#I can’t believe this is really been 15 years waiting

[darkvioletwonderland]

Zack and Cody can finally eat in the best Italian restaurant

[scuderiahoney]

Stick Around

Oscar Piastri x bestfriend!reader

Masterlist

Summary: You’ve been searching for your soulmate your whole life. Maybe you’ve just been looking in the wrong place.

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: alcohol/intoxication, cheating/infidelity (not by a main character I promise) mild swearing, excessive use of italics

|Age 20|

“You can’t seriously still be reading that stuff,” Oscar says.

You peer at him over the top of your magazine.

“What stuff?” You ask, playing innocent.

“Your horoscope,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Haven’t you outgrown that yet?”

You shrug, directing your gaze back to the page in front of you. Today, you should avoid the color pink and embrace your skepticism. Oscar’s doing enough of the last part for the both of you. You could gain a great deal of information from social interactions. That’s helpful- you’ve been in search of some gossip. Your soulmate is just a click away- wait, no, that’s an ad. You huff and set the magazine down on the table. Oscar nods in agreement.

“I just think maybe it’s better to live your life without worrying about what the stars say,” Oscar says, waving his hands around in a way that you think is supposed to represent the stars. “Just, like… do what you want to do.”

“I do,” you mutter dryly. “Doesn’t hurt to have some advice, though.”

The two of you have always been like this. Oscar is a skeptic, you’re a believer. He calls it being easy to brainwash, says it in a teasing way that makes you glare at him every time. He’s taken it as his responsibility to keep you from falling for things. You’ve told him time and time again that you’re fine on your own. You just like the idea of predestiny, that what’s going to happen was always meant to.

Oscar is just worried you’ll join the first cult you cross paths with.

|Age 5|

It’s the day after you turn 5 when you first hear the word soulmate. Sol-meight. You sound it out through your lips, sticky with jam from your breakfast. Your best friend at the time, a girl whose name you’ve long since forgotten, had said it.

“S’when you’re meant to be,” she explains, in that all knowing tone that only little kids who know nothing at all seem to have. “Like, my mum and dad say they’re soulmates.”

Oscar, who’s sitting next to you, scoffs. “Everyone’s parents say that. Doesn’t mean it’s true.”

He’s taller than you, even sitting down, hair cut short after one of his sisters stuck gum in it a few days ago. His cheeks are rosy red, and there’s cream cheese on his nose. Years later, Oscar’s face will be one of the first ones you ever remember meeting. Right now, he’s just the boy in your class whose mother knows your mother, and because of that, he’s the boy who rides to school with you in the backseat. He’s not the worst, you guess. He’s… okay. Sort of just… always there.

“Is too!” Your friend says, shaking her head, pigtails bouncing. “Mum says there’s signs.”

“What kinda signs?” You ask, and Oscar turns to look at you in disbelief.

She shrugs. “Dunno. I’ll ask later.”

She comes back to the breakfast table the next day with a magazine page, torn haphazardly and slightly crumpled. On it is a list of signs someone could be your soulmate. The two of you pore over the page at every available opportunity for at least a week, barely able to read all the words.

Your friend forgets about soulmates a month later and moves on to an obsession with Barbie dolls. You carry the magazine page with you for years after that, until it’s worn and falling apart. Then you copy down the list into a safer place, worried you’ll lose it forever. 15 Signs He’s Your Soulmate, written with magic marker on pink construction paper and stowed away in your desk.

|Age 10|

“I hate olives,” you sneer, staring at the very last slice of pizza.

It’s a birthday party. You can’t for the life of you understand why there’s pizza with olives on it. Olives don’t belong on pizza- not much does, in your opinion. Just pepperoni, really. Maybe a sprinkle of Parmesan cheese, if you’re feeling fancy.

Katy, one of your classmates, is standing next to you. “I love olives. Here, I’ll pick them off for you and you can have the last slice.”

The pizza still tastes a bit like olives in the end, probably baked into the cheese, but it’s better than it would’ve been. Katy is your best friend after that. The two of you are inseparable from the moment you get to school until the moment you leave. You beg your mothers for sleepovers on the weekends, for day trips during holiday breaks. YouandKaty. Your names melt together until they become one.

Oscar still rides to school with you in the morning. Sometimes, Katy does too. Katy doesn’t like Oscar. She doesn’t like most boys, calls them gross. Since Katy thinks boys are gross, you do too.

“Be nice to Oscar,” your mother tells you one morning. “He’s not done anything to you.”

You’re in the backseat of the car, on the way to his house. “He’s a boy. Boys are gross.”

Your mother sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose. She says your name sternly, and you shrink in your seat. When Oscar gets in, you say hello and force a smile.

Oscar’s the one who finds you crying on the playground. You thought you’d chosen a better hiding place, really- nobody had bugged you in your spot between the two large myrtle trees. But Oscar finds you anyways. You can’t even bring yourself to tell him to go away, too busy feeling sorry for yourself.

“Wha’s wrong?” He asks.

His cheeks are red- he’s likely been running around with the other boys. You shrug, pulling up another clump of grass and letting it fall from your fingers. Oscar sighs, scuffs his toe in the dirt.

“Katy doesn’t wanna be friends anymore,” you say, rubbing at your bare knee. “She says I’m not cool enough.”

Katy likes olives. You don’t. It’s on the soulmate list. You’re meant to be best friends.

Oscar’s quiet for a moment. Then- “That’s stupid. You’re like, the coolest person I know.”

You look up at him with wide eyes. “Shut up.”

“M’serious,” he says. He holds his hand out to you. “Wanna come play cricket with the gross boys?”

You take his hand, wipe your tears with your other hand. “Yeah. I do.”

|Age 12|

“Are you and Dad soulmates?” You ask your mother one morning, before you even leave the house.

She’s standing at the counter, a piece of toast in her hand, half eaten. Her coffee is half drank, too.

She tilts her head at you. “What do you mean, love?”

“Like, when you met, did you just know he was the one? Did it feel meant to be?”

She laughs. “Oh, god no. We were polar opposites. Barely spoke to each other for the first year after we met.”

You stare at her in surprise. “What changed?”

She sighs, wistfully, staring into her mug. “He asked me if I wanted an orange. I said yes. And when he handed it to me, he’d peeled it for me.”

You blink. “Because you hate peeling oranges.”

“I do,” she agrees. “Love isn’t just a feeling, it’s an action. I think love is more about the choices we make and the things we remember about each other than whatever is written in the stars, honey.”

|Age 15|

There’s a boy on the football team- Ryan. Ryan has dark, curly hair and long, long eyelashes and this smile that makes your heart melt and your brain all fuzzy. Ryan doesn’t like olives, either, but he has a birthmark on the back of his right hand in the shape of a lopsided heart, and if you squint hard enough, you have one that matches on the back of your left arm. You stare at in the mirror for hours after he points it out, his hand on your arm.

You stare at your lips in the mirror for hours, too, after he kisses you for the first time. You think maybe you look different. You must. You’d never been kissed before, but Ryan hadn’t minded.

You go on group dates with him, because you’re nervous and your parents think you’re a bit too young to really be dating. You go to the mall, the movies, the diner down the street from the school. It’s your first taste of freedom.

Oscar asks you if you really like Ryan, like- “like like him?”, one day when you’re sitting in his backyard. Your mothers are inside, drinking wine. His sisters are in the pool, you’re laying out in the sun. Oscar sits under an umbrella and squints at the brightness of the world around him.

“Yeah,” you say, in the same tone you’d say duh or of course. “I think he’s my soulmate.”

“Why’s that?” Oscar asks tilting his head.

“We have matching birthmarks,” you say, again, in the same tone.

Oscar forms his mouth into a little o shape. You squint at him, pushing yourself to sit up.

“Why’re you so worried about it, anyways?”

“M’not,” Oscar says, crossing his leg over his knee. “S’just. He’s kind of an arse, isn’t he?”

He whispers the curse word so his sisters won’t hear. Oscar’s big into karting and racing right now, and the older boys at the tracks swear like sailors. There’s a swear jar stuffed to the brim sitting on the kitchen counter inside, right next to the half empty wine bottle.

Ryan is a bit of an arse, you’ll admit. To almost everyone.

“He’s nice to me,” you shrug. “He brought me flowers, yesterday. Isn’t that what matters?”

Oscar shrugs. He doesn’t ask about Ryan again.

Oscar is the one who brings you flowers when Ryan cheats on you and the other girl tells the whole school. He brings them to your bedroom door and you let him in. He sits with you, even as you cry, the door open the parentally required six inches. He doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t tell you he warned you. He just stays.

When Oscar moves to England, you wave goodbye with a smile. Then you lock yourself in your room and bawl your eyes out for a week straight, harder than you ever did about Ryan.

|Age 18|

Your university roommate, Emma, was born on the same day as you, at the exact same time. Down to the minute. You find it out on your second day of living together. It’s fate, kismet, meant to be. The stars and planets were aligned exactly the same way when you both took your first breaths.

Oscar laughs when you tell him, though he does admit that it’s a pretty cool coincidence. You’re chatting with him on the phone, telling him about your first week of university. You talk a lot, despite the distance. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, or whatever.

You and Emma aren’t in any classes together- you have completely different majors. Despite this, you still become fast friends. You study together in your room and in the library, meet up for meals, and join a book club together. When Emma gets invited to her very first uni party, she brings you along with her. Your closets become shared.

You visit her family over the winter break for a week. She lives closer to the beach, and you love getting to soak up the sun with her and meet all the childhood friends you’ve heard stories about. Oscar comes home for his break and texts you, wondering when you’ll be back and if you’ll even have time for me, or are you too cool for me now?

You tackle him with a hug when you see him, standing at the kitchen counter in your house when you get there. He’s laughing and pushing you off of him, acting like he didn’t miss you just as much. You know he did. It’s written all over the smile on his face.

Emma visits your family later in the break, and that’s when you have your first fight.

“He’s definitely in love with you,” she insists from her spot on the air mattress on your floor.

She’s talking about Oscar, who she just met today. You’d brought her with to a barbecue at his family’s house. You’re regretting that choice. She’s spent all night afterwards pointing out all the signs that he’s in love with you- his hand on your shoulder, the look in his eyes, the way he smiled at you.

“He’s not,” you say, cheeks burning hot. “He’s- we’re friends.”

“Friends, right. Guys and girls can’t be just friends,” she says.

“Yes, they can!” You say indignantly.

Emma ignores you, rolls over, and goes to sleep. She leaves for home the next day- not earlier than she was supposed to, but it feels weird anyways. When you get back to campus, things feel different. You never really talk about the fight, though there wasn’t much to talk about, anyways. It’s not like she’s mean to you- the two of you still hang out, still see each other often. But Emma makes new friends, and you do too, and you stop doing everything together. It’s alright, you suppose, it’s just…

You were supposed to be destined to be friends. But soulmates shouldn’t be this easy to let go of. It’s written in the stars, it’s shouldn’t fade away like this.

Months ago, you and Emma had talked about spending the holiday break somewhere far away- somewhere tropical, exotic, so grown up and chic. But it hasn’t come up lately, and then she mentions a trip she’s taking with some friends from her classes. You book a flight to England instead and see Oscar in his new home for the first time.

You have new roommates next year. None of them have the same birthdate as you. You think that’s okay.

|Age 21|

There’s a stain on your dress, someone’s wine or sangria or cranberry juice that they’d been too clumsy with. You suppose it could be yours- you’re really not sure. It’s your fault for wearing such a light color to a club like this.

It’s your birthday. You’ve been able to drink for a few years, but it’s still your birthday, and for once, Oscar is there for it. Or really, you’re there for it, there being England. You’re on yet another trip to visit him, money saved and scraped together from your job on your breaks from school. Oscar helped pay for the plane ticket as a birthday present, and your parents got you a new luggage set to take along.

Oscar’s disappeared- at the bar, you remember, closing out his tab. You check your phone- 2:22 am. It’s really time you should be headed home-

You’re jostled from behind, and moments later, you feel cool liquid deep down your back. You turn, and there’s a guy standing there, sandy blonde hair and a terrified look on his face.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, British accent smoothing the words over. “I didn’t mean to-“

“S’okay,” you tell him, though you wrinkle your nose at the feeling of what was likely beer running down your back. “The dress was stained already.”

The man sighs. “It’s not okay- let me make it up to you. Can I buy you a drink?”

You frown. “I think I’m supposed to be leaving. My friend just went to pay.”

“Oh. That’s too bad.” The guy’s eyes light up, then. “Wait, how about I take you on a date?”

Your heart skips a beat in your chest. 2:22, you remember. Angel numbers. You are in the right place at the right time.

“I’m only here for a couple more days,” you say, cautiously.

“I’m free tomorrow if you are,” he suggest. “Well, more like later today, but-“

“Yeah, okay!” You’d at brightly, and hopefully not too eagerly. “I’m free.”

He’s holding out his phone for you to put your number in when Oscar pops up. He looks between the two of you with raised brows. “Everything alright?”

“He’s taking me on a date later today,” you explain, tapping the last number. “Because he spilled beer on my dress. Can you check if I put my number in right? My fingers aren’t working right.”

Oscar laughs, leans forward, and nods. “That’s right.”

You don’t remember getting back to Oscar’s apartment. You barely even remember the guy from the bar until Oscar brings it up that morning, a teasing tone in his voice. Suddenly you’re checking your phone every minute, looking for a text from him. You name him Angel Boy, mentioning the angel numbers you’d seen just before you bumped into him. Oscar, well versed in your obsession with things that are just meant to be, rolls his eyes affectionately.

When the sun is trending towards the horizon and Angel Boy still hasn’t called or even texted you, your mood sours. You plant yourself on the couch, an episode of some stupid reality show playing. You’re not paying attention, only staring at your phone.

By the time 7:00 rolls around, you know it’s a lost cause. You can hear Oscar in the other room, shuffling around, and you feel tears well up in your eyes. There’s got to be someone out there who’s actually meant to be yours, right? One of these times the signs will be right, and it’ll all work out. It’s just… you’re getting discouraged.

Oscar appears in front of you and slips your phone out of your hands. He shoves it into his own pocket. He hands you a jacket, one of his, and you stare up at him with wide eyes.

“I’m taking you out to dinner,” he says, as he reaches to brush the tears from your cheeks. “Just because he’s not going to text you, doesn’t mean you should just sit here all night.”

You could cry even harder at that, at the fact that Oscar cares enough to try and break you out of your moping. You don’t really want to go out, but he has this hopeful look on his face. Both of you don’t need to be sad today. So you stand up, pull the jacket over your arms, and take a deep breath. You walk out of the apartment, your arm linked with his.

The ramen bar you go to is probably better than anywhere the guy would’ve taken you, anyways. If you’re being honest, the company is better, too.

|Age 22|

Oscar flies you out to the Netherlands to see him race. You’d been at the Melbourne Grand Prix, of course, but he’d insisted he’d fly you out for at least one race in his first season- promised it years ago, when Formula One was just a dream on his bucket list. Zandvoort works well- it fits into your schedule, and the summer break starts right afterwards, so he’ll actually have time to spend with you.

In the days leading up to the race, he’s extremely busy and extremely apologetic about it. You reassure him that you understand, that you knew what you were getting into, knew he’d be busy. You wander around the paddock, say hi to Logan- who you know only slightly better than all the other drivers- and keep yourself entertained. You spend time with Oscar when you get the chance- between interviews and practices, stolen moments of privacy in his driver’s room. It’s nice, it really is, but it’s also… weird.

You’ve been thinking a lot, lately, about what your mother once said about soulmates and love. For all the soul searching you’ve done, all the stars you’ve tried to read, you’ve come up empty. You’ve resigned yourself to the fact that maybe there’s just not anyone out there for you. Maybe you’re not meant to have a soulmate.

The thing about letting go of that pressure, though, is that it leaves space. Not a hole, not an emptiness, just… space. Room for other things to sneak in and make their home and grow. Somewhere along the lines- you don’t know when, maybe it’s been there all along- a seed had been planted. Now the roots are digging cracks in your heart, the leaves are shading out every other thought, and there are flowers blooming.

For months, now, your heart has been jumping in your chest every time Oscar texts you. You can’t wipe the grin off your face when he calls. You’ve been following every race, waking up at odd hours to cheer him on, sending him selfies with the tv to prove it to him, to make sure he knows you’re watching. You feel a little crazy, because suddenly he’s all you can think about.

Maybe love is about choices. You start making them, start choosing him. The only question now is if he’ll choose you, too.

The whole weekend is chaos. Oscar crashes in practice, sending himself and your heart spinning. He’s okay, thank god- though his mother texts you frantically, asking if he’s really okay. Then the race itself is even more chaotic, between the rain and the crashes and all the stuff in between. Oscar ends up in the points, though not as high as he’d hoped to be. You cheer for him either way.

You stick around the paddock all the way through his debrief, even when he tries to say you can head back to the hotel without him. Eventually, you leave with him and Lando, his arm around your shoulders the whole way to the car that’s waiting. It’s nice. He’s warm. Lando is making small talk, trying to get to know his teammates best friend, the one Oscar never shuts up about. You feel your face grow hot and hope Oscar doesn’t notice.

In the hotel lobby, Oscar makes a stop at the complimentary snack bar. Lando says something about Kim, his trainer, getting after him, which Oscar ignores. The three of you ride up together in the elevator, with Lando demanding most of your attention as he begs for stories about Oscar as a kid. Oscar’s quiet- you wonder if the weekend is weighing on him more than he’d previously let on.

You say goodnight to Lando and then Oscar scans you into the hotel room. Two beds, a couch, and a balcony that the two of you had eaten breakfast on that morning. You walk over to your bed and sit on the edge, flopping down onto your back.

Something lands on your stomach, softly. You look down, and your throat suddenly feels tight. It’s an orange. It’s a peeled orange. Oscar is standing at the window, pulling the curtains closed. His back is to you.

You blink, picking it up delicately. “You peeled it for me.”

“You hate peeling them,” he says. It’s very matter of fact. The same tone he’d use to say duh or of course.

You stare at his silhouette, the slope of his shoulders, the soft puff of his hair. You sit up, stomach turning. Suddenly, you need to be close to him. You stand up, orange in hand, pulling one of the pieces from it. You hold it lightly between your fingertips. Love is an action.

You hold it out to him. He takes it, smiles down at you.

“I love you, you know that?” You say, before you lose the courage.

“Yeah, I love you too,” he says, giving you a goofy look.

“No, like-“ you pause. Maybe you shouldn’t do this. Maybe you should just-

But it’s too late, because a wave of understanding washes over his face. His eyes go wide, lips parting. His hand pauses halfway to his mouth, the orange slice still in his fingers.

“Oh,” he says, voice cracking. His face splits into a grin. “Jeez, took you long enough to catch up, didn’t it?”

When he drops the orange slice on the floor so he can grab your face and kiss you, you’re somehow still so startled that you also drop the rest of the orange. That’s okay, though. He’ll peel another one for you without you even having to ask. Stars light up behind your eyes at the feeling of his lips on yours, and you realize then that maybe soulmates are just the people who choose to stick around.

…..

Deep in your desk in your childhood home, there’s a piece of paper. It’s been unfolded and refolded a million times. At the top, the title says, 15 Signs He’s Your Soulmate in messy, primary school handwriting. You pull it from your drawer and uncap the gel pen that sits in the cup on the desk.

At the bottom of the list, beneath your faded magic marker scrawl, you add:

#16: He peels your oranges.

#16: childhood best friend??

#16: YOU JUST KNOW

little bit of a different format for this one. as always, feel free to check out my other fics and tell me what you think!

[waitimcomingtoo]

Broke His Heart Cause He Was Nice

Pairing: Peeta Mellark x Reader

Synopsis: the games are over now and Peeta finds out your relationship was all an act

Masterlist

It was the day you were finally set to arrive back home in District 12 after completing your victory tour for winning the games. You’d been anxiously waiting for this day and wanting nothing more than to trade the makeup and tight dresses for your boots and own bed. The train was running late, ironic considering how fast it was, and you were too anxious to sit still. You noticed a pathway near the train platform and longed to be alone with your thoughts in nature.

“I’m gonna take a walk while we wait for the train.” You announced. Effie sighed and shut her compact mirror before looking at you.

“I suppose that’s all right. But don’t go too far. We board in 15 minutes.” She reminded you. You nodded and started to walk away when Peeta stood up.

“Can I come with you?” He asked. You gulped and forced a smile before nodding your head.

“Always.” You told him. He smiled back and walked beside you as you headed down the walkway together. Your hand bumped against Peeta’s as you looked up at the trees around you. As soon as he slipped his hand into yours, you felt tremendous guilt fill your stomach. You were yet to address the nature of your relationship now that the games were over. You had blurred the lines so much between faking a relationship for the camera and navigating your true feelings for Peeta that you had no idea where you stood now. Peeta saw the uneasy look on your face and let go of your hand to walk ahead. He picked some flowers for you and handed you the bouquet he had arranged.

“For you.” He blushed as he presented them to you.

“Oh.” You smiled in surprise. “Thank you.”

Peeta returned the smile before continuing to walk down the pathway. You watched him as he walked, feeling like the distance between you was matching the distance you felt inside.

“I can’t believe we’re actually going to be back in District 12 tomorrow. I really didn’t think we’d ever see it again.” Peeta said as he continued to stroll along the flowerbeds.

“Neither did I.” You admitted, making Peeta stop. He turned around and looked at you for a long time, making you uncomfortable in the silence.

“What do we do once we get back?” He asked as he earnestly stared into your eyes. He looked just as lost as you were and you wished you could give him some answers.

“I guess we try to forget.” You answered, making Peeta’s eyes soften.

“I don’t want to forget.” He said quietly. You stared into his eyes as you guilt built up and up until it threatened to spill out your throat. Before you could say anything more, you heard a voice behind you.

“Hey. There you two are.” Haymitch said as he approached. “You guys should be proud of yourselves. I’ve seen a lot of victory tours but I haven’t heard crowds cheer like that in years. You really sold the whole star-crossed lovers who survived with the power of love thing. Especially you, sweetheart. Keep it up exactly the way you were playing it.”

“Thanks.” You said immediately as your entire face burned in embarrassment. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Peeta’s look of confusion. Haymitch had no idea what he had just done and was too drunk to realize it. He patted your shoulder with a drunken smile and stumbled back to the train.

“What’s he talking about?” Peeta asked as soon as you were alone. You opened your mouth to answer him but found yourself speechless. You knew this moment would come eventually, you just didn’t think it’d happen before you even got a chance to go home.

“What was he talking about? What are you keeping up?” Peeta asked again when you took too long to answer. You looked into Peeta’s eyes and stumbled over a few broken sentences as tears filled your eyes. You didn’t even know why you were crying, you just felt full of emotion over the fact that you knew Peeta’s world was about to shatter. You had grown an immense fondness, even love, for him since the start of all of this and you knew he was about to hate you. Before you could confess the truth, Peeta put it all together. He took a step back from you as his hand went over his mouth.

“Oh my God. It was all an act, wasn’t it?”

Peeta whispered. “The way you behaved in the games wasn’t real. Waking me up with kisses, feeding me, hugging me so tight I could barely breathe. You were just pretending, weren’t you? You did it all for the cameras.”

“Not all of it. Some things were real.” You promised him. “But Haymitch and I knew that if I played up the romance, we’d get more sponsees. And it worked. We did.”

“You and Haymitch had a plan? And you didn’t tell me?” Peeta shouted. He was usually so soft spoken that hearing him yell made you stumbled back in surprise.

“We never officially made a plan.” You tried to explain. “But after I kissed you and we were sent food, I realized that Haymitch was telling me that that’s what we had to do to get sponsors. So I kept doing it. And we kept getting sponsors.”

“I should’ve known.” Peeta shook his head. “I should’ve known you didn’t just happen to fall in love with me.”

“Peeta.” You said tearily as you watched his heart break. You knew he’d be upset, but this was harder than you thought.

“I knew it was too good to be true. You never actually felt the things I felt. You were just playing a part.” Peter said quietly as he wiped his eyes.

“You’re the one who started the romance plot anyway, remember? Why are you mad that I kept it up?” You folded your arms, angry now that he wasn’t seeing your side of things.

“Because I didn’t know there was something to keep up. I didn’t know you and Haymitch had a secret plan behind my back. I was just dumb enough to believe I could actually trust you. How stupid am I?”

“You’re not stupid, Peeta. And you can trust me. You have to understand that I wanted to tell you about it but I couldn’t. There were cameras everywhere. If I told you, everyone watching would’ve known it wasn’t real. I had to keep the illusion. And that meant keeping it a secret from you too.”

“Wasn’t real.” Peeta laughed sadly. “Illusion?”

Your anger subsided for a moment when you heard the pain in his voice. Your choice of words had just thrown salt in his wounds. You stopped trying to win the argument for a moment and realized that you had a right to be angry, but so did he. You walked over to him and cupped his face to make him look at you.

“Peeta, there were so many times I wanted to draw the curtains closed and block the rest of the world out and just be with you. I swear, I did. But we didn’t have that choice. If things were different and we had gotten together in a normal situation, maybe I’d know where my feelings lie. But I don’t, Peeta. I’m sorry.”

“I thought things were going to be different now. I thought something good had come out of the games.” Peeta said as he stared at the ground.

“Things are different.” You insisted.

“Yeah. They definitely are.” Peeta wiped his face and turned away from you so you couldn’t see him cry.

“How can you be mad at me for this? We were strangers before the game. I wasn’t thinking about romance. I was thinking about saving our lives.”

“I know that. In my heart, I know that. I just can’t get it through my head yet. God, I can’t believe you were acting.” Peeta said and stressfully tugged at his hair.

“I know this is upsetting to hear but I wasn’t trying to deceive you. I thought you were acting too.” You protested. “I assumed you knew we had to play up the romance for sponsors and that’s why you kept kissing me and saying the things you did.”

“No. I didn’t know. I was never pretending.” Peeta snapped, making you raise your eyebrows in surprise. He was never one to be quick to anger, so it surprised you that you were having such a hard time getting him to calm down.

“Putting on the act got us both out, okay? There is no other circumstance where we would’ve both come out alive. This was the only way.”

“I know that. I’m sorry. I just wish I knew sooner.” Peeta sighed and sat down on the ground. You looked at him for a minute before looking around and behind you. You wished there was someone, anyone, to tell you what to do in this situation. You wish you had a script or some cards form Effie telling you what to say. Peeta was just sitting on the ground, staring into space, and you had no idea how to bring him back. No one had ever been mad at you in this way before and you didn’t know what to do. Realizing no one was coming to help, you walked over and sat beside Peeta. You could tell he was trying his hardest not to cry but it wasn’t exactly working in his favor. He turned his face away from you and he quietly sniffled.

“If there was a way I could’ve told you, I would’ve.” You said as you placed a hand on his back. Peeta nodded his head and wiped his face before giving you a sad smile.

“I believe you.” He said. You returned the sad smile and rubbed small circles on his back. Peeta stared off into space again while you stared at him. You let silence sit between you for a long time until you broke it.

“Were you really never pretending?” You asked quietly. You saw his mouth tug into a slight smile as he shook his head.

“Never. I meant every word I said.” Peeta said, sounding almost proud. You smiled a little when you thought of all the kind things he had said about you in the cave and how you now knew they were true.

“How much was fake for you?” Peeta asked, breaking you out of your thoughts. He was looking at you now with those puppy dog eyes of his and it made you feel ten times worse.

“I don’t know, Peeta.” You sighed. “I don’t remember every little detail.”

“I do. What about our first kiss? Real or not real?” He asked with a certain desperation in his voice. You cracked a smile in surprise and looked at him.

“Real. I couldn’t bear listening to you talk about dying, so I kissed you to shut you up.” You told him, making him smile as his face turned red.

“I have a feeling you’re forgiving me.” You chuckled and pointed at him, making his smile drop.

“I’m not.” He cleared his throat. “The kisses when you got the broth the first time. Real or not real.”

“Not real. I’m not really the type to wake someone up with kisses.” You said sheepishly.

“I guess I always kind of knew that about you.” Peeta admitted. “What else was fake?”

“When I asked you about your crush on me when we were in the cave. I was trying to get us to have some kind of grand emotional moment because the kisses weren’t cutting it anymore. I needed to go bigger.” You admitted.

“Oh.” Peeta’s face fell. “You didn’t really want to know?”

“I really wanted food.” You confessed. “And I honestly thought you made that story up because you were hungry too. Did your dad really want to marry my mom?”

“Yeah. And he’s not thrilled I told that story, by the way. Apparently it was really quiet in the bakery that night.” Peeta said, making you genuinely laugh for the first time in a while. Peeta couldn’t help but smile when he heard you laughing but wasn’t done with the questions.

“When you said I didn’t have any competition, real or not real?” Peeta asked a a he looked into your eyes.

“That was real.” You replied, and you meant it.

“What about Gale?” Peeta asked, sounding like he didn’t believe you. You looked Peeta up and down

“He’s not your competition.” You laughed like it was silly, making Peeta smile.

“He’s not?” He asked hopefully.

“He’s basically family. I think if something were to ever happen between us, it would’ve happened already.”

“Hm. Good to know.” Peeta blushed and looked away again.

“Any other questions?” You asked him. “I really do want to make it up to you. I’ll answer anything you want.”

“When you said I walk too loud…” Peeta asked and trailed off.

“Real. Very real. You were so loud I wanted to kill you.”

“We could’ve avoided all this if you had.” Peeta muttered, making you laugh again. Peeta laughed as well and looked at you for a moment.

“Did you try as hard as you did to save my life for the romance plot?” He asked quietly as if fearful of the answer.

“No.” You said immediately. “I did what I did because I couldn’t handle the thought of you dying. I still can’t. I almost broke a steel door down when they separated us after we won. You were the only thing on my mind. That was the moment for me when I realized I wasn’t acting all that much. I love you deeply, Peeta. I know that for certain. I’m just not really sure what kind of love that is yet.”

Peeta looked into your eyes for a while and eventually, he seemed to be satisfied with your response. You knew he understood where you were coming from even if it hurt him to know the truth.

“I’m sure what my love is.” He said after a beat of silence. It wasn’t reproachful, more like a passing thought. He knew what he wanted and he wanted you to know it too.

“Could you wait for me? Until I figure it out?”

“I will.” Peeta nodded, making you smile on relief. He smiled too and the faintest blush crept over his cheeks. He looked out into the distance for a minute and a comfortable silence settled between you. He then turned to you and leaned in for a long, slow kiss. Just in case it was his last time for a while getting to do such a thing. It was your first kiss without a single camera present and you felt that familiar hunger sensation in your chest that left you wanting more. When he pulled away, you wanted him to do it again.

“Are you any closer to figuring it out?” He asked completely serious, making you laugh. You stared into his eyes and truly could not imagine your life without him.

“You know what?” You cracked a smile. “Yeah. I am.”

Tag list 🏷️

@sarcasm-and-stiles

[clockwayswrites]

A Broken Sort of Normal, Part 15

WC 1133, Masterpost

“Danny!”

“Lena, no,” Danny groaned. He let his bag slump off his shoulder as he turned to face them. “Lena. It’s Friday. I have been in meetings for the last three days. I have plans. I am actively leaving the building. Lena. Why are you stopping me, Lena?”

Lena held their tablet up, covering up the lower half of their face. Their dangerously large doe eyes looked over the top of it. “I just have one last thing!”

“Is it an emergency?”

They rolled their eyes. “Do you hear any alarms?”

“If I don’t deal with it until Monday and an emergency happens, are people going to be out of supplies they need to deal with said emergency?”

“No,” Lena huffed.

“Then can it please wait until Monday, Lena? Please? I’m begging you. I don’t want to have to get down on my knees, but I will,” Danny said. “Oh great now more of you are here. Please tell me you don’t all have things you need from me? Why are you smiling like that? If this is a mind control thing just thrown me tied up in my office and let me at least sleep under my desk.”

“You’ve been hanging out with the heroes too much Danny,” Greg said with a laugh from where he leaned on the bright green partition of his cubical. “You’ve picked up on their dramatics.”

“No, I’m just used to the crazy now and this,” he said, motioning to his gathering underlings (HR wouldn’t let him call them minions anymore), “is suspicious.”

“Well if you feel that way, we don’t have to give your gift,” Lena said.

Danny perked up a little. “Gift? Wait, gift?”

Hamid snorted. “Of course he pays attention when gift is mentioned. Danny, someone could catch you with a piece of cake under a cardboard box.”

Danny flapped a hand in Hamid’s direction. “Hush. But why gift? You all don’t have to get me anything.”

“Of course we did!” Lena said. “It’s your one year being the boss man, Boss!”

That made Danny pause. It couldn’t be, could it? Had he really been working as leadership in the Justice League Response Team for a year now? It felt like yesterday still when he had been moving to Central City.

“I think we broke him,” Hamid whispered loudly.

“I just can’t believe it’s been that long,” Danny said honestly.

“Well it has been, so here,” Lena said. They grabbed a tissue wrapped bundle and handed it over.

Danny unwrapped it carefully, aware he was grinning stupidly and not carrying to stop it. It was really sweet of his team. “I couldn’t have made a year without you all.”

“We know,” Greg said, which made Danny laugh.

When the paper was finally discarded, Danny was holding a mug that said ‘You’re the Best Boss’ with the word ‘best’ scratched out. Stuffed inside the mug were floppy Titan figures wrapped with fake bandages. “You’re all jerks, I love it. I’m taking a picture and sending it to the Titans. Nightwing’s little broken leg is inspired.”

“Thank you,” Lena said proudly. They waited for Danny to snap the picture before taking the mug away. “Now you go. I’ll put this on your desk for you.”

“Thank you, really, you’re all the best.”

“We know,” all three of the coursed as Danny headed out the door with a wave.

-

“I can’t believe they broke mini me’s leg!” Dick wined when Danny got back to his and Wally’s department.

“Of course they broken your leg with all the stunts you pull,” Victor said as he flicked the cap off a beer with his thumb. “Wait, that sounded wrong. It’s not like those were voodoo dolls or anything. Right…?”

Danny laughed hung up his work bag and keys on the hooks by the door. “Greg is right, you’re all paranoid and I’m around you way too much for it to be rubbing off on me.”

“Really only Wally rubs off on y—” Garfield started only to get a face full of pillow tossed by Donna. It sent Gar right over the couch back he had been perched on.

“No one needs to hear that,” she said.

“You’re just jealous Wally has a hot boyfriend,” Gar said.

The couch shifted a little before a green cat popped out from under the front of it. Danny picked Gar up as he passed, setting him back on the couch.

“I am not the hot boyfriend,” Danny said.

“Yes you are.”

“Right.”

“Dude.”

Victor just snorted.

“Wally,” Danny called out. “Our friends are being weird. Did you all get a collective head injury or something?”

“Our friends are always weird, babe,” Wally called back from either the bedroom or the office.

“Yes, but this is extra weird.”

There was a pause then Wally appeared with the monstrosity that was the current Uno set up. It now included a board and six different dice. “Okay, what’s extra weird?”

“That they think I’m the hot boyfriend.”

“Danny, babe,” Wally said. He leveled Danny with a look. “You are the hot boyfriend.”

“Collective head injury, all of you!” Danny said, throwing his hands up.

Wally just laughed, the bastard, and set the game box down so that he could pull Danny into his arms. “Accept it, you’re hot.”

“No,” Danny said, purposefully pouting.

“So hot,” Wally insisted before leaning in to kiss Danny.

Gar whistled while Victor made a fake gagging sound. The kiss broke as Danny laughed at being hit with a pillow.

“Okay, okay. I’m going to go change out of my work clothes. Is food ordered?” Danny asked as he dragged himself out of Wally’s arms.

“Indian. An absolute feast too,” Wally said, reluctantly letting Danny go.

“Good, I’m starving.” Danny headed for their bedroom, shucking off his clothing as soon as the door was closed. He hated meetings where people expected him to wear suits. It was a relief to change into jeans and a comfortable t-shirt.

“…wait till the others are here?” Dick was saying to Wally when Danny opened the door.

“I know we should, just…”

“Wait for what?” Danny asked.

It was a little startling how both their heads jerked up to look at Danny.

“Um, just explaining the Uno rules! You know?” Wally said with a nervous laugh. “Not all of them have played this version, yeah?”

Danny raised a brow, spotting the lie easily but not knowing what it was about. It was usually safer to not get between Wally and Dick plotting something though. “Right… pass me a cider?”

“Sure, babe!” Wally said with far too much perkiness.

Danny had just accepted the uncapped cider when suddenly the room was filled with a screaming alert. From the volume that wasn’t just one communicator.

That was everyone’s.

---

AN: I managed to shake out some words! I'm not actually sure of the pacing of this one, but I won't know till I write the next part! There's a chance this might get more added to it. We'll see! I wonder what Dick and Wally were talking about??

Stay delightful, darlings!

I no longer tag, instead you can subscribe to the masterpost.

[hawkinshighdropout]

Please Don't Judas Me.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x (female) Reader

Summary: Chrissy wants what she can't have, Eddie. Your best friend and long-term boyfriend. Things are growing tense in the group as you are slowly being replaced by his new best friend. Only problem was? You were here first, and he is clueless.

Warnings: No warnings, this is kinda angsty/fluff content. Unless you count a couple of curse words as needing a warning? Idk, I haven’t written fanfics in like 8 years so I’m a little rusty…

Note/Request: Requested by @authorlovers. “perhaps eddie & reader are dating and absolutely smitten but chrissy starts flirting with him and eddies confused and doesn't know what to do? but caughts himself because reader has been with him through absolutely everything and chrissy only likes him because he started getting interesting? like the hermione x ron x lavender love triangle?”

Bonus: This doesn't follow canon plot, The Upside Down and Vecna are still about and a threat, but Chrissy doesn't die in Eddie's trailer, some things are taken from the show but I reworked it for fanfic sake, please enjoy.

Word Count: 4.4k

Send me prompts to write about!

“Corroded Coffin?! Of course I remember, with a name like that, how could I forget?!” Chrissy exclaims excitedly from her spot on the bench.

Chrissy and Eddie were currently hanging out in a secluded area of the forest, he was trying to make the nervous cheerleader relax around him so he could complete the deal he was currently working on. She had gotten spooked so Eddie was trying his hardest to work his natural charm to settle her nerves and make her trust him, as much as she could trust someone selling her drugs that is.

“Earth to Lonely Wizard… Come in? Lonely Wizard, are you there? Over.” You mumbled, your voice echoing in the forest from the speaker on Eddie’s walkie talkie.

A little flustered, Eddie reached over to swipe the radio out from the seat of the bench, excusing himself politely from Chrissy and turning to wander away from her to respond to your call.

“Yeah? Uh… Can’t talk right now, I’m in the middle of a deal, is it important or can this wait?” he asked, keeping his voice hushed. It’s only when he heard you clearing your throat that he added “Over…” to the end of your response.

“A deal? Who with? Over.” voice full of intrigue, completely ignoring his question in favour of probing him with your own.

“Look, I can’t talk right now. I’ll swing by once I’m—” he starts, but you can hear Chrissy’s sweet voice in the background as she asks if he is going to be taking much longer as she had somewhere to be.

“Chrissy? The Queen of Hawkins High is buying drugs from you?” you were perplexed, voice conveying your pure shock as you couldn’t believe that this was happening.

Eddie fumbled to switch off the walkie talkie before anything else could be heard from either end, letting out a sigh before he wanders back to the bench to her. Apologising for the interruptions, he’s then sitting back down across from her, noticing how she has once again become tense and on edge.

You repeatedly tried contacting Eddie through the handset, only getting more and more annoyed that he had closed off his communication. He didn’t normally blow you off like that, he normally dropped everything to hangout with you or to let you know beforehand where he’s going. The fact he’s hanging out with a girl AND hiding it? That didn’t’ sit well with you.

“Sorry about that…” Eddie mumbled, “Okay, I can do 25% discount for the ½, $15. You’re robbing me blind here…” he laughed, glancing across at the usually peppy blonde.

“Uh… Do you…. Have anything, maybe… Stronger?” she asked, unsure of herself as she kept her eyes away from Eddie.

He looked at her as if he wasn’t really sure what to say, sure, he had other stuff, but that wasn’t usually for sale. He got by just fine with selling the weed to random people at school and around town, he didn’t just pass out pills or anything else without taking it into serious consideration. Partially for the health and wellbeing of the buyer, but also knowing the punishment and risks of getting caught with or with selling the harder stuff.

“Are you sure?” he asks, looking over her expression, not really convinced that she actually wanted to do this.

She nodded sheepishly, to which he informed her that they’d have to go back to his trailer to get it. They packed up their things and made their way to Eddie’s van, the older guy driving her to his place in almost silence as Chrissy was bubbling with nerves and he was just on edge. For all he knew, this could have been a trap to catch him and get him in trouble with the police, he couldn’t just let down his guard without second guessing it.

Shutting off the engine, they climb out of the car and slam the doors shut, Eddie lets her inside first before following in soon after her. The trailer door slammed shut and they disappeared out of sight, causing you to pull down your binoculars and huff in annoyance from where you sat in Max’s trailer with her.

“Son of a bitch!” you cuss.

Max glancing your way with an amused look on her face. She knew you hadn’t come by just to hangout. She knew you wanted to use her to spy on Eddie, and as long as you told her the details? She was game.

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

You felt arms wrapping around your midsection from behind and a kiss being pressed to your shoulder whilst you’re putting your things away in your locker, it making you jump slightly, but soon relaxed at the smell of your boyfriend lingering on you. Glancing up at him with a weak smile, you say hello before focusing back on what you were doing.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Eddie says fondly, pressing a kiss to the centre of your forehead once you’d finally turned to face him.

“Why was Chrissy at your house last night? Why didn’t you call me back when you got home? Why did I have to find out via Max that you were home and that you brought another girl home?” You snapped, questions being fired off left right and centre from you. Technically the Max part wasn’t true, but he didn’t need to know that.

He looked stunned, overwhelmed at the sudden outburst from you and he struggled to find an answer he could give without someone getting in trouble. He eventually sighed and wrapped his arms around you once again, you tried to push him away, but his voice in your ear made you think twice.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, only loud enough for you to hear, “It got weird… She wanted to buy some weed cause she’s having a hard time, but then she asked for something stronger? You know I don’t keep that shit on me so we had to go back to my place… She bought some and then took it, and she ended up reacting really badly to it so I had to make sure she didn’t die. The town already hates me, I didn’t really want people to find her body in my trailer and assume “The Freak” killed her. I should have told you but it was really late when I finally got her to sober up and take her home, I’m sorry.”

You took a couple moments to process everything he just said before nodding in understanding. He wasn’t forgiven, but you were relieved to hear it was far more innocent than you first thought. Out of context things looked really badly for Eddie, but this put a small spin on things.

“Alright.” Is all you say, the bell ringing as you’re receiving another kiss to your forehead, Eddie shuts your locker and walks you to class.

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

Classes went by slower than usual today, everything felt like a drag. Maybe it was the exhaustion from the adrenaline crash you had from last night? Who knows? All you knew was that you were tired and wanted to get home. You walk back to your locker to put your last class’s stuff away when you see Eddie leaning up against his locker, Chrissy annoyingly close by to him.

They’re laughing and she’s giggling like a school girl with a crush, making you see red as you walk past. An annoyed look on your face as you stuff your things into the locker and slam it shut with a huff. Gather attention from those around you from the sudden bang of noise it caused.

Eddie closed his locker and excused himself from the conversation with Chrissy before making his way over to you, hand sliding into your own as he gives your cheeks a few soft kisses. You relaxed instantly once he was focusing back on you, catching the pouty look on Chrissy’s face as you both exchanged kisses.

“What did Pom Poms want?” You mumble between kisses, causing him to snicker at the childish choice of nickname.

“She tried inviting me to the party this weekend cause her parents are out of town, I told her I’m not much of a party person but she insisted.”

“Oh… Are you gonna go?” you frown a little.

“Hell no, it’s the night of the Hellfire Campaign, I’m not missing that for a couple warm beers shitty music.” He grinned, kissing the side of your head and giving your hand a squeeze as he lead you back to his truck so he could take you home.

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

“I pick Eddie!” Chrissy squealed the next day in class, declaring the metal head as her work partner for the day.

The teacher had just told the class to buddy up as this project would be a collaborative project, so you were surprised when the most popular girl in school picked him. Not because he didn’t deserve the attention, but because he was always your partner. He’s your boyfriend, you always working together on things.

“Wait, huh?” He looked confused, surprised to see the blonde happily making her way over to his desk with her things, plopping herself down beside him.

He shot you an apologetic look as there’s nothing he could do about it, not without causing a scene. You sigh in defeat before turning to Robin who’s already watching the scene play out. She’s gesturing for you to come and work with her as Steve and Nancy already coupled up. Scooping up your things and walking to sit beside her, you thank her for picking you.

“Please, I’m just glad I’m not stuck with Snoozy Suzie, I’m sick of doing all the work and having to put her name on there for credit” she explained, causing you both to snicker before starting to plan the project.

Every now and again chrissy’s obnoxious giggle would fill the room, looking at her to see her touching and flirting with your boyfriend, him being clueless to the whole thing. You’d already snapped one pencil in anger, to which Robin grabbed her pencil case and clutched it to her chest in over dramatic shock as if to defend the rest of her pencils from your evil ways.

“Whoa there, Thor. What did my pencil ever do to you?!” Robin whined, to which you shot her an apologetic look before leaning closer to explain the situation to her.

Once she was caught up, she glanced in their direction and rolled her eyes. She could tell that Chrissy was doing the most and Eddie didn’t have a freaking clue what was going on.

“Boys are clueless, hm?” She asked

“You’re telling me.” You grumbled, sliding over your extra stick of bubblegum as a ways of calling a truce for breaking her Pencil.

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

“You’ve gotta be shitting me…” you curse as you walk into the lunchroom to see Chrissy standing beside your friends as they’re sat at their usual table.

You walk closer with a confused look on your face, greeting the guys with a tone that should read ‘wtf is going on here?’ Eddie beams at the sight of you and tugs you down onto his lap, arms around your middle as he gives you a couple kisses to the cheek whilst Chrissy was talking.

The poor blonde was doing her best to seem quirky and cute, trying to keep the attention of the table on her as she needed it. The other guys one by one lost interest by either their food or something they were reading in their magazines in preparing for this weekend’s campaign. Chrissy resorted in focusing on only Eddie as he was the only one who was polite enough to ensure she didn’t feel left out.

“So, Eddie…? Are you coming to the big game this weekend?” She asks, eyes hopeful.

“I hate sports.” He says bluntly at the exact same time that you manage to mumble ‘he hates sports.’ It made you grin and caused Eddie to laugh a little at how in sync you were, anyone who knew Eddie for more than a second would know that basketball wasn’t his thing. At all.

“Oh… Really? But, it would be so cool to have you there! Plus, I’ll be leading the cheer team at during the match so—“ she continues, to which you cut her off with a tone laced with sarcasm.

“I thought you were having a party this weekend? What happened to that?”

She looked flustered, clearing her throat before scrambling for a response. It was obvious that there was no party, just another attempt at getting Eddie alone.

“Yeah, uh, that’s after! To celebrate!”

“And what if you lose? You gonna “celebrate” getting your ass kicked? Bit weird.” You could tell you were being hostile, you truly didn’t care. The guys surrounding you all looked up from whatever they were doing to pay attention, a free front row seat to the show.

“Uh… i don’t know, maybe?” She shrugs.

“I have Hellfire anyway, so I can’t. Sorry.” Eddie interjects, he could feel you getting tense in his lap so he tried to defuse the situation. He had no intention of going to the game even if he was free, he just needed a valid excuse to end this agonising conversation.

“Oh… That’s okay! Next time?” Hope back in her voice, to which Eddie just gives her an awkward smile and nod, empty promises.

You watch as she waves goodbye to him, only him, causing your eyes to roll back into the pits of hell with how peeved you were.

“Bye, Pom Poms!” You call out in annoyance.

Dustin snickered beside you, clearly everyone could see what was happening here. Everyone except Eddie, who was still as clueless as always. He just assumed you didn’t like Chrissy for whatever reason, and he didn’t want you unhappy with her lingering about.

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

Eddie and Chrissy started spending more and more time together outside of school. He would (attempt) to help her with her homework whenever she feigned being unable to answer a certain question, they’d grab milkshakes at the mall after drug deals (just weed for Chrissy, she’s learnt her lesson), she even went to a couple of his shows at The Hideout.

Eddie? He was just enjoying the company of a good friend, he was polite and respectful and kept her at an arm’s length. Chrissy, though? She was another story. She would be overly flirty, giving him nicknames and complimenting him, trying to get involved in every aspect of his life. She was trying to take your place.

You knew that, she knew that, but no one spoke a word of it. At this point she was one of Eddie’s most valued customers, as much as it killed you, you didn’t want to ruin that for him cause he needed the money. So you swallowed your pride and let them hangout as long as there were boundaries. These boundaries hadn’t been discussed, they were merely in your head. You’d soon make it known if things went too far for your liking…

That day? It came quicker than hoped. You hoped she would get bored and find someone else to spend all her free time with. Chrissy and Jason were always breaking up and getting back together again, you thought it would only be a few days before they were smooching in the hallway against the lockers. Leaving Eddie alone, hopefully.

You were just finishing up reading in the library, studying for your English test that’s coming up next week. Eddie was hosting Hellfire and it was due to end at any moment, so you packed up your things and started walking through the school down towards the club. This was routine for you now, he’d play games with the kids and then you’d wait for him, and he would drive you all home together to make sure everyone got home safe afterwards.

Upon getting to the door to the club, you saw that Chrissy was sat on the floor waiting. You halted, taken aback from the sight of the squeaky clean teenager waiting outside the Dungeons and Dragons room. None of the words of that sentence went together in your head, she shouldn’t be here.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, attempting to seem polite so you don’t cause friction, she was now a good friend of Eddie’s after all.

“Oh, I’m waiting for Eddie! I was hoping he would be okay to give me a ride home once he’s done!” She said, voice far too cheery for your liking.

“He can’t, he’s driving the kids home and then we’re getting burgers together.” You state, knowing that there would technically be enough room in the van, but you didn’t want her to tag along. “Shouldn’t you be at the game anyway? Thought you had to do that tonight? Or was it your fake party? Or some other ruse to get him alone?” Your voice sounding more pissed with each passing minute.

“Oh; uh. It was… postponed?” She questions, spurting out the first thing that came to her mind as to why she wasn’t at the various hangout suggestions she had mentioned.

“All of them? What bad luck…” your tone soaking in sarcasm, you didn’t buy a single letter of her bullshit. “Just go home, Chrissy.”

You were growing tired of her games. It was hard enough dealing with her via proxy as a friend of Eddie’s, you didn’t want to deal with her fully mingling in your circle.

“Do you have a problem with me?” She questioned.

You stayed silent, staring in her direction whilst having an internal debate on whether to give you a piece of your mind or not.

“No, of course I don’t. Of course I don’t have a problem with you hanging off the arm of my boyfriend and trying to get him alone, doing drug deals and taking him for milkshakes, of course I’m totally fine with you trying to worm your way in and get affection, nope.” If looks could kill, Chrissy would be six feet under right now. Your voice made it abundantly clear that you did indeed have a problem.

“We’re just friends!” She defends, to which you scoff.

“Yeah, cause Dustin and his other friends also spend time calling him pretty and twirling his hair, hm? His other friends try and hold his hand when he’s walking beside them, hm?”

She was speechless, red in the face and speechless. She didn’t realise you’d been watching her like a hawk, seeing every little motion and gesture these past couple weeks as she grew closer to YOUR boyfriend.

“I won’t tell you again, Chrissy. Go. Home.” Your voice stern this time, watching as she stood up. You hoped she would have just taken off running and saved you the trouble, you didn’t expect her to get up in your face a little.

“Look, Eddie is my best friend! We’re going to hangout and if you wanna continue to date him, you better deal with it!” Chrissy snapped, your eyes widened and voice darkened.

“Excuse me?”

She rolled her eyes, nothing to say.

“First of all, Princess. Eddie has been my boyfriend far longer than he’s been your friend, okay? So actually, I don’t have to deal with anything. If I tell him how angry and uncomfortable you make me, if I really let him know how I truly feel, you’d be gone. I only keep my mouth shut so I don’t make him choose between us, he’s your friend and im not trying to get in the way of that. But if I told him how much you piss me off, you’d be gone quicker than Jason left you for Tiffany.”

Chrissy gasps in surprise that you’d sink that low to say such a hurtful thing. It was kinda out of line, but right now? You didn’t care.

“Secondly, that boy has a heart of gold but he’s not good at picking up signals. He thinks you’ve just been friendly this whole time, but I see the way you look at him and I know you’re trying to get in his pants. He’s not interested in you, he’s perfectly happy with me. He doesn’t even know you like him like that, so I’d take this as an opportunity to back off and muffle any little crush you have on him, cause it’s never going to happen.”

You step closer to her, which immediately she shrinks in on herself, not quite as tough as she made herself out to be moments ago.

“And thirdly? Get up in my face like that again, or try and tell me what I can and cannot do with MY boyfriend? and I’ll make Vecna look like a god damn puppy, you hear me?” Your voice hushed, it wasn’t just a threat.

Before she could answer or even acknowledge you, the sound of a squeaky door pulled you both from the heat of the moment. Both of your heads snap towards the sound and see Eddie folding his arms and holding them to his chest whilst he glanced between you both.

“Do we have a problem?” he asks. You hadn’t realised how loud both of you had gotten, to the point where it interrupted the game they were playing inside. Eddie had shrugged it off a couple times, but it became too distracting so he had to check it out for himself. Over his shoulder you could see the kids dressed up in various little outfits, wide eyed and clearly focusing on nothing but what the adults were yelling about outside.

“N-No” Chrissy mumbled, shaking her head and looking down to the floor, red faced.

“Jury’s still out on that one.” You grump, eyes soon locked back on the nervous blonde, eyes burning a hole into her head.

“Y/N, go sit with Erica for a second…” glaring at Chrissy whilst you slip into the room, going to sit with the kids as the door shuts behind you. Leaving Chrissy and Eddie face to face to talk, swatting the arms of the kids and hushing them so you could hear what was being said.

Not long after, Eddie returns to the room and thankfully? He was alone. His face holding an expression that says “we’ll talk later.” Sitting back at the head of the table, he clears his throat and resume the campaign, you sit in silence the whole time, glancing between Eddie and the kids.

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

Erica and Lucas were the last stop, watching as the kids disappear safely inside of their home with a small wave befor Eddie pulls out of their driveway and makes his way back home. The ride was silent, awkward. You felt like you were in trouble even though you’d done nothing wrong. Nothing serious, at least.

Pulling up to his trailer, you both get out of the car and walk inside, taking off your shoes and jacket whilst Eddie locks up and grabs himself a beer to unwind with on the couch.

“You’re such a brat, you know?” He starts, catching you off guard, before you’ve got a chance to defend yourself, he continues. “But that’s why I love you… I’m sorry.”

Looking more confused than ever, you didn’t know what’s happening. Why was he apologising? Why was he calling you a name? Huh?

“For Chrissy….” He could see the look on your face and decided to provide context, setting down his beer to run a hand through his own curly hair as he spoke. “Listen… She needed a friend, I became that, you know? She was terrified, to the point of asking for pills because the shit with Vecna freaked her out so bad. She couldn’t go home or tell anyone cause no one believed her, I just wanted to make her feel better, you know? Steve and Dustin were on my ass about her being around cause they said she liked me and said you hated her. I blew them off cause it sounded like bullshit, I’m just an idiot aren’t I?”

You watch as he sighs and puts his face in his hands, shaking your head as you wander closer to him.

“A… cute idiot?” You offer with a half hearted tone, taking his hands and holding them in your own as he looks up at you with a sad smile.

“I just… I don’t know. I’m just so smitten with you that it doesn’t even cross my mind that anyone else could be a person of interest; you know? I saw her as a friend and assumed she did the same for me. So for weeks I’ve been sending her mixed signals and hurting you in the process, I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he sighs.

“It’s okay, I know you didn’t do it on purpose. I get really jealous easily and she was one stop away from throwing herself at you. I just couldn’t take it anymore.” You pout.

Bringing you into his lap, his arms wrap around your middle and he gives you a few soft kisses as you straddle him. Hands resting on his cheeks so your thumbs can glide against his cheekbones. Getting lost in his big brown eyes as your noses bump together, falling into the same heartbeat rhythm as you talk.

“She’s gone, don’t worry. I told her that I’m not going to jeopardise what we have when she makes you so uncomfortable. Plus she clearly doesn’t respect you if she’s been chasing me this whole time, and I don’t respect anyone who disrespects you. Okay?”

Nodding in understanding, he’s then bringing you down and giving you one last kiss against your pouty lips.

“Okay… Thank you.” You mumble.

You fall against his chest and end up in a warm bundle of limbs, tangled together in a protective and comforting manner. The both of you keeping the other soothed, you playing with his hair and him stroking your back fondly. A snort from Eddie snaps you out of your thoughts.

“Hm?” You mumble into his shoulder.

“‘I’ll make Vecna look like a puppy’” he says, doing his best impression of you before he cracks up laughing.

You groan, red cheeked and hiding in the curve of his neck, somewhat embarrassed by how cheesy your line was earlier, “shut uuuuup” you whine, to which he just giggles, squeezes you closer and kisses the top of your head.

“That’s never gonna happen, sweetheart.”

[nebulablakemurphy]

Moves & Countermoves (Part 19)

Summary: No one ever wins the games, even fourteen years later, Y/N is still playing. Trigger warning: discussions of trauma surrounding ‘desirable’ victors.

Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18

“Tell me about the stairs,” Dr. Aurelius says.

Y/N stares at him blankly, the stairs.

He waits a moment, tapping his pen to paper. “At the request of your husband, you will be issued a nightlock pill, to use in the event that you are captured.”

Y/N nods. One of the stipulations to Haymitch agreeing to her deployment, on this mission to rescue Peeta.

‘Show me you can reach it with your mouth.’ He tested the accessibility of her suit’s pill pocket, rigorously. ‘Show me you can still reach it with your hands behind your back.’

It isn’t something he wants her to use, but knowing that whatever Snow has planned for her would make Peeta’s captivity look like child’s play…

“By President Coin’s orders, I cannot release this… medication unless you are of sound mind.”

“You have reason to believe I’m not?” Y/N asks.

“One of your former guards told me you asked if anyone had ever jumped from the elevator.” Aurelius purses his lips.

“It was one time!” Y/N waves a hand, “and it was a joke.”

“You have a dark sense of humor.”

“You would too.”

The therapist affords her a soft smile, “you may be right. Even still, you are my patient. I need to act in your best interest. So please, tell me what happened on the stairs.”

Y/N takes a deep breath, “it’s kind of a blur. Everyone was pushing, yelling, especially after the upper levels were damaged and the rain started coming down.”

“How did you feel?”

“I felt…worried, I guess.”

“In what way?”

“About Haymitch, Madge and the kids. Worried about what was happening to Peeta. Worried about getting Katniss into the bunker.”

He jots this down.

“That was a normal response.” Y/N snaps.

“Very much so,” the doctor agrees, “not every note I make is a bad one.”

Y/N crosses her arms.

“Did you worry for yourself? Your own safety?”

You’re supposed to say yes.

“There is no right answer, Y/N.”

“There’s an answer that gets me to Peeta and one that doesn’t.”

“True,” he shrugs, “but I trust you not to lie.”

“You shouldn’t.” Y/N narrows her eyes. “I’m a good liar, I’ve been doing it since I was fifteen.”

“How do you feel about death? Is it something you long for, or run from?”

“If I die, my kids lose their mother, my husband loses his wife, my sister loses her sister. The list goes on. So it really doesn’t matter how I feel about death. All I know is that I cannot die.”

“Yet you think you could bite down on this pill?” He presents the dark purple capsule.

“As a last resort. If I have fought tooth and nail and I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I can’t get free? I could.” Y/N decides.

Dr. Aurelius nods, holding the nightlock out to her. “Best of luck.”

————————————————————————

Haymitch curses Katniss’ name, as he shuffles through the crawl space she’s gone to hide in, after refusing to make the propo saying thirteen survived Snow’s attack.

Have kids, they said. It will be fun, they said.

Though none of his biological children have forced him to squeeze in such a tight space, parenthood is not for the faint of heart.

He plops down beside her with a sigh, “so this is the end, huh? I guess we’re just gonna hide down here forever.”

“I can’t be the mockingjay,” Katniss chokes out.

“Not the mockingjay,” Haymitch tosses a bit of hair away from her face, “just Katniss.”

She blinks at him, warily.

“Look, I know I’m not good at this pep talk stuff. That’s Y/N’s department.”

“She doesn’t want to see me,” Katniss understands.

“She spent the morning getting cleared by her shrink.”

“Cleared for what?”

“They’re going to rescue Peeta.” Haymitch tells her.

“What?”

“The dam went down in district five, took out most of the power to the Capitol. Knocked out their signal defense, Beetee’s inside their system, reeking all kinds of havoc. The window is open to us, for how much longer? I don’t know, I guess until the Capitol can get the power back on.” Haymitch explains.

“And Coin?”

“I can never fully support that woman. But Plutarch got word that Peeta and the others are in the tribute center. With the power out, Coin sees this as an opportunity. She knows that Peeta is the Capitol’s weapon, the same way you’re ours. And as opposed to having you two pointing at each other, she’s going to get him.”

“I have to go help them.” Katniss springs to life.

“Woah, hey,” Haymitch reaches out a hand to stop her. “What’re you just gonna jump out of the vent and go storm the Capitol? Besides it’s already underway. Six soldiers went in, volunteer only. Y/N, Gale, Boggs and three others.”

“You just let her go?” Katniss frowns.

Haymitch admits, “she’s not the type of person you ‘let’ do things. But you know how that is, sweetheart. Between the two of you,” he lets out a low whistle, “I’m exhausted.”

————————————————————————

Madge breaks her dinner roll in half. Splitting it between Everest and Arista, the same way she’s watched Y/N and Haymitch do since they got here. Making sure little bellies are full, before their own.

Pollux approaches, motioning to the seat across from Madge, at the metal mess hall table. He sets down his tray and pulls out his note pad, to jot a message down. “Is this seat taken?”

“No,” Madge greets him, “please, sit.”

“Hi, I’m Pollux. You’re Y/N’s sister, right?”

Madge nods.

“She keeps your picture in her pocket.” Pollux smiles. “And them.” He points to the oldest children.

Everest’s eyes scan the page. “Our mom told us about you. What happened to you in the Capitol…I’m really sorry.”

“Honey,” Madge runs a hand over his hair.

“Thank you, Everest. It’s nice to meet you. Your mom talks about you all the time, she is so proud.” Pollux turns the page quickly, for more room. “Arista and Daisy too, of course. Your mom loves you all very much.”

With that the children turn back to their meals.

Madge smiles, stabbing at her food with one hand, while patting the baby in the sling. The tray moves and Pollux holds out a hand to stabilize it. “Oh, thank you. It’s ok though, you eat.”

He draws the hand back, long enough to scribble, “I’d offer to hold the baby instead, but I don’t think we’re there yet.”

Madge laughs, “funny.”

“It’s really no trouble.”

Madge shrugs, as he grips the edge of her tray, loosely. Managing his own dinner just fine.

Cressida calls him away, after a while, for Finnick’s live propo, to help jam the Capitol’s airwaves.

“I’ll see you around.”

“I’ll see you.”

————————————————————————

“This is Finnick Odair, winner of the sixty-fifth Hunger Games, coming to you from district thirteen, alive and well. We survived an attack by the Capitol, but I’m not here to give you recent news.”

“Why is Finnick doing a propo?” Katniss wonders, watching the split screen of the control room. The large, right panel is an image of Finnick. Just outside the rubble, where they asked her to film earlier, the sun has set and the lights are trained on him. The left hand side is home to six smaller panels, with the soldier’s helmet cam footage.

“It’s a lot more than that,” Haymitch informs her.

“Beetee’s commandeered the system,” Coin says, proudly.

“They’re down to generator power, so there’s a more limited range of frequencies available to them. I’m filling them all up with Y/N and Finnick. It looks like they’re both live.” Beetee assures Katniss.

“Snow will think she’s still here?” That’s brilliant.

“Not many will see it, but those who do will assume they’re just propos.”

“What they don’t know is that these broadcasts are jamming their entire system with noise. Early defense warnings, internal communications, everything. As long as one or both of the broadcasts are going through, our team should be able to get in and out without being detected.” Beetee assures her.

“You can survive the arena, but the moment you leave, you’re a slave.” Finnick narrates. “President Snow used to sell me, or my body, at least.”

“Mockingjay one, you are twenty seconds from perimeter defense.”

“I wasn’t the only one. If a victor is considered desirable, the president gives them as a reward, or allows people to buy them. If you refuse, he kills someone you love.” Finnick presses on, looking straight at camera.

“Ten seconds.” The hovercraft pilot begins counting down. “Nine, eight, seven, six.”

“Just because a victor is married doesn’t mean they’re safe.”

“Five, four, three…”

“The Capitol’s more generous patrons paid dearly to watch the wedding night, even more to witness the conception of the most beloved children in Panem.”

“Two, one.”

Katniss freezes, surely he doesn’t mean- it couldn’t be. The dress, that stupid dress they crammed her in. Why it upset Y/N so badly. Snow was taunting her.

“No response from perimeter defense, we’re inside Capitol airspace.”

“Yes,” Beetee rejoices.

Haymitch is watching the smaller screen, his jaw tense, doing his best to ignore the eyes that fall on him. Twisting his wedding band around and around. It doesn’t matter what secrets Finnick reveals, so long as he keeps jamming the signal. Keep Y/N safe.

“To make themselves feel better, patrons will offer presents of money or jewelry. But I found secrets to be a much more valuable form of payment.”

“Gear up,” Boggs orders the soldiers on the hovercraft. They are just seconds away from the tribute center. “Masks on.”

Their lenses are tinted for night vision, the red light inside makes Y/N’s heartbeat faster.

“Open the door.” Boggs says, his voice echoing through her headset. “Command, this is team leader, preparing to deploy gas. We will confirm once inside.”

“Such a young man when he rose to power, such a clever one to keep it. How, you may ask, did he do it?” Finnick is captivating, well spoken.

Katniss is hanging off every word.

“One word, poison.”

The timer for the gas grenadines finishes, on Bogg’s stop watch, “get ready to drop.”

Y/N secures her harness to the wire, giving it a firm tug. Descending through the open loading dock, releasing the wires as they reach ground.

“Clear.” Boggs, informs the team. “We’re inside, headed for target number one. Cell B forty-five, lower level two C.”

“So many deaths to well known adversaries, even allies who were deemed as threats.”

It’s dizzying, giving equal attention to Finnick’s message and the feed from inside the tribute center.

Haymitch is glued to that screen, her screen. Like he wants to reach through and bring her back with him.

Once Peeta’s holding cell is gassed, they are cleared to enter.

“Snow would drink from the same cup, to deflect suspicion. But antidotes don’t always work, which is why he wears roses that reek of perfume. To help cover the scent of sores, in his mouth, that will never heal.”

Poison, Katniss shakes her head to clear it. He’s still talking about poison.

Inside the room is a lab, full of jars, experiments. Cages. Medical equipment, some with blood still visible.

“What the fuck?” Y/N whispers, reaching out to try and make sense of it.

“Abernathy, on me.” Boggs warns, they need to stay focused.

“What is this place?” Gale asks, venturing deeper.

Their screens lights up, all of them at once. Too bright to see.

“Ahh.”

There is a collective hiss, from those in the tribute center. The power’s back on.

“Beetee?” Katniss has a hand flat against her belly, where the worry eats her alive.

“Ma’am, the Capitol air defense is rebooting. It’s coming back online.”

“They must be diverting power from another source, filtering transmissions. Another sixty seconds and we’ll be cut off.” Beetee scowls, typing furiously at the control panel.

“Get them outta there,” Haymitch demands.

“Madame President, should we call back the hovercraft?”

“Broadcast me,” Katniss decides, “if Snow’s watching this, maybe he’ll let the signal in, if he sees me. Put me on the air so he can see me.”

“Yes,” Plutarch snaps a finger. “Yes.”

“Put her on,” Coin agrees.

“Can we still do this?” Haymitch’s hands are shaking as he positions the camera in front of her. “Can we still get in?” Can we still save her?

“Yes, for the moment,” Beetee replies. “The line’s open, he will only see you.”

“Ok, Katniss,” Haymitch steps away. “Go.”

“President Snow.” Katniss says, “President Snow, it’s Katniss.”

The static continues to crackle. No more Finnick, no more footage from the tribute center. Just her.

“President Snow, can you hear me?” Katniss repeats, hoping for a miracle. “I need to speak with you, are you there? President Snow.”

“Miss Everdeen,” his voice is distorted for a moment, until the signal hones in. “What an honor. I don’t imagine you’re calling to thank me for the roses.”

“I never asked for this. I never asked to be in the games.” Katniss reminds him. “I just wanted to save my sister and keep Peeta alive. Let him go and I will stop being the mockingjay. I will disappear and you’ll never have to see me again.”

“You couldn’t run from this anymore than you could’ve run from the games.”

“Please, you’ve won.” Katniss says, “release Peeta and take me instead.”

Snow shakes his head with a smirk. “We are long past the opportunity for noble sacrifice.”

“Then tell me what to do, I’ve always kept my promises. Haven’t I?”

“You said you didn’t want a war, and that’s just what happened. I told you what a fragile thing peace was and still, like a child, you took pleasure in breaking it. I know what you are, I know you can’t see past your narrowest concerns. But please, Miss Everdeen, I doubt you know what honesty is anymore.”

“You asked me to convince you that I was in love with Peeta,” Katniss challenges. “Haven’t I at least done that?”

Snow takes great pleasure in what he’s about to say, it’s written all over his twisted features. “It’s the things we love most that destroy us. I want you to remember I said that.” He pauses. “Don’t you think I know Y/N and your friends are in the tribute center?”

Katniss feels the floor fall out from under her.

“Cut them off.” Snow says, turning away from the screen. It returns to the static hum of nothing.

They had comms back, but now Beetee’s lost them again.

“What happened?” Katniss sobs.

“Boggs, do you read me? Boggs, come in.”

“He knows they’re in there,” Katniss calls to Haymitch. “It’s a trap.”

“Katniss, calm down.” Haymitch whispers.

“We have to get ahold of them, tell them to get out. He knows.”

“There’s no signal, we can’t contact them,” Plutarch sighs.

“No, Haymitch.” Katniss crumbles, “he knew the whole time, he was taunting me! No, Haymitch-”

“No, no, we don’t know that.” Haymitch hushes her, because he has to be strong. He has to be steady, even with his world falling to pieces.

“Did I lose them all tonight? Did I lose them all?”

Haymitch pulls her into a hug. “Shhh,” he smooths down her dark waves, the same way he would his other daughters.

She holds fast, allowing him to comfort her. “Did I lose them?” The cry is muffled against his shoulder.

“Shh,” he sways them, gently.

“No, no.”

“Katniss,” Haymitch breathes, “listen to me. I need you to listen.”

She nods, unable to calm her erratic breathing.

“If Y/N died, I would feel it. I would feel it in my heart, if she was gone and I don’t. If she’s alive, Peeta is alive, Gale is alive. All we have to do is wait.”

————————————————————————

“Systems are back online.” The pilot informs them.

There’s nothing they can do. Communication with thirteen is shut down, no way to get through to Beetee. They’ll either shoot them out of the sky or they won’t. The only way out is through.

Y/N doesn’t mean to, but she holds her breath. Waiting until they clear Capitol airspace to resume a normal pattern.

Of the five other soldiers on this rescue mission, there is one medic. She begins tending Annie, Johanna and Peeta in turn. Starting IV fluids, as they are all dehydrated; unconscious from the gas.

Annie looks like herself, maybe a bit gaunt, but recognizable. Peeta is thin, so thin and covered in bruises. Johanna’s head has been shaved, cheeks hollow and ribs showing. Y/N tosses off her helmet, running both hands over her face.

“Soldier.” Boggs puts a hand to her shoulder. “You did good. We accomplished our goal. Now we can all go home.”

Y/N nods, blinking away tears.

“Take a breather, there’s a separate compartment through there,” he motions to the rear doors. “He’ll need you when he comes to.”

Peeta does not wake for some time, beginning to struggle at his bindings. No, he realizes, it’s not a binding that holds him. It’s a hand. Just one wrapped loosely around his.

It feels familiar, soft. Someone he knew once, it smells of artificial air. She is warm, the space around her is warm, gentle and kind. A second hand strokes his hair, the way he once wished his mother would.

His eyelids begin to flutter open, daring to reveal that he is conscious. If he’s wrong…if it’s not her and they’ve tricked him again, it will be his own fault.

“Peeta,” Y/N says, staring down at him.

He blinks up at her, in the too bright light. His breathing heavy as she tries to move away, to give him space, but he holds her. Squeezing her fingers.

“Peeta, do you know who I am?”

His throat is sore, voice hoarse, from screaming. “Y-yes.”

“Good,” Y/N smiles.

“Where am I?”

“We’re in a hovercraft, on the way to district thirteen.”

Peeta studies her face. There was something…something is missing, something’s wrong. “What happened to the baby?”

“She’s fine.” Y/N assures him. “Keeping her siblings and Haymitch company.”

“You’re all ok?”

Y/N nods, “yeah, honey, we’re all ok. Now we focus on getting you healthy. Ok?”

He doesn’t flee from her touch, only the occasional flinch when he forgets where he is, until she reminds him that he is safe. “You came back for me.”

“Of course I did.”

Y/N leaves him briefly, with the doctors, upon arrival in thirteen. She needs to find Haymitch, tell him she’s ok. And she is running, searching, colliding into him, with such force that they are both sent off balance.

Down to the floor, the dirty, cold floor. But no place has ever felt better. To hold him, for him to hold her and inhale the scent at the crook of his neck.

“Never again.” He pleads, massaging the back of her scalp, like he does when she’s falling asleep. “Never do that to me again.”

“I’m sorry, Haymitch.” She nuzzles the delicate skin of his throat.

“Don’t make me live in a world where you don’t exist.”

‘All I know is that I cannot die.’

Part 20

Series Taglist: @praline357 @flowercrowns-goodvibes @justheretoparty420 @avocadotoastwithegg @treehouse-mouse @emo-markie @spilled-mi1k @magical-spit @greaser9902 @jessicamellarky @yourebuckingkiddingme @smuha2004 @sendhelplease @ninimackbrews @wittiestrain184 @r1dd1kulus @erenluvr69 @helpimhyperfixating @jackierose902109 @jellybear455 @dreammgc @dadbodfanatic-x @ftdtcmlovr @inky-sun @ms-brek-ker @undercover55655 @mischiefmanaged21 @avoxrising @koiphisch @drwho-ess @daisydaisybilly

[apollos-boyfriend]

a transcription of bagi and cellbit's conversation - 10/15/23

their convo starts at approximately 03:03:00 in cellbit's vod. there's a lot of screaming and yelling, so to save on being repetitive, anything after (screaming) continues the sentiment until i note their voices returning to normal.

C: What’s up?

B: Look deep into my eyes. 

C: (long pause) . . . I’m looking.

B: Well? Nothing? (punches him, yelling) You asshole!

C: What? Wh-

B: (screaming) I looked for you for 15 years! And you forgot about me! You asshole!

C: (yelling) You abandoned me!

B: (crosstalk) You asshole!

C: You have no idea what I went through! You don’t know what I-what I lived through before this place! I don’t even know-

B: I spent the past few days in that stupid fucking house trying to remember your face!

C: I spent the last 15 years alone! In a war, in a jail, in a prison! I had to kill-I had to eat other people to stay alive! To be respected! Where were you? You were being coddled by mommy and daddy while I was out there, alone, bathed in blood! Half-dead! I never had a sister!

B: (pause, no longer screaming) You think mommy and daddy are still alive? What do you think I’ve been doing for the last 15, 20 years?

C: (pause, no longer screaming) I don’t know. And it doesn’t-

B: (raising her voice) What do you think I’ve been doing for the last 15 years of my life? Why do you think I’m on this shitty fucking island, you bastard?

C: (raising his voice) I don’t know! I just want to get out of here!

B: (voice cracking) You abandoned me, bastard! I spent the last 15 years chasing after you!

C: I don’t even remember this place. I don’t remember you! I don’t remember anything! How could I-how could I have abandoned you? (pause) You can believe whatever you want, but the place that I went to—the one far from here—I didn’t want to go there. The places I was taken to, I definitely never wanted to be taken there.

B: (softer) I found Roberto!

C: What is that? A worm . . . 

B: It’s your worm, you dick! It was thanks to Roberto that I remembered you. (she tosses Roberto to him)

C: (he analyzes Roberto for a second) He’s-

B: (interrupting) You don’t remember Roberto?

C: No, but he’s cool.

B: You always wanted to have a pet worm.

C: He’s really cool.

B: You thought they were fucking sick.

C: No, genuinely, he’s really cool. I can’t deny that. (raising voice) But that doesn’t negate the fact that it doesn’t matter-wait, what do you mean, didn’t you have-what do you mean I have a sister, that makes absolutely no sense, where have you been all my life?

B: I was chasing after you! Looking for you! I located you in that shitty prison and you fucking ran away, damnit!

C: (screaming) Of course I did! You don’t have the slightest clue of what happened in that place! I had to do everything in my power to manage to get out of there! And yeah, I did-I did terrible stuff! But it’s what I-it-after you’ve spent 10 years in a fucking warzone needing to kill dozens of people a day to survive, that’s the least of what you have to do to survive!

B: Wait, what happened to you? I didn’t-I didn’t know. I’m sorry. I-I spent the last-I spent the last 15 years looking for you. 

C: (solemn) And I spent the last 15 years trying to survive.

B: (long pause) You really didn’t remember me?

C: I didn’t remember anything. I just know that my-my first memory is me holding a fucking knife and a dead body right in front of me. And it was the only food I had. And it was like that for a long time. So, if you ask me, I’ve never had a family.

B: (crouching, crosstalk) You don’t remember us?

C: (increasingly more angry) I’ve never had a mom, or dad, or sister. I only had myself.

B: (broken) Seriously? You really don’t remember me?

C: I’m sorry, but no. I don’t remember you.

B: (long pause, stepping away) It’s okay.

C: (tossing her diary) This is yours.

B: What’s this? (long pause as she reads it) Looks like we’re no longer joined at the hip after all.

C: For me-

B: (interrupts, punching him) No, go fuck yourself, man! No, I’m not going to accept this! (screaming) I came to this shitty island, I’m stuck here with you, because I came searching for you! So now you’re going to accept me, damnit!

C: (screaming) You were already here before I got here!

B: (crosstalk) I’m your family! I’m your family, you fucker! Do you hear me? I’m stuck in this shit because of you, and I’m not leaving without you!

C: Well then, are you stupid? Because if you came here looking for me, I wasn’t even here! You got here before I did!

B: (speaking normally) I didn’t get here before you did, are you nuts?

C: How did you get on this fucking island, then?

B: (screaming) We lived on this island, dude!

C: (crosstalk) I never lived in this fucking hellhole! You think I would-are you-

B: (crosstalk) You were born here!

C: (squeaks) Huh? You’re nuts. Now you’re-now you’re in a whole new dimension. How was I born in this fucking place? What I want is to get out of here. I want to blow this place up.

B: (crosstalk, solemn) Do you want to see the house we grew up in? Maybe it’ll trigger some memories. I’m being serious.

C: (speaking normally) You have a-you know where-you have a-a-

B: (interrupting) I know where we grew up, yes. You don’t remember it, it’s okay, it happens. But . . . our house is here.

C: Uh-

B: Do you want to go there? Here, come with me. Let’s go to my house.

(They teleport to Bagi’s)

B: (breaking rp, laughing) [Your voice] is fucked to shit.

C: (not understanding what she means) What about yours?

B: (still laughing) 

C: (breaking rp) Oh, I get it, you’re talking about my voice. (laughing) That I’m losing my voice, shit. 

B: Mine is also fucked to shit. It feels like you have a boat stuck in there.

C: I do, I do, I do.

B: Put a boat down for me, please. Hold up, let me drive, let me drive. There.

(They get in the boat. Bagi starts driving)

C: (back in rp) We don’t even look similar, it doesn’t make any sense. Are you sure that that’s true?

B: (yelling) We don’t even look similar? You’re my fucking clone!

C: (yelling) Shut up, obviously not! The only thing-what man, you fucking dyed your hair to look like mine? It’s the only-wow, the only two people in the world-

B: I don’t even know why my hair looks like this! C: Neither do I! Maybe it’s-it has to be that fucking bear trying to get into our heads!

B: (speaking normally) Okay, look. Let me tell you something. Someone helped me get back my memories. I don’t know who. 

C: (speaking normally) But-

B: (interrupting) Someone wanted me to remember you. And wait, where did you even find my fucking book? Were you spying on me?

C: No, it was in my castle!

B: What do you mean, it was in your castle?

C: I-I woke up—actually, that reminds me of something else, oh my god—I woke up, and then I went-I ate my breakfast, with my cake, in my beautiful dining room with my marvelous portraits, and there was a fucking mysterious black box (immitates thunder) pow! It starts raining, there’s lightning, and I’m like “Fuck, what’s going on?” and I went to check-

B: (interrupting) But it wasn’t from the Federation, was it?

C: I don’t think so, because usually the Federation is-is-when they reach out, it’s not with black boxes and lightning. 

B: It happened to you too, then. There’s someone helping us find our missing memories! Why, I have no clue. I mean, I’m thankful, I’m really grateful, but . . . I don’t know why [they’re helping us]. (pause) Okay, hold on, let me see what the best route is to get there.

C: (long pause) How do you know about who was born on this island?

B: I don’t know who was born on this island, I just know that we were born here.

C: Is this-

B: (interrupting) Well, I don’t know if we were born here, I know that we grew up here. 

C: There are houses here.

B: So. When we were younger, everyone always said that the island was the safest and most perfect place to live. Now. How you disappeared in the safest and most perfect place to live, I don’t know. Hold up, let me see if we can go through here. No, it’s better to go in farther ahead.

C: (long pause) Why have I wound up back in this place, then?

B: We’re here.

(They get out of the boat and begin approaching the house)

B: You don’t actually remember anything? Nothing? 

C: No. 

B: There’s someone-there’s someone helping me recover my memories. I-I didn’t remember why I was here. But now I do. I’ve spent the last few days [in our old home]. 

C: Honestly, it’s been so long since I’ve lost my memories that I stopped thinking about where I came from. I just kept moving forward. Because if I looked back, I may have seen things I’d rather have forgotten. (observing their house) What is this? Shit.

B: Things you’d rather have forgotten? You were the only good part of my childhood, why would you not want to remember that?

C: (long pause) Because . . . because between my childhood and now . . . there’s something much worse. (he enters the house) What is this-it looks like a cozy house.

B: It’s a bit dusty now.

C: (crosstalk) It looks-it feels very familiar, actually. 

B: (excitedly) Come here! Do you remember our TV? That we needed to keep fiddling with the antenna that mom would make us put Bom Bril on? (Bom Bril is a Brazilian cleaning product made of steel wool.) Here! The TV!

C: (muttering, crosstalk) Bread with eggs. Bread with eggs. I once liked bread with eggs.

B: Um. When I got here—when something sent me here—all of your missing posters were all in the trash can. And . . . one book about the police investigation being dismissed because they didn’t have enough evidence to keep looking for you. You apparently left without leaving a single trace. Now, if you ran away because you wanted-or if because something-I don’t know.

C: (crosstalk, serious) I didn’t want to go where I went. I didn’t want to end up where I went. I didn’t want to be where I went.

B: (distressed) If this palace was supposed to be safe, then how come they kidnapped you?

C: Whoever took me-did you stay here?

B: I stayed here a little longer. 

C: Was this the parents’ rooms?

B: Yeah.

C: And there was nothing of theirs left behind?

B: No. I don’t know how they are. I don’t know where they are. I don’t know if they’re still alive.

(Long pause as Cellbit enters their bedroom)

B: Roberto was here, in the thing you were always messing with, oops, sorry. 

(Cellbit examines the small coffee mug on the table, then the brewing stand she was referring to)

C: What does this mean, Gabi? Why couldn’t I have a family?

B: Come here.

(Cellbit takes the coffee mug)

B: (raising her voice) You have a family, fucker! I came all this way just for you! Of course you have a family. You’re my brother! And you know that we’re fucked now, right? Because I was gonna let you fuck yourself over, because there’s someone trying to fuck you up, but now I can’t, because you’re my brother, and I won’t let go of your hand!

C: We’re-I give up. 

B: (speaking normally) Come here. You left this in here.

C: My mystery novels. This one’s really good, actually, have you read it? (he tosses her And Then There Were None)

B: Which one? I read all of them, damnit. I read all of them. You left them behind. Obviously I read them. But this one’s really good, you’re right. You left something else here. Oh, hold on, there’s too much in my inventory. You left a cipher book. You taught me ciphers when we were kids. And whoever it was that’s been giving me clues gave me them all in ciphers. And I knew how to solve them, somehow, because you (punches him) taught me about them when we were kids. 

C: (long pause) I’m not following. Who did this to me?

B: I’m going to find that fucker, and I’ll end him! Do you hear me?

C: But what . . . why . . . . what horrible atrocity could I have done as a kid to-to receive the penance I did, Bagi? I had a home. I had a family. (voice breaking) What did I do? Why was this all stolen from me?

B: (pause) It wasn’t stolen. I’m right here. 

C: Why did-

B: (interrupting, firm) Do you hear me?

C: Why did they turn me into a monster?

B: (voice breaking) Get back here, I’m going to give you a hug! (Bagi raises her arms for a hug. Cellbit doesn’t reciprocate) You get back here, you asshole! I’ve missed you! You don’t remember, but I spent the past 15 years looking for you! When I finally found you in prison, what did you do? You ran away! You were a fugitive! You bastard! I’m never going to let you go again, do you hear me? I’m stuck on this fucking island, with-with a psychopathic killer bear that keeps coming after you, and I did it willingly. I’d do it all again if it was up to me. 

C: I’m not the same person that you-that you grew up with.

B: (crosstalk) I don’t care!

C: (crosstalk) I’m not the same person.

B: (crosstalk) I don’t care! You’re my-we’re joined at the hip! A bit redundant, but we’re joined at the hip! (she finally steps away)

C: Maybe if I’d never left here, I’d still be your brother. But . . . I don’t-I’ve done things that I can never take back. And there’s broken parts of me that can never be fixed. I don’t-I don’t-I’ve never said this to anyone, Gabi. But I killed a Federation worker yesterday. And I liked it.

B: If you did it, there was a reason. There’s always a reason.

C: It felt good to kill someone again . . . .after so long. I’m not the same person you knew. 

B: (pause) Fuck off. You’re my brother. I don’t know what I-what you went through. I have no idea. But you don’t know what I went through, either! And now I’m here. And we’ll get out of this place together. Even if you don’t want to. 

C: At this point, I don’t know if leaving is my end goal anymore. 

B: Your goal is to end them?

C: I want to make them feel what I felt. I want to make them understand what they did to me. Now that I know that they stole me from the life I could’ve had, I will do the same to them.

B: You won’t do it alone. You hear me? You don’t have to be alone anymore. You’ve been alone for too long. As have I. 

C: So you better prepare yourself. 

B: I was born ready.

C: To bathe yourself in blood.

B: Alright.

C: I need-I’m going-I need some time in my castle alone. 

B: Me too.

C: Can I keep [Roberto]?

B: Obviously! Roberto was always yours. Actually, Roberto was [in the loft], I don’t know how he survived for this long. I got here and he was alive and kicking. 

C: It’s because he kicks ass.

B: I don’t know where you got him, but be careful. He seems a little dangerous.

C: That’s what makes him so cool.

B: See you, Roberto.

C: Okay.

B: Roberto’s a little cute. 

C: I need some time to process things, I can’t-I can’t-

B: It’s okay. 

C: We’ll see each other-

B: (interrupting) When you need me, you know where to find me. When you don’t need me, too. At any time. 

C: See you around. 

[pisupsala]

Of All The Stars in The Sky | 19 | Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw

Summary | War looks different from high above in the sky. But when Bradley finds himself on the ground, far behind enemy lines, it becomes a race against the clock to get out. And try not to look back at what he’s leaving behind.

Pairing | Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc (no use of y/n)

Warnings |Mature content | 18+ only[WWII AU] swearing, war, violence, death, explicit smut

Words | 8.8k

Index | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19

Library

Chapter 19 - It Had to Be You

“Do you feel… strange?” Emil phrases the question awkwardly. “Since the war, I mean.”

You pause and look up from the mushroom you had been inspecting before popping it out of the ground with your knife and placing it in the wicker basket on your arm. You nod.

Strange is a good word for it. You just don’t know if the world has become estranged or you. 

It’s late autumn and still pleasantly warm. The sun is low, but your heavy white cable-knitted sweater is still a bit too warm. You haven’t spoken to Emil since you marched out of the hospital last June, so you were surprised when you received a letter from an estate in the northern mountains with an invitation to visit. It had your old address on it, but your downstairs neighbor forwarded it to you.

“I can’t be in the city anymore,” He admits with difficulty, eyes trained firmly on the forest path before you. His stance is casual, hands in pockets of his dark green pants, in stark contrast to his near-wavering tone. Emil left the army abruptly, and this is the closest he’s come to admit as to why. The tranquility of the forest and the smell of pine and moss are soothing. “It’s too… busy. Too many people, you know?”

“I understand,” You reply softly. Too many people, no oversight, and blocked escape paths. “I don’t feel like I really have a place anymore.”

“Yeah…” 

Silence falls as you walk, looking around for more mushrooms. It’s only the two of you and the sounds of the forest. 

“Are you still waiting?” He doesn’t elaborate. There is no need to. Your hand automatically moves to the pocket of your gray slacks. The metal of the bracelet is cool and familiar.

“I’m not sure if I’m waiting or just stuck,” You admit, smiling sadly. You should have given up by now. 

For years, you thought everything was on hold temporarily, and you’d return to your life, classes, and books after the war. But you came to the realization you are not that person anymore. It’s a version of you that stayed behind on that dreary September day in 1939; you just didn’t realize until everything and everyone else returned. And now you’ve lost that; you no longer know where your place is. You’re not even really sure of who you are anymore. 

The only time you were reminded of the person you once were, which made you believe that you still existed, was with Bradley. He so skillfully unwrapped you to the barest essentials. But when you go looking now, there’s nothing left – like it was only a fleeting illusion that existed between the two of you, a flash of a chemical reaction before it all went up in smoke.

It’s like you’re in stasis. Again.

“Do you still hope?” There is no bitterness or accusation in the question.

“Hope?” You croak out. Of course, you still hope. It’s just becoming harder to believe by the day. The world has changed, and Bradley has probably changed with it. You don’t think you could blame him—not really. Not after what you’ve become. You blink rapidly a few times. “It mostly hurts.”

It’s a more honest admission than you would typically make. But who else could yet tell?

“I’m sorry,” Emil mumbles, aimlessly kicking a pine cone down the small path. 

“Times have changed. For the better, I might add,” You shake your head with a chuckle as you move your wicker basket to your right hand, balling your left hand in a fist, trying to stop it from shaking. “And people changed with it. That’s okay.” 

You slow down your pace, looking at Emil. “It has to be, you know?” You say urgently like you’re trying to convince yourself as much as him.

“I suppose we both got left behind in more ways than one,” He sighs before meeting your gaze. “I always believed you, of all people, were destined for more, Anya.”

“Maybe some version of me was,” You chuckle dryly, playfully bumping him with your elbow, holding out the basket to him. Emil takes it without argument. “Don’t you think we’ve had enough adventure for a lifetime?”

He laughs, a small, genuine laugh. Finally, you’re unsure if you can forgive Emil for planting those seeds of doubt in your head about Bradley. Maybe one day you’ll be grateful. Perhaps you never fully believed what Bradley told you, and you’re mad at Emil for voicing what you had been too afraid to confront. But whatever he said, whatever you sniped in return — he’s still your friend. Brother in arms. 

“You’d be content with just being a housekeeper?” He asks, almost incredulously. Just a few years ago, you would have been offended by the question—because of course not. You were going to travel the world and become a diplomat, a writer, an explorer. Now, you only count the steps from your home to the tram stop.

“Are you content with just being a gamekeeper?” You counter without malice. Emil doesn’t react. “Maybe we both deserve some peace, in whichever form.” 

“I hope you find your peace, Anya.” Emil looks at you sadly. “You more than anyone.” 

Peace.

The city is cleaned up quickly, but the splatter of blood, the agonizing screams, and the explosions have become indelible in your mind's eye. It’s like a ghostly shadow wrapping around the bustling city. Maybe Emil could see it, too. Perhaps that’s why he couldn’t stay.

Was the city like this before the war? Were you part of that crowd? Why can’t you go back? 

You’re moving through life without purpose, just getting by. It’s enough. 

Right?

You live a quiet, frugal life. You dutifully add to your monthly savings, but it’s a slow undertaking. Your salary is okay, all things considered, but traveling to the United States is expensive — and you’d need to get to a port city first. And that’s just travel. You need money for hotels, food, and a visa — it makes your head spin when you think about it. It’s that sliver of a dream that keeps you going. So you just keep your head down.

You don’t question Mrs. Parker’s particular requests; even though you figured out pretty quickly, she puts a lot of stock in seeing hard work and effort over results. You don’t question why Mrs. Parker appears craftier than her husband, the ambassador. You especially don’t question why the ambassador and his wife sleep in separate rooms. You clean them all the same.

And then there is Loretta. Beautiful, young Miss Lo. She came with silken blonde curls, bright green eyes, and trunks of dresses from exquisite fabrics on a gap year. You don’t question that she seems more interested in parties, men, and dancing than anything else. But you recognize the insatiable hunger recognition: being great at your work. And Miss Lo is excellent at being fun, young, and beautiful. And not a single man in the long parade of officers and dignitaries visiting would disagree.

Deep inside, you know you don’t question it because if you did, you’d have to see the lingering envy in you for what it is. So you just keep your head down.

Almost a year passes. You’ve hemmed and re-hemmed more dressed than you count, scrubbed more stains from delicate fabrics than you care to identify, sweeping piles upon piles of ashes from the marble floors. 

If anything, you are an excellent seamstress now, especially considering how awful you were at most handwork, like knitting. Miss Lo caused you plenty of practice, and your roommates were gratefully making use of your offer to mend and tailor what they needed. But you’ve had enough of your dresses that needed tailoring — raising necklines, adding collars, and sometimes even adding new sleeves. Anything that would keep prying away from the scarred skin that your ever-longer hair could not hide.

You’re in stasis.

It’s May again. It’s a year since the war has ended, and it’s a beautiful day — warm, with a gentle breeze swaying the blooming trees. In a few days, you turn 27, although you’ve not celebrated your birthday… well, since Eva last baked you a small cake. That’s four years ago now.

It still hurts. It’s like every memory is now overgrown with thorns, the edges irreparably singed by the fire. Eva. Your parents. Bradley. It still hurts, and it will probably never stop hurting. Like your shoulder aches and hand shakes after a long day after a long day of work. Like your head is always buzzing, the ceaseless noise in your ear painfully keeps you awake. You long for the morning you wake up and finally accept that this is it. None of them are coming back. You will never be whole again. When waves finally wash you away, and you’ll see them again. Like in that dream, on that beach, when for a moment nothing hurt.

Standing at the back of the tram, a bucket full of beautifully arranged bouquets wedged between your foot and the wall, you are entirely focused on the leather-bound booklet in your hand, tapping the back of the small pencil against your lips. You try to scratch the itch in your brain by doing crossword puzzles. Your dad bought you all those newspapers, after all.

Maybe you’ll even get good at doing crosswords, finally.

You don’t need to pay attention to where you are going; you’ve taken this route hundreds of times. You know where you are just by a glance from the corner of your eye. You recognize the shape of the buildings, the way that the sun hits the street, the gait of the tall figure walking out of the train station -

You swing your head around so hard your forehead rams into the window with a dull crack. You see stars for a moment, colors melting into each other in strange shapes. When your vision returns, the tram has already turned a corner. Ignoring the stares around you, your hand flies into your pocket, dropping your pencil. It rolls away between the legs of the other passengers, but you pay it no mind. You are trying to catch your breath. The metal loops around your fingers, but it scarcely brings you comfort. 

Your bored brain must be hallucinating; the cruel sun must be playing tricks on you; your poor heart must be dreaming. 

Because of the tiniest second, you could have sworn you saw Bradley walk out of the station.

***

Dear Captain Bradshaw,

I am writing to you in response to your repeated inquiries to the International Red Cross about Anna Sokolova, born December 25, 1919, in Prague. No person matching that name and birthdate has been found in our records of wounded, dead, or missing in Czechoslovakia. The IRC has also been unable to confirm Ms. Sokolova’s current whereabouts with any local authorities due to a lack of records.

I hope to have sufficiently informed you. Please understand that at the time of writing, our resources are stretched, and we regret to inform you that we cannot further assist you on this case.

Bradley must have read the letter a hundred times before crumpling it up in frustration and jamming it into the side pocket of his duffle bag. It’s all coming down to this last-ditch attempt. Getting to Europe was actually surprisingly easy — Cyclone seemed more than pleased that Bradley had decided to follow his advice and take a desk post in Nuremberg. By the end of January 1946, Bradley was making his way back across the Atlantic.

However, getting a liberty pass was more difficult, especially a week pass for international travel. Bradley had called in about every single favor he could, signing on to stay an additional month in Germany, ultimately getting Mav to pull some strings for him. It’s May by the time he finally boards a train east, restless in his seat, looking out the window, waiting for when he will eventually see something he recognizes. Something, anything, will make all the puzzle places fall in place again and show him a path to you. 

Bradley desperately hoped that everything would fall into place when he got off the train. That he would remember. 

But in the back of the large black car that was waiting for him, zipping through the city, everything is just a blur. 

It makes him uneasy. Nervous. 

It’s like that moment of take-off; the second the wheels leave the carrier runway, there’s nothing but dark water beneath him. In that fraction of a second, his stomach drops — what am I even doing here?

Meeting his hosts does little to calm the mounting anxiety he feels. The ambassador’s residence is a grand villa surrounded by a beautiful garden overlooking the city. In the distance, the river glitters happily in the sunlight; the fruit trees are in fragrant bloom, colorful bunches of lilac in pink, blue, and purple color the city. The ambassador himself is almost unremarkable in stature as well as demeanor. Mrs. Parker appraises him with a sharp look and a too-kind smile. The daughter bats her eyelashes a little too hard for it to be genuinely demure; her perfectly sweet smile is a little too well-practiced, not a wrinkle on her pretty dress, not a hair out of place. 

Behind them stand two maids in matching dark dresses and white aprons, with blank, borderline bored looks. After exchanging pleasantries, one of the maids leads him wordlessly up the grand staircase. Red carpet on marble. Gold latches on the windows.

It all seems very… formal, considering Bradley is not here on business. But when he received his travel visa, it came with an invitation to stay. It seemed rude to decline. Now Bradley is starting to regret not doing so anyway. Something about the house and these people is making him uneasy. It’s making his head hurt like he’s even more out of place here than anywhere else in the world.

Walking into the large sunny guestroom, a fresh flower arrangement in the vase on the dresser, Bradley closes his eyes for a moment. You once said May was your favorite time in the city because you liked how everything bloomed. Breathing in deeply, trying to gather his thoughts, floral notes hit his nose. There’s something familiar in the air. 

He can smell your soap.

Bradley drops his duffle bag; it crashes on the carpeted floor. The smell, the tiniest hint that lingers, is making his stomach lurch like at take-off. God, it’s like your ghost is in the air, dancing around him, evading him every step. Bradley screws his eyes shut, balling his hands into fists. He wants to remember. 

Every route you showed him. 

Every street corner he kissed you on.

Even that goddamn small room tucked away behind the hidden servant's entrance.

Your steps echo around him, running up the stairs, coming closer and closer. Suddenly, his heart was beating so fast, and his breath was coming out, heaving, somewhere between panic and elation. Before he can pinpoint where the footsteps are coming from, they disappear. A door closes. Silence.

You are haunting him.

***

Eyes closed, blouse sleeves rolled up, cigarette dangling loosely between your lips, you’re lounging on the old, creaky wooden chair outside the kitchen entrance. The empty bucket sits at your feet. Your new red and blue plaid coat hangs from the chair. It’s quiet. The sun feels pleasant. Behind your closed lids, you see the shadows of the trees move in the breeze. Inside, you hear the cook pottering around the kitchen, whistling.

It’s such an odd day. Despite the gorgeous weather, you have that foreboding feeling, like when a storm is brewing — not a cloud in the sky, but you feel how the air pressure suddenly drops. Your forehead still stings. 

It’s ridiculous. You’re being ridiculous. Eva would have already set you straight. If not for her, your mom would have. You thought you saw Bradley in a flash, in a flicker of shadow, and your heart soared with such force that you nearly knocked yourself out, falling over to catch another glimpse of his ghost. How incredibly pathetic. 

The pit in your stomach is there again. The consuming darkness expands through your flesh and bones again. You managed to keep it at bay all this time, simply not admitting it was eating away at you. But the split second of your dream leaking into reality broke the dam.

Men like Bradley don’t wait for a girl for three years. They don’t need to. Men like Bradley sure as shit don’t settle for jumped-up little schoolgirls that dropped out of college. Why would they? And men like Bradley, you swallow heavily, have no use for a broken and burned body like yours. You have nothing to offer him.

You knew this. But it was your mistake to make, you tell yourself again. You thought you accepted that. Logically and rationally, it shouldn’t hurt like this. Your hand sneaks into your coat pocket again, the tip of your finger just brushing against the nameplate. It brings you no comfort — instead, you feel so much more aware of the pit in your stomach. 

What would Bradley say if he knew you still had it in your pocket? He would probably make fun of you and tease you for falling for him so hard, still pining despite your constant protests as if he would remember. He never gave it to you to keep. He flung it at you. You just never gave it back, and Bradley never asked for it.

You screw your eyes shut tighter for a second, exhaling deeply. It’s Sunday, your day off, and you should be enjoying yourself. Not pondering the maybes of life long passed. Moreover, you shouldn’t be at the residence today — you’re only here to drop off the flowers for the guestroom because the florist forgot to deliver them. Which you did, and then you bolted through the servant’s entrance to the back of the house.  

So why do you hear someone calling your name?

You wonder how much longer you can pretend not to hear and just bask in the sun a bit longer. The rapid footsteps approaching spell the end of your moment of quiet. Sitting up, rolling down your sleeves, and brushing the carefully styled curls back into place, framing the left side of your face.

“Annie!” 

You wince. You hate that name.

Smiling broadly, Julie comes bursting out of the house. Her red hair is like a flame. Unceremoniously, she sits herself down in the doorway, legs stretched in front of her, toeing her neat black lacquered shoes off.

Automatically, you hand her your cigarette holder and a box of matches, which she gratefully accepts.

“Don’t sit on the floor, Julie,” You say in way of greeting. “You’ll get your dress dirty.”

She ignores you, stretching languidly.

“Did you take a peek at the new house guest?” She asks instead, a devilish look on her face.

“Do I ever?” You reply, ashing your cigarette absentmindedly. You ensure everything runs smoothly behind the scenes: the rooms look beautiful, not a crinkled sheet or speck of dust, magically laundered clothes each morning, fresh flowers. But it’s not your job to serve drinks or dinner. 

It was hiding away in the shadows that once protected you. The shadows that wrapped their branches around you, through you, rooting you into place.

“He had Miss Lo on the ceiling with one look,” she continues, giddy. “This is promising to be such an entertaining week!”

“Oh please,” you close your eyes again, leaning back. “Nothing will happen. Miss Lo will simper, fawn, and complain, Mrs. Parker will loom over every step we make, and then the ambassador and his guest will probably burn a hole in the smoking room curtains again.”

Julie snorts. 

“I get her, though,” she adds thoughtfully. “Miss Lo, I mean.”

You shoot her a skeptical look.

“What, you never have a little daydream about one of those handsome officers sweeping you off your feet?”

“Me?” You gesture vaguely at your face. “Hardly,” you lie. 

“Especially you,” Julie continues, undeterred. Your mouth sets in a hard line. “You pine.”

“I don’t,” Annoyance is seeping through your voice.

“Yeah, you do. When you think no one is looking, when you’re working, it’s like your eyes glaze over. You’re pining for someone,” She’s pointing her index finger at you playfully. You roll your eyes.

“You know you could just tell me, right?” She presses, a little too eager. “You’re inviting all the gossip because you never tell us anything,”

“It’s annoying when Miss Lo does it, but it’s rude coming from you, Julie,” You cut her off sharply. Your head still hurts, and your ear feels heavy like it’s full of water. 

You could talk about Bradley. There is no reason to keep it a secret anymore — the danger has passed. Once, you were waiting for the time when your great wartime romance would only be a story lovingly recounted over too many wines. 

You could talk about what happened in those final days of the war. You were hardly the only one that came home broken in more ways than one. You thought that one day you’d look back at everything that happened, everything that you did, and feel some pride. 

But it just hurts. And that hurt is all you have left. It’s yours to suffer because you convince yourself it’s the only way you are sure everything that happened was real: the good and the bad. 

“You’re doing it again, Anya,” Julie takes a long drag from her cigarette, mercifully dropping the horrid new nickname bestowed on you by Mrs. Parker. You shoot her a long-suffering look.

“You know what they say, right?” Julie says calmly, legs stretched before her, languishing in the sun. “The best way to get over a man is to get under another one.”

You start laughing, despite yourself. You don’t know what has suddenly gotten into you. Maybe the shadows had become too cold and lonely for you to handle. 

Maybe you finally allowed yourself to break free from your stasis. 

Maybe you really stopped believing Bradley would ever come back to you. 

Maybe you are ready to admit you never truly believed it in the first place.

The music is too loud. Your head is spinning — not from the collision, but from the white wine spritz going down too quickly. Why are you in a club on Sunday night? Why is it so busy? Someone is talking to you. You can see his mouth move, shaping the words, but you cannot hear his voice. It simply disappears in the wave of dissonant sounds. Julie is dancing. You see flashes of her red hair twirl in and out of sight. 

It’s the creeping realization that you shouldn’t be here. 

The room moves in strange waves. Fingers wrap around your chin. You want to stumble back, but your back is against a wall. Were you here the whole time? Nervously, you brush your fingers through your hair, ensuring the curls framing your face's left side are still in place. Another hand brushes them away again. You wish you could melt through the wall. The puffs of breath against your skin tell you he’s whispering something in your ear. 

“Leave me alone,” You try.

You can’t hear your own words. You can’t hear the fucking words. Panic is bubbling up now. The grip on your chin is painful — you jerk your head away, throwing up your arms to create a shield between yourself and the hulking mass hovering over you. It doesn’t have the intended effect. The moment you think you’ve made an escape for yourself, he closes in on you more. 

The hand threading through your hair yanks your head back painfully. You are sure that you screamed out. But it’s like the sound disappeared into the void. Maybe you only screamed in your head. His lips crash roughly into yours. Every action elicits a reaction — whenever you pull away, he pulls you back in closer.

It’s like a switch flips in your head. For a few seconds, the surge of adrenaline sharpens your vision again—the wave of noise stills.  You stop struggling.

You know where you are.

Your wine glass is on the table, on your right-hand side. Your fingers sneak towards it, gripping the stem tightly. You have one shot at this. He is taller than you, heavier. You don’t stand a chance in a fair fight.

That’s okay. You won’t fight fair.

Shattering the bell of the glass on the side of the table shocks him enough to break off the kiss. The shock changes to wide-eyed horror when the sharp edge of the wine glass is pressed against his jugular. You use the moment to switch positions. It’s almost comical how meekly the man allows himself to get pushed against the wall.

You want to say something clever. But it’s like your tongue is paralyzed. 

This is your chance. You need to get out before people start noticing you are poised to stab someone in the neck. 

Stay in your shadow.

You are halfway down the street in the pitch dark night when you realize you are still holding the broken wine glass. The fine shards have made your fingers bleed. You stumble to a halt. The world is spinning uncomfortably again.

Why are you holding that glass? Where is your coat? Your purse?

Fuck. Fuck. 

You don’t care about the coat. You don’t care about the purse or anything in it. Everything is replaceable. 

 A broken sob escapes you. 

You care about that fucking bracelet in your pocket. It’s the one thing you can’t make yourself leave behind. You let out a scream from frustration. A window slams shut somewhere.

Why can’t you move on? Why are you allowing Bradley — fucking Rooster — who is not even fucking here, that you haven’t seen or heard from in the three years, who spent the better part of two months sweet-talking you into bed with him when he could have fucking died, who fucked with you, your head and heart so thoroughly in just six short days, and you let him, why are you still allowing him all this power over you? Why can’t you just let him go already?

You will yourself forward, but your feet won’t move. 

You’re in stasis.

Tears streaming down your face, broken wine glass in your bloodied hand, you are sure you look as unhinged as you feel. Turning around, you march back to the club.

You will get back what’s yours. 

You will get what was promised to you. 

And you’ll do it your fucking self. 

***

Looking at the picture he tore from Life, Bradley tries to determine if the church spires in the background are the same ones he’s looking at now. Has he been here before? Did you ever take him through this part of the city? It’s frustrating how little he seems to remember and how hard it is to recall the things he was so sure were branded onto his brain.

That place, the villa, was messing with his head. Something there was putting him on edge like he had to be on the lookout the whole time. It was almost like he was expecting to turn a corner, open a door, walk into any room, and find you there. He barely made it through the one night there before the anxiety became too overwhelming, and he packed his bag and checked into a hotel. 

It settled some of his anxiety, but it didn’t help Bradley remember anything. Instead, he snaps a picture of the church. He got a new camera so he can play the part of tourist fully, but he mostly hopes someday, somehow, something will click in his brain again, and he’ll find his way to you. As of today, he has five days to find you in this maze of a city before he needs to get back to Germany and finish his assignment there. After that, there is no telling how long it will be before Bradley gets another chance to come to Europe.

He has to find you.

“Rooster!”

Alarmed, Bradley turns around, stuffing the picture back into his wallet. He’s not sure if he should be relieved or annoyed at the person calling his name. 

“Bradley Bradshaw, as I live and breathe,” Jake Seresin saunters to Bradley, grinning widely. Bradley closes his eyes for a moment, cursing. Of all the people in this city, he had to run into Bagman. A Bagman that looks and smells like he just rolled out of a bar, no less, his RAF uniform jacket unbuttoned, tie loose, cover askew. 

“What on earth are you doing here?” Jake asks, attempting to fix his hair by running his hand through it several times, just making it stick out worse. “Did you miss me so much you came to see me on my home turf?” He adds arrogantly, still smiling like the devil.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Seresin,” Bradley retorts flatly. “I didn’t come to see you, and right now, I’m not sure I want to be seen with you,”

“You’re such a stick in the mud, lieutenant,” Jake drawls sarcastically.

“It’s captain,” It shouldn’t feel so good to Bradley to lord his rank over Hangman, who is still a lieutenant. But of course, Hangman only responds with a deliberately poorly executed salute to Bradley. 

“I know a good watering hole near here,” Jake says offhandedly as he searches his pockets, only to pull out an empty carton of cigarettes, crush it, and stuff it back in his pocket — if it’s supposed to be an invitation, it sure as hell doesn’t sound like one. “You can buy me a drink and tell me what you’re doing here.” 

“It’s 11 in the morning, Hangman,”

“When in Rome and all that,” He waves Bradley’s protests away. 

Bradley hates the idea. Absolutely hates it. But what if. What if Bagman, of all people, could actually help him? 

“Fine,” Bradley tries to sound indifferent. “I’ll buy you a drink, but you have to help me with something,”

The broad smile on Jake’s face at the mention of Bradley needing his help has Bradley convinced that this is all one big mistake. 

Bradley still thinks Jake is arrogant and annoying at best, but he begrudgingly appreciates him tagging along. Jake seems to be at least somewhat genuinely interested in helping him, and he cleans up quite well. Bradley needs a guide and someone who speaks the language, even when that guide is more interested in catching the eye of as many girls as possible in his flashy uniform, adorned with medals for bravery and the highest orders of service. It’s not that Jake didn’t fairly deserve those—Bradley still thinks he’s an absolute madman, both in the air and on the ground. A madman with his heart in the right place, however.

And he can hardly blame Jake for using his uniform to charm the local ladies—Bradley has done the exact same many times. But he’s only looking for one lady to charm again.

“I’m sure even you thought of this before, but are you sure you have her real name?” Jake asks conversationally as they walk across the bridge over the Vltava. 

He has four days to find you. Yesterday Jake was of relatively little actual help, and somewhere, it pains Bradley that the first and only person that he has spoken to about you, is Jake fucking Seresin. Bradley couldn’t tell Jake all the details, but he put together the details. He thinks that by now he has seen every part of the city in the last two days, but he still hasn’t found you.

“I know her first name is Anna—everyone consistently referred to her as Anya, though,” Bradley replies, looking around. A little tug in his heart. Carefully, he thinks he sees something familiar when you connect the first two pieces of a puzzle.  Bradley remembers the bridge, with the golden ornamented columns at either end. He remembers your teasing smile as you helped him practice the pronunciation.  He walked past it with you so many times, the national theater behind them.

“Yeah, people do that here.” Jake shrugs. “It’s a common nickname to a very common first name, though.”

“As for her last name—I know for a fact, her initials are A.S.” Bradley continues. “She gave me her handkerchief with her initials embroidered on it and a little bird. Sokol, for falcon.”

“Sure, her last would be Sokolova.” Jake interjects, bored. “But,” he continues, lighting a cigarette. “Have you considered that, even if her initials are A.S., she could have a different first name? Alzhbyeta, Alitse, Anastasia, Alena—I mean, if I had to pick a cover name, I would probably pick the most bog-standard first name in the whole country, too.” 

Bradley knows Jake is inferring it will be next to impossible to find you. They walk along the colorful buildings along the water—Bradley feels like he’s walked this route a million times in his dreams, and the moment he waited for is finally here. He knows exactly where to go without being able to explain which turn to take.

“I grew up near here.” Jake suddenly pipes up as he walks next to Bradley, looking around the stately buildings. “My mother still lives around here,”

“Anya said she grew up here too.” Bradley’s heart is beating loudly. Maybe asking Hangman for help was a good idea after all. “Do you think there’s a chance you might have known her?”

Jake shrugs, eyeing the girls walking down the opposite side of the street. Bradley describes what you look like; you were in your sophomore year in university in 1939.

“She could be my age,” Jake admits flatly. “But there were at least five girls named Anna that could roughly fit your description in my cohort in high school—if she even went to the same school as I did. And I don’t remember what they went to college for.” 

Jake is not the most encouraging companion, but Bradley’s heart still skips a beat as he sees the familiar street. It’s all slotting into place now. The row of yellow, white, pink, and green. The statues look down at the entrance. He speeds up his pace, Jake jogging behind him.

Bradley quickly scans the names next to the doorbells before moving on to the next one, Jake hot on his tail. 

“Bradshaw, listen.” Jake puts a hand on his shoulder, face concerned. It’s strange to see him so serious suddenly. “I grew up in the next building over,” He gestures at the yellow building at the end of the block. “I don’t remember a family called Sokol living in one of these buildings.” 

“Fuck.” Bradley mumbles as he pulls out your handkerchief from the inner pocket of his jacket. He traces the stitching of your initials. Was it really all a ruse? Did you never truly believe he’d come back for you? Were you just playing out a role in the end?

Jake glances down before clearing his throat awkwardly. “Can I see that?”

Bradley hands it to him wordlessly, tucking his hands in his pockets. Did he not tell you enough times? Did you forget or simply stop believing? Did you never believe him in the first place, and were you only happy to dream with him? The fact that he had spun so many girls so many tales over the years this might finally be his comeuppance. 

All the dark thoughts he had tried to keep at bay have broken through. He would be crazy not to consider that you might not have gotten married in the meantime or still living in the same place. You were never going to wait for him. Why would you? He knew he was right when he saw your real smile, and you could see everyone wrapped around your little finger, and you did the same thing so effortlessly with him. And he’s more and more sure you could have a devoted husband now, maybe a baby. And you’re happy. Without him.

You never told him your last name. You really didn’t mean for him to find you after the war. 

“Bradshaw, I cannot believe I have to tell you this.” Jake sounds like he’s holding in laughter, breaking Bradley out of his reverie and thrusting the neatly folded fabric back into his line of vision. “This,” He jabs at the embroidered corner. “Is not a fucking S with a little bird,” He bursts out laughing.

“Wai- what?” Bradley forcefully grabs the handkerchief, looking at it intently, like it now contains some new information.

“Did she tell you it was an S with a little bird?” Jake asks, barely able to contain himself.

“No, no…” Bradley is sunk in thought. “I just… I just thought Anya was awful at embroidering.” He mumbles.

Jake absolutely loses it at that, doubling over in laughter. An old lady looks out of her opened window, staring both men down judgmentally. When Jake finally stops laughing, he tries to catch his breath to explain how this could be funny.

“So, it’s not an S,” Bradley asks impatiently. “Then what — Hangman, get a grip! — What is it?” 

“It’s a Sh,” He replies simply, rubbing his face and giggling. “It’s a completely different letter.” 

Bradley stands rooted to the ground, speechless, as Jake keeps laughing.

“You know what would be even more hilarious?” Jake is leaning his forearm against the building, hand covering his eyes with his hand as his shoulder shakes from laughing. “If this whole time, you had been actually talking about Anna Shafrankova, my neighbor who tutored me in high school.”

“They say it’s a small world,” He takes a deep breath, wiping the tears from his eyes. “But man, that would actually be really weird.”

“Jesus fucking Christ…” Bradley throws himself against the wall, closing his eyes. He feels the sun shine warmly on his face. The gears in his head turn, overheating. He tries to desperately remember every bit of information you shared with him, sometimes offhandedly. As a child, you were scared of ghosts and explored the passageways between buildings with other neighborhood kids. Jake must have been one of them. The arrogant classmate who went to flight school and then disappeared. Was that also Jake?

“Was she scared of ghosts?” Bradley ventures carefully. Suddenly, Jake’s laughter evaporates, and he’s looking at Bradley with astonishment. “When exploring the buildings, as kids, she told me she was scared of the ghosts haunting the servant stairwell,”

“What the…” The look on Jake’s face is confirmation enough. Bradley is sure of it. They are talking about the same person: you. This means, embarrassingly, that Bradley now actually knows less about you than he thought. Those identity papers had been fake. 

“Was her birthday on Christmas?” 

Jake actually looks confused for a moment. “No,” He ventures carefully. “I’m pretty sure it was sometime in summer — we used to go swimming in the reservoir lake and build camp fires for her birthday, so definitely not in winter.” 

Those papers had been very fake, indeed. It’s both a relief and a setback. 

“Come on, let’s see if old Shafrankova is home,” Jake announces, clapping Bradley on his back. “After that, you can buy me a drink or ten, and I want an invitation to the wedding.” 

Bradley follows Jake in a daze to the green house – you always took him out of another exit, so Bradley never knew which building you lived in. Or which apartment for that matter?

“There’s a different name on 2B now.” Jake comments. “But maybe she left a forwarding address.”

Jake is playing up his natural charm to the lady of the house, who is blushing furiously, answering his questions. Bradley looks around. You never talked much about your home or family. The apartment is light and spacious, with high ceilings and hardwood floors. It’s ornately furnished. What was it like to grow up here? You always seemed humble, never complaining about the conditions you found yourself in, from sleeping on the floor to eating old dry bread. But to live here, surely your family must have been well off, solidly middle-class.

You were well-educated; that should probably have been a hint of your background. But Bradley thought you were just determined. Because you had proven time and time again in the short time he knew you that you had determination and discipline in spades.

“Come on, let’s go.” Jake motions him out, and the lady of the house waves at them with a dreamy look in her eye.

“What did you learn?” Bradley can’t contain his curiosity.

“She didn’t leave a forwarding address,” Jake grumbles. “The lady said Shafrankova sold everything and disappeared.”

Jake hesitates suddenly, eyeing Bradley wearily.

“She said that she only saw Shafrankova once.” He says, choosing his words carefully. “She said she looked… scarred.”

Bradley stops mid-descended on the stairs.

“Scarred, how?” He asks sharply. The vision from his dream, blood gushing from your head, the smell of burning flesh, your face contorted in a voiceless scream, flashes through his head.

Jake shrugs. “She didn’t elaborate. She only said it was a waste of such a lovely face.”

Bradley feels the blood drain from his face. Someone hurt you. Someone came after you. His mind keeps flashing back to when he looked out the train window. What if he wasn’t misremembering? What if it was really someone dragging you off the platform by force? What if you had been arrested? Locked up?

What if that dream really had been more than just a dream?

He tries to find solace in the idea that you aren’t dead. That picture in Life, with his bracelet, must have been you, and if the new tenant saw you, you must have survived the uprising. But you got hurt. And he’s getting the sinking feeling it’s because of him.

“I need to find her.” He utters, panicked.

“That’s the idea,” Jake replies in a bored tone again. “But let’s figure out a plan first. I know a good bar near.”

Dragging his feet, Bradley follows Jake down the street. All the progress they made today was for naught in the end. He is no closer to actually finding you; he only knows where you are not. Time is ticking, and tomorrow, he needs to spend the whole evening as a dinner guest of the ambassador.

“Hey, cheer up,” Hangman turns to look at Bradley with that exact shit-eating grin that never spells anything good out of his mouth. “If you don’t find her by Saturday, I’ll happily introduce you to another Anna,”

***

Mrs. Parker likes to see effort over results. Even though the windows in the smoking room are squeaky clean — the room hadn’t been used since it was cleaned just a week prior — she won’t be satisfied until she has seen you scrub everything and sweat on your brow. She is always particular, but now she is doing it to punish you.

A searing headache and repeated nightmares that kept you bedbound until yesterday. You couldn’t sleep, you couldn’t stay awake. You just lay there, tears streaming down your face. 

And from what you had heard, the houseguest suddenly left without a real explanation. It’s not your fault, but Mrs. Parker needs to get rid of her frustration somewhere.

You hate washing windows. You hate it even more when someone hovers over you. But dinner is in an hour and a half, and Mrs. Parker is getting nervous. You don’t bother to ask if important guests are coming; they are all important. Decorated, distinguished, loud, and drunk.

The big windows of the smoking room on the second floor open outward into the beautiful garden of the villa on the hill, the city sprawling below it. The sun is low, and the blue sky slowly colors pink and orange. You wish you could take a moment to enjoy it rather than scrubbing nonexistent dirt from the window sill and listening to Mrs. Parker going through what appears to be a nervous breakdown as she zooms through the room.

“Annie, make sure that there is fresh ice here before dinner ends,”

“Yes, ma’am,” You reply lightly.

“Annie, this tablecloth has a gray sheen; please replace it and rewash it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” You reply dutifully as you strain to reach the top of the window with your cleaning cloth.

“Annie, Annie, these flowers look like they are wilting. Are you sure they are fresh?”

You look over your shoulder at the vase Mrs. Parker is holding. Wilting is a strong word.

“I’ll replace them with fresh cuts before them men arrive after dinner, ma’am,” You assure her, although you doubt they will notice the difference or care.

“Oh, Annie, I need to go check on dinner,” Mrs. Parker dramatizes. She grasps you by the shoulder as you stand by the open window, the long sleeves of your dark work dress awkwardly rolled up, sweat prickling on your forehead, and sopping cloth in your hand, slowly dripping onto the hardwood floor. “You’re the only one I can trust,” She implores you. “You’ll help me, won’t you?”

She’s asking you like she’s not paying you to do this.

“Of course,” You smile politely. “Don’t worry about it, ma’am.” 

You sigh deeply when you hear the door click close, returning to the open window. You plop the rag back into the metal bucket on the window sill, wiping your hands on your apron as you look out over the garden. The blooming colors, the sweet smells — it’s really at its most beautiful right now. The apple tree is so full of blossoms it’s almost completely white. The rose bushes have come in beautifully again in pink, red, and yellow. The lavender is abundant.

When you hear the high-pitched giggle, you step back from the window, averting your gaze. Miss Lo is strolling through the garden with tonight’s guest, showing him the lush surroundings and stunning view. You busy yourself with changing the allegedly grayish tablecloth and taking the perfectly fine flowers out of the vase. 

You can hear Miss Lo’s melodic voice, although you cannot make out any words. Envy is searing through you like a red-hot iron. Today, you just can’t take it. Resolutely, you march back to the window, expressly not looking at the two figures slowly walking down the garden path in the sunset. As you reach the window latch, you plant your left hand on the window sill to keep yourself stead.

The windows are so unnecessarily large you have to strain to reach far enough — your fingertips barely touch the handle. As you put more weight on your left arm, leaning forward, you feel the pain building in your shoulder.

Just a little further.

Finally, you get a grip on the handle, but it’s like a bomb bursts in your left shoulder. Your elbow buckles from the sudden wave of pain, colliding with the metal bucket that you stupidly left on the window sill. Time almost slows to a crawl as you grab your left arm, pressing it against your chest to stop it from violently shaking, and you watch in partial fascination, partial horror as the metal bucket is no longer standing on the window sill but rather tortuously slowly is sailing down to the patio. 

You scrunch up your face and hold your breath in preparation for the screech and clang of the metal against the stone, still standing in the window, looking down at the inevitable chaos below you. 

The impact echoes, drawing out your mortification. You close your eyes in frustration.

The high-pitched girlish scream is several orders of magnitude louder than the bucket hitting the stone patio.

Shit. Fucking shit. Miss Lo.

Hesitantly, you open your eyes, still frozen in the open window. You don’t see the bucket and the soapy water sloshed over the stones. You don’t see Miss Lo in her evening dress and glittering jewelry, her face etched in horror, clinging to her companion. Everything has disappeared, melting away in the background.

Because on the garden path leading up to the house, in a resplendent white Navy uniform, looking right at you, is Bradley.

You can’t breathe. You can’t think. Bradley pulls his arm away from Miss Lo, shaking her off almost rudely. He’s still staring at you like he’s just seen a ghost. As he takes one step forward, you take a step back. With one last look, you start running. 

In the war, you left small parts of yourself scattered. A version, a part of you, stayed on that square in front of the university between the bodies of your classmates. Another part of you broke off in that mountain cabin when you first aimed a gun at another person. Bradley chipped off and pocketed so many bits of you, and oh, how gladly you let him. Finding Eva’s murdered body in the stairwell of your apartment cracked deep into your soul. When you shot Jan, you didn’t feel anything; you were already so broken, but more bits of the person that you once were died there that day. The explosions, the bodies, the blood, the shots—they cling to the wreckage of your former self.

As you stand at the top of the stairs, tugging your sleeve down out of habit, you’ve never been more acutely aware of how incomplete you truly are. There is nothing but debris left of the girl Bradley met that day in that barn. You are surprised he even recognizes you.

He is looking up at you in wonder from the bottom of the stairs. Hurriedly, clumsily, he grabs his cover off his head, holding it in his hands almost nervously, unsure what to do next. The black pit in your stomach is still there — you are so afraid that the look of wonder will disappear forever when he sees you up close. Despite your heart beating as much in fear as in excitement, your feet start moving down the stairs of their own accord, going faster and faster. Every broken piece of you rattles like broken china with every step, the sound becoming deafening the closer you get. 

Bradley is running up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. His brain is going a mile a minute: you look exactly like he remembers, but also different. Still beautiful, so much more beautiful than in his memories. Your hair is different than he remembers— longer for sure, but he could swear you used to wear it parted to the right rather than the left. The long-sleeved, high-collared, dark charcoal dress looks severe on you in the light summer weather.

You almost crash into him as you race down the stairs. You grab onto his uniform jacket to steady yourself, your face automatically moving to his, only just stopping yourself short. His scars have faded, although you can still see the raised ridges on his skin. There is no way he cannot see yours now. His arm is wrapped around your waist, holding you flush against him. His warm hazel eyes roam over your face, unreadable. You hesitate, averting your gaze. 

Maybe you’ve changed too much. Maybe there’s really nothing left of the person Bradley once knew. He can probably see that now. Maybe this Bradley is not the one you remember anymore. His fingers graze the damaged skin along your hairline. Swallowing dryly, you look up at him.

He’s smirking at you, eyes twinkling. 

How you hate that cocky smile. How you’ve missed it. Seeing it again, feeling him again, is so overwhelming you feel your poor heart might give out. You tighten your grip on him, pulling yourself closer, as if you’re scared he’s going to turn to smoke in your arms, or, worse, push you away.

But Bradley moves his face closer to you, his mouth only a fraction away from yours. You can feel his warm breath on your face. You can feel his heartbeat under your fingers.

“Do it, you coward,” He whispers.

He sees the flash of anger in your eyes. How dare he use your own words against you? But it has the intended effect. It’s all you need to hear. You kiss him, arms wrapping around his neck, barely giving him a moment to recover from your ferocity, slanting your mouth against his, begging him to let you deepen the kiss. Bradley allows you without hesitation, easily catching your weight as you fall into him. Your body still fits so perfectly against his.

This is what it should have felt like, Bradley realizes. Coming home, finally closing the long chapter of war. He had been chasing this feeling: the benevolent calm, the warm intimacy.

Home is where the heart is, and that was always in your arms. 

note | good things come to those who wait. Also, this chapter has some of the earliest scenes that I actually wrote over a year ago, and those were the exact things that kept me awake the whole night when I came up with this story. Which is more than a year ago, actually. God, I hope the payoff is really going to be worth it hahahaha. Thanks for sticking by me, still. There was actually a full chapter of material before this, titled Blue Skies. But I cut a lot of stuff out to start moving the story a bit faster, mostly because I really want to write this finally!

taglist |@katieshook02 |@gretagerwigsmuse |@yanak324 | @helplesslydevoted | @benhardysdrumstick | @chaoticversion | @cherrycola27 | @roosterschanelslut | @notroosterbradshaw | @eli2447 | @imnotcreativeenoughforthisblog | @m-1234 | @phoenix1388 | @galaxy-moon | @indigomaegrimm | @annathewitch | @kmc1989

[adriennebarnes]

Prison For Life

Paring: Walter Marshall x Latina/Hispanic! Reader

Summary: Walter Marshall is very protective over his girlfriend, Y/N, despite her knowing how to protect herself.

Warning: non translated Spanish porque luego me da flojera, errors in spelling or grammar because I don’t double check, I guess mentions of violence and sexual harassment

A/N: Based off of Olivia Rodrigo’s unreleased song “Prison For Life” which is most definitely my theme song, can’t lie. Sorry I haven’t been writing much

Y/N has always been an independent woman, she can perfectly take care of herself. However, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want someone to protect her.

Just a boy in a Chevy truck

He’s got money, but not too much

Walter Marshall has been a detective for the Minneapolis police department for over 10 years so he makes a decent amount of money. The day he met Y/N is certainly a day he would never forget. He parked his 2022 Chevrolet Silverado 2500 HD in the parking lot of Brits Pub and walked inside. He sat at the counter and waited for the bartender to turn around. When the bartender did, he was greeted by beautiful (your color) doe eyes and a small smile.

“Hola, guapo, I’m Y/N, what can I get ya to drink?” Y/N asked him.

“What do you recommend, love?” Walter asked. Y/N wanted to blush because of his British accent but she remained professional. It was a British pub after all so she shouldn’t really be surprised whenever a Brit comes in.

“Well, you could never go wrong with a classic Corona or a Dos Equis Lager, but that’s just me. You seem like a Heineken guy though.” Y/N said.

“I’ll take a Heineken then.” Walter said with a smile. Y/N smiled back and been to serve Walter Heineken in a frosted glass.

“Here you go. Would you want food or are you just here for the beer?” Y/N asked.

“Could I get a chicken tikka masala?” Walter asked.

“Sure thing, hun.” Y/N said, winking at him.

Half an hour later, Walter was eating his food, drinking his beer, and watching whatever the pub was playing on TV when he spotted Y/N at a table with 3 men (basically that scene in Man of Steel).

“Come on, Doll, have a drink with me, I’ll make it worth your while.” The guy in the green t shirt said.

“I already said no, I’m working. Even if I wasn’t working, the answer would be no. So unless you’re gonna order something else..” Y/N said, making her way to clear the empty beer bottle when she felt the guy grope her ass. Y/N turn and smack his hand away and the guy grabbed her wrist. “Let go.”

“Who’s gonna make me?” The guys said. Before Y/N had the chance to take her butterfly knife out of her apron pocket, she felt someone stand behind her.

“I will.” The deep British voice said. “You heard her, let her go.”

“Who the fuck are you?” The guy asked in an angry tone.

“I’m detective Marshall, so let her go before I arrest you for sexual misconduct and disorderly conduct.” Walter said and the guy let Y/N go while the other bartender working kicked him out. “You okay, Y/N?” Walter asked.

“Yeah, thank you for that. If you hadn’t done that, I would have stabbed him.” Y/N said,

“I Don’t believe that.” Walter said but Y/N pulled out her butterfly knife. “Oh wow, you really would have stabbed him.” Y/N chuckled at his shocked face.

“When you’re a female bartender or a woman in general, self defense is vital.” Y/N said.

“Could never be too careful. How about I buy you a drink.” Walter said.

“I can’t really drink on the job. But my shift ends in 15 minutes if you want to wait. We could go somewhere else.” Y/N said.

“That sounds perfect.” Walter said.

And he calls me “baby girl”

I run my hands through his curls

Walter and Y/N have been officially dating for 2 weeks. This was the first time Y/N spent the night at Walter’s house. She was sound asleep until Walter’s alarm woke them up. Walter shut off his alarm while Y/N covered her face with the comforter. Walter chuckled and pulled down the covers to see Y/N. He kissed her nose.

“Good morning, baby girl.” Walter said. Y/N felt butterflies every time he called her that. Y/N started to play with his curly hair.

“Good morning, guapo. What time is it?” Y/N asked. Walter checked his phone.

“It’s 6:30, love.” Walter said. Y/N groaned.

“You wake up way too early.” Y/N said. Walter got off the bed and put on his boxers.

“Well I get in at 8, I have to shower and everything. But you can rest up, baby girl, I know I tired you out last night.” Walter said, kissing her one last time. But before he left his room, he heard something that made him turn around.

“Or I can join you in your shower.” Y/N offered, batting her eyelashes. Walter groaned.

“You’re going to be the death of me, baby girl.” Walter said, before leaning down on the bed to capture her lips, making out a little before lifting her off the bed, having her wrap her legs around his waist, and carrying her to the bathroom where they showered.

And my parents think he’s good and he is, rest assured

He’s anything but sweet if someone comes for me

Walter and Y/N have been dating for 3 months now, Y/N was working in the bar when she got a phone call. She told her coworker, Jason, that she was on break and went to the back room to answer the phone.

“Hello?” Y/N said.

“Hola, amor, como has estado?” Her mom said on the other line.

“Hola mami, estoy bien. Ahorita estoy trabajando, te llamo después, si?”

“Espérate mija, te llamo para decir que tu papá y yo estamos en camino para tu apartamento, nos falta dos, está bien para ti?”

“Mami, para que me visitas?”

“Una mamá ya no puede visitar a su hija o que? Solo quiero saber cómo estás, casi no hablamos. Entonces te veo luego amor, bye.” Her mom hung up and Y/N groaned, calling Walter. He picked up after 3 rings.

“Hey, baby girl, are you excited for our date?” Walter asked

“Hey, querido listen, we need to cancel our date.” Y/N said.

“Why? Are you okay?” Walter asked worriedly.

“No Yeah, everything is fine, but my parents are coming over, I just got off the phone with my mom, so now I need to get my apartment ready, so sorry.” Y/N said.

“Don’t worry, darling, it’s fine, I get it. Talk to you later, bye.” Walter said.

2 hours later, Y/N was in her apartment, she prepared penne vodka, got a bottle of Sangiovese out of the liquor cabinet, set up the dinner table, and out on something somewhat presentable before buzzing up her parents. When there was a knock on her door she opened it but was surprised to see Walter standing outside her door with a bouquet of pink peonies.

“Walter, what are you doing here? I told you my parents are coming over.” Y/N said, pulling him into the apartment.

“Yes, I know, love. But I actually wanted to meet your parents if that’s okay.” Walter said, Y/N was shocked that he actually wanted to meet her parents.

“Yeah, sure, that’s fine, up, take another plate out of the cabinet while I put these in water.” Y/N said, kissing his cheek. Y/N got a vase, filled them with water, and checked to see if the stems were cut diagonally before putting them in the vase and setting them on the kitchen counter. Walter set up his place at the dinner table when the doorbell rang and Y/N buzzed her parents up. A few moments later, there was a knock on the door and Y/N opened the door to see her parents.

“Hola, mija, como has estado?” Her dad greeted her first, hugging her while entering the apartment.

“Hola papi, hola mami.” Y/N greeted back.

“Y/N, quien es este hombre tan guapo?” Her mom asked and Y/N blushed out of embarrassment.

“Ah mami, él es..”

“Buenas tardes, señora, soy Walter, el novio de su hija.” Walter held out his hand for her mom to shake. All three Latinos shocked at the fact that the handsome gringo can speak Spanish practically perfectly.

“How?” Y/N asked.

“Well i am from England, I learned Spanish in school but ever since I got a gorgeous Latina/Hispanic (whichever you prefer to be called, honestly) girlfriend, I’ve been practicing more.” Walter said.

“I love that. Bueno, ya está la comida, así que les sirvo la pasta y quizás un poquito de vino, si?” Y/N said.

Dinner went quite well and Y/N walked her parents to the lobby to say goodbye properly.

“Es un buen muchacho, Y/N. Se nota que te quiere mucho. Nos vemos luego.” Her mom said as they both left. Y/N got upstairs and saw Walter washing the dishes.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know.” Y/N said.

“I crashed your dinner with your parents, it’s the least I could do.” Walter said.

“Thanks. So you’ve been practicing your Spanish ever since we’ve started dating?” Y/N asked him.

“Pues claro, así puedo decirte que te amo.” Walter said as he took Y/N hands in his. “I love you, Y/N, I really do. It was one of the reasons why I wanted to meet your parents today too.”

“Yo también te amo, Walter.” Y/N said. They kissed.

A week later, Walter and Y/N went to a bar so she could meet his friends/coworkers. Everything was going well until Y/N went to the bar counter to get more drinks for their booth and felt a person grab her ass, what is with people and her ass? She turned around but she already saw Walter pushing the guy away from her.

“What hell is your problem, man?” The guy yelled, clearly drunk.

“My problem is men like you thinking it’s okay to touch my girlfriend, or any woman for that matter, without their consent. I’m a cop so I suggest you leave before I arrest your drunken ass.” Walter threatened and the guy left with a huff. “You okay, baby girl?”

“Yes I am, thanks to you.” Y/N said, the bartender flagged her down for the drinks, she thanked him, and walked to the booth with Walter’s arms around her.

I’m a feminist, obviously, but I wouldn’t really mind him saving me

And I know that I’m fine without a man but I think I would like his protection

I’m just being honest, can’t change what I like, I’ll never forget it, he told me one night

“If anybody hurts you, ha, I’m going to prison for life”

Y/N was at her house, getting ready to go out with Walter, video chatting with her bestie.

“Wait, you’re telling me that you’re in love with this guy? What happened to you being an independent woman and a feminist.” Her friend said.

“I am a feminist, Don’t get me wrong. I still am an independent woman, thank you very much, I pay my bills, but i wouldn’t mind him fighting off any pervs from the fucking bar when I’m working. I’m pretty sure I’d get fired if I actually put my butterfly knife to good use.” Y/N said, doing her makeup

“I mean fair, it’s like you could do it, but you shouldn’t have to.” Her friend said.

“Exactly! Besides, all those romance novels I’ve read made me want like a protective boyfriend, those who say ‘where whatever you want, I can fight’, like a that’s so hot. I think Walter fits that description.” Y/N said, putting the finishing touches of her makeup.

“You certainly got a book boyfriend, I’ll tell you that.” Y/N was going to respond until she got a call from Walter.

“Hey baby girl, I’m downstairs, ready whenever you are.” Walter said.

“I’m coming, bye.” Y/N hung up. “Hey, (friends name), Walter is here, I gotta go.” Y/N said.

“Have fun.” Her friend said and hung up. Y/N got her bag and left the apartment to see Walter standing by his truck with a bouquet of roses in his hand this time.

“Happy 6 months, darling.” W,after said, leaning down to kiss her.

“Happy 6 months. Do I just put these in water and then we can go?” Y/N asked.

“Or you could do that after our date. Come on, I’m positive you’re going to love it.” Walter said. He drove until they made it to a park where there was a picnic table. He got out of the truck to open the door for Y/N and help her out. He went to the back to get out a picnic basket.

“Aw, this is so cute, Walter.” Y/N said, kissing him lightly.

“I’m glad you think so, love, let’s go, our date awaits.” Walter said, leading her to the table, setting everything up.

When they were done, he drove back to her place where she invited him up to have a slice of flan that she has made last night.

“This is delicious, love. You are an amazing cook.” Walter said, kissing her, her lips tasting sweet from the flan.

“Thank you, my mom taught me.” Y/N asked.

“Y/N, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” Walter said,

“Go ahead, ask me.” Y/N said,

“Whats that scar on your hip?” Walter asked. Y/N tenses up a bit but answered him anyway.

“It was after work. This was like a year ago, um, this drunk kept hitting on me, I kept saying no, when I was leaving his table, I felt his hand on my inner thigh, the one day I wear a skirt, right, and I slapped him. The manager kicked him out, my shift ended an hour later, as I was walking to my car, I felt him grab me, I was looking for my knife when I felt him cut me on my hip and I stab his hand. He screamed, I got a bunch of napkins that I kept in my purse to press it against my hip and drove to the hospital. It wasn’t that deep but it did need stitches. So yeah, that’s what happened.” Y/N said, eating another spoonful of flan. Walter took Y/N’s free hand in his, bringing it to his lips, kissing it.

“I Don’t know what to say. I wish I would have met you before, to prevent that from happening.” Walter said.

“Whats done is done, don’t dwell on it, guapo, it’s okay.” Y/N said,

“I’ll just say this, I have fought or threatened any person who has touched you or even looked at you the wrong way.” Walter started and Y/N giggled because it was true. “But I am positive that if anybody hurts you, I’m going to prison for life, I’ll always be there to protect you or fight for you.” Walter said, kissing her.

The End

Hope y’all like it! Should I make a part 2 based off the second verse and the bridge?

[pickleking8]

So I actually had an idea for a fic that is inspired by this by @cyrwrites and I got all excited so here it is. Also, warning, I haven’t watched Danny Phantom or any Batman stuff at all so… all of my information comes from random fics…

Danny is on the run from the Fentons/GIW with Jazz, with the vivisection scar. They go to Gotham. He looks remarkably similar to Jason when he died (in my mind, it’s been a couple of years since then and the Batfam haven’t found out he’s alive (sorta) again)

One of the Batfam sees him, and because none of them can be normal, they just casually kidnap him. They are even more convinced it’s Jason because they mistake the vivisection scar for an autopsy scar, plus Danny just gives off death vibes idk + Jason’s grave is, in fact, empty. Perhaps they also come to the misconception that this is Jason from the past, or he’s been de-aged and that’s why the doesn’t recognize them. They need to re-earn his trust, and they can’t just let him go, now can they. That’d be dangerous. And sad, they just need to wait, he’ll come around eventually and remember them/bond the same way as before.

Meanwhile on Danny’s end, Danny is weakened enough from the Fentons he can’t really use his powers. He tries to tell them he isn’t whoever this Jason guy is but they don’t believe him. He tries to escape, but without his powers he gets caught and they bring him back ‘for his safety’. Danny is upset and getting more traumatized by the minute. Jazz must be worried sick (she is. She is freaking out).

I also like the idea that Jazz full on becomes a rogue to more effectively and efficiently look for her baby brother. Like, a really powerful rogue. Because the Batfam kidnapped her brother. The Batfam can have a realization about this later.

Anyway, real Jason eventually comes back after maybe a month or two of Danny being kidnapped and after a lot of confusion and Danny being like ‘oh thank god does this mean you’ll let me go home now? Please my sister is probably worried sick’, Jason ends up pissed that they kidnapped a random, already traumatized kid, and refused to let him go. Jason takes the kid back to a safe house and gets the full story. Jazz is contacted, and they get a nice reunion. At this point maybe the Batfam show up and have their realization that this is the new rogue they’ve been having trouble with. They also realize that they Fucked Up.

they try to make amends, but Danny and Jazz are having none of it. Jason supports them. (maybe Jason and Jazz get together? I imagine them both to be like twenty ish at this point, and Danny like 15)

Anyway that’s my idea, I haven’t really ever done creative writing that wasn’t for a school project, but I like this so maybe I’ll actually try and write it.

Edit: I did, in fact, write it, or at least the start. Here's the masterpost if you want to read it.

[ftmtftm]

I’m sorry but until xenogenders and neopronouns can understand that I don’t want to “share my pronouns”, that I want to go through life as a normal, binary man, that I want assumptions to be made, that t isn’t some fun thing but a medical necessity for the rest of my life, that being trans isn’t a celebration but a condition for me and that I never want to be in a pride parade or even really open about it, until y’all can respect that, every single one of you, at least the fucking majority of you, then i can’t take anything seriously. I have been outed, assaulted, misgendered, and a whole bunch of other shit by “Tucutes” who walked all fucking over me as a binary trans person, I’ve been forced to be okay with they/them pronouns and been forced to be called the t-slur by a fake trans person because it was “affirming” for them to use on “other trans people”, I’ve been forced to wait years for t because the lines weee clogged up because people wanted to microdose it because they didn’t actually want the effects but they wanted to feel special, I’ve been outed as trans by fake trans people who want everyone to know what a cool catch I am, I’ve been told how gross t made me, I’ve been pushed out of every space that makes an effort to include as many people as possible because they start using rhetoric that sounds like the same rhetoric my transphobic father uses.

I cannot ever find joy in being trans, there is nothing to find joy in for me. Ever. I’m sick of people acting like it’s fun and silly and goofy. I’m sick of people appropriating a medical condition. I will always be sick of it. I am truly sorry that you had someone assault you and that they happened to be part of a community that I am also, but all transmeds want is some fucking respect for not doing this for whatever “euphoria” or political reason but because we fucking have to. All we want is respect and to not have our medical condition turned into playing make believe that you’re a “catgender” or an alien or whatever the fuck, do that on your own terms I don’t care, but the association with dysphoria and the fact that you will spit in the fucking faces of dysphoric binary trans people? That’s why transmeds exist

.

Bullet points because genuinely, my patience is beginning to run very thin for you anon. My ask box and the new post button have two separate functions and I think there is one you should be using instead of the other.

This is just attention seeking behavior at this point, and I'll give it to you and I'll be compassionate but I won't let your shit slide.

I'm sorry, but this is genuinely like looking in a mirror at my 15-20 year old self and it sucks and I honestly feel very sorry for you. Your pain and upset is very real. Your feelings do matter. And? You need to talk to a mental health professional. Serious advice. You need a therapist or some kind of support group if you do not have one already. That is a lot of baggage that deserves to be explored with someone who can genuinely help you in a controlled environment - not the askbox of random trans people you take issue with because they remind you of traumatic events in your life. Your triggers and people who remind you of people who have hurt you are your responsibility to deal with. It's not the business of people who are literally just living their lives in ways that make them happy. The world doesn't need to change around you for your own comfort, you need to change yourself to make yourself comfortable.

It's honestly okay if being trans makes you upset. It's okay to lament and even grieve a life you wish you had but can't have because you are not cis. Again though, that is not an issue that people who aren't like you are causing though. It's genuinely your business to deal with those emotions - not theirs.

You are not a doctor. You are not a medical professional. You are not the one giving care and other people's medical needs, decisions, and histories are none of your g'ddamn business. It is absolutely ridiculous that wait times are what they are and that access to care is not what it should be - but that is a failure of the system not the people. You legitimately sound like working class folks who complain about people on food stamps "taking up all the government resources" and people who complain that "immigrants are taking all our jobs" right now. You are putting the burden of the system onto the individual when it legitimately isn't their fault. Ultimately you are actively being failed by the medical system you are attempting to covet, not by your fellow trans people.

I've also been told I'm disgusting for being on T. I've also been told I'm disgusting for wanting facial and body hair, for feeling comfortable in my masculinity, for loving being a man in all of its complexities. Even by other trans people. You are not alone in that experience. The solution to working through those emotions isn't to throw conservative complaining about food stamps and immigrants level tantrums about it like you are doing now though.

Being trans can be fun. Being trans can be silly and goofy. Again, it might not be that way for you and it sounds like you've been in an environment where you're not allowed to love yourself for any reason, let alone for being trans, so it's probably very hard for you to conceptualize experiences outside of your own - but you sound... very young. I promise it gets better with time and distance. Please leave the environments you are in when you are able, they don't sound healthy for you.

Point of order: My ex was not a transmedicalist, by any means. I was assaulted by them and felt disgusting and dysphoric because of it and found transmedicalism on my own afterwards to try to validate my sense of self. I was hurt by someone else and then turned my hurt into a weapon. It sounds like you've been hurt and are also turning that hurt into a weapon. I hope some day you're able to put it down.

[boydepartment]

I'm back 😛✌️

I need more angst jayjay if you're up to it 😈

I had this jake request floating around my mind for awhile and then you started My Only Love(read the 1st chapter and loved it btw💕 The noodles in his pocket had me SCREAMING. And that predebut jake photo 🥺🥺) and I felt like it was the right time to send this through

Can you please write Jake breaking up with you?? Like an ugly break up?? Maybe his parents don't approve of your relationship? Maybe it is a fight blown out of proportion?? Maybe he doesn't love you anymore? Maybe he's moving thousand of miles away? Maybe he has to break up with you because he's an idol? Maybe he can't see a serious future with you? Maybe there was some infidelity???

I don't have specifics for the why. You can write whatever you want jayjay I just need you to make me cry 😈😈 please break my heart 🙏🙏🙏🙏

XOXO,

     🧈🧈🧈

a/n: SO THIS WAS KINDA HARD FOR ME BC I REALLY LOVE JAKE AND FBOUEKGJNERKGNEK BUT I TRIED MY BEST!!!! i took the argument too far route 😅

Family Card- Jake Sim x Gn! Reader

MASTERLIST warnings- angst, cursing, jake is kinda mean in this??? but the reader also says things too, i ended up getting carried away during revision! wc- 1k

song- FREE AT LAST by PUP

“What did you really expect to get out of this?”

You looked down at the man who you’ve been dating even before he debuted. His hair was a mess and he leaned against his knees as he sat at the table.

“I expected my boyfriend to actually care when I tell him I want to visit home for a bit.”

Jake looks up at you, his eyes showing his plethora of emotions from the past 15 minutes. You both started getting really fed up with each other when you brought up wanting to take a trip back home… by yourself.

“I can’t believe you want to go without me.” He sounded dumbfounded, scoffing and getting up. This double standard has always frustrated you. Of course, you understood moving with Jake and taking this risk with him. But it bothered you, during his trainee days you were left alone for about a year. You never complained or held it against him. You were okay with secretly dating him, and you were okay with him living in a dorm with his friends. But the one time you wanted to go home by yourself, it was an issue for him.

“I checked your schedule! You are busy the days I want to go home!” You raised your voice slightly, you never wanted to go on a trip without him but sometimes life gets in the way. You and Jake were both well aware of that.

“Then wait until we can both go together!” He flips around, messing with his hair frantically. Both of you were in each other’s personal space.

“Just because you can’t see your family as much as you’d like that doesn’t mean I have to!” You poked his chest, the way his face fell for a split second showed you that you had fucked up.

“Wow.” He steps back from you, the look of anger coming right back. Even though you know you fucked up, you were still going to stand your ground.

“I am so sick… Of bending over backwards for YOUR schedule! No matter what it is, you always leave me last! You changed from the guy I started dating! I went with you to all your auditions, I supported you, I don’t complain about your life style-“

“Then go home and don’t come back if you’re so fucking unhappy with me!” Jake interrupted you; the silence overtook the dim kitchen.

The silence did not stay long, as you started up again, “I can’t even be unhappy with you if you are never fucking here in the goddamn first place!”

“I don’t know why this is MY fault, you knew exactly what you were getting into when you took this leap with me, maybe you were too stupid to think it through.” The man in front of you leaned against the counter, head in his hands.

“I’d say the initial idea itself was kinda stupid.” You crossed your arms mumbling, all you wanted was to go home, “what if you didn’t debut? And your parents just fucking wasted their money on you. You grew up in a privileged household where you could waste money like that for a stupid dream!”

Jake looked up at you again for a split second, “at least I knew what I wanted to do with my life! You haven’t even finished school! All you do is go to college and work like a fucking robot! Sometimes you don’t even feel human to me when I do see you! You have no clear goals in life and maybe if you did you wouldn’t be so fucking unhappy all the time!”

“You’re being mean…” Your voice broke, that strong tone faltering slightly.

Jake not noticing your demeaner falling spoke again, “oh, I’m being mean? Yeah, I’m sure your family is going to be thrilled to see the kid that walked out on them for a guy. At this point they’d probably not even open the door for you, then I would have to clean up your mess.”

You looked down at the floor, you weren’t able to see your socks clearly at all, your tears clouding your vision completely. He knew your family wasn’t keen on you leaving everything for Jake, especially because they knew what you have had to go through the past few years. You didn’t expect him to pull the family card on you, part of you didn’t blame him. You just pulled his family card a few minutes ago. You pulled the fact he gave up everything for his dream, and you let an ugly part of your human emotions take over. Taking a deep breath, you walked to your room. He didn’t follow you. As you packed your bag, you called customer service to try and change your flight back home to as soon as possible.

You were also going to make it a one-way ticket. This argument just solidified more that you weren’t happy with him anymore. Both you and Jake weren’t stupid kids anymore. Now adults, you both grew into two entirely different people. You don’t like the person he made you when you were around him now. You were not the same person you were previously, you felt unkind now. Your heart hated the person you were starting to become.

As you were put on hold Jake walked into your room, “what are you doing?” Hearing his voice sparked that fire in you again. Yet another wave of anger and ugly emotions hit you.

“I’m going home, I’d rather take a chance of them not taking me back than being unloved by you.” You spat and pushed past him; you ignored his calls to you. You ignored Jake trying to get you to come back. You ignored the man who you used to love. The person who loved him previously, who rooted for him, took chances for him, didn’t exist anymore. That person was replaced with you, someone who now felt unlovable and mean. You felt awful after this fight, you knew only time could heal you both. Just not together as a couple, you would have to heal separately.

[contemplatingoutlander]

These moments totally happened at the GOP primary debate

WaPo satirist Alexandra Petri add her spin on the Republican primary debate. This is a gift 🎁 link so that those who do not subscribe to The Washington Post can read the entire article. Below are some excerpts. Enjoy! 😁

If you said, “Would you like to watch Ron DeSantis, Vivek Ramaswamy, Nikki Haley, Tim Scott, Doug Burgum, Mike Pence, Asa Hutchinson and Chris Christie talk to each other for two hours? FYI, the place where they’ll do so is hotter than Beelzebub’s armpit!,” I would have said, “No, thank you.” But if you said, “The alternative is watching Donald Trump talk to Tucker Carlson on the website formerly known as Twitter,” I would say, “I can’t wait to hear what Ron, Vivek, Nikki, Tim, Doug, Mike, Asa and Chris have to say!” [...] Here is approximately how it went. Bret Baier: Hello. We have brought a bell just because we enjoy the sound of a bell. Martha MacCallum: Feel free to speak over it; it will give the evening a fun, musical vibe. Baier: Yes, and speaking of music, candidates, the number one song in America is something called “Rich Men North of Richmond”! Governor DeSantis, introduce yourself by providing a close reading of the subtle lyrics of this song. DeSantis: Hang on, first I have some prepared remarks! Joe Biden’s basement! Hunter Biden’s paintings! “Rich Men North of Richmond”! Taxes! Florida! Baier: Chris Christie, why would you be better as president? Christie: Bret, I have spent the last four years sailing around sharpening my traffic-cone harpoon for my hated foe (from hell’s heart I spit my last breath at him!), and the one question I did not expect was about a scenario where I could actually become president. Uh, I was governor of New Jersey? So, take that for what it’s worth.

[See more under the cut.]

Scott: I have come to this debate with some specific numbers at my fingertips! I was told everyone would be excited about specific numbers! If not, I would really like those hours back. Ramaswamy: Hello! You may be wondering, who is this skinny guy with a funny name? I’m not a politician who is going to offer you a series of prepared, meaningless platitudes. I’m a businessman with no political experience who is going to offer you a series of prepared, meaningless platitudes. Isn’t it time we stopped running away from things and started running toward things? I am not running for president so much as I am running for the title of Favorite Grandson of your Fox News grandmother. Have you ever considered that people don’t love God anymore? [...] Pence: Hello! I am here to recite scripture and keep referring to the Trump-Pence administration, and I’m all out of scripture. That was some Mike Pence humor; I will never be out of scripture! I am unquestionably the best-prepared person in this race, the single individual with the experience that is closest to being the president, with no exceptions that spring to mind. I have been in the hallway. I have been in the White House. Do you like what my administration did with the Supreme Court? [...] Ramaswamy: You think now is the time for incremental reform. I think it is the time for actual revolution. Pence: Good Lord, no thank you. I do not have any revolutionary proposals. I believe in mild, small, incremental change. Except for a nationwide 15-week ban on abortion, which I want to implement because I promised it to God. Haley: Let’s be realistic! Women hate hearing this. Let’s just admit that it will never happen. But we’re all going to say we want it to happen! But, ladies, it’s not going to happen. [...] Young Person: Please tell me that anyone on this stage believes in climate change, the only issue I care about because I anticipate living on this planet for at least 60 years. I am starting to get worried. Can we have a show of hands? DeSantis: No! We are not schoolchildren! We will not raise our hands or acknowledge the existence of science! Ramaswamy: As the only one on this stage who is not bought and paid for, I have a thought. Christie: I have had enough of a guy who sounds like ChatGPT and stole his opening gambit from Barack Obama. I came here to bludgeon Donald Trump verbally, but Trump is not here and I have a lot of verbal bludgeoning built up. [...] Baier: Why do we have homelessness, drugs and crime? Pence: Because Democrats talked about defunding the police, and everyone knows that if you say “Defund the police!” into a mirror three times, crime appears. It’s just science, or, as Governor DeSantis and I prefer, religion. Christie: I disagree. Crime went up because Hunter Biden did it.

Please use the gift link above to read the rest of Petri's cutting satire.

Just one thing I would like to comment on though. I grew up in NJ... BEYOND the exits on the Turnpike. Why does there always have to be a NJ joke?🤦🏻‍♀️There really are nice parts of NJ. Really. I mean it. 😉

[edited]

[lionlena]

We don't love each other (PedroPascalxreader) angst! Part II

A/N: I can't believe I wrote ANGST. It breaks my heart. All because of this one gif. In my imagination, Tyler looks like Tyler Hoechlin.

Summary:  You and Pedro are: friends with benefits, for many years. Your layout is simple and clear. You don't love each other. You're friends on a daily basis, you take care of each other... Sometimes you sleep together. You go on dates with other men and Pedro doesn't mind. Everything is simple until you accidentally hear Oscar say that Pedro loves you. Then you decide to tell him the truth and you ruin everything.

Warnings: angst!!! smut, mentions of sex, friends with benefits, sad, broken hearts, age difference (reader is 15 years younger than Pedro)

A/N: This part is shorter and please... Don't be angry. I know some of you want a happy ending and I promise you will get it, but not yet.

*

Part II

It is said that mourning has 5 stages. Of course you knew Pedro was alive, but you felt you had lost him forever. So you started going through each stage one by one.

1. Denial

That's what you felt right after the fight with Pedro, when you cried alone. You didn't believe what he said. He was just drunk and didn't mean it at all. It was the alcohol fault.

You knew it was a lie. You've seen him drunk many times. He was the type to just get sleepy and cuddle more. He was never aggressive and was always aware of what he was saying.

2. Anger

You felt it as soon as you entered the house. You threw your suitcase furiously against the wall and started screaming.

How the fuck was he dare acting like this?! Fucking selfish. His age argument was ridiculous. The difference between the two of you wasn't that large. You were an adult. Damn, you were a mature woman! Leave that point for Leonardo!

And his fucking fame! There have been times in the past that your photos have appeared on gossip sites. You didn't care too much about it. But maybe it was him, he didn't want to ruin his image with someone like you.

3. Bargaining

Once you had calmed down, you sat down on the couch and while you drank another glass of wine, you began to analyze everything. It didn't have to be the end. You don't have to love him and he doesn't have to love you. You can still be friends without sex... Or with sex. Sometimes. Once a year. For so many years your system has been running like a well-oiled machine. You can still undo everything, right? If only you'd stayed at the door a few minutes more. If you had heard Pedro's whole conversation with Oscar.

4. Depression

You decided to spend all your holiday crying. For three days you lay on the couch and hardly moved. A pile of used tissues has gathered around you. There were two empty wine bottles and an ice cream wrapper under the table. There was a pile of dirty dishes in the sink. But you really didn't care. You wanted to disappear. Just turn to dust like the people in "Avengers: Infinity War" after Thanos snapped his fingers.

You remembered how you made Pedro watch all the Marvel movies with you. He was teasing you so much about your crush on Captain America.

"You'll see, one day, I'll deliberately star in some movie with Chris Evans  to make you die of envy!"

Another loud sob escaped your lips. You were about to hide under the blanket when the doorbell rang. You were surprised. You didn't order food, you didn't wait for anyone... Your heart jumped like crazy.

It's Pedro! Of course "your" Pedro would come to you eventually. You quickly ran to open the door and your heart dropped to your feet.

"Ty?"

"Hey, Y/N." Your ex-boyfriend looked worried at you. "Can I go in?"

You were so shocked that you just shrugged and let him in. You sat on the couch and watched Tyler. The man scanned your living room and finally sat down on the coffee table, across from you.

"Y/N are you okay?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat. You just didn't believe it was Tyler. And of course he had to be nice and worry about you. What did you expect? You've been together for seven fucking months.

"What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to apologize to you."

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. You were even more surprised when Tyler grabbed your hands.

"I understand that my proposal might have overwhelmed you. I shouldn't have done it like this. You had the right to feel pressured. I'm so sorry Y/N. I would have come earlier if I had known you were suffering so much."

One sec! Tyler thought your current state was the result of breaking off an engagement. Oh shit! Did he really have to pick the worst moment of your life? You felt like someone hit you on the head, with a hammer.

"Yes?" you asked with weak voice.

"Yes, baby. I'm not angry anymore. I missed you so much."

"Yes?"

Your brain has really stopped working. Tyler unfortunately found it cute and chuckled slightly.

"Yes! We've had so many wonderful moments. How about starting over? Slower this time. Maybe instead of getting engaged, you'd agree to move in together. But I'm not pushing. No pressure this time."

You nodded your head and just like that you were pushed into stage 5: acceptance.

You've lost Pedro. He will never come back to you. You couldn't turn Tyler down again. You had to come to terms with the idea that you would end up with someone you couldn't love. For the rest of your life. At least you won't be alone.

With Tyler's help, you cleaned the apartment and agreed to go for a walk with him because he said the fresh air would do you good. As you walked down the street with him and holding his hand, you still felt a huge emptiness in your chest. That's when you realized you'd never make it to Stage 5. You'd stay "depressed" forever.

*

(Pedro pov )

1. Denial

As Pedro stood on the beach and watched your taxi vanish into the horizon, he just couldn't believe it. All night he denied everything. It didn't happen. He misunderstood you. You didn't mean it. You were drunk. Only he knew you and knew you were serious. Both about loving him and about to leave you alone.

2. Anger

He wiped his tears furiously. Why did he have to be so stupid?! Why did he have to screw everything up? He didn't want to yell at you, he didn't want to break your heart, and most of all, he didn't want you to leave. And at the same time, he had enough. He hated every guy he had to share your lips with. He hated it when you came back to him for another dose of love. For years he told himself he could handle it. That it's better in this way. You didn't love him and you deserved someone better.

He was so consumed with anger that he didn't notice Oscar standing beside him. Well, his friend really had no timing.

"Hey man, what happened?"

Pedro glared at him angrily.

"It just fucking happened that you had to pick the worst possible day to talk about morality!"

"Whoa, slow down!"

Oscar held his hands up, but Pedro continued to press against him.

"Y/N overheard us! She came to me at night and confessed that she loved me, and I..." His voice broke. "I yelled at her... I told her I didn't want to love her..."

"Then why the fuck are you mad at me?! Remember what I told you when I  discovered you have agreement with her?"

"That it's sick and we're both going to suffer."

"Exactly! And now you're standing here taking your anger out on me. I didn't come up with this! You guys got yourself into this. It's not my fault you don't know what you want. How I was supposed to know she loved you... Ok, sometimes I suspected it, but..." Oscar sighed heavily as he saw his friend crying. He pulled Pedro into a hug. "I'm sorry. I know you're hurting, but maybe it's better this way."

Pedro clenched his hands on Oscar's shirt.

"I want her back," he mumbled.

3. Bargaining

Pedro couldn't just stay with the others and keep playing. He apologized to everyone, explaining the sudden need to shoot some scenes for The Mandalorian. Only Oscar and Sarah knew the truth.

When he got to his apartment, he was still analyzing everything. After all, he could still fix everything. You two will go back to your old layout. Eventually you'll realize that you don't love him. He will be able to have a part of you again. He will suffer and he will listen to Oscar's lectures again, but at least his heart will not be so empty.

After three days, he made a decision. He grabbed his car keys and cell phone and decided to go to your place. He parked near your apartment and was about to leave when he saw Tyler come out. You were right behind him. Your ex reached out to you. You smiled slightly and grabbed his hand. He realized that apparently you two are together again. And he hated him. Hated Tyler's square jaw, chiseled stomach, biceps... And he hated himself for being such a pathetic pup who lay down at your feet.

4. Depression

He spent the rest of the day sitting on the couch drinking beer and looking at pictures of you together. He felt as if someone had ripped his heart out of his chest. He had years to tell you the truth and he wasted it. So many times he could have tried to change something, but he was too late. He lost you and he was never going to accept that.

* Amor fugado,

( Run away love,)

Me tomas, me dejas, me exprimes, y me tiras a un lado

(You take me, you leave me, you squeeze me and throw me aside)

Te vas a otro cielo y regresas como los colibrís

(You go to another heaven and come back like the hummingbirds)

Me tienes como un perro a tus pies.

(You have me like a dog at your feet)

Labios compartidos, labios divididos

(Shared lips, divided lips,)

(mi amor)

Yo no puedo compartir tus labios

(I can’t share your lips)

Y comparto el engaño y comparto mis días y el dolor

(That I share the deceive and I share my days and the pain)

Ya no puedo compartir tus labios

(I can’t share your lips)

Oh amor, oh amor, compartido

(Oh love, oh shared love)

Mana - Labios Compartidos

@creedslove​ I probably listened this song a hundred times while writing Pedro pov <3

Part I

Part III

[hear-meout19]

Darling, I don't wish you well when you ain't with me (I want you crying)

{P.1}

ᴄ.ᴡ. ɴꜱꜰᴡ, ɪɴꜰɪᴅᴇʟɪᴛʏ, ᴀɢᴇᴅ ᴜᴘ, ᴅᴇɢʀᴀᴅᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ʜᴜᴍɪʟɪᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴏᴠᴇʀ-ꜱᴛɪᴍᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴏʀᴀʟ ꜱᴇx, ᴅᴏɢɢʏ ꜱᴛʏʟᴇ, ᴘᴜʙʟɪᴄ ꜱᴇx, ᴄʟᴏᴛʜᴇᴅ ꜱᴇx, ʙʀᴇᴇᴅɪɴɢ ᴋɪɴᴋ

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As she strolled down the bustling street, her phone clasped tightly to her ear, she chatted away with her mother, excitedly discussing her new house. Amidst the sea of strangers passing by, a face caught her eye. A face she knew all too well, a face that brought back memories of a time long gone.

Her heart raced as she recognized him, it was unmistakably Butters Stotch. It had been years since they had last seen each other. She hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do.

Should she say hello? Should she keep walking, pretending not to notice him?

But before she could make a decision, he spotted her too. Their eyes locked and the world around her faded away. She couldn't believe it was really him, standing there in front of her.

As she looks up, disbelief washes over her. 

"Butters..? Is that really you? I can't believe it's been so long!" Her gaze travels over his face, taking in the changes since high school. He's taller now, with broader shoulders, a mustache, and a more defined jawline, but those bright blue eyes are unmistakable.

As he gazes at her, a flicker of an emotion passes through his eyes that she can't decipher. However, before she can even process it, it vanishes. "I apologize, ma'am, but it seems you've confused me with someone else. The name's Vic, Vic Chaos!" He beams at her and offers his hand for a shake.

She hesitates for a moment before taking his hand, unsure. "Oh, okay.. Vic. It was good to see you." She starts to pull away, but he holds onto her hand tightly.

"Hey, wait! Don't go just yet," he says with a playful smile. “W-what have you been up to?” 

Her eyes dart down to where their hands are still joined before meeting his gaze again. "Well, I just moved back home to South Park. It's strange being back; I've been down in California since graduation."

Butters or “Vic Chaos”, nods enthusiastically, eyes trained on her, clearly very interested in her story.

“Oh wow! That’s awesome, what made you move back?” He finally drops her hand absentmindedly, like he didn’t realize he was still holding it. 

She looks away, brow furrowing slightly as she sighs. “I'm going through a.. rough patch.. in my marriage right now. He's still in California, and our counselor suggested some distance might be good for us.”

She shuts her mouth quickly, surprised at how much she's revealed. She's not sure why she's telling all of this to someone she hasn't seen in 15 years. He probably thinks she's weird for unloading all of her problems onto him.

Vic's expression softens. “Aw shucks, that's a bummer. Long-distance can be rough, but maybe it'll help you sort things out. But you know, if he can’t handle you then maybe it’s time to move on.” He says as he shrugs. 

She's taken aback by his genuine response, God she absolutely cannot get a read on this guy. She smiles at him, grateful for his kind words. "Thanks, Vic. That means a lot to me. What about you? Are you married?"

He grins and chuckles lightly. "Naw, I'm still single. Haven't found the right gal yet, I guess. Y’know, still waitin’ to get hitched!” 

She reaches out and pats his arm reassuringly. "I'm sure the right girl will come along soon.”

He glances at her hand on his arm and back up at her with a bashful smile. "Gee thanks, I hope so too! Who knows, maybe I'll find her someday," he laughs, gently patting her hand.

"How come you're here?" She gestures to his sharp suit. "Business trip?"

"Naw, I actually live here. I travel for work a whole lot though, so I'm a bit of a nomad. I'm an...investor of sorts." He flashes her a lopsided grin.

Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Really? I had no idea you were some big shot now," she chuckles.

He laughs, throwing his head back, “Yeah, I guess you could call me that”.

Before he can speak further, her phone rings, and she groans. She takes out her phone and quickly turns it off, rolling her eyes in frustration.

“Sorry about that, that was my husband calling. I should probably go.” She shoots him an apologetic smile. “It was lovely seeing you again, Victor.”

She smiles and turns around but is spun back around by his grip on her arm.

“W-wait!” He says quickly. “Wanna get dinner with me later? We’ve got a lot to catch up on!” He gives her a charismatic grin. 

She hesitates, unsure of how to respond. She hadn't seen him in years, and now he's asking her out to dinner? What would her husband think? But the way he's looking at her, with that irresistible grin and those piercing blue eyes, makes it hard to say no.

"I don't know, Victor," she says softly, biting her lip. "I don't think it's a good idea."

His expression falls slightly, but he doesn't let go of her arm. "Come on, it'll be just like old times. We'll catch up on everything and have some great food." He leans in a little closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I promise it'll be worth it."

She feels a thrill run through her at his words, but she quickly shakes it off. This is crazy, she can't go out to dinner with him. Not when she's still trying to work things out with her husband.

He chuckles as she takes a moment to process his offer. "Come on, it'll be fun. We can catch up and reminisce about old times," he adds with a playful wink.

She chews on her lower lip for a moment, mulling over the invitation before finally nodding. "Yeah, that sounds great. It'll be good to catch up with you." A twinge of guilt tugs at her conscience as she thinks about her marriage, but she dismisses the feeling with a shake of her head.

He grins widely, his blue eyes sparkling with excitement. "Great! How about that Italian place downtown? Eight o'clock?"

She nods again, smiling. "Sounds perfect."

As they part ways, she can't help but feel a flutter of excitement in her chest. Maybe this dinner with Victor would be just the distraction she needs.

[montrealmadison]

I'd love to read a happy snuggly fic about Bitty & Jack.

Number #15 (for Bitty 😉)

thank you for this delightful prompt! whenever i get stuck on where to start with jack and bitty, i always revert to them snuggling. this was a really nice excuse to polish a scene that i've had kicking around my WIP folder forever. hope it's okay that the boys took it in a, shall we say, steamy direction. ❤️

15. zimbits + happy snuggly vibes + I Love You Always Forever by Betty Who for @jadedmandarin81

You’ve got the most unbelievable blue eyes I’ve ever seen You’ve got me almost melting away

Hot morning sun on his shoulders, a big, hot hand on the small of his back, and Bitty has no clue where he is.

He blinks, and—right. His childhood bedroom, sometime after sunrise: lemon-yellow walls, a mess of posters, crisp white curtains hanging limp from the humidity. It can’t be very late, because Coach’s morning shower isn’t whining through the walls yet. July fifth dawns the same every blessed year: Mama having a lie-in, Coach firing up the truck, long lazy days of few words and a blue sky and a beer that Bitty's too young to be drinking. Lord, what he wouldn’t give to be fifteen and at the lake right now, cold water closing over his head. 

He brings himself slowly back to earth by wishing really hard that the Olympic-sized rink behind Michelle Kwan’s paper smile would just sort of… replace the air conditioner they haven’t been able to afford to fix for years. As it stands, he’s fucking hot.

Jack, for all that he’s peaceful in sleep, is not helping. Bitty’s cheek is stuck to his bare chest, his massive thighs are trapping Bitty’s calves, and every inch of bare skin in between is tacky and gross. The Jack of his dreams is so tangled up with the call of the ice that he feels like he should be cold by default. Jack should be white and gray and blue; frosted winter mornings, distant sun, minty breath. The Jack of reality is—well, he’s beautiful, dark sweeping lashes and all that, but he’s just as sweaty as Bitty is and his breath definitely does not smell like mint.

Bitty doesn’t mind.

read more below or on ao3 | request a fic here

He’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop. From the moment they’d locked eyes at baggage claim, this weekend has been the weirdest song and dance: Bitty letting Jack into his life inch by inch, arranging the pieces of his soul for approval. Here’s where I went to high school. Here’s our family dinner table. Here’s my truck bed. Let’s make out. In return, apparently, he gets to have this now: his college hockey captain, on his back in Bitty’s bed, breathing slow and deep and measured with his hand skimming Bitty’s ass. 

That’s my best friend. The thought makes Bitty feel floaty and weird. He knows Jack’s gym schedule and the slant of his real smile and what he eats for breakfast, but he’s only seen him sleep once: the morning of graduation, when they’d climbed up to the roof of Faber and Bitty had woken up on Jack’s shoulder, in the folds of a jacket that smelled like him.

He hadn’t let himself believe, even then, that they might be more. After all, the thing about Jack is that sooner or later he’s always stopped being Jack and turned back into Jack Zimmermann, a living legend in the shape of a teammate. Bitty had pretended it was easy, once, not to lean into the intimacy of knowing just a little more than everyone else. It feels new and exhilarating and dangerous for him to get to see Jack like this now, all pretenses abandoned, one of his wildest fantasies come to life.

Jack chooses that moment to stir, like he can hear Bitty’s thoughts shouting his name. Bitty feels the flush rising in his cheeks, embarrassed that Jack’s caught him staring—but Jack doesn’t seem to mind, just lets out a long satisfied breath through his nose and murmurs, morning-low, “Bittle.”

Lord, but that makes something pop in Bitty’s gut and then fizzle into butterflies. Before last night he’d never even really been kissed before, and now—and now. His senses are overloaded, filled with the flash-fire knowledge that at long last someone else wants this as badly as he does. 

“Jack,” he says, sure that his morning voice must sound squeaky and childish in comparison.

But Jack’s eyes on his face are sleepy dark blue, weighty with something that looks a hell of a lot like approval. Bitty follows the slow roll of Jack’s Adam’s apple so he won’t do something really embarrassing, like explode and die. 

“Bitty,” Jack sighs again. Jesus Christ. There go Bitty’s chances of getting out of this bed alive. “‘S’hot.”

“Yes,” Bitty grumps, but neither of them make a move to separate. That self-satisfied thing flashes through him again. Jack is, apparently, so into this, into him; the bruises to prove it are probably already darkening low on his belly and hips. Being watched this way makes Bitty feel slightly insane, drunk with power.

“I like this,” Jack says. His voice rumbles, far-off thunder. Bitty thinks about flash floods, dams breaking, the crackshot sound of shattering ice. 

“What?”

“Waking up with you.”

There’s the sincerity that’s been driving Bitty wild all weekend. He’s long since mastered the art of lying smoothly through his teeth, but Jack’s graceless honesty punches holes through every pretense he can muster. It’s how Jack got him on his back in the truck bed last night, why they apparently can’t stop talking unless they find other ways to occupy their mouths. Just like that, Bitty's cheeks are in full flame.

“Me too,” he says, too quickly. Jack doesn’t seem to notice. His arms are huge, and Bitty is welcome in them. He feels positively unhinged. He has zero desire to move.

“Do we have to get up?”

“Probably,” Bitty groans, seizing the change of topic with both hands. He thunks his forehead into Jack’s shoulder for emphasis. “Coach’ll be up soon.”

“‘Kay,” says Jack, not moving one blessed inch.

Bitty squirms a little, thrilled. They keep ending up on the same page, wanting the same things. Feeling bold, Bitty mouths over the hot expanse of skin between Jack's shoulder and his neck, loving the way Jack immediately makes that pleased sound deep in his throat. 

"Sorry."

“For—ah." 

Jack honest-to-god moans when Bitty reaches the spot beneath his ear, and that's it: Bitty's deceased. He's gone. He's gonna die right here in his childhood bedroom, and he'll be damn well pleased about it. "Don't be—sorry for what?”

“That it’s not private,” Bitty murmurs. He waves his free hand toward the door, beyond which his parents hopefully believe that Bitty and his good friend Jack are passed out in separate rooms after the (completely tame, very platonic) excitement of last night's festivities. It seems like a tall order even in his head. He's gonna have to spend the next month before he goes back to school being very careful about the thoughts he lets show on his face.

When Bitty flexes his toes against Jack's bare leg under the sheets to prompt an answer, Jack hums a little, turns and drags his nose lightly across Bitty's forehead. "Don’t be sorry,” he says. “Actually, I was thinking about that last night."

"You were? Huh," Bitty says. "Sounds like I didn't do a very good job, then."

Jack gives him a gentle, one-handed shove. "After... uh, well. After that." He blushes so pretty, right over his nose and hot up his cheeks. Bitty kind of wants to eat him whole. "What would you say about coming to visit me?"

Forget what he’d say; Bitty can barely even think about it without going insane. Just the two of them, alone, four soundproof walls and a chance to figure this out for real. "In Providence?"

"Yes,” Jack says. “And we can do, um. More. Of what we did last night.”

Bitty is acutely aware of Jack’s hand, which is now rubbing little circles into his back, and all the other places it was last night, and how much he’d like for it to be in those places again.

“Yes, okay,” he says, too quickly to be polite; Jack is grinning, though, so. Right answer.

"Deal."

Bitty smiles back, megawatt. "Deal."

"First I have to make it home, though," Jack says. "Got a whole kitchen to get ready for you, eh?"

He says get ready like it has multiple meanings, and Bitty gets to pick the one he wants. Despite the heat, he finds himself shivering in anticipation.

"Sounds amazing," Bitty says, definitely not just talking about the kitchen. He shoves Jack back, teasing. This is his best friend and so much more. "Then you better get packin', mister, you got a flight to catch."

When the alarm clock goes off down the hall, Jack rolls out of bed and goes for his bag, sleepy chirps in full effect. Bitty stays put, though, watching. The sun catches just right on the hard planes of Jack’s shoulders, melting winter into spring, and Bitty is okay with losing control.