coming to my ted talk and dissertation on why no man will ever compare to Sugawara Koushi.
#double milestone with daisy#haikyuu hcs#haikyuu scenarios#haikyuu headcanons#haikyuu writing#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu!!#haikyuu fic#haikyuu hc#nonny nonn#sugawara haikyuu#sugawara koushi#haikyuu suga#hq suga#sugawara x reader#suga x reader#hq headcanon#hq headcanons#hq writing#hq scenario#haikyuu fluff#haikyuu smut#hq fluff#hq smut
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LET’S TALK ABOUT BATMAN AND ROBIN #20 (2011).
And the issues that followed that story (Batman and Robin vol.2 #34-37)
DC and the fandom really let Bruce get away with what he did to Jason in that issue. DC because they had Jason go back to Bruce a few issues later to finish their story and the fandom because this moment in comics isn’t talked about enough which has led people to believe that the the concept of “batfamily” as it is in fandom belongs in canon.
This type of moments in stories should make a bigger impact on comic relationships and fandom’s perception of said relationships. From where I am standing Bruce’s actions in that issue are right on the edge of unforgivable and they could have used them as a key moment for Jason to finally move on from all Bat related bullshit without thinking that he had to stay and finish the job (of getting Damian back).
Making Jason move on so easily from that situation really makes it look like if Batman is physically, emotionally, or mentally abusive to his children then it’s not that much of a big deal, it’s just a subplot to a bigger story.
And that is something that happens repeatedly in current comics and it’s disgusting.
Anyway, now that I am done with my rambling, I will start talking about the issues that I mentioned.
Batman and Robin (2011) #20 – Written by Peter Tomasi.
For a little context, this issue is set after Damian’s death and Bruce is looking for ways to resurrect him.
And in this particular issue of this run, Batman recruits Jason Todd between the events of RHatO vol. 1 #18 and #19, that’s why in the cover of the issue the name of the run is changed to ‘Batman and Red Hood’.
A bit more context is that in issue #18 Jason finally recovers from the injuries that he got when the trap that Joker had put on his helmet detonated, and Jason was also having an existential crisis after the Joker convinced him that he was always present in Jason’s life and that he shaped the man that Jason had become (If you want to read more about that and the times' Joker has played with Jason’s mind, I have this post in which I talk all about that).
Good, now I can finally talk about this hellish issue.
Bruce asks for Jason’s help because he wants to take down some marksmen and women that are based in Ethiopia that might or might not have been the same people who took on the job of looking for Damian when his mother had put a bounty on his head.
One would imagine that Bruce calling Jason for this job means that he would let Jason kill some people, bounty-hunters that are money-driven enough to kill children seem to be the kind of people Jason would have in his black list, but Jason is smart and he knows that Batman won’t let him kill so he asks why is Bruce asking him of all people to join him on this mission, Batman replies with “Because I am seeing red”.
If you, like me, don’t understand why Batman would ask the Red Hood to stop him from killing some very shady people then don’t worry, Batman was lying, he didn’t ask Jason to go with him to beat some bounty-hunters, he has ulterior motives.
I will give it to Tomasi, he wrote Jason as the smart cookie that he is because Jason doesn’t stop picking up on the weird technicalities of the mission, and I will go as far as to say that Jason never truly believed that Bruce was being honest about the true nature of their mission. Smart Chonky, I miss you and love you.
Once they get to Ethiopia Bruce starts setting the rules of engagement (don’t shoot to kill, only hands, knees, and elbows), and off they go. Bruce even makes a comment about how it “feels like old times” and Jason is all happy and warm that Bruce invited him to beat some baddies and he also brings up the fact that Bruce stayed by his side while he was recovering from his injuries, very lovely stuff that will soon mean nothing (and that should have meant nothing because Bruce and his lies had resulted in Joker knowing all of their secret identities and messing with all of them in horrible ways, but the Bat can get away with that too).
Here is part of Bruce’s speech about trust and his lies, “You don’t ever need to thank me, Red Hood, for a family always looks out for each other” to which Jason says, “Yeah but a family also needs to earn each other’s trust” and Bruce continues his speech with, “comes a time when having to keep earning someone’s trust stops and you hope the people you’ve put your faith in will always have your back no matter what”.
Batman, everyone, master detective and master manipulator.
As Batman is talking manipulating Jason he beats every bounty hunter almost effortlessly because he had brought some bat-gadgets that were going to make the fight really easy. And as the fight is over in what looks like a minute Batman and Red Hood get on the Batmobile ready to leave Ethiopia… or not.
Jason is very aware that Batman didn’t need him for that so-called mission so he starts to ask more and more firmly about the real reason as to why Batman brought him to this place.
Batman brought Jason back to Ethiopia, but most importantly back to the Magdala Valley because he wants to see if Jason going back to the place where he died will make him remember how he was resurrected.
Yep, talk about having messed-up parents. Bruce is positively the worst at this moment, but it gets worse.
Jason is rightfully pissed off, he says, “You lied to me, this wasn’t about taking down those mercenaries. You wanted to bring me here, to the worst place in the world and here I was starting to believe all your crap about trust and faith...”
To which Bruce says, “I thought bringing you here could jog your memory, maybe retrieve a detail buried deep in your subconscious that could help piece together how you came back to life so I…”
And my man Jason really continues his thought process only to later tell him how much of a piece of shit he truly is (I love this Chonky, go Jason show this man that he ain’t shit).
“…could apply it to getting Damian back. Yeah, I get it. Did it ever occur to you I might like keeping whatever the hell happened to me buried deep? If you cared about me, you wouldn’t want me to dredge up the one thing I’ve been trying to forget. I don’t want to remember the most horrific day of my life all right? You may like wallowing in your tragedies, Bruce, but I’m done looking back!”
Jason, bravo, tell him exactly how you feel! Any sort of good human being would surely accept that they crossed a massive line and that they should ask for forgiveness next, right?... Right?
No. And that’s because Bruce is a horrible human being, I am sorry but it had to be said, this man has zero empathy for Jason and he proves it when he says the following.
“If you cared about me and what I’ve lost, you’d want to dredge this up! Don’t you see, there is a chance you can help me erase one of the worst days of MY life, Jason! You can give me the greatest gift of all and help me figure out how to bring my son back”
Fuck Bruce Wayne. This man has no right whatsoever to talk this way to Jason, no matter how you see this situation, the whole thing is fucked up. Bruce puts his needs above Jason’s feelings and he diminishes Jason’s position as his son because Bruce only refers to Damian as his son. This whole thing is incredibly nasty.
Here we should have had the point of no return for Jason and Bruce’s relationship, although if you are like me, you might think that the point of no return happened way back in Batman (1940) #650 when Bruce decided that saving the Joker by throwing a batarang at Jason’s neck (how did he know that Jason would survive that, I have no idea, maybe Bruce can see the future) was a better option compared to Jason finally killing the clown. Because that’s the thing, Jason was going to kill the clown but Bruce didn’t let him because he didn’t want more blood in Jason’s hands, I laugh until this day about how stupid Bruce’s thinking was there.
Anyway, the point I was trying to make is that Jason should have said bye-bye to Batman and all related Batman crap from this moment on. It would have been perfect but DC can’t help themselves and Lobdell’s self-insert-Jason really wants to be part of this amazing family so, no luck for Jason or us.
If you have read my latest post about Joker getting under Jason’s skin or read issue #18 of RHatO you know the context of what Jason says next.
“Yeah, and how about me? How about the gift of not knowing that the Joker manipulated my entire life, huh? The clown tainted everything, the good, the bad, hell my life’s even been tainted by you!”
Yup, Jason was going through it, and he had talked about these feelings with Bruce previously in issue #17 of RHatO, he had asked Bruce if he thought that Joker had created him and Bruce said, “No Jason, He didn’t make you, I never did either. You made you” and Jason was extremely thankful for that. And now, here we are, these feelings are being brought up again but in a very different situation.
Them arguing becomes a physical fight and after Jason asks Bruce “why are you making me stand in the exact same spot he beat me to death?” He replies this “Because I want to watch Damian grow up damn it! Damian earned that right! And I want to give it to him!”
This conversation only gets worse and Bruce’s most horrible side comes to light, like, I understand that Bruce wants Damian to be alive and all that but he is saying all the wrong stuff to Jason. I feel like as the reader I am being told that Bruce values Damian more than he ever did Jason because he is willing to put Jason through his own personal hell for Damian but refuses to see the reasons as to why Jason doesn’t want to do it. Bruce is being incredibly selfish and he is not caring enough about Jason to notice that he is hurting him. He even doesn’t notice after Jason says, “I was ready to stand by your side and you’ve thrown it all away!”
It is incredibly sad but it's also a bit of a look into what Bruce will do to Dick in Nightwing vol. 3 #30. It has the exact same vibe in both issues, Bruce going completely berserk on his children and telling them that he “trained them to be better”.
This issue ends with Jason punching Bruce several times and Bruce taunting Jason by telling him that he might as well continue because he is “still standing”. The levels of manipulation that Bruce had going on here weren’t as high as the ones in Nightwing #30 but he sure was a little bitch every step of the way.
Jason, being smart, doesn’t take the bait and tells Bruce that he is leaving and he is taking the car.
Wouldn’t this have been an amazing moment for Jason to finally rid himself of all Batman-related events and bullshit? How did DC miss this amazing opportunity to make Jason Todd/Red Hood a character that can stand on his own and with his own rules?
The potential that was wasted when they made Jason go back to Bruce and help him get Damian back in issues 33 to 37 of this same run is immeasurable. And just like Joker being able to get under Jason’s skin, him going back to Bruce and the “family” for plot purposes harmed Jason’s characterization greatly.
Batman and Robin (2011) #34-37 – Written by Peter Tomasi.
Whatever kind of respect I held for Tomasi because of the way he wrote Jason in #20 is now gone. Issues 34 to 37 have Jason fighting alongside Batman and him being all buddy-buddy with him.
Now, let me make something clear, Bruce wanting to bring Damian back to life/from Apokolips is absolutely fine with me, a father fighting for his son’s life can always make a good story, the thing is that at this point in time not only the events of Batman and Robin #20 have happened but so have the events of Nightwing #30.
So, Bruce going through all of this for one of his kids (that keeps being brought up as if he were his only son) after he emotionally manipulated Jason and Dick makes this story very bitter.
But I understand what DC is doing, you know? Here is how they manage to make this story as bitter-sweet as possible. In issue 34 of this run, Dick shows up in his Spyral get-up and offers his help in getting Damian back, because the kid meant a lot to him but Bruce can’t have Dick helping him out along with Barbara and Tim because Bruce has everyone convinced that Dick is dead. So, DC was like “here is this big brain idea, let’s have Jason, Barbara, and Tim helping Bruce get Damian back”. And that’s exactly what they did.
They dragged Jason back to Batman-related crap after he was manipulated, insulted, and punched by the man that is supposed to be his father. And this issue is also happening after Jason had such an immense existential crisis that he decided to have his memory wiped so he could cleanse himself on any doubt that the Joker had manipulated his free will.
How on earth are we supposed to believe that Jason is dumb enough to go back to Batman after all that? Does DC and its writers read their own material? Do they check if the characters that they are planning on using have contradicting narratives?
It’s so messy, the opportunity that DC, Tynion, Tomasi, and Lobdell got to make Jason his own man and his own character was completely wasted, just for a Batman event!
And it isn’t like Jason’s participation in getting Damian back was crucial, it really wasn’t, if I am planning on taking a team of heroes to Apokolips for a rescue mission, Jason, Barbara and Tim wouldn’t be my first options. Jason was put in that book only so they could have someone making snarky comments and for Jason to be like “Bruce we are family, we will always have each other’s backs” I mean, who is Jason supposed to be, Dom Toretto?
Here are some of the moments that seemed the most out of touch for Jason in these issues.
Batman and Robin #34
In issue 34 Bruce gives a long speech about him not wanting to hide things anymore from them (like he did during the events of Death of the Family) and that he wants a new start because they “have been broken long enough” so from that moment forward “good or bad, the truth rules”.
The audacity of this man, my god, how dense can Bruce be? “we’ve been broken long enough”? YOU have broken your relationship with these people time and time again! As you are standing there talking about the truth you are hiding the fact that Dick is alive and well somewhere far away because YOU sent him on a very dangerous mission after he died and you manipulated him.
THE AUDACITY OF THIS PIECE OF SHIT! Am I becoming an anti-Batman blog? I think I am and quite honestly, I am having the time of my life. Fuck this guy.
But back to the issue, after Bruce says that the truth is all that goes now, Barbara basically says that she doesn’t believe him, that all it takes for Bruce to go back to lying is “another situation that justifies you going dark on us in more ways than one” HA! You go, girl! But he is already hiding something from all of you.
Jason being himself supplies a situation like the ones where Batman lies to them in order to get them to work for him, he says, “or bringing me to Magdala Valley on a sightseeing trip to reminisce about the good old days of crowbars and explosions”, ah yes, sure, Bruce did all that back in issue 20 and now it is brought up as an afterthought… how wonderful.
Bruce, of course, lies to their faces when he says “I promise that nothing gets held back. We speak our mind no matter what the cost” to which Jason says “Unconditional truth now and forever, Bruce, otherwise this is all a load of crap”.
AND IT IS! IT IS ALL A LOAD OF CRAP CHONKY! RUN, RUN LIKE THE WIND!
Man, what a mess, poor Dick. He had to wait there and watch his father lie his ass off. And he really wanted to help Bruce get Damian back. Even after Bruce told Dick (as well as Barbara, Tim, and Jason) that he had to go to Apokolips alone Dick still helped Bruce in other ways, Dick really is the MVP, what a man, I love him so much!
(I really needed to show my love for Dick right then and there, sometimes you just have to do it. Dick Grayson is, after all, the greatest comic character to have ever been created).
Batman and Robin #36
First of all, seeing Jason and Barbara wearing the Robin symbol really makes me laugh. It’s just weird to see Barbara wear it, it almost feels like it’s something that shouldn’t have happened and in Jason’s case, well, the last time he wore it he died and it’s kinda funny to see beefy and tall Red Hood wearing a Robin symbol, it’s just funny not a critique.
What I am going to critique from this issue is that after they (Jason, Barbara, and Tim) go to Apokolips and find Bruce they say, “You’re here in this hellish place for your son, Bruce” and Jason continues that with, “And we’re here for you”.
Ah, the irony. Of all people, having Jason say that to Bruce is wild. This man has done nothing for Jason and here Jason is, in Apokolips, of all places, to help a man that does not deserve it. This is proof that Jason is a good man but its also proof that he is an idiot in the New 52, I am sorry but come on, writing Jason this way after what Bruce did to him in issue 20 seems like DC is confirming the fact that even though Batman does the most horrible stuff to his kids, he can still get away with it because his kids still love him all the same.
I understand, loving your parents when they are flawed but Bruce had been written at this time like an abusive father, and he was written like that towards Jason and Dick, so it is not a good look. Bruce saying that he promises that he won’t do it anymore isn’t enough DC, make the man pay for being that way, make his kids stay away from him for a while (or forever).
And here is the other thing, I say that Bruce is Jason and Dick’s father but DC doesn’t, they only acknowledge Damian as Bruce’s son and they do it because the New 52 timeline is non-existent. After all, they deleted a lot of history from these characters, I think it’s fair to assume that Bruce never adopted Dick or Jason and that both of them were Robin for a very short time. What I am trying to say with this is that not only is Bruce getting away with being abusive but he is also getting away with being an abusive father. Because Bruce is their father, at least I see it that way, he isn’t just his friend/mentor/tutor he is their father. He used to be before New 52 and that’s not something that we as the readers are ready or want to let go of.
All in all, Jason didn’t do much in these issues thus confirming (to me, at least) that the only reason he was invited to the party was because they couldn’t use Dick. And that’s an insult to Jason’s character, it would have been better if Jason didn’t appear in this story and he actually had the chance to do something else, like go back to being the proper Red Hood, an anti-hero that does what Batman won’t do for Gotham and its people.
#jason todd#red hood#batman and robin#batman#robin#dc comics#batman and red hood#dick grayson#nightwing
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almost gone (in these little moments get your cards out)
tfota | jude x cardan, she doesn’t come back au, no smut, hurtful and punishable tbh (ao3)
entry to jurdan week 2020 by @jurdannet - day 7: wild card! a what-if au had jude tried to make a new life in maine (don’t worry, cardan shows up). heaps of angst. little payout. sorry in advance. trigger warnings: violence, guns, shooting, and death mention.
[canon divergence from twk ending. title from “lay your cards out” by poliça]
*
gone. she’s gone. avulsed from her land, never hers, and her lover, never loved. the mortal world welcomes her with wide arms, arms that are shorter than she remembers, a little less homely, much less magical. after all, how can the ordinariness of television, powder tea, and surround sound compare to the true magic of faerieland?
vivi says it will be well. of course she does. why wouldn’t she, with her strong blood and pointed ears.
jude stares and stares at the tv. at the window. at the door. she’s not so stupid as to believe it will allay her want, but like programming, she follows the routine nonetheless.
*
two months. oak is recalcitrant to her teachings. vivi is buoyant in her obliviousness. they do not see her. she cannot see herself. the closest thing she has to a mirror is miles away, attending a new husband and parading with stars dangling from rounded ears. if taryn were to come, jude thinks she wouldn’t recognize either of them.
*
she is ashamed to watch her pillowcase blotted with tear stains at nightfall.
it’s more embarrassing than waking up the first time to menstrual blood staining her sheets, two stories up in madoc’s estate, knowing not what it meant or what to do.
jude duarte avoids as superfluous emotions as sadness or hopelessness. being a mortal in faerie, those sentiments would wash her out of focus, riddle her with doubt, and with a certainty would so far as kill her.
but, she thinks, i am not in faerie anymore. i am no longer in a place where blood is a better find than tears. where eyes are dry and swords are sated by throats and bellies.
perhaps in her native world it is safer. that’s what jude wanted this whole time, was it not? safety. if she were meant to feel relief, she should feel it now.
survival feels wet against her cheek.
*
he keeps slugging his damn arms. jude tugs oak roughly to her, fixing his stance, and urges him to strike.
“will i still be king someday?”
as per usual, he tries deflection to talk out of a combat lesson. jude is unmoved. “yes.”
“are you sure?”
she shifts her weight to her other leg. “there is no other way.” his form is poor. she identifies his weaker side and rounds slowly to it. “the crown answers to blood. raise your elbow higher. protect your face.”
oak listens for once. his voice is shrill still. “so there is no one else?”
of course there’s someone else. another bearer of the crown, another royal to lead their nation. but jude grits her teeth and resorts to her best asset: lying. “no. no one else.”
her little brother pauses, their lesson half-present in his mind. intrigued, she watches the scrunch of his brows as he formulates a thought. “unless cardan has a child. then there would be another.”
if he sees her freeze, he doesn’t mention it. the scenario turns her thoughts errant, threatens her with a conniption. some sick part of her wishes to linger on the possibility, but with oak before her and posed to fight, she cannot allow herself that masochism.
oak stands expectant, his arm growing weary and slouching. the least she can do is not lie.
“i suppose.”
he remembers none of the stance the next evening.
*
“no word from dad. taryn either.”
jude lifts her face to catch vivi rummaging through envelopes of mail. “what, were you expecting miracles? a shift in the weather?” she scoffs, coming back to her task. counting money. hard-earned cash from late shifts of all services and flavors. espionage, theft, the occasional sparring match. the underground fae crime ring taints the soul, but it pays in fifties.
vivi interrupts her quick fingers. “he liked you best, you know. dad always gave more of himself to you than to me or taryn.” she notices her brother sitting at the couch, leans in to rumple his hair. “or oak.”
jude shoots vivi a cruel look, an exasperated look. “what good that did to me.”
her sister’s eyes are fierce as a growling cat where they pin her in place. “quite some good, your highness.”
jude does a fucking great job at not screaming.
*
she hates to think of the name.
what could his true name be, she wonders? if she commanded it, before the brokering of their epically failed marriage for his release, jude asks herself if he’d given it. if he’d hated her that much more.
her mind swirls with reminders of midnight black eyes, of fingers against her lips and the abstruse feeling of possession by another being.
she won’t think of it. she won’t dream of it. she won’t aerate the two syllables in a whisper of dark sky. she certainly won’t be pelted with the scariest word, the four letters she refused since childhood to allow a place in her. the word that died with a blade on its back as it ran to the kitchen. the word that meant a certain foolishness, a certain danger. she won’t. it’s her new mantra: she won’t, she won’t, she won’t.
falsehoods have always been her strongest asset.
*
“we shouldn’t be watching this shit,” heather sighs between mouthfuls of red licorice.
they’re leaning on the couch, lined up like soldiers catching their breath amidst pilgrimage to battle. the television blares high. jude notices heather has shifted her free hand to cover oak’s eyes.
she inspects the playing show more closely. one second there’s a wide shot of scenery, familiar in its medieval setting, and the next there’s a person. a striking young woman with silver hair like new iron falling in tresses across pale shoulders.
the figure is so intimate it nearly makes jude jump. “a princess,” she murmurs.
heather shakes her head. “no. oh no. well, sorta.” oak squirms in her hand, breaking free of her hold, to which she sighs and acquiesces. “sure, i guess, but more than that. it’s complicated.”
from her place next to oak, jude nods. “royals tend to be.”
her sister’s lover, or ex lover (certainly an ex something), barrels on. she uses hand gestures to further her explaining. “her father was the mad king, but she was only a baby when he got dethroned. she was exiled from her home, far across the sea. then she married a powerful man, leader of a tribe, and sorta grew into herself. after he died, his rivals and his people tried to disbar her. turns out she had more in her arsenal than was believed.” heather wags her eyebrows at the show.
jude couldn’t be more confused until a huge, black winged creature crosses the screen. “are those…”
“yup,” heather confirms. “the mother of beasts. and her husband’s people, they followed her. even though he was gone, and was their real ruler, and it was unacceptable that she rule on the basis of who she was, they still accepted her as leader.”
jude stiffens. “really.”
they made it seem so close, so easy to reach. the princess-who-wasn’t-a-princess straightens her spine, amplifies her voice. when she speaks, people heed.
heather slices her reverie. “because she has magic.” she points to the overflying monsters. “badass.”
ah. because. she. has. magic.
a non-magic girl slouches back in her non-magic couch, watching a non-magic box, consumed by baneful imaginings.
*
unprepossessing. that is what they called her. ugly, if wine or fury loosened their vocabulary. how had i let someone who called me that touch me at the collarbones? kiss my throat? call me his sweet villain? jude has no answer. she replays and loops the plethora of adjectives her dear husband and company had called her. wormfood. unsightly. repellent. direful. unbecoming. synonyms alike to the same derivative, final word.
mortal.
the circle of worms, she and taryn. daughter of dirt.
she wishes she were nobody’s daughter.
*
it takes her three nights after that to realize now she really is nobody’s daughter.
*
her exile hits the half year.
*
bride of faerieland. the mortal queen.
a fugacious dream, she finalizes. no more than a fleeting child’s wish. had she remained at home, no, in faerie , she’d never have been queen. not without the people’s approval and not with her mortality. a hollow crown, a fool’s wreath.
she cements it into her brain, sears it to memory. she never. would. have been. a true. queen.
oh, but what a vision they would’ve been. jude, stiff boned with graying hair, and cardan beside her, youthful as ever and tethered to her with ball and chain. unescapable. a fresh minted prison for him. he’d be gagged to ask for her kisses, much less beg for them. when her skin sagged and time plundered her heart, how quick he’d be to run from her. a bat out of hell.
when it processes that she’s thought of his name, written it to existence in the myriad of her thoughts, she breaks into a cold sweat.
*
she won’t call her exile a blessing. there’s many descriptors for the singular event that redefined the last leg of her fleeting teenage life, and blessing won’t cut it. recently, however, jude has had the chance to add timely to the list.
jude kills a troll. he’d been preying on humans the same time as her abscond to the human realm. this particular troll began his horror streak after developing a taste for the helpless glaze in their eyes at final moments before teeth sunk into shoulders, the way they rolled back or if the occasion came up that the eyelids would fall crookedly. the funny look of a drugged, passed out, mindless loon. except these were dead loons, victims to the desire of a beast. these humans had been lured into the abandoned subway tunnel, but jude had strolled there all on her own.
“that bitch carries the devil,” commented one of the fae. gathered in a ring, stealing glimpses of her over their shoulders.
waiting for her pay, jude kicked the tip of her boot into the solid ground, arms crossed. “that bitch can hear. i may not have fae hearing, but i’d abstain from testing me were i in your shoes.”
the fae she had spoken to was of the sea, and was barefoot. irony not lost on her.
sooner than expected, jude duarte developed a reputation. successful runs, frightening recounts of what she did to earn her money, it swiveled up and circled around her like a tornado. some fae considered testing if the legend was bigger than the person, and some fae had lost the use of a limb. she knew she’d been strong before, but this new world taught her what an unstoppable force she was. had always been.
they give her a nickname. fearful of evoking the name given to her at birth, though being human it had no effect on her. still, shadows shivered at her wake, watching, consuming jude duarte’s trail of defeated foes. in the damp, cold streets of maine, in a world she long since had cut true tethers from, she’s reborn as the wrath.
in her mind, somewhere in the bowels of the elfhame palace, the court of shadows laugh up a storm.
*
oak grows less querulous and more capitulant to his role. jude in turn decides to do the same with her old-but-now-new home amidst mortals.
she watches tv. repaints her bike. buys new clothes. eats toasted waffles with peanut butter and honey.
when heather mentions a museum across town, jude no longer stares at her blankly. she doesn’t fumble or grasp for words. her foot’s planted on the ground, steady and strengthening.
she becomes inclined to music. an old trait, now in a new ambient. vivi glamours money to grant her a gift, a small excuse to cheer her up. the gadget fits most of her hand, sensitive to her tact and bright during the darker hours. heather hauls her laptop once in a while to upload new songs onto it, teaching jude how to sift through the list.
music player in her hand, jude sheepishly assembles a queue of songs that she likes. tunes that have replaced bards in taverns or notes plucked from lutes.
an aggressive song by a vexed wife goes first, the one with words that hit jude harsher than she wants to admit, the title saying not to hurt yourself. another one called once upon a time. a wedding song turned rock, a “strong electric guitar” according to heather, the singer belting about being loved tenderly. paint it, black by the stones that roll. where once her fingers would’ve stumbled over the gadget’s buttons, today she masters with ease.
the stunted child, the wraith of a human girl she once was rears her head in jude’s dreams. she gains color with each passing day.
*
by the time her exile hits eight months, jude begins the transition. she intends it to life, gives it air to breath.
i, jude duarte, will be happy in the mortal world.
she wills herself to change on a molecular level. when the desire of faerieland hightails back, she slams it to the back of her mind. she transforms the pain into power, into will. the scar left behind from her banishment becomes fuel for her new life. for the transformation into who jude could truly be in this wide, marvelous, enormous human world.
they don’t want you. they have not once wanted you.
he doesn’t want you. not like you do him.
he
doesn’t
want
you.
move on, she begs herself. move on. move on. move on. stop chasing after ghosts.
*
the wrath is elbow deep in a goblin’s guts. he swindled bryern a bagful of gold coin. it came down to her to rescue it back, and assure the impediment of a repetition. that’s when she met her.
“hnnnnggg…” moans a figure across the room.
jude ignored the drugged out junkies on her way in, leaving them in the back burner while working through the bulk of her job. but the turncloak goblin is dead, and was that noisy mound moving?
“help…” she hears.
jude rarely considers herself so altruistic. but the meekness of the plea pulls her across the room, tugs her legs to the sprawled person.
human. a girl, dirty blue hair all too reminiscent of nicasia, but not so polished as to pass for a sea princess. no, this girl appeared on the edge of a precipice, thin coat of sweat across her body.
“more,” the girl begs.
like clockwork. jude squats down to get closer. “want me to get you out of here?”
weakly, the girl nods. “she’ll find me.”
“what’s your name?”
the stranger smacks her lips, eyes rolling in her head. “lolli.”
lolli turned out to be an easy haul but a terrible map. jude exasperatedly dragged her through alleys and corners, hearing the laments of her companion through the journey. lolli got sidetracked from her ride-or-dies, see, shot up a bit too much powder - something she called never - and had an urgent need to return to the clan.
jude’s self-preservation rang high when she knocked on the selected door and met a fae two heads taller than she. his red skin shone bright in the doorway, his glamour invisible to jude’s geas.
“thank you for bringing pop back to us. i’m qylin” he says across from jude, having invited her in and given her a once-over. “uh, you mortal?”
she’s declined a drink, but accepted a chair. “as they come.”
qylin moves closer. “and you took out melbor? pop’s supplier?”
“is pop meant to be lolli?”
“her full name’s lollipop.”
“oh. i see.” a red flush runs across her face. “melbor huh? didn’t catch his name. i did catch both his kidneys though.”
qylin whistles. “damn. a mortal.” he pronounces it with wonder. nothing like she’s used to. it falls with disbelief in her ears.
“that’s quite a might you got in you. here.” in an outstretched hand, jude finds a tiny acorn that no doubt has a message inside it. “if you ever quit meandering for coin and want to run with the real wolves, i’ll answer.”
wolf. she’d been a girl and she’d been a mortal. then she’d been wormfood and after that she’d been a queen. couldn’t say jude once considered herself a wolf, or imagined running with them. then again, she had become so many things far from her imagination.
the ward. the mortal. the queen. the wrath. her list of faces ran endless, each mask pressing heavier and heavier on her fragile composition.
*
in the beginning, vivi congratulated her like a preschooler with a trophy. “look at you, making an effort. i told you home wasn’t so bad.”
months later they’ve turned to “you are too far out” accompanied by the tapping of her foot, a face riddled by concern. “you’re jumping into danger again.”
vivi didn’t know how jude missed being afraid.
*
if she dreams of cardan, the sting pulls her awake and breathless into the chirping crickets of the dark hours.
*
ninth month. her exile is a baby somewhere, born and breathing. a marking reminder of her incipient rule cut short.
jude duarte makes a decision. she steps outside of the girl she used to be, the teenager latched to a world that had not once been hers.
the acorn is light in her hands. she splits it open, unrolling the paper inside, and when she sees the address and phone number it takes her a total of eighteen minutes to pack.
*
saying goodbye without telling them it’s goodbye cracks a new wound in her already shattering heart.
*
oak thinks she’s going to the gym. vivi thinks she’s babysitting oak. heather might’ve had a clue, but she kept silent while jude hugged her, muttering a quick thanks for watching her brother while vivi came from the post office.
it appears, after years, she’d learned to say farewell to all things that were close to her.
*
qylin refrained from asking questions, just as jude liked it. she watched, studied, learned, kept to her rank while scheming for more. the room and cot qylin offers is as home as any she’s had.
*
when she urged cardan to inveigle the princess of the undersea, it led them to a hidden alcove draped with vines, to a couch where she’d bared more of jude duarte than she had in her entire life. the memory is both a memory and the dream that recurs most in her sleep. their tryst, their unculminated tumble, their fumbled connection, whatever people would want to call it. in her sickest hours, jude allowed herself to think of it with a tender gaze, with a pink shiny filter, with the dreaded word she’d been on the run from for years.
that you hate me. tell me that you hate me.
“i hate you,” jude whispers. “i hate you and i married you and i hate you.” the two phrases weren’t mutually exclusive.
*
lollipop has been gone for weeks, but her junkie spirit is alive.
the wrath evaded nevermore like cats did water, but the gradual acclimation to qylin’s ring fills her with misplaced ease. it took them damn near six months, but jude finally surrendered her arm.
it pricks, the needle, like the pinch on her finger when cardan stabbed her for the salt in her blood. for the antidote to faerie fruit.
she’s high. she’s at a revel in new york and she’s vulnerable and she’s high.
it doesn’t take long for jude to cement her decision to never do drugs in her natural life again. but once that’s been engraved in her think tank, the world turns mellow and technicolor. it tells her to enjoy while it lasts.
she’s surrounded by leaves, platter of fruit, dancing pixies and slender fae. painful reminders of the home she direly tries to forget.
in a mirage, she pictures black curls under a golden crown of flowers. cruel lips forming a smile.
as if underwater, ears plugged with chlorine liquid, jude hears a seductive voice to her side. “what a pretty thing.” a woman. tall and thin, fae ears and slit green eyes. eyes that fall down to jude’s chest. “busty.”
not all quite there, jude struggles but succeeds in recognizing the tone coming from her courtier. and before she can respond, to her surprise, a second woman emerges from the back of her new companion.
she’s got beautiful straight teeth and straighter talons. “careful. saphine can bite.”
after being called hideous half a life, this come-on douses jude awake like a bucket of water. she studies the two girls and the raking nature of their eyes. she thinks perhaps if she paid more attention she could’ve recognized that in cardan’s eyes. could’ve told it apart from the hatred, the arrogance and the disgust.
without preemptiveness, without pause to think it over, jude tugs both girls to her. her body busts in sensation.
she remembers cardan in a maze, draped in languor and gold faerie drug and girls. black shark eyes watching her while horned girls had their way with him. one kissed his neck, she remembers, and another his knee.
“here,” she scoffs, pushing down sapphire or whatever’s head to her knees. “above my boot.”
a chuckle. “feisty, huh?” she hears, and she truly doesn’t care.
next, jude unceremoniously pulls the second girl up to her neck, leading them exactly where and how she wants them. she’s a constellation of heat and brief spikes of libido.
does cardan think of her? when he’s in bed or bedding someone new, whichsoever activity he performs at night, does jude cross his mind? does he remember her? sometimes in the ridiculous seclusion of her mind she thought cardan would be faithful to her once upon a time. she could slap her own cheeks for such foolishness.
his face appears stark in her memory. deep hollows on his collarbones, raven black hair and eyes devouring her like fruit. his lips, they’d been so soft.
jude leans her head back and laments her ghosts. she inhales sharply.
after the hot spell passes, after jude feels the trickle of tongue make its way up to her thigh and another down her chest, she pushes them away.
why? she doesn’t know. jude is only sure of the fact that she’s tired and doesn’t want this and instead wants a glass of water then maybe a bed.
saphine tilts her head, rolls her eyes, and waves her off, moving along. jude is thankful, for the first time, at being so easily discarded.
*
a month later makes two years since her infamous exit.
“unless cardan has a child,” oak said. many moons past.
the memory of him brings upon a dream. the opposite to her listless, watered-down dreams she grew used to having.
she sneaks through the palace, it’s name near forgotten to her, crawling against walls or chasing shadows.
he’s there. he’s in many of her dreams and he’s there in this one. hair astray. tilted crown. reclined on a couch, his tail freely swishing left and right.
if he remembers their pact of marriage, he doesn’t bother to show it. no mourning, no sadness, no desperation. unlike the other dreams of him, in this he’s placated. joyful, even, in a way so seldom his character.
jude’s understanding is little.
something squirms in cardan’s arms. when she gets closer it nearly takes her breath away to a fault, threatening to kill her. it’s a baby. older than a newborn but small enough to fit in his arms, to paw at his chin and gargle.
no test could prepare her for this sight.
and cardan. he’s absolutely changed. reinvented in the light of this babe, this creature jude hasn’t seen the face of. because that is his spawn, the tiny tail swishing from its rear indicates as much. that, combined with the black tresses, leaves no doubt that she is looking at a king and his heir.
in the depths of her shriveled dignity, jude duarte senses another break, another disgusting branched crack.
her husband is inconsolable in love. his bright smile slashes wide across his face, softening his sharp cheekbones. he lifts the baby to his face, pressing their noses together, cooing. she hardly recognizes him. but she recognizes the lack of a need for her.
this was a nightmare.
cardan lets the child descend, adjusting them in his lap with heartbreaking gentleness. to her horror, the toddler turns and pierces jude in place with raven black eyes.
she runs cold all over. the child has the look of a girl.
her coloring is unique, darker than cardan’s and any fae’s. it’s closer to… jude’s own. and below the black curls, which she realizes now is actually dark amber brown, there’s ears. rounded, untipped, human ears.
jude is utterly unmoored. the scene melts. she wakes up to hands descending upon her, to frightened questions of why she was screaming and that she’s woken up half of the gang. they cannot get a straight answer from her, and after plowing her with cups of water and aspirins from a quick run to the mini-store, the most they get from jude duarte is a somber face and a fall into her pillow.
*
jude becomes a gallery of girls. she’s judy, and she’s martina, and she’s amelie with the occasional latika. running in qylin’s underworld gang requires her to. police don’t catch her, fae detectives don’t either, and if by chance she needed to run an errand the name she gave was one of a basinful of fake i.d. cards.
“i once had a twin,” she offhandedly told someone.
“what was her name?” they asked.
jude slurped from a tall gas station soda cup. “doesn’t matter.”
*
three years. the earnest smile she’d lost a number of winters ago returns tenuously but surely. as a sliver, as a tiny reminder, as a planted seed showing the very smallest evidence of root.
*
a pixie joins their ranks. young and limber. her cerulean skin reminds jude of a blue court under the sea.
“fand,” she greets the mismatched group. “newborn nomad.”
jude welcomes her by the form of a nod, turning back to the display of headshots splashed on the table, organizing it into a semblance of order.
she feels fand dance around her, suspicious to her presence. she thinks for a hot minute that fand might want to cause trouble. jude focuses her attention to the knife hidden between her breasts.
the pixie stares at her, unabashed, and right as jude thinks to reach to her chest, fand grows the courage to ask. “you. do i know you?”
the question falls flat. “i don’t believe so. there’s little chance our paths crossed.”
fand squints. “well, i’ve just left elfhame. finally broke from that unruly mess.”
lightning forks in jude’s chest, attacking her nervous system. an old phantom possesses her body, causing her to still.
the pixie moves closer, inspecting. “your look, it’s so familiar.”
jude understands in a minute.
taryn. fucking taryn. always, forever, impossible-to-be-rid-of taryn.
summoning years of falsehoods and acting experience, jude breaks eye contact to laugh and feign offense. “all mortals look the same to fae, i’m sure.”
that is not a lie. she learned that from the wickedest prince himself.
*
when fand slips away from the gang two nights later, jude forces herself to block it from memory.
*
she’s almost twenty-one. in faerie she might have died since she was eleven.
here, she’s got a family. a rough knit circle of confidants, people she rarely thinks twice about trusting anymore. her music keeps her company, and her growing arsenal of skills, of wins, it warms the smallest piece of her soul.
how could she have hated such a place?
*
“counterinsurgents. we calculate two dozen below the bridge,” jekka, qylin’s second, explains over a map.
jude’s focus is precise, uninterrupted.
the years, the lack of practice from a simple lack of need to, makes it so that she doesn’t religiously check the perimeter, doesn’t spot a green face. his dark tuft of hair and hooked nose, spying from the window, hidden among leaves and wind.
if she had seen him, she might’ve remembered her old friend. if she’d seen him, she might’ve broken down in tears, or begged for a word, or done none of those things to help jekka figure out their positions for the next day’s raid.
*
“watch for the sniper!” one of her gang yells.
jude ducks, experienced muscles leading her across the space, the shielded street with broken streetlights. abandoned houses repurposed for criminal night creatures sprawl one after the other. they’ve chosen one a stone throw from the river, so close they could taste the salt while counting bloody fae or human scalps.
five, six, seven leaps and she’s out of shot, crammed into a wedge in the building. she took down three counterinsurgents already. the wrath ran rampant today.
another figure jumps out the window, two yards from her, and takes off running through the backside of the house, the one facing the water. swift as the wind, jude pursues in fervor.
bam.
first the noise like thunderclap. then the pain.
oh.
when they screamed sniper, she expected an arrow. she expected a taut bow and a sharp, easily removed tip of metal. not a bullet.
*
in the end, jude has been a galaxy of abridges.
she’s had abridged parents, gone before her eighth birthday. that led to an abridged innocence and an abridged life in their rudimentary home in maine. she’s had an abridged relationship with her sisters. an abridged sense of belonging.
she had an abridged romance with a prince and king. that chapter being severed short was, as they all were, not her fault.
she had an abridged marriage. an abridged kingdom rule.
to be culminated in an abridged life. thin and meager.
she hopes no matter how small her garden has been, that each poison flower and cherry blossoms she’s sowed has done its best to enrich the tiny piece of universe allotted to her.
*
she should’ve known when she saw the river.
in water all began, and in water it ends.
there are no screams. no chaos. the gang has left her, chasing their foes further up the street, looking to corner them. jude? she’s going for a dip. a passage to the next life. she’ll float to it. gargle on the last of life.
“huh,” she whispers.
the ache is pungent in her back, the bullet hitting close to the spine but not quite. deadly, though. deadly for sure.
she wasn’t queen of nothing. she was queen of death, the hierophant of misery. her whole life has been a string of it. well, no longer.
jude duarte reaches the water’s edge, using each fiber of her strength to not fall in quite yet.
*
in the haziness of all that she’d done and all that she’d run from, he comes to her. in dream, in flesh. she’s not yet in the water.
“jude.”
this has to be the mark between. the straddling line of life and death. because somehow, impossibly, she hears him.
“jude!”
or?...
her brows scrunch in confusion, a naked toe in the river already. she wants to turn, but the seeping life at her back won’t allow it.
she doesn’t need to. long arms surround her, someone moving in front of her to read her face, to see what lies there.
it’s him.
jude’s lids droop. her back is on fire, and she burns in the flames. he’s barely changed. matured into his looks, if she had to put it into words. his tar eyes, slender lips, pointed nose and legendary black curls suddenly remind her of being seventeen.
there’s so much in his face she can barely read any of it. “is it you? is it really you?” he demands.
she’s always been jude. who jude became, that was a different question. one she no longer cares to ask.
“i found you. i finally finally found you.” his voice is incredulous.
is he the harbinger of the beyond? was that his role to play this entire time? her thoughts eddy and murk the more time passes with a hole in her back.
it is an arcane thing, in truth, to be held by a creature she’s craved and despised. her body responds on its own by pressing closer, seeking warmth.
he might be crying. could also be the angle of the sun.
“please,” he whispers.
she hasn’t said his name in years.
“cardan.”
his eyes fall closed.
her mouth repeats the motion, recognizing the familiarity of his name. cardan. once her king. her husband. the sight of him brings forth a wave of emotions, cascading through her like a waterfall.
cardan tugs her close to a punishingly tight degree. “i thought you dead.” he speaks into her ear. “we searched for years. i thought you were gone. gone, jude.”
the word pulls her back, creates distance between them. jude lets herself get lost in his eyes, those splendid eyes, bottomless and infinite, a serene look on her face as she responds:
“almost.”
the fractious prince too arrogant to be a ruler does not stand in front of her. this man is similar, but a sense of strength she hadn’t seen is forefront and shining. jude wishes she could appreciate it.
if only this weren’t the last time.
“so it is you.” she says it with wonder, with a detachment that lets her turn away from his arms and face the river.
cardan’s intake of breath indicates he has finally seen her wound. he twists his neck, shouts to someone far back, hidden in the houses. “shes hurt! SHE’S HURT!” his voice is raw and desperate.
jude walks into the water.
a hand at her arm stops her, keeps her in place, but she shrugs it off with newfound confidence and turns around. cardan’s incredulous face sparks memories of faraway lands and kingdoms.
“what are you doing?” he demands.
jude’s lips break into a smile. how she missed his voice. she walks back until water reaches her waist, then her chest, then the crown of her head.
“stop!” she hears.
the layers of the girl she was, who she is, who she could’ve been, they merge. yes, she had missed faerie. yes, she had wanted cardan. yes, she had wept tears of rage at knowing she could not have either of them back. if she cried now, her tears would turn to river water, melding into the beautiful greater whole.
a hand grips her chest. another tugs on her neck, urging her up, up, up.
air. sweet air in her lungs.
jude gasps, her plans interrupted. the bulletwound at her back sears at the salt water, the sensation so intense it actually numbs her and leaves her feeling very little.
cardan presses her flush to his body. he raises her up, and his face is marked with horror and betrayal.
“how could you?” he weeps. his features are anguished, desperate. he’s shaking her by the shoulder. “how could you?”
jude smiles a wet smile. “remember when you pushed me into the rapids? and you forced my twin to abandon me and kiss your cheeks? i can’t remember a time when i’ve been warm since then. the water, it was cold. like a leech.”
“the roach is gathering for a salve. jude, you will be okay. you need to get out now.”
she realizes there’s something wrong. “wait. no. that’s a lie. i am a liar.” she tilts her face to his, eyes meeting. “you were warm. behind the throne room and in your bed. you kept me warm. but you ripped me from my home and i've been cold since.”
cardan does something she didn’t imagine him capable of. he didn’t do so when balekin beat him. he didn’t do so when his family was slaughtered. he did so this moment, with her encircled by his arms. cardan sobs.
maybe this is when he understands he’s been forever her herald. the marker of her death. their destinies, interlinked, but only for this.
as he bares himself open, jude candidly studies his face. there’s freedom in allowing herself to admit she missed him. missed all of it. her kingdom that never was.
“i’ll heal you,” he implores. his hand runs down wet and shakingly down her face. “you’re my queen. we’ll use our magic. we will, jude, if you stay with me. don’t you get it? the exile was fake. i never meant for you to vanish. i’m begging you, please, help me heal you.”
her forehead falls on his. waist-deep in water, she feels his short breaths fall on her cheek. “you held hatred for me once.”
slowly, miserably, cardan shakes his head. the motion makes her pull away but he doesn’t let her, staying together. “love. i held love, jude.”
love
four letters.
years of running. and it caught up to her all the same.
his words hit her worse than the sniper did. she staggers in his embrace.
“hold.” he says the word with intensity. “i hold, jude.” cardan refuses to let her go, won’t let her fall. “you walked away with my heart.”
thoughts swirl in her head. they swim around like the fish crossing in between their legs.
“hold,” she says weakly.
hold love. he loves me.
impossible. and true.
“huh.”
*
“hold me,” she asks him. and he does.
he does.
he appears vacillant to his actions save for holding her.
jude can’t remember a time when she wasn’t running. from her parents’ demise. from madoc’s threats. from the cruel fae. from her sister’s betrayal. from cardan’s torments and, apparently, his ministrations of love. from her own shadow.
they haven’t moved from the water. it’s been a minute. it’s been four years.
jude feels her body slag, the water making up for the new deadweight.
“i wish you’d never left me,” he murmurs.
gratingly, she lifts her hand to trace a finger along the hard, straight line and point of her husband’s ear. “cardan, are you here to ask me for a divorce?”
his face breaks. she’s fully leaning on him, his long arms cradling her to his chest. amidst their soaked clothes, she feels the thudding of his heart against her cheek.
jude’s eyes flutter open and closed. “i want to tell you i will. i want to tell you i’ve waited for it. i - ah…” a jab of pain causes her to pause. “i want to tell you it hasn’t been eating me alive to be apart from you. i want to tell you… so… many… lies.”
through her misty vision, she sees cardan shake his head. “you are not leaving me.” the conviction in his voice draws a laugh from her.
“oh, cardan.” it’s the last good breath in her lungs. in the distance, she feels the ripples of someone entering the river, racing towards them. she sees only pitch black eyes. “i already have. i already have.”
they are esoteric, rendered in numinous light. from their entwined bodies in the water, there grow white flowers at the riverbed, their petals straining for the sun.
#jurdanweek2020#jurdan#jude duarte#tfotaedit#cardan greenbriar#he's kinda scattered in this fic tbh but i promise there is SOME sort of follow-through to the angst#if you survive getting there#this took me all night and now its 9am HELLO THANK YOU FOR THIS MADNESS HOLLY BLACK#note: this will be my last tfota fic fellas#nicky writes#mine#mine:tfota
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