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feelinglikecleopatra · 2 years

Text

Multitudes

Six of Crows // Kaz Brekker x Inej Ghafa

Rated G for Gender

Word Count: 7,792

Summary: She can see it then, the joy of her son’s life unspooling before her. Joy tucked into every corner, hidden in the recesses of this dark and terrible world, unfurling at his fingertips—his to seize.

Exploring race and gender through my most beloved two and their unruly little rascal. A follow-up fic to my Kaz and Inej have a baby fic, Other Than Damage.

S/O to @doorsclosingslowly (Dimtraces on AO3) for their constant support and invaluable beta read.

~*~*~*~

Zero

When their son makes his first cooing, gurgling, burbling sounds Inej tells Kaz about an old Suli tradition she has not thought about for years.

“You know, for the Suli, a baby’s first laugh is an important milestone. It signals the moment they choose us, they choose this life.”

Kaz is rocking the crib absentmindedly, eyes focused on the paper in his lap. “And I thought I’d heard the last of your Suli proverbs.”

“Kaz,” Inej rolls her eyes. “This isn’t a proverb. I’m just thinking, after everything—all we’ve been through—I want his life to be filled with laughter. Joyful, happy.”

“Are we not happy?” His glance is fleeting but Inej sees decades of insecurity in it.

“Of course we are.” Stretching her leg across the space between them, she nudges his foot with hers. “Of course. I suppose I’m trying to say I’d like to celebrate that. His first laugh.”

“If it’s important to you,” Kaz shrugs.

That seems to be it for a while. They don’t discuss it and Matty doesn’t get close to laughing until he’s seven months old.

Then one day Inej answers the door to find Jesper dressed in what she can only describe as, something stolen from a clown's reject pile. His face is chalk white, his mouth a blood red nightmare, and a floppy hat dripping in tiny bells sits at a jaunty angle on his head. Somehow, the assortment of mismatched patterns he’s wearing puts his usual barrel flash to shame. It seems as if he’s wearing every colour under the sun and every textile too.

Inej is baffled.

When Kaz comes downstairs, investigating the commotion, he takes one look at Jesper and groans.

“This is not what I meant, Jes.”

“Am I the only one taking this seriously?” When he gesticulates, Inej realises there are bells on his shoes and his belt too. “Unbelievable.”

“Taking what seriously?”

“Matthias’ first laugh, of course!”

Kaz scrubs a hand over his face, exasperated, but now, knowing the source of Jesper’s buffoonery, Inej can only laugh. “You told him?”

Her husband makes some vague affirmative sound.

“Did you also tell him that the person who makes the baby laugh first is also the one who has to pay for the subsequent party?”

“I can’t think of a better use for five-generations worth of Kerch wealth,” Jesper says, smug. “And you know what, it’s better neither of you are taking this seriously since my victory is basically a forgone conclusion. No child could withstand all this.”

Inej laughs again, tugging on one of the bells hanging off his hat before waving him inside.

Once the challenge is declared, it takes on new life. They suddenly play host to the Van Ecks, their toddler Julia included, for days at a time. Everyone gets dragged in. Inej finds herself pulling silly faces at Matty when Kaz isn’t watching, in ever desperate attempts she even sings songs and climbs the furniture.

Eventually, Jesper gives up on the bells and whistles and opts for simple charm. He hefts Matty into the air, tickles his tubby belly and blows raspberries that get increasingly gleeful gurgles out of him. Nothing, however, that could qualify as laughter.

Inej knows it’s serious when, in the same week, she catches Kaz pulling silly faces at Matty while changing him and Wylan recruits Julia into the competition.

The tactics grow more and more ridiculous until, one Autumn day in Matthias’ eighth month, they’re all out in the garden. Jesper is walking Julia around the edge of the property, picking cherries until his wrists are sticky with juices and both their teeth are purple. Wylan and Kaz sit on the veranda, out of the weak Kerch sun, voices lowered and heads bent together. In the middle of it all, Inej sits with Matty between her legs. Relishing the dregs of the Kerch summer, she tilts her face up to the sky and Matty buries his little fist in the soil.

His first laugh begins as a squeal, a piercing peal that dissolves into unmistakable giggles.

Everyone stops, sits up, turns around, blinks at Matty who, shaking a chubby fist of soil in the air, does it again.

It’s the most perfect sound Inej has ever heard.

“Dove,” she coos, leaning over her boy and pressing her nose into his hair. “What is it? What are you—”

She cuts off when she sees the way he pinches a worm between his fingers and squeals when it moves. A worm. He’s laughing at a worm.

Carefully, she pries the creature out of his baby grip and puts it back on the ground.

“Inej,” Kaz is suddenly right behind her. “Did you make him laugh?” Smiling up at him, she shakes her head. “Our son is a naturalist.”

“It was the worm?” Jesper looks distraught. “Seriously?”

While Julia plops down on her belly in front of Matty and helps him dig, Kaz crouches and presses a kiss behind Inej’s ear. She can see it then, the joy of her son’s life unspooling before her. Joy tucked into every corner, hidden in the recesses of this dark and terrible world, unfurling at his fingertips—his to seize.

Four

The Ghafa-Brekker’s live in a very nice property in the Zelver District. Its pale yellow facade hides all manner of secrets and there’s at least as much of it below ground as above.

Since the birth of Kaz and Inej’s first child, Jesper—determined to be the favourite uncle—spends almost as much time there as at home. Often with Julia in tow. Today is one of the days she is not with him, instead visiting the Kerch countryside with her papa and grandma. Today is for Matty and Uncle Jes.

There’s a spring in his step as he approaches the front door, ready to relieve Kaz and Inej of their parenting duties for the day.

Not even three feet up their front path and Jesper can already hear raised voices and the inimitable squeal of the younger Ghafa-Brekker. Matty’s causing mischief already. Perfect, he thinks, his favourite activity.

Jesper knocks though he isn’t confident they’ll hear him. The sounds stop, silence echoing. Then, Matty squeals again, followed by the sound of two sets of feet on wood floors.

The door swings open to reveal a haggard looking Kaz. His shirt is half-untucked, he’s only wearing one of his sleeve garters and no jacket. Jesper’s never seen him in such a state of disarray except in the middle of a long job. Parenting, he supposes, is the longest of jobs.

“Good morning!” He can’t resist the grin that pulls inevitably at his mouth. “Fine weather we’re having.”

“Shut up, Jes.”

A tiny gasp emerges from the doorway behind him and Jesper watches Kaz’ face crumple. If he didn’t have one hand on the door and the other on his cane, Jesper is sure Kaz would be scrubbing one of them over his face.

Matty’s baby-big eyes are wide and round as moons, shiny as they look up and up and up at Jesper.

“Uncle Jes!” Comes the shout, more breath and excitement than words.

Bulldozing past Kaz, Matty runs out and makes to wrap every available limb around Jesper.

It is only then Jesper realises that Matty is naked. Completely and utterly naked, not a single stitch of clothing. Just soft, brown baby skin and a mop of jet black hair. This doesn’t bother him of course but it does explain the expression on Kaz’ face.

“There you are!” Jesper grasps the rampaging child under both arms and hoists Matty up. “Well, look at—”

Suddenly, Inej is at the door, hiding a laugh behind her hand. “Oh Saints! Jes, I’m so sorry. He refuses to get dressed.”

Jesper frowns at Matty, who is now perched on his hip—he doesn’t carry his guns around the children. “Refuses, huh? You’re just a little rascal aren’t you?”

When Jesper pinches Matty’s sides, wiggling his fingers, the child dissolves into giggles, face buried in the collar of Jesper’s shirt. One tiny fist beats at his chest in a token show of resistance.

“Now, Matty—” Jesper plasters on his serious face “—do you want to play with Uncle Jesper today?”

Matty gulps down several huge breaths, laughter abating, and nods solemnly. “Yes, please.”

“Then, you have to put something on because, I’m very sorry to say, there are all these silly rules about going outside and one of them is clothes.”

As he says this, Jesper notes something more than plain old childhood defiance in Matty’s tearful gaze, sucking a lip and sniffing hard.

“But I don’t want to wear those clothes.”

“What clothes?” Jesper hefts Matty a little, using one hand to smooth back a shock of hair. “Your play clothes?”

Matty nods a watery nod. “I don’t like them.”

“Why don’t you like them?”

The child’s face scrunches up then, an expression Jesper recognises as equal parts contemplation and consternation.

“I don’t like them,” Matty repeats, face reddening. “Why can’t I wear my nighty? I like my nighty!”

“You can’t wear your nighty outside,” Kaz says, gently but firmly.

“Then I won’t go outside.”

Matty returns Kaz’ expression with uncanny accuracy, chubby arms crossed.

“It’s difficult to argue with that,” Jesper muses.

Inej sighs, “he needs to go outside. We’ve been cooped up for days and someone—” she cuts a glance at Kaz “—has been helping Matty build a fort in the main room for the past four days.”

Kaz’ expression doesn’t even twitch, unrepentant.

Hefting a four year old Matty, Jesper purses his lips, considering. There is something in Matty’s resistance that feels familiar, a huffing dissatisfaction with the state of things. Why should Matty wear what is essentially a uniform, to play in?

“I say, bring the nighty!” Jesper exclaims, finally. “Anyone that has anything to say about that can talk to me. What do you think, dove?”

Of course, Matty beams at him, a full teeth and dimples smile.

Five

Sitting between the stoic Benyamin Ghafa’s knees, Matty feels safe. This is their fourth time visiting Ravka, touring its seaside towns and wildflower fields with the Ghafa’s caravan. Benyamin and Matty are braiding each other’s hair before bed, as is tradition. Every time they visit Ravka as a family, Matty and Inej spend long evenings falling asleep to the feeling of Deda’s careful and methodical braiding technique.

That night, however, Matty sits on the rug with a belly full of wriggling eels.

It came out recently that Kerch boys do not, emphatically, do not wear their hair long. And although Matty is part Suli (the Suli do wear their hair long), living in Kerch presents certain obstacles.

Once, this had been one of his favourite things about visiting his deda and the caravan. But maybe it’s wrong for Matty to have long hair.

Maybe Matty is wrong.

“Matty?” Deda’s hands slow as he nears the end of the braid, tying it with a bright green ribbon.

The way Benyamin says Matty’s name it always sounds like the Suli word for echo—a crude imitation.

He bends slightly over Matty, who is sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him, and tries to catch his eye. They speak only snatches of a shared language so both rely on facial expressions and body language to communicate. It was through facial expression alone that Benyamin learned to call his grandchild Matty instead of Matthias, had learned that Matty loved strawberries but hated raspberries, that Matty felt freest when wearing nothing at all—to the endless bemusement and chagrin of both parents.

Opening his mouth as if to speak, Benyamin watches Matty play with the end of the braid, tugging on it so much it must hurt. He folds a hand over Matty’s much smaller one, palm dry like old paper.

“Dove, what is it?”

This much Suli Matty understands, and shrugging, mumbles, “nothing.”

“It isn’t polite to lie to one’s elders, Matty.”

Matty catches polite, which in Suli is more like honourable or respectful than in Kerch, and catches elders. Deda has heard the lie then, a breach of the respect owed from descendent to ascendent in both cultures.

Contrite, Matty turns to face Benyamin more fully. “My hair,” his Suli syllables fledgling and fumbled. “It’s long—too long.”

“Too long?” Benyamin frowns. “Who said so?”

Matty doesn’t want to talk about the boys and what they’d said the day, together with Papa and Mama, he sailed for Ravka.

“Nobody.”

His deda looks very serious then. “Do you think my hair is too long?”

Deda’s hair is very long, longer even than Inej’s. Peppered with grey-white strands, it’s always immaculately braided. Matty can’t imagine him without it, like imagining a green sky or a family without love.

“No,” Matty says forcefully, slipping into familiar Kerch. Then, more quietly, “of course not.”

“Then?” Deda’s hands move to Matty’s shoulders, the knots in his neck. “Why is it different for me?”

It just is. It is. Because Matty is Kerch too. Has to be. Can’t not be. Wants to be. Despite it all, despite the sneering and the barely disguised laughter. Matty wants to be Kerch, as Kerch as Kaz, as Papa.

But if being Kerch means being… having short hair and wearing those horrid suits and uniforms, if it means having different skin and eyes, if it means climbing into this box, this cage then Matty doesn’t know if it’s possible. If he can.

When Matty starts crying it comes as no surprise. Matty cries a lot. Sometimes, he thinks he shouldn’t, his never seen Papa cry or Deda. Uncle Jes cries though, all the time. He cried once when Matty laughed, which was weird. Ma cries too sometimes, not often but sometimes. There’s nowhere else for this feeling to go, this swelling, clenching, writhing.

At six, Matty is still small enough that Deda can lift him up. He does now. Hands under his arms, he pulls Matty into his lap on the bed. Benyamin rocks slightly, humming and shushing as Matty hiccups and cries, little fist clenched in his shirt.

Eventually, Matty falls asleep in the cradle of Benyamin’s arms, safe from his tormentors, hidden from a world that feels too small for everything he is.

Six

Inej, Kaz and Matty are standing in the middle of a field—the sun sinking behind them. Inej is on her hands, walking smoothly across the terrain. Kaz stands, solemn and watchful, against a lone tree—he and the tree, mirrors of each other. Between the married pair stands Matty, watching Inej as instructed.

“You have to let go. Stop focusing on the weight, on the fall, and just… walk.”

“Very practical advice, wife.”

“I don’t give practical advice, husband. That’s what we have you for.”

Kaz rolls his eyes. “I just think Matthias might benefit from a more straightforward instruction. He’s not a mind reader.”

“What do you think, dove? Do I need to be more precise?” But when she looks over, Matty is frowning minutely, frowning at the tree just above Kaz’ left shoulder. “Matty?”

“Matthias?”

There’s a furrow between Matty’s brows, the beginnings of an individualised countenance. The expression is not, however, entirely unfamiliar. Inej sees in it an uncanny resemblance to Kaz’ in the midst of concocting some scheme.

“It looks like someone’s had an idea.” Her smile softens her eyes and her mouth and her voice.

“I—” Matty hesitates, chewing on the inside of a cheek, blinks and then, the expression is gone. Matty shakes a little, as if shaking off a fly, and turns back to Inej. “Do it again!”

Seven

The house is quiet when Matty steals downstairs. He shouldn’t be there at all, it’s well past bedtime, but there’s someone else in the house. Matty heard them come in and thought maybe Mama had come home finally.

It’s not Mama.

“You look like shit, Kaz.” The voice is laughing, soft and low, probably to avoid waking Matty. Too late, he thinks. Then, gently, “I’m glad you sent for me.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” That’s Papa, gravelly and quiet. “Saints.”

The sound of his voice makes Matty want to go in, to climb into his lap and curl up like he used to. But he shouldn’t be up, shouldn’t be down here, so he stays on the landing, clutching the hem of his nighty.

“When’s Inej back?” “Three days.”

Such a long time.

She left three weeks ago, to sail the True Sea, she’d said. It’s not the first time she’s gone away but every time is hard. This time in particular.

“Not long now, then.”

“Someone called Matty a—” Papa hesitates, voice rough as unfinished wood “—a mongrel, yesterday.”

“They said what?” Matty realises then that it’s Uncle Jes in there. He sounds disbelieving, shocked. “In front of you?”

Matty can’t hear Papa answer so assumes he must have nodded, because they did. He’d been there, holding Matty’s hand, when those boys spat the word at him. It didn’t mean anything to Matty but Papa’s hand had tightened almost painfully, squeezing and then tugging.

“He asked me what it meant, afterwards and I—how do I—what am I supposed to say? Jes, I just dragged him away from there and told him not to worry about it, that it was a word for grownups.”

“Kaz, I am so sorry.”

It sounds now like Uncle Jes has gotten up, moved across the room.

“He asks so many questions I don’t have the answers to. Why so few people in Ketterdam look like him? Why he doesn’t go to school like the other children? Why he can’t wear skirts like his mother does sometimes? Why he can’t wear the kind of clothes his grandparents wear, the traditional Suli garb? Why, why, why, why—”

Matty chews the inside of his lip, fingers fidgeting with the nighty. It feels like he shouldn’t be hearing this, like Papa has been hiding this. He always answers so confidently, Matty thought he was the wisest person in the world. Except for maybe Baba, who is much older and must therefore be wiser.

Uncle Jesper is quiet for a moment then, “that last one… Has he been asking any more questions like that recently?”

“I can’t think… What do you mean ‘questions like that’?”

“About how he wants to dress or be talked about? Anything like that.”

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“It’s just—he reminds me of me, when I was younger. I questioned a lot of things but mostly things about my place in the world, about expectations and acceptance. Even when I was a child I knew I liked boys and girls, that that distinction actually didn’t mean very much to me to begin with.”

Now, Papa is quiet. “You mean, you think he might be like you? Like that?”

“I don’t know, maybe not.”

Matty should go back upstairs, the wood floors are cold under his feet and it’s getting harder and harder to stifle the yawning. He’ll go, he will. Soon.

“I knew this was going to be hard, Jes, I did. But this—how do I make sure he knows their hatred isn’t on him? That he belongs here, in Ketterdam, in the world.”

“You love him, Kaz. That’s what you do. You love him and fight for him and listen to him.”

They’re both quiet for a long time after that, so long Matty feels his eyes getting heavy, lids drooping.

When he wakes up in his bed a little while later, Papa is there, stroking stray hairs back from his forehead. He must have found him, carried him up.

“Go to sleep, Matty,” Papa whispers and go to sleep he does.

Eight

The bannister is smooth under Matty’s soft cotton pants, the slide a straight shot to the landing of the Slat. Perfecting this move had been the work of many weeks but Matty has the balance, the agility of a Ghafa. Slick as butter, supple-slippered feet land on the polished wood floors. When Matty pokes a head into the main room, Elke is already there and already shoving bread in her mouth like she hasn’t eaten in days though Matty knows for certain she ate last night.

New to the Dregs and eight years old, Elke is the only other kid under double digits around the Slat. Two weeks ago she’d tried to pick Kaz’ pocket, had gotten her hand all the way in and a bunk biscuit in to replace the wallet too before his hand had closed around her skinny little wrist. Kaz put her on the floor of the Club, watching for other sticky fingers. He doesn’t believe in wasting talent.

Elke is all long orange pigtails, a reckless spray of freckles, and three missing teeth that show whenever she smiles—which she does widely and frequently. She and Matty compare their baby teeth whenever they fall out, compare incomplete smiles in the mirror.

Watching for a moment, Matty plans the best possible approach to make her fall off the bench. It probably won’t take much, she’s very focused on her food and besides agility and balance, Matty has inherited the Wraith’s stealth. Despite all that, it is still supremely satisfying when, having successfully snuck up on her, Elke jumps, bangs her knees on the table, and spits a mouthful of tea over her breakfast.

“Matty!” Her cheeks are deeply flushed, breath coming in great pants. “You fixing to kill me or what?”

“If I wanted to kill you there’re many, many more efficient ways.” Matty says matter of factly. It’s the kind of thing Kaz would say, though never knowingly in his child’s hearing of course. Swiping a crumb off her plate, Matty continues, “are we still going climbing today?”

Elke pouts, “I can’t. Your Papa wants me over at the Silver Six today.”

The way she says your Papa makes it sound like it’s Matty’s fault, which it isn’t.

“Oh.” There’s no hiding the disappointment in that one syllable. “Maybe you should be worse at your job and then we’d have more time!”

“Does that mean you think I’m good at my job?” She wheedles, smiling a full gap-toothed, dimpled smile.

“Papa never complains about you and he complains about everyone.” This is even true.

Somehow, her smile grows even bigger then.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here!” Simon, a big fellow and older member of the Dregs, saunters in. “Aren’t you supposed to be on your way to the Lid, little lass?”

Elke scoops up her plate and cup, shrugs apologetically at Matty and heads for the door. On her way out she throws a two-finger gesture at Simon’s back. It’s all Matty can do not to break out in a fit of giggles.

“You two seem very cosy.” There’s an unfamiliar glint in Simon’s eye, an odd tilt to his lips. “Quite right, too. A boy your age is not far off discovering these things.”

The bench wobbles slightly as the big man sits down beside Matty.

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.” In fact, Matty has some idea of what Simon is talking about.

“I wonder…” Simon purses chapped lips and pushes a big hand through shaggy, mousy hair. “Have the bosses—your ‘rents, explained to you about boys and girls? About what becoming a young man means?”

Matty only blinks, mouth screwed shut.

“It’s only natural. When a boy likes a girl—or mind you, the other way around—” Simon guffaws at that, hand on his belly “—they’re like to get this feeling, in their tummy and lower. It’s a nice feeling, all warm. You’re too young to do anything about that, mind. I won’t have your Da hearing I told you to go—to go experimenting! Only, it’s good to know these things. But be careful with that one, that Elke. I’ve seen her bite bigger men.”

“She would never bite me,” Matty says. There is nothing to say to the rest, Simon may as well be speaking Fjerdan. “Unless I provoked her somehow.”

“Well, better not provoke her then!” The big man laughs all the way through breakfast.

Nine

Kaz doesn’t always like to be touched. Sometimes, when Matty runs to give him a hug, Papa flinches. This had been a problem when Matty first learnt to walk and run and climb because his papa was, it seemed, the perfect climbing frame.

Now, Matty stops and asks, first. It’s better that way and besides, Matty thinks everyone should always ask first cause even Mama and him—who really, really like hugs—don’t want to hug sometimes.

They find other ways to be close.

On nights when Mama is away at sea, as she sometimes is, Papa will braid Matty’s hair. In honesty, Matty prefers it when Papa braids his hair. He’s very careful and patient and, when Matty was six, he spent time with Deda learning all kinds of cool braid styles Mama never learnt so he is more adventurous too.

It’s usually quiet when Papa braids Matty’s hair. They sit on the bed, one behind the other, surrounded by the sounds of their breathing. Sometimes, Matty keeps a hand on Papa’s stretched out leg.

Occasionally, Papa will ask Matty to help him practise his Suli, which is not very good. They (try to) talk about Suli generosity and faith and community care because these are things Kaz cares to discuss even though he only knows the words for different food groups and a handful of farm animals.

On the day Inej is set to return to Ketterdam, Kaz dares to suggest he pick her up by himself. Matty only stomps his little feet and scowls up a storm.

At Fifth Harbour, Inej kneels on the planks and opens her arms, rocking back as Matty barrels into her arms.

“Your son,” Kaz says, once he catches up, “Would have scaled the rooves of this city and followed me all the way here one way or another, so I decided it would save everyone a headache if I simply brought him.”

“Prudent,” Inej nods in between showering Matty in kisses. He squeals when she runs her hands over his sides and pinches his ribs. When he turns his head to escape her assault, she gasps, “Your hair!”

If they were to look up now they’d see Kaz glowing pridefully. Instead, Inej turns Matty around and traces a finger along his braids, two of them, threaded with a yellow ribbon.

“Papa did them,” Matty says, reaching to wrap a hand around Kaz’ gloved forefinger. “This morning.”

“Is that so?” Finally, Inej stands and steps closer to Kaz. “A man of many talents, it seems.”

“We missed you.” Kaz’ voice is quiet, his gaze trained on Inej. “I’m sure you can tell.”

“It’s nice to be told, anyhow.”

Seizing both their hands, Matty begins the arduous process of dragging his parents back home. There is so much to be done.

Ten

The rug Baba prefers for the floor of the trailer is a riot of warm colours, some reds and greens and many deep sea blues. It is always pristine, cleaner even than their home in Ketterdam despite the open door and inclement weather.

There it is that Matty is curled up between Baba’s knees listening to her tell a bedtime story in her lilting Suli.

“We Suli draw our faith from a great many sources. Your papa’s people, the Kerch, have only one god.”

“Ghezen,” Matty supplies easily, “god of trade and commerce.”

“That’s right. Though it might surprise you to hear it, I believe the Kerch are a people of extraordinary faith. To worship, to venerate only one god?” Baba chuckles, the sound like a brook babbling. “They expect much from this Ghezen. We are not so single minded. The Suli acknowledge the hugeness of the world, the very many things that need a nurturing hand, a symbol. So we have our many saints. Has your mama ever told you the story of Sankt Darezljiv, the bountiful?”

Matty shook his head, glancing up at Baba’s wizened feature. “I don’t think so.”

“Sankt Darezljiv is a very prominent figure in our stories, though he often appears by other names. You see, Matty, sometimes when Sankt Darezljiv intervened in ordinary affairs he appeared to the people in other forms, other bodies.

Once, to prevent two feuding tribes from fighting over access to a wellspring he appeared to them as a woman—Sankta Karmina, as she came to be known. For a time, she appeared only as Karmina. In fact, she remained Sankta Karmina for seven years, patron saint of twins and things that come in multiples.”

“Which was her—his,” Matty hesitates because the words don’t fit, “his true form?”

“Neither,” Baba answers, a hand tangling in Matty’s unbound hair. “Both. Many consider Darezljiv the patron saint of the dare—who take their name from him. The dare are those who are neither one nor the other, man nor woman. Though officially, he is patron saint of farmers and bountiful harvests.”

The words ring like a bell. Matty feels bottomless, endless. He’s a vast, unfathomable ocean of being, abruptly fathomed. It turns out, there are words for this feeling. Dare. Neither. Both. Everything.

Matty whispers it aloud, “dare,” testing it, tasting it. Looking up at Baba, he says, “why did you tell me this?”

She hesitates a moment, hand moving slowly though Matty’s hair, “I told you because stories are important for self-discovery. We find ourselves through the stories we tell, through the stories others tell us. I wanted you to have this story.”

“But why me?” Matty doesn’t know what he’s getting at, why he keeps digging this hole. Maybe he wants someone to have noticed, to have seen him… to have seen them. For this to be evidence of this witnessing. An ache builds between their eyes, tears threaten. “Why me, why now?”

“Because I have seen you fit yourself into a small world,” she smooths their hair back, a smile on her mouth, in her eyes. “I wanted to widen it for you. The world is not so small.”

Twelve

The climbing lessons began the moment Matty first pulled themself up on two legs. A chubby armed baby grasping at shelves and stools and trouser legs. Inej tells them she was climbing into Kaz’ window on the top floor of the Slat when she was fifteen. Matty is the height she was then, now. Has all her dexterity, tenacity, grit. Of course, she warns them emphatically against climbing buildings. It’s dangerous, reckless, and, worst of all, needless. There is nothing Matty can get from climbing the building that they can’t get some other, safer way.

The Slat is different. It’s Papa’s building.

Despite her warnings, scaling the Slat looms large in their mind—a rite of passage. The temptation is made worse by the fact Kaz just changed the locks on the windows.

He’s been teaching them how to nurse a lock into submission, how to listen for the clicks and tells, what it should feel like when a lock comes apart in your hands. Papa is never so patient or calm as when there’s a lock between them, a lesson to be imparted. Matty could crack the one on the window, they’re sure of it. They just need to get up there.

Looking up, Matty can see at least three routes they could take. Four storeys, rain-slicked plaster, and decades of urban decay stand between them and—and… Something. Rightness, a spot in the Dregs that feels earned not given, perhaps. All they have to do is climb.

Easy.

Matty is supposed to meet Kaz—Papa—in fifteen minutes, at a quarter bells. They’re pretty sure they can do the climb in less.

Approaching the east side of the building, Matty doesn’t even think to check who else’s in the alley, who might be lurking at the alley’s mouth. The climb begins like most, difficult. Close to the ground are the fewest potential handholds—precisely to put off any would-be burglars. But once they’ve cleared the ground floor, Matty thinks, the going gets easier.

Despite rain earlier in the day, the wall and its various sills offer more than enough purchase for Matty’s nimble fingers.

The thrill of the climb takes them at the second level. Looking down they realise they’re maybe twice their own height above the ground, only rain-slick cobbles and a gutter to welcome them should they fall. They won’t, Ghafa’s don’t fall. If they do, Brekker’s get back up.

With the wind in their hair—which is tied back in concession to overcautious parents—and all that hungry air at their feet, Matty feels invincible. This is their city, their home, and no one’s gonna take that away.

The cobbles grow distant and Papa’s window gets closer. Clouds scud overhead, releasing the occasional smattering of rain. Adrenaline and righteousness keeps them warm.

Perhaps, if Matty had chosen another month to make this climb, had waited for Captain Hoedt to grow bored of his Clean Ketterdam campaign, things would have gone differently. As it is, Matty reaches the window beneath Kaz’s when the call goes up.

From the street below, Matty hears someone cry, “Stop that burglar!”

They don’t dare glance down, their hold sure but not infallible. They want to shout back that they aren’t a burglar, that if they were they’d be far more discrete. But that, they think, is exactly what an incompetent burglar would say.

Suddenly, their hold seems very precarious. Matty begins to shiver. Fear and something else, something queasy and oily, douses their confidence. This isn’t right. They aren’t doing anything wrong.

The sound of boots tromping down the alley is off from this height, echoing dully. Still, it fills Matty with dread. The Stadwatch are not friends, this much their parents have made clear. Quickly, the alley fills with their purple uniforms. Two then five then seven officers in the alley. There’s too many of them for the middle of the day, in this part of the Barrel.

Matty cannot catch their breath.

“You there, get down right now!”

Their heart is in their mouth, their breath sawing out of them and into the damp air. “I’m—” They try to answer, to explain but the words won’t come. What can they say?

“Son, don’t do anything you’ll regret.” When Matty looks down, they can see a moustachioed officer standing with his hands on his hips, frowning up to the third floor. “Just come back down.”

“But I—” The prospect of getting down is too daunting to contemplate. A climb like this is not reversible. They had counted on getting back down the normal way, via the stairs. Though there’s no way the officer can hear them, Matty says, “I can’t.”

“Stop playing around, boy.”

Everything feels off-kilter.

Boy.

With sudden clarity, Matty sees what they see. A boy with brown skin, clad in black and grey, scaling this building at dusk. Nimble hands and nimble feet. Sly, furtive, suspicious. A dark smudge on Ketterdam’s facade. A stain. A mistake.

Of course, the officers’ shouting draws Kaz’ attention and his window clicks open just as Matty’s grip grows weak. They’re going to fall. Papa looks down and Matty thinks, he’s going to watch them fall.

The anger that crosses Kaz’ face as his gaze cuts from Matty to the officers below is frightening. It’s fleeting, there and then gone. When Kaz returns his gaze to Matty, who can feel tears cooling on their cheeks, it’s clear he’s not angry at them.

Briefly, he turns his head back to shout something at someone inside then he’s looking back down at Matty.

“Dove, climb up to me.” His voice is rough in the growing dark.

Looking around, Matty tries not to sob. Their arms are shaking and they’re so afraid. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Look at me, Matty.” They do. “You can. You’re okay. Your mother trained you well. Now, climb.”

Papa is so sure, steel in his eyes.

Matty swallows and climbs.

They’re unsteady at first, unsure of themself. Slowly though, all those lessons with Inej—Mama—come back. Using their legs, tightening their core, scouting ahead, moving deliberately.

The officer’s have gone quiet. Matty ignores them regardless and makes it to Papa’s window despite shaking arms and shaking knees.

Kaz leans out and has Matty under both arms, hauling them into his office without hesitation. Where his cane is, they don’t know. They’re too occupied clutching at his suit, pressing their face into his neck. Papa holds them tightly and spins his chair so he can sit in it, Matty in his lap.

At twelve, they’re too old for this. Too old to cry, too old to sit in Papa’s lap. Matty should get down, should grow up but Papa only holds them, murmuring into their hair. “You made it. You’re safe, I’ve got you. No one’s going to hurt you.”

“I—I just want—wanted to show you… I’m sorry, Pa,” Matty sobs, snotty and shivering and confused. Everything went wrong so quickly. “I’m sorry.”

“Shhhh, dove, you have nothing to be sorry for. I’m going to kill them. I—” Kaz shudders. Matty can feel the way he shakes his head, the way he holds them tighter. “Don’t apologise.”

They stay like that for a while. At some point, Matty hears a commotion down in the alley. Someone that sounds an awful lot like Anika raising her voice and then one lone gunshot followed by the hasty stomping of Stadwatch boots.

Kaz has just set Matty down in another chair when someone knocks on the door to his office. This turns out to be Anika. She peers over Kaz’s shoulder when he opens the door and smiles at Matty.

“How’re you doing, Sweets?”

Their lip wobbles but they lift their chin and say, “Very well, thank you, Anika.”

“That was a fantastic climb you did there,” she adds, even as Kaz glares at her.

“Did you send those lousy pigs on their way?” Papa growls, not even trying to mask his language or his tone. “Or am I going to have to clean out some stalls tonight?”

“I wouldn’t worry about that, boss. Keeg and a couple of the boys went after ‘em.” Then, voice lowered, “They’ll be sleeping soundly tonight.”

Kaz nods. “Get a message to Inej. I’m taking Matty to the Van Eck’s.”

Thirteen

Matty spends almost half their time at the mansion on Geldstraat. Now that there’s a tunnel connecting The Crow Club to it, the temptation to sneak in whenever possible is too great. Besides, since they started taking music lessons with Uncle Wylan they have to be there all the time anyway.

They love music. There’s an inherent illogic to it they find alluring. It cannot be explained. Why, for instance, certain sounds harmonise while others don’t remains a mystery to even the most accomplished musicians. What it is about melodies that stick, that burrow into the mind and replay themselves over and over again, is similarly illusive. And yet, music remains profoundly meaningful, a pursuit treasured above many others, uniquely valuable across the world’s cultures. Music, like Matty, transcends explanation. They have found themself in it.

It is fortunate, then, that Wylan is an excellent teacher. He is attentive and knowledgeable. Matty is surprised to discover he is not… patient, like Kaz is. When, on occasion, they find themself too busy (or too lazy) to practise, when Uncle Jes distracts them with his latest obsession, Uncle Wylan has been known to grow stern. He never shouts and often, when this happens, Matty watches him retreat into himself and swiftly apologise. There is a history there Matty feels on the edges of, a history they are too afraid to probe.

Most of the time though, their lessons are great. They began on the pianoforte, which uncle Wylan insisted was the best instrument to learn music on, and have since progressed to the flute. Sometimes, they play duets with Julia, who has been playing the flute since she was seven and is a far more accomplished musician.

Matty also has a passable singing voice.

They don’t sing so much anymore.

Recently, the physical changes associated with puberty, have thrown their singing into disarray. They can hardly be expected to hold a tune when their voice cracks on every second word out of their mouth. On their own, the changes would be bearable, tolerable. The trouble is, Matty knows what they’re supposed to be becoming, a man—whatever that is.

They like being taller than their ma, whose hugs will always be wide enough to encompass the whole of them regardless of height differences. Watching Papa shave in the mornings makes them curious about doing the same, about whether they’ll be the kind of person who wears a beard one day. These things they can stand but there are other things that frighten them.

The things that frighten them have nothing to do with the changes or their family and everything to do with everyone else. Matty has noticed a shift, among the older boys in the Dregs and how they treat each other, the way they tease and rib and challenge each other. It’s charged and temperamental and increasingly centred around their relationships with girls. In all this, the boys seem to share an easy camaraderie based on a mutual experience Matty simply does not share. They have stopped being children and started being young men while Matty languishes in this unfinished state—not a child but not a man.

In this sense, Geldstraat is safe.

There Matty will not be teased for singing or playing the flute, for braiding their hair or going barefoot or crying over little things.

There, at thirteen years old, they tell Jesper about being dare.

The conversation happens after a morning lesson. While Julia moves to the drawing room, transmogrified into a rumpled, unruly pile on the sofa, her edges curled around a book, Matty meanders toward the kitchen. They are always hungry these days. Sometimes, Inej sends them to Geldstraat so that the Van Eck’s stocked larder might feed them in exchange for the many years the Dregs larder fed Jesper.

It’s Jesper who finds them with half a cold croquette in their mouth, stooped over the sink to avoid getting crumbs everywhere.

“You know no one’s going to take that away from you, right?” When he speaks, Matty jumps a half-foot backward and slams into the kitchen table behind them. Jesper only laughs, hands on his hips. “One of the wealthiest kids in this city and you eat like a canal rat.”

Matty swallows the remains of the croquette with a grimace, shrugs and says, “What do you expect? I was raised by canal rats.”

“Don’t let your mother hear you say that.”

Matty grins, an impish, toothy thing they have not yet learnt to hide. “I trust you to keep my secrets, Uncle.”

“Always.” Jesper crosses his heart and holds out his little finger. “I promise.”

Twining their little finger with his, Matty accepts the promise. They do trust Jesper, have always trusted Jesper, would trust him with anything.

Standing there in the middle of the Van Eck kitchen and listening to the wind sweeping in off the canal, Matty comes to a decision.

“I want to tell you something.”

Jesper turns from where he’s filling the stove-top kettle in the sink, his movements practised and familiar. A man at home.

When he notes the sincerity in Matty’s stance, he stops. “What is it?”

“I—” Now, this is the tricky part. How to explain the snarled mess of a being they’ve become? “Do you know about the dare?”

“No, never heard of it.”

“Not it—them.”

“Oh?” Jesper crosses his arms, leaning back against the sink. There’s an ease to him, a languid grace, Matty dreams of one day possessing. “Tell me.”

“My baba told me about them. They’re named after Sankt Darezljiv, who is the saint of farmers and bountiful harvests, and was sometimes a man, sometimes a woman.”

When Matty had asked Inej about Darezljiv, about the dare, she’d smiled at them and laughed a little. Is that it then, my dove? Matty had nodded and that’d been that. Not long after, Kaz had started referring to Matty differently and they knew Ma had spoken with him.

This feels different. It feels the same. They trust Jesper the same way they trust their parents. In some ways, with this, they trust him more. And yet…

“And these dare, they’re farmers?”

Matty sees the opening, the glint in Jesper’s grey eyes that means he’s making trouble. He knows.

Laughing quietly, they aim a punch at his bony shoulder. “No.”

“Then what, Matty?”

“They’re—they take their name after him because they aren’t just men or women. They’re both. They’re neither.”

“Is that so?” The glint is still there, flaring to something brighter. Jesper’s eyes crease as he smiles, the lines around his mouth deepening too. Stepping closer and wrapping one broad hand over Matty’s shoulder, he says, “And?”

It’s work, saying the words, and Jesper is making them do it. He watches them patiently, waiting for them to articulate themself using the words they have chosen. The words that chose them. Matty is grateful, even as the words stick in their craw.

“And… I am dare.”

The smile Jesper gives them is as bright as the copper kettle singing on the stove, as warm as the tea he pours from it.

“Yes, you are,” he says, holding out a hand. Matty takes it and they shake. “It’s fantastic to meet you.”

Their hand is swallowed by Jesper’s and he towers over them but in that moment they feel metres tall, like if they stretched up they’d touch the ceiling, the roof, the sky. There is so much space in the world. In this moment, it feels as if they’ll never need to hide again, never need to contort themself again. Why would they? Why should they? When there’s a word for this, a time and a place for this, a people for this.

Matty is all things at all times. Matty is white and brown, a charmer and a scoundrel. Matty is trouble. Matty is a heart the size of Ravka and a fine vein of greedy, cheeky, willful. Matty is a boy and a girl and a four-legged spider on the face of the world. Matty is Kerch and Suli and dare. Matty is Matty. That's all they want to be.

A/N: This is so self-indulgent I can't even justify it. Did I just want to write about being a biracial, gender queer little menace child? Maybe. Did I shamelessly use my Kanej baby to do it? 100%. Other Than Damage is my most successful fic on here but I'm not expecting anywhere near those numbers. If you do like this though, let me know. It would make my day!

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gucciwins · 4 years

Text

Into You

Breakup’s bring heartache but they also bring a new beginning.

Word Count: 8658

A/N: Angst, it was fun to write. Honestly, I really loved this ending. I struggle with endings but this felt like the perfect one. Relationships take work and no communication can ruin that. Remember to love and to trust. I love you

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Julia: Dinner at 7 Cafe Habana

Julia: He won't be there

You sigh at the sight of the second message. It's pathetic that your friends have to let you know, but you don't want to run right into him. It is the last thing you need but the thing you want most.

Pathetic.

Y/N: I'll be there x

You look at the text you sent and sign grateful for her reaching out. You haven't seen your friends in a few weeks, and it's been months since you've been to your favorite restaurant. Everyone knows how hard it's been since the breakup. They aren't choosing sides, but sharing a lot of the same friends is hard. You live in the city, and he's always on the road, it's only fair he gets to go out with them because you know you'll have other opportunities.

You wore a comfortable sundress and black flats, not wanting to drive in heels. A gold bracelet on your wrist, fingers bear no rings like you usually did. A ring tan sitting on your right index finger makes your eyes foggy, but you shake the thought away and enjoy the ride down PCH window down the ocean breeze coursing through your hair. Joni Mitchell on blast to overpower your thoughts of memories connected to this exact drive you're making.

Walking in, you take a deep breath and smile as soon as you open the door. The smile drops instantly when you see who's sitting two seats away from Julia right next to Jeff. Brown curls and a broad back. Tattoo's on display. You see her mouth an apology and lifts her phone. You walk out without a second thought, hoping they didn't see you.

Your phone rings once you're back in your car. It's Julia, so you answer.

"Hey babe, I didn't know I swear. He walked in with Jeff talking about how he was here for the weekend then going back home to London."

"It's fine, toots." You sigh.

"Are you doing okay?" She asks voice a bit low.

You're trying to choke back your tears, but it's hard. It's hard because he's so close yet so far. He seems fine, perfect even, and here you are crying in your car like a loser.

"It hurts, and it hurts to know he's fine. He's not hurting like I am. I miss-" You cut yourself off as you feel your tears falling down like a waterfall. "I want the pain to pass."

"Sweetie, do you want me to meet you at your apartment?"

"No, just let them know my sister called me and that it was a family emergency, but everything is fine. I'm going to head to her house for the weekend. Hug, my nephews. Stuff my face in cupcakes."

"As long as you promise to bring me one."

You laugh for the first time in what feels like forever. "That I can do."

"Next Saturday, Alex's birthday. Say you'll show up for him."

"I'm there. Got his gift all wrapped up."

"You're not alone." She reminds you. "Despite all you think, you're still our friend."

"Thank you. I love you, toots."

You know breakups are never easy, but this one flipped your entire world upside down. You're not sure what's up or down, left or right. All you know is you gotta keep putting one foot in front of the other.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The music is loud. It hurts your head, and you can't hear yourself think.

It's perfect.

It's been so long since you allowed yourself to go out and drink. A party with friends is a guaranteed good time.

You decided to dress up. The way you dress is an excellent way to hide your emotions or so you've been told. A black dress, your favorite black dress. The little back dress that every woman is supposed to own. You paired it with red heels your sister gifted you two Christmas ago. Makeup was simple, but you did go with a bold red lip. It always made you feel more confident.

You're three shots in when you hear a voice behind you. You ignore it at first but turn around when they say your name.

"Jake?"

"In the flesh." He jokes.

"Oh my gosh!" You bring him in a hug before pulling back to get a good look at him. "I didn't know you were in town. Do you know Alex?"

"No, his sister is my girlfriend."

Your eyes widen. "No, we talk once a week, and you've never mentioned the girlfriend. Since when?" You punch his shoulder.

"We've been together close to eight months now." A big grin on his face.

"My best friend is all grown up. Committed relationship, met the family, next is moving in or baby if you're following your dad's footsteps." You tease.

"No, baby, but we are moving in together. My lease in Seattle is up, and she has hers for another year."

"I'm happy for you." You place a hand on his forearm, letting it rest there. "She's amazing, and we get along so well. It's perfect."

He nods, and you keep chatting as if no time has passed. It's comfortable with Jake, he's been your best friend since childhood, and although your sister thought you'd end up together, it just didn't work. You kissed once, and it was like kissing a wall. It's a sibling love, one that will never fade.

He clears his throat, causing you to look at him. "I heard about," You cut him off before he can continue.

"Think everyone has, but I'm good. I won't lie and say I've been fine because I haven't been, but I'm getting better." You tell him truthfully.

"Was it bad?"

You run a hand through your hair. "Awful. No yelling, we never liked to yell just lots of crying. I did the crying, and he did the heartbreaking."

He nods and hands you another shot that you accept happily.

"I was so lost the first week that I thought about moving from the state, the country." You laugh at the thought now. "But here is home, at least for now."

"Have you seen him? I know he always disliked me."

"That is true, could never get him to see you were just Jess to my Cece."

"Obviously, I was Cece." He fakes a hair flip.

"Well, of course, all I do is go home and break out singing to any song."

"Never change, buttercup." He kisses your head and then tenses up.

"Think I'd be six feet under if laser eyes existed."

"What makes you say that." You go to turn around, but he doesn't let you.

"He's at a table with Alex. Drink in hand, looking our way, and he doesn't look happy. Do you think he's going to march this way?" His hold tight on you.

You groan and lay your head on his chest. "If he made eye contact with you, then yes, he'll be over soon, so that means you got to go find your girlfriend, and I need the bartender's attention."

"Always a phone call away. We leave on Friday, dinner Wednesday." Jake walks away and quickly finds Annie. He whispers in her ear, and she looks your way. A big smile on her face and you blow her a kiss. She grabs it and stuffs it in her boobs. Annie's a weird one, but she's the best.

Knowing he's watching you makes you uncomfortable. He wasn't supposed to be here, this was your night, and now you just want to cry, don't even care about drinking anymore.

You walk out to the balcony and smile at the sight of the moon. LA doesn't allow much stargazing, but the moon always shines bright. Now would be a perfect time for a smoke, except you don't do that. Always were miss goody-two-shoes.

"Nice night." His voice interrupts your thoughts. "A bit chilly for Los Angeles." The deep, smooth voice sends chills down your body, not the weather.

"Weather is always unpredictable here." You mutter.

"How you've been," Harry asks, stepping closer.

"Fabulous."

Sarcastic answer. How typical of you.

"I haven't been that good either."

You're close to tears. "What do you want, Harry?"

"I wanted to check on you. Haven't seen you at any gathering of our friends." He twists his H ring, keeping his hands busy. "Bit worried."

"They're your friends, don't get no right going anymore."

Harry's three steps away. "Not true, everyone in there cares for you. Just because we-" He stops.

He can't even say it. He broke up with you, and he can't even say it.

"They all love you."

"Yeah, well, I wish I loved myself."

Harry flinches as if you've slapped him. The words hurt him, but not as much as they hurt you.

"Don't say that, love."

You turn to him. "I'm sure you want to be friends, and that's great, but I can't now." You let your tears run down your face, not caring that he can see. "I love you, and I was sure you were it for me, but I can't stand being around you without wanting your arms around me. I can't see you talk to everyone yet, not talk to me, but most importantly, I hate that I don't get to be the one going home with you anymore."

Harry remains quiet. Green eyes are filled with tears.

"You have to understand."

"No" You step close to him, heart close to beating out of your chest. "You have to understand that you destroyed us for your career. To benefit yourself, not caring what you broke along the way. It's been one month, and all I can think is that I'm not good enough for Harry Styles, the rockstar. No, he needs another famous person on his arm, not an elementary school teacher who doesn't own a pair of Gucci shoes."

"Please let me," Harry's voice cracks.

"A year. Twelve months. 365 days. All for what, all for nothing. "I love you," and "we'll have a small wedding." It was all a lie. I was just kept around for fun while you took a break from touring. Maybe I'll be good enough to write a song about."

"You don't get to do that." He cries.

"Why not!" You tell. "You broke up with me with no warning out of the blue. We had sex on the kitchen counter, and fourteen hours later, you broke my heart." You have so much sadness and anger, and you know you're close to drowning. "I had no choice but to let you go, but for all I know, you've let go of me weeks before."

"I don't know what to say."

"You're not the man I thought you were." You walk away from the hand on the door. Your back to him, his shoulders are shaking in sobs. "That's the most disappointing thing, you lost yourself in the industry now you're just one of them."

You walk out and catch Julia's eyes. She goes to step forward but stops herself when she sees you shake your head no. You can name everyone in that room, but you know that at the end of the day they'll pick Harry.

It hurts, but all one can do is pick themselves up and move on.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The days go by slow, but Summer has finally arrived. The California heat is only rising, but it’s a cooler day, and you're at the beach when you look over at your sister laughing as her husband splashes her with water.

Your stomach twists in the worst ways possible, you're jealous and green isn't a good color. You've spent most of the time caring for your two nephews seeing as your sister and husband worked not that you minded you did have the summer off.

It's been four months since the breakup, and some days it feels like it was yesterday. The pain comes crashing back when you wake up and stretch your hand out to touch him but tense up because you know when you open your eyes, he won't be there.

Malibu beach is not a place you've frequented, but little Ty asked for this specifically, and none of you never learned how to tell him no.

You close your book and grab your phone from the bottom of the bag. Slip your hoodie over your head, the breeze picking it up, and adjust your black shorts. You signal to Tess that you're going for a walk and that you have her phone. She sends a thumbs up. There you go on a walk with your back towards the sun.

It's funny, before dating Harry you walked the beach every Sunday on your own. Enjoying the laugh of families and the seagulls flying high. Then he joined you and together hand in hand, you'd walk down talking and sometimes just taking in the silence allowing the waves to do all the talking for you. Towards the end, he'd convince you to stay in and cuddle him, and beach Sunday became cuddle Sundays. You can’t remember a time you did go on a walk alone again when you were with him.

In the end, you lost both. Lost Harry and lost the love of the ocean because of the painful memories tied to it. With time you must remember the things lost and changed, but this is something you're reclaiming. Routine is constant and good. It gives stability and strength.

"Sweetie," you hear someone yell but keep on walking. It's probably a child going in too deep.

You stop when you hear your name being yelled and turn expecting to see Tess but instead are met with kind blue eyes. A sincere smile on her face. It's Anne.

"Oh dear, thought it was you." She says.

"Hi, Anne." You say a bright look of surprise on your face.

Anne steps in close and puts her arms around you in a big hug. A mother's embrace is one you've longed for and will continue to long for the rest of your life. Anne treated you as a daughter from the moment you met, and that's something you're sad to have lost.

"You look so tan, how long have you been in town?" You ask, admiring her as you pull away.

"A week. Came down to visit Harry." She offers a small smile at the name of her son.

"That's great. Summer's a good time to enjoy the ocean here." Anne nods, agreeing. "How were you able to spot me?" You ask genuinely surprised she was able to do so.

"I'd recognize you anywhere. The yellow jumper helped."

You look down and chuckle. "It does shout "look at me.""

You stand there a few more seconds looking around nervous to ask her to join you, but you really liked her company, and as much as you like being alone now was not the time.

"I was just walking down, would you like to join me?" You look down at your toes afraid she'd say no.

"Oh, yes, my dear. Sounds fantastic."

She takes a step forward, and off you go. It's quiet, not the uncomfortable kind, but allows you to get lost in your own thoughts with no pressure of not starting a conversation. Your thoughts are calm, it might be the ocean or Anne, but you're grateful. Losing Harry wasn't just losing him, it was losing everyone that he introduced you to. You were friends for over a year before you started to date. You met Anne a month into the friendship, and it was easy. She doted on you for your kind and quiet nature. She had said something about your aura being pure.

You didn't have a mom, she died when you were three in a car accident. Your dad being in and out of rehab but enough to keep the roof over your head. Once Tess turned eighteen, she got an apartment and moved you both in. At eleven years old, you got the call your dad died. Tess adopted you, and ever since then, it was the two of you. That is until she met Andrew in a biology class. He helped Tess pass with an A. Turns out that he was studying to be a doctor. They started dating once the semester was over and didn't look back. Tess was always a good student, maintaining A's and B's while caring for you. Andrew learned of the situation and didn't leave like most people would do no, he stayed right there. He became a constant and even began to help with school work and projects. You always told Tess that you were preparing her to be a great mom. Andrew's family was very accepting of Tess; they treated her as their own, but you never felt like you belonged. It was the perfect family, but you didn't see where you fit in. Tess knew that, but she reminded you that she wasn't going to walk away from you that you would always be her number one. To this day, it stands true, obviously falling a little under her children, but love still strong.

But with Anne, she didn't see you as someone broken or lost but someone who needed a bit more love. Love is what she has given you, she became your friend, someone you could trust in along with Gemma. It felt like your world was falling apart when Harry broke up with you because you couldn't turn to them, and your sister had her family to worry about. You always were good at becoming unseen when needed. Never wanting to be a bother. Except, here with her by your side, you don't know how you're supposed to let her go.

Anne stops walking and takes a seat in the sand, placing her sandals by her side, and you join her without questioning her.

"I waited for your phone call. Every day for the past week when Harry gave me the news even though I knew you wouldn't call." Anne cleared her throat softly. "I hoped you would."

You sigh. Those words were enough to bring tears to your eyes. You thought you were dried out of tears, but you were wrong. "I was close on many nights but- I-I it felt wrong too. He's your son, how could I do that to him?"

"He may be my son, but you're important too. My heart has enough space in there for you in a relationship with him or not."

You nod. Trying to wrap that around your head that she loves you even though Harry does not.

"The breakup came out of nowhere. The day before we're fine talking about adopting a cat and the next, he sits me down to tell me we're breaking up." You block the memories trying to resurface and trace small circles on the sand.

You did out a seashell and cleaned it off before asking your question.

"Did he tell you why he was doing it?" It hurts to ask, but you need to know if he was honest with her.

Anne sighs but nods. "He said that it wasn't going to work out. You couldn't handle the public eye anymore and that it would only continue to affect you and your job. Said something about not fitting the image."

A tear falls down, but you're quick to wipe it away. "He sat me down and told me we were breaking up. Didn't let me ask why or anything. A year together is nothing in this industry, we barely made it a month to the public eye. You'll be forgotten quickly, also tell me that because he was working on the new album, he needed an image more than the one he had."

"That's not who I raised him to be," Anne says, disappointment evident in her voice.

"Although he broke my heart, I still love him. I still love him as much as I did when we first got together. I just don't trust him."

Anne grabs your hand and links it together. She anchors you together because although she knows that she said you can count on her, this would most likely be the end of your relationship. Neither of you wants to admit it.

"It's funny, the first month I avoided every place we ever went together, and it was hard because we did a lot around here. There are roads I avoid completely. This is my second time back at this beach, and I loved it here." You run a hand through your tangled hair due to the ocean breeze. "But now I'm going back to these places, and I pray every time I get out of the car not to run into him even though that's exactly what I want to happen. It's cliche, I know, but I really did lose my best friend." The tears are falling silently, and you are grateful Anne doesn't comment on it, but you swear you can see her eyes glisten. You rest your head on her shoulder and look out at the waves, no clouds in sight, just a clear blue sky. How you wish your brain would look this blank.

There's so much you want to tell Harry now months after the breakup, but there's the fear of breaking down in front of him.

"Anne"

"Yes, darling." She responds softly.

"I-I uh-" You clear your throat. "If I were to give you a letter to Harry, would you give it to him. There are some things I need to get off my chest, and he needs to know."

"That I can do."

You sit up and grab both her hands and bring them to your chest. She looks at your love and sadness in her eyes. "You can only give it to him when you know he's better. He will need to hear this later when our hearts don't ache as much. When you as a mom realize he needs it. It'll be the closure we both need."

"I promise."

You make plans to meet for breakfast the next morning as she has no plans and knows he's busy. You'll deliver the letter and be on your way, closing that door behind you. You spend half an hour together more before you walk her down to the pier and make your way back to your sister. Heart heavy but not as broken.

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You roll over and smile when you see Harry still asleep. He's lying on his stomach, and his head turned in your direction. You lay on your side, happy to admire him. There's a hint of a smile on his face, must be from the dream he is having. His long eyelashes resting on his cheeks, looking delicate and fragile. Not an inch of stress on his face. You can't help yourself and bring your index finger up to trace over his plump pink lips. Soft. You stop when you see him twitch a little but continue when he lets out a small snore. The room is quiet; your apartment is not located on a busy street, something your sister said was a must for when your nephews came to stay. You let Harry rest and get up going to the living room. You sit on the floor looking out at the window at the birds flying around, chirping away basking in the morning sun. You hear the creek of your door and know Harry is on his hunt for you. He's clumsy, so you won't be surprised if he crashes into the couch. He still must be tired. You hear a quiet "shit" and let out a chuckle. He stumbled around the corner with his misplaced shoes. You don't comment on it knowing he'd just turn the blame on you because he got out of bed for you.

"Poppet, after last night, I thought you'd like to wake up in my arms." Harry sits behind you, the blanket wrapped around him now being placed over you as he drags you into his lap.

"I'm an early riser, you know that."

He sighs into your ear. "Means I didn't tire you out enough last night."

"Oh no, you did just that. The bruises are proof."

He laughs and kisses your neck lightly three times.

"Coffee in the kitchen if you want some. Also, some muffins Gabby bought me for taking her dog on the hike with me."

"I want something else for breakfast." He whispers into your ear. His hand sliding up your thigh. He's met with your black shorts, he knows there is nothing underneath seeing as he put these on for you. "Will you let me?"

"Only cause you asked nicely."

Harry is quick to lay you on your back. Your shorts come off just as quickly, he pushes your shirt up to expose your breasts. He sits back on his knees and allows you to see how hard he is in his shorts.

"You're beautiful" He breathes out. "A true dream."

"You told me that last night repeatedly." You remind him how he whispered in your ear at dinner with your friends around how the red dress had him hard as soon as he saw you walk in. You knew that if he picked you up, you would not have left your apartment. The night ended precisely how you wanted with Harry in your bed. Three months dating, it felt right.

It was perfect.

He leans in, placing small kisses on your calves, slowly moving up to your thighs. He kissed last night's bruises gently, a reminder of how rough he got once he got a taste of you. It drove him crazy.

"Smell so sweet." He dragged his lips up to your core. His tongue between your folds, you moan softly under him. He pressed little kisses to your clit, you felt him smiling against you when he felt your thighs begin to tremble.

You let out a louder moan when he slipped a finger inside, your hands reached down to grasp at his hair. He pulled back to look up at you with dark eyes, smiling at you with wet lips.

"You're a tease, baby." You breathe out as he slips in a second finger. He moves slowly, building up the pressure.

He brings his mouth back down to your clit, gently grazing his teeth over it.

"Oh, fuck!" You gasp.

"C'mon poppet, come for me." A moan leaves your lips when his tongue picks up speed, making up for the loss of his fingers. "Please, let go for me."

You grip his hair harder, letting your orgasm take over your whole body. His tongue slowing down as you throw your head back and lay your hands on your side. He slowly works you through it until he sees your breathing come down, gentle kisses to your hips. He works up until he gets to your breasts. He leans in kissing each one gently. "Sorry, I neglected these beauties. I got so lost in you."

Harry continues to move slowly, but you have had enough of slow. You pull him up into your arms, until he settles on top and kiss him until it leaves you breathless.

You taste yourself on him, Harry kissing you harder as your hand begins to trail down to his shorts. He breaks the kiss and leans your head left, giving him more access to your neck, which he accepts quickly. He's slow and gentle compared to last night.

"Going to let me make love to you, poppet." You nod wishing he'd move quicker as he kicks his shorts away.

“Yes” You whisper, he’s building up the anticipation.

He lines himself up, slowly pushing in. You let out a whispered fuck at his size. He goes in gently, not wanting to hurt you, always wanting you to feel good.

Harry leans forward, kissing you as he begins to move against you.

"Baby," You breathe out. "B-baby-y-y faster."

Harry keeps your lips close, his breathing picking up. Whispered words against your lips. “I'm going to make love to you for the rest of my life. It's you and me, poppet."

Your eyes shoot open, and you're quick to look around. You're in bed, left side empty.

He's not here.

He hasn't been here for months. Why does he keep coming back? Your brain needs to let him go, but you know that isn't the one holding on to him.

You get out of bed and walk to the kitchen for a glass of water. There has never been an easy way to move on. This letter might be the best start.

Harry,

I love you. I'll always love you.

That's hard to stay, but it's the truth. You are my best friend. Remember the first time we talked on the phone and how we didn't want to hang up, so we talked about everything. From my first broken bone to your job at a bakery. You told me all about your childhood and all your dreams. At that time, I thought I would be at your side cheering you on as you were accomplishing them but that’s not the case. Just know that I'll be rooting for you.

I'm sorry I didn't fight for you. Guess it seemed like I didn't love you, but I did. I do. I think only ever having my sister on my side, I never realized I never learned to fight for those I love. Never doubt my love, it's real.

Don't be afraid to move on and love again, you deserve it. You deserve the greatest love out there.

Remember, just because you love summer doesn't mean it can stay because who knows what October can bring.

Maybe one day we'll find a way back into each other's lives, but until then, take care, H.

Y/N

You put it in the envelope and seal it. You write his name on the front.

It's time to close the chapter, time to move onto the next.

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October has finally rolled in, and you couldn't be more excited. Autumn brings in the cold and the changing of the leaves, but if you were to ask the students, it just means candy. For the month each Friday, a new activity is done in honor of Halloween. Your classroom is decorated in pictures drawn of your student's favorite movies. As well as small pumpkin string lights your sister gifted you last year. Your classroom door has black paper covering it and white ghosts—22 one for each student with their name on them stuck to it. You added caution tape to give it more detail. Then added small pumpkins around. It reads "Spooky Students" the class had a good laugh at the name, proper pleased.

The first week was simple, doing a math game.

Candy corn math.

The children enjoyed it, all having fun adding and subtracting. Tina ate one and almost cried because she thought she'd get in trouble. You assured her it was all for fun. Then let them all eat their treats as you played them Halloween music. Fridays are meant to relax and have fun. That's exactly what you show your students.

The second week they make spider headbands. Grace, your teacher assistant, helps with the cutting and stapling. The students enjoy gluing the spider's eyes most. It's an easy project when the students are focused on it. You have an hour of the day left and decide to play, It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown. It's starting, and as you're organizing the glues and packing away the scissors in their pencil boxes, Nicole, the front desk assistant, tells you there's a package you have to sign for. You nod to Grace to look over the class, and she gives you a thumbs up in return. As you reach the main office, you see a baker with two boxes chatting with Matthew Collins, the Vice-Principal.

"Good afternoon gentlemen, I assume this is for me." You say, pointing to the pink boxes.

"Good afternoon, got your kids treats, I see." He acknowledges.

You shake your head, stepping to look at the note sitting on top of the box. You flip it open.

Figured you and the children deserved a sweet treat. Take care, honey. xx Anne

PS: A dozen snickerdoodle cookies are waiting for you at home.

Anne, always so sweet and thoughtful. You had kept in contact with her after that time you handed her the letter. You came to realize you couldn't lose her, and she wasn't about to let you go without a fight.

"A good friend actually sent them, knows how excited we get for October." You tuck the note in your cardigan pocket.

"Well, that's a great friend to have. I hope your class and you enjoy it. Have a great weekend." Mr. Collins leaves, and you bid goodbye to the baker.

As you make your way back to your class with two dozen cupcakes, you can't wipe the grin on your face. They are going to be so excited. The cupcakes are half chocolate and half vanilla. The orange frosting swirled beautifully on each one, each topped with a spider ring.

You return, and all the kids are focused on the scene when Sally begins to yell at Linus as he's waking up for making her miss the Halloween festivities. Grace is quick to help you tell the kids you have a surprise for them all. The movie still plays as Grace places napkins on their desks.

"A friend sent me a treat for you all because she heard how wonderful you've been doing." You tell them slowly approaching closer for them to see the box in your hand. "Say, do any of you like cupcakes." Cheers filled the room with your words.

You both worked fast to give them each a cupcake of choice, no arguing whatsoever. Kind students you have. Grace grabs chocolate, and you grab the last vanilla for yourself. Grace lets you know she's going to get waters from the cafeteria to give to them.

You sit at the back counter legs cup, leaning against a llama poster that says, "We love learning." A small gift for Julia. You grab the cupcake and fix your spider headband before taking a picture to send to Anne.

Y/N: Cupcakes were a real success. I can't thank you enough. Love you, xx.

Anne: Don't you look precious.

Anne: Glad, you all enjoyed it. Love you xx

It's an excellent way to end the week with a sweet treat from Anne and good old classic Charlie Brown.

It is now the third week. The four first grade classes made a trip to the pumpkin patch. The school budget did get slightly raised this year, allowing you to buy small easy to carry pumpkins for each student. Parent chaperones are enabling you to make smaller groups to take each student to different activities. Your small group of six decided on the slide mountain that was atop of bales. It was fun, even going down yourself. Then that led you to picking pumpkins. Joey has trouble deciding before leaving the slightly bigger one when his arms got tired. You decided to get two big ones and two small pumpkins to take to your sister's house and you could carve together this weekend. It was now your turn for the hayride, and Chloe was really excited. She was the first one on, and as the trip went on, her head kept turning, wanting to see it all. This place really outdoes themselves each year, decorations only getting better. As it was closing time to go back to school, all students sat at the tables awaiting their apple cider and cinnamon-sugar donuts.

You were about to take a seat next to Henry, the shyest student in your class when your name is called. You turn around and see Jeff, Harry's manager, and friend.

"Hi Jeff," You step close and accept the hug he offers.

"How have you been?" He asks.

You nod. "Good, welcoming the cold weather."

"It is nice."

Your grin begins to fade slightly as the small talk gets awkward. It's been a long time since you've seen Jeff. Not at all, forgetting how important a friend he was to you as well as Glenne.

"What brings you here?"

"On a class field trip." You gesture to the table behind you, seeing the kids sneak glances at you.

"That is wonderful, good class this year?"

You grin thinking about each of your students. "The best."

"Her cider is getting cold." Susan whispers, the small wide-eyed blonde says to Joey, worrying for you.

"I've got to go back, probably going to bomb me in questions as soon as I sit."

"Of course." Jeff smiles in understanding.

"Tell Glenne I say hello. Take care, Jeff."

You turn around, heading to the table. You laugh as your students quiet down as you take a seat.

"Alright, what do you want to know now?"

The students always take your mind off everything. No conversation is ever dull, still trying their best to find out more about their teacher.

Although seeing Jeff was nice, he's not the person you wished to run into every day.

No, that someone has beautiful brown curls and emerald green eyes.

The end of day breezes by, back in the classroom, the students grabbed their backpacks and walked out front to meet their parents. As you tidy up the classroom, Grace walks in a tight smile on her face. You know she has something to ask, but don't pressure her to do so.

"Was that man a friend, we saw you with," Grace asks, wiping down the desks, "mom's were gossiping, thinking you were being asked out or was an old flame. Don't have to tell me, but he did look like a friend, at least an old one."

You close your planner, happy with the coming week's plan. "My ex's friend.." You explain. "We were close. He was always kind and welcoming. Lost a lot of people during the breakup."

She shoots you a small smile. "Never easy, but you don't get through it alone. Some people are meant to come into your life as lessons."

Grace's optimism never fails to make you grin. "That is really nice to hear."

"I keep waiting for the grand gesture for my ex to sweep me off my feet." Talking about this, tears at your heart, but it has weighed you down. "I just want to run into him. Go to our favorite places in hopes of seeing him even just for a moment."

"That means you're not ready to put yourself out there?" Her voice was full of curiosity.

"Correct. I love Harry, I always will, but my heart seems to be holding on for some reason."

"I'm a phone call away if you ever want to get drunk and watch movies and eat our weight in food." She offers sincerely.

"I'll keep that in mind."

Grace bids you goodbye and walks out. It's nice to be reminded you have people around you supporting you, but all you want today is to see the sunset and you know just the spot.

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Malibu is known for having the best spots for the ocean view and standing here, a blanket wrapped around you, hearing the waves continue to crash with the rocks below you believe it is. You came here because you know not many people know about this location and if the other two cars there say anything about it continues to be unknown.

Growing up in Southern California, you have always been grateful to have the ocean nearby. You and your sister would always make your way here to celebrate good days or to clear your head. You spent your day here when you got accepted into UCLA and when Andrew proposed to Tess. This place is full of good memories; it's like being there all the bad in your life disappears. Bringing Harry here for the first time was a big step in your relationship, it was you letting him get to know you, no barriers in the way.

You hear a car pull up, but don't bother looking over thinking the person might be heading down the trail. It's a couple, and you can hear the girl whisper something then heads off to the dirt trail. You're not sure how long you stand there when you take one final look before unwrapping the blanket and placing it in your trunk. Just as you are about to close it, you hear your name called.

You turn around quickly and are surprised to see him. You weren't even aware he was here, last you heard he was on the last leg of his world tour.

He's dressed in a black Columbia hoodie, grey Nike shorts, and black running shoes. His hair has beautiful long curls, and he's got a clean-shaven face, always made him look younger but does give a good view of his strong jawline.

"Harry," You breathe out.

Your heart is beating so fast you think it might jump out of your chest. You've been waiting for the day you run into him, but it was not today.

It might be the worst day. After a field trip with first graders, no one is making out as clean as they arrived that morning. Your lavender knitted sweater has sugar stains, and your old blue jeans have dirt on your knees from kneeling to help with the pumpkins. You wore old black converse never bothered with the dust, but this time you wish you had your back up pair. You don't even want to imagine how your hair looks. You snap out of your thoughts when Harry stops giving you a once over and breaks the silence.

"I always seem to find my way here." He tells you, looking down at his shoes.

You sit in your open trunk of your CR-V and scoot over to let him know to sit. He does so without saying more. It's a heavy silence, but you don't give it much thought looking out at the ocean.

"I got your letter."

The letter you wrote four months ago. If you're honest, you didn't think back to that since you handed it over to Anne.

"When?" You questioned.

"Two weeks ago," He looks over at you, staring at you, waiting for you to look over at him. "How long did mum have it?"

You lock eyes with him, his eyes filled with curiosity and kindness. "Since June." You look away, not able to take in all the emotions coming up. "Guess you were finally ready for it."

Harry nods and stands up, and he walks a few steps before making his way back to stand in front of you. He looks nervous about sharing, and all you can do is offer him a smile. He lets out a deep breath.

"I went on this date that Jeff set up for me, and it was awful. Nice girl, but everything felt wrong. It was wrong." He runs a hand through his loose curls as if to get rid of the nerves. "I looked at her, closed my eyes, and opened them, and the person I wanted it to be was not in front of me."

Harry's looking at you as you try to wrap your head around his words. You don't know how to respond. He was waiting for you, but he was the one who left you.

"You didn't realize it until then?" You're confused. It took him eight months to realize he made a mistake.

He stares right at you, not wanting you to miss his next words. "I realized it the second you walked out the door."

Your face drops at his words.

Harry runs a hand down his face before taking a step forward. "I tried to find you. I would go all over Los Angeles hoping to run into you, but I stopped after the party when you told me the truth."

"I was harsh, felt awful at how I handled it afterward."

"Don't apologize," he gives you a half-smile, "I deserved that. Honestly, I needed it."

You both go silent. You're staring at one another, memorizing each other's faces that you had begun to forget. You could stare at Harry forever, and you always told him that he had a face one could get lost in forever, finding new details to memorize.

"Do you even remember that night?" You ask because you know you do. It used to haunt your dreams until it didn't. That day no longer lingers at the back of your head, but if you think back to it, all the emotions come again, hitting you harder than ever.

Harry sighs, "Every time I close my eyes."

You walk into your apartment, surprised at the quietness. Harry always liked to have music playing. He's sitting on the couch staring at the black screen of his phone.

"H, ready to cook dinner, got home early because you said you wanted lasagna tonight. Always faster when we cook together." Stepping closer to see why he's sitting so still on the couch.

"Sit with me." He whispers, patting the seat next to him.

You sit down, reaching to grab his hand, and he lets you. He squeezes it tightly before letting go.

"I love you." His eyes meet yours. He looks in pain. "But I'm breaking up with you."

A million thoughts run through your head. Harry's breaking up with you. He's leaving you.

He looks at you, waiting for you to say something. "It's not easy for me, but it's what's best for my career. I will be going back on tour soon, releasing a single. You wouldn't handle all the attention with paparazzi well, so I'm saving you. It's easier for others in the business, but you wouldn't survive this"

His words cut daggers into your heart.

It's best for my career.

It keeps repeating in your head, his job, he doesn't think you're enough for his lifestyle. You weren't enough to keep him happy.

"Harry, it doesn't-" The tears are rolling down your face, you can tell he wants to reach over to wipe them, but he holds himself back. "So this is it?"

He nods. "The end for us, but we can-" You cut him off before he can say, friends.

You already had him in your life as a friend. You can't go back to that not after knowing how he loves being the little spoon, how much he loves his hair being played with, but most importantly, how kind and gentle of a lover he is. He has so much love to give and do not receive that any more will break your heart: no kisses, no hugs, and no love.

You grab your keys, bag, and slip your shoes on. "Goodbye, Harry."

He stands eyes red, he looks sad, but he has no right. He wanted this, not you. His house had become a second home, but now you feel like an unwelcome guest. You walk out without looking back each step towards your car, making you cry harder.

This is the end. An end, you never saw coming.

It seems like you were both lost in the memory when you hear Harry begin to weep quietly. Your heart pulls you in two ways, wanting to comfort him or sitting there, letting him cry, but before you can decide, he's wiping his tears.

He lifts his head to meet your eyes, his eyes keep filling with tears, but he doesn't bother to wipe them anymore. "Are you happy?" he whispered.

You nod a small smile on your face to assure him. "I am. I'm not sad and miserable anymore, but I'm also not filled with sunshine. I lost a lot when we broke up; you have to know that," He nods letting you know he's listening. "I also found myself, found love I lost over the years. Found love in me."

He smiles when he hears that his dimples were coming out. "That day at the party, I was in the worst place possible, but I reached out to my sister and told her I needed therapy. I wouldn't have gone if it weren't for my sister's support. Honestly, you were in the back of my mind because you shared to me how important and impactful it was for you, and I know I had so much to share not just from the breakup but from my childhood."

"I'm glad." He chokes out his voice, rough from crying.

"I am too." You smile because this is nice. All the running you did didn't allow you to talk with Harry, but the time has come, and you're grateful for that.

"I wasn't planning on coming up here today, obviously," You gesture to your dirty clothes. "I had that pull to come here as soon as I was pulling out of the school parking." You confess to him.

"I finished a yoga class and was on my way home when I took the wrong exit," Harry corrects himself, "Or well the right turn looking at it now."

You're not sure where you stand with Harry, but you both know the feelings are still there. As if they never left.

"We can't pick up where we left off."

Harry nods, agreeing. "In that case, may I take you out on a date Sunday?"

"I'd love that, Harry."

You stand up and pull him in for a hug. You know you surprise him because he tenses up before wrapping his arms around you. You sigh as you feel Harry squeeze you tight. He breathes you in, and you can't help but let out a small laugh.

"Did you just sniff me?" You're laughing against his chest feeling his heartbeat pick up.

"Oi, don't laugh at me. You smell like strawberries." He defends.

"Pretty sure I smell like dirt and sweat. A field trip running around kids will do that to you."

"I disagree." He pulls back to look down at you, but you keep your head on his chest, liking being in his arms. "Always smell great."

You move to pull back, thinking it must be too much too soon for both of you, but Harry doesn't let you. He holds on tighter. "Couple more minutes, please love," He whispers against your hair. You nod and let him begin to sway you both gently as if you were both ones with the wind.

"Is it too forward to ask to kiss you?" Harry asks timidly.

You lean back and laugh before looking up at him, his eyes hopeful but also knowing. "It is."

"It was worth a shot."

Harry leans in to gently press a kiss to your forehead, his lips soft. He steps back after a few seconds. "I'll call you."

You nod. "Please do."

Harry holds his car door open but makes no move to step in as if waiting for something. You don't want him to leave.

"Harry," You call out. He turns around and shoots you a cheesy smile causing you to smile back. "I really want you to kiss me, trust me but,"

Harry nods in understanding. "Slow and steady, love."

You stare at him, and his eyes are bright and hopeful. Hopeful in their future together. "Slow and steady, we can do that."

Just like that, you and Harry both drive away from each other, but your future together has never looked brighter.

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Thank you for reading! I love you

Come talk to me and tell me what you thought of Into You

#harry styles writing #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles story #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles imagine #harry styles #my writing

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festiveferret · 3 years

Text

When the World Starts Ending

For the filk challenge, wynnesome and I changed the lyrics to “If the World Was Ending” by JP Saxe feat. Julia Michaels. (OG song here, if you want to listen)

Wynnesome also did an amazing recording of the song! LISTEN HERE!

Lyrics:

[Verse 1: Steve] I was distracted, chasing bad guys I didn't see it when the invasion happened But it really got me thinkin', did you ever think of calling? I guess I don't even know where you've been living It's been a year now, think I've figured out how How to let you go, you let communication die out

[Pre-Chorus: Steve] I know, you know, we know, we were both failing each other 'cross the board I know, you know, we know, we were both failing at striking an Accord

[Chorus: Steve] But if the world was ending, I could come home, right? You'd let me in and I could stay the night Could you love me after all of it? Make these years feel so irrelevant

If the world was ending, I could come home, right? The sky'd be falling and I'd hold you tight Cause together we could conquer this I'd find the strength to fight from just one kiss If the world was ending, I could come home, right? Right? When the world starts ending, I will come home, right? Right?

[Verse 2: Tony] I tried to imagine your reaction It didn't scare me when those aliens landed But it really got me thinkin', all those times I missed it Didn't kiss you in the darkened compound kitchen Ah, it's been a year now, think I've figured out how How to think about you without it smashing my heart out

[Pre-Chorus: Tony] I know, you know, we know, we were both too stubborn, sure that we were right I know you know, we both, know that he's your friend but I thought so was I...

[Chorus: Tony] But if the world was ending, you'd come over, right? You'd come over and say, "Fuck this fight" Would you choose me over all of it? Would we find a way that we could fit?

If the world was ending, you'd come over, right? No more words, I could just hold you tight You could come back in and you'd be home And we would never have to be alone

When the world starts ending, you'll come over, right? You'll come over, right? You'll come over, you'll come over, you'll come over, right?

[Pre-Chorus: Steve and Tony] I know, you know, we know we were Waiting for each other and it's fine I know, you know, we know we weren't There for each other and it's fine

[Chorus: Steve and Tony] But if the world was ending, you'd come over, right? You'd come over and you'd stay the night Would you hold this broken heart for me? Would you see how good that we could be?

If the world was ending, you'd be (I'd be) at my (your) door So we could give this thing a try once more Be united like we should have been and we could sign our vows with matching pens

If the world was ending, I'd forgive it all Set our pride aside and we would never fall standing together we would save the earth Or else Avenge it with all that we're worth

[Outro: Steve & Tony] Hmmm When the world starts ending you will come (I can come) home, right? Right?

#stony #filk #song lyrics #steve tony games #civil war

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alexsfictionaddiction · 2 years

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Review: Vladimir by Julia May Jonas

I think it must have been the vibrant red of the cover and the powerful feeling of frustration and despair that the image evokes. I briefly read the synopsis and was intrigued to see how I’d tackle this literary novel of obsession, academia and whistleblowing.

Our narrator is a well-loved English professor at a small town college. Her husband is also a professor at the same college and he has been accused of inappropriate behaviour with his students. Their marriage has always been open but these accusations have put a strange dynamic on their relationship. Enter a handsome, married, young writer Vladimir and our narrator’s head is fully turned with no way back.

I didn’t care for our narrator very much at all. I’m not sure if I was supposed to like her or if all my repellence of her was intended but it made it quite difficult for me to read from her perspective. Sometimes she seems very misogynistic and other times, she seems to want women to succeed and be empowered. It meant that I couldn’t trust her and therefore, none of the events of the book had much credibility or certainty that they happened in the manner that they apparently did.

Our narrator’s daughter Sidney is having her own relationship problems and she turns up seeking her mother’s support. Sidney is a lesbian and her presence brings discussion of sexuality into the narrative. Our narrator reflects on how restrictive heterosexuality is and how happy she is that her daughter doesn’t have those bindings. It’s an interesting way of thinking about something that we have no control over. As much as some people would seriously disagree, no one chooses to be in the ‘predictable container’ of heterosexuality, just as no one chooses to be gay. I wanted more clarification of what was really being said here and unfortunately, I never got it.

Although I wasn’t convinced that the narrator was on her husband’s accusers’ side, she does seem to acknowledge the importance of fighting injustice. However, she does remove herself from them by saying ‘what they felt were the systemic wrongs of the world’, indicating she doesn’t share their views. She seems to think these girls are speaking out against her husband as some kind of identity experiment, which really jarred me.

Towards the end of the book, the pace quickened and our narrator hints at what she’s really capable of. I was scared of her and I didn’t really know what would happen to Vladimir, who she becomes dangerously obsessed with. I don’t think this bit of excitement really made up for the incredibly slow, dull plot though.

Vladimir had a lot of potential and if it had been told to me via a more sympathetic, likeable voice, I possibly would have liked it more. Perhaps she is supposed to be an unlikeable, unreliable narrator and if that’s the case, mission accomplished! However, it wasn’t clear and therefore I didn’t really know what to do with the story or what it was trying to tell me. If you like thought-provoking, dark romances with not an awful lot of plot, it might just be for you but it wasn’t really my cup of tea.

Vladimir by Julia May Jonas is available now in US hardcover. It will be published in the UK by Picador, an imprint of Pan Macmillan, on 26th May 2022.

#vladimir #julia may jonas #literary fiction #book review #review #books #bookworm

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justkeeptrekkin · 4 years

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A gift to all my followers!

This is something I whacked out a couple of weeks ago- just a thank you to all my followers who’ve stuck around, or who have just found me within the Good Omens fandom! It means the world to see you guys enjoy my fics. This is my gift to you guys, now that 2019 is coming to a close!

Enjoy! x

***

It’s hard to keep track of time when they're together on a good day. It’s even harder on the best of days.

The Ritz is busy. The lunch table is inappropriately large for just the two of them. They’re sat right next to each other. Champagne is bitter-sweet on Crowley’s tongue and he could watch Aziraphale for hours, listen to him talking for hours. He measures the way Aziraphale leans towards him with a hand stretched across the table, sharing a story. Eyes bright, typically taut posture unusually relaxed. Entire aura relaxed. The feeling in his own chest, relaxed.

And so it’s harder than usual to keep track of the time. People leave after tea; people arrive for dinner; people leave after dinner. The waiters stare at them from the kitchen doors, waiting for them to ask for the bill, which they don’t. Crowley barely has it in him to glare at them.

Their knees touch for almost the entire time.

For Crowley and Aziraphale, time has only ever been a construct. However, it has also, always, been bound by celestial responsibilities. Now, they have no such responsibilities. And they are no longer being watched.

The sky is darkening just a little when they finally leave. Green Park remains busy at-

Crowley checks the time on his phone.

-Greek Park remains busy at five thirty on a Tuesday night. People line up at the bus stop, heading home from work. Tourist stands filled with union jacks litter the streets outside the park. The colonnade of The Ritz shelters them from a light bit of drizzle.

Crowley slides his hands into his negligible pockets and considers what comes next. Dining at The Ritz has always comes with a time limit, and somewhere to go immediately afterwards. Some sort of agenda. He doesn’t know what that is now.

He looks over at Aziraphale, who hovers. Hovers and fiddles with his hands. Gaze flitting about as if he’s nervous, smile flickering on and off as if he doesn’t want Crowley to notice. He makes a feeble attempt at smiling again and gestures to the rain with a small nod. “Lovely weather we’re having, eh?” he says. It’s followed by a shaky half-laugh.

Crowley frowns at him, the bottom half of his face forming a smile. He feels as if he’s watching the Angel of the Eastern gate, introducing himself at Eden. And something about the sudden awkwardness fills him with intrigue- more than that, anticipation.

He leans back against a column, hands in pockets, and surveys Aziraphale’s anxious flapping.

“Well, go on, then,” Crowley prompts. “Something’s on your mind.”

“Not on my mind, per se,” Aziraphale concedes. His eyes darting up to the roof of the colonnade, to Heaven- a habit that may take some time to kick. “An idea of sorts.” “You’ve intrigued me,” Crowley drawls.

“Nothing exciting. Only.”

The look Aziraphale gives him in the brief moment of hesitation is heart-breaking. It’s filled with hope, and a healthy dollop of apprehension, too. As if Crowley would ever deny him anything. Crowley has experienced these moments of heart-shattering, heart-squashing, heart-pummelling love many times before, and he very much hopes that he’s done an alright job of concealing it from his expression.

He raises his eyebrows at Aziraphale and waits.

Aziraphale sighs, looking uncomfortable and apparently having no intention of expanding. He expects Crowley to make the move. Unsurprising.

“I could…” Crowley starts. Aziraphale looks at him in hope again. Christ on a bike I’m a pushover, he thinks. “I could. Invite you round to mine for a drink. If… you were thus inclined.” A great beaming smile. “Oh, you took the words right out of my mouth.” Crowley huffs an almost-laugh. They look at each other. And they both let the weight of that sink in. Slowly, like the rain that’s currently seeping into the stone pavement beyond the Ritz’s colonnade.

“Right,” he announces quickly, before thoughts can escalate any further. “Off we go, then?”

“Yes, just so. Tip top.”

Crowley conjures an umbrella. It’s not as if anyone would have noticed, he tells himself, though he sees the doorman at the Ritz recoil a little in shock. They share its shelter until Aziraphale miraculously hails a cab.

***

“Best idea you’ve had all week, angel- and that includes the body swapping nonsense.”

Aziraphale is sat on Crowley’s sofa. He has been handed a glass of wine. He holds it between cupped hands like he plans to take communion. His legs are hidden behind a tartan blanket. (Crowley will never admit that he conjured such a thing long, long ago, just in case something like this might happen. Something like Aziraphale staying for a movie night, or even, staying for the night. It had always seemed so unlikely. In fact, the moment he’d created said blanket, Crowley had been so infuriated by his blind hope of ‘having Aziraphale round’ that he’d burned it.

He’d restored the ashes to its original, tartaned form just a couple of hours later.)

“It seemed like the next logical thing,” Aziraphale explains pensively, brows raised and peering down into his Malbec. “If I had a ‘to do’ list, this is what I would put on it. I haven’t sat down and watched a movie all the way through in such a long time.” This may well be true, Crowley considers, as he rifles through his DVD collection, knees against polished concrete and painted nails tapping the spine of Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Meanwhile, he’s simply marvelling at the fact that they’ve never sat down and watched a movie all the way through together, the two of them, ever. They’d always had more important things to be getting on with, like saving the world or performing miracles or negotiating the terms of their Agreement. And now. Now they can-

Now they can what?

He looks back over his shoulder at Aziraphale. Aziraphale is looking at him. The angel’s gaze flicks away instantly, staring back down into his wine. It hurts something in his chest. A nice kind of hurt, like a dash too much wasabi.

Crowley takes a moment to recover from this. Then- “You. You still haven’t given me any clues. What you in the mood for, angel?”

Aziraphale’s eyes widen for the briefest moment as if he’s alarmed by this question, for whatever reason. Then he frowns to himself, purses his lips in thought. Casts his eyes around the room, for inspiration. “Something…” “If you say nice,” Crowley warns, knees hurting a little on the hard floor.

“I wasn’t going to,” Aziraphale retorts. He pauses. He adds, more quietly, “I was going to say fun.”

Crowley groans. Turns to the DVD cabinet.

“I don’t do fun,” he says slowly, emphatically.

“Alright, well. Something at least a bit light-hearted. I think saving the world rather calls for it, don’t you?” Crowley tilts his head from side to side in consideration. “It’s a fair point,” he concedes to himself more than Aziraphale. Pouts. “Don’t want to bring the mood down. Not sure I’d want to…”

The reason he doesn’t finish his sentence is because he’s just been, unfortunately, reacquainted with the more mushy end of his DVD collection. He’d forgotten that he has several Audrey Heburn films, as well as a couple of Julia Roberts classics. He glares at them. Hidden amongst the arthouse silent movies, they’re betraying just how soft he is. And Aziraphale’s watching.

The DVD boxes quiver under his stare.

“How about we start with discussing what you have,” Aziraphale tries, reasonably. “Since we can’t reach a consensus. We don’t even have to watch a DVD if you don’t want-”

“Netflix,” Crowley remembers, standing up abruptly and immediately closing the cabinet. Then, “Netflix! That’s a thing. That’s a thing that we can do.” “Oh yes- I’ve heard of that,” Aziraphale says chirpily.

“Oh, yes, well done, angel.”

Aziraphale glares.

And so the Netflix loading screen bongs into life, Crowley collapsing onto the sofa beside Aziraphale. The red wine is jostled; Aziraphale tuts. Crowley props his heels on the coffee table.

“Do you mind. I almost spilled Malbec on my shirt.” “Lots more choices now,” Crowley ignores him and begins flicking through. “Look, it’s all organised nicely in rows of genre. Love how tidy this is, look. And the search function is so much easier. Have you tried the search function on Amazon Prime, lately? Nightmare.” “I have no clue what you’re talking about,” Aziraphale replies lightly, spinning the wine in his glass like a whirlpool.

“Look, ‘s’got a whole section called ‘light-hearted movies’.”

“Very helpful.”

They flick through the row. They go through all of them without choosing, and end up at the beginning of the loop again. Crowley growls and hangs his head off the back of the sofa.

“Oh, pass it here,” Aziraphale sighs, putting down his wine with a decisive clink and picking up the remote. He holds it with one hand and presses the directional buttons with his other hand, as if it’s far more complicated and delicate a process than it actually is. Like an octogenarian trying to use an iPhone.

“How about this lovely looking Christmas film.“

"N- no. Anything but that. It’s October. And more importantly, no.”

“It looks ever so sweet, though. How lovely and romantic-”

“We are not watching The Christmas fucking-well Prince.”

He’d had a hand in inspiring that, and he’s too embarrassed to admit it even to himself. His evil deeds really are shit.

“No need to snap,” Aziraphale mutters.

“If you’re determined to watch something romantic and seasonal, I will accept The Holiday. If I must. Jack Black makes it bearable.”

Aziraphale lets the screen rest on the thumbnail of the movie. Then, quite thoughtfully, he says: “I like Kate Winslet. She seems like a nice woman.”

“Mm. Yeah, that’s. OK. I’m sure she is, angel.”

In all honesty, the idea of watching a rom-com with Aziraphale is border-line torture. It’s not quite as bad as waterboarding, but it’s close. More on the same level as those nightmares you get where you have to do a maths exam in your underwear, on stage, and all of your exes and crushes point and laugh at you. Not only are rom-coms pretty hit and miss- some influenced by Heaven, some by Hell, you never know what you’re going to get- they’re also a fantastic way of making Crowley feel incredibly exposed. Incredibly hot in the face from second-hand embarrassment. Incredibly aware that he’s meant to be sneering and heckling, when he’s just trying to concentrate on holding himself together. Stop the feelings from spurting out of his heart like water in a dam: feelings that he thinks are, embarrassingly, rather a lot like longing.

And yet, because it is Crowley, and this is what Crowley does, he lets Aziraphale select the movie and they watch The Holiday. They remark on the general cheesiness, the (at times) witty dialogue. The staggering amount of disbelief that has to be suspended for the plot to work. How nice Jude Law looks in glasses.

Crowley’s only sort of watching. He’s concentrating on Aziraphale. Not outright staring at him (although he does often do that, it’s a wonder he hasn’t noticed and told Crowley to sod off). Rather, letting his brain tick over the knowledge that he is right beside him. Too much of his daft, devil mind is unable to ignore the fact that Aziraphale is there.

Sometimes, it sends unhelpful thoughts his way. Like, you could touch his hand. Or, imagine feeding him popcorn- wouldn’t that be interesting. Or simply, there he is. He’s here. He’s with you. He’s chosen this.

About half-way through the film, Aziraphale starts with those sad sighing sounds, making woebegone eyes at the television- which tells Crowley that he’s getting peckish but doesn’t want to bother Crowley with it. So, Crowley casually announces that he’s heard there’s a good new Chinese restaurant around the corner, and Aziraphale brightens up again immediately. And they have to pause the film to choose what to eat, because Crowley reckons he might actually order something for himself this time, and Aziraphale ums and ahs about these things for hours anyway. And once they’ve ordered- over the app, thank God for avoiding human interaction- the food arrives, quite miraculously, three minutes later.

And once the food is gone, the film is almost finished. And Netflix seems to have decided what they should watch next, because it puts on the first episode of The Crown without asking them. Which they watch, although Crowley’s not really watching. And Aziraphale is complaining about the inaccuracies.

And at some point they end up sitting very close.

No. That makes it sound as if Crowley has no idea how they ended up that close. He knows exactly when this happened, because he hasn’t taken a breath since.

It happened like this.

They’re halfway through the first episode of The Crown, and Aziraphale has returned from the kitchen with a new bottle of red- a Pinot, this time- and he pours for both him and Crowley. Aziraphale has been sat on his own side of the sofa, and Crowley has been on his, draping his arms and legs wherever he sees fit. Now, as Aziraphale resettles on the sofa, he sits right beside him. The way Crowley is angled, his legs dangling off the arm of the sofa, means that he’s leaning in Aziraphale’s direction. Very obviously.

So he’s using all his (very little) core strength to keep himself sitting upright enough not to fall into his lap. Even if it would be very nice to let his head rest on Aziraphale’s lap. And even if he’d really like to relax a little bit and lean his shoulder against Aziraphale’s.

And for Heaven’s sake, it shouldn’t be an issue for a couple of six thousand year old beings to sit side-by-side on a sofa, and yet, here’s Crowley, having a crisis about it. It’s not as if he thought twice about pinning him against a wall.

Although he probably should have. That was a lot.

His eyes follow the way Aziraphale’s legs stretch in front of him, crossed over at the ankles. A little slouched on the sofa, shoes off. It’s about as relaxed as Crowley’s ever seen him.

“Why do you think they decided to make this TV series now, when the Queen is still alive,” Aziraphale remarks. It almost makes Crowley jump a little, so deep in thought that he’d forgotten time hadn’t stopped entirely.

“Whassat?” “Well, why do you think they’ve made the series now? It seems a bit-”

“Right,” Crowley says brain finally processing the question. “No- dunno, angel.” They both go quiet. Crowley’s hand grips the back of the sofa. The fear that he’s going to slip and lean against Aziraphale is too real. As nice as it would be-

Perfect. Miraculous. Wonderfully human.

-It would also be mortifying.

He can hear Aziraphale’s breathing. Slow. Precise and even, like he’s measuring out ingredients for a recipe. It makes Crowley’s mouth go dry with painful self-awareness.

“Do you remember,” Aziraphale starts quietly, “when you and I bumped into each other in Camden Town?” He takes a few seconds to pretend to think about this. “Yeah, ‘f course. Nineteen seventy-seven. What made you think of that?” Aziraphale shifts a little, looking at Crowley. Crowley doesn’t look back, watches the screen. If he turns towards Aziraphale, they’ll be-

“You were wearing that awful t-shirt.” That makes him laugh. A tipping-the-head-back laugh. “Oh yeah- my God Save the Queen t-shirt. Sex Pistols. Yeah, those were the days. Don’t knock ‘em, they were a good band.” “I’m sure they were.” “Don’t use that voice, they were. Anarchic music at its finest.” “I believe you, but bebop is still a little too baffling for me, I’m afraid.”

Crowley doesn’t expect it. He doesn’t know where it comes from- he thought he knew himself quite well at this point, but apparently not well enough. He feels something take over from out of nowhere. Rather, feels something erase everything else- a whiteboard rubber cleaning all the bullshit away.

And now he’s turned to Aziraphale without the babbling voice of anxiety in his head.

“It’s punk music, not bebop. And. I reckon you’d like it.” His voice is a murmur and his eyes are looking at Aziraphale’s lips. Thank Christ for sunglasses.

When he looks back up and meets Aziraphale’s gaze, he’s watching Crowley. Looking for something.

He feels his lips part, hears himself take a breath through his mouth.

“Oh, really?” Aziraphale asks weakly. A small quirk in one eyebrow.

“Y-” Fucking Hell. His throat’s all dry and he’s forgotten what words are. And now Aziraphale is definitely looking at his mouth. Fuck fuck fuck fu- “Yeah. You’re a rebel now, after all. Sort of. Breaking all those rules.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale replies in a whisper. Then, regaining his voice, “I suppose that’s true.”

“S- uh- mm- w- some of the songs, anyway, not all of them. You’d uh- h- some of them are a bit explicit than others and you’d probably not. Not get on with those ones.”

“Crowley…?” That’s all it takes. Thousands of years of keeping his feelings to himself and taking it slow, and all it takes is that little inflection in Aziraphale’s hushed voice. That hesitant request, draped over the sound of his name. Crowley leans in and presses his lips gently against Aziraphale’s.

There’s that horrible moment when it stops, and everything else seems to stop, too. The what next? hangs in the air and Aziraphale stutters a shaky breath against Crowley’s skin.

“Too fast?” is what Crowley ends up asking. Just to break the pause.

And then the most dazzling, drunken smile spreads across Aziraphale’s face. Brows knit together. An expression that looks a lot like “To the world.”

“No,” he half laughs, shaking his head infinitesimally. “For once, no. We… we saved the world, I rather think we deserve this.”

Something in Crowley relaxes, unhinges, collapses. It lets all the feelings free and they flood him till he swears he almost goes blind. And that is how they both end up falling asleep on the sofa, still wearing the days’ clothes and kicking off a tartaned blanket. Wrapped up in each other- starting this new era as they mean to continue.

***

Crowley wakes up and finds his head on Aziraphale’s chest. He’s splayed on top of him, arm hanging off the edge of the sofa. He feels Aziraphale’s hand, warm between his shoulder blades.

“What would you like to do today?” Aziraphale asks with a smile in his voice.

That is how it starts. They think of the things they were too scared to do together, the things that they never found the time to do together, the things they always liked to do together.

They go for a walk through Hampstead Heath, just as the weather’s beginning to turn- their breathes steaming in front of their faces as they walk. They haven’t been here since 1815. They both try to avoid the muddy parts and fail spectacularly. They make fun of each other for the mess they’ve made of their shoes. They begin by hooking their fingers together, until they’re brave enough to hold hands completely.

They go home and cook together. It goes disastrously.

“What are we doing today?” Crowley asks the next morning, when they wake up on Crowley’s sofa again.

They go to some hipster bar in East London- Tobacco Docks, it’s called. They find that there’s good food, lots of good booze and an ice rink- which Crowley absolutely point-blank refuses to go on until Aziraphale makes that wide-eyed, pleading face. They have a tipsy and very clumsy skate around the rink before returning to their drinks. Crowley’s better at wine than ice rinks.

“What are we doing today?” Aziraphale asks, when they’ve woken up in Crowley’s bed. His white hair against his white sheets. A new part of the landscape of his room.

They end up doing very little. They read together on the sofa and make tea. Crowley introduces Aziraphale to the best music ever created- disco, of course. They dance in the living room in bare feet and laugh till they can’t see through the tears.

“What are we doing today?” Crowley asks the next morning.

“What are we doing today?” Aziraphale asks the next.

They’ve saved the world, and that still seems surreal. But there’s waking up on Crowley’s sofa after a movie marathon, too. A dinner date, or a night in.

And that feels perfectly real.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #my writing #fan fiction #fic prompt

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chloelucia13 · 3 years

Text

Nothing Personal: the Playlist

Link

1. Peace - Taylor Swift

All these people think love's for show But I would die for you in secret

2. Crave You - Flight Facilities ft. Giselle

Why can't you want me like the other boys do? They stare at me while I stare at you Why can't I keep you safe as my own? One moment I have you the next you're gone

3. Allies or Enemies - The Crane Wives

I swear I didn’t mean what I said I swear I didn’t mean it ... All is fair in love and war, but I can’t fight with you anymore This will be the death of me Are we allies or enemies?

4. Lemons - Brye

And I don't wanna encourage your abusive behaviour But I just can't let you win I'm legitimately tired of being walked all over By these insecure babies who think that they're men

5. Even if it’s a Lie - Matt Maltese

You're the girl to push away my doubt But it's too late and we’re too young to know

6. Champagne Problems - Taylor Swift

But you'll find the real thing instead She'll patch up your tapestry that I shredAnd hold your hand while dancing Never leave you standing Crestfallen on the landing

7. Cellophane - FKA Twigs

Didn't I do it for you? Why don't I do it for you? Why won't you do it for me? When all I do is for you?

8. Never Gonna Love Again - Lykke Li

How can we Turn around the heartache Oh I, I'm alone tonight babe And I'm never gonna love again

9. Landfill - Daughter

'Cause this is torturous electricity Between both of us and this is Dangerous 'cause I want you so much But I hate your guts

10. Hoax - Taylor Swift

You have beaten my heart Don't want no other shade of blue But you No other sadness in the world would do

11. I Threw Glass at my Friend’s Eyes and now I’m on Probation - Destroy Boys

You're ruining my life day by day The butterflies you give me are literally making me nauseous This is disgusting, like seriously dude What do you think you're doing?

12. Love Love Love - Of Monsters and Men

Well, maybe I'm a crook for stealing your heart away And maybe I'm a crook for not caring for it Yeah, maybe I'm a bad, bad, bad... bad person Well, baby I know

13. The Hearse - Matt Maeson

I am the man we both couldn't stand I can't wash off the dirt from my hands What was it like to feel in love? What was it like to feel in love?

14. Greek Tragedy - The Wombats

This method acting might pay our bills But soon enough there'll be a different role to fill I love this feeling But I hate this part

15. Gold Rush - Taylor Swift

I don't like that falling feels like flying 'til the bone crush Everybody wants you But I don't like a gold rush

16. Space Song - Beach House

What makes this fragile world go round? Were you ever lost? Was she ever found?

17. Boys Don’t Cry - The Cure

I would say I'm sorry If I thought that it would change your mind But I know that this time I have said too much, been too unkind

18. All You Had to do was Stay - Taylor Swift

Here you are now, calling me up, but I don't know what to say I've been picking up the pieces of the mess you made People like you always want back the love they pushed aside But people like me are gone forever when you say goodbye

19. She - Dodie

and I'll be okay Admiring from afar Cause even when she's next to me We could not be more far apart

20. John My Beloved - Sufjan Stevens

So can we pretend sweetly Before the mystery ends? I am a man with a heart that offends With its lonely and greedy demands

21. Dust to Dust - The Civil Wars

Let me in the walls You've built around We can light a match And burn them down

22. Fidelity - Regina Spektor

I never loved nobody fully Always one foot on the ground And by protecting my heart truly I got lost In the sounds I hear in my mind

23. Folding Chair - Regina Spektor

Maybe one day you'll understand I don't want nothing from you but to sweetly hold your hand Till that day, just Please don't be so down

24. Enough for You - Olivia Rodrigo

And maybe I'm just not as interesting As the girls you had before But God, you couldn't have cared less About someone who loved you more

25. Cold Cold Man - Saint Motel

Oh, my love I know, I am a cold cold man ... You're the only one worth seeing The only place worth being The only bed worth sleeping's the one right next to you

26. What are you so Afraid Of - Videoclub

What are you so afraid of? Is it love wasting your time?

27. Love - Daughter

I know you regret it, love You told me so many times But I still wonder Why You left with her And left me behind

28. I Hurt Too - Katie Herzig

When an ocean sits right between us There is no sign that we'll ever cross You should know now that I feel the loss

29. Renegade - Big Red Machine ft. Taylor Swift

There was nowhere for me to stay, but I stayed anyway And if I would've known how many pieces you had crumbled into I might have let them lay ... You wouldn't be the first renegade to need somebody Is it insensitive for me to say "Get your shit together so I can love you?" Is it really your anxiety that stops you from giving me everything? Or do you just not want to? ... You fire off missiles ’cause you hate yourself But do you know you're demolishing me? And then you squeeze my hand as I'm about to leave

30. Happier Than Ever - Billie Eilish

And I don't talk shit about you on the internet Never told anyone anything bad 'Cause that shit's embarrassing, you were my everything And all that you did was make me fuckin' sad

31. Rules - Jayme Dee

You say you know love, but you are just reflecting words you hear No iron in your veins to give you any sense of pain or fear It's just another lie, it's just another calculation And when the power's out, we're just another old sensation

32. Bitter Heart - Memi ft. Staffan Carlen

Suddenly you look like a stranger A face I knew, but I must've forgotten Emotional flicker, you were my everything

---

Oh, I wish that you hadn't pulled the trigger Shot me down with my bitter heart

33. Brush Fire - Sierra Eagleson

How are you, lovely? Reddest rose between all these thorns Morning coffee And a voice to settle all the storms It's kind of funny Hearing you don't need me anymore Just say you love me

34. Sea of Doubts - Azure Ray

A spectator I played my part But nothing could move this heart Until i held the boys hand The little one spoke like a man He showed me death and said This is how you know you're alive

35. First Love/Late Spring - Mitski

So please hurry leave me I can't breathe Please don't say you love me

36. Deep End - Birdy

Ooh, how do we mend? Ooh, I didn't choose to depend on you It's out of our hands Maybe it will work out in the end I don't know if you mean everything to me And I wonder, can I give you what you need? Don't want to find I've lost it all Too scared to have no one to call So can we just pretend?

37. And the Boys - Angus and Julia Stone

Well, it's been days now And you've changed your mind again All the cracks in the walls Reminds you of things we said And I could tell you That I won't hurt you this time But it's just safer To keep you in this heart of mine

38. Strange - Celeste

I am still me You are still you In the same place Isn't it strange? How people can change From strangers to friends Friends into lovers And strangers again

39. The Cut that Always Bleeds - Conan Gray

To say you loved me all along And kissed the bruises 'til they're gone Bittersweet, 'cause I can't breathe Inside your arms

'Cause if you're gonna leave Better leave, better do it fast Can't live another minute Bleeding from my back 'Cause I don't have another one For you to stab And I don't want to have Another heart attack

---

But even though you're killing me I, I need you like the air I breathe I need, I need you more than me I need you more than anything Please, please

40. James - Maggie Rogers

"Too young, too thoughtless, " I said to myself With idealistic visions all perched on the shelf And I'm still hoping, waiting for you to come home

---

Maybe you're in love or hung up on another And maybe you found a far prettier lover And maybe you'll paint her a picture like you did for me

41. Cry- Cigarettes After Sex

But I need to tell you something My heart just can't be faithful for long I swear I'll only make you cry

Maybe I'd change for you someday But I can't help the way I feel Wish I was good, wish that I could Give you my love now

Tags: @summerdaughter, @spid3rgwen, @girlfriday007, @lmaosupertuff, @pansexualproblemchild, @toothhurtyam, @claudiaatje, @angstysebfan, @tyzerman91, @hawsx3, @slut-for-buck, @foggyempathfireperson, @etherealghostface, @bby-aj, @stolenxkissess, @joseyrw

#Bucky barnes #bucky x reader #series #tfatws #the falcon and the winter soldier #Sebastian stan #Taylor swift #regina spektor #playlist #sufjan stevens #daughter #saint motel #Olivia rodrigo #the civil wars #dodie #beach house #the cure #the wombats

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heartofether · 3 years

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Episode 13 - Dog with a Bone TRANSCRIPT

[You can listen to the show wherever you get your podcasts, or go to our “Listen” page if you’re on desktop.]

AUTOMATED VOICE

[INCREASINGLY SLOWLY] Please state your message.

[THEME SONG PLAYS.]

VAL

Three-eyed Frog Presents: The Heart of Ether.

[THEME SONG FADES TO A STOP.]

[PHONE BEEP.]

[INT. AGENTS MAY AND JUNES’ COMPANY VEHICLE, DRIVING INTO DAUGHTLER, WASHINGTON, MIDDAY.]

[THE TWO ARE HEARD DRIVING THROUGH THE TOWN.]

AGENT MAY

This is the audio log of Operation Saturn, phase 1.2. Investigation taking place in Daughtler, Washington, 2019. Set to last for two months minimum. This is day one. Conducted by Agents May and June. All recordings are legal property of the Harper Foundation. Any unauthorized access to these recordings will result in—

AGENT JUNE

[OVERLAPPING] Does Daughtler know no God? That church is crumbling like a communion wafer!

AGENT MAY

Agent June.

AGENT JUNE

I’m just saying! You’d think for a place of worship, they’d take better care of it. Basic maintenance, maybe a new paint job.

AGENT MAY

Well, I guess the people of Daughtler aren’t particularly religious.

AGENT JUNE

Oh, not that I care. I’m an atheist. Raised in a Catholic household, which went about as well as—

AGENT MAY

Look, in the future, could you please avoid speaking over me when we’re recording important information?

AGENT JUNE

What important information? We just got here.

AGENT MAY

Well, if we’re going to be constantly on the record, I would like to maintain some level of professionalism.

AGENT JUNE

Ahh. Hate to break it to you, bud, but if you expect me to shut up for this whole mission, I think you will be greatly disappointed. I am, you see, constantly burdened by great ideas—trust me, it’s exhausting.

AGENT MAY

[SARCASTIC] I’m sure it is.

AGENT JUNE

[AFTER A BRIEF PAUSE, HE SNORTS A LAUGH.] DVD rentals? Dude, who’s renting DVDs in the digital era of pirating—I mean, uh, legally buying and streaming everything online?

AGENT MAY

[DEADPAN] Nice catch.

AGENT JUNE

Anyways, where are we heading first? I’m guessing the motel?

AGENT MAY

Actually, we’re going to make a quick detour. Stop somewhere for a quick interview.

AGENT JUNE

[HE GROANS.] Seriously, dude? We have so much time to do that kind of stuff. Can’t we just, you know, relax for our first day? Settle into Weird Town, USA?

AGENT MAY

I’d like to start this mission off on a good foot. It would be valuable to meet some of the residents, see what they’re like. Besides, this particular individual is important enough that by establishing a relationship early on, it may be beneficial in the long run.

AGENT JUNE

Ugh, fine. Who is our person of the hour, then?

AGENT MAY

Actually, it’s less about the person and more about where they’re living.

[A BEAT.]

AGENT JUNE

Yeah, dude. Obviously. They’re living in Daughtler, Washington. You know, the place we’re investigating?

AGENT MAY

[OVERLAPPING] I mean their house.

Agent June, please, please tell me you know who Bernard Kelly Valencia is.

AGENT JUNE

Obviously, dude! That’s like asking a chemistry student if they know what an electron is. [THEN, UNDER HIS BREATH] Actually, I failed chemistry, so maybe that isn’t the best analogy.

But yeah. Bernard Kelly Valencia. Super weird dude that the entire town was kinda freaked by. Supposedly was well-known among the Ether community for his vast range of research conducted with Dorothy Wood. Nobody actually knows where all that work went after he and Dorothy died, though.

AGENT MAY

Actually, it’s possible some of it was left behind in his own house.

AGENT JUNE

Wait, seriously? Didn’t all of his belongings go to his son afterwards?

AGENT MAY

According to the original house plans, there’s an attic. His son, after leaving the house once and for all, never mentioned there being anything in the attic. This could mean it was just empty, but that fact would have to have been noted at some point. His son was thorough in his complaints about clearing his father’s house, from what we could find. It’s possible nobody ever even bothered to look up there.

AGENT JUNE

So you think he had something in his attic that just never got found?

AGENT MAY

That’s what the Foundation believes.

AGENT JUNE

Alrighty, then. That’s not too bad. We just break into a dead guy’s house and pillage through his attic. I mean, how hard can that be?

AGENT MAY

It’s not that simple. There’s a new tenant living there.

AGENT JUNE

Ahh, I see. Do you think they know?

AGENT MAY

Perhaps. There was a recent missing person report linked to the house—an inspector who the landlord sent out to investigate a supposed mold problem.

AGENT JUNE

Classic.

AGENT MAY

Which leads us to believe that the new tenant is at least familiar with Ether—assuming the mold problem was of supernatural origin, which is probable due to the house’s location and the report filed by the landlord describing the mold: yellow, with an odd scent.

AGENT JUNE

So, what’s our plan? Are we just going to go and ask to search the house?

AGENT MAY

Unfortunately, the Foundation couldn’t acquire a formal search warrant. We’ll have to convince the new tenant to let us in of their own free will.

AGENT JUNE

Who is this person, anyways?

AGENT MAY

Her name is Irene Gray. She’s twenty-one years old. Works as forestry aid.

AGENT JUNE

Do we know anything else about her?

AGENT MAY

Let’s just say the mold inspector isn’t the only missing persons case she’s connected to. Four years ago, an 18-year-old girl named Rosemary Quinn went missing. Officials think it’s likely she ran away. Irene Gray was Rosemary’s girlfriend. The police’s interview with Irene states that the two of them had planned on running away together not long after the date Rosemary had gone missing.

AGENT JUNE

Way to rat your girlfriend out like that.

AGENT MAY

She could have been desperate for any sort of lead, even if that meant getting herself and Rosemary in trouble. And she did get in trouble, I believe, though not with the law, per say. Irene couldn’t have known where Rosemary had gone, though. She was so emotionally devastated after the event, there was little chance she was faking it or lying to cover for Rosemary. She actually started therapy not long after.

AGENT JUNE

So, why does it matter? Did they ever find Rosemary?

AGENT MAY

Unfortunately, no. The official record states that the last place she was potentially seen was a local animal shelter, where she dropped off her cat, whose name she said was Sage. This, however, does not sync up with reports from her family claiming the cat’s name was Sir Griffin the Third, which led to some uncertainty. They had a difficult time tracking her after that, though. All they had to go off of was one potential gas station siting, but all that resulted in was another dead end.

AGENT JUNE

Uh, you still haven’t explained why any of this matters.

AGENT MAY

[FRUSTRATED] Could you just be patient for one— [HE HUFFS A SIGH.]

Look, it’s important because it’s unlikely Irene Gray will let us explore her house if we just ask nicely.

AGENT JUNE

So, we have to use bait?

AGENT MAY

It could be a mutually beneficial relationship, is what I’m saying. We both have something the other wants.

AGENT JUNE

Wait, does the Foundation, like, know what happened to that girl?

AGENT MAY

Not quite, but, potentially. I’ll show you what we have once we stop the car.

AGENT JUNE

Great! This should be interesting.

AGENT MAY

[UNDER HIS BREATH] I’m sure it will be.

[PHONE BEEP.]

[RECORDING ENDS.]

[INT. IRENE GRAY’S HOUSE, MIDDAY.]

[IRENE IS ON A PHONE CALL WITH ADEN. ON HIS END OF THE LINE, THERE IS THE LOOPING SOUND OF A BROKEN FAX MACHINE ATTEMPTING, BUT FAILING, TO PROCESS PAPER.]

IRENE

It’s a fax machine. How do you not know how to use a fax machine? I’ve literally watched you do it before.

ADEN

Well, I thought I knew! And I mean, come on, how come you get to judge me when you can’t even use your phone properly?

IRENE

Oh, my god—Aden, it’s my day off. Can’t you just look it up?

ADEN

I don’t know how to describe the problem in a way a search engine will understand. It’s too—you know—specific.

IRENE

Ask someone there, then. Carol and Julia probably know better than I do.

ADEN

Julia’s sick, and Carol’s on some important phone call. Look, I just—if we have to replace this thing and it’s my fault, I’m going to freak out—

IRENE

Okay, wait until Carol gets off the phone and then—

ADEN

[WORRIED] What if it sets on fire or something?

IRENE

[FRUSTRATED] It won’t! It’s probably just jammed.

ADEN

But what if it does?

IRENE

[SNAPPING] Jeez, dude, just go find the manual! Why are you calling me?

ADEN

[PANICKED, STUTTERING] Because I’m panicking, alright? Look, ever, ever since the mold incident, I’ve been so scared constantly of everything. Every tiny thing that happens feels like it’s the end of the world, especially because that dude’s van went missing and it’s like you guys are just constantly waiting for the police to just show up at your door—

IRENE

[HER TONE SOFTENS, GROWING SYMPATHETIC] Oh, Aden—

ADEN

[CONT.] —and you and Carol almost died, and I did nothing. Okay? I sat in my office and talked to the knitted cat on my desk while I had a panic attack and did nothing.

I just want to find some way to, to do good, to fix something, but instead I think I ruined the fax machine and now I’m just failing you and Carol, again.

IRENE

[CHOOSING HER WORDS CAREFULLY] Hey. Look, I—I’m sorry I snapped. It’s not…it’s not that big of a deal.

ADEN

[COMING DOWN, GUILTILY] No, no, you’re right. I shouldn’t have called you on your day off.

IRENE

It’s fine. Seriously, don’t worry about it. Do you need me to go down there and look at it?

ADEN

No, don’t. I’m kinda starting to calm down, and I think if I can’t find the manual, I’ll just wait until Carol gets off the phone.

IRENE

That’s a good idea.

[A BEAT.] Um, if you need a distraction or anything, we can still talk for a bit. I know how anxiety can be.

ADEN

[SINCERE] That means a lot, Irene. Thank you.

IRENE

Of course.

Is there anything in particular you want to talk about?

ADEN

[A BEAT, THEN, HESITANT] I actually have a question. I’ve been thinking about it for a bit, but if it’s too personal, you don’t have to answer.

IRENE

I mean, I think you’ve already seen me at some pretty low points, so…

ADEN

[HE CHUCKLES.] Alright.

[CAREFULLY] You said you had a girlfriend who went missing.

IRENE

[A BEAT.] Yup.

ADEN

What was her name?

IRENE

[A HESITANT BEAT.] Rose. Er, you may have seen the name Rosemary Quinn at some point, but it was years ago.

ADEN

Yeah, I don’t remember. Sorry.

IRENE

It’s fine.

ADEN

What happened to her?

[THERE’S A PAUSE.]

IRENE

[GRIM] We never found out.

For a long time, I’ve thought that she just decided she was sick of her life as it was. Ran away to start a new one without telling anyone where she went. It would have made sense—she had planned on doing it for a while. Even took cash from her savings out in chunks so nobody would be able to track her card when she did. Her mother simply wrote this off as poorly thought-out impulse purchases.

We had planned our entire future together, though, and for her to just throw it out didn’t make sense, it—well… [SHE TRAILS OFF.]

ADEN

I’m sorry.

IRENE

I thought it was her mom at first, though. Grace Quinn. [SHE SAYS THE NAME WITH VENOM.]

They investigated Grace for domestic abuse. Believed Rose ran away to escape a dangerous situation. Upon Rose not answering her bedroom door, Grace, well…broke it down. Rose had locked it before she went out the window, and her mother just—decimated the doorknob to get in. At least, that’s what the police report says.

ADEN

Jeez.

IRENE

Without the child there, however, it was difficult to prove any abuse. I had some texts. Her aunts had a couple of anecdotes. That was all, though. Grace refused to admit to anything, of course.

ADEN

[HESITANT] Was there? Um, was there abuse?

IRENE

[A BEAT.] Yeah.

ADEN

I’m so sorry.

IRENE

It was rarely ever physical, but it definitely happened.

ADEN

I mean, if Rose was trying to escape something, I hope she was safe in the end.

IRENE

[PAUSE, THEN, SOFTLY, ALMOST SAD] I do, too.

[A BEAT.] That wasn’t all, though. Grace acted really strange afterwards. When police asked what had happened the night before, she said she couldn’t remember. Seriously, she didn’t have any concrete details. She said she had just woken up that morning and Rose was gone, but her story kept changing in little ways. It was disorienting.

She seemed…paranoid. Jumpy. Confused, even. Angry, but her anger wasn’t directed anywhere. I might have felt bad for her if just the thought of her hadn’t made my blood boil. I mean, I imagine your daughter going missing has gotta have some sort of effect on you, even if you’re not on good terms with her.

Grace wasn’t entirely there, though. Looking back, it’s a lot more clear. I…know some things, I didn’t know back then. I just, I wonder what was really wrong with her. I haven’t talked to her in years. Certainly not about to start now.

ADEN

I mean, I kinda sympathize with her, but also, she doesn’t sound like a great person.

IRENE

Oh no, she’s horrible. I know I should feel some remorse for all the awful things I’ve said about her, but I don’t. Not really.

When Rose first went missing, I became blinded by rage. I screamed at Grace when I saw her. Cursed in her face. Said it was all her fault, because I was—well, I was scared, and I had no other explanation. My dad had to drag me away before I attacked her.

ADEN

Jeez, Irene.

IRENE

I’m obviously better about my anger management now. Therapy at least did that for me.

ADEN

I mean, I get it. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for you.

IRENE

Yeah. Um, yeah. [IT SOUNDS LIKE THERE’S SOMETHING ELSE SHE WANTS TO SAY.]

Thanks, Aden.

ADEN

Of course. If you…I mean, I know it’s been a while, but you can always talk to me about it. I’ve said that before, but, y’know.

IRENE

I appreciate it.

[A PAUSE.]

ADEN

I think Carol’s call ended.

IRENE

[TEASING] And did the fax machine catch on fire?

ADEN

[HE LAUGHS.] No. No, it did not.

[IRENE LAUGHS. ANOTHER PAUSE.]

IRENE

[MORE SERIOUS] Aden?

ADEN

Yeah?

IRENE

I’m…I’m working on something. It’s a personal project.

ADEN

[CAUGHT OFF GUARD] Oh. Okay.

IRENE

I don’t think I can tell you what it’s about, but…just so you know. I mean, I trust you, so.

ADEN

That’s—um, that’s fine. Uh, let me know if I can help at all?

IRENE

Sure. I’ll talk to you later.

[AS THEY SPEAK, THERE’S APPROACHING FOOTSTEPS ON ADEN’S END OF THE LINE.]

ADEN

You, too. Thank you again for talking.

IRENE

Not a problem. Bye.

ADEN

Talk to you soon!

CAROL

[IN THE DISTANCE] What did you do to the damn—?

[PHONE BEEP AS ADEN HANGS UP. IRENE SIGHS.]

IRENE

[CONFUSED] Oh, uh. Didn’t realize my phone was recording. [MUTTERS] When did that start? Guess I turned it on at some point.

[A BEAT.] Well, Rose. I’m talking to you now. Not just some figment of you in my head, but, you.

I know you’re going to hear these. I don’t know when, but you will. Of course you will.

[A BEAT.] Only problem is, I’m kind of at a dead end. My only lead so far is a mysterious recording that popped up on my laptop with no explanation. I have no idea how any of those files got there. Do I just have to wait until whatever weird force that gives them to me decides to throw one my way?

It’s like gambling at that point. I don’t know when I’ll get something or if what I find will be helpful or not. I mean, hell, I could get a new file on my computer and it’ll just be some voicemail I sent you sophomore year about baking brownies. Who knows what I’ll find or when I’ll find it?

I have to figure out something more reliable. Maybe figure out where the recordings are coming from, and if I can use whatever it is to my advantage. Or, I don’t know, Phoebe is coming over at some point to look in my attic. Maybe I should just—

[THERE’S A KNOCK AT THE FRONT DOOR.]

IRENE

…huh. Wasn’t expecting anyone.

[IRENE IS HEARD GETTING UP AND WALKING TOWARDS THE DOOR. AS SHE APPROACHES, THE AGENT'S MUFFLED ARGUING IS HEARD, GROWING LOUDER AS SHE GROWS NEAR.]

AGENT JUNE

[MUFFLED] I'm just saying, it could be pretty cool, you know? I'm all like, "Ooh, ahh, no, tell us what we wanna know, and you're like—"

AGENT MAY

[MUFFLED, OVERLAPPING ] June, you're too impressionable by all of these movies that you watch.

[IRENE OPENS THE DOOR, BUT THEY CONTINUE AS IF SHE ISN'T THERE.]

AGENT JUNE

[CONT.] No, no, listen. It could be great, it could be great! We could like, stand back to back, and like, ooh, finger guns—

AGENT MAY

No, I'm not doing finger guns!

IRENE

[OVERLAPPING] Um, can I help you?

AGENT JUNE

[TO AGENT MAY] Okay, but just try it—

AGENT MAY

[HARSHLY CUTTING HIM OFF.] Yes, actually. Is this the residence of Irene Gray?

IRENE

[SKEPTICAL] Who’s asking?

[AGENT MAY IS HEARD FLASHING HIS BADGE.]

AGENT MAY

We’re Agents May and June of The Harper Foundation. We’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.

IRENE

The hell is that?

AGENT JUNE

Ah, see, that’s the point: you’re not supposed to know. [A BEAT.] I mean, well, we do leave kind of cryptic ads in the local paper sometimes, but, still.

AGENT MAY

[UNDER HIS BREATH] Agent June.

AGENT JUNE

What? I don’t choose to put those weird ads there!

IRENE

[UNIMPRESSED] …so, what, you’re secret agents?

AGENT MAY

If you’d like to call us that. May we come in?

IRENE

Why?

AGENT MAY

We just need to ask you about a few things. I promise it won’t be long.

IRENE

…are you going to, what, search my house?

AGENT JUNE

You got something to hide?

IRENE

[DEFENSIVE] No! I’m sorry that I value my privacy.

AGENT MAY

We’re not searching your house right now. This will be much easier for all of us if you comply, Ms. Gray.

IRENE

[SHE THINKS FOR A MOMENT, THEN, DISGRUNTLED] Fine.

AGENT MAY

Thank you.

[IRENE IS HEARD LEADING THE AGENTS INTO HER HOUSE, CLOSING THE DOOR BEHIND THEM. THEIR FOOTSTEPS ARE HEARD AS THEY ENTER.]

AGENT JUNE

It’s a nice place you got here. Oh, wow, did you paint that yourself?

IRENE

It was a gift.

AGENT JUNE

Ah, gotcha, gotcha.

[THERE’S A PAUSE AS THEY STOP WALKING.]

IRENE

Well? Take a seat. Be my guest.

[AGENTS MAY AND JUNE ARE HEARD SITTING AT THE TABLE. THERE ARE TWO LOUD THUNKING NOISES, AS IF SOMEONE IS HITTING THE TABLE.]

AGENT MAY

Agent June, take your feet off the table.

AGENT JUNE

Sorry, sorry.

[SHUFFLING NOISES AS AGENT JUNE MOVES HIS FEET.]

IRENE

Can I get you both anything to drink?

AGENT JUNE

There are your manners!

AGENT MAY

[UNDER HIS BREATH] You’re one to talk.

AGENT JUNE

Whatcha got?

IRENE

Um, water? I could make coffee? I also have lemonade in the fridge, but that’s for emergencies.

[A PAUSE.]

AGENT JUNE

I think I’m in the mood for an emergency lemonade. You, Agent May?

AGENT MAY

I’m fine, thanks.

[AS THEY CONTINUE THE CONVERSATION, IRENE IS HEARD GRABBING THE LEMONADE OUT OF THE FRIDGE, TAKING A GLASS FROM THE CUPBOARD, AND POURING JUNE'S DRINK.]

AGENT MAY

How long have you lived here, Ms. Gray?

IRENE

Not long. I moved here for work.

AGENT MAY

And what do you do?

IRENE

[HASTILY] I’m an engineer.

AGENT JUNE

Mm! Enjoying the area so far?

IRENE

It’s nice. The people are friendly.

[SHE SETS AGENT JUNE’S LEMONADE DOWN ON THE TABLE.]

AGENT JUNE

Much obliged.

[HE TAKES A DRINK LOUDLY. IRENE SITS DOWN ACROSS FROM THE TWO OF THEM.]

IRENE

…well? You said you had questions.

AGENT MAY

We’re here to ask you about a missing person.

[A TENSE PAUSE.]

IRENE

Which one?

AGENT MAY

Which one are you thinking of?

IRENE

[SHE PAUSES.] Are you talking about Rosemary Quinn?

AGENT MAY

[A TENTATIVE PAUSE.] You and Rosemary were close, correct?

IRENE

Why do you care?

AGENT MAY

I’m asking a question. An answer would be nice.

IRENE

[HESITANT] I knew Rose, yeah.

AGENT MAY

When was the last time you saw her?

IRENE

Um, it was two days before her disappearance, I believe?

Look, this should all be on her file. I don’t see the need to recount this all to you unless they’ve opened the case again. Hell, you’re not even cops, are you?

AGENT JUNE

Oh, don’t be that way, Irene. I know this case isn’t as recent as the other one you’re involved with, but you should be able to remember, right?

IRENE

The—

[THERE'S A LOW, EERIE INSTRUMENTAL AS IRENE'S BLOOD RUNS COLD.]

IRENE

[BLUFFING] What other case?

[AGENT MAY SLIDES A PIECE OF PAPER ACROSS THE TABLE.]

AGENT MAY

You were the last person to see this man, correct?

IRENE

I, um, I don’t know him, no.

AGENT JUNE

You’re not as good at lying as you think you are, you know.

[HE'S HEARD FLIPPING OVER A PIECE OF PAPER TO EXAMINE IT.]

AGENT JUNE

[CONT.] I mean, why lie to us about your job, anyways? There’s no shame in being a forestry aid. I’m sure it’s a lovely profession.

IRENE

Who the hell are you people?

AGENT MAY

Relax, Irene. The Harper Foundation has already taken care of his vehicle and rerouted the case so it doesn’t trace back to you. Investigators will come up with a dead-end soon enough, and nobody will know what you did.

AGENT JUNE

You’re welcome for that.

IRENE

I— [THEN, GUILTILY] I didn’t kill him.

AGENT MAY

I’m sure you didn’t. That’s not important right now. We’re just trying to give you a nudge in the right direction so maybe then you’ll be inclined to tell us the truth.

IRENE

Why? What do you want from me?

AGENT MAY

If you’d give me a moment to speak, then I can explain.

[IRENE HUFFS A SIGH, BUT LETS AGENT MAY SPEAK. HE FLIPS OPEN A FOLDER.]

AGENT MAY

Are you aware of this house’s previous tenant?

IRENE

You mean Bernard Kelly Valencia? His reputation precedes him, but I never knew the guy.

AGENT MAY

That’s correct. We believe he left something behind after he died, however. Something that could be incredibly beneficial for the Foundation. Have you found anything like that?

[IRENE STAYS SILENT.]

AGENT JUNE

[WHISPERS TO AGENT MAY] I think she’s trying to plead the fifth.

AGENT MAY

We expected such stubbornness. We’re not asking you for this for free, you know. We believe we may also have something that would be beneficial for you.

IRENE

And, what is that, exactly?

AGENT MAY

I’m glad you asked.

[HE'S HEARD HANDING A PAPER TO IRENE. MYSTERIOUS MUSIC BEGINS PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND.]

AGENT MAY

Sometime in July, the same year Rosemary Quinn disappeared, a dusty yellow bicycle was found in the middle of nowhere in Oregon. It appeared to have had a broken piece in the front where a basket was supposed to be attached. It was never brought to the police, so unfortunately, it could never be examined as possible evidence.

AGENT JUNE

Hiker who found it posted about it on Twitter, though. The guy didn’t have many followers, so it never got traction.

AGENT MAY

This photo was taken not too far from Bent. If this is Rosemary’s bicycle, it could mean that we have a possible travel path for her after her disappearance.

[A TENSE PAUSE.]

AGENT JUNE

Oh, that was quite the shift in your expression, Irene. Have we struck a nerve? [MELODRAMATIC] I guess young love tends to leave such sore, open wounds, doesn’t it?

AGENT MAY

If you let us look at whatever it is Mr. Valencia left behind, we can help you find Rosemary Quinn. It may take some time, but we believe we can determine what happened to her. We just need your help.

[THE MUSIC STOPS. THERE'S A LONG PAUSE.]

IRENE

Get out.

[SHE'S HEARD GETTING OUT OF HER CHAIR.]

AGENT JUNE

Wh—hey!

IRENE

[GROWING MORE UPSET] Get out, I said. Get out!

[AS SHE SPEAKS, SHE'S HEARD PHYSICALLY GRABBING THE AGENTS AND PUSHING THEM OUT OF HER HOUSE. WHILE SHE'S AT IT, SHE GRABS THEIR FOLDERS AS WELL, THOUGH ONE PAPER STAYS BEHIND.]

AGENT JUNE

Hey, no, stop! You can't just grab our things like that! Please.

AGENT MAY

[OVERLAPPING, STUTTERING] Hey—!

[BOTH AGENTS STUMBLE OUTSIDE. IRENE IS HEARD THROWING THEIR PAPERS OUT THE DOOR.]

AGENT JUNE

Woah!

AGENT MAY

That's confidential information, you can't keep that in your house—

[SHE CUTS HIM OFF BY SLAMMING THE DOOR. THERE'S A PAUSE AS SHE BEGINS PACING THE FLOOR.]

IRENE

Who the hell do they think they are? Do they think I’m just some sort of—some sort of tool for them to use? Do they think they can dangle Rose over my head like I’m a dog with a bone, all over some—

[SHE PICKS THE PICTURE UP OFF THE TABLE, STOPPING HER PACING]

IRENE

Some picture of a bicycle?

[THERE’S A PAUSE AS IRENE STARES AT THE PHOTO, BEGINNING TO CALM DOWN.]

IRENE

[CAUTIOUS HOPE.] Is this really your bike, Rose? Why would you tear the basket off? You loved that basket. [WANDERING INTO DAYDREAM TERRITORY] You’d put flowers I got you in it and then ride around your block. Said it made you feel like you were in a painting.

[A BEAT.] Maybe I shouldn’t have kicked them—

[THERE’S ANOTHER KNOCK AT THE DOOR. IRENE STORMS BACK OVER TO IT.]

IRENE

[YELLING] I told you to get out! I’m not some stupid—

[SHE OPENS THE DOOR, AND REALIZES IT'S NOT THE AGENTS.]

IRENE

[EMBARRASSED] …dog.

TEEN

Well, I sure hope you’re not.

IRENE

[AWKWARDLY] Um, hi. Sorry, it’s just, someone else was just over and—

TEEN

Those two dudes? Yeah, they didn’t look very happy. That one guy, the one who had his tie undone for some reason, he had to chase one of the papers down the street. It was really funny.

IRENE

You were watching?

TEEN

Well, I didn’t realize you had a line going out your door of people waiting to talk to you.

IRENE

[DEADPAN] I’m new to the famous life.

TEEN

You’ll get used to it, I’m sure.

IRENE

Well, are you here to interview me and talk about my darkest secrets?

TEEN

That would be cool, wouldn’t it?

IRENE

[DISGRUNTLED] Not after the day I’ve had.

TEEN

Well, you see, I’ve actually been dying to meet you. My mom told me about you, said she met you at the store. I don’t know if you remember her, but from what she told me, it sounds like maybe you could use a bit of help.

IRENE

Your m— [IN SHOCKED AWE] Oh my god, are you the meat lady’s kid?

AVERY

Actually, my name is Avery.

Wanna grab lunch sometime?

[PHONE BEEP.]

[RECORDING ENDS.]

AUTOMATED VOICE

Today's quote is: "Most of the people are homesick anyway, and a little lonely, and they hide themselves in their hair and are turned into flowers."

Tove Jansson in Sculptor's Daughter, 1968.

[A PAUSE AS A HOLLOW NOISE BEGINS TO GROW IN THE BACKGROUND, FOLLOWED BY STATIC.]

AUTOMATED VOICE

[SLOWLY, AS IF STRAINED] Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can feel it—

[THE VOICE IS CUT OFF BY STATIC.]

[OUTRO MUSIC & CREDITS PLAY.]

[AN EXTENDED PIANO VERSION OF THE NIGHT POST’S OPENING THEME PLAYS IN THE BACKGROUND.]

NIGHT POST PROMO

Hello there, citizen. You’ve lived in Gilt City for a while now. Maybe you’ve wondered, when you wake in the morning and retrieve the letters tucked neatly into your postbox, just where your mail comes from. It comes from the Night Post, of course. Those faithful couriers deliver it while you’re sleeping--all the better that they stay out of sight, and keep the unseemly strangeness that follows them out of our city, in the Skelter, where it belongs.

Ahem. If, for some reason, you’d like to know more about Gilt City’s conscripted couriers and the burden that chose them, their secret hopes and fears, the ancient, untamed threats that hound them on their nocturnal journeys--you have only to listen. The Night Post is a supernatural audio drama by an all-LGBT team, delivered weekly, in dead of night, to wherever you listen to podcasts.

Find answers at nightpostpod.com.

#heart of ether transcripts

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autismisaokay · 4 years

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As a fair warning this post is a time where I break my NSFW rule because it has to do about my body and health. So as a warning I will be talking about some heavy stuff.

I wasn’t sure when there was going to be a good time to really bring this up. A while back I brought up that I was doing research on trans man. Lately I’ve also been reblogging some trans support and resources. I just got a question asking if I was trans and the answer is, yes I’m a man. More specifically I’m a trans man.

Honestly this whole process has been just that a process and it’s no where near from being done. I’ve been terrified to bring this up for multiple reasons that I can’t even list all here. I was going to wait until I was on T before I started to really choose. However my insurance won’t pay for my HRT until I have a psych eval and I’ve been living as a man (again without T) for 12 months. An people have really started to pick it up irl and it was only a matter of time until people started to figure it out here.

This hasn’t been fun for me and I had to come out twice in the span of three days to my mother. Who says she will not respect my pronouns or my name until I’ve gotten them legally changed and gotten the psych eval. (The fact I also need to do a psych eval in the first place is really degrading to me) She also told me that since I never played with trucks as a kid or didn’t show signs to her that I can’t be trans. She would have accepted me if I had shown the signs early on and she knows trans people and I can’t be one. I tried telling her I was scared and I hid it. She also told me that my grandmother knows and my grandmother asks that I, “Please wait until she dies.” To transition or else this will be the thing that kills her and she doesn’t have long left anyway. My grandmother was my first best friend in the world and I thought would be until the day she died and the family member I was closest to. I’ve also been told by my mother that I’m being selfish and that the rest of my family wouldn’t accept this. Which I told her I understood.

My mom thinks I’m doing this for attention, I got caught up in one of my “phases”, and because it’s a “internet trend.” When I told her this is who I am she said that, “this is who I am” is the buzzword for the trans internet right now and to try again and give her another reason other than that. She also believes being trans is a trend right now. Which is another reason why I was scared to come out here. I know a lot of people are transitioning here and I was horrified of looking like I was doing this for attention or trying to take attention away.

She wants me to go to my endo appointment and an eval and she says she’ll only accept this unless they do because “she has to” at that point. She doesn’t want to do any of this and in order for me to get any respect I have to hold her hand. I understand she’s grieving a child but I feel like my whole family just died and she kinda confirmed they did, metaphorically.

This is my coming out letter I wrote that I got to read the second time I came out that I couldn’t read to her the first time. I think it will help explain what I’ve been going through.

“I’ve been receiving a variety of questions on my appearance and mental health from multiple people. “Why did you change things up?” Or, “What’s been going on with me?” Lately I have had a lot of time to consider seriously what I’ve wanted out of life as well as my identity as a whole. What could make and, in many ways, would make me the happiest. To put it bluntly, I figured out I’m a man. I ask that you please save all questions or comments until the end of what I have said, thank you.

There was this over looming anxiety I couldn’t quite put together throughout the process of figuring this out. There was this “entity” we will call it, I had always put to the side or hid for years. Because in the end I didn’t even really have a discernible answer for it. And if I could keep pushing this to the side, it must not be that big of a deal or even affect me that badly. I would always find, or was, in some sort of distraction to keep from digging any deeper into my identity then I was ready for.

When I discovered I’m autistic for the first time for a while it seemed to solve many of my questions, and I was able to put things to bed for a while. Until those self-reflective questions, feelings, and thoughts on who I am woke up in a panicked scream again a couple of years later. Yet I still tried metaphorically placing a pillow over its head to try and force it all “back to bed.” I repeated this cycle again and again, and each time events in my life would cause those questions and feelings to resurface. Becoming worse and worse each time, until I finally had to sit down and face this.

What are these questions though you are probably asking yourself at this point? They are as follows in no order that I’ve asked myself throughout my life, and yes some even in childhood. Why have I always been so self-conscious about my image? Why did my body feel so disgusting and wrong other than inability to love myself? Why did I feel like I had too much of some parts and too little of others? Why was I angry that my voice would not get any deeper? Why did I imagine myself wearing suits but was too scared to do and say so and pushed it aside? Why did the way I pee not feel right? Why when I drew myself as a boy growing up did it feel so good but so bad enough to hide it? Why did I secretly go on boy’s puberty sites as a teenager and feel like it was a game of connecting the dots when anything matched with the boys? Why were the dreams I had as a boy feel so natural?

It all came to one answer, I am a man.

To be honest, I didn’t understand any of this fully or was able to come to terms with this up until the end of March of this year. I had always been trying to do the best with what I was given, in fact I wanted to. Somethings that are perceived as “girly” by certain people I even enjoy which made things doubly confusing. I thought I was just over blowing things and that for a while being autistic seemed to explain many things, but not everything. Or that I had penis envy, or I didn’t think highly enough of girls and that made me bad. More than anything I was afraid to come to these realizations in fear of what people would think or what would happen. Or that it would be dismissed away, which really scared me. To figure out something as immense as this and not be able to maybe finally be more comfortable and know myself better. That terrified me.

Due to the misunderstandings of trans individuals I feared I would be thought of as a pervert. I even came to think that I was one for being this way. I feared being thought of as incompetent to decide this for myself due to being autistic. A pulsating fiery raging scream stayed buried deep in the pit of my stomach from these thoughts.I started to experiment, to be more certain of coming to terms with this.

I did research and made things like a starter packer. Which are socks bunched together to make a bulge shape like a penis and testes to wear. This gave me enough euphoria to know I wanted more. So, I bought myself a packer (a silicone prosthetic) and something called a STP (Stand To Pee device). Which gave me so much euphoria I cried the first time I used my STP because it felt so right. At that time, I was speaking with Julia (therapist) to help sort me through this journey since around late March early April. I went on to buy men’s pants and undergarments and cut off all my hair and bought a binder. (Safely compresses my breasts) In addition, I also chose my name and came out to some friends who accepted me and used my correct pronouns. With Julia’s aid she also advised me the biggest thing I could do right now is speak with the community. So, I did and since then I’ve found an online support group and a local support group that I’ve been going to meetings for. It’s helped me place myself and instead of feeling like I didn’t belong I felt like things made more sense in many regards.

I still have many other fears and adversities I will continue to face while living as my true self. One of the things that has really challenged me is that I feel like my words do not have any bearing anymore advocating for autistic people who identify as girls. Now that I’m coming out as a man. As much as I know I’m a man I feel like I’m a bad person for identifying this way since there’s so much stuff out there saying that men are toxic, trash, and unfeeling. And I’m trying to learn how to best be a good and responsible man in this world.

The real me has always been out there and I’d like to be able to live my life the way I was meant to. As a man and on my way to medically transitioning. I am saying all of this because I care, and I want to be able to finally get this out of my system and help elevate this confusion to the best of my ability.

My name is Ren Jason P***, I’m your son, big brother, grandson, friend, colleague, classmate, autistic advocate, and fellow human being. Please don’t turn away the little boy and man, who shouldn’t be dictated by a body he didn’t ask for.

As Princess BubbleGum says:

“People get built different.”

“We don’t need to figure it out. We just need to respect it.” “

#actuallyautistic #actually autistic #autism #autistic #trans #transgender #trans man #trans guy #trans dude #ftm #personal #private parts #trigger #trigger warning

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old-primavera-cerezos · 3 years

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top 5 of 2020

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 (ish) favourite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

thank you @rockmarina @the-starryknight @onbeinganangel and @prolix- for the tags! I kept forgetting to actually do this, but here it is :)

first I’d like to say I am really proud of myself for 2020. I published 14 fics for a total of 26k words, which is a big jump from 2019′s 5 fics. I’m stoked to keep going and growing.

in no particular order:

like this and like this: my first finished fest fic! also by far my most popular fic. also ALSO the first time I commissioned art from my own fic - the ridiculously talented @zigster-ao3 captured my favorite scene perfectly.

apple juice and peach: I heard the dodie song and knew I had to give it to linny. I put so, so much of myself into this little ficlet. all those scared, confused denial feelings, the loneliness Ginny feels--that’s straight from baby Seth’s heart. shoutout to @kittycargo for enabling me (though let’s be real, that could be said for almost any fic on this list <3)

growing: this was accidentally the second fic I titled ‘growing’ because I couldn’t think of anything else. it’s my least popular fic of 2020, but I really like it still. I love the idea of Draco finding his deficits after the war and learning new things. I also really like masculine Draco and this was definitely written in response to seeing a ton of femme-sub-bottom Draco. (:

kiss me in the doorway: this was my favorite of the year. I loved exploring this new relationship sweetness. the song that the title came from is one of my all-time favorites (make out by Julia Nunes); the feelings came from my own relationship. also--I had this like 80% written and wasn’t happy with it, so I started over and took a risk with the past/present/past/present narrative. I’m proud of myself for that.

home is where the nifflers are: what a fun little adventure this was! I was doing a drabble raffle and my partner submitted a prompt because they have always wanted me to put a niffler in a fic. when I did the random number generator and they won, I decided to go all-out and stuff all their favorite elements into the drabble. then the drabble became a ficlet...then it moved into oneshot territory... but it was really fun to research all the magical creatures and think of names and personalities for them. :) plus I loved making the creature guide!

whew! what a year it’s been. I can’t think of anyone to tag, but if you’re a creator and seeing this, please do it and tag me! I’d love to see some other lesser-known writers/artists like myself <3 :)

#top 5 #self rec #drarry #linny #i was tagged

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jayjaysocks · 4 years

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Listing my favorite animes (because I’m jumping on the bandwagon)

❗️⚠️ *spoilers!! (Duh)* ❗️⚠️

5. Deadman Wonderland

I was really really sad when I found out this anime got cancelled. The music was fantastic, the animation was really good, and the voice acting was incredible. Even the fucking dubbed version (I loved the voice they chose for Senji. God he was hilarious). I binged this show so fucking fast it wasn’t even funny. I loved watching the characters go through their own struggles and grow as people in the very small amount of episodes provided. There was a lot of development within the snippet that we actually saw, and I was thoroughly impressed with how well it was done. I wanted to scream or something when I found out there wouldn’t be a second season.

Sigh. Oh well. At least we got some of the manga’s masterpiece translated into a show, even if we were missing some fucking awesome characters.

4. Guilty Crown

Ugh, don’t even get me started. This anime was beautiful and I got so invested so freaking quickly. I literally go back every few years to rewatch it because I get ship starved.

Shu and Inori’s story was so beautifully done; between Shu uncovering his courage and Inori’s journey of self-discovery, I was continuously awe-struck and filled with feelings—I mean, I had never felt such raw emotion while watching something and I was completely blown away by the affect it had on me. Anger, hatred, sadness, it was all there (even for the main character lmao) and it was one of the first times I had ever felt a ship so heavily that I literally cried at the end. It was one of the very first Animes I’d ever seen and was one of the reasons I got such a taste for them. Thanks for throwing me down that rabbit hole, GC.

3. Soul Eater

This was literally the first Anime I’d ever seen, and my god I couldn’t have asked for a better starter. What I like about this one is that it’s style is so unique and different. It’s very punk and grunge, something I admired and appreciated in a genre that is normally the opposite (like Guilty Crown, for example). Also the fight scenes were badass, like holy shit just look at that gif ??? Freaking amazing.

I loved the way the show transitioned from light hearted to intense and adrenaline pumping so effortlessly. That can be said about a lot of shows, but this one went from *haha cute show* to *holy shit, like they’re actually gonna die ohmygod howaretheygoingtosurvivethis* so smoothly I was genuinely surprised. They made one of the main villains actually cool and each character had their own beautifully done arc. I loved and adored how the show solidified and expanded on the different friendships/relationships that were involved—specifically Soul and Maka’s (also, holy shit, Stein’s arc? Fucking prime, dude). There was a lot of growth in each and every friendship (CRONA!!!), and that really pushed the viewer to invest in the individual characters.

I am fucking delighted that this was my first anime, and (though the ending was a little anticlimactic) it remains one of my top favorites to this day. It set the bar pretty fucking high, and for that I am extremely greatful.

No one asked for Soul Eater: Not! It is the unspoken sin of the Soul Eater world (then again, it is called Soul Eater: Not!)

2. Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood

If you have been following me for a while, then you are no stranger to my love of FMAB. Some of my most popular posts are about this anime, and for good reason.

Unfortunately, I was late to the party. I actually didn’t watch this until last year, but got invested really damn quick. I have a tendency to be extremely picky about the animes that I watch/like (which is why NONE of these shows are that recent), to the point that I will literally research them before I start watching (a bad habit, do not copy me). I have an incomparably hard time finishing a show when I start, because I get bored really quickly, but this was an exception. I started watching and I just... didn’t stop. I spent a straight week watching FMAB, gobbling it up during any small amount free time I could manage, and finished it before I even knew what happened. I wasn’t picky about it, I didn’t research it, I just dove right in and gosh, I was not disappointed.

The subtle romance that was alluded throughout the entire show was super cute, the devotion the brothers had for each other was to die for, and the struggles that each person went through was more than moving. I never once found myself bored while watching, and that’s saying a lot for my adhd ass. I was invested in each and every second of that damn anime and I was never, ever left underwhelmed. That probably had to do with the fact that every. Single. Character. Had a purpose. I’m not even kidding. Every single person contributed to the big fight at the end and that alone is fucking fantastic.

Not to mention ALL the women, every female character, was a badass bitch. None of them were reduced to sex appeal or romantic subplot, they all had real feelings, real arcs and real, unadulterated badassery that I thoroughly admired and appreciated. I could watch this anime over and over again every single month and I wouldn’t get bored. Between the emotional struggle, self discovery, and personal development of each character, I promise you will not see a lack of plot or meaning here. The more you watch, the more you discover and that is not a lie. There are so many layers to its story, which only makes me wish I had watched this sooner.

There is nothing I have to offer in the ways of criticism, and for that I couldn’t be happier. Thank you, Hiromu Arakawa, for such an incredible piece of art. You deserve every bit of love that this manga/anime gets. You go girl.

1. Cowboy Bepop

Holy shit holy shit holy shit this anime is so fucking good and it has been my favorite for so damn long. I have been watching anime for years, and while some of the shows in my list have moved around, this one has yet to be bumped down from the top (and I doubt it ever will). There’s a reason it became such a cult classic.

For starters, the animation. I mean, just look at Spike and the way they animate his fighting (yes I am aware that this gif is from the movie, but that still doesn’t change my point). The sequences in the show/film have been reused in many other shows and for good reason. It’s good, incredible, actually and they make him look so badass with just a few hand movements. I was consistently impressed with the way the fight scenes were portrayed and wasn’t ever left underwhelmed or disappointed (or, for that matter, feeling like they completely over exaggerated/overcompensated the scene with huge close-ups and tons of debris and lights). I loved watching this and my heart was always pounding with every intense interaction. I didn’t feel bored during any of the episodes and always found myself laughing when they cracked a joke—pretty much all of their funny lines hit and that’s saying something, dude.

The show, while having a lighthearted surface, has a heavy meaning that you don’t see at first glance. It’s about dealing with grief and loss, and how the characters themselves accomplished that in different ways. The most prominent quote is the biggest indication of its moral “you’re gonna carry that weight”. Basically: ‘You’ve gotta pick up your baggage, because the world moves on, with or without you’. Or ‘You’re going to carry that weight whether you like it or not, because life keeps going’. When I figured out the show’s actual message, while staring at my ceiling in the long hours of the night, I almost cried. This realization brought something entirely different to the table, a new understanding of the show’s characters and overall essence.

The main characters, all of them, had depth. They had real, palpable depth, and even if you didn’t want to care you found yourself seriously interested in their lives. Each of them had relatively shitty pasts. Faye with her lost memories, Spike with Julia and the people who fucked him over, Jet with his old flame and the ISSP, Ed and her/his father... throughout the entire show we got to see how all of them dealt with these things, whether they wanted to continue on with life or not. The way they portrayed it was engaging, because the characters individual, contrasting journeys weren’t repetitive or one note. The beauty that the show holds so achinging close to its core, the layers of grief that the characters are wrapped in so delicately is almost suffocatingly real—because they’re all different. It’s something you discover when you think on the subject in a deeper light, which is another reason why I enjoy it so much. It has both a surface story and a deeper one. You can either take the show at face value or choose to understand the underlying moral.

This show inspired my very first, thoroughly fleshed out OC, and continues to inspire me to this day. It has contributed to my own personal growth, and has helped push me to continue my art and writing. It is beautifully written, beautifully executed and even though some of the episodes seem like filler, it has never disappointed me. I rewatch it all the time because there’s something so infinitely refreshing about the beauty of this anime, whether it be the way we watch the characters develop or the overall moral it portrays. This show has given us a message that is essentially timeless, it can be ‘carried’ through generation after generation, and still have the same impact—something I absolutely fucking adore.

I owe so much to this anime, including my very own artistic development. I discovered it during a really shitty time in my life and I couldn’t have asked for better timing. I will never tire of the bittersweet message or the thoroughly fucking fantastic animation. Everyone who contributed to this masterpiece deserves love, because it’s seriously fucking gold.

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