#I’ve spent so long in the void between wanting to die and wanting to live that the concept of fearing death is kind of alien

[bumblebeerror]

C!Techno being afraid to die but equally, if not more afraid of Phil dying hits so hard sometimes. The idea that Dying is the worst thing that could happen to you - except, god forbid, your best friend dying first. The idea that c!Techno’s main fear wasn’t necessarily dying, it was being left alone. So much so that while he was terrified of death, and did everything in his power to prevent his own death, he was willing to risk it over Phil’s life every. Single. Time.

He freaks out over every threat to Phil. Every baby zombie, the house arrest, all of doomsday. And the way Phil acts tells us Techno has always been like this - he takes Techno’s coddling as if he’s long since given up trying to prove to him that he can survive on his own, that he can hold his own in a fight - which Phil proves to us basically every fight he’s in. He takes the totem from Techno and keeps it in his hand because “I didn’t want you to get nervous”, he accepts his task as sideliner and chaos-causer, stays out of the main fray, keeps himself alive and unharmed over starting or winning a fight (with a player, that is.).

Phil isn’t as good at PVP as Techno is. I think we can all agree on that, and that Phil himself would say the same. But he’s not bad. Not even a little! Phil possesses a skill in fighting that I think most people lack - the ability to sense when to hit the bricks. Phil knows when a fight isn’t going his way, and he fucking dips. And he’s usually successful in disengaging from a fight as well - which is also a really important PVP skill. You can know when to leave and still not be able to (hi. Hi. I die in pvp a lot. You’ll never guess why.) Phil is also great with a bow, good with a shield, good with a sword, and for all intents and purposes, very proficient in every new fighting skill that one would need in a PVE setting, which is most of them. He’s worked with TNT, Withers, killed the dragon plenty, etc. he’s well able to fight.

But c!Techno is so, so terrified of being left alone in this world that he protects Phil from every threat he can, and some that he can’t. And C!Phil humors him, because let’s be real, the only other option would be to not be friends with the guy.

C!Techno is so scared to die. And he’s so much more petrified of doing it alone.

[wolvesandpetals]

Fanfic: Loki x Sylvie Oneshot (Hurt/Comfort, Rated: teen, no adult content. Set before, during and after that scene in 1 x 05)

She should be inside, talking to the other Lokis, learning more about this place and its dangers, and strategically planning their next move. Instead, she is out here in the open, staring into the abyss, like she has been almost her entire life. She has lived in apocalypses, watching the colors of the sky change as people merrily went on with their lives, completely unaware of how fleeting it all is. Yet, in the middle of all that death and destruction, there she always has been, the epitome of survival.

[[MORE]]

This “Void” is no different. This is another place where death and destruction reigns but she remains standing at the end of the day. The sky is blue, but far away, where it meets this foresaken land, is a menacing shade of purple, resembling the one in Lamentis-1. It brings back memories of that night.

As if on cue, Loki comes and sits down beside her. For a man who never shuts up, he’s unusually quiet. She wonders what he might be thinking about. Their impending battle, his future plans, the TVA, Asgard, Thor…

Or whatever it is that he was about to tell her before he got pruned.

—

It’s not the best time to talk when you’re driving a shoddy car away from the mouth of a hungry demon cloud, but that won’t stop him.

“Hell of a Nexus event you caused there,” Mobius comments.

Sylvie’s heart skips a beat. “You know what my Nexus event was? You know why I was taken from Asgard?”

Mobius winces internally. “Oh, that. Sorry. I am in the dark, just like you. I don’t even know what my nexus event was.” His heart breaks at the thought of what home might be like. Does he have a family? Kids? What did he leave behind?

The car hits debris on the road, and they both bump their heads on the hood of the vehicle. “I’m talking about the Nexus event at Lamentis-1”, he clarifies.

“Yeah, about that. How did you know where to show up? What was the Nexus event?”

Mobius smiles. This one is just as clueless as the other one. And even though he has been hunting her for as long as he can remember, he can’t bring himself to voice it quiet as harshly this time. “Well, you and Loki had a connection back there. That’s what sent the timelines into a dizzy. Two Lokis falling in love.”

She feels the air leave her lungs. “I’m sorry, did you just say, love?”

He doesn’t answer, and in the silence, punctuated by the creature’s evil roar, she realises she’s been so focused on what was happening- the running, the fighting, the revelations, the pruning- that she never really stopped to think about how it made her feel.

That’s how it’s always been. That’s how it always has to be when you’re on the run through space and time.

And though she is still being chased at this very moment, she can’t help but contemplate this time. How does she feel?

Now that she thinks about it, deep down, she knows, no matter how many times she tells herself she is only doing this to find who is behind the curtains and get her life back, she would have gone about it in a completely different way, like she always has- hiding, fighting, planning and executing. There is only one reason why she would ever stab herself with a pruning stick.

(Love is a dagger, after all. A glowing, pruning one.)

—

“Mobius is not so bad.” She begins, and it doesn’t take them too long to completely deny their feelings for the other as well as promise their undying loyalty and pledge to be at each other’s side when all this is over.

She snuggles closer to Loki. “Loki?”

“Hmm?”

“If this is not a table cloth, then it’s surely a cape, right?”

He laughs, and it does something to her stomach that she still has to find a name for. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. Why did you ditch your hood?”

She shrugs. A whole life spent in the shadows, away from the spotlight, against the very basic instinct of a Loki. And now? “I’m tired of hiding, I guess.” Her voice is resolute, and her eyes shine with glorious purpose. “I want to be seen.”

“I see you,” he says softly. “I’d like to see more of you.”

She looks up at him with a curious smirk.

“That’s not what-” He’s visibly flustered, and it’s so much fun to make him squirm like this. “It’s not how it sounds. What I meant to say is, I’d like to see you again, when all of this is over.”

She smiles. Didn’t he say this already, when she was scared that he would leave her when all this is over?

Is he just as scared of her leaving him when all of this is over?

“I don’t know”, she bumps her shoulder against his playfully. “Do I want to torture myself so much?”

He feigns offense. “I will have you know, kings and presidents and Gods have begged- begged just to be granted an audience with me. You don’t know how lucky you are.”

“Lucky me”, she says only half- sarcastically. “Stuck here with you under the same-”, she tilts her head to indicate the green material that is currently shielding two frost giants from the cold, the ridiculousness of this not lost on her, “-blanket.”

“Lucky you,” he repeats unironically, and his hand finds its way to hers, their fingers intertwining.

He’s held hands before. He’s had women snuggle up to him too. But not like this. Not anyone who matters. Not anyone whose eyes sing “Come home”.

He places a soft kiss on her hair, the lips that have uttered a thousand lies now focused on the one truth.

She feels her whole body burn.

She’s seen a thousand worlds die before her own eyes, always escaping before the blistering heat found its way to her, never having the ability to save even a single life, knowing it’ll cause a Nexus event and she would be discovered. She’s witnessed so many people’s death- people who gave her food, shelter, clothing, shared a laugh or two with the orphan child from Asgard- the poor, lost, scared, little Sylvie.

Now she’s here, and she’s not completely certain that she’s not going to die.

Yet, this is the most alive that she has ever felt.

Her grip on his hand tightens, and he squeezes in return. Mobius would have a field day if he was to walk out and see them like this now.

“Loki, if I don’t make it-” she begins.

He cuts her off firmly. “Don’t.” The thought of losing her has been on his mind since the moment he got pruned, and he doesn’t think he can handle the thought of losing her again.

“How did you feel when you got pruned before you could tell me what it was you wanted to tell me?”

He takes a moment to gather his thoughts. He knows what he wanted to say, but he doesn’t know yet what it was he was going to say. The words were about to roll off his tongue, and then it was gone. All hope, all possibilities of a future, snatched away in just a moment. “I felt distraught.” He confesses honestly.

“Exactly.” She sits up now, facing him directly, crawling out from under the blanket, but never letting go out of his hand. “If I don’t make it, I’ll feel the same way.”

His face clouds with hope and confusion at the same time. “What are you saying?”

She’s not sure. She’s learnt at least thirty-four different languages from her life in apocalyptic worlds, yet, no language has the words to capture quite how she feels.

“Sylvie?” He prompts again, daunted by the silence.

“Loki.” She says his name. Because that’s all there is. The one word. This is about him. Maybe it always has been, maybe all those poets and musicians and dreamers are right and your whole life does lead up to something.

Maybe her whole miserable, horrible, terrible life has been leading up to this.

This moment when she closes the gap between their lips.

Her eyes are wide open, just like his, and they are staring at each other, waiting to see how the other reacts.

Maybe this was a mistake, she thinks, but his lips press harder against hers.

It’s still just a tender, sweet peck, and their eyes are still open, but his hands give hers another squeeze. He pulls back and leans his forehead against her, making their noses brush.

And then his lips find hers with a fever that mirrors her own, and their eyes flutter shut.

She’s lived in apocalypses. She knows that worlds are dying at this very moment. And at the same moment, other worlds are being born out of this, this dance between their lips- a Nexus event that is creating new timelines, new life.

(Love is a dagger, indeed. And you can see yourself in it, after all. But when you reach for it, it doesn’t always disappear. Sometimes, it’s so very real.)

[zekesexual]

the wind’s goodbye - zeke one shot

summary: this was requested! reader is a warrior about to be sent to paradis with the younger warriors. zeke comes to talk to reader the night before the warriors have to leave for paradis. hope y’all enjoy

—————————————————

you leaned against the edge of the wooden railing of the dock that extended pasts the marley shores. you looked out at the sky, shifting your position every once in a while - which prompted the aged and peeling wood of the railing to whine out a high pitched croak.

the wind made it’s next of several visits again, carrying your hair out into the air, and letting it face the pale blue sky that was dotted with clouds that just started to settle in.

your hair slowly settled back down, and a reluctant sigh escaped your lips as you dumped all of your thoughts out into the marley sea.

but no matter how long you thought about it, you couldn’t wrap your head around the idea of going to paradis. your marleyan teacher called it the island of devils, a place where unhealed eldians roam.

in a way you wanted to be happy. years of training and you could finally call yourself an honorary marleyan. a warrior.

but the more you thought about it, the less it made sense. this never ending battle against peace was something that always made your head spin. the amount of hours you spent thinking about the people back on paradis made you crazy.

before you could venture down a familiar void of thoughts, a fond voice interrupted you.

“i’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

you didn’t have to turn around to know who’s voice it was. the old wood of the dock’s floor creaked with each step that zeke took closer to you until his feet finally rested in a position right next to yours.

zeke leaned against the railing and placed his head in his hands, mimicking your position.

you looked over at him for just a few seconds, analyzing his face. his hair was the way it had always been for the years that you knew him. split into a middle part with golden strands that ended right above his ears. you watched the strands move up slightly as the wind carried them out of his face.

“the weather’s nice, right?” he looked over at you.

you didn’t answer. instead turning your head back to its original position, staring off at the sky.

he looked away after a few seconds of silence, “we were looking everywhere for you. the captains wanted to do a special dinner before we sent you guys out.”

you stayed silent again while you watched the sky’s pale blue slowly turn into a mix of peach and yellow as the sun began to sink into the horizon.

zeke spoke again, “did you see the new candidates? they’re all so small, i can’t believe we used to be that tiny.” the sound of his voice echoed through your head.

“why are you here zeke?” you asked.

he stayed silent for a few moments, letting the next gush of wind make it’s course through the shore.

“you’re leaving tomorrow. i feel like we haven’t talked in forever.”

“what is there to talk about?” you muttered.

zeke ignored your question to ask another one of his own. “how long do you think you guys will be gone?”

“dunno,” you sighed, “could be forever.”

you both stood in each others silence for several minutes, watching the sky fully transform into vibrant hues of pink, orange and yellow.

“don’t die, okay?” zeke finally mutteted, still holding his eyes on the sunset, “come back safe.”

zeke had gradually grown more cold hearted as the two of you grew up. more centered around reality and logistics, and philosophy and all that smart people stuff. it wasn’t really like him to make rash suggestions such as ordering you to stay alive.

“okay,” you responded, not really knowing what else to say.

you could feel his eyes burning through the side of your head.

“that doesn’t sound very promising.” he stated.

“i can’t promise my survival, zeke.” you said in a somewhat harsh tone. he could tell that you were holding back tears by the shakiness of your voice.

zeke stepped closer to you, his entire body facing you instead of just his head this time.

“live. and come back to tell me stories about what it was like there.” the calmness of his voice contrasted the sharpness that yours had just minutes ago.

when you turned your head towards him he was only a couple inches away. the sky had turned his face a light shade of orange. you blinked, letting a single tear roll down your cheek.

“promise me.” he said in a whisper, just loud enough that only you could hear it.

he studied your face as if he was trying to memorize your features.

so much has changed between the two of you since you first met. you felt like you had matured past the silly crush you used to have on him, but your heart couldn’t help skip a beat when you noticed how close he was to you.

“i promise” your eyes met his and then quickly darted off to the distance, trying not to keep eye contact with him for too long.

his hand made its way to your cheek, wiping away the tear that rested there. another rush of wind carried itself through the both of you, having your hair float up and face that sky that was now a bright orange.

he took another step closer to you, his eyes still fixated on yours, and his thumb rubbing small circles into your cheek.

and before zeke could close the space between the two of you, the wind carried his lips into yours.

[my-kindred-spirit]

Which is your favourite flower, Kaz?

Summary: Two years after the ending of Crooked Kingdom, Kaz and Inej enjoy a well-deserved moment of peace and happiness in Kaz's farm, surrounded by the beauty of nature. They reflect on their past and the healing they've done, as well as on their feelings for each other. 

Pairing: Kaz x Inej 

Basically, this is just pure FLUFF!!!

INEJ

Inej had always loved looking at the sky. When her mind was still young and naïve, she used to imagine herself walking between the clouds on a white sparkly tightrope, leaving behind her a silver trail decorating the silent sky. She used to dream of her spirit hanging in the air and her soul flying free in the blue infinity of the firmament, with a smile printed on her face and the lightness that is conferred only by liberty sculpted in her heart.    

When her mind was trying to survive the horrors that Fate had destined to her, Inej still looked at the sky. Ketterdam’s sky was grey, opaque with the steam of the cities and almost threatening in his abyssal vastness. It wasn’t arid though. It was very much alive, reached day and night by the laughs of the tourists wandering through the narrow streets of the Barrel, by the drunken songs of the men wasting themselves in the taverns and the joyful or frustrated shouts of the ones playing in the gambling halls. But the sky was also the inevitable witness of the desperate pleas of people being defrauded or robbed, of the painful cries of some poor souls abandoned by the Saints and doomed to a fate of violence and sorrows, of the desperate sobs of girls violated in the brothels. 

Read it on AO3 here!

The sky had never been reached by the Wraith’s voice though. She liked to contemplate it in silence, sitting on Ghezen’s thumb and savoring all the memories of when the clouds looked softer. She had actually hanged in the air and flied as the most elegant and gracious of the birds, but her stage had been roofs and chimneys, not clouds. Her curtain had been a grey and opaque sky, not a bright and azure one. Still, she had defeated gravity, even if not how she had dreamt as a child.

Now that her mind had known pain and had wandered even through the world’s darkest meanders, Inej still loved looking at the sky. She liked to remember both the acrobatics she had performed on the rope, admired by her proud family, and the brave stunts she had succeeded in as the Wraith, with Ketterdam’sky as her sole witness. She liked to admire the blue intense sky towering on the True Sea and the azure one inundating with light and hope Kaz’s farm.    

 It was early June and the clouds looked softer than ever. The sun burnt high in the clear azure sky and his shiny rays softly tinged the boundless meadows gold. 

Inej let her eyes part from the sky and wander around the immense verdant meadows surrounding her, which stretched as far as eye can see and finally got lost between the vague trembling lines of the horizon, in a pyrotechnic explosion of colours. She admired the flowery fields and the carpet of grass she was sitting on, embroidered with the golden light of the daffodils, the white purity of the daisies, the gentle pink of the roses, the purple of the wild geranium – her mother’s favourite flower- and the strong blue of the irises, which reminded her of the unforgiving waves colliding with her Wraith. On the distance she could see the orchards tinging the landscape pink: she recognized the light-pink petals of cherries, the darker pink and orange flowers of the peaches and then the white and pinkish heart-shaped flowers of the apricots, slowly falling to the ground and leaving place to the orange velvety drupes.

The fresh floral perfume was inebriating and the delicate scent of grass, soft and faintly damp under her touch, graced her nostrils and intoxicated her thoughts. A soft symphony of birds singing reigned in the colourful heaven and lulled her, accompanied by the gentle tune of a light pleasant breeze, the soft murmurings of the creek beyond the orchards and the melody of... of feets approaching her.

 “You have picked some flowers.” Inej turned around and watched Kaz nodding to the wooden basket full of flowers, while slowly sitting beside her. This Kaz’s voice, Kaz Rietveld's voice, was not as raspy as Kaz Brekker’s one. He wasn’t even using the cane, which he had come to find unnecessary for walking on the soft grass.                                                                                                          This Kaz, her Kaz, had longer hair on the sides and brown highlights, result of almost three weeks spent in the sun. He had even tanned a bit and gotten freckles all over his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, and the corners of his mouth seemed to be turned up in a smile more often than not. He was wearing simple black breeches and a loose white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. No coat, no hat. No gloves. His eyes, however, were the same colour of bitter coffee as always.

“Wylan helped me earlier.” Inej observed Kaz eyeing the flowers with a troubled expression and then slowly lifting his head to look at her. “I've never given you flowers.”  

  KAZ 

“You have picked some flowers”.  Inej turned around and Kaz swore he had felt his heart stopping. The sun rays caressed her chocolate skin and framed her beautiful face. Oil black lashes fanned over her cheeks and a light breeze ruffled her silky dark hair. Her obsidian eyes resembled the darkest of the abysses and Kaz craved to forget himself and die in his pitch-dark immensity. Her vivid eyes sparkled as the brightest and most vibrant of stars and Kaz ached to live eternally and enshrine that light in a golden casket.

To Kaz, she didn’t look real, not for him. To Kaz, she looked holier that any of the Saints she devotedly believed in, so stunning that he thought he might just break down and cry if he looked at her any longer. Enveloped by the rainbow of flowers and trees, she looked like a picture painted by Purity itself, with the colourful palette of kindness and hope and the silver brush of strength and determination.

Kaz couldn’t thank any God enough that she was real. He jealously cherished every moment in which his eyes were graced with the sight of her elegant figure and kind smile, as he had never seen her before, as he would never see her again. He had learned to welcome and appreciate even the feeling of his breath catching and mouth drying whenever he looked at her, whenever he was a boy again, sure that there was magic in this world.

To Kaz, looking at Inej felt like dying. It felt like he couldn’t hope nor ask to breathe the same air of a heart so kind, a soul so hopeful, a mind so strong. It felt like being lost in the vastness of the universe, like navigating the tumultuous waves of the True sea, overwhelmed by feelings he never knew his hearth could fell, stunned by a fate he didn’t believe he deserved. It felt like being consumed by her, for her.  

To Kaz, looking at Inej felt like living. It felt like he could hope to walk this land as a better man, like he had managed to pull himself together into some semblance of a man for her. It felt like having been hurt and then healed, like the sorrows and ghost of his past wouldn’t persecute him for evermore, like life was worth living. It felt like being whole, like the void in his soul had been filled by her, for her.  

To Kaz, looking at Inej felt like looking at the sun, like being warmed and burned, overwhelmed by a powerful oxymoron of emotions, a powerful oxymoron of life and death. To Kaz, Inej looked like the sun. To Kaz, Inej looked brighter than the sun.

“Wylan helped me earlier.” Kaz looked at the wooden basket full of flowers and a sudden realization striked him : flowers, he had never gifted her with flowers. He had given her a knife, sure, but he had done it for his own personal purposes, for turning her into his Wraith. Now they had been staying in Johannus Rietveld's farm for almost three weeks, literally surrounded by flowers, and he had never given her any. Would she have wanted him to? Would she have liked a gift that would have reminded her of her happy childhood, and not of the violence she had been forced to face? Would she have liked a gift that he would have given her had they met in another life, had they been Inej Ghafa and Kaz Rietveld, instead of the Wraith and the Bastard of the Barrel?

He shifted his eyes back to hers and murmured weakly, “I’ve never given you flowers.” Inej looked taken aback for a moment, eyes wide and lips slightly parted, before quickly recomposing herself and setting her face into a stoic, indecipherable expression. She looked straight into his eyes, pursed lips and brow furrowed, and Kaz knew he was inevitably about to enhance the list of his unforgivable sins. “Kaz”, her voice came out unbearably severe and disappointed and Kaz knew he would have gladly chosen death if it’d mean he would never be the one to bring that tone in her angelic voice again. But then her lips twitched almost imperceptibly, like she was trying with all her might to hold back Kaz’s final death sentence, and her eyes gleamed with… amusement?

A laugh, she was trying to hold back a laugh. How Inej managed to turn Dirtyhands, the brain which had broken into the Ice Court and destroyed one of Ketterdam’s most powerful man, into a lovestruck fool was downright beyond him. “Inej”, he sighed defeated and her whole face lighted up with delight, before she carefreely threw her head back and released the most infectious and crystalline of laughs. Now Kaz was sure he was going to die, mercilessly killed by the most beatific sound which had ever reached his ears, undeniably annihilated by the same laugh he craved for all-day long and graced his dreams every night, by the truest and most profound essence of her.

Her eyes sparkled with sheer love and a warm, affectionate smile enlightened her features: “Kaz, you gave me my Wraith, you found my parents for me, you restored my freedom when I thought there were no hope or salvation left for me”, she cooed fondly and tenderly, “do you honestly believe I would be upset because you never gave me flowers?”. Kaz felt his lips immediately turning up in a sincere smile and, not trusting himself with words, slowly shifted his hand and brushed his knuckles against hers, asking the permission she immediately granted, sliding her smaller hand into his callous one and entwining their fingers. It was always like this between them, a game of continuous asking and giving permissions, of constant gaining and offering trust, a game he genuinely believed they were slowly yet effectively winning.

“Do you want to know what my father used to tell me when I was little?” Inej asked softly, while lovingly drawing little circles with her thumb on Kaz’s bare hand.

“Another Suli wise proverb?” he smirked.

“No, Kaz”, she playfully rolled her eyes, “not another of our useful proverbs. He used to tell me that there would have been many boys to bring me flowers, but that only one would have known my favourite flower, or song or sweet. And that even if he’d have been too poor to give me any, he wouldn’t have mattered, because that boy, and him only, had earnt my heart.”

Kaz’s heart leaped with joy: he knew. He had never given her flowers, but he knew her favourite one, he knew. “Dahlia. Your favourite flower is the Dahlia, the red one. You told me when we saw one in the flower stall in Goedmedbridge, remember? We were following those Dime Lions. You said you liked it because it appeared elegant and graceful, but that the red colour made it look also somewhat powerful and strong.”, he blurted out with the excitement of a child. ”And your favourite sweet are those chocolate biscuits Nina made you try when you visited her in Ravka last summer. The ones she had cooked modifying Matthias's Fjerdian recipe.”

“And my favourite song?”

Hearing Inej’s trembling, touched voice snapped Kaz out of his frantic enthusiasm, his grin softening into a lovely crooked smile and devotion gleaming in his eyes. “You don’t have one. You can’t choose between all the lullabies your mother singed to get you to sleep.”

  INEJ 

Inej didn’t answer. She tightened her hold on Kaz’s hand, but didn’t answer. She fought the urge to cry – if from happiness or gratitude or emotion she couldn’t say-, but didn’t answer. She looked into his strong tea brown eyes as if he was a miracle of her Saints, but didn’t answer. She couldn’t, for the life of her, find her voice, because this boy, this man, had earned her heart.  

She had fallen for Dirtyhands under the grey sky of Ketterdam, the man who had freed her from a cage of horrors and humiliations and had given her, if not happiness or safety, a new perspective, a new possibility at life. She had fallen for the man who, as first thing, had refused to call her with that grotesque, demeaning name Tante Heleen had given her, but had asked for her real name, for how she wished to be called. She had fallen for the Bastard of the Barrel, the man who had taught her how to fight and defend herself, how to become powerful and even dangerous, how to make others respect her. She had fallen for the man who had never wanted to own her or annihilate her identity. She had fallen for the man who, even if hadn’t promised her that, had always protected her, whatever the cost.  

Then she had slowly came to know Kaz Rietveld and had fallen hard for him too. She had fallen for the boy who looked sincerely ashamed after being scolded by Mr. Fahey, for the boy who fought everyday against his demons and was willing to defeath them to be with her. She had fallen for the boy who smiled light-heartedly and laughed freely, for the boy whose eyes glowed in the sun and gleamed with a nervous yet warm devotion while braiding her hair.

She had fallen for the man who wanted her and wished to dedicate himself to her, without gloves, without armour. She had fallen for the naive, sweet boy Kaz had once been and for the man revenge and greed had shaped, a crow mercilessly remindful or who had wronged him, but also of who had been kind and fair. She had fallen for who he was becoming, a man who had known pain and hatred, but was willing to open the rusty gate of his hearth to love and friendship.

She had fallen for Kaz Brekker, the man who had returned her the liberty which had been violently snatched from her and had found her beloved parents. The man who had encouraged her ambitions and supported her constantly in her fight against the slavers.

She had fallen for Kaz Brekker. She loved Kaz Brekker, and he had earned her heart. He possessed her heart.

“I can braid your hair, if you’d like. I… I could add the flowers.” Hadn’t she just been thinking he owned her heart?

Her voice still failed her, so she resolved to nod. She watched Kaz shifting a bit to sit behind her and heard his breathing deepening. After a few instants, Inej welcomed the cherished feeling of Kaz’s long fingers caressing her inky hair with a gentleness that didn’t surprise her anymore. She felt him dividing the hair into three even parts, before crossing the left section over the middle one and then doing the same with the right section. As always, he worked in silence, section after section, strand after strand, breath by breath, brick by brick. The first times he had braided her hair, Inej had felt Kaz's fingers trembling and his breathing fastening, so she had started to ask him what was on his mind, to distract him, or she would tell him stories from her childhood, to soothe him.

Now, his fingers didn't tremble anymore and he was rather succesful in controlling his breathing, but Inej still whished to hear his concentrated voice. She still wanted to explore the gears of his psyche, to navigate the thunderous stream of his thoughts, to know the forbidden ruminations of his complex mind. “Wha”, she coughed, clearing his throat, “What are you thinking right now, Kaz?”

“I thought you'd never ask.”, he chuckled, and Inej could perfectly figure his mischievous grin.

“Kaz.”

“Darling Inej, treasure of my heart, I'm thinking about how it's taking me forever to braid all this hair. I swear I'll cut it, one day or another.”

“You wouldn't dare!”, she cried out in mock outrage, repressing a laugh.

“Would you slit my throat with Sankta Alina while I sleep, if I cut it?”

“You have to ask?”

“Then no, I wouldn't dare.”, Kaz answered with an exaggeratedly fearful tone that really didn't suit him.

They kept silent for a moment, pursing their lips, before giving in and bursting out laughing until tears rolled down their cheeks with amusement. “I never knew Dityhands was so easily scared", Inej sputtered out between laughs, “he is such a chicken, isn't he?”.

“Stop making me laugh Inej", he sniggered, “or I'll get confused and will have to start the braid from the beginning. I'm doing a delicate operation here while you just sit and laugh, you know?”

“Sorry, sorry", she wiped a tear from her left eye, “but you still have to tell me what you are thinking about.”

They slowly calmed down, quieting their breathing and setting into a comforting silence. Inej, however, had felt Kaz’s fingers slightly tensing up and when his hand shifted to take a geranium into the basket -after having secured the braid-, she asked again. “Kaz, tell me please.”

He took a deep breath. His fingers trembled. “I’m thinking if this is how it would have been. If we hadn’t become Dirtyhands and the Wraith, that is.”

Inej’s heart gave a painful squeeze. “Kaz”, she started soothingly, “we-.

“Would you want us to be only Kaz Rietveld and Inej Ghafa, sitting on the grass and enjoying the sun, while I braid your hair? Would you want me to be able to touch you as every man touches his girlfriend? Would you- ”

“No, Kaz, I wouldn’t.”, she brusquely interrupted him, “I wouldn’t.”. She swiftly turned around, took both his hands in hers without giving much thought to caution and permissions, and looked straight into his eyes with the determination of who allows for no replication. “I wouldn’t, Kaz. I wouldn’t because, if we hadn’t become Dirtyhands and the Wraith, we would have never met. And even if we had met, we wouldn’t have been who we are today, and believe me when I say I’d never change who we are, for anything in the world. It’s not Kaz Rietveld the one I’m in love with, you know. I’m in love with him, with Dirtyhands, with the Bastard of the Barrel.” Inej swore he’d never looked that dumbfounded, but she wasn’t quite finished. “I’m in love with Kaz Brekker. I’m in love with you, Kaz. As you’re in love with the Wraith, with Captain Ghafa, with Inej. Aren’t you, Kaz?”, and this time she didn’t even try to hold back the tears.

“Inej”, he murmured with a devotion who made her feel holier than the Saints she believed in, “Inej”, he repeated, while slowly untangling his right hand from hers and lifting it to her cheeks. With the gentlest touch, he captured her tears with his fingertips and delicately wiped them away, one by one. “Inej”, and if she could have bottled the sound of her name being so tenderly whispered by his lips and gotten drunk on it every night, she would have. ”Inej”, he delicately cupped her right cheek, while his other hand went to softly rest on her neck. “Inej”, he got closer to her and Inej thought her heart might just jump out of her chest, “Inej”, and he slowly lowered his head, lips hovering over her cheek. “Inej”, and his crimson lips brushed the tip of her nose, his hands slightly tremulous. “Inej", and his warm lips captured a tear rolling down her left cheek, and then another and another. “Inej", and his soft lips grazed her forehead, while she lifted her trembly hands and delicately yet eagerly rested them on his wrists. “Inej", and she had barely a moment to register the lonely tear falling from his left eye, before she finally felt the cherished pressure of his moist lips against hers, both familiar and new all at once. And a rainbow of colours and emotions exploded behind her closed eyelids.

In this moment, when Kaz's lips were pressed against hers, Inej knew that she'd never be the same again, that she'd never forget the taste of him, that she’d never give anything for granted, that she'd never stop fighting for what is good and just in this twisted world. In this moment, while she could feel the faintest brushes of tongues and the most sheer connection of hearts and souls, Inej found herself floating away, knowing nothing but Kaz, his smell, his breath, his hands on her skin, his hearth throbbing madly in his chest. In this moment, when he finally met her where she had been waiting for him, Inej thanked all her Saints and treasured the arduous path that, after years of battles and sufferings and anguish, had allowed them to live this precious instant, this precious everything.

When they finally pulled away, hearts gone mad with joy and euphoria, Inej looked into Kaz's blissful eyes and gave him a watery smile: “Which is your favourite flower, Kaz?”

A/N:  Hey guys, thank you so much for reading!!! What do you think Kaz's favourite flower would be?? Tell me in the comments!

[paper-n-ashes]

sparks and embers - chapter 6

Characters: Poe Dameron x Original Female Character, Kylo Ren x Original Female Character

Story Tags: Explicit (18+), Canon Compliant/Divergent (Set after TLJ), First Person POV, Love Triangle, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Porn with Plot, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren hates Poe Dameron 

Chapter 6 - Ruin

Words: 5.9k

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Mentions of war/death, kissing, a healthy dose of the ‘sharing a bed’ trope, ANGST, sexual education because who doesn’t want to read about that in fanfiction, vague description of a female medical procedure

Read on AO3 or Start from the beginning

~

A softened sigh left me, knowing it was probably time to let Poe say his piece. He’d been so silent until now that I felt compelled to hear what had been stirring inside his mind while I’d held him in quiet contempt.

“Alright. I’m listening.”

He flicked on one of the dimmed lamps next to the bed, a gentle glow illuminating the room, watching as he proceeded to carefully extricate himself from under the sheets, the soreness as a result of the rehab we’d performed today now evident in his concentrated expression.

I drew myself up into a seated position on the sofa as he made his way to sit on the small table at my front, not attempting to meet my eyes until he’d slowly placed himself down on the metal. His face was less than a meter from mine, pupils drifting upwards until finally, our stares locked.

“I’m sorry,” he declared, his words heavy. “I understand why you’re angry. I get it, okay? Years of battle after battle, fight after fight, it becomes difficult to consider those working under the First Order’s control as people. People with families, loved ones, even children. They appear as targets, there simply to be eliminated. And it’s you or them. Either you perish, or you put the rational thought into the back of your mind and fight back.”

Poe glanced down, fixated to the floor, his jaw tight. “I do think about it sometimes, the people I’ve... murdered. I’ve spent sleepless nights wondering if killing in the name of freedom was a good enough reason to send people to an early death. When you don’t see their faces it’s…. easier. You don’t see the bloodshed, the corpses. You just see the fiery explosion of their ships fading into the black void of space.”

I stayed rigid in the sofa, hands clutching the into cushions. It was difficult to hold down the simmer of anger that boiled in my stomach, since everything so far only reinforced what I felt like I’d determined hours ago. Even while my demeanour remained stormy, Poe continued.

“All I heard in my childhood was my father reminding me of the way he and my mother fought for what they believed to be right. Both of them lived and battled through a time like ours, under the thumb of a regime hungry for power, sparing no innocents in their pursuit of it.” He became lost in memory, the aura drifting around him stained with a subtle sorrow. “‘People were hurting. People were suffering. Your father and I couldn’t sit and do nothing.’ That’s what my mother had told me, a child of two, as her reasoning for joining the Alliance in their efforts to push back against what threatened all type of freedom in this galaxy. My parents offered to sacrifice their lives on the tiniest shred of hope that me, and every other being on every planet, would see peace in their lifetime.”

His eyes finally shifted back to focus on mine. They were determined, yet soft, the chocolate fibers of his irises melting together. “I just... wanted to be like her. Like them. I wanted to do what they did. I wanted them to be proud of me, to have faith that their legacy would live on after they were gone. To provide freedom and peace like they had. Even if that meant sacrificing my own life, even if that meant killing those who opposed it. I had to. I had to join the people that wanted the same thing as me.”

A growing ferocity began to radiate, his voice severe. “I witnessed so many of my fellow soldiers, my friends, die thoughtlessly at the hands of others. And I wanted them to feel the same pain that I felt. Is it hypocritical? Of course, I know that. Is it cruel? Yes, murder is rarely not. But it's in the name of protection, defiance against control from an overpowering force. Those who fight with the First Order, who take over planets and kill innocents for the sake of power, they know what they’re doing. They know the consequences, the outcome, the hold the galaxy will be strangled under if they succeed. And they do it anyway. Our cause isn’t more noble, it’s self-defence. We’re trying to protect the ones who aren’t able to fight back, and those who don’t deserve to be born into a world that will crush them into submission.”

Poe’s features turned darker, leaning in close. “I will never stop thinking about the lives I’ve taken. I will never not hold myself accountable for the sins I’ve committed. But I will also not sit and do nothing. I don’t need you to accept it, but at least try to understand. You and I want the same thing, in the end, to save as many people as possible in our short lifetime. I’m just doing the best I can to see that through.”

While I instinctively took a breath in preparation to speak, nothing came. He’d rendered me speechless.

I had no reply to give, no counterargument, no flaw to point out. His honesty floored me, raw emotion and long-felt guilt rising up for me to observe so openly. The pain behind his eyes seemed so much more acute than any of the other injuries he’d sustained, not trying to shield it from my view as he spoke.

I tried to find words, anything to articulate my forgiveness. Because I did understand. He’d made me see it, the same anguish over death that I felt. But he’d also made me realise what a coward I was.

Against the people who would kill him or control him, he fought back. While I hid myself away under the guise of selflessness.

I thought I was the hero of my story, giving up my home, my old life, for the benefit of the downtrodden people of this planet. In reality, I was a scared little girl, too gutless to push back against those I, and so many others in this galaxy, feared. And here Poe was, putting himself in harm’s way, every day, in the hopes that he could take away our fear forever.  

He began to rise in front of me, taking my lack of reply as an answer in itself. He seemed despondent, his face sullen as he turned to limp back to the bed.

A different kind of fury coursed through me, fury at myself for how easily I’d judged him, at how cruelly I’d treated him.

I couldn’t let the night end this way.

I picked myself up from the sofa and quickly lunged at his wrist, pulling him to face me. He was surprised, glancing with wide eyes to where my hand had caught him, then to my face. I tried desperately to convey it there, everything I wanted to say, struggling to find my voice. Poe waited for me to speak the words I clearly had sitting on the edge of my tongue, but everything I conjured didn’t seem to be enough, the jumbled thoughts swirling incoherently in my mind, never letting me quite grasp onto them long enough to form exactly what I needed to express.

Tension filled the space between us, thick and overwhelming. I soon began outlining the lines of his face, the crease currently stuck in his brow, the curve of his nose, the contour of his jaw, the arch of his lips.

My hands found themselves catching each side of his face, pulling his mouth to mine in a desperate kiss.

I’d held it back for so long, too long, now unable to deny the burning urge to melt my lips into his. He was alarmed at first, his mouth frozen from movement as he comprehended my sudden attack.

Yet quickly he was syncing his lips fluidly with mine, a hand rising to clutch the back of my neck, pulling me closer. His casted arm curled around my waist, pressing my body into his, feeling the heat radiating off his chest.

The fire in my lower abdomen roared into bright red flames again, spreading into the rest of my body like molten lava. He tasted even better than I’d imagined, our tongues beginning to find each other through parted mouths. Fingers moved into his hair, hungrily grasping at the curled strands, causing a low moan to seep from his throat. The sound made me even more forceful in my need for his lips to be connected with mine, barely having time to breathe in-between our eager kisses.

I wanted to have him, all of him, so deeply it was painful, the searing burn lighting up in my veins.

Don’t do this Alexys. It will ruin you.

My breath hitched as I reluctantly pulled away, looking up, seeing his pupils swollen. He was cautious then, moving his hand from my neck to push a strand of hair behind my ear, almost if at any moment I would flee from his embrace.

And that’s what half of me was begging to do, the other screaming at me to lock our lips together again. I felt split into two, a cracking beginning to divide me roughly in the middle.

I could see Poe searching through my gaze, trying to assess my thoughts, whether it was safe to continue. He leaned in gradually, testing my reaction. I didn’t recoil this time. I didn’t want to.

His lips melted into mine, less insistent than before, although somehow just as intimate. Inhibitions lowered, my hands slid down to his chest, noticing the hard muscles underneath my palms and feeling the fire inside me surge. I wanted to feel the bare skin underneath, to have it pressed against my own. To explore the other parts of him covered by clothes. To forget even for a short time that this was wrong, that I shouldn’t be doing this.

Poe gently withdrew, leaning his forehead into mine. “I know.”

“Know what?”

He exhaled a long breath. “I know you don’t want to do this.”

I replaced my hands to his cheeks. “You have no idea how much I want this. How much I want you.” The truth of the words made me feel both vulnerable and safe, for the first time giving in to the yearning I’d hoped to keep locked inside my chest.

He tensed, a slight tremble in the arm that curved around my body. But his face grew sombre, almost... sad. “You don’t. Not completely. I can feel you wanting to hold back,” he murmured. “I can feel your fear.”

I swallowed hard, unable to refute him. “…I’m sorry. I want to. But I just… I can’t."

We both looked down, my confirmation making the tone of our connection shift. He was silent for what felt like a long time, and we stayed motionless in our embrace, neither wanting it to end, knowing it was inevitable that we would have to part.

“Why?” he breathed. “Why are you afraid?”

I wanted to be honest with him, like he had been for me, so much the sensation felt like it was clawing out from inside me, determined to burst through the skin. But there was a barrier there, one I had forged long ago. Unyielding and impenetrable to anything or anyone.

Although, I felt another realisation simmer to the surface of my mind, one that was not nearly as exposing, but still true.

“You’re going to leave. And I have to stay here. I don’t… I don’t want that to hurt any more than it has to.”

It seemed to hit him then, like he hadn’t let the thought enter his mind before. The awareness of our predicament shone brightly in his eyes, a light switch flickering on.

His hand moved to my cheek, grazing his thumb softly against the skin, my heart throbbing inside its cage at his light touch. I watched as eyes scanned over my face, back and forth, as if memorising the features. It was then I knew he’d come to the same conclusion.

It wouldn’t be long before we would part, most likely to never see each other again. If we went any further, if we crossed that line, the pain of saying goodbye would become so much more unbearable.

Almost simultaneously, we let our hold on each other loosen, the disappointment in the air almost palatable on my tongue. The smouldering inside had burnt out, suffocated by the gloom weighing heavy in my chest. Poe took my hand in his, his eyes pleading. “Can I ask one thing of you?’

I moved my head in a slow nod.

“Sleep in this bed with me tonight. Just sleep. I promise.” It was an earnest request, his face imploring and unguarded.

In contempt of the voice in my head bellowing at me that this was a terrible idea, I agreed. “Okay.”

Together we tentatively walked to each side of the mattress, making no rush to slip under the covers and settle into the pillows. I faced away, fearing if I looked at Poe's charming face any longer, I would surrender to the pull of desire that never seemed to relent. I didn’t know how I was ever going to be able to fall asleep like this, his body radiating an energy that vibrated into the space between us, keeping me all too aware of his presence.

There was movement, a dip in the mattress, Poe’s arms curling around my torso, pulling me close. His face buried itself into my hair, the warmth of his gradual exhale sending charged shivers down my spine. Placing my arms over his, silently accepting his embrace, I felt my heart thump a calming glow through my chest, all the way to the end of my limbs.

I’d never felt so peaceful, so whole, becoming lost in the comfort of his hold, wishing I could bask in it forever.

But reality bit at me, cold and uninvited, reminding me of the goodbye I would have to give soon enough.

*

We were still entangled when consciousness came again, the dim light of early sunrise leaking through my window. Poe’s arms circled around me, my body fitting perfectly into his.

He was still asleep, his face resting just at the back of my head, slow breaths bristling into my hair. I relished the feeling of it all, trying to commit it to my memory.

I stayed there, motionless, waiting for time to run out, knowing I would be chasing the feeling of this in the months, maybe years, to come. Thinking about his future absence made me terrifyingly lonely, even with his arms wrapped around now.

Eventually the seconds ticked down to my chronometer alarm buzzing, rustling Poe awake from his slumber. I assumed he would begin to move, pulling away, this one night that bonded us together finally ending. Yet he stayed as unmoving as I had been, the only indication he had awoken the increased depth of his inhale, a small tense of his muscles. I went to move, to switch the screeching sound off, but he clutched me back into his chest, squeezing tight.

As much as my heart thumped at the pressure of his hips into mine, the noise of my alarm was grating. “Let me turn it off,” I whispered. “I’ll come right back.”

Poe loosened his grip reluctantly, allowing me to reach over to the screeching machine and mute its sound. I settled back comfortably into his arms again, as he nuzzled his face into my neck, lips faintly placing a kiss on the skin.

“Poe… please… don’t…”

His sigh whistled past my neck. “Come with me, when I leave.”

It annoyed me, his fleeting demand so easily spoken. As if I could suddenly give up all that encompassed my life before he appeared, the beings that depended on me. But his voice was so sincere, so entreating in the early morning, that the irritation dashed away from the forefront of my mind.

“You know I can’t do that.”

He acknowledged my answer in the shift of his body from around me, moving himself out of the bed we had shared for the night and leaving me alone underneath the sheets.

It burned, the unprecedented disconnection of his shape from mine, my chest forming into a black hole in the realisation I might never feel him that close again.

I wanted to let my emotion to take over, to give in to the pain that rushed to me now as the finality of our night cradled together became evident. But I refused to release it, my resolve from the night before holding strong. I knew I’d made it harder by giving in to Poe's innocent plea of sharing a slumber within his embrace, but I wasn’t going to let our farewell completely ruin me.

With a forced composure, I rose from my bedside, focusing on the appointments scheduled to fill my day. Through my haze I recalled many of them being young female patients in need of birth control. I would somehow have to shut Poe away, wanting to give these women the privacy they deserved.

*

Poe and I appeared to use the ‘freshers at the same time, the searing heat I usually liked being showered with restrained no matter how high I pushed the temperature button. Eventually I’d readied myself for the workday ahead, deciding on a pencil skirt and lightened blue blouse tucked into the waist, working my hair into a ponytail.

It was when I’d begun making breakfast, for both myself and all the company that I kept in the clinic at the moment, that Poe emerged back into my quarters in a set of dark black hospital clothes. I glanced at him only briefly as he entered, hearing him pull out a chair, not daring to look at his face yet.

“Smells good,” he uttered, breaking the silence that existed in exemption to the sautéed chicken eggs and nuna bacon sizzling in the large pan in front of me.

“It’s almost ready,” I remarked, feeling completely the disconnection between us in his tone. Half of me was glad he accepted the separation we needed to make, the other mourning the severed bond we had formed in the connection of our bodies. But I had to let it go, whatever was left of the fragile link that survived the night.

I continued preparing the hot meal, separating the foodstuff between Poe and Vixur’s crew. Once I’d gently placed a share in front of Poe at the table, a smile meeting him fleetingly, I took the rest with me, balancing the four dishes on my hands and forearms, moving cautiously through the hallway.

With impeccable timing Vixur and his students were conversing between each other, obviously having woken just before I came to greet them.

“I’ve got breakfast for you all,” I announced, setting it down at the meeting table across from my computer. It was generally used as a place I could sit with patients and their families when giving them their diagnosis or explaining treatment plans, but today it would have to work as a secondary dining table. All four men jabbered back thankyous as they moved quickly to sit and eat, their appreciation evident in the way they gulped down the meal without hesitation. I returned to my quarters to find Poe picking lazily at his food, only a few bites eaten.

“Does it taste bad?” I asked from behind him, before circling to my seat at the table.

He looked up swiftly, as if I’d startled him. He must have been deeply lost in thought not to hear me treading down the hallway.

“It’s delicious,” he urged. “I’m just… not that hungry.”

“Are you feeling alright? Are you still sore? Are you-“

“Alex, I’m fine,” he interrupted. “You can’t fix a bad mood with any of your treatments.”

I looked at him curiously. “Bad mood?”

Did I do that to him?

“Did you not sleep well?”

He didn’t answer me right away, a subtle scowl settling in his lips. “It was actually... the most restful sleep I’ve had in a long time.”

I fought the urge to beam at him, a smile waiting to form, but the gloomy expression he wore held it down. I had to agree with him - it truly was the most comfortable rest I’d experienced in recent memory. And knowing I would never feel that peaceful, dreamless slumber in his arms again made me fully understand why he was frowning.

“Thank you so much for the meal Alex. I just... don’t have an appetite right now.” Poe rose from his seat and took his plate to clean, his sombre mood spilling into my body and taking over. Wringing his hands dry, He turned back to me. “Is it still alright if I keep using your office to continue working on BB-8?”

I nodded. “It would actually be preferable. Most of my patients today are women, and I need privacy for their appointments. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to come out, okay?”

Poe understood what I’d only hinted at. “Sure thing. I won’t step a foot out that room without your permission.”

A kind smile formed on his lips, but it fell as he moved from my quarters, leaving me to my breakfast, which now seemed extremely unappetizing.

*

“Well, Kaia, you’ve got a couple of options,” I started. It was my 5th appointment of the day, and I was starting to lose all hope in the young generation that followed mine. “You can get the implant, which lasts 5 years and protects you from pregnancy. But it can be a painful procedure, and unfortunately the implant itself is quite expensive. There are injections which last 3 months, but you’ll have to see me again in that time frame. I know that’s hard for you being from the South village. But there’s always prophylactics, which your partner has to use, every separate time you want to be intimate.”

Kaia was a 17-year-old human girl who had obviously not been taught any helpful sex education. Although, that wasn’t uncommon in these villages.

“But, like,” she began to question. “Can’t he just, like, not, um, finish in there?”

I drew in a deep breath. This wasn’t the first time I’d explained this today. “Technically yes, if he withdraws from you before that moment comes, it does lessen the chance of pregnancy. But Kaia, there’s a lot of fluid already leaking from him before then, fluid that can contain sperm. It doesn’t protect you. Not fully.”

Kaia was thoughtful, taking in my words. “But what if he doesn’t want to use the sheath?”

“Well... that’s his decision. But then you have to make yours. A decision that you’re more than allowed to make. One night could lead to either a future of motherhood or even diseases that could cause a great deal of damage to your body.”

“Ew,” Kaia recoiled. “I mean, I get what you’re saying. But Miss Jago, haven’t you ever been so swept up in the moment that you didn’t think about any of that?”

My jaw clenched, catching me off guard with her question. None of the other women had posed it to me. “It’s not been an issue for me,” I said flatly.

“Because of the birth control, right?” she surmised. “Which one do you use then?”

Oof, caught me out again.

“I don’t have the need for it. Kaia, this is not about me-”

“Wait, what?” she gasped. “But you’re so pretty?”

I soaked my voice in its professional tone. “This is your appointment Kaia, we’re not here to discuss my personal life.”

Kaia refused to comply. “But you’ve done it, right?”

I sighed, irritated. “Yes Kaia, but we took all the necessary precautions.”

“Well that doesn’t make it sound very fun,” Kaia huffed.

I tried desperately to hold back the aversion wanting to show on my face. It hadn’t been fun. It was clunky, awkward and somewhat painful. And I felt a spike of envy that this teenager already seemed to have had better experience with the opposite sex than I did.

“Look, your options are there. If I had to choose one, and I was with a partner I could trust had nothing that could spread to me, I’d go with the implant.”

She contemplated my advice, pulling her hands up to let her chin rest on them. “I think you’re right Miss Jago. But my parents would never help me pay for it.”

“That’s alright,” I replied, already knowing the home situation Kaia found herself in. She’d made the trek to my clinic alone, without her parent’s knowledge, just to see me for this single reason. I doubted they even knew she had a boyfriend. “How about I put the implant in today, and we figure out payment later?”

Kaia’s face lit up, eyes brimming with delight. “Really?”

I smiled at her and nodded.

“Thank you!” she squealed, face barely containing her excitement.

Really, this was for both her benefit and my own. I wasn’t about to face her parents when it would ultimately be me providing the news their daughter was pregnant. I didn’t want Kaia to go through that, a young pregnancy in a poor village after her parents would most likely cast her out.

“Remember I said this can be a painful procedure, and you’ll be sore for a day or two afterwards.”

Kaia nodded, understanding, yet unable to hold back her joy.

*

I worked my way through the process of setting her implant, my mind on autopilot while I thought more about the question Kaia innocently queried. I’d never come close to the type of desire that would have caused me to throw away all caution and rational thought. Not until-

“Hey Alex!” I heard from the other side of the curtain I’d drawn for Kaia’s discretion. “I know I said I wouldn’t come out until you said, but I’ve got something I need to show you.”

Poe’s voice was exuberant and proud, annoyingly unaware of the fact I had my hand in a very delicate place. My eyes shot to Kaia’s, her cheeks already flushing red with mortification.

“Poe!” I fumed, not hiding my anger. “I asked you to do one thing!”

I sensed his panic from behind the fabric separating us. “Kriff! Sorry!” His voice changed when he spoke next, a hurried whisper. “BB, come back here! We can’t show her yet!”

A streaming mechanical movement could be heard in my periphery, turning my head to see a shadow moving along the bottom of the curtain. I took the moment to stop what I was doing, covering Kaia with a sheet.

I was thankful I did that when the BB-8 droid slip through a break in the drape, caring little for what Poe had ordered him to do. His little head sat hovering above his balled body, for the first time actually staying in position. The photoreceptor, which looked like a singular eye, was also finally lit as he zoomed closer. While an impressed smirk started to beam as I realised Poe had managed to get his little friend working, it was rapidly overtaken by irritation at the droid’s lack of courtesy.

Poe was cursing under his breath, then apologetic. “Alex and uh, patient, I am so sorry. BB, get out of there!” BB-8 let out a few indiscernible beeps, a language I didn’t understand, although Poe seemed to. “I don’t care! They need privacy. You can see her later!” he hollered.

The droid made what sounded like a high-pitched huff as its head dropped, like it knew it had been scolded. Its head swivelled around on top it’s body and rolled away, again sliding through the break in the curtain.

“Come on, back this way.” I listened to the combination of footsteps and mechanical whirring move back into the hallway, a door eventually clicking closed. Looking apologetically back to Kaia, her face was still stunned at the intrusion.

“I am so sorry. I told him to stay put until my appointments were over. It’s okay if you want to stop for a moment,” I offered, trying to stay as calm as possible.

Kaia blinked purposefully a few times before being able to focus back to me. “No it’s okay. I’m ready.”

I admired her composure, while I remained silently boiling under the surface.

*

“What the hell Poe?” I snarled, barging into my office where Poe sat, seemingly interrupting a conversation he was having with BB-8. I’d clawed my anger into submission for the rest of Kaia’s appointment, but now it was ready to surge outward.

Poe stood, arms held up in surrender. “I know! I’m sorry! I didn’t think, and it was just really bad timing.” BB-8 beeped in what sounded like agreeance, rolling around from behind the office desk into my view.

“It was the worst timing!” I snapped. “That girl was 17, in a very vulnerable position, and you scared the living daylights out of her!”

“I know, and I can’t apologise enough Alex, really!” His face was pleading, brown eyes soft yet desperate. “I was just so excited about BB working again, and I wanted to show you.”

His sincerity disarmed me, my fury sizzling down, suffocated by his apology. I took a slow breath in, eyes closed, reigning it in further. “Please don’t disregard my instructions again,” I grumbled.

He nodded, as did BB-8, and my eyes focused on the droid. He was oddly cute in his appearance, his small beeps already annoyingly adorable. “Hello,” I greeted, all frustration now clean from my voice. “My name is Alexys.” I kneeled down to his eye level and he immediately wheeled directly in front of me, beeping somewhat of his own introduction.

“He said it’s nice to meet you,” Poe clarified, still hesitant at the easy change in my mood.

I looked up at him, curious. “You can understand those sounds he makes?”

“Most of it,” Poe answered. “It’s a form of Binary. Having him with me for so long helped me grow accustomed to the pitch and time changes in his beeps.”

My eyebrows rose, fascinated. “That’s so impressive.” BB-8 squealed in uneven time, his eye looking over to Poe, who almost looked bashful. “What? What did he say?”

He shot BB-8 an irritated look before meeting his eyes to mine. “It’s nothing important. His circuits are still a little fried.”

I wasn’t convinced, but then again I didn’t speak droid. "I'm glad you got him working,” I said earnestly, pleased there hadn’t been any type of casualty from his crash.

Poe sighed, relieved. “Me too. He’s the best co-pilot I’ve ever had.”

BB-8 whistled happily, evidently pleased with the praise, and its sweetness made me smile.

“Alexys?” Vixur suddenly called, his voice echoing down the hall. “Are you back there?”

I left Poe and BB-8 without a word, finding Vixur standing at the hallway entrance, his clothes smeared in dirt and dark grease. “Everything okay?”

Vixur nodded, evidently tired, still an accomplished grin filled his face. “We’re done actually. The comm-tower’s fixed.”

I wanted to smile back, to show my appreciation for his hard work, but it all became too hard to fake anymore.

This was it, the beginning of my goodbye to Poe. He would now be able to contact the Resistance, his friends, and he would soon be gone from my life just as suddenly as he arrived.

I forced the tears back as I hugged Vixur, doing all I could to hide my pain and show some kind of gratitude for the selfless work he had done.

Somehow Vixur sensed the turmoil simmering through me, patting my back softly. He pulled out of our embrace, speaking softly enough so Poe wouldn’t hear. “You needed this done for him, didn’t you?”

I nodded, the sadness hard to contain on my face. Vixur’s own expression was sympathetic as he squeezed my arm reassuringly. I didn’t need to explain anything, he just seemed to know.

“If it’s meant to be, you’ll find each other again.”

I drew in a long breath, furiously smothering the need to cry. I wanted to thank him more, for giving his time to me for little in return, but I couldn’t say the words out of fear the sudden sorrow would overwhelm me if I spoke out loud.

Vixur understood this, giving me a caring smile as he took his leave. “Well, we best be heading back to the village. I’ll see you sometime soon Alex. If I don’t, I wish you luck.”

And he was gone, the clinic door closing behind him, leaving me frozen in dread. A large part of me was reluctant to tell Poe the ‘good news’, but he’d waited long enough for his rescue from this planet.

I didn’t need to turn around to know he’d slinked out of the office to find me stuck where I stood, BB-8’s soft whirring following him.

“The comm-tower is ready, isn’t it?” Poe asked gently.

I forced myself to smile as I turned around, Poe’s expression not showing the relief I would have expected.

“Sure is,” I replied, the hint of quiver in my voice. “You can finally go home.”

I saw Poe’s lip tremble as he too attempted a smile, the disappointment in his eyes more indicative of his actual reaction to my answer.

Neither of us spoke for a long time, BB-8 looking back and forth quizzically, a few unsure beeps finally pierced in Poe’s direction. The sounds knocked us back into reality, as I moved to find the transmitter I’d stashed back into my tech station after determining its redundancy days ago.

The memories felt foreign, like they were from a different age. So little time had changed me so much, making me feel the most unstable and fragile I had felt in so long, on the verge of tipping into an overwhelming pain.

Poe had watched me in silence, unmoving. I eventually shifted the transmitter into his arms, an extremely aged, large box with an array of dusty buttons poking out of the rusted metal.

“It’s old, but it still works,” I insisted in a monotone, the emotion sucked from my voice. Poe only nodded, and gave me one last despairing glance as he turned away, carrying the machine into the study, BB-8 trailing behind him.

When the door closed, I couldn’t hold onto it any longer, the overpowering misery bursting free, its icy presence consuming me in a singular moment, the cold burn stinging as a few tears trickled down my cheeks.

What did I tell you?

The tears came faster at the sound of the voice, it’s condescension only making the suffering more excruciating.

No.

You’re wrong. I’m stronger than this.

I wiped away the errant tears defiantly, pulling myself together at the seams that had broken a few minutes ago, calming my breathing, trying to settle the trembling on inhale.

I’d made it through so much worse, pushed past crushing loneliness, fear and sadness, to make myself more resilient than I was behaving now. And I wasn’t going to let myself be caught in this vortex of emotion any longer.

I will not let this ruin me. 

~

Next Chapter

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[rason-rodd]

All The Time We Need - Jason Todd x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Summary: Reader and Jason meet again after two years being apart and reconnect with their long lost love.

Warning : Angst, Fluff, Smut  

Author’s note: A OS definitely inspired by my 2-years long hiatus and that somewhat acknowledges it. It was almost cathartic writing it and allowed me to reconnect with Jason on a writing scale. You can read it as a sequel to “Summer Love and Swimming Pool” or not. Some moments are a bit too cheesy to my taste but I hope you’ll enjoy it nevertheless. NSFW Part is at the end. You can skip that part if you want to.

You actually realise Time flies when you take time to acknowledge it. And sometimes acknowledging is like getting buried under a mountain of sand and feeling each grain slowly chocking you and reminding you there is no escaping. The sands of Time cannot be stopped, nor can they be shoveled. They run and slip through your fingers like dust in the wind and the tighter you try to grasp them the faster they go. And when they’re gone, there is no catching them back.     That’s why Time is scary. Because no matter what you do, it won’t allow you to go back or to put an end to it. And it will certainly not allow you to forget about it either. Time will pave your life until the day you die with a constant reminder that, unlike it, you’re not eternal. And the saddest thing is it doesn’t care about what you think of it.           And yet, it seemed like Jason Todd had managed to tell Time to go fuck itself. “How long has it been?”

He hadn’t changed a bit. Looking as handsome as ever. Always and eternally sporting the same disheveled short black hair and the same mischievous yet tortured blue eyes, eyes that had put you in more trouble than you could remember. “Two years or so … I don’t know.”             All you could remember was a passionate summertime infatuation that had burnt your body and your heart night and day like a hot and dazzling sun. A fading yet intense memory you secretly cherished and replayed in period of loneliness and that you couldn’t seem to be able to replace on the timeline of your life. “Still so beautiful, I see.” You scoffed and he chuckled. “What?”       “You haven’t changed a bit, have you?” He scratched his head; arm muscles compressed in a leather jacket à la Jason that made you wonder how he could bear wearing such a light jacket in such freezing weather. “I tend to believe constancy is a quality.” You goggled at his smile, childish, adorable yet naturally so seductive. The same smile that used to make your legs shake and turn to jell-o. “I didn’t know you were back in Gotham.”         “Right back at you. Last time I heard of you, you were in this little town … Hopletown, was it?”   “Appleton.” He corrected. “Looks like Timbo talks about me in my absence.”           “You’re his brother. Of course, he talks about you, just like everyone else in your family.” Judging by his signature small crooked smile on his face he seemed touched by your words, taking even time to ponder over them. Did the family really think of him in his absence?

Shivering, you tightened your wool coat around you, attempting to prevent the cold wind to infiltrate under the cloth and steal your body heat, as you let Jason think about what you had just said. But your reaction didn’t go unnoticed and it managed to pull him out of his train of thoughts. “Do you want to go somewhere warmer? We could have something to drink, catch on. I’m sure you got plenty to tell.”         “Not plenty but I could use a hot tea.” You confessed, already imagining the spicy smell of cinnamon and chai in your nostrils and the hot steam caressing your cold face.     “Amazing.” He grinned, genuinely happy and excited, a bit like a little boy at a toy store, and lowered your beanie to properly cover your ice-cold reddened ears. That gesture got you confused for a small second but it was so sweet and caring you eventually smiled. Ah Todd, always the overprotective type I see.

***

“So, what are you doing in Gotham City? I thought you wanted to ‘travel the world Dora The Explorer-style and get the hell out of this cesspool’?” He quoted you and your genuine chuckle made him smile but only briefly as you gained back your seriousness in a matter of seconds.

He could tell you were not the same girl he used to date two summers ago. You had changed, matured. You had become a woman, a woman who seemed to struggle with responsibilities so heavy they could crush her at any second. You looked tired, weary… sad even. The cheeky light in you was gone. And he wanted to know why. Not out of curiosity but to help you.           “Well, I did travel and it was awesome, like a dream come true. But I guess we always wake up from dreams eventually.” You looked down at your tea, looking at your pale reflection in the hot water, melancholia hitting you like a train. “My mother got sick and, well, her savings were not enough to pay for all the medical care so … let’s say I had to swap my backpack for a satchel… I work at Wayne Enterprises now. Bruce hired me, out of pity I suppose.”         “I’m sure it wasn’t out of pity.” You shrugged and Jason grabbed your hand and you looked up at him. “And I’m sorry about your mother. I know how it’s like to …”     “Do you still think about us?” You abruptly cut him short, not willing to keep talking about your personal issues or to plunge Jason back in dark memories that you know were very hard for him to handle.     Sure, you could have chosen another question, another topic of conversation but the thing was that those words were niggling at you since the moment you two broke up. “I mean do you happen to think about what happened between us?”

Jason didn’t answer at first, more out of surprise than out of hesitation because there was none. There was just one answer to that question. Of course.             Of course he had thought about you all over those two years. Of course he had thought about what happened, about the moments spent with you – however ephemeral they had been -, about that love he had felt and had never learned to completely erase despite the women who had entered and exited his life. Of course there had been nights in which he had replayed the lustful burning memories of you in his arms, against him, against his naked body. Of course was the answer. But not the answer he gave you. “Come with me.” He forced you to get up and slammed a fifty-dollar bill against the table, not caring about the hot chocolate he hadn’t finished or the blueberry muffin you had barely touched. “But … the change.” You tried to protest.         “Fuck the change. I want to show you something.”

***

           Out of all the places in Gotham, you never thought he would have brought you here. “Why are we here, Jason?”       It was an ancient building, far from the fancy city centre and only a few blocks away from Crime Alley. Dilapidated, covered in colorful yet ugly graffiti, this place looked liked a landmark for drug dealers and junkies and it was an understatement to say that, without Jason’s company, it would have normally made you feel unsafe and uncomfortable.         “I grew up here, before Bruce took me in.” You glanced at Jason who was staring at the place with both disgust and melancholia. “I’ve always hated that place. But it was home. And I guess it made me… I guess that is because of that place that I somehow became the man I am today… I mean, if Jason Todd hadn’t grow up here with a junkie mother and a lousy father he would have never met Brue Wayne and never became …” He stopped, on purpose, you could tell it. “Even if I hate to, I come back here when I want to think of my past, when I’m looking for a reason to keep on fighting. This place is like my temple, a memento of who I am. Damn, you must think I’m crazy.”         “ No, not at all… ” You smiled and put your hand on his arm to reassure him. “Just very Romantic for the bad boy of the Wayne family.” You teased him, knowing perfectly that literature always been Jason’s hobbyhorse and that the whole bad boy thing was a persona, a thick armour he had made to protect himself.     “Blame Alfred. He’s the one who made me ready Wordsworth.” He joked, appreciating the small banter. “Follow me.”           You took the warm hand he offered you and followed him inside the decaying building, minding your step and trying to ignore the dirt and the potential rats.          

Once on the third floor, Jason pushed a rackety wooden door that cracked and squeaked on its hinges and you entered what once was his house. “You grew up here?” You asked only to fill the heavy void caused by this dreadful place. “It was the living room. Used to hide under the table there when my parents were fighting.”

You looked around you, trying to imagine a small Jason living in here. You always knew about his crappy childhood but there is a huge difference between what you had imagined based on the stories Jason had told you in the intimacy of your bedroom and this place.       “You asked me why we’re here.” You turned around and spotted Jason knelt on the dusty wooden floor, a small dusty shoebox that he had just taken from under a floorboard between his hands. “I’ve had this since I was a child. Used to keep the things I loved most in it. Somehow, even after I left this place, I never could take it away from here.” He handed it to you and you slowly opened it, careful not to drop it. You could tell this box was important to Jason.

The content left you silent and you sat on the floor near Jason to study it. “I never really opened it. I don’t like getting stuck in the past. It terrifies me.” You frowned, thinking about all the nightmares, all the anxiety attacks he used to have back in the days you were together. “I never showed it to anyone either but hopefully that’ll answer the question you asked me in that coffee shop.” The question? You had forgotten about it, way too overwhelmed by the sudden solemnity of this moment.  “Never?”           “You’re my first. You should be proud” He tried to joke to lighten the mood and it worked for a couple of seconds. Then, you saw it, among a dog toy, a broken necklace, a batarang and other small tokens. A photo of you two kissing and smiling. A Polaroid you had personally taken on the day when Tim had offered you the camera to illustrate your travel book. “You kept it.” You declared in a whisper.     “I told you. I keep the things I love most in that box.” You stared at Jason, at the cracks of melancholia and the vulnerability in his beautiful blue eyes he allowed only a few people to see. “Of course I thought of you over the years.”       You were not the cheesy romantic type. Jason was - something rooted to his love for gothic literature and poetry you supposed. But that sincere and pure confession got you all … flushed? bothered? You couldn’t really pinpoint the feeling but you could feel the shaky warmth spreading in your body, now paralyzed by the beauty of that moment. “Did you … think of me?”

If Time could stop, you would have chosen this moment to stop it. Here, now, away from your stressful life and its issues, away from all fears and all pains, with Jason and only him, forgetting about the past you’ll never be able to change or the future that vows to be uncertain and scary, thinking about what truly matters, now. “What do you think?” He chuckled and you saw his hand slightly twitch, as if he was hesitating to do something. And so you took it in yours and shared an umpteenth intimate look only he could read. “Sometimes I wish I’d never left.” Meaning, sometimes I wish I would have stayed and be with you.           “Trust me, princess. You made the right choice. Your life would have been miserable with me.” He tried to reassure you, in vain. After all, he could barely convince himself? “More miserable than the one I have right now? I seriously doubt it, Jay.” You frowned and finally got up, leaving Jason’s box on the ground, to watch at the sunset and its red golden rays from the shattered window. “What do you think would have happened had I stayed?” You had your ideas; small little ones of pure love, happiness and bliss that Jason would have managed to lock in that little box of his. “I have a better question, Y/N. What do you think can happen right now?” He was towering you, expecting an answer, waiting as he was gazing at your skin glowing under the soft light of the sun and at your shining eyes. “You tell me, Todd.” This sentence echoed in Jason’s head as a call.

And so his thumb brushed your cold cheek and you looked up at his face, your eyes glued to his features observing them and all the small details you hadn’t noticed before. A little scar thin as a needle on his right brow and a much bigger one, an invisible one that you could see in his eyes, the scar left by all the losses and the pains he had gone through recently. Roy, Bizarro, Artemis. Maybe Jason had changed as well after all. Maybe there was no secret to stop time. But he didn’t let you ponder over this and gently pressed his lips on yours.

He needed that. He had thought about it all day and the truth was, you had too. You welcomed his kiss without hesitation or second thoughts and came to press your small body against his - which seemed so tall and strong in comparison to yours – to instinctively look for safety and protection. “I missed you, princess.” He whispered close to your mouth for a brief second before capturing your full lips with his again. “I missed you too.” You confessed, hands over his hard chest, feeling his heart beat loudly under your palms.     Jason was holding you close now, his arms tightly circled around your form as if he was scared for you to leave, scared to be alone again. His fingers weaving in your hair, his head buried in the nape of your neck, he was pecking your delicate skin, smelling the sweet and heady perfume, glad it was exactly like the one he remembered. “Damn, Y/N. You’re still driving me crazy.”  He murmured as he allowed his hands to slide in your coat and under your jumper to caress your bare back, awakening a cheekiness that you thought was long gone. “I tend to believe constancy is a quality.” You quoted him.

***

           As soon as the door to your apartment slammed shut, your coat dropped to the floor and with hasty hands, Jason threw your beanie across the room, showing an excitement you had almost forgotten. It almost knocked an old crystal vase over but he couldn’t care less.   He had waited long enough. Two years to be precise and he couldn’t wait a second longer. “Bedroom?” He asked between two hungry kisses that were making you almost suffocating against him. “ At the end of the corridor.” You whispered, already breathless, as you managed to finally get rid of his leather jacket.       “Okay.” He suddenly grabbed you to hoist you up with incredible ease, hands under your ass, squeezing it on purpose. A lustful yet cheerful action that made you yelp in surprise.  “I’m already making you scream? Perfect.” He declared with an amused smile as he rushed towards the bedroom, with you in his arms, your legs wrapped around his waist, his lips devouring yours.     “Wrong door.” You said as he tried to open the bathroom. “Fuck.” You giggled and very soon your body finally bounced on your bed as it landed on the soft mattress.

You attempted to sit down to admire Jason but before you could do anything the hasty young man was already on top of you, right in between your legs, his lips already kissing your hot belly as his hands were slowly pulling up your jumper above your lace-covered breasts.           That’s when your first moan finally escaped your mouth. “God. I missed that sound.” Jason mumbled against your shivering skin as he cupped and squeezed your round breasts. “Do it again.” He demanded, his tongue licking you up until it reached your cleavage. “Jason.” You moaned his name, feeling a very specific humid warmth forming in between your legs as you fingers were struggling to get rid of his green t-shirt.   He cursed and knelt on the bed to take off your jumper that he carelessly tossed on the nightstand. It knocked the lamp and the radio alarm clock to the ground with a loud clinking noise. “Can you stop breaking my stuff?” You joked and he apologized with another amused bright smile. “I’m sorry, princess”             “Are you? Show me how much.” You declared with an audacious confidence you hadn’t seen in a while. “Yes, ma’am.” Jason winked and immediately unbuttoned your jeans to pull them down along with your panties, revealing your wet and rosy womanhood begging for his attention. He sighed and took a deep breath when he saw it, glad to rediscover that little part of you. Slowly, his calloused fingers went to caress it, making you draw a sharp breath as your fingers tightened around the covers. You didn’t want him to tease you too long and you somewhat you know he wouldn’t. Not today. He was too excited and needy for that.     And so were you in a way judging by the certain frustration that made you mewl when Jason’s expert finger slowly entered you while his thumb came to tickle your swollen clit. You wanted him now but you had to admit you had missed his fingers down there, the same way you had missed everything about him. Which reminded you there was something you had to do. “Let’s even the odds, shall we? I want to see how you handle such a sweet torture.”   “Sweet torture?” He repeated with a cute chuckle as you unbuckled his leather belt. “How am I torturing you, Y/N?” You unzipped his black trousers and immediately plunged you hand in his underwear to gently grab his already hard cock, making Jason curse even more crudely than before.           You chuckled and free his shaft from his boxers to jerk him off. He was as thick and long as you remembered. You bit your lower lip, impatient to feel him inside you. “Like what you see?”             “Shut up.” You knelt on the mattress and immediately took his tip between your lips to suck it like a lollipop, enjoying the taste of his bitter pre-cum on your tongue and the sound of Jason’s sharp breath in your ears. “Damn it, princess.” He managed to say with half lidded eyes.   You licked his penis with a grin before finally welcoming it in your mouth with a lustful moan. How much you had missed it. “You know. I think I get what you mean by sweet torture now.” Jason confessed as he weaved his fingers in your soft hair, torn apart by two ideas: one, let you continue your amazing blow job. Two, fuck you like he never did before. But you did not listen and started bobbing your head the way you knew he loved, taking his dick as deep as you could without gagging around him. “Fucking hell, Y/N” Jason groaned as he grabbed your head between his hands to accompany your pace. “You’re fucking amazing.” Then, his hand gently slapped your ass and he bent over to kiss it with a loving smile that was swallowed by another growl of his as his abs violently tensed with pleasure. “Alright, enough.” He pushed you flat on your back and placed himself between your legs again. He kissed your folds and licked your slit to wet it even more than it already was to finally lingered on your clit that he sucked eagerly, forcing a guttural crying moan out of your tightly sealed lips. Damn, that tongue! “I thought you said enough.” You complained, your voice as low as a whisper.

Jason chuckled and smiled brightly before he eventually knelt in between your spread thighs. “God, how gorgeous you are.” He declared as he tapped his hard cock against your reddened lips, a cheeky gesture whose sole purpose was to make you beg. You knew it. “You want this?”       “Fuck, Jay.” You grumbled, moving your hips vigorously against his shaft, looking for a way to finally welcome it inside you. But Jason ignored your whim and bent over your body. “You want me?” His face was so close to yours you could feel his hot breath caressing your lips. “Yes.” You murmured. “I want you, Ja…” He did not let you finish your sentence and caught your lips with a burning eagerness, his hand around his cock guiding it inside you, making you moan in his mouth. “Fuck.” Jason growled between his gritted teeth as he felt himself slowly sinking inside of you. “I almost forgot you felt so tight.” “ I almost forgot you were so big.” You cleared your voice, an inexplicable mechanism to relax and allow his cock to fully enter and stretch you. “I know. Sorry.” He winced, adjusting his position on top of you to admire how beautiful you were around his penis and how perfect you pussy was for him. “Damn. I don’t know if I’ll last long, princess.” Jason admitted with a shiver and you cried out when he suddenly pulled out to push himself back inside of you with one long exquisite move. “That’s alright. We’ll do it again.”

Those last words made Jason grin in a way he had never done before as he was genuinely happy that you didn’t want this to be a one-time thing, a casual lay to remember the old good days.       So he immediately took a nice pace that quickened after each new thrust and you let your hands caress his smooth chest from his strong pectorals down to his divine abs and the chiselled V below his navel, finding him simply handsome. Then you nudged his rear with your ankles, pressing his hips closer to yours to take him deeper inside of you, and started moaning his name again, a strong wave of pleasure forming in your core, ready to drown you. “Jay!” His mouth met your neck and sucked on the thin skin with ardour. “Are you gonna cum for me, princess?” That was too much to handle. “Yeah” You cried out, tears of bliss watering your eyes.       “Cum for me then.” He didn’t have to say it twice. You dug your nails in his back and screamed loudly as your walls clenched around tightly his thick cock. “That’s it, princess.” He said as you kept calling his name on and on, sending him closer to a most awaited orgasm that he eventually reached and let explode in you under the shape of a loud growled “fuck” and beads of white seed right inside of you. “Y/N” Jason groaned between his gritted teeth as he thrust hard and deep in you for the last time, his sweaty forehead against yours. “Jay!” You shouted again while clawing at his back painfully enough to make him wince and hiss.     Then he stopped moving, exhausted and breathless just like you, and watched you sink in the mattress trying to catch your breath. He caressed your hair as you both slowly came down from cloud nine. A kiss on your nose and he whispered. “You’re okay?” and in spite of the silliness of the question you nodded. “Never been better.”

Your lips found each other again and Jason let himself lie down on you, placing his head on your breasts, listening to your hearts pounding and to your loud ragged breaths. “I missed you.” He whispered and he held you body against his.     “I missed you too.” You repeated as you planted a kiss in his wet dark hair. “Did you have to keep your jeans on?” The question escaped with a laugh and Jason chuckled. “You know me. Didn’t want to waste any time.” He managed to gather the little energy he had left to sit down and finally remove his trousers as he thought he would feel more comfortable without them. “Oops. I think I broke your clock.” He grimaced as he noticed you the broken device on the floor and the flickering numbers flashing up endlessly on the screen. “I don’t care.” You said as you pulled Jason back against you. “We’ve got all the time we need.”

[biaswreckingfics]

No Limits: Part 10

Author: biaswreckingfics

Genre: Mafia AU - Warnings? Everything that goes on in a mafia au

Word Count: 2k

Previous Chapter

Junmyeon's POV

"If we attack these two buildings immediately, they'll be forced to stop their shipments and scramble to find new routes that haven't been compromised yet."

Junmyeon considers Minseok's plan as they go through strategy after strategy in regards to the map Sehun had sent them. The members had all been coming up with possible scenarios and outcomes for when they attacked the Baem's properties. Currently, he, Minseok, and Jongin were in his office running through their 15th plan. They weren't satisfied enough with any of them.

Junmyeon welcomed the distraction when he heard a knock on his door because his mind was becoming mush. He sits back as Baekhyun walks in to discuss something with Jongin. Junmyeon studies the younger men as they animatedly discussed whatever it was.

He had known Baekhyun for close to seven or eight years, and he had always liked him. Baekhyun had been so full of life before his sister was killed, and after, he tried to keep up with the life he previously had, but it had become darker and more twisted. He had become darker, just like the rest of them.

Baekhyun once lived the party lifestyle: girls, booze, and drugs. He lived hard and wanted to party harder, but it had become clear to Junmyeon that it wasn't the life Baekhyun really wanted. He was just filling a void within that he didn't know how else to fill. That was until you came along.

It was so subtle at first that Junmyeon almost didn't notice it. Baekhyun had started going out less, stopped bringing girls home, and hung around the house more. He became more curious about you and more interested in who you were. It was almost like he was drawn to you, and Baekhyun himself didn't even realize it.

Junmyeon truly noticed Baekhyun's actions and thoughts towards you when you were kidnapped by the Baem. Nobody helped him out more with the search and rescue than Baekhyun did. The pair spent countless hours strategizing ways to save you while Minseok tried to keep the two of them level headed. Junmyeon pushed everything he was noticing at the time to the side because, obviously, there were more important things, but now... How did he feel about whatever was going on between you and Baekhyun?

Well... he didn't know how to feel about it...

As your older brother, he wanted you to have nothing but the best and be with someone who would move mountains for you. Deep down, he knew Baekhyun would move heaven and hell for you if he could figure out a way; however, Junmyeon didn't think Baekhyun was good enough for you. This wasn't a fault on Baekhyun's part because Junmyeon would always think there was nobody on this Earth that would be good enough for you.

That being said... there was almost nobody else on this entire planet that he would really trust more with you than Baekhyun. Minseok was really the only other person that came to mind, and that was because he was Junmyeon's second.

The only thing that was really pissing Junmyeon off was Baekhyun's back and forth with you. He clearly wants to fucking be with you, so what's stopping him? Junmyeon was suddenly determined to find out.

"I need everyone to leave," he says before looking at Baekhyun. "Except you, Baekhyun. We need to talk."

Junmyeon notices the confused expressions on Minseok and Jongin's faces, and the startled one on Baekhyun's, as the men begin standing up and heading towards the door. Baekhyun watches as they leave the office, shutting the door behind them. A worried expression sits on his face before one of defiance and determination takes over.

"Sit." Junmyeon orders, gesturing to the chair in front of him.

Baekhyun slowly sits in the seat and then meets Junmyeon's stare head-on, which Junmyeon respected. He waited a moment to see if the younger man would question what this was about, but they both already knew.

"Stop messing with my sister and choose."

Baekhyun looks down at his hands in his lap, fidgeting with his fingers. "I did choose."

"The wrong thing." Junmyeon snaps, causing Baekhyun's head to jerk up, his eyes wide and confused.

"I... what?"

Junmyeon slowly starts speaking, gathering his thoughts as he goes. "I know you care about her and that you have feelings for her... If it's because of me... I won't stop you..."

Baekhyun opens and closes his mouth a few times in shock. Clearly, he didn't think Junmyeon would approve of the two of you being together. Honestly, Junmyeon was, kind of, shocking himself, but after the conversation the two of you had where you poured your heart out to him, he knew that it truly had nothing to do with him. If Junmyeon was one of the things stopping Baekhyun from being with you, then he wanted to change that.

"I'd rather her be with someone I can 100% trust, and that's you. I'm giving you my blessing... so to speak."

Baekhyun was clearly flabbergasted as he stuttered out a "thank you", but Junmyeon could still sense the hesitation behind his eyes, and that confirmed what Junmyeon was afraid of. He wasn't the only reason.

"What?"

Baekhyun looks off to the side of the room as he chews on his bottom lip. Junmyeon knew that look, and the only way to describe it was that he was fighting his inner demons. Baekhyun finally turns back to Junmyeon, and Junmyeon has to hide his shocked expression as he sees tears building up in Baekhyun's eyes.

"I'm terrified..." Baekhyun whispers. "I kill people on a weekly basis, yet letting myself love your sister is the most terrifying thing I've ever done."

A tear spills over his cheeks, but he doesn't even notice as he continues. "With everything that happened with Jisoo and Minhyuk... I can't risk that happening to Y/N... I would rather die. I couldn't go on knowing I was the end of her. I wouldn't want to. She... means everything to me."

The sincerity in Baekhyun's voice makes it hard for Junmyeon to breathe, and he knows, with everything in him, Baekhyun's the one for you. The only person he will ever approve of.

However, Junmyeon remembered all of the horrible things that happened to Jisoo and Minhyuk. He remembered Baekhyun's state during that time, and he knew he would be even worse if the same thing happened to you. He knew it would be the end of Baekhyun. Hell, it'd be the end of Junmyeon too. There was no way either of them would survive that.

"Baekhyun... She's my sister. She's the daughter of one of EXO's leaders. She will always be a target, whether she's with you or not..." Junmyeon reminds him before trying to turn it into a joke. "If anything, they'll be taking you to get to her."

Baekhyun nods his head, agreeing with everything Junmyeon was saying, but missing the joking undertones of his voice. Junmyeon sighs, feeling like he's close to a breakthrough, but he can't get to it.

"It's okay to be scared..." He softly says. "But living life out of fear isn't living... Both of you are going to die someday... Why not spend the small amount of time we're here together?"

Baekhyun looks at him, really looks at him, and Junmyeon holds his breath. He watches as a small light grows in Baekhyun's eyes, and a small smile fights its way onto his face. It was like someone finally turned the lights on in a once abandoned home.

"Hyung..." Baekhyun calls him for the first time in years. "I've gotta go."

Y/N's POV

You don't know how you ended up wandering down to the living room, but here you were, standing next to your favorite spot. The cozy chair next to the window.

Your thoughts were stuck on what Chanyeol had told you earlier in your bedroom. About him being the reason behind those girls with Baekhyun, and how you automatically assumed the worst about him... None of it was Baekhyun's fault, and you should've known that. You should've trusted your gut when it told you Baekhyun wouldn't do something like that to you.

A noise comes from down the hall, and you turn apprehensively toward it. You hold your breath as the sound of someone running nears you, and you quickly try to decide if you should be prepared to fight or not. Why the hell else would someone be running around here unless there was some type of trouble?

Surprise stalls you when you see Baekhyun run breathlessly around the corner, his eyes wild and determined. Once he spots you, he immediately turns to you.

"There you are!"

You take a step toward him, wondering what the heck was going on. Was someone injured? Did someone's mission fail? Was it Sehun?

"What's wrong?"

Instead of answering you, he takes a deep breath and stalks toward you with purpose. There was no other word to describe what was happening. He was looking at you like you were his prey, and all you could do was watch him in bewilderment.

Once he's in front of you, his hands immediately reach for your head, and he pulls you to him, crashing his lips into yours. Your eyes widen in shock at what was happening, but then you quickly give in to him without question.

This kiss wasn't like your first one. It was passionate and fueled by desperation. It was filled with everything the two of you wanted to say but couldn't bring yourselves to speak. It showed all the love, fear, hope, and longing that you both felt. It was soul-shattering... and it ended too quickly.

He pulls away and rests his forehead against yours as the two of you try to catch your breaths. You ignore your tingling lips and the lightheadedness you feel and look into his eyes, noticing him wildly searching your face.

"I love you," he earnestly speaks. "I love you so fucking much it drives me crazy. I'm terrified about how much you affect me, and the thought of living without you by my side makes me want to not live at all. You're it for me. No matter how much I tried to fight it. You're all I want."

His words overwhelm you and send you into a frenzy.

"I love you too," you whisper before you bring your hands to the back of his head and pull his lips back to you, kissing him with every emotion that you have.

His hands find your waist, and he tries to pull you impossibly closer. You part your lips, and Baekhyun eagerly slides his tongue into your mouth, stroking and teasing yours. A small moan escapes from you, and it takes everything in Baekhyun to stop himself from tearing your clothes off right there.

A low hum comes from Baekhyun's throat, which sounds suspiciously like a growl, causing fire to sear through your veins. The two of you were lost in each other, and there was nowhere else you'd rather be.

It takes a couple of seconds for any noises to penetrate the lustful fog that surrounded you two. When it does, you notice the sound of obnoxious throat-clearing coming from the doorway. The two of you reluctantly pull away from each other and breathlessly look over at whoever interrupted you, the thought of killing them only briefly crossing your mind.

"Really? Just right here in the living room for everyone to see?" Minseok says, shaking his head. "Well, sorry to interrupt the porno that was about to be made, but Sehun texted."

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[umbralstars]

Alright now that I've talked a bit about his province it's time to talk about the man himself. We should all be aware of the few bits of canon info we got about Rufus, but here's my own general thoughts about his character and the relationships he has with his family.

Rufus is 13 years older than Lambert and wasn't exactly thrilled when his parents decided to make Lambert heir instead because of him possessing a crest while Rufus didn't. Rufus understands logically why Crests are useful for rulers to have (the legitimacy they offer along with a powerful Relic if a ruler needs to defend the state is useful and he won't deny that) but doesn't believe a Crest necessarily makes one automatically a good ruler. Recognizing early on the faults in Faerghus' system of governance, and feeling like he has something to prove, Rufus was hell bent on leaving his mark on Faerghus whether he's king or not.

Rufus is actually an incredibly intelligent politician who studied not only the governing systems of old, but also tried to learn as much as he could about foreign governments so he could reform Faerghus. He's been reform minded since he was a teenager. Even spent a good portion of Lambert's formative years impressing his ideas onto his younger brother, until Lambert knew enough to start coming up with his own ideas and debating solutions with Rufus. While the brothers were never the closest, Rufus implicitly trusted Lambert because his brother was just willing to trust and listen to him and that meant a lot to Rufus. He did more than his fair share of criticizing his younger brother, but at least he knew Lambert could find appreciation in that.

As Grand Duke of Itha, Rufus had a certain view on wealth and how a government should be structured.

He firmly believes that wealth should be used to glorify the state through great public works and that a well educated populace along with a well fed and protected populace led to the greatest societies. He still lived large and made it known, but he had a more patriotic attitude towards his wealth and believed he had a moral obligation to spend it on Faerghus' greatness. Under his rule, Castell Itha went from a cultural backwater in Faerghus to having one of the largest public libraries (something that would be replicated in Fhirdiad with Lambert turning the Fhirdiad College of Sorcery's library into a royal one open to the public) in Fodlan and having better urban planning than many cities in the Empire. He personally encouraged the creation of great works of art, poetry, and new magical techniques all for the good of Faerghus. He believed that Faerghus could be a cultural powerhouse and he was going to make it so by Sothis.

Rufus' aspirations weren't just limited to Itha either as he was of the opinion that Faerghus' incredibly decentralized governance style was holding the Kingdom back from greatness. Ever since Loog, the Kingdom had been an almost confederation of various states who paid homage to House Blaiddyd and the royal court but devolved so much power on internal matters they were functionally independent. The Kingdom's codes of chivalry were mostly developed and lauded by the crown as a way to retain some centralized authority and respect, but the various states in Faerghus could pretty much beef with each other as they pleased. Nowhere worse was this problem than in the northern reaches of Faerghus. Because much of the north has sided with Loog there was never any consolidation, so the north was made up of hundreds of duchies, counties, baronies, etc that could give the Holy Roman Empire a run for its money.

Rufus saw all of this as a blight on the Kingdom and made it his life's mission to fix it when he became Grand Duke. Lambert and him were working towards a goal of essentially a federalized monarchy with a strong centralized government. It's the entire reason he started to consolidate power and take out anyone who dared to get in his way. He also has a very 'my way or the highway' outlook on the other noble houses and wouldn't hesitate to screw them over if they don't fall into lines or prove to him that they're incapable of leadership. 

Rufus can also be incredibly petty and spiteful if he feels he's been offended in some way. House Galatea is the big example of this. Galatea had been having financial problems for decades before hand, and the Count spurning Rufus on his betrothal request for peaceful inclusion in the Grand Duchy he considered a grave insult. Rufus didn't incite the rebellion as some claim but he did capitalize on it because he wanted to show how weak Galatea was and undermine the Count's authority. A more bloody example came when a smaller noble house in his domain tried to kill Rufus and his heir to take the riches for themselves. While they failed on both counts, Rufus decided to purge the entire family and their supporters with having the ringleaders tried and executed leaving the rest to flee for the Alliance.

The only House he begrudgingly respects is House Fraldarius because he does consider Rodrigue to be a capable leader and they do somewhat get along. They encountered each other a lot and, while Rogrigue is critical of Rufus' certain proclivities, they were able to be amicable to one another. He dislikes how many nobles fled to House Fraldarius due to the perceived aggression on the Grand Duchy's part. But for him, as long as Rodrigue was on Lambert's side with the reform measures he can share power in the north. He and Margrave Gautier have always disliked each other for numerous reasons, but the two don't clash over territory so they can tolerate each other's presence.

Rufus is also a mixed bag of being extremely charismatic, but pretty much only becomes so to woo people or get what he wants. In all other aspects of his life Rufus was domineering and stubborn with his beliefs and in his social life. He was and still is extremely piss poor at handling emotions and this includes his own. He could also be cold and ruthless when it came to pursuing his goals and was willing to do shitty things to get results.

Speaking of doing shitty things yes the man is a prolific womanizer, and every single relationship he has with the women in his life and his children is unique. He does frequent brothels and has done so since he was in his late teens. He courts heiresses to incorporate their houses into his territory or for purely political gain. Many of the children he has had may very not consider him a father at all simply because he's never been in their lives for whatever reason. At bare minimum he makes sure his mistresses and his bastards have at least a comfortable living situation, but that's about it. Rufus is obviously not incapable of loving people or considering his children family, he just doesn't a lot of the time while he never wishes ill upon them. There are a few instances where this was not the case and he was much closer to his mistresses and children, but they were honestly few and far between.

Since I mentioned his family other than Lambert and Dimitri it’s OC time. 

Rufus and Emyr

Darya Artemi was probably one of the few women Rufus ever truly fell and love with. He initially approached her in the same way he had heiresses in the past with just intentions of courting her along with her soon to be lands, but somewhere along the line he genuinely did fall for her. When Emyr was born and it was discovered he had a Major Crest Rufus jumped on the opportunity to make him the heir. They never did legally marry, but she was Duchess Consort in everything but legality. Darya was mostly fine with having an open relationship with Rufus as long as he was around for her and their children.

Rufus as a parent is just as domineering as in every other aspect of his life. He could be caring but extremely strict as well and pushed for perfection in everything Emyr did. He wanted his son to be the perfect heir for the province he was building, and be like him in many aspects. Emyr did love his father and wanted to live up to every expectation.

When Darya died, Rufus experienced one of the first major depressive episodes in his life. He pulled away from his children, threw himself into work and all of his vices, and became even harder on Emyr than he was previously. If her death wasn't enough, some of his mistresses felt an opportunity to get ahead and tried to fill the void or even remove Emyr on a few occasions. The houses never really leveled out again and both Emyr and Rufus clung to the perceived stability they had before Darya's death to their relationship's detriment. They never could come close to breaching those vulnerable waters.

When Emyr ran away with Katya, it came after years of strife between him and his father that did permanently damage their relationship. Rufus was devastated when he lost Emyr and Katya along with a good portion of his family. He grew even more depressed, lost control of the court entirely, and never could form anywhere close to a good relationship with his nephew. He lost a good number of relationships during the four years before his death in friends and family. He spent the last years of his life guilt ridden, dogged by horrible rumors, and trying to keep together a country which was begging to rip itself a part. 

For Emyr's part, he never did wish for his father to die in the way he did. In some ways he did love Rufus even after everything. Emyr is like his father in many ways and terrified of becoming him in many others. 

TL;DR: Rufus is complicated.

[chusui00]

Not Meant to Be

Word Count: 1,404

Pairing(s): Anthony Bridgerton x reader, Simon Basset x reader

Summary: You are obsessed with the Duke of Hastings and become jealous of the fact that he chose to marry Daphne rather than you. If you couldn’t have him, then you were going to do everything it takes to make sure that no one else can before you take your place as his wife.

TW: none

Part 1/6

⋘ ──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──── ⋙

In the end, he chose to marry her. After all we had been through together, she placed herself in our midst and seduced him for her own advantages. It just wasn’t fair! Even when I had tried to warn Simon, he told me that I was being utterly paranoid!

The people who claimed to care about me would say that I shouldn’t be so hostile towards Daphne, and that I should happy that Simon was happy.

They couldn’t see the distress hidden in his eyes that shone with faux adoration of his erroneous bride to-be. I was supposed to stand by his side. We were supposed to be engaged then live in his grand country estate with just the two of us.

Whether or not we had children was up to fate and not out our selfish desires. Yes, I knew of Simon’s sworn secrecy of his bloodline dying with him, but I felt a small ounce of pity for the Bridgerton girl.

I, too, was capable of providing what he needed. I, too, could have a lifetime with him and not worry about trivial affairs. But I still hadn’t the faintest idea as to why he was the one who suggested to begin their elaborate ruse.

Once I had confronted him, I could believe the words that left his mouth. “Y/n, you don’t understand. The two of us are helping each other to fulfill our achievements. You need not to worry. You and I will be together again like old times.”

Oh, how foolish I was to hold his promise in the highest regard. It tore my heart to pieces the night Simon got down on one knee to propose to Daphne in front of her entire family. I slipped away from the celebrations, and found myself standing in front of a lake. It was dark for as far as I could see, but the moonlight’s reflection on the water showed how lonely I felt at the time.

With no recollection of how I had gotten there or how to find my way back, I sat down on the ground and curled up my legs to my chest. Why couldn’t I have been the one he loved? Daphne was beautiful and kind, yes, but she did not belong with Simon.

A tear then another and another began to fall down the sides of my face. I began to sob and whisper the words, “It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair!” I had lost track of time, and then the sun slowly peeked over the horizon, which meant that I’ve been gone for several hours.

That was when I heard my name being called by several voices, and Simon’s was the most distinct out of them all. Some time later on, I vaguely remember being scolded by mama and papa because I made Simon, and everyone else searching for me, worried beyond relief.

They reprimanded me for wasting his time when he should have been preparing for the wedding that was taking place in three day’s time. The opportunity to confess my love for him was getting further and further away from my grasp.

There wasn’t much room for me to argue it defend myself when they were both right. What they said next swept away the last few remaining pieces of my already shattered heart. “Why can’t you be like Miss Bridgerton and put aside your problems, y/n?”

Miss Bridgerton this. Miss Bridgerton that. Everything revolves around that wench, and I hated every moment of it. Yet there was nothing I could’ve done to change the course of events.

Simon was to be married to a young woman whose skin was fair and void of blemishes, her hair kissed by the sun and voice as sweet as sugar. A young woman who wasn’t me.

It just wasn’t right. She was too much of one characteristic as though she ended up being all of the perfect qualities that a man was looking for. Speaking of personality traits, from the youngest Bridgerton to the eldest, they were all too good to be true. It was no wonder why I grew jealous of Daphne.

Although, I was not going to admit it out loud. I would be ridiculed and teased for my biased opinion of her. She’d knew how to play the piano, how to crochet simple yet intricate patterns, and her mannerisms were to be rivaled.

Now was a better time than ever to ruin her happiness. She didn’t deserve to have Simon if I had lost him first. She didn’t know what she was getting herself into or the real reason why Simon refused to have children.

I invited her to my home for tea and a brief lunch, which my mama gave me appraisal for attempting to make amends with the eldest Bridgerton daughter. Little did they both know that I had plans to break her down bit by bit.

Eventually I transitioned the topic about our families to her fiancé, and her eyes lit up with delight. Well, that wasn’t going to last for long. “Miss Bridgerton, how has Simon been treating you as of late? Fairly, I hope?” The question stopped Daphne whilst she sipped her cup of tea, and she cleared her throat before she spoke.

“Yes, the Duke had sent me bouquets of flowers and scheduled a dress fitting at the modiste later today. He is a very generous man.” She smiled softly, and I forced one of my own. “How lovely! You must be enjoying the gifts, I take it. Your family is quite fond of him, too.”

Except for Anthony, that is. Like me, he had done all that he could to stop Simon from marrying his sister. Then after some odd occurrence, he was suddenly the first to congratulate their engagement. It baffled me, but I knew asking him questions would only raise suspicions.

“‘Tis a shame that you won’t have any children, though. Simon swore to have his bloodline die with him, and his father died moments later.” Daphne’s smile fell apart, and she furrowed her brows in confusion. I raised my cup to my lips then took a long sip, quietly waiting for her reaction.

“How do you—” “Daphne, Simon tells me everything. I’ve known him far much longer than you’ve spent time with him, and he hasn’t shared an actual piece of himself when the two of you are together. He’s marrying you to placate the queen’s disappointment as well as the ton’s need for a perfect couple of the season.”

She went silent after I said what I have wanted to let out, and she looked like she was trying not to cry. The poor thing took in a deep breath then folded her hands on top of her lap. “Well, Miss Denbow, I cannot say I’m not surprised. You are a good friend of the Duke’s, and therefore you do know him better than anyone.”

I scoffed in disbelief and at the audacity of being called Simon’s “good friend.” I was more than just a measly role of comforting someone in their most vulnerable state; I should’ve been the one engaged to him.

“I never had the chance to give my best to you for the engagement, so I’ll say it now before you leave. Congratulations, Miss Bridgerton, and I hope you live a wonderful life as the Duchess of Hastings.” Silence and rapidly beating hearts. “Th-Thank you, Miss Denbow for the tea, and have a good day.”

After our pleasant conversation, I walked her out of the parlor and to the door. We said our goodbyes as the light in her eyes become clouded with betrayal and disillusion. “I must say, y/n. Job well done.” I chuckled and patted myself on the shoulder once I’ve closed the door then headed up to my bedroom.

Only time will tell when the relationship between her and Simon begins to tear at the seams, then I will be the one to take my rightful place at his side. He’ll realize that Daphne wasn’t meant to be his bride, and he’ll finally love me just as much as I love him.

It felt good to break the rules fate had set for us, and I would do it again to get what I want. Nothing was going to stand in my way of marrying Simon.

Everyone was going to accept it whether they agreed with me or not.

[uniarycode]

Dawn and Dusk

Series: Xros wars/Hunters

Written as part of @digiweek. Day 4, prompt: dark/light

Set shortly after the hunters go to Hong Kong.

Wordcount 2966- a bit heftier than the rest of what I've been posting

Trigger Warning: Suicidal thoughts.

Yuu did not bring many friends home to the Amano penthouse, but whenever he did the reaction was the same: pure, unabashed jealousy.

His parents were obscenely rich, he was wise enough to recognize it was more than just well off. His home was a middle school student's dream: indoor hot tubs, rooms one could reasonably play basketball in, and no parental supervision. Now, out on the balcony, he could look down and see trees the size of Legos, and a view that stretched out to the ocean. Most kids his age could not help but be envious. To Yuu however, only one feature stood out prominently.

Just how empty it was.

That void grew greater in its sheer size. Ceilings twenty feet high only served to underline just how little there was left to fill the silence. The distance between himself and those he could see on the ground, more metaphor than physical.

His recent trip to Hong Kong had only made this emptiness grow. He loved his sister, and while he’d thought himself used to her absence, it now rushed back to him in full force. They had spent years together in this home, and no matter how many corners it had, each and every one of them hid a precious memory between the pair.

His parents were away; his parents had always been away. Working, logging thirty hours every day to ensure that both he and his children’s children would be able to maintain this life of luxury with no effort on their own part.

So devoted were his parents that the very idea of indulging in such opulence like creature comforts or family were beyond them.

It had taken years for Yuu to associate the concept of ‘father’ with the man who bore the title. And in turn, possessed by Harpymon as he was, his father had not recognized him at all. Next to the protective love for his daughter, the son apparently did not matter at all.

Of all things, Yuu had been mistaken for a prospective suitor, which was certainly not something he wanted to unpack.

And that had been the first time he’d seen his father or his sister in months. Only once before in the year since returning from the digital world had he seen them together. He didn’t hate Nene, he couldn’t hate Nene, but even still, having her leave him like this…. Resentment wasn’t the right word. Bitterness was closer but didn’t quite fit. Envy was the most accurate of the bunch.

Yes, he was envious of Nene, for being able to go out there alone and fulfill her dream, while leaving him behind staring into memories of the past.

“You’re just like Nene.” He’d been told many times, from those who thought it a compliment. They were wrong, he’d initially believed they were wrong on both counts.

Yuu was smart, he knew it, even if he tried to be modest. Concepts just fit together to him in ways as naturally as walking. He even struggled to tutor others. The very idea of not understanding something was one of the few things he himself struggled to understand.

Nene was also intelligent, but it was far from natural. Whatever she did, she threw all her effort behind. With her being the eldest and thus the designated heir, failure was not an option, and she took advantage of every resource necessary to outcompete and outlast the others.

There was only one word he could think of to describe Nene at her most focused: Ruthless. There was no doubt about the success of the Amano corporation under her leadership, she would crush everyone she needed to crush and think little of the consequences. Even in her current profession: becoming an idol was merely a test of how far she could push herself, and Yuu sympathized with any who made the error of underestimating her.

But then, Yuu sympathized with everyone. That had been the other difference he’d believed existed between the siblings. From the lowliest ant to the grandest emperor to the most heinous criminals, he couldn’t stand to harm any of them.

Even the girl who would break the rules to try to steal his friends and swore to turn him into her prisoner, he just couldn’t bring himself to do any lasting harm to. He simply told himself if he was kind enough, if he showed how outmatched she was then Airu would eventually come around, or at least get the help she needed.

His parents had learned his bountiful generosity early. They only sent gifts these days, any allowance would immediately and indiscriminately be forwarded to various charities. He had never seen the problem with it; there were millions who needed money more than him.

He had, in childlike fantasy, seen that as the main distinction between himself and his sister. She had been named for dusk, and he for dawn. She had thrived in cut-throat competition, he had blossomed in a world without scarcity. She was the harbinger of darkness and despair, and he would be the one to lead others to the light.

And yet, he had, with these hands, “So easily…”

And she, in all her ruthless determination, had halted him, saved him.

Even if he didn’t deserve to be saved, maybe it had been out of her own selfishness. Why was his life worth any more than those he’d ended, those he’d tortured? Simply because she knew him and had an emotional attachment? But even that was a blemish on her, sticking her neck out for the likes of him. And he’d done it so easily before, with so little prompting. Who was to say he couldn’t do it again? “Wouldn’t it have been better if I wasn’t saved at all?”

He discovered a surprising bonus to just how long the drop off the balcony was.

“No good, No good.” A voice called out from his pocket. “Thoughts like that are no good at all.”

He stilled his breathing and took a step back. Damemon was right of course. There would be no penance found in death. He couldn’t die now, with the hunt on and needing to help with the digiquartz; his death would be only one more burden he was imparting on those around him.

But he needed to be careful. Damemon was no longer the only Digimon in his Xros loader. He had hunted Superstarmon. That was the point of the hunt, to capture all the Digimon, lost in the Digiquartz.

But the simple idea made his stomach turn. Digimon were living beings, with hopes and dreams, they didn’t deserve to be hunted for sport any more than Taiki or Nene did.

He didn’t feel bad about hunting Superstarmon, the Digimon had himself been hunting Taiki. What worried him, what scared him, was how much he had enjoyed the act of hunting. Of manipulating Tagiru and Ryouma into a situation where he could steal all the glory. Of joint-crossing with Taiki, something that he had been the only one of the original Xros Heart generals to never actually do. Of sneaking Tuwarmon in at the end to steal the capture out from the other hunters.

If he found himself enjoying fighting a bit too much, if he found himself taking joy in the pure act of hunting like Tagiru did, or sacrificing morals for his goals like Airu did? Could he? Would he go back to those times? If he would, shouldn’t he do anything it took to prevent it from happening again? Even if….

He shook his head. If nothing else this last year had proven just how wrong he had been; being compared to Nene was a compliment he didn’t deserve.

His empathy prevented him from truly stopping deranged criminals before they hurt more people. His aptitude was a gift born of biology and circumstance, not an accomplishment to be paraded around.

Even now, he was paralyzed by his own darkness, wallowing in it. While she was on stage, inspiring thousands, becoming the light that kept them moving.

Damemon popped out of his Xros loader. “You need to talk these things through, you can’t just keep it all bottled up.” His partner said.

Talk to whom? This was one subject that he couldn’t even breach with Damemon. ‘Sorry I’m so terrible you had to fight for evil and die’ was even more destined for disaster than his current train wreck of thoughts. “It’s no worse than normal.” He said.

“This is normal?” Damemon asked, seeing through him in an instant. “You need a better normal.”

“It’s just.” He exhaled. “I don’t know.”

And he didn’t. This wasn’t the answer on some test, and he was too wise to search his own knowledge of psychology for an answer. There weren’t any therapists that he could confess to without being either dismissed or thrown in the looney bin. “I got spirited away to another world and became a villain.” is the plot of some anime, not real life.

Tagiru wouldn’t understand. Taiki...might, he was at least physically present and could understand the magnitude of it all. And Taiki was the one who had originally broken through his wishful thinking. But Taiki also tended to attempt to shoulder all burdens by himself, even if there was nothing he could do. There was no reason for Taiki to exhaust himself just for Yuu’s sake.

And somehow, he was too embarrassed to share this weakness with his leader.

“I’m telling you it’s no good.”

It took a few seconds for Yuu to realize his partner wasn’t talking to him and had instead taken advantage of his introspection to swipe his phone.

“Hey.” He objected, reaching down to reclaim it. “You can’t just go calling people.”

“Yuu, are you okay?” His sister’s voice called from the other end of the phone “I’m heading over.” She declared.

“No. I mean, yes. I mean, you don’t have to, you can’t-” The line was already dead, he didn’t know how many of his feeble protestations she heard.

The average flight from Hong Kong to Tokyo took over four hours. How Nene left her apartment, procured one, and arrived at his door in less than 2 he didn’t bother to ask. It would have at least required breaking the sound barrier.

But then, barriers had never stopped her before.

“What’s up.” She asked simply

He did his best to muster a scowl. “You didn’t have to come all the way out here; I can take care of myself.”

As was his custom, Damemon destroyed whatever farce Yuu presented. “It’s no good, Yuu’s been having no good thoughts.”

“No good thoughts.” She said quietly, looking between them. “Yuu, you have to understand that wasn’t your fault.”

He quaked but did not respond, her hand reached out to rest on his fist as she repeated herself. “It was not your fault.”

“But it was.” he drew back, “It was my fault. If it hadn’t been for me, then hundreds, thousands, who even knows how many! They all wouldn’t have had to suffer! None of them would have had to die!” he threw his arm out, knocking over some cabinet, a priceless vase colliding to the floor.

Nene seemed unfazed by his outburst, “Bugramon was the one who chose the path of war. You had nothing to do with that, he chose to make them suffer, not you.”

“I chose! I saw them suffering, I saw their pain and I ignored it. No, it’s worse: I enjoyed it! I felt like a god, being able to choose who won and who lost. Using some as pawns to die and keeping others alive for my win.” His voice dropped. “Bugramon didn’t do that. I was the one who did it.”

“That wasn’t your fault either. Darknightmon tricked you. Even I -”

“-Because of me!” he shouted “He used me to enslave, he used me to manipulate you. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have had to stain your perfect hands. -”

“-Perfect?”

“- God I’m such a screwup. You’re the heir, you’re the eldest. Literally no expectations on me except ‘don’t mess things up’ and I turn both of us into mass murders.”

He felt her arms wrap around him, pulling him close. He couldn’t find the strength to break free, so he stayed there, staining her shirt with his tears.

“I am not perfect.” She said “You are not a screwup. And neither of us are mass murders.”

“We, we.” He couldn’t bear to say it. “It doesn’t matter if they came back. I still…” he unleashed another bought of sobs.

“No good, that thinking is no good.” Damemon insisted. “Death is different to us Digimon. It is unpleasant yes, and best to be avoided. But it’s not like humans do. Digimon never completely die.”

“We are not mass murders.” Nene insisted. “That doesn’t make what either of us did okay, but neither of us are truly murders.”

He wasn’t sure he agreed. His fingers curled into fists. “Even if Digimon come back, humans wouldn’t, right? Taiki had to trick the rose to be set free, you couldn’t just kill him and revive him. And he, I almost.” he couldn’t even bear to say it. “…It was so close.”

Yuu felt a bile burn in his throat, remembering just how little effort more he would have needed to snuff a life out completely. “You too Nene. If Minervamon hadn’t hidden in your Xros loader. In that case I would have, and you would have….”

“But you didn’t,” she said, “and you didn’t intend to. There’s no point worrying about what could have happened if it didn’t happen and you never intended for it to happen. I know you would never want to hurt me.”

He shook his head. It was easy enough to say no harm done, but his nightmares disagreed. Whether or not he was intending to kill her, he was certainly intending on putting a blade through her heart. And he almost did.

She took advantage of his silence to score one more point. “And I am far from perfect. I’m not like you, I stumble more than anyone. Grandma did use to say, it took me a year to learn how to walk, you did it on your first try.”

What did that matter? It wasn’t the first attempt anyone remembered, it was the last one.

“But you always stand back up, and right now, I, I don't.” he swallowed. Everything came to him as easily as walking, and yet, “I don’t always know if I should?”

His sister didn’t respond at first. Perhaps even she was caught off guard by his confession. But then, stumping Nene was a feat he dare not have the audacity to claim.

She held him, bringing them to the ground. One hand rubbed his back, up and down, up and down. “You know, if something were to happen to you, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

“You would survive.” He muttered, “You always seem to.”

“In name, maybe, but I wouldn’t enjoy any of it. I can’t see life without you.”

He continued to sniffle. God, he was so pathetic, crying here like a baby. “I’m not worth it-”

“You are!” she insisted. “You are worth it all. If anything, your biggest issue is you don’t know your worth; you’re too selfless, you value everything else above yourself.”

“I-I-I” she pulled him into her shirt more fully, muffling his resistance.

“One of these days I’ll teach you to be selfish like me. Until then, we’ll have to weaponize that selflessness of yours.” She pulled him away and stared him dead in the eye. “I want you to promise me, whenever you feel like you can’t keep going, whenever it feels like too much, you’ll find a way to pull through. For me.”

He took a few deep breaths. “That’s awful selfish of you.”

“I said I’d teach you to be selfish like me. You’re learning from the best.” She said “Promise.”

“I could never break a promise with you.”

They stared at each other for a few more seconds.

She took a deep breath. “I told you I stumble more than anyone. I’ve faced failure after failure. Going to Hong Kong, Father cut me off. I had no money, no connections, I had to start from zero. I thought there was no way I could keep going more times than I could count.

“And when those times come, I think of you. I think about how you’d stop everything, just to give a funeral to a butterfly. I think about how you’d always try to help everyone, even when too young or too small to be of any real use. You are my light, the thing that keeps me going even when immersed in darkness.”

Her hands were now on the side of his face, forcing him to look at her. “Now promise. Promise me that wasn’t all in vain. Promise me that I won’t lose my reason for continuing to push myself. Promise me you’ll keep going, if only for my sake. That’s all it has to be for now.”

Yuu took a deep breath, body shaking as the request percolated through him.

“I promise.”

She smiled, and pulled him close again, suffocating him in her embrace. “And now your first lesson in selfishness: Just let it all out. Don’t worry about me or Damemon or anyone else.”

That night Yuu released a year’s worth of tears.

Note: one etymology for Yuu is twilight, which doesn’t have to mean dawn, but it kind of fits here.

[deliberatelyvague]

Worthless (lucifer x fem!reader)

Pairing(s): [lucifer x depressed! reader]

Trigger Warning(s): Attempts at Suicide, depression and all the feelings that surround that.

Author’s Note: I have a few requests that I have to get to, but I’ve been feeling pretty bad mentally the past few days, so I can’t really find it in me to do things that could be happy. I’ll get to them as soon as I can, I promise.

Looking for my Masterlist? Here it is (x)

————

You took a slow, deep breath in as you laid on your bed. You really couldn’t find it in yourself to do much of anything else. You felt really overwhelmed, like everything was just building up to being too much for you to handle.

You had homework that you could be doing, and you knew that every day you didn’t do it it was just growing to be bigger and bigger, which in turn made you feel overwhelmed, but you didn’t move from your spot.

You just laid there, looking at the stars plastered onto your ceiling. It hurt so much to breathe. No, it hurt to be alive. You just wanted to die.

It made you feel worse, because you knew there was no good reason that you should be feeling like this, but you figured everything would be much easier if you were dead. Whether or not you would just be sent back to the Devildom, or if you would actually make it into the Celestial Realm, you didn’t know, but you didn’t particularly care.

You could only imagine how the brothers would react if they were to find your dead body, you could only imagine that they might not care.

You were a pathetic human, only here because of the exchange program. They only cared about you so that Diavolo would look good. Lucifer only cared about you because of the exchange program and keeping up Diavolo’s image.

Thinking about the fact that Lucifer doesn’t actually care about you made your chest ache more. You grabbed your blanket and pulled it over you, curling up in a ball and facing the wall, closing your eyes.

You weren’t going to fall asleep, your chest aching would stop you from that, and one of the brothers coming into your room will eventually wake you up anyway.

How much would really happen if you died? Of course, your family and friends back home would be devastated, and you would miss them. But they knew about your depression and suicidal ideation, you had gone to a therapist and had medicine, but that ended when you came down to the Devildom.

Now it was a few months without the medicine or therapy sessions, and you felt the repercussions of it. But you didn’t bother to tell them, you didn’t want to bother Diavolo with issues like that, Lucifer had too much on his plate involving the brothers, much less having your mental health add to the issues.

The door to your room opened gently, someone flipping on the light switch. You didn’t move, you couldn’t be bothered to move.

“[Y/N], get up. You need to work on homework. Mammon’s in all your classes, I know how much you guys got.” You hear Lucifer scold you, which made the aching in your chest make itself known again and make a weird feeling in your jaw as you sit up.

“Yeah, sorry. I’m just tired, I guess,” You tell him as cheerily as you can, swinging your legs off of the bed and making your way over to your desk.

“You need to finish your work then you can sleep. Diavolo’s reputation is on the line, that should be your first priority.” You bit your lip, and nodded. Of course he couldn’t see through your facade, you had spent years working on it, so obviously it would easily be able to come back when needed.

“Okay,” you answer him and pull out your book work. He seemed content with that answer and he kissed the top of your head before leaving. The place where his lips touched your head felt warm, but it was quickly replaced with a dull ache.

“I’m going to start dinner, please be more attentive when it comes to getting your work done. Also, these grades do transfer to your home, so they also matter to your future,” he says and you just nod.

The last part didn’t really matter to you. How could you care about your future if you didn’t even see one for yourself? The entire conversation you just had with Lucifer left a bad taste in your mouth.

It made you feel worthless, like you weren’t anything more than a nuisance to him. He claimed he loved you- all the brothers told you they cared for you, but you didn’t feel it.

You finished the homework moderately quickly, only half paying attention to what you were doing. The bell for dinner rang soon after that, and you got up and took off the RAD jacket you had yet to take off and put on a pair of sweatpants, not bothering to take off the turquoise turtleneck that went under the uniform.

Dinner was as eventful as normal, all the boys seemed too caught up in their own problems to notice you being quieter than normal, not that you were complaining. You waited until everyone was finished before leaving the table, offering to wash the dishes.

“Less work for me,” was all Belphie said when you told him you would take over his chore, and he left the room.

You were cleaning up the dishes, scrubbing away at a pan when you felt two arms around your waist.

“Are you doing alright, baby?” You heard Lucifer ask.

“Of course, why?”

“I just noticed you being more quiet than normal. You can talk to me, you know that right, [Y/N]?”

“Of course, I’m just tired. There’s nothing else.”

“Nothing? So no demon had been bothering you? If so, you need to tell me so I can tell Diavolo. Nothing can go wrong with this program, not even that.”

Of course, he wasn’t just concerned about you. It could never be just about you, he didn’t care about you, he cared about Diavolo’s program. Nothing else. He only cared about Diavolo, which you should have warned yourself about the first time you even had an inkling about that being the case.

“No, nothing. The demons here have been fine. I just need some more sleep,” you told him, and he just nodded and took his arms off of you.

“Alright, well, be sure to get to bed soon,” you saw mental glint in the suds of the sink, a long blade peaking through. “Maybe you could spend some time with Belphegor to make you tired.”

You nodded.

“Maybe I should try that.”

Lucifer left with nothing else, and you reached for the knife, your palm gripping the blade, it cutting into your skin. You didn’t care, though.

How easily you could just plunge this knife into your chest, how quickly all the pain you felt would be over.

You positioned the tip of the blade between your breasts, digging it in slightly, feeling a trickle of blood run down your chest and stomach, before plunging it in all the way.

———

It was peaceful. You only saw white, that was all that was surrounding you. This wasn’t Heaven or Hell, or the Devildom. There was nothing.

“Hello?” You call out to the void. Nothing responded. You felt a twist in your gut, and an off sensation that you hadn’t felt in awhile. Almost the.. thrive to live? The need to continue breathing, it suddenly took you over, out of nowhere.

The feeling that now isn’t your time to die washed over you, and you refused to just believe that this was all there was for you. You wanted to live, you wanted to live, you wanted to live, you wanted to live, you wanted to live, you wanted to live, you wanted to-

—————

You open your eyes again, but immediately shut them. A loud pulsing noise came from beside you, and you cringed away from it. Why was it so loud? You slowly opened your eyes again, them adjusting to the brightness.

There was no one around you, but you could hear two voices talking, and when you looked out into the hallway, Lucifer and Diavolo were standing there, talking in a hushed voice, almost as if trying not to wake you up.

A feeling of dread came over you, and that need to survive was quickly stifled out. You felt the need to cry, so you did just that. Quietly, tears started to stream down your face as you laid down as far as you could.

God, what a mess you had probably made. How could you be so selfish? Who found your body? Thinking back on it, it was probably Beel, the most innocent out of all of them, how could you have done that to him?

Selfish, selfish, that’s all you are. How could you have done that and not even batted an eye about the repercussions? All you think about is yourself, selfish, selfish, selfish-

“[Y/N]?” You heard a gentle voice. You looked over to the doorway and Lucifer stood there. He took off his coat, leaving him in only a black shirt and pants. You didn’t respond. “How are you feeling?”

“I can’t feel the wound yet, so, pretty good,” you tried to joke with him.

“Don’t, don’t do that. Baby, why didn’t you tell me, tell someone? We could have gotten you medicine, allowed you to see your therapist, or a therapist.”

“I didn’t want to be more of a burden than I already was. But now, I guess I made that worse right? I’m sorry. I hoped it would work,” you tell him, and he just furrows his eyebrows.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve probably ruined the program, right? I’m sorry. I was being selfish, I didn’t take into consideration what me trying to commit suicide would do.”

“[Y/N]..” Lucifer started, but trailed off before hugging you, almost ripping you off of the bed. “I’m sorry if I made you feel that your only purpose in the Devildom was to be an exchange student for Diavolo. I know I talk about it a lot, and I’m sorry about that.

“I’m not going to try to come up with excuses as to why I do that, but you better know this right now: you are more than just an exchange student. To me, to my brothers, even to Diavolo. You’re more than that. I love you, and it hurts to see you think of yourself as less than someone worthy of being here.

“I know you’re not going to get better by telling you this, I know that it could take a long time to get better, to make sure you're in a safe place mentally. But I want you to also know that I will be right here, by your side, while you get the help you need.”

You had started crying halfway through his speech. You wrapped your tube-infested arms around him also, deeply breathing in the scent of him that you had missed so much.

“I want to get better, please help me. I’m tired of feeling like this again.”

“Of course, [Y/N]. First thing we’ll do is get you back on your meds and then schedule a therapy appointment, okay? You’re also put under suicide watch, so I’ll be staying with you until you’re granted freedom from that.”

“Thank you, Luci.”

“Of course, [Y/N]. I love you.”

————

This was written by me in no way trying to romanticize mental illnesses. I try to write what I feel would help me in the moment. I completely understand that mental illnesses don’t just ‘disappear’ when you’ve figured out that someone loves you or someone helps you once- that’s why I don’t write what happens after in most cases. If you are struggling, please reach out to anyone you trust, or call a hotline.

[hexalt]

CW for discussion of suicide

- She's the crazy ex-girlfriend - What? No, I'm not. - She's the crazy ex-girlfriend - That's a sexist term! - She's the crazy ex-girlfriend - Can you guys stop singing for just a second? - She's so broken insiiiiiide! - The situation's a lot more nuanced than that!

There’s the essay! You get it now. JK.

Crazy Ex-Girlfriend is the culmination of Rachel Bloom’s YouTube channel (and the song “Fuck Me, Ray Bradbury” in particular where she combined her lifelong obsession with musical theatre and sketch comedy and Aline Brosh McKenna stumbling onto Bloom’s channel one night while having an idea for a television show that subverted the tropes in scripts she’d been writing like The Devil Wears Prada and 27 Dresses.

The show begins with a flashback to teenage Rebecca Bunch (played by Bloom) at summer camp performing in South Pacific. She leaves summer camp gushing about the performance, holding hands with the guy she spent all summer with, Josh Chan. He says it was fun for the time, but it’s time to get back to real life. We flash forward to the present in New York, Rebecca’s world muted in greys and blues with clothing as conservative as her hair.

She’s become a top tier lawyer, a career that she doesn’t enjoy but was pushed into by her overprotective, controlling mother. She’s just found out she’s being promoted to junior partner, and that’s just objectively, on paper fantastic, right?! ...So why isn’t she happy? She goes out onto the streets in the midst of a panic attack, spilling her pills all over the ground, and suddenly sees an ad for butter asking, “When was the last time you were truly happy?” A literal arrow and beam of sunlight then point to none other than Josh Chan. She strikes up a conversation with him where he tells her he’s been trying to make it in New York but doesn’t like it, so he’s moving back to his hometown, West Covina, California, where everyone is just...happy.

The word echoes in her mind, and she absorbs it like a pill. She decides to break free of the hold others have had over her life and turns down the promotion of her mother’s dreams. I didn’t realize the show was a musical when I started it, and it’s at this point that Rebecca is breaking out into its first song, “West Covina”. It’s a parody of the extravagant, classic Broadway numbers filled with a children’s marching band whose funding gets cut, locals joining Rebecca in synchronized song and dance, and finishing with her being lifted into the sky while sitting on a giant pretzel. This was the moment I realized there was something special here.

With this introduction, the stage has been set for the premise of the show. Each season was planned with an overall theme. Season one is all about denial, season two is about being obsessed with love and losing yourself in it, season three is about the spiral and hitting rock bottom, and season four is about renewal and starting from scratch. You can see this from how the theme songs change every year, each being the musical thesis for that season.

We start the show with a bunch of cliché characters: the crazy ex-girlfriend; her quirky sidekick; the hot love interest; his bitchy girlfriend; and his sarcastic best friend who’s clearly a much better match for the heroine. The magic of Crazy Ex-Girlfriend is that no one in West Covina is the sum of their tropes. As Rachel says herself, “People aren’t badly written, people are made of specificities.”

The show is revolutionary for the authenticity with which it explores various topics but for the sake of this piece, we’ll discuss mental health, gender, Jewish identity, and sexuality. All topics that Bloom has dug into in her previous works but none better than here.

Simply from the title, many may be put off, but this is a story that has always been about deconstructing stereotypes. Rather than being called The Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, where the story would be from an outsider’s perspective, this story is from that woman’s point of view because the point isn’t to demonize Rebecca, it’s to understand her. Even if you hate her for all the awful things she’s doing.

The musical numbers are shown to be in Rebecca’s imagination, and she tells us they’re how she processes the world, but as she starts healing in the final season, she isn’t the lead singer so often anymore and other characters get to have their own problems and starring roles. When she does have a song, it’s because she’s backsliding into her former patterns.

While a lot of media will have characters that seem to have some sort of vague disorder, Crazy Ex-Girlfriend goes a step further and actually diagnoses Rebecca with Borderline Personality Disorder, while giving her an earnest, soaring anthem. She’s excited and relieved to finally have words for what’s plagued her whole life.

When diagnosing Rebecca, the show’s team consulted with doctors and psychiatrists to give her a proper diagnosis that ended up resonating with many who share it. BPD is a demonized and misunderstood disorder, and I’ve heard that for many, Crazy Ex-Girlfriend is the first honest and kind depiction they’ve seen of it in media. Where the taboo of mental illness often leads people to not get any help, Crazy Ex-Girlfriend says there is freedom and healing in identifying and sharing these parts of yourself with others.

Media often uses suicide for comedy or romanticizes it, but Crazy Ex-Girlfriend explored what’s going through someone’s mind to reach that bottomless pit. Its climactic episode is written by Jack Dolgen (Bloom’s long-time musical collaborator, co-songwriter and writer for the show) who’s dealt with suicidal ideation. Many misunderstood suicide as the person simply wanting to die for no reason, but Rebecca tells her best friend, “I didn’t even want to die. I just wanted the pain to stop. It’s like I was out of stories to tell myself that things would be okay.”

Bloom has never shied away from heavy topics. The show discusses in song the horrors of what women do to their bodies and self-esteem to conform to beauty standards, the contradiction of girl power songs that tell you to “Put Yourself First” but make sure you look good for men while doing it, and the importance of women bonding over how terrible straight men are are near and dear to her heart. This is a show that centers marginalized women, pokes fun at the misogyny they go through, and ultimately tells us the love story we thought was going to happen wasn’t between a woman and some guy but between her and her best friend.

I probably haven’t watched enough Jewish TV or film, but to me, Crazy Ex-Girlfriend is the most unapologetic and relatable Jewish portrayal I’ve seen overall. From Rebecca’s relationship with her toxic, controlling mother (if anyone ever wants to know what my mother’s like, I send them “Where’s the Bathroom”) to Patti Lupone’s Rabbi Shari answering a Rebecca that doesn’t believe in God, “Always questioning! That is the true spirit of the Jewish people,” the Jewish voices behind the show are clear.

Crazy Ex-Girlfriend continues to challenge our perceptions when a middle-aged man with an ex-wife and daughter realizes he’s bisexual and comes out in a Huey Lewis saxophone reverie. The hyper-feminine mean girl breaks up with her boyfriend and realizes the reason she was so obsessed with getting him to commit to her is the same reason she’s so scared to have female friends. She was suffering under the weight of compulsory heterosexuality, but thanks to Rebecca, she eventually finds love and friendship with women.

This thread is woven throughout the show. Many of the characters tell Rebecca when she’s at her lowest of how their lives would’ve never changed for the better if it wasn’t for her. She was a tornado that blew through West Covina, but instead of leaving destruction in her wake, she blew apart their façades, forcing true introspection into what made them happy too.

Rebecca’s story is that of a woman who felt hopeless, who felt no love or happiness in her life, when that’s all she’s ever wanted. She tried desperately to fill that void through validation from her parents and random men, things romantic comedies had taught her matter most but came up empty. She tried on a multitude of identities through the musical numbers in her mind, seeing herself as the hero and villain of the story, and eventually realized she’s neither because life doesn’t make narrative sense.

It takes her a long time but eventually she sees that all the things she thought would solve her problems can’t actually bring her happiness. What does is the real family she finds in West Covina, the town she moved to on a whim, and finally having agency over herself to use her own voice and tell her story through music.

The first words spoken by Rebecca are, “When I sang my solo, I felt, like, a really palpable connection with the audience.” Her last words are, “This is a song I wrote.” This connection with the audience that brought her such joy is something she finally gets when she gets to perform her story not to us, the TV audience, but to her loved ones in West Covina. Rebecca (and Rachel) always felt like an outcast, West Covina (and creating the show) showed her how cathartic it is to find others who understand you.

Crazy Ex-Girlfriend is the prologue to Rebecca’s life and the radical story of someone getting better. She didn’t need to change her entire being to find acceptance and happiness, she needed to embrace herself and accept love and help from others who truly cared for her. Community is what she always needed and community is what ultimately saved her.

*

P.S. If you have Spotify... I also process life through music, so I made some playlists related to the show because what better way to express my deep affection for it than through song?

CXG parodies, references, and is inspired by a lot of music from all kinds of genres, musicals, and musicians. Same goes for the videos themselves. I gathered all of them into one giant playlist along with the show’s songs.

A Rebecca Bunch mix that goes through her character arc from season 1 to 4.

I’m shamelessly a fan of Greg x Rebecca, so this is a mega mix of themselves and their relationship throughout the show.

*

I’m in a TV group where we wrote essays on our favorite shows of the 2010s, so here is mine on Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, I realized I forgot to ever post it. Also wrote one for Schitt’s Creek.

[sebbytrash]

Through His Eyes - Part Seventeen

Summary - Bucky arrives at the compound to start afresh but you and him have a somewhat colorful past, colorful being that you met him once before as The Winter Soldier and it did not go well. New beginnings, yeah? If you can learn to forgive.

Pairing - Eventual Bucky x Reader

Warnings -   Nightmares, angst, self loathing, sad stuff my guys.

A/N - I’m sorry. Trust me. 

Through His Eyes Masterlist

“No, please. No.” Bucky’s agonised moans wake you, sharply, his hands twisting in the sheets. “Not her, not her.”

“Bucky, shhh, Bucky it’s a dream.” You try to soothe him, smooth a hand across his face. He doesn’t notice, or wake, just continues to fight against some unseen force.

“I can’t.” He pleads, sweat making his hair stick to his face, dark little lines streaking across his forehead to emphasise the pain already written there. “No, no.” He repeats it, over and over, a mantra, a prayer. 

You get up on your knees to crouch over him more, use your hands to shake his shoulders a little and try to ignore the way your heart hammers against your chest, the way it’s threatening to break apart in time with the agony in his screams. “Bucky, wake up! Bucky, you’re okay, you're safe.”

His eyes open, wild and terrified, and you see him see you, see the horror claim his face and see him recoil, push himself further into the mattress to be free from your touch. You know then what his dream was, and how you’d carried it to him when he woke like an unending hell, the dream that won't end.

Your chest is hollow renewed. 

“It’s me, Bucky. You’re awake, I’m here.” You sit back on your haunches, try to give him what little space you can afford without mirroring his retreat and causing any more pain. 

He swallows visibly, closes his eyes with a clenched jaw and then, just when you are about to say something, anything, his eyes open again and lock with yours, a hurricane in those sea-laden eyes. You stare right back, cautious, regretful, because this is everything you wanted to prevent, being the very cause of his pain all over again. A cycle that can never be broken, no matter how hard you try, he tries. 

“Sorry,” he tries to say, voice hoarse from the screaming, swallows again and then clears his throat, “I’m sorry. It’s, uh, been a while since I’ve had one that bad.” You can’t help but notice that he makes no moves towards you, stays exactly where he is, now back pressed against the wall. It doesn’t matter, you tell yourself, even as you ache to touch him. 

“You don’t have to apologise.” You say, automatically, roll your bottom lip between your teeth in an attempt not to press him and then the words pour out of you anyway, like the blood in your mouth. “It was me, right? The dream.” 

He looks away, the muscle in his jaw moving in time to his clenching and then unclenching of his teeth, the darkness of the room dragging along his jaw and high-hollowed cheekbones like he wills them into place, wills a physical barrier between you and him. You hate yourself for asking and yet, need him to answer.

“Yes. It was you.” He says it like it cost him something to do so, each word dragging in the air between you. You feel like a thief, stealing the words from him when he so clearly didn’t want to part with them. A thief further for stealing away his progress like a flesh and blood nightmare, a purgatory made personal for him, for you. 

The silence stretches between you, an open mouth that swallows up all sound and even the memory of sound, a hungry, endless pit of a mouth that swallows you whole. The seconds turn to minutes and slip, like sand, through your fingers and into that mouth until finally, you cast what should be a rope, and instead is an anchor into that mouth-pit. “Well, since I’m up, I’m gonna go get some coffee.”

You see the way his face changes when you say it, think that maybe a slap in the face would have hurt you less and force yourself to climb awkwardly out of his bed and slip out the door before you crumble into dust. He makes no sound, makes no moves to stop you, simply lets you disappear like that dust swept away by the wind.

You retreat to your room, locking the door behind you like it can keep away the thoughts or that wave of despair that's threatening to knock you off your newly found feet, Sam’s concrete already cracking under the strain. You spend hours or minutes pretending to watch TV, ignore Sam when he knocks on your door and Wanda when she texts. You make yourself food and then find yourself staring at the smudges on the wall whilst it goes cold on the table in front of you. The dread in your stomach claws it's way up your throat and threatens to choke you.

You think about that edge you and Bucky had danced along for so long, that leap into the fall you'd taken and those few sweet moments in between where nothing really held its weight to drag you down, soft smiles and smiling, salt water eyes. Well, gravity has its claws in you now, again, you think, and the impact of that fall is fast approaching. 

You know it's him before he knocks, the butterflies that dance along your skin and tumble in your gut whenever he’s near give you more warning than his hesitant knocks, the sounds themselves a sad little song that plucks at the strings of your heart. He waits for you to open the door, which says more about where his head is at than he probably realises, you think, a soft smile that doesn't crinkle his eyes in that way you like is offered, and shared. 

"Hi." You say, and step back to let him in, doing your best to smother those frantic wings.

"I'm sorry about earlier." He rushes out, and you can tell it surprises even him, "I was just caught off guard. And the bruises…"

He trails off and you realise then what he means, your bruises from the sparring with Steve had triggered his nightmares and the suddenness of it makes sense. It changes nothing, but at least it makes sense. 

"You know I'm going to get hurt sometimes, right? What we do here, there's no avoiding it." You begin, not really knowing how to end but knowing that you should.

"I know." His eyes flash, lightning strikes against the turbulent sea, "I just… I didn't know how much it would hurt to see you like that." 

A confession, a secret, meant to be a balm but instead feels like the flames. He'll never be free of the Soldier, you think, not while you walk around like a living hallucination of a past he never deserved. 

"I think…," You start, feel your tongue fat and uncooperative in your mouth, "We need a little space." The air in your lungs already feels like lead, like the concrete that held up your legs is now filling your lungs and chest, drowning you in your own progress.

He says nothing for entirely too long and yet, long enough for you to be grateful for a few more seconds before the collision. "Space."

"I think it's best, don't you?" 

"I can give you space, if it's what you need." He says it like maybe you are the one who needs it.

"Bucky, we can't keep doing this, it's not good for either of us." You say, every bit of emotion clawing its way up your throat, some of it desperate to take back the words. You can feel the shape of each letter scrape against your tongue. "It’s ruining you.”

“It’s not. It’s not.” He says, quieter on the repeat like it’s for himself and not you, his jaw clenches so hard you fear he will snap the tendons. “I love you.”

That’s it, that’s what does it. Breaks you down into all those tiny pieces you used to be, those ones you’ve spent minutes and hours painstakingly stitching and taping back together. You feel the words hollow out space in your chest, replacing the now useless heart that’s beat it’s last beat. The last of your arguments die with it. 

“That’s not what this is, Bucky. It’s a crutch, a coping mechanism. A way to ease all that fucking guilt we carry.” Even to your own ears, you sound void of emotion, the last bit of it carved out by the knowledge of what you had done to him. Guilt howling down the corridors of your heart. “It’s not real.” 

“Don’t say that, of course it’s real.” He breaks the invisible barrier around you and takes your hand, presses your fingertips to his chest, “Can’t you feel it?”. 

He looks at you with such hope that you are almost unmade, the full weight of it hangs off your bones and tries to strip you of that steely nerve but you fight for it, know that this is what he needs if he’s to heal. Go to war with yourself for him. Anything for him.

“I feel a lot of things, Bucky. I feel raw. I feel tired, tired of the guilt, of the fear every time I close my eyes I’ll dream of you, or that I won’t.” The last part sneaks out, betraying more than you want and he latches on to it. “I don’t…”

“Are you afraid you don't love me? Or are you afraid you do?” He asks mildly, like how you might ask about the weather. Or probably, more accurately, like he knows the answer and is just leading you down a path where the answer waits for you to want it.

You shake your head, not in answer but in anger, the kind of uncontrollable rage that comes with defeat. Of words poking at a wound you were denying the existence of. “Stop. Just stop.” Your voice breaks half way, a shout turned cry. A beg for mercy.

“What are you so afraid of?” His voice breaks too, a slow sort of break like the last ebb of his strength, the last air bubble before the silence. It cleaves you in two.

“You!” You shout, pieces of you slipping through your fingertips, not realising what your words would sound like to him. It’s not how you mean it anymore, but he doesn’t know that, takes it on face value alone and you can pinpoint the exact moment you break his ever fragile heart, because you break your own with it. Always with those matching scars and matching pain.

“I’m sorry,” you begin, drift your fingertips across his jaw and let yourself have just one more moment of touching him, “I didn’t....” He closes his eyes, closes himself off, you think, and your fingers smear against the wetness on his face. You turn from him then and head for the door, feeling every single second of the battle and war that raged for him and rages still. 

The sound of the door closing quietly behind you somehow seems worse than if it had slammed, a mirror to the way you had quietly broken the man behind it and even quieter, broken yourself. 

You take a step, and then another, and then more and more until you are out the building and gulping down the fresh air to try calm the beating of your unsteady heart. You fight the urge to go back and undo it all, to somehow scoop up all the words and pieces of you and stuff them back in place but your feet carry you automatically. Somehow, you're not sure how long later but long enough that the sky has changed color, you find yourself at a door, knocking a little too hard and too long until he answers.

“Mallow, what are you doing here?” Clint asks, taking quick stock of your current state and pulling you in for a hug before you can answer.

“I just needed to be away.” You say, and hug him tighter, “Is this okay?”

“Of course it is, come in, Laura’s making cocoa,” he ushers you in, still tucked under his arm, “and you look like you could use some.”

[lucky-aspen]

This is my first time posting my writing, so I hope you enjoy this one-shot. This is meant to be set some point after episode 107.

TW: there is talk about emotional and manipulative abuse.

Being back on the ocean was welcoming for the Aasimar. From fighting a fake volcano god to a dinosaur. Traveller-Con had come and now was gone. Now it was open seas and a world to explore. These past few weeks had been nothing but eventful. Stopping wars and a forming cult. The surrounding calm was strange but welcoming nonetheless. The distant storm clouds making another wave of reassurance hit her. The sun had finally disappeared from the sky and darkness was brought over the ship. The only light came from the small candlelights of the lanterns that rested on areas of the ship. Darkness sat around them, a large void they floated on.

Despite the eeriness of not really knowing what was in front of her or what was lurking underneath the water Yasha felt surprisingly calm. A calm she knew both Veth or Caduceus didn’t have out in the water. The party had gone and started their own small tasks on the ship leaving the top deck empty and silent just like the area around them. The only sounds were the moving water and the distant rumble of thunder after a brief flash of light in the sky.

She had no real reason to be out here, But there wasn’t much to do on a ship. Not at this moment at least. They weren’t being hunted by a Dragon Turtle and now they had a bigger boat. Most of the crew had gone to bed besides the few who kept watch. It wasn’t until the sound of footsteps against the wood of the deck that Yasha drew her eyes away from the coming storm that would greet them soon.

What she was greeted by were familiar bright blue eyes; eyes that made her breath get caught in her throat. Every time they meant her own different colored eyes she couldn’t help but stare. The barbarian was easily able to feel a small smile creep up on her lips.

“Hey,” Beau spoke first, breaking the silent night air with her words, “I saw you alone out here...so I thought maybe you’d like someone to talk to?” She said with an unsure shrug.

The cool charming behavior the monk had spent minutes trying to build up was already breaking away into a flustered mess. Beauregard could feel herself mentally slapping herself and secretly prayed she wouldn’t say something too stupid.

Yasha found herself looking at Beau, the candlelights casting heavy shadows on her face. The sharp features of her face standing out. It wasn’t until seconds later Yasha came to the realization she had been, in fact, staring far too long without an answer to give to her question. Yasha was quick to avert her eyes to the side of the ship that led to nothing but darkness. Her face flushing with a pink hue.

“Yeah, I’d like that a lot.”

The response was soft-spoken like most of the time Yasha spoke. If Beau had not been listening Yasha’s response could have been carried off by the wind without a problem. Soft spoke despite the rage she held in battle. It was strange seeing a woman so brutal in a fight look so vulnerable at the moment. As if she had just been caught stealing something of great value and part of Yasha felt like she had.

Beau had rested her lower back against the railing of the ship, one leg crossed over the other with her arms crossed over her chest. She stood inches away from Yasha who was also leaning against the same railing but with her forearms resting against it. Silence came over the two of them but in hope one would start the conversation up. As the Aasimar went to speak, the monk was already beating her to it.

“It’s-“

“So-“

A small chuckle escaped Yasha’s lips as Beau was stumbling over her own apologize for cutting the other woman off, “no, you go ahead.” Yasha insisted.

“It’s been a crazy few weeks,”

“Yeah. I guess now we finally get to wrap our heads around all that happened.”

“Yeah, I um, I actually want to talk to you about something.”

A raised eyebrow was what the human got in silent reply as Yasha stood to her full height towering over Beauregard. Yasha, a woman, so hard to read most of the time, broke. Concern crossed her face, only for a second, enough for Beau to catch a glimpse of. A side the monk had only seen from the barbarian a handful of times.

“Now that we’re out here, not having to worry about war and a dragon turtle chasing us I’ve had time to think. I’ve had time to think about going and helping Veth and Caduceus and now I’m thinking about the visit we had with my dad.”

Yasha didn’t interrupt, but she felt a certain sadness pull at her chest, and she found herself wanting to reach out and take hold of her hand. Part of her wondered why Beau came to her wanting to talk about her family. Yasha had never been good with feeling, or words. The monk could be with Jester or Caduceus spilling her guts out with all the thoughts she held in her mind. Yet she was here and Yasha knew this wasn’t just the only reason why the shorter woman had come to her during the middle of the night.

Beau stood there, her gaze never meeting Yasha's own. Her eyes glued to the deck floor in front of her. She remembered the night as if it were yesterday. Her father who she thought of as this giant monster who stood tall over her, and she had found herself in the belly of the beast when she walked in her home. The fear that had rested deep within her chest was a distant remainder to her constantly. Even with how the events played out one part stood out to her above most.

The time she had been escorted out with her friends, strong hands of support on her shoulders to know they were there to protect her as she felt like nothing more than a child again, helpless. The difference was she wasn’t alone in this conflict that rested in both her mind and the outside world. One last glance was all she needed, to look at the man who didn’t love her the way he should have.

Yasha stood there, mouth moving, talking in a voice only for him to hear. The wide eyes of the man was enough for Beau to tell Yasha had struck a nerve. He looked...small. Almost helpless as if he were the child getting lectured by the woman with a sword. It was a strange look on the male who did everything to keep order and power; yet the more the pale stranger talked the more his world around him crumbled apart. With that and without another word Yasha parted ways and joined the group as if though she never left at all.

Beau saw all the fear in her father’s eyes as he looked at the group once more before the door shut with a soft click. A man who she thought was bigger than the world around her was now just a coward trying to make a living on one stupid fortune. Beau was no longer that child, and she was no longer alone. She had her friends right behind, but like Beau, she was always seeking answers and the thoughts of what Yasha had said to her father rested in the back of her mind.

“You said something to him that clearly got him scared shitless, what did you say to him?” Beau cut straight to the point of her question, no sugarcoating it.

Yasha shoulders tensed. She hadn’t noticed Beau had seen her when she talked to her father. The spotlight was on her now, and she knew she’d have to give an answer to Beau. She couldn’t lie to her.

“I asked him if we were to kill the hag would all he have just go away. He didn’t know. I told him it’s something he should think about that. That he should be more appreciative toward what is important. That he should be proud of you.”

Beau could feel her throat dry as she listened to Yasha’s voice. Beau knew there was something more between the two of them, something unspoken; a tension that made her want to stay next to Yasha. Both knew there was something there and now that Obann was gone Beau noticed the bolder moves that came from the Aasimar. Before Beau could respond Yasha spoke up,

“I didn’t want to make a big deal of it, you know. He should be proud of you Beau. You’re so strong and a really good fighter.”

Beau looked up from the deck floor she had been looking at and her eyes meant Yasha’s own gaze. A small smile fell on the monk’s lips. A compliment, despite how small it was made Beau’s heart beat fast in her chest. Her stomach felt like it was doing flips and the pink against her cheeks was enough for Yasha to know her words hit Beau.

“Thank you Yash, I appreciate it. You did scare him shitless.” Beau chuckled but the pain that she held toward her father still sat there.

“Yeah.” Despite the chuckle Beau gave, Yasha didn’t return it and held a concerned look in her eyes, “are you alright?”

“Yeah! Yeah…” a sigh broke from the shorter woman, “like I said, now that everything has calmed I’ve had time to just sit and think. I realize my father doesn’t have any control over me anymore. That I shouldn’t fear him. Yet when we went to my old home all I felt was fear. I just wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible.”

“You know I could have killed him for you,”

This made Beau let out another halfhearted laugh, “As much of an asshole he is, he doesn’t deserve to die. Part of me still cares for him even with all the shitty stuff he has done.”

Beau took in Yasha’s form and looked at the chest piece she wore. The lights reflecting off it. They sat in silence for seconds before she spoke up.

“You still wear the breastplate.”

“Yeah.”

“Why is that? You had the bracers but you decided to keep the chest piece.”

“I don’t know. I guess it’s just hard to let go...”

Beau looked confused and part of Yasha just wanted to end the conversation right then and there. Would she even understand?

“Like I said, whenever Obann took control of me, parts of that were me. All my memories that were lost just came back. I did awful things Beau. He took me in when I thought I had lost everything. Before the Stormlord found me. Despite all he made me do, he treated me like a friend. He said all these kind things. He gave me this.” She said gesturing to the breastplate.

The painful look in the monk’s eyes was clear as day. The manipulation that Yasha has gone through was a lot. Everyone in the Mighty Nein knew that. The way Yasha had acted whenever they got her back broke Beau’s heart. The fear the tall woman had when she was back, that she had lost her found family. That she thought that they wouldn’t accept her back in. Yet here she was with the people she now saw as her family.

“He can’t control you any more Yasha.”

“I know that. He deserved what he got in the end. I’d just like to keep this as a reminder. Plus it’s done me some good in battle.”

“Yeah it has. You’ve done a lot of good since we’ve got you back.”

The small smile Yasha gave was sad as she looked down at her hands, despite them being cleaned, in the back of her mind she could feel the blood that stained them. All the innocent lives she had taken. Balling her hands into fists she let out a heavy sigh and turned her attention to Beau.

“I like to believe being with you guys I’ve done a lot of good. But it’s hard to just erase the past.”

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t have a bright future.”

Words similar to Caleb own, allow yourself a little happiness in your life. The events that happened on the island Yasha felt like she was doing just that. She had to be doing something right. She got her wings after all, she could fly. The chains no longer held her down and overall she felt…lighter, free. Hearing the words from the woman made Yasha’s heart flip. She was trying, believe her, she was. She found her happiness in her friends and one particular monk stood out against them all. Yasha would be trying for that happiness, now more than ever.

“I like to think I’m trying. I must be doing something right.”

The sound of a low rumble could be heard in the distance before flashes of white light could be seen in the dark sky. A silent word for the Stormlord himself telling Yasha she was. She could feel the eyes of Beau on her even as she looked out at the storm.

“Is that him?”

“I think so.”

“I leave you to your god then.”

With a slight sigh Beau pushed herself off the railing she leaned against, Yasha eyes were now on her once more and no longer on the storm that would be with them soon.

“Thank you for talking to me Beau.”

“Yeah, don’t mention it. I should be thanking you too. Not a lot of people stand up against my father.”

Yasha gave her a soft smile and a nod of her head in acceptance of her thanks. She watched as Beau turned to walk away. Part of her wanted to reach out for her; to ask her to stay, but she didn’t move. She wanted to spend more time with the monk. To talk to her, to hold her, to keep her safe, to just be with her, but she stood stiff. Her voice was caught in her throat before finally she spoke. Just before Beau could get too far away.

“Hey Beau. Would you just like to watch the storm with me?”

She was caught off guard, usually their conversations ended so awkwardly they would just call it there. To have Yasha ask her to stay. It made Beau's stomach do flips. Part of her had to make sure it wasn’t only her hearing it. She had to play it cool, their conversation hadn’t gone completely wrong tonight. She wasn’t going to lose this moment by saying something stupid.

“Sure.”

Making her way back to where she had just been seconds ago, she sat down on the deck floor and looked up at the sky. Watching the flashes of lightning in the storm cloud. She hadn’t expected to see Yasha take a seat next to her, looking up at the sky with her.

“We don’t have to talk or anything, not if you don’t want to.”

She had blurted it out so suddenly, and she was now mentally facepalming herself, nice going Beau, you had to make it awkward. She could feel the heat rushing to her face once she knew Yasha was looking at her.

“If you’d like that. Just listening to the rain is nice.”

Another rumble of thunder in the distance made itself known, along with the light touch of another hand just next to Beau’s own, barely touching.

“Yeah, I always like waiting to hear the thunder.”

[dingdongitsbees]

BLACK-EYED SUSAN | LEVI X READER HUNGER GAMES AU

Chapter 12: Together

Previous - Next

Tw: attempted suicide

WC: 5.4k Ao3 link Ask to be added to the taglist! It will be updated weekly on Saturdays

Second person version (“you” pronouns) can be found here

Master List

So please hurry, leave me / I can't breathe / Please don't say you love me / 胸がはち切れそうで (my chest’s about to burst) / One word from you and I would jump off of this ledge I'm on, baby / Tell me "don't" so I can crawl back in

– Mitski; First love / Late Spring

. 

.

.

“It’s time.”

He didn’t let those words register in his brain and we both knew it. It was cruel enough for me to still be standing there, to look him in the eye before I stepped backwards into the abyss. It was cruel but I couldn’t help myself. If I was going to die, as sure of that decision as I was, I’d like to see him just one last time. If he hated me for it, hated for his best friend to look him in the eye before voluntarily leaving his life, then that was only good. It would help him get over it quicker, help him move on. I’d be dead anyway; I’d be none the wiser.

“Don’t.”

I exhaled.

“If you jump, I will hate you for the rest of my life, don’t you fucking dare.”

I cracked a little smile. “Only one of us is walking out of here Levi.”

“That doesn’t mean I should.”

“Yeah, it does,” I said softly. “This is the least I can do.”

We were in a checkmate. If he tried to run off the ledge himself then I’d meet the ground before he got there. If he tried to get to me to pull me away, it would only be the same. His only option, and his weakest skill, was talking. And he wasn’t going to be able to convince me that he should die instead. No point of cold logic or an abundance of emotion could change that. I’m the one that’s supposed to die.

But still. I hadn’t stepped off the roof just yet and I wasn’t sure why. No, I did, but it didn’t matter, not in the grand scheme of the inevitable.

I wanted to say that three-word phrase with that stupid four-letter word. But that would be even crueller than staring him in the eyes like I was staring down the barrel of a gun.

Even I wasn’t that evil.

“I love you.”

But he was.

My lip quivered and I dropped my sight to the sandstone. How could he? His eyes softened, hitting the critical hit in such few words. If he didn’t know me as well as he did, none of this would have happened, but he did, didn’t he? So of course, despite his lack of tact and dislike of talking, he knew exactly what to say to get me to crumble.

What an asshole.

“Don’t say that.”

He took a step forward. “What? The truth? That I love you?”

I shook my head frantically, covering my ears with my hands like a child. “Fuck off.”

“You know I’ve never been good at that, brat. I love you.”

He took another step.

“Stop it.”

“I love you.” Another.

“Shut up!”

I screwed my eyes shut. Why wasn’t I jumping? I should be jumping. But I couldn’t, I couldn’t fucking do it. Why? Why? Why? Why?

“I hate you,” I mumbled.

“No you don’t.”

I cracked my eyes open. He was standing right below me, looking up to me with that look he always had.

Asshole.

“I could jump off right now and you wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.”

“But you won’t, will you?”

I gulped. The silence spoke louder than words. He stepped onto the ledge.

“Be careful!” I immediately held onto him with both hands, not letting him out of my grasp. He wasn’t allowed to fall. I was suddenly aware of how far above the ground we truly were. No one could survive this height, that was the plan, but he wasn’t within it.

“I’m not going home if you’re not going to be there.” He held onto my hands tightly, his thumbs brushing over the back of them. “There’s nothing left for me back home anyway.”

My eyebrows sewed together. “What are you talking about?”

“Who do we have at home?”

“What about Hanji-”

“We’ve known her for less than two weeks.”

I was stunned. He was right.

The people that were under Levi’s name in the list of people I cared about were either dead or we had known for only a blip. Hanji, Erwin, even Nick, we hadn’t properly met before two weeks ago. Was the other worth trading for that? Maybe we knew Hannes for a bit, but I couldn’t even kid myself. He was on the list just because he was someone I had talked to, which was far and in between as it was.

My stomach dropped. We really hadn’t had anyone properly in our lives since Farlan and Isabel.

But what sort of an excuse was that? Just because at that exact moment the list of people we cared about was terrifyingly short, it didn’t mean that it couldn’t grow longer for the person who left. The person, Levi, could still have a life.

But then, I thought about if it was me. If I returned, would I be happy? If I had watched his body fall from the tower? Would I be able to move on? Could I deal with everything I had been through without him there? The answer was a resounding no.

And we had always been in sync. I had force myself to accept it would be the same for him.

If I returned without his hand in mine, in all honesty, I probably wouldn’t last very long. It was impossible to know concretely, but the number of things we had experienced, the boat load of trauma dumped on us, would fall like a ton of bricks once one of us got out. And the other wouldn’t be there to help. The amount of grief I would experience would be unmatched by anything in my entire life before or to come.

No one knows the other like we do. No one knows the exact pace of the other’s heart, the exact things that make us tick and the exact things that make us feel safe. No one knows that except for us. And without the other there, we would shatter.

“Then what do we do?”

He tilted his head, his hair falling over half his face as he peered at me.

“Together.”

That lone word shook me to my very core. He had to be joking, surely. There had to be some sort of trick. But when I looked him in those steel-blue eyes, I couldn’t help but believe it.

He’d always been impulsive, always a wrong split-second decision away from death. But he had always made the right one. But now? This wasn’t something purely impulsive, it wasn’t unlikely he had just come up with it, but it was a decision he somehow came to, one I never would have thought would leave his lips.

Together.

Just like we had done everything the in the past years. Where one was, the over was always close by, even here. Maybe that’s why he came in the first place past the reasoning of needing to protect me. It just hadn’t made sense for us to be separated. Where one goes, the other always follows.

Even into the arms of death.

So, we’d face it like we’d faced everything else. Dying was just another challenge for us. Just another room to walk into. It was undoubtedly stupid, but we’d never been ones to be logical when it came to the other. I wouldn’t have an injured leg, he wouldn’t have volunteered, we wouldn’t have kissed each other. I never would have sat on that bench if I had listened to that logic within me, and he wouldn’t have let me stay.

We were both so stupid, but what else was there to expect?

“I love you too, you fucking idiot.”

He chuckled; his lips curled up.

He leant forward and captured my lips with his. He enveloped my waist with his arms while I cupped his hard jaw.

We really were those cliche star-crossed lovers huh?

When he pulled back, he wiped my cheeks with his thumb, taking away tears I hadn’t even realise had spilt. In his lower lashes were some droplets too, ones he didn’t bother to blink away.

Fucking idiots, that’s what we were.

I leant my forehead on his, closing my eyes so all I could feel was him and the breeze. It was just us in this fucked up world.

I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you.

We both chanted it like our life depended on it, tearing those words from our system, hoping it would make up for the years in the past and future we never got to say it. Saying it on loop like if we said it one more time the universe would go easy on us for once. But the universe had never been kind, why would it start now?

In front of me was the boy I had spent the best years of my life with, we had grieved, rebelled, laughed and held each other. He was the boy that held my hand when I was scared to fall, the boy that wasn’t afraid of anything, the boy whose kindness hid under his skin to give to those who deserved it. He invaded every inch of my life and soul and I kept him there as long as I could. Levi was the boy I loved. Levi was my best friend.

Was this really the right thing to do?

“Ready?” he asked, holding my face in the palm of his hand, like I was the most precious thing in the world.

I nodded. “Thank you for letting me spend my life with you.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

I reached out a hand and caressed the petal behind his ear. Finding those flowers felt like a lifetime ago. Those were different people on that hill. He blinked slowly, letting me drink in his presence one last time.

It would never be enough, even if we lived until we were one hundred, it would never be enough. But it was time, nevertheless.

It was time to say goodbye.

I wasn’t sure who was right anymore, me or Hanji. She was probably ripping her hair out while watching the screen, not wanting to believe her eyes. We were just another pair of tributes, she’d live. Maybe she regretted it now, knowing those three words had caused all this.

It was time to go.

I took a deep breath, not looking anywhere but his eyes.

“See you soon,” I said, giving the biggest smile I could muster.

“See you on the other side.”

I kissed him on the forehead.

“Three,” he whispered.

“Two.”

I was about to lean into the void when the speakers crackled into life and the panicked voice of Floch filled the arena.

“And- and here we have the winners of the 67th Hunger Games!”

We froze. The whites of our eyes expanding forever.

Huh?

We looked to the sky, looking for a mutt, a projection in the sky, something, anything that refuted those words. Nothing came.

A laugh escaped me, and then another, and soon I was sobbing on the ledge of the building that was supposed to be my grave.

Levi quickly pulled us back onto the roof, getting to the centre of the tower like being ten metres from the edge was risky enough. His arms constricted my body, arms like chains around me as he buried his face into my shoulder.

I let laughs rip from me as fat tears streamed down my face.

We got to live. We got to fucking live.

I held onto his back for dear life, my fingernails digging into his skin probably causing welts of blood to erupt but neither of us cared. The fact that he could bleed was a miracle enough.

He pulled back, holding me at arm’s length, looking utterly fucking bewildered, and kissed me as hard as he could, smashing our souls together.

We got to fucking live.

He held me by the waist and spun, letting my feet fly into the air. We spun and spun while we cackled, our unrestrained joy taking up the space around us.

We got to fucking live.

.

The trip back to the Capitol was a whirlwind. We got picked up by a hovercraft, pulled up by masked peacekeepers, and we were immediately deferred to a medical team on board. We sat side by side, hand in hand, as we were looked over and treated, his shoulder and my leg being looked at.

I had forgotten all pain until then, and it finally crashed down as soon as my leg got the medical attention it so desperately needed. I bit into his good shoulder as they put syringes and random shit into my leg, prepping me for surgery when we got back. His shoulder was thankfully fine, only a better diet needed to make a full recovery, something he could now get.

It still hadn’t really kicked in yet. The whole thing felt like a dream. None of it made sense. None of it could be real.

We landed on the top of a skyscraper, now on the roof of the Capitol building we had left a week ago. I was wheeled with haste to the elevator, Levi right on my heels. No one dared to tell him to stay away.

I was pushed through the corridors on the medical centre’s floor and pushed right into a crowd of surgeons and nurses already prepped. They then attempted to get Levi to stay outside the door, but he refused, the Capitol had taken me from him once, he wasn’t going to let them do it a second time no matter how irrational it seemed. They settled for him to sit at the back of the room with a mask on.

I was soon swallowed by darkness as the anaesthesia coursed through my lungs. The last thing I saw was unmoving eyes glued to my face.

I don’t know how long it was until I woke up, light eventually streamed through my eyelids and I winced at its harshness. White light had never been particularly welcoming. When I opened my eyes, it wasn’t just one person I saw waiting for me, but four.

Levi hadn’t even changed yet. Blood was still caked in his hair from my failed attempt of cleaning it out. His stained clothing from the arena still stuck to his form, he hadn’t moved from the room since we came into it. My limp hand was already in his grasp as he sat by my bed, but standing next to him was Hanji, Erwin, and Nick. All three, even the latter, looking overjoyed.

After exploding with thankfulness and happiness and tears, they ripped into us for being idiots despite how tried we clearly were. Levi tried to get them to shut up, but I just laughed. My giggles filled the room, bouncing off sterilised walls and into any passer-by’s ears. The sound of euphoria.

As they smiled at us though, Hanji gnawed her lip, trying to not let whatever was building up in her mind come forward. I was too tired to ask, she’d tell us when she thought it was time, whatever it was. All I wanted to do now was sleep, though not before ordering Levi to go off and have a shower first.

The next day went in and out of consciousness, doctors occasionally came in to check on my progress. I didn’t really care to be honest. They could cut off my leg if they wanted to and I wouldn’t stop them.

I pulled Levi onto the bed around noon, and we laid together, getting the sleep we had desperately missed. The sleep not plagued by fear. We could have been in that ward for hours or days I wouldn’t be able to say. The only thing that gave us a semblance of routine would be when the lights turned off, but I’m not even sure how many times.

Neither of us really talked aside from when doctors or the other three came to visit. We just wanted to hold each other. We hadn’t been hit by nightmares yet, but they were sure to come.

One time when Hanji came in, she asked a question.

“You two definitely don’t have any people you care about at home right?”

We narrowed our eyes and shook our heads.

“No family members? No friends or just general people you were close to?”

We shook our heads again.

“Maybe Hannes?” I said, “But he’s a peacekeeper if that’s relevant?”

She exhaled, her body visibly relaxing. “No, it should be fine then.”

“Hanji?” Levi asked, sitting up.

She swallowed looking between the two of us, unsure whether or not to unload the streams of thoughts running through her mind. She made a decision.

“Not anyone could have pulled off what you guys did without consequences. If you two had people at home…” she paused, looking away, “If you two had people at home, you certainly wouldn’t have got off scot-free.”

I hadn’t even thought about it. Zeke’s face forced itself into my brain, staring down at me like he had during the parade. He was a callous and cruel man, there was no way he didn’t want us dead. To the president, our survival was a blatant fuck you to everything he had built despite the fact it wasn’t our intention. My blood went cold. If we had people back home, they would be dead, no doubt about it.

“You two are the Capitol sweethearts so you’ll be okay. For now.”

“For now?” Levi pressed.

She was at the door, hand on the frame. She looked back over her shoulder. She looked so tired. It was hard to imagine she only barely scraped a few years on us.

“Just…just be careful.”

And with that, she left.

.

After a few days I was given the all-good and was discharged from the tiny hospital. We went up to the penthouse that we had spent a week in, but it all felt so unfamiliar. I kept squinting my eyes, anticipating sand that never came. I looked to where it seemed the most comfortable on the ground instead of the various pieces of furniture around. It was weird.

It was uneventful for about a day before we were told about the victor ceremony. We’d get our “prize” symbolically through a crown I didn’t care for from the man I did not want to see. I was a ball of anxiety as the date crept closer. Levi seemed unbothered to most, but he was clearly on edge ever since that conversation with Hanji. We had to be perfect, we had to be the most complacent and submissive victors in history otherwise we were screwed. We couldn’t have Zeke hate us more than he probably already did. Not to mention it was Levi’s idea to die together that lead to Floch’s dumb decision to let us both live, and Levi had never been the most agreeable person on earth.

He didn’t want to mess it up for us after everything.

I had asked about Floch, half curious to see if he had been secretly executed, but Zeke had decided to be merciful. Hanji said the gamemaker had looked harrowed and gaunt. He had been expecting to die too.

.

The morning of the ceremony was almost as stressful as the game countdown. Each event was counting down to our possible doom if we didn’t act perfectly. Erwin had us in black garments, flowy and light to keep in tune with our district yet to make us look softer and more event appropriate.

Levi’s muscles were stone, he hardly ate anything. I had to force feed him to eat something, but even then he was hesitant.

We went down the elevator, our three-person back up in front of us, ready to take on the world on our behalf. We had done enough. We had been through enough. Hopefully Zeke could indulge that sentiment.

Directors waited for us in front of the giant arch. In another life we had gone through on a chariot with clothes that lit on fire. That was someone else.

A single pitch-black chariot with pitch-black horses to match was on standby for us. The horses shuffled around, faces being stroked by keepers and hand fed grain. I bit my tongue before I accidentally asked where the other eleven were. It was just us now.

I should have been thankful it was twenty-two dead not twenty-three, but it was hard to swallow. It should be zero, but the universe isn’t that kind, especially not to people whose names go on paper slips.

That wasn’t how things worked here.

We made our way over to the chariot hand in hand, the other three speaking to everyone on our behalf. Nick had been surprisingly leading the charge, getting the exact timings and instructions in order to relay them to us himself. Something had changed, just slightly, while we were in that arena. I wondered if he noticed it himself.

We were thankful though, not wanting to speak to anyone involved in the process of our attempted execution. We could only trust those three. It didn’t matter if our names had been the only thing exchanged on every Capitol show between every news anchor and host, it didn’t matter that they were screaming our names and throwing yellow flowers outside the giant arch. They had wanted us dead. They did not get our affection.

The horses were alright though, I patted the back of one on top of the mobile platform. Their hair was brushed and shampooed to perfection as if anyone would properly see it or touch it except for us.

Horses got better treatment than us. I couldn’t even smile at my own joke.

The doors to the arch began to swing open and we stood up straight, looking ahead, as the screams tore through the air. They were so fucking loud. I had heard too many screams, my own and others over the past few days, I didn’t need to hear more.

Just shut up.

I wanted to run into the audience and throttle them, get them to understand we weren’t untouchable characters. We were fucking people. We were kids and they had sent us to die. Why couldn’t they fucking get it?

“Do you think they know?”

“Know what?”

“That what they’re doing is wrong? I mean obviously people like Zeke do but… what about just the normal people? Do they know?”

“They should, but no.”

Fucking idiots. Blind and unthinking idiots.

The chariot lurched forward, and his hand laced with mine. Show time. When we passed out of the arch, I stretched my grin until my cheeks began to ache.

Please don’t kill us.

I waved to everyone around us as they threw objects I didn’t even bother to process as long as they didn’t come near my face. Levi peered over the crowd, trapping his scowl from protruding. His fingers tightened around mine.

Please don’t kill us.

We got to the end of road. We looked up to the giant platform that the president and his associates stood upon, staring down at us. Zeke caught my eye and I smiled even wider, my eyes crinkling.

Please don’t kill us.

We exited the chariot, grip bone crushing, as we walked up the stairs. It took all I had to not trip, to not let my mind wander as a coping mechanism. Levi kept me steady, though perhaps I was just a focal point for him.

When we got to the top, we went right to the edge of the platform like we had been told, right in front of Zeke. I wanted to throw up. The height was dizzyingly high with no barrier. It was lower than the towers in the arena, but it was even scarier. If he wanted to, Zeke could push us right off. He looked tempted, but he didn’t.

We both bowed, falling onto one knee, hesitantly letting go of the other. I stared at Zeke’s polished shoes, watching them shift across the ground. I flinched as a circle of coldness met my scalp. The crown was lighter than I expected, but the edges dug into back of my ears. I wondered if Zeke pushed down on it if could it cut my ears clean off. But he didn’t. He moved over to Levi and placed an identical silver crown on top of his head.

The crowd roared as we stood up and faced them, hands instinctually interlocking again. It was so goddamn loud. I just wanted to curl up into a ball and press my hands to my ears and scream at all of them to be quiet. But I didn’t.

Zeke raised a hand, ironically being my hero, and silencing the crowd. He held the mic to his face, his smiling face projecting across screens.

“Today, we celebrate an unforgettable and unprecedented moment in history,” he spoke, “There is not one, but two victors for the 67th Hunger Games. I’m sure no other pair deserves it more than these two right next to me.”

The crowd applauded. I wanted to punch him.

“I, and I assume many of you, learnt much watching the game this year. We learnt the importance and unrivalled power of a strong and trusting bond, a bond forged in iron over years. We learnt the power of love.”

The crowd screamed. Levi looked like he was two second from choking him out.

Zeke looked to us, a smile on his lips but pure distaste and amusement in his eyes. “You two found love in the unlikeliest of place, I hope you learn to use it well.”

His eyes studied us. I didn’t let my eyes waver. We were safe, but we were on thin fucking ice. Had he thought our relationship was an act, if he had even doubted it for a second, if he thought it was one big con as a screw over to the system, we would not be standing there.  

“My beloved citizens, can we get another round of applause for the victors of the 67th Hunger Games!”

.

When we were back inside, I gulped litres of air, desperately trying to get oxygen back into my lungs. Levi held me gently to his chest, hand rubbing my back. Who knew breathing was so hard, huh?

Hanji ran over, bottle of water in hand which we both chugged eagerly.

.

We didn’t leave each other’s sight. Never. We slept in the same bed, we ate together, we bathed together, we didn’t leave each other’s sight. For all we knew, a hitman or some undercover titan would slit our throats when we least expected it. We couldn’t die. Not yet, not anymore.

I was more certain that death was right around the corner than at any point in the arena. There’s not a designated winner in the game of life, not when Zeke was the gamemaker.

.

Hanji and Erwin had pulled every string they had to avoid us getting interviews except for Willy’s show, it was the only thing they hadn’t wrestled out of, though it was a given that we needed to go onto it.

I smoothed down Levi’s shirt backstage, fussing over him so I had something to do with my hands. He stood silently, letting me do what I needed to do.

We didn’t want to talk to anyone about what happened in that arena. We hadn’t even spoken to each other about it. I didn’t need to recall the people I killed; they were all I could think about anyway. Hanji had contacted Willy a few days before the show, begging him to not focus on the murders or any of the other tributes. Surprisingly, he had agreed with no complaints.

Maybe not all of the Capitol was bad. Maybe some understood.

He had already sent over a rough run down of the questions he’d ask, but also told us that there would be an audience question time, something that was out of the production team’s control, so we’d have to be ready.

Most of the interview went smoothly as we had practiced in the penthouse. Answers bled from our mouths that we had preprepared and then practiced to make them sound spontaneous and casual. But as it dragged on, questions about what we liked in the other, fond memories, fears of confessing, were just bricks piling on top of each other, ready to collapse when it was the audience’s turn. Levi’s knuckles had gone white in his empty fist.

I took a sharp breath when a microphone was going in between the seats of Capitol watchers. Most copied in style of Willy’s, just being light-hearted, but the last did not follow the trend.

“Were you two really going to jump off the roof together?”

Everyone went silent as the audience member’s eyes peered at us. I swallowed, digesting what I needed to say.

“Well, not really, at least I hope not,” I said. Levi, Willy and everyone looked to me in confusion. “I had planned to push him back onto the roof as I fell, not sure if it would have worked, probably not, but it was the plan.”

The audience gasped melodramatically.

Willy cocked his head to the man next to me. “Levi?”

His hand was shaking, his eyes wouldn’t move from mine. “I was going to do the same thing.”

The audience laughed, Willy laughed, Zeke probably laughed.

We stared at each other wide-eyed, in utter shock as the hall erupted into cackles and giggles, incredibly overwhelming yet it was deafening silent in the centimetres between one another. We really were idiots, weren’t we?

.

The interview was the last stop on the Capitol showing. It was time to go home. Home.

Erwin and Nick came to say goodbye to us at the station. It had been blocked off from people wanting to get a glimpse of us, our “biggest fans” apparently, so we were left in relative peace as we bid farewell. Erwin brought both of us into soft hugs, his large arms cradling me. Nick shook our hands, stammering out how proud he was of us despite how annoying and disregarding of rules we were. His eyes had been red rimmed, so were Erwin’s now that I thought about it.

Hanji, Levi and I, hopped onto the train, and let the doors to the Capitol slide shut behind us with a hiss. Hoping it would be a long, long time, until we had to see it again.

Hanji left us to our own devices, letting us lounge and eat and sleep and do whatever we wanted, and we did exactly that. We had a lifetime of peace to make up for the weeks of hell. It would never be enough to make up for it.

I leant on Levi’s shoulder as I watched the trees fly by out the window, turning to an abstract green blur. “You do actually love me right?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Just wanted to make sure! Who knows, maybe you became an award-winning actor overnight.”

He flicked me on the forehead and I just laughed. I nestled my head further into the crook of his neck.

“Let’s promise to never do something like this again yeah?” I said, “You’ve given me enough heart attacks for a lifetime.”

“As long as you promise not to do anything stupid.”

“Well, we both know neither of us have been good at that.”

He huffed and crossed his arms but leant his head on mine.

The green outside looked so pretty; trees, flowers, birds, I had missed it. But what we were returning back to would not be the life we had before, for better and for worse. But it would be okay, because we were together, the other in hand like we always had.

It would be okay. It had to be.

Please.

.

[END OF BOOK ONE]

a/n: well damn we’re now at the end of the first book! i’ll be continuing the series right to end as far as i know so it’s not stopping here! thank you for the support so far i hope you all continue to enjoy it!

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[westerhos]

Our Story: Chapter 7

Hi friends! Sorry for the delay here. I’ve been on vacation, so my priorities have been boozin’ and cruisin’. Thanks for your continued support of this story—I love hearing your feedback. This one’s a whopper of a chapter!

______

We often lose track of time in this great, big world of ours, in much the same way we lose a pair of keys, a couple of pens. “I swear I saw them two seconds ago!” we groan, groping to purse-bottoms, finding only lint and chump-change. So many things—these small facets of our lives—sucked into the void of bygones, taken before we can ever think to tie them down.

“I swear I was twenty-two just yesterday.”

This is how it is for Jamie and Claire, their years like old playbills confiscated by the wind and an invisible clock. Certain acts reappear from time to time, when the arm of a broom sweeps them into the light, when the frosting of dust disturbs, then floats. And for a brief moment, as the particles of time and forget resettle themselves, Jamie and Claire can hear their lives’ most glorious crescendos. The lowest notes tip-toe from the long-kept silence, rising and sinking slowly, steadily. All plucked strings, still vibrating, until the echoes die, cradling the past.

You can write an entire story with these bits and pieces of their lives, cut the acts together to form one winding opera. It plays and stops until, eventually, the grand finale. The overlap: a perfect harmony which carries them from their separate wings, to center stage and to each other.

And it is there, finally, that they meet again, lips and lives melding. They stand together in the orb of the spotlight. A single sun, glowing.

THE SPIRIT IN THE HORSE, 2000

Starring James Fraser, Jenny Fraser, Brian Fraser, The Doctor, Ellen Fraser, Fitzy (and a More-Than-Flash of Someone Else)

Though a bestselling author, JAMES FRASER did not grow up with dreams of books, but of horses.

He was born on an unusually hot day, spring 1968. Everything melting at its very seams, the birthing room’s thermometer feverish with mercury blood. His father and sister had fashioned fans from intake forms, moving heat-murk and birth-stink with the accordioned papers. They looked on with damp foreheads, lips white and tight, so that Ellen could have the breaths they saved.

At half-past noon, the doctor had caught Jamie’s auburn crown, dripping more heavily than his own laboring mother. All of this—the heat, the sweat, the waving forms—was taken as the stamp of Jamie’s fate. Surely, they had all agreed, he would set the world on fire, would be a brand forever puckering its skin.

The hibernators had emerged early that year, scurrying from their earthen wombs just as Jamie had slipped from his mother’s. Heat-drunk and dizzied, they had eaten everything in sight. Corn stalks, cabbage leaves, whole fields of barley—gone. Even Ellen’s strawberries, barely ripened—devoured by mid-April. The red fruits had shrunk to halves, then thirds, as the creatures munched and munched. Fleshy hearts eaten to bleeding, the pulp left to the sleepy stragglers.

And so on the day Jamie entered the world, the Frasers had returned to a dark and stifling house. Rot wafted from the windows, and the electrical wires were chewed cleanly through. One rabbit, the chosen martyr, had laid cooked in the grass, fur spiked.

Brian had thrust Jamie into his daughter’s arms, ran inside to rescue what unspoiled food he could (three eggs, a loaf of bread). Waiting in the yard, Jenny had imagined the wilting lettuce inside the fridge and Ellen, equally wilted under the blue hospital sheet. She had watched a squirrel leap across the berry guts, a rope of black wire between his paws.

How—if at all, she had wondered—would they survive without her mother?

Too exhausted for a trip to the store, Brian had fried the eggs on the driveway. The yolk was thick in his mouth and the sorrow thicker in his chest, before he realized Jamie’s cries had quieted. He started when he heard the horse’s whinny, the snorty exhale through its nostrils. Beside him, Jenny had scuttled away, feet scraping at the egg crusts.

Incensed by the heat and the crowd, Fitzy the horse had stormed her stable doors to freedom. She had brayed, desolate to find her owner gone, until she spotted the flame in Brian’s arms. Copper, auburn, cinnabar—all Ellen’s colors—poking from a swaddle of blue. And so Fitzy had bowed her head, brought Jamie into her awed silence. One shining moment, the first since Ellen’s passing—calm and peaceful.

Even now, 32 years later, Jamie loves to tell this story. How Brian had pressed his baby fist to the mane, his mother still a stickiness on his baby thumb. And how, as a young boy, Jamie had thought Ellen lived somewhere inside auld Fitzy. Something in the black bead of the mare’s eye: a flash, a peculiar spark. It was an acknowledgement that, until one night in 1989, Jamie had never felt before.

After his book tour in ’99, Jamie Fraser decided to take the leap—carpe diem—and purchase his own horse and his own land (fields way out in the Highlands; a farmhouse converted to splendor by his millions). The horse, like Fitzy, wears a chestnut coat. She is stubborn but loving, recognizes Jamie’s voice when he calls and his face when it floats above her stable door. He sees a flash of Fitzy—and of his mother, he thinks—when she surrenders her anger to Jamie’s flags of truce: a fresh Granny Smith, a carrot stick plucked from the ground. He sees a More-Than-Flash of Someone Else when she nudges his shoulder, apologetic. The only source of happiness, this beautiful beast, outside of his writing.

“Ye see?” Jamie had said after their first standoff, “Ye canna stay mad at me forever.” And when the horse had chomped the apple from his hand, he’d sworn that she was smiling.

“Mo nighean donn,” he’d whispered, and decided, then and there, to name her Sorcha.

______

CARROLL’S THEORY OF TRUTH, 2003

Starring Claire Randall, Frank Randall, Joe Abernathy, duncandonuts, wetwillie, mark_me_1745, parsleymarsley, l.mackenzie (and The Author)

When CLAIRE RANDALL is not working at the hospital, her nose is pressed to a blue-white screen.

For years, she had resisted those monstrous, blocky machines—Macintosh, Dell, Gateway—all brand names accompanied by her husband’s greedy and jabbing elbows.

But there was value in tradition, Claire had argued. A kind of sanctity in the ping of an Underwood or the swish of pen; privacy and authentic connection. Frank had merely rolled his eyes, always lusting after the new and shiny—whether it was a computer or a student’s gloss-plumped lips—knowing it was not “tradition” itself that his wife was holding onto.

“So like you, Claire,” he’d said bitterly one day, “wanting to stay stuck in the past.” And, of course, he’d been right. Just to spite him, she’d finally surrendered and gave him one for Christmas.

Gradually, Claire came to love the whirring engine, the wail of the dial-up, the period of isolation where she was unreachable by phone. Like time travel, almost, the way it took her places past and present, opening every door like some futuristic gentleman.

But mostly, Claire loved the computer for the freedom it gave her. Boot up the system, click the mouse, log on, be someone else. Online, Claire could play a different role than the surgeon or the amateur gardener, pretend she was not the wife who turned her cheek as often as she made her husband’s dinner. On the Internet, her identity was a thirty-word bio, her face a grey silhouette displayed comfortably—anonymously—inside a neat, square frame. A million different bodies growing inside her, once her fingers flew across keyboard:

Claire Randall, the British spy.

Claire Randall, the avid hiker, climbing the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Claire Randall, the mother, who loved the melt of ice cream down her daughter’s chin. Her tiny mouth, sweet and sugared, when it met hers for a kiss.

One website, her favorite, was this: a forum, populated by other faceless humans who, like Claire, could recite page 451 (or any others) of A Blade of Grass. In this corner of the online universe, they had spoken of The Author on a first-name basis, trading facts like prized baseball cards. But it was only Claire who could share the most private knowledge, attribute it all to her keen nose and thus earn the respect of 16 anonymous users.

Even so, Claire had been surprised by what they knew solely through their reading. The Author’s childhood, his relationships, his favorite color. She was able to ask her own prodding questions and receive correct answers, such as:

whiteraven: A long shot, but does anyone know how to contact him by telephone?

And five of the grey-faced few had responded.

duncandonuts: easier to send him send him a letter (might get lost among the rest of his fan mail though).

wetwillie: have you tried his agent, john grey, in london?

mark_me_1745: if u meet him, tell him 2 come 2 brasil!!!!!!! we <3 him!!!!!!!

parsleymarsali: Publishers Weekly mentioned he’s now with Geordie Gibbons at the Claude F. Agency, not Grey, @wetwillie. Think it had something to do with creative differences and missed deadlines.

l.mackenzie: pass that info onto _me_ if you find it, girl! <g>

By a stroke of luck, someone had known someone who’d known someone who’d known someone. And just like that, she was given a phone number the following Wednesday. A day like any other, if it weren’t for a single string of digits sitting in her inbox, a silent but ticking grenade.

She spent three months with the numbers inside her head, stored in a folder marked with The Author’s name. She did manage to call though—once—when her hand finally lowered from its hover. She’d waited out the sonorous ring-ring-ring, the robotic chime, “You have reached the voice mailbox of..." She had listened to the beep that followed and then the silence, stretching, until she remembered her mouth. It opened, exhaled, then shut abruptly with the click of her teeth. There was the clatter of keys and the thwop of a briefcase—Frank home from work.

She had almost whispered, but did not.

It was too much to have both men in the same room: one gently pecking her lips, the other pressing an electric current into her cheek, crackling. Too much, too much. Claire had slammed the phone down and cursed, “Bloody teleprompter. Always calling before dinner,” which had made her husband laugh. She’d made him spaghetti that night, the spices forming twelve digits in the saucepan no matter how many times she swirled the spoon.

It’s been four months since that first and only call, though Claire still remembers The Author’s number. She thinks of if—when—she will have the courage to call again, to finally speak and fill the space of eleven empty years. While Frank snores beside her, she plays the scene from start to finish, like a draft of the real, inevitable thing.

Again: the sonorous ring, the tinny greeting, the beep, and the silence that waits for her. But this time: her mouth opens—one, two three times—and five words repeated, again and again.

In some versions, she says them aloud. In others, merely pushes them, soundless, into the air. Still, they are there, held aloft by satellite arms high up in the sky. Somewhere between her and The Author, existing: I was born for you, I was born for you, I was born for you.

And what is said three times—even unfinished, even without words—is always, always true.

______

THREE TIMES THE WORLD ENDED , 2004

Starring Jamie Fraser, Jenny Fraser, and Laoghaire Mackenzie (and The Girl)

JAMES FRASER, age 34, can pinpoint three moments where his world fell apart.

He was eighteen during the first, a brazen thing, but still as green as the pot freshly stinking his Levi’s. After reading the call notice pasted to his door, he’d floated to the common room on a cloud of White Widow weed. He dialed, laughing, until Jenny’s voice had sobbed down the line, breaking the peace of his druggy fug.

Their father, she’d cried, had died the previous evening.

With the news, the had drugs turned. Floors slanted, limbs jellied. Jamie watched as a hole ripped open the wall behind him, its enormous black void revealing the space Brian Fraser had left behind. It had swallowed Jamie up, refused to spit him back again until The Girl reached inside and found his heart two years later. Returned it to him, like a love note, passed on the inside of her smile.

Jamie describes the second collapse in his two famous novels, A Blade of Grass and Two Centuries in Purgatory. This time, the world had split completely, Jamie and The Girl like two tectonic plates shifting in the night. It was his writing that had bound Jamie’s world together again, though the spine remained cracked, a few of the pages missing.

The third time occurred just last week though Jamie was not entirely surprised. It’s what happens, he supposes, when you build something on uneven ground. Physical presence—someone’s here-ness—does not equate to love.

Nine years after the second earthquake, a new person had come into Jamie’s life. She would stand in the doorway at 6:30PM, jump to her tip-toes to welcome him home. There would be steam from the stove, and utensils would gleam in perfect, shining order. Napkins would wait with their patient folds, each prepared to catch the food that she, his ever-present Laoghaire, had prepared during the day. And for those three years, Laoghaire’s toothbrush had sat next to Jamie’s, her silks hanging beside his cottons. Evidence, he had thought, that he maybe-almost loved her.

But then Laoghaire had grown curious—“Why’ve no made progress on yer novel? What are ye writing all day if it isna yer third book?”—and stuck her piglet nose into places it did not belong. She, in a rare moment of ingenuity, had unlocked the safe and found his letters.

And so this time, Jamie’s world had not ripped or split—but exploded with a thousand sticks of paper dynamite. Laoghaire had burned through the house, burned through the letters. She’d called the magazines and the bloggers, vowing to tarnish his reputation with lies: cheater, drunk, lunatic, fraud. Finally, she’d left, taking the napkins, the cutlery, and the toothbrush—but leaving the embers in her wake, smoldering. A few scraps had avoided the fire, and Jamie read them as the night rose.

My da once told me I’d know straight away, that I’d have no doubt. And I didn’t.

For so many years, for so long, I have been so many different men.

The love of you was my soul.

and

Yours, Jamie

Forever, Jamie

Come home, my heart. I am not as brave as I was before, Jamie

On and on and on they went. Singed pieces of his letters. Every one meant for The Girl who’d confronted his darkness, had rescued his heart at a Christmas Eve party.

4,380. One letter for every day he had missed her.

______

THE KILLING GIRL, 2006

Starring Claire Randall*, Henry Beauchamp, Julia Beauchamp, Quentin Lambert Beauchamp, Frank Randall (and The One Person)

CLAIRE RANDALL* , resident at Boston GH, was five years old when she thought she was murderer. For years, she could hardly sleep, fearing not the monster beneath her bed, but the one beneath her covers.

Instead of counting sheep, she’d recounted facts as they’d been reported in the paper: Henry and Julia Beauchamp, parents of one Claire Beauchamp. Their mangled car, and a rocky deathbed set one hundred feet below. Both husband and wife, father and mother—dead upon impact.

Rarely, did this guide Claire towards sleep, and so she began to picture the accident as she’d recorded it in her diary. The same story, but more accurate—one that played behind her eyelids as if she had watched it all, a spectator on the road’s shoulder.

There was her parents’ blue Ford ribboning the cliffside. The low hum of conversation and the static of the radio. There was Claire’s goodbye before they left—“You always go without me! IhateyouIhateyou!”— which followed her parents and pushed them off the edge. She was sure it was her words that had broken her mother’s neck, had snapped it like a flower’s stem. One Claire Beauchamp, the little killing girl.

Five years passed before Lamb had found her in the courtyard, weeping her guilt into a mat of grey feathers. She had confessed to her five-year old anger then; how she’d pried open the rocky mouth and dropped her parents in.

“Death doesn’t move according to reason, my dear,” Lamb had said, “but only chance. And by no fault of yours.” He had patted her on the head like a priest grants forgiveness, and they buried the bird in the Nyungwe Forest. Wings and Claire’s blame laid to rest beneath the trees.

Still, Claire likes how accountability sets her world—so wracked by coincidence—back on its axis. Responsibility, however false, is easier to accept than the fickleness of husbands, of dead parents, of love and life. She assumes the role of the guilty to feel a sense of control, like she herself is in charge of the scale’s tip. And so:

It was Claire’s fault that the frost returned in May, all her marigold suns snuffed out.

It was Claire’s fault that the infection took the wound, gnawed the patient’s flesh so that a saw had to chop the bone.

It was Claire’s fault that midnight voices chirped down the receiver. The girls’ lovesick pleas—I need you. I love you. Leave her.—placed in Frank’s pockets by Claire’s own hands.

And of course, it was Claire’s fault that things had ended as they did. The final fight, every bit of hate, hers to claim:

“I am not an idiot, Frank! And I’m tired of being made into one.”

“Darling, you aren’t an idiot. I never said you were an idiot.”

“Don’t bloody ‘darling’ me, you bloody cad.”

“I’m sorry.”

“How novel.”

“Truly, I am.”

“So that’s it, then? Just ‘I’m sorry.’ No excuses? No begging-on-bended-knee?” (Claire had scoffed. Her laughter, like the paring knife that guts the beast.) “No, of course not. Begging would be too embarrassing for you. Too much effort. All your energy is spent chasing skirts and quick fucks. You selfish, disgusting man.”

“So I’m the only selfish one here, is that it? Just me?”

“You’re saying that I’m selfish?”

“I am.”

“Me.”

“Yes, you, Claire! You, who is always working and never here. You, who sleeps with his books under our mattress, still wears the man’s goddamn ring on a chain. Like a fucking noose around our marriage, from the start.” (Claire had winced; Frank’s knuckles had cracked the wall.) “No, I’m not selfish, Claire. I’ve shared you with another man for thirteen years.”

“So I see you’ve lost all sense, but still have some fucking nerve."

“Cursing doesn’t improve your argument.”

“Wanker.”

“Now Claire…”

“Just go.”

“Claire, please—”

“Go.”

And thus, it was Claire’s fault that Frank had whispered, “You’ve never looked at me. Not once, not really.” And it was her fault that he had grabbed his keys, slipped into the blizzard and into his car.

And it was Claire—Claire, Claire, Claire—who became the ice that hissed against tires. Who launched Frank’s body through the glass, turned his skin purple-blue and the snow dark red. Her fault that the last thing she’d said was “go”, and Frank had taken her at her very word.

All of this, she has put upon her shoulders, for its burden is lesser than the truth: that she has no control, never did and never would. Claire is forever held at the mercy of a capricious gravity—she and everyone else, a little bit helpless. Always.

But there was One Person, she often remembers, who had given her a kind of foothold. On their wedding night, she had whispered about her mother’s flower neck, about the grey bird whose wings she’d given to the Nyungwe. And he had understood, promised forgiveness for whatever wrongs she had and would commit. “Real or imagined, Sassenach” he’d said into hair, “Already forgiven.” They had spiraled through life, the pair of them, both a little bit helpless—but everything shared.

But of all of her false faults, this is one Claire fears is true: that she is the reason The One Person is not here, but some 3,000 miles away. She was, after all, the one who had packed the suitcase and caused the gavel to fall, Divorce.

All her fault: Claire Randall. The guilty one, the killing girl, the widow. Spinning and spinning into empty space, grasping at stars, alone.

*[Note from director: Ms. Claire Randall has requested we change her name to Claire Beauchamp. Please reprint with this correction ASAP. Thank you.]

______

POINT OF CONVERGENCE, 2007

Starring Jamie Fraser (The Author, The One Person), Claire Beauchamp (A More-Than-Flash Of Someone-Else, The Girl), Geordie Gibbons

JAMES FRASER does not like to disappoint. It is his greatest fear, seeing someone’s face pull, twist, and finally droop into an expression of discontent. Even worse: when the expression is given a name, “I’m so disappointed in you, Jamie.” And worst of all: when the name is given by his agent, Geordie Gibbons.

One of the most important days of Jamie’s life began in anticipation of such disappointment. He had twiddled his thumbs beneath a table, dreading the moment Geordie’s fedora ducked beneath the restaurant’s eaves. The wait staff had milled around him: A waiter dashed towards snapping fingers, the hostess offered towels for rain-soaked heads. He’d felt jealous, watching them, of their readiness—how they could be so effortlessly on time. Jamie couldn’t even manage to meet his deadlines, the desk calendar at home flipped far beyond the designated X.

Jamie and Geordie were to have “lunch” and “catch up”. This would, inadvertently, devolve into an interrogation about Jamie’s third novel, which was nothing more than a series of working titles. It was a pattern, this lateness and lunching, never changing despite the demands and promises made by both parties. Geordie would remove his hat, exposing the frown previously shadowed beneath its brim. Their food would be served—Jamie, something yeasty; Geordie, a taxidermist’s culinary experiment—and Jamie would choke down a side of his agent’s disappointment. Eventually, they would part ways, and Jamie would return home, knock out a few pages. Turn in a shitty draft the next morning for the sake of postponing a second “lunch.”

But on this day, the universe had shifted; the pattern broke. Jamie had continued to sit there, all sweat and nerves, but Geordie’s fedora, the interrogation, and the food never came.

Because while Jamie had waited in the restaurant, CLAIRE BEAUCHAMP was arguing in her bedroom mirror: Claire vs. Claire, Head vs. Heart. She was thousands of miles away in a Boston apartment, but still—the tremor traveled, pushing a storm across the Atlantic, down the Royal Mile, to Jamie. The trajectory of his day and his life had changed as Claire gesticulated wildly at her own reflection.

So at 12:14, Jamie had been alone, Geordie unusually late for a man so fond of punctuality. He read the menu three times, settled on a whisky. Thought better of it; ordered two.

At 12:30, Claire’s battle had still raged, no victor in sight. The thunder had shaken the house, shaken the mirror on the wall.

At 12:46, Jamie had condemned Geordie, then deadlines. Art, he’d fumed, was beyond time, existed outside of it. He had ordered a third whisky when a wine spill was wiped up, gone before it had the chance to leave its mark.

At 12:48, Claire had moved to the kitchen. Both armies were advancing quickly, charging into the living room, to the yard, back to the living room, over and over. She and herself, it seemed, had reached a stalemate. Head and Heart had squatted, dripping rain, and awaited the other's surrender.

At 12:50, Claire had paused and looked through the window. She caught a glimpse of her garden, reborn and thriving despite the storm, and the sight of the marigold blooms did not reveal an emptiness inside her. She felt, for once, happy. Her Heart had stormed her Head’s walls, then, the gates of decision giving way.

At 12:51, Claire had opened her scrapbook, a secret once kept from Frank. It was filled with bits and bobs: a piece of bubble wrap, a bell from her holiday sweater. Both of them glued beside old polaroids. Again, she did not feel her Heart stutter, but expand; lift straight out of her chest. A full siege after that. Her Head’s weakest men fell beneath the lash of artery whips.

At 12:52, the end was near, and Claire’s Heart marched to her computer, hunted through years of mail. Its trophy had laid buried in a folder—one message with twelve digits—and the battle, at last, was won.

At 12:53, both Jamie and his phone had buzzed. The door opened, letting in the air. It had smelled of wet soil, earthy and ripe. Familiar, like a ghost’s kiss on the back of his neck. He put the phone to his ear, and…

At 12:53:05, he said, “Jesus, man! Where are ye? I’ve been waiting nigh on 50 minutes!” There was no response.

At 12:53:08: “Did ye get caught in the storm? Are ye calling from a pay phone?” More silence.

At 12:53:13: “Hello? Anyone there?”

At 12:53:20: “Geordie, man, is that you?”

At 12:53:25: A deep, shaking breath. An audible gulp. Claire’s Heart whispering its victory song.

12:53:26: “It’s isn’t Geordie.”

12:53:27: “It’s me.”

And at 12:53:28, everywhere, suddenly—the brightest sun.

Phew! This chapter is one of the longest, but it’s also one of my favorites. The structure is lifted straight from Fates and Furies—there’s a chapter that is just a series of the protagonist’s plays—and I was looking to try something new (it also weirdly fits in with the tone of the chapter introductions). In my opinion, the best thing about writing fanfiction is that you have so much room to experiment.

This structure also allowed me to do what I’d been wanting to do from the beginning: move away from the One Day conceit and explore Jamie and Claire’s pasts. It was very easy to just run with any image or idea that came to mind—we know so little about their childhoods; there are so many possibilities!

And speaking of why fanfiction is so awesome—and I mentioned this in another post—but it’s a blast figuring out how to incorporate canon into an AU setting. Using canon dialogue can boost the emotional punch of a line in a way that is just *chef’s kiss*. “I was born for you.” “I am not as brave as I was before.” Ugh, kill me.

I have to whistle past some of the melodrama and Frank’s computer craze (wouldn’t he also be a typewriter sort of person???). And modern!Bonnie Prince Charlie’s Brazil comment still tickles me. This is not meant as an offense to Brazilians—y’all are just always on *clap* it *clap*, and I love your enthusiasm.

Anyways, hope you enjoyed :)