#LITERALLY ALMOST CRIED HAPPY ACCOMPLISHED TEARS LAST NIGHT

[defectivevillain]

this broken design, ch16

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

summary: That familiar analytical gleam in your eyes lives in Hannibal’s mind as he sinks his teeth into his prey. Despite your departure hours ago, Hannibal sees you sitting across from him at the table. Dining alone has never bothered him; yet, right now, he can’t help but desire your company—your scintillating conversation, your sharp wit, your clever smirk. Indeed, his table feels uncharacteristically empty. Hannibal stares at the chair across from him—the same chair he’s grown accustomed to seeing you sit at—and takes another bite. Flavor explodes on his tongue, yet you are what dominates his thoughts.

Your experience in criminal profiling means that you've met a wide variety of people from all different walks of life. You've stared down hardened criminals and fought for your life against people hellbent on killing you. Even so, something about the FBI's new target, the Chesapeake Ripper, seems to elude you.

Then you meet Hannibal Lecter: an enigmatic jigsaw of a man with jagged corners and misshapen pieces.

Fortunately, you've always been rather good at puzzles.

read from the beginning here.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

some of this chapter is born out of me realizing, as i read The Red Dragon, that i essentially limited Alana’s presence in this fic to that one rather tumultuous interaction, instead of expanding on her potential as both a strong, intelligent side character and a friend to the reader. Hopefully this makes up for that a little bit. Alana’s pretty cool. I sort of lost sight of that.

warnings: negative self talk, suicidal ideation/thoughts, panic attack, hyperventilation, derealization, canon-typical blood, violence, & gore

The darkness swirling around you is relentless in its writhing, distorting and jerking you around in its shadowed grasp. For a while, you’re content to let the shadows take control. You float in an endless abyss. Memories flit before your eyes, just long enough for you to reach out to try to grab them. They never stay long enough, flickering and disintegrating before you get the chance to grasp them and dissect every miniscule detail. 

Stay awake, says a whisper itching at your skin. 

You take a deep breath. The next time you blink, you find yourself standing in a far too familiar place. Hannibal’s kitchen is quiet—eerily so, you think as your footsteps echo against the floors. There is hardly a sign of life on these countertops, hardly a stain or sprinkling of powder to assure you this place has ever been used. There is a single light boring down on the back of your head: a spotlight. You swallow hard and step to the side in an attempt to escape the light, only to find Hannibal’s rolodex sitting in the middle of the brightness. Your business card sits on top, displaying your name, phone number, email address, office location at headquarters, birthplace, height, weight, eye color, age, and any other demographic information you could possibly imagine. The font is tiny, yet you can read it with ease. Feeling a sudden urge to touch, you grab the business card and let it lie flat in your palm. There’s a tear in the corner, you realize. Frowning, you move to touch it, only for the tear to extend further down the flimsy material. Crimson dots appear on the white background, swirling and twisting until there’s blood collecting on your fingertips. You look down, only to realize that the dark red stains have permeated the fabric of your shirt. Puddles are gathering at your feet, marking your footsteps with every movement you make. The card melts into the blood gathered in your hands, and you’re left holding the tattered remains of your identity. 

Stay awake.  

You blink again. Abel Gideon is peering at you from behind the bars of his interrogation cell. “You have Lecter on a leash, don’t you?” Gideon remarks with a laugh. You huff a laugh under your breath. The thought amuses you, for reasons you cannot quite discern at the moment. “A very long leash, but a leash nonetheless.”  Your hands tremble at your sides and you restlessly shift your balance from one foot to the other. Gideon’s gaze is knowing and it pins you to the ground. 

Stay alive.  

A blink. You’re standing in the doorway of your office at headquarters. Everything is as you left it, save for your chair, which has an inhabitant. Franklyn Froideveaux stares at you with empty eye sockets and a gaping maw.  Blood slips down his gaunt frame, leaving murky red-brown streaks down his cheeks and around the cavity of his chest. You blink and his skin turns a murky yellowish green from decay. 

“See?” Garret Jacob Hobbs croons from over your shoulder. You can feel the smile on his face, feel his breath hitting your neck and provoking a deep nausea in your gut. 

Another blink. Blood slips hotly down your fingers as you stand in a dimly lit hallway. Your skin feels lit with flames and the knife in your hand gleams a sickening crimson. You want to release the weapon from your grip, but your fingers are locked around the blade with unshakeable force. The smell of death and decay wafting through the enclosed space makes your stomach turn. None of these sensations are powerful enough to rip your attention away from the corpse at your feet. 

“Killing must feel good to God, too,” Hannibal remarks with a hum, hands behind his back as he regards Abel Gideon’s form. There is a mildly intrigued expression on his face as he studies the body, before looking back to you with eerily crimson eyes. As he pivots, bloodstained antlers stretch from his perfectly coiffed hair. They disappear in a moment—a trick of the light. His voice is dark and airy all at once. “And are we not created in his image?” You swallow past the nausea building in your chest. Time stretches on with terrible slowness. His gaze is flaying you apart. “Don’t you want God To want you?” He asks softly.1 

“See?” Stay awake. Stay alive.  

Darkness, then light. “To the Ripper, understanding is love,” Hannibal says, a flicker of a smile settling on his lips. His hands are folded and he leans forward. Your chairs are close enough to force you to knock knees with him, but Hannibal doesn’t seem bothered by the prospect. “You are the first person to see through his façade, through the layers of his mask.” His skin looks strangely patterned, as if it's made of ceramic. You reach out to grasp his face, to yank off his mask, only for Hannibal to catch your wrist and hold it in a tight grip. Suddenly, your chair is tipping backwards precariously, lurching further into the abyss. You try to reach out and grab onto something, but Hannibal’s hold is the only thing that keeps you tethered. The void crawls up your skin mockingly, waiting to drag you into its umbra. Your momentum is slipping backwards and you’re filled with an unsettling anticipation. Contrary to your expectations, Hannibal’s grip remains strong. You look at him. The Ripper looks back, a bloodstained smile on his lips. You feel his fingers trace the edges of your skin with a mocking gentleness, before you’re falling backward into the darkness again.

You slip out of the darkness and bolt up, only to find yourself in a painfully bright room. You can’t quite stop the gasp that comes from your lips, nor can you suppress the urge to look around frantically, searching for the signs that this is a dream. The incessant pain in your abdomen is a harsh reality check. You look down at the area, only to find meticulously wrapped bandages covering your lower torso. Your upper forearm stings from the IV burrowing under your skin. 

“Hey,” a voice says. You squint in the bright light, waiting for the blurred figure in front of you to sharpen. It’s a nurse—the same one who helped you the last time you were wounded. She holds her hands out in a placating gesture. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You were just dreaming.” Her eyebrows are furrowed in concern, a sentiment you feel you don’t deserve. 

You bite back your questions—knowing the answers are clinging to the blinding white walls around you. The nurse asks you several questions about your symptoms and your pain level, before departing with the promise that she will return soon. 

The events that transpired in Hannibal’s office cling to your skin with fervency. Your abdomen burns, especially when you remember that Hannibal inflicted the wound. You shouldn’t feel betrayed. You shouldn’t be afforded the privilege of being betrayed, not when you knew Hannibal Lecter’s nature since that night you sleepwalked out into the middle of the street. 

Even so… you enjoyed being in Hannibal’s presence. You enjoyed the song and dance you had gotten so accustomed to playing. You spent so long spectating the game that you forgot your role in it. You were a pawn, and nothing more. The thought displeases you. With each passing second, the ugly feeling in your chest grows and swells within the confines of your rib cage. It’s getting to be too much. 

There is no one to sit at your bedside this time. When she returns, the nurse pointedly does not mention your husband. You don’t have the heart to tell her that your “husband” was the same person who stabbed you, or that your husband was never really your husband in the first place. She seems to understand anyway. Pity is hidden beneath the kind smile on her face. You stop making eye contact with her. 

Lying in this hospital bed is a lonely existence, dominated by a constant state of pain (at worst) or mild discomfort (at best). The only interaction you get is from the nurse herself. You get the feeling she’d be a good listener, but your tongue feels ironed to the roof of mouth and your conversations quickly morph into anecdotes about her life. You’re grateful for the small kindness—for the prospect of being treated like a human being, despite it all.  These small moments of humanity push you to keep going, even amidst the several voices crooning in your ears about your cruelty.

You don’t expect any visitors. Indeed, your first visitor is entirely unexpected. When you’re first told that someone wishes to speak to you, you think of Beverly, Jack Crawford… hell, even Freddie Lounds. You certainly don’t foresee Alana Bloom walking through the door, a gentle, reserved expression on her face. Seeing her brightens your day, and her presence reminds you that you’re not entirely alone. You welcome the thought. 

“Alana,” you greet her, your voice rather raspy. You cough to clear your throat. “How are you?” You ask. 

“I should be asking you that,” she responds with a wry smile. She stands at the end of your bed, before walking to the side. Alana regards the lonely chair at your bedside, before placing her hands on the back. She looks well—albeit a little tired. “I’m good. And you?”

“I’ve been better,” you decide to respond honestly. There’s no point in lying to Alana—she used to be your psychiatrist, your girlfriend. She would be able to see through your dishonesty anyway. Sure enough, Alana seems to appreciate your honesty, because her eyes momentarily widen before she moves to sit down. Seeing her sit in that chair makes your stomach turn. When you blink, you see Hannibal sitting there—lithe frame effortlessly arranged, tupperware in hand. You rub your eyes roughly, dispelling the image to the recesses of your memory. Alana was courteous enough to visit you—the least you can do is acknowledge her presence, instead of imagining her as someone else. 

For a moment, you stare at Alana. A mundane sense of envy strikes you, but it’s fleeting. You don’t deserve to be envious of her good health and safe wellbeing. Your own hubris is the reason why you’re currently confined to this cot. You look at her for a moment longer, before letting your eyes rest on the plain walls around you. You can feel Alana staring at you with concern. Instead of acknowledging that sentiment, you let the first question on your mind pass through your lips. “Where’s Jack?”

Alana is silent for a few seconds. Is it a difficult question? You don’t think so, yet Alana almost seems to falter. Eventually, she must manage to find the words. “Busy, as I’m sure you can imagine,” she evidently settles for saying. Upon closer examination, her hands are clasped in her lap—whitened knuckles betraying her otherwise tranquil image. Alana’s next words are quiet yet firm. “He’s tracking Hannibal—the Chesapeake Ripper.”

You inhale slowly. Somehow, hearing her say that cements the reality of it all. Everyone knows Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper. It’s not just you anymore. You bring up an arm slowly, before tilting your head down and pinching the bridge of your nose. Somehow, it is this statement that reminds you of the pounding sensation behind your eyes and the aching clustered around your temple.

“Are you alright?” Alana asks, lips twitching into a slight frown. 

“Yes,” you respond flatly. Your answer sounds devoid of emotion and purpose. 

“Are you sure?” Alana persists. You don’t have the heart to lie to her twice in a row. 

“...No.” You acquiesce. You rub a hand over your face, feeling rather small in this hospital bed. The sheets are slightly scratchy and the weight of them feels constricting, rather than comforting. You’ve never felt so small. 

“I’m sorry,” Alana sighs. She seems entirely sincere and it almost makes you want to scream. You don’t deserve her sympathy. “I know you two were close. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.” That statement is incredibly reassuring, despite the frenzy you had worked yourself into surrounding Alana. When you reflect on the events of the past months, you realize that you have few allies and even fewer true friends. One of those true friends is sitting right next to you. 

“Thank you,” you nod. Guilt stirs in your chest as you stare at your old psychiatrist and ex-girlfriend. Every time you’ve seen her since she kissed you, you’ve purposefully cut conversation short. Somehow, the thought feels silly to you now. Perhaps almost dying a second time does that to a person. You stare at Alana for a moment. She looks well put together, as always. “Alana?”

“Yes?” She questions patiently. That’s another thing you envy about her—her unwavering compassion, her unflinching patience. You could stand to learn a few things from her, you think. 

“I’m sorry,” you remark. The sentiment has been dancing on the tip of your tongue for the past several weeks, yet you never got the chance to verbalize it. Life has been a whirlwind lately. You’ve been so caught up in everything swirling around in your mind that you never paused to think about those around you, or how they were affected by the recent turn of events. “For…” You break off, unable to articulate it. You settle for a vague hand gesture. Alana seems to understand anyways, as her eyes momentarily widen before comprehension passes over her face. 

“Don’t apologize,” Alana is quick to say, nothing but sincerity written in the lines of her shoulders. Her eyes look slightly glassy for the briefest of moments, before she shakes her head and looks at you once more. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I’m sorry for kissing you without warning.”

You nod in acknowledgement. Silence descends upon the brisk air, leaving the two of you to your thoughts. You’re not content to let this overbearing tension rule over your conversation. You clench your fists slightly, filled with renewed resolve. You stare at Alana for a few seconds, until she notices your gaze and returns it. “Friends?” You ask, extending a hand towards her.

“Friends,” Alana responds with a smile, rising from her chair to meet your outstretched hand. Your handshake is short but reassuring. It’s enough to convince you that there are no hard feelings between the two of you. Alana fills you in on some of what’s happened since your admittance to the hospital; mostly, though, the two of you talk about the small things. You know Alana is trying to give you some semblance of normalcy. You appreciate the effort, you really do… but you’re not sure you’re capable of pretending everything’s okay. Furthermore, the small things seem inconsequential—now that you’re entrenched in the middle of everything. Even so, you make sure to thank her before she leaves. You don’t know how you would have coped without seeing a familiar face. Alana smiles and promises to be back soon. 

As you expect, Alana doesn’t turn up the next day. You certainly don’t expect her to stop by, since you know she’s always rather busy.  Ultimately, you come to the conclusion that you want nothing more than to be out of this hospital. Even worse… apparently, the stunt you pulled with Beverly during your past hospital visit did not go over well. You’re firmly reminded to avoid any attempts at an early release. You’re too tired and embarrassed to argue. You don’t have anything better to do than rot in this hospital room, anyway. Besides, you’re certain you’ll be met with some unpleasant reminders of Hannibal as you get home. You think you have a few cardigans in your closet that you meant to give back to him. The thought sends a bolt of nervous excitement through you, and you have to actively talk yourself down that precarious ledge. 

Alana does visit the day after. Beverly turns up the day after that and gives you several hugs. After that, at least one of your friends—Alana or Beverly— visits every day, which you’re extremely grateful for. You’re certain you’d go absolutely stir crazy in this hospital bed if you didn’t have anyone for company. Your conversations are typically fun and refreshing, like light breezes of summer air. Sometimes, though, you’re bogged down by your memories. Sometimes, you’re forced to remember the corpses you left in your wake. 

Even with Alana and Beverly visiting, you’re given more than enough alone time to contemplate everything. You have ample time to pick apart Hannibal’s actions and discern his true motivations. So, when Jack Crawford finally visits, his shoulders drawn tight with stress, you’re prepared to recount that night to him. Jack is insistent on the fact that you don’t have to speak about anything you don’t want to, but you know the offer is more for pretense than anything else. He needs this information, needs to understand the Ripper’s past actions and how they govern his future.  With that in mind, you wave off his concern and tell him about your late night meeting with Hannibal.

Jack is silent throughout, never once interrupting you or reacting in a manner other than an affirmative nod. It’s very characteristic of your boss; you think that you would have been unsettled if he responded with heightened or dramatic emotions. Jack’s cool composure is an anchor that you quickly latch on to. 

“He wanted you alive,” Jack states, once you’re finished explaining everything. He says this with frightening assuredness. His utter conviction surprises you, prompting you to ask how he knows that. 

Of course, you certainly considered that same possibility yourself, but it feels more real when you hear it from Jack. “The stab wound wasn’t fatal,” he points out. His gaze falls to the edge of your abdomen. The bandages feel extremely constricting. You wonder if they need to be changed soon. “It easily could’ve been. The Ripper is a skilled killer—he wouldn’t have missed unless he wanted to.” You take a shuddering breath in. 

“He’s toying with us,” you manage to agree. Your hands fidget restlessly along the rough blanket thrown over your form. You feel restless once more. 

“He’s toying with you,” Jack supplies. There is no room for argument in his voice. He doesn’t look restless, afraid, or frustrated. Not for the first time, you wish you had Jack’s control and constitution. However, you know Jack well enough to see the signs of tension in his clenched fist and drawn lips. “Taunting you, and the rest of us, by proxy.” That statement in particular sets everything in stone. Your theories are no longer just theories—they are unobjectionable facts. 

“Jack.” you remark, trying to push the words past the dread settling on your tongue. 

“Yes?” Jack asks, patient and restless all at once. You’re choking on the words. It’s such a simple sentence, yet so dangerous of an admission. If you told the truth—confided in Jack about how you suspected Hannibal the moment you met him, and grew to realize that he is the Ripper—you would certainly lose your job, not to mention all of Jack’s trust. 

Selfish, your victims croon. Your psyche nods in agreement. It’s truly selfish of you not to provide Jack with your utmost honesty. You’re doing a disservice to every person Hannibal has ever killed, every waking moment the team spent hunting for the Chesapeake Ripper. You wasted so much time, so much space. 

“I-” You try to continue. I knew. I knew and I did nothing. I am complicit in his crimes. Tears are slipping down your cheeks. You’re a rotten excuse for a human being. You don’t deserve to be alive. Why hadn’t Hannibal just finished the job? It’s cruel, almost. He allowed his other victims the mercy of death, yet he left you alive. You will forever be scarred—both by Hannibal’s knife and by the bone-deep knowledge that your silence made you an accomplice to his crimes. 

Breathing is suddenly a far more arduous task. Your lungs burn and your throat feels as if it’s closing in on you. Your vision is extremely sharp and your shaking hands are drawn with harsh lines and even harsher edges. The world around you is suddenly rendered immensely inconsequential. The beeping of the machines at your bedside, Jack’s steady breaths, the traces of conversation slipping in from the hallway… It all fails in comparison to the chimes of the grandfather clock in your mind. You dig your fingernails into your skin, desperate for unspoken confirmation that you aren’t dreaming.

At this point, you’re panting. Drool falls from the sides of your mouth and hits the scratchy blanket. Every nerve in your body feels as if it’s on fire. You’re a puppet cut loose from the puppeteer’s careful hand, yet you’re still strung together with wooden bones and durable string. You bring your hand to your chest and try to breathe, but the more you try, the harsher and more rushed your attempts become.  

“Agent.” There’s a hand on your shoulder. It’s enough pressure to make you feel as if you’re melding with the thin mattress below you, sinking into the floor and the shadows. For a moment, you can see Hannibal looking down at you in your mind’s eye, a contentious expression on his face as he lets you fall to the darkness below.  “Breathe.” Jack grabs your hand and brings it to the inside of his wrist. His pulse beats steadily beneath your fingertips and you latch onto the rhythm.  Jack begins counting, prompting you to breathe in time with him. You’re not sure how long it takes you to clear your airways—you just know that, at some point, Jack migrated from where he stood at the end of your bed to the side of the bed. 

“Jack,” you try again. Your lips part but nothing slips out. It’s such a simple confession—a mere few words, yet you can’t utter them. 

“Agent,” Jack interjects, before you can choke on the words you don’t want to say. His expression has returned to a combination of rigidity and anticipation. You know what Jack will say before he says it. “Can I trust you to handle this case? Do I need to remove you from this case? ” He doesn’t say that last part, but you hear it anyway. You take a deep breath and rub a hand over your face. Your eyes burn from all the tears you shed. 

“I can handle it,” you assure him. 

“You’re close to all this,” Jack remarks. He gets up from where he had been sitting and walks back to stand behind the edge of the bed. His gaze meets yours, but you know he isn’t really looking at you. That expression on his face means Jack is looking through his options, puzzling out the future in his head. You wait for him to refocus. “You know I don’t typically assign agents with personal investments in cases… But, you’ve been on this case for a long time. You know the Ripper better than anyone else does, whether you want to admit it or not.”

You stare at Jack silently, daring him to take you off the case. You know that your words will fail you here, so you hope your conviction shows through in your eyes. Jack stares back and, for a long moment, you’re both trapped in silence. Eventually, Jack seems to ascertain that you think yourself capable. He takes a deep breath. 

“In terms of the Ripper, we currently have a unit determining his whereabouts,” Jack begins. “The Ripper—Lecter—covered his tracks very well. The last time he was seen was…”

“When he stabbed me,” you say for him. 

“Yes,” Jack confirms. “As you know, Lecter is proficient at leaving behind very little—if any—evidence.” You nod, thinking back to all the crime scenes he created. There was hardly any evidence left behind. Hannibal was always meticulous and careful in his crimes. 

“He only leaves clues when he wants to,” you continue. “He is not so kind hearted as to leave us clues for the hell of it, or because he slipped up. He doesn’t make mistakes.”

“We found very little in his office,” Jack concedes with a sharp nod. He pinches the bridge of his nose. Stress seems to tighten the line of his shoulders. “We did manage to find several concealed weapons, upon closer examination.”

“He stabbed me with a knife that was disguised as an antler on a deer sculpture,” you recall flatly. The thought makes your side flare up with pain again. “I shouldn’t have gone to his office. I should’ve come to you first. I knew, and yet…”

“Frankly, Agent, that is not my concern,” Jack states matter of factly. “The past is the past. If I were to dissect every minute mistake we’ve made along the course of this investigation, we’d never be able to proceed.”

“True,” you answer. You still don’t think Jack has truly comprehended the implications of what you just said. You knew Hannibal was the Chesapeake Ripper long before that night. After all, you didn’t explicitly state when you first discovered the identity of the Ripper. Of course, you suppose it is also likely that Jack was able to intuit that from your response. If that were the case, you can’t help but wonder why he hasn’t kicked you off this case or fired you. 

You know it’s best for you to drop this particular line of questioning, so you do. For the duration of Jack’s visit, he debriefs you on what the team has deduced so far—both in terms of his current location and where he’ll go next. After an hour passes, however, your luck runs out. Your nurse enters the room and promptly shoos Jack out, claiming that you need time to rest. She is entirely impervious to his objections, even when he tries to pull rank on her. You’re rather impressed. Jack manages to get a last remark in, before the nurse can guide him out of the room. 

“Lecter will turn up soon enough,” your boss states. With that, Jack departs. His cryptic remark leaves you with a lot to think about. You spend the rest of your hospital stay grappling with the implications of that statement, with the implications of Hannibal deciding not to kill you. You’re released from the hospital a week later with a troubled conscience and another scar to add to your collection. 

Somehow, news of your battle with Hannibal has reached the press, Jack tells you as he drives you home in the dead of night. Ultimately, Jack decided it would be best to get you home during a time when most people are sleeping. You’re grateful for his foresight, because when you return home, there are no flashing cameras or microphones shoved in your face. You thank Jack for the ride and he nods, sending you one final unreadable look before driving away. 

When you unlock your front door and swing the door open, you’re surprised to find that your house appears the same as when you left it. You close the door behind you and take in everything before you. Dust is beginning to collect on the shelves and surfaces—the space desperately needs a dedicated cleaning, but you know you don’t have the energy just yet. Right now, you’re content to cautiously walk to your closet and grab clothes. Despite the fact that Jack brought you a pair of old trainee clothes to change into when he arrived, you know you need a good shower to feel clean. The lukewarm water sliding down your skin is rejuvenating, but it doesn’t wipe away the dirt of your sins. You step out of the shower with clean skin and a muddy conscience. Drying off and putting on your clothes is an annoying affair, but you manage. 

After your shower, it’s safe to say that you’re entirely lost. You don’t know what to do next. You need to eat, you remember. Unfortunately, your fridge is pretty much empty. You sigh and survey the space that you call home. It doesn’t feel familiar, despite the knowledge that it’s been yours for several years. These are all your belongings, yet it feels as if you’re standing in a stranger’s shoes. You look around the room, pausing when your eye catches on a scrap of newspaper. The TattleCrime article from before rests innocuously on the kitchen counter. You walk towards it immediately, as if possessed. 

Criminally Insane. You stare at the photos featured in the article. The second photo—the one of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane—led you to realize that Frederick Chilton had been kidnapped. The first picture… It unsettles you. There are hints of the dark circles under your eyes that you now possess, but there’s also an unspoken confidence in your posture in the photo. You choke on a laugh, running your fingers along the rough newspaper. 

It’s a miracle you’re still alive. Well, it certainly feels that way… but you know your survival can’t be put down to mere fate. Inexplicably, Hannibal did not aim to kill you. You contemplate what would’ve happened if he had aimed that way. You would have died in that office, certainly. Would you be free of this terrifying helplessness, this aching despair?

You manage to tear your eyes away from the article. After a moment of thought, you stuff it in a drawer—hoping you will never need to look at it again. Unsurprisingly, you still feel incredibly restless. You begin pacing slowly around the room, desperate for something to do. Perhaps this urge to do something is indicative of a deeper sentiment. 

The cicadas buzz from the trees outside. You’re suddenly struck with a perplexing urge to step outside. You follow that urge and walk mechanically to your front door. Maybe someone is on your porch. You peek through the peephole, unsurprised to find no one there. After a second’s contemplation, you step out onto your porch, letting your arms rest against the railing.  

The brisk night air doesn’t help your worsening mental state. You still feel numb, empty. Nothing feels real anymore. As you look out at your driveway, at the other houses lining your street, you’re hit with an immense sonder.2 How did you end up in this situation? How did you end up here, staring out at the suburbia around you and wishing you could take on the life of another person—someone who isn’t desensitized to blood, gore, violence, and murder?

You don’t know where to go from here. Your feelings are a dizzying combination of remorse, regret, and contempt—combined with an unhealthy amount of wishful thinking. You raise your arms and put your head in your hands for a moment. Succumbing to darkness has never felt so comforting and terrifying at the same time.

“Lecter will return soon enough.” Jack had said. There was a certainty in his voice in that moment—a sincerity that was surely unfounded. He was making a prediction and nothing more. Yet… the conviction in his tone made it seem as if he knew the Ripper’s next move. Surely, Hannibal hasn’t grown so predictable. Surely, he will continue to elude capture for as long as he wishes. 

A car’s headlights reach your vision, and you watch as it slowly cruises down your street. There is a certain nonchalance to the way it slowly rises on the horizon. You frown, wondering what this person is doing driving down your street at such a late hour. Perhaps it’s a neighbor. You continue to watch warily. For a moment, you swear it seems as if the car’s slowing as it approaches. Surely that can’t be the case. It’s too dark to make out the details of the car—let alone the driver. You settle for staring in silence as it moves along. Within the blink of an eye, the vehicle moves past your driveway and into the dark expanse enveloping the space past your street. You exhale in relief, just realizing that your breath had hitched during the car’s brief stint in front of your house. 

Why were you nervous? What were you expecting? You don’t want to acknowledge the answers to those questions—those solutions will only bring more problems. You shake your head. Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, and everyone knows. There should be nothing to be afraid of, except for a single thought that never seems to leave you. He will return for you, a voice whispers against the wind. He wants to finish the job.  

You’ve never gotten so close to a case before. You almost wish you could travel back in time, to the first time you locked eyes with Dr. Hannibal Lecter. In that moment, you hadn’t been able to rationalize the intense foreboding and trepidation that seemed to crawl up your skin as he stared back at you. You had no true grasp of the danger you would soon experience, the lives you would soon take. When did you stop trusting your instincts? Your intuition is part of the reason why you’re such a successful criminal profiler, yet you were more than willing to entirely ignore it. 

A chill hits your skin, but it’s not from the brisk breeze of night air that gently rustles your clothes. The unsettling feeling comes from the car in your driveway, the bright headlights illuminating the woody forest behind your house. Were you so lost in thought that you neglected to notice someone approaching your driveway? You squint and take a step closer to the driveway, wavering on the edge of your porch. The car looks familiar, and that realization nearly pitches you off the porch and careening to the ground below. The driver turns the car off and swings the door open with taunting slowness. A roaring sound fills your ears. 

“Hannibal,” you remark. The driver closes the door and takes a step forward, close enough to the porch that the light hits their face and reveals familiar angled features. His lip is bleeding and there are droplets of blood scattered about his face. His clothing is ever so slightly rumpled. Other than that, Hannibal appears at ease. The Ripper looks at you, and utters your name in response. 

You don’t know what to do, what to say. Your hands clutch the railing in front of you with enough force to send bolts of pain through your fingers. It feels as if your heart is racing faster than humanly possible. You’re reminded of the pain in your abdomen, the scar slicing dangerously close to your eye. You clench a fist at your side and walk down the steps of your porch, before turning and moving to stand at a strategic distance from Hannibal: close enough to see his face, far enough to have an illusion of control and safety. 

The night is still. If it weren’t for your unexpected visitor, you might take solace in the tranquility of the midnight sky. Now, the stars seem to wink at you in warning. When Hannibal speaks, you nearly convince yourself that you imagine it. “I have evaded capture for long enough.” An ugly, foolish sort of hope settles in your chest. You try to push it away.

“You’re… surrendering,” you remark cautiously, waiting for him to dispel that notion. The Ripper does nothing of the sort. Instead, Hannibal stares at you, making strangely heated eye contact with you as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a knife. The moonlight briefly hits the metal, causing it to glimmer mockingly. Your stomach turns. The moon’s warm glow reveals more than just a shimmer—there are murky brown stains on the blade. You recognize the splatters as dried blood and your skin crawls. Hannibal is holding the very same knife he stabbed you with. He maneuvers it expertly, holding the blade and extending the handle towards you. Everything about this moment feels like a trap, but you willingly reach out and take the proffered knife, fastening it at your belt.

After a stretch of time in which neither of you elect to say anything, you decide that Hannibal must be telling the truth. Eyes locked on the man, you fumble around in your pocket for your phone and pull it out, dialing the only number you have memorized. Your intended recipient answers before two seconds pass. “Jack,” you say, your gaze still firmly fixed on the Ripper. 

“Agent,” Jack responds. Hannibal is staring at you with intense scrutiny, evidently attempting to decipher what Jack is saying to you. That recognition causes you to pause for a moment. At your hesitation, Jack’s voice takes on a concerned yet impatient tone. “What is it?”

“I have him,” you say, vaguely satisfied that your voice sounds clear and composed despite the emotional rollercoaster you’ve been subjected to. “The Ripper. He’s in my driveway.”

Jack’s end of the line is quiet. You know it must be nearly impossible to believe. You look at Hannibal and then look back at the phone, realizing what you need to do. Taking a deep breath, you bring a shaky hand up and press the speaker button. Despite every instinct in your body screaming at you, you take a small step forward—and another—until Hannibal is close enough to the phone. For a moment, he stares down at the device pensively. Then, in the blink of an eye, he grabs your wrist and tugs you closer—evidently to get to the phone. You glare at him, but he doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Hello, Jack,” Hannibal remarks, voice laced with amusement as he grasps your hand— the phone, you tell yourself—with unshakeable strength.  Despite the severity of the situation, you can’t do anything but roll your eyes at his chosen greeting. It seems Hannibal’s dramatics know no bounds. Even when his very freedom is threatened, he will continue to wear his carved mask of politeness and elegance. You try to listen for Jack’s response. There’s still silence on the other end—Jack is probably dispatching a unit as you speak. You’re sure Jack himself will be on his way before long. 

Indeed, Jack confirms that a team is on the way. He hangs up and your phone screen fades to black. Despite the call’s termination, Hannibal is still holding your wrist. “Can I have my hand back?” You ask wryly. You try to shake his grip off and pull away, but he doesn’t budge. Your heart is racing as you try to find an escape. Hannibal doesn’t seem keen to let go, instead looking at you with mild amusement written all over his face. It doesn’t take you long to come up with an idea. You attempt to shake off his grip once more, knowing it will not work. The moment you try to pull your wrist back, you take advantage of the momentum and aim a harsh kick just above his knee. Per your expectations, he doesn’t anticipate the attack and is forced to fall down to a kneeling position to avoid falling over. You lock eyes with him and tear his grip off.

Hannibal looks up at you on bended knee, entirely silent. You begin to realize just what you’ve done—you just disrespected him. You were the epitome of the rudeness Hannibal abhors. You swallow. If you weren’t dead before, you’re certainly dead now. The Ripper is still silent, before tilting his head down to hide his face. Fuck, you’ve really done it this time. You feel yourself taking an instinctual half step backwards, and you’re moments away from turning on your heel and running when you hear an odd sound. 

Hannibal is laughing, you realize. It’s a far cry from the typical gesture of joy you’d associate with laughter, but his amusement is still evident. He brings his head up once more and regards you with interest. “You never fail to surprise me,” he remarks amiably, getting to his feet and pushing the dust from his pant leg with a quick swiping motion. Hannibal doesn’t give your threat any consideration, instead simply regarding you with that same eerie look you’ve grown to associate with his full attention. 

Your hand twitches to grab the bloodstained knife at your side. You imagine yourself plunging the blade into Hannibal’s side, watching his smirk falter and his victorious expression crumple. The vindictive thought thrills you for a second, before you come back to yourself and feel immense revulsion and disgust. Hannibal almost seems to sense the mental gymnastics you're going through, as an intrigued expression flickers across his face before it’s gone in a flash. 

Truthfully, you don’t know how long you stand there—across from Hannibal, staring him down as he stares you down, prey regarding predator—until Jack arrives. It feels like an eternity. Time seems to entirely stop during those moments. Somehow, the quiet is more informative than a conversation ever could be. You don’t need words—not when you can see the tight line drawn across Hannibal’s shoulders, the persistence in his gaze. 

Even eternity must come to an end, though. Police sirens blink in the distance, drawing you away from your thoughts. You watch as several police cars find their way to your driveway. Jack sits in the passenger seat of the car at the front, and he’s quick to step out of the car. S.W.A.T. officers swarm out of the cars, weapons pointed at Hannibal. There is a horrible tension settling in the air, thick enough to make your breaths occur just a little faster.

Despite the exorbitant amount of fully-armed S.W.A.T officers, you’re still afraid. Hannibal is closest to you. If he wanted to, he could kill you—even with so many people present. You don’t doubt his strength or agility. These recognitions leave your heart drumming in your chest at an incessantly quick rhythm. You glance over at Jack and he nods, holding a hand up to the officers and walking towards you. 

“Doctor Lecter,” Jack remarks. Even now, he is incredibly composed. You latch onto his composure and try to emulate it,  though you know it won’t look convincing enough. The headlights from the cars are blinding and you turn your head, giving your burning eyes a brief reprieve. 

“Jack,” Hannibal responds, his hands raised in the air in surrender. The Ripper is indeed powerless, yet the gesture looks mocking. A few officers step closer and surround Hannibal, who kneels down with his arms still raised high. “You finally caught the Chesapeake Ripper.” His hands move to rest behind his head. 

Jack stares at the killer with an indecipherable expression. “You surrendered.”

“I want you to know exactly where I am,” Hannibal responds to Jack. After that remark, his head turns and dread rises in your chest as you realize he’s looking towards you. His eyes are glittering in the moonlight. “And where you can always find me.” You’re frozen, limbs locked as his crimson eyes pierce through you. 

Vaguely, you hear Jack order for Hannibal to be placed in his car. The officers pull Hannibal up from his knees and escort him to the police car. The Ripper’s gaze is locked on you until he enters the vehicle. Jack remains where he stands, sending you a look. You incline your head slightly, to wordlessly encourage him to leave you. Jack seems hesitant to do so, but his sense of responsibility must win out, because he walks back towards the car. You still feel as if you’re being watched, and you get the feeling Hannibal is staring at you from behind the dark tinted glass. The police car slowly reverses out of your driveway, before heading down your street and eventually out of sight. 

You purse your lips, before walking back up the steps to your porch. Everything seemed to have happened far too fast. In the blink of an eye, you’re left to stand alone, with nothing but your conflicting feelings of grief, anger, and remorse for company.  Memories burrow their way under your skin. Each breath is a testament to your own cruelty. 

Inexplicably, you reach up to touch the jagged scar cutting down your face. Your fingertips brush against the marred skin and you jolt. Your abdomen burns in remembrance. Hannibal Lecter has given you the quiet evenings, the comfortable silence settling in the air, and the thrill of an attentive, burning gaze that sends warm embers dancing up your skin.

But he has taken so much more from you in return.

Gone is the gentle caress of a hand on your cheek and the comfort of having unquestionable support. Gone is the hard-won feeling of being truly seen for who you are. Gone is the excitement, the anticipation of knowing that your companion can never truly be predicted. All of it is gone. 

You look up at the moon glimmering in the dark night sky. You idly wonder if Hannibal sees it too. It’s a foolish thought. His cell likely won’t have windows. He has probably been confined to four walls of cement, a metal toilet, and a thin, dingy mattress on a cold metal frame. There is no hope for someone like Hannibal—he will earn several life sentences and spend his entire life in that cage. You have to wonder: why? Why would he surrender?

It was a tactical surrender—that much you know for certain. Hannibal could easily have spent the rest of his life moving from place to place, taking on new identity after new identity. He could have spent however long he wanted, camouflaged but free. 

Freedom. Maybe that’s the answer. After all, that kind of aggressive mimicry is not necessarily freedom. Hannibal Lecter values being an enigma. The mystery that surrounds him, in part, relies on his reputation. Life spent in hiding isn’t really life at all. Even someone like Hannibal—someone with arguably everything to lose—would understand that sentiment. 

You exhale slowly, watching as your puff of breath fades into the air. You suppose Hannibal’s statement may have carried some truth. You will always know where to find him; you won’t be able to bury the memory of him next to the other skeletons in your closet and leave him to rot. Whenever your psyche falters, Hannibal will be there—imprisoned within your mind palace, gathering strength and lying in wait. 

Your phone rings in your pocket. You pull it out, momentarily surprised by the time displayed. It’s getting late. You hadn’t realized how long you spent lost in thought. When you answer, your voice sounds unfamiliar to your ears. 

“Crawford,” Jack clarifies, cutting right to the chase, “We got him.” There is no further explanation needed. 

“We got him, Jack,” you echo. The recognition sounds hollow, empty. Your gaze is pulled towards your driveway once more. Jack’s voice reaches your ears, but you can’t discern what he’s saying over the ringing in your ears. 

Hannibal Lecter is behind bars now, yet you’re the one who feels trapped. You’re a prisoner—trapped in a cage of your own broken design.

1. Dracula by Bram Stoker

2. Sonder refers to the feeling of realization that everyone, including strangers and passersby, have lives just as complex and vivid as your own.

Sorry if the intro parts were confusing. I wanted to *try* to write it in a way that showed how weird and unusual dreams can really be, especially after traumatic events.The mind is infinitely powerful, able to conjure up a new reality at a moment’s notice. I liked the idea of the reader drowning in a whirlpool of their own mind’s creation—as they fight to get back to reality. (also, I found the word “umbra,” which is apparently used to describe the shadow created by an eclipse. I think that’s cool as hell, so I included it.) Dream logic never quite makes sense and can be extremely convoluted, which is why the intro is a messy assortment of memories with no clear beginning or end.

Y’all seemed to like my rationalization for the previous chapter, so I’ll include some similar notes for this chapter if you’re interested:

Hannibal’s surrender in this chapter is very much calculated. He realizes that he’s no longer free—since the FBI are onto him. There is a sort of cruelty in the life he would have to lead, as his “freedom” would include lots of mental effort, relocating, and subterfuge. Hannibal likely weighs his options, and decides between a life of constant stealth and relocation, and a life behind bars. It’s reasonable to assume that he also would have realized that his status as the Chesapeake Ripper would grant him special privileges as a prisoner—he’s aware of how much the Ripper has dominated the cultural zeitgeist and knows he will be able to use that notoriety to his advantage in captivity.

Of course, Hannibal also knows how to best dominate your thoughts: by remaining in one place. As he mentions, you will always know where he is and where to find him. You will not have to track him down by following the calculated clues he leaves behind—rather, you will constantly have to live with the underlying knowledge that Hannibal is accessible at any and every moment. In this case, Hannibal’s surrender is quite a tactical and manipulative move. He truly chooses to go to prison. It would be unsettling to know that the Ripper was on the loose, yes. But, the Ripper has been on the loose and free for several years already. On the other hand, it would be downright disturbing to know that Hannibal’s presence in prison is a willful choice—one that can be taken back at any moment. That can easily manifest a constant lingering fear in the back of the reader’s mind, in addition to an eternal desire to pin down exactly why Hannibal is remaining captive, chained. The chessmaster is willingly surrendering, but the game is far from over.

And now… Act 1 of this story is complete! 

Never fear, Hannibal will return in Act 2! As for the other characters… Well, you’ll have to wait and see. ;) I will say that Act Two embraces some elements of The Red Dragon and Silence of the Lambs. Don’t worry, though—you don’t need to have read either of them. :3

Here’s a scrap for your efforts! (*throws you this unused dialogue like a scruffy middle-aged man with grey hair and a scratchy quarter-zip throws a piece of raw beef to the wolves outside his cabin*) This was one of the MANY options I had considered (but never used) for the big reveal:

“How long have you known?” Hannibal asks. “From the moment you invited me into your home,” you answer. There’s silence for a dreadful moment. “And you stayed.” “I did.” “Why?” “I like talking to you, I enjoy your company.… Does one really need a reason to keep the company of another?” You finish. A beat of quiet. “... I suppose not,” Hannibal acquiesces.

Act 2 will be posted as the second part of this series. Here's the link to the AO3 series: these jagged scars. I'll also post it over here on Tumblr. :)

Thank you so so so much for all the support! Your likes, comments, and reblogs keep me going! <33333

taglist 🖤: @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kingkoku @kahuunknown @atlas-king1 @pendragon-writes @slipknotcentury @cryinersaved @the-ultimate-librarian @starre-eyes @pendragon-writes @peterparkeeperer @gayschlatt69

[sunsetsixx]

oh my god yall. i do not even know where to begin so here’s some word vomit about my night last night 🫠

i have no voice this morning. mission accomplished

joan jett absolute QUEEN but wbk. homegirl sounded like a whole studio album

posion was SO MUCH FUN. bret is an iconic frontman & i wish i had half the energy he does

also…dick print 😵‍💫

i think i may have fallen in love with cc deville & his long, luscious hair

def leppard KICK ASS. my guy joe elliot can SINGGG

however i do wish they just cut the acoustic section altogether like ive seen other people say…a dude in the row in front of me fully fell asleep 💀

now to what everyone’s been waiting for…(probably not but ill pretend) my thoughts on MOTLEY FCKN CRUE

they were real. like real people. breathing my boston fenway park air. in front of my face. i still cannot even begin to process

i screamed & cried & danced my way through their entire set like a PSYCHO & at the end the lady next to me goes “i can tell you’re a huge crue fan…im so happy you got to experience that” AND I TEARED UP EVEN MORE

all 4 of them are so. much. fucking. hotter. in. person. holy. shit.

daddy sixx omfg. his black & red fit ft. the iconic back pocket raccoon tail had me foaming at the mouth

im not even joking you i almost collapsed when vinnie walked out in the kimono & the aviators & the SCRUFF ive said it once & ill say it again that man is STUPID HOT rn

basically they just fueled my fantasy of a vinikki menage a trois even more. moving on

THOMAS LEE BASS SHOWED HIS TITS DURING TITTYCAM

mick mars is god. that man deserved far more screen time than he got. his hair is luxurious. his hands are magical. do with that sentence what you will

I GOT TO SEE THE QUEEN HERSELF MS RUBY SIXX IN PERSON. she ran out onstage to give nikki a hug halfway through the show it was PRECIOUS 😭

important observation: vince’s pants are so much more sparkly in person

BAWLED MY EYES OUT DURING HOME SWEET HOME & i got to see vince & nikki do their lil in sync hip sway thing irl that ive gif-ed 87 times so i can die happy basically

the dirt goes SO HARD live

i spent far too much money on merch but i got the poster & i am beyond excited to get it framed <3

overall it was a 1000/10 night & i just feel so lucky & grateful i got to finally see my favorite band. literally gonna be on cloud 9 for the next 6 months

my mom told me i need a shirt that says “i went to the stadium tour & made it everybody’s problem” …i couldnt agree more 😌

[d3monslust]

𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 - 𝐀.𝐃.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Only setting up traps for them , Andy didn't see any of this coming

𝐖𝐂 : 3,151

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: pregnancy, mentions of miscarriage & abusive relationships , cheating , manipulation , violence

𝐀/𝐍 : tumblr deleted the original and I thought for couple of minutes I haven’t backed it up to the point I had a panic attack :) also I worked really hard for this , any kind of interaction is appreciated!!

////////////////June 7th 2020\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

Every story has a happy ending , where the villain gets defeated and the heroes win , but in eden , no one could recognize the corruption and the decent. Everyone hid their darkest and filthiest desires deep down inside them , in their abyss of their souls . Andy knew that , from first hand . He was still getting to know the place , the idle juveniles laying in the sandy beaches , the laughs of the middle aged men echoing through the thickness of the trees’ leaves . A literal paradise ... with no God .

Dolan had promised his wife to keep her safe, and eventually after his decadence , he was more fazed than anything . Their inseparable form could be made out from kilometers ago, their vivid and full of life auras leaving hints of sunshine from time to time . Winning the couple of the year and being stunned was not in their plans but the did not dodge it . Until Dolan started venturing at inexcusable bars , reciprocal pink lipstick decorating one side of his neck while he reclined next to his bond , mumbling about his ambiguous accomplishments. He had her to the point , Mariah felt overwhelmed. The weight of his nifty assets , the gravitas of his clumsy , yet anticipated acts made her scream and wince .

But Mariah David Dolan , did not intend on giving up so easily , only because her husband was demonstrating his incompetent self . Haphazardly, or not , the female found herself at Sherlock’s , who fasty evaluated and corrupted all of her nasty problems . Taken the right measurements, Mariah decided to treat themselves to a dinner , the brunette averting his gaze back from his laptop to his wife. “Did something happen ?” Mariah never cooked , even at special , “crowded” occasions , she wouldn’t lay a finger at the metallic kitchenware . “No . I just though about all the work you’re recently hooked with. A nice dinner with your wife would help you blow off some steam” smirking at the fit of the last words, she left Dolan alone, drowning in his intellectually safe thoughts.

The capriciousness of the vexing atmosphere made the couple exchange some absurd looks. With Andy being the always tired one, sexual intercourse was lost long ago . “Something you would like to say ?” “No .” She went for a debate , any sort of the key for relationships , communication. If that clink unraveled , there would be no sweet salvation for the married couple . “Well , I want to say something.” Andy whispered a silent “go on” as one of their housekeepers wiped off him some of the pasta’s sauce . “I’m pregnant .” the brunette almost choked at the hear , she couldn’t be . “What ?” voice so small , the trait of vulnerability showing .

The fraction made his stomach toss and turn with anticipation, his dreams for the unknown slowly falling apart . “I’m pregnant on the 3rd month .” eyes infested with fury , the blue like sea color dissipated. “And when were you planning on telling me , hm ? When the waters would broke ? Or when the bump would start to show ? Or when you couldn’t fucking miscarriage?” his excessive, painful words ventured to withhold her insurmountable fury . Unceremoniously, his unbeatable character almost took back his sharp words , the marvel Mariah always waited for could intervene their scold and corrupt his grudge . Albeit she had cried and prayed for that baby to come , her husband didn’t yearn it .

“Did you talk to the gynecologist? Can you ?” he stated chastely , reclining his tensed back to the chair . Who could envision Andy Dolan with a child ? The reluctance became vexing , the tension had to be dwindled if she wanted to keep that inexcusable -for him- child . “Yes . We ... discussed and he said that I cannot ... get rid of it .” her unconvincingly words passed from the one ear to the other . He abruptly threw his crystal glass at the respective wall , agitating the woman to run to clean the mess . The hot , ambiguous tears wetting her cheeks . “Cant you just love me ?” she mumbled , her fasty movements elicited a cut from the sharp glass . She hissed at the pain , she wanted to resemble the perfect , sincere , housewife Andy pleased . To conquer the theme , so as to stand next to him with all her lucid pride while clutching his right hand .

And the things became even worse , chaos consuming the island , darkness drowning the residents . But the worst was Andy’s behavior shift . The unintelligible man faltered and his intriguing about his serene family faded , woefully leaving only his malice and possession . Fighting with his own demons , his rigid and virile facade came and ended up resented . The 24-hour absence of the paternal figure made the child cope with egregious insults and quarrels . Curling up in her little bed , her hands covering the ears as not to listen his beloved parents . Was her the reason they fought every night ? And as the family withered , Andy prepared to hit with sweet and sour vengeance .

“Please ...” the woman begged , the tears blocking her already blurry vision . Fatigue in her system degenerating, she tried to refrain this , but Dolan’s wrath could not be avoided . “Please what , hm ? You had a fucking debt ! Look after that damned child . And I swear to god Mariah ^ if something had happened to my daughter!” he scolded . “Oh come on ! Stop acting like you care ! You never did ... you never cared about your family .” His intimidating methods would usually work , and if not he would try for the vicious skin-to-skin contact . Slapping her and looking her terribly weak silhouette, squirming and crying under him . She remained frigid , not wanting to get that answer , Mariah ran to the basement , advancing around the marble halls like a lost puppy . Andy rubbed his stressed temple , waiting for his own kind of wonder to come and take him from this type of hell . The paradise where demons are hidden .

Andy never wanted to become one of them. That vicious, hungry, creatures . Demons . The olds said that if somebody approached the North river he would see a little red creature . A graceful , gorgeous demon . That was bullshit , demons didn't exist , his friend Michael had told him , that poor man - he had taken the subject of claiming to be the Antichrist of the end times too thick . He ended up at an asylum - good man , sick brain . “What are you thinking ?” . God , or whoever , heard him sent him his guardian angel . The nifty woman was everything he wished for . A real living angel . And that chaste, naive flirt shifted into this; whatever that was.

“Nothing to be honest . But let’s not talk about me , hmmm ?” the girl nodded heartily . Y/N had found her person , the one she could trust and never receive betrayal , the one she could cry at and talk about her insurmountable problems . Their meeting was casual - one , two drinks exchanged , some additional winks and the saccharine act of sex to help Y/N realize her feelings. When she was with him , the blithe and sybarite feeling would bloom inside her , becoming as beautiful as a sanguine rose . She chuckled at his works , could describe him as selfless ? No . But to her ... yes . Her despondent self hid his abusive and possessive persona . For her eyes and only , Andy Dolan was a god , innocent and perfect . “I wanted to ask about ... the divorce ? When are you two signing it ?” he had to be astute and answer handily . But they answer was always the same “Oh sweetheart, don’t worry . Mariah is a bit pertinacious but I’ll persuade her , okay ?” and she would fall at the trap , again .

“You’re always answering the same !” maybe today she would revolt and fortunately leave the poisonous love of Andy’s . His eyes shone dangerously, he didn’t want to do this . “Y/N’s not like Mariah” he would remind himself , but the poor girl was sticking her nose almost everywhere . “Aren’t you pleased , hm ? I took you from that fucking clinic , I helped you withdraw and this is your thank you ? I’m disappointed in you , Y/N .” his esoteric character on sight again . His cogent and invidious words caused the sentient girl spill the salty water . The male disdaining to help or comfort . “You deserve this anyway .” she stumbled back , her apprehension increasing whilst seeing him standing up from the bed . That absurdity had to stop , but he had saved her and it was her time now .

As Andy returned home , and the futile try to persuade his wife about the divorce exhausted him , he found himself at his daughter’s room . Observing her sincere and innocent moves . “Daddy ?” “Yes , Baby ?” his far-fetched sweet talk made the two smile in sync . The blonde’s smile making daddy crack . “Can I tell you something?” Andy nodded , hoping the child wouldn’t have read any of his recreational messages . “Mommy told me the reason she doesn’t want you two to break up !” his eyes lit up at her appendix . Perhaps it was the money or the child but anyway - Andy had to know . “What’s that ?” patting his lap for the girl to sit , Hera made herself comfortable at the warmth of his legs . “She said that she won’t let you fool around with every individual who has two holess.” “She said what ?!?!” “Yes , yes but what did she mean when she said “every individual with two holes .” ?” “Not now , Hera .” he quickly placed the kid down , as she sulked at her daddy’s extraordinary behavior.

By the time Andy stated the predicament , Mariah had ruminated on her terms . She should have said this , fuck she really shouldn’t . Her dull and attention-seeking words pushed her husband’s last buttons . “Are you fucking braindead ? What was that you said to my daughter ?!” she knew where that debate would end up . Condescendingly , she wrapped her arms around his neck . Her touch-starved grating amusing his carnal urges . Not wanting to dwell on the situation , Andy let it happen . Her amorous posture , the well-med hair , how didn’t he feel it coming ? Her hands traveling at his shirt’s buttons while Andy’s fingers went for her top . Discarded clothing were soon decorating the floor of their kitchen . His greed for more would eat him up one day . And he waited - patiently and calmly for that day . Her tenuous dominance caused waking up his boredom. But his prurient mind , thought otherwise.

She licked his upper lip , Andy letting her tongue slip into his mouth . The sloppy kiss turning into something more passionate, more loving . “I’ve missed this .” she mumbled in between breaths , making a smirk plaster on Dolan’s face . “I’ve missed you .” he hushed her by kissing her , the loving , lingering kiss making butterflies fly in her stomach . “Andy ?” he groaned at the call , not wanting to eye roll , he approved the question and motivated to go on . “Do you love me ?” “Yes. Only you . And no one else . I know things are hard right now but I’ll make it up to you.”

Bare bodies tangled . Two bodies in one . His hips snapped viciously at hers , hand grabbing a harmful fist of hair . Abruptly pulling it back , making Mariah hiss at the sudden contact of pain . The persona she would only see , not even Y/N , the sadistic one . Her head touching his sweaty torso , the tears in her eyes strengthening his stamina . The coil in her stomach tightened and as the loved noticed it - his hands traveled between her puffy lips , toying with her little bud . “I’m .... im-” her muffled cries interrupting her . “I know baby . Cum , cum with me .” and the coil in her belly broke synchronized with his . The addicting feeling of euphoria engulfing them both . “You did so well .” his sugary words causing her pride to rise , awaking her love for him . Just like the old times . “I love you , Mariah .” she perched at his tight embrace , inhaling his intoxicating scent . “Mhm me too .” she had to savor the moment . Mariah didn’t know what could possibly find her tomorrow .

////////////////

And as Andy distanced himself from Y/N, he kept his promise and made up the tangle. At least everything that could be fixed . The insuperable bond they created was ineffable. The somnolent love , almost dead , rose back from the dead . His pernicious and arcane self opened at his therapist . The Dolans couldn’t be happier . Apathy no longer lived between them . No invidious implication wafting around the tensed atmosphere. Just some more scarce , anticipated details and Dolan would finally fall into blithely.

Andy planted the usual good morning kiss on his wife . Excusing himself for his aimless absence on lunch and venturing to the car . The fraction of 2 to months without seeing Y/N, made him tacit. Where was the power Dolan’s hold ? He couldn’t falter, not now. He would withhold and keep things conservative. His conscience screamed no , but he shut it off , not wanting to trust his instincts . Choosing the obliviousness.

Approaching her modern like house , the cars of topical police confused his comprehension. Incompetent to walk inside , albeit he promised not to care - a part which was got circumvented - some of his worry remained to Y/N . “Officer , is she okay ?” the concern in his eyes made the blue - dressed man doubt his accusation . “Sir , are you Mr.Dolan ?” the man let his white scribbling block down , paying full attention to the brunette . “In the flesh .” two more patrols approaching, no feeling of timidity in their eyes . His envision had to be mendacious . A prosaic one , more realistic. “Andy Dolan you are arrested for the murder of Y/N Y/L/N” his conception blurred, everything changing into automatic. His eyes caught the figure of his wife talking to another police man - she wouldn’t? Would she ?

Everything happened so quickly, the metal handcuffs were clutched onto his hand, the ignominious state making him sentient. He would go to prison and there was no denial in that . At least he would leave Eden .

/////////////// Now \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

He had learnt the news . Mariah was in all this . She had been informed about Andy’s illegal affair , not only with women but with drugs , too . On the one side, she had managed to plan her husband’s perfect suicide but the contradiction she received made her tentative. Therefore she visited the professionals . Sherlock’s beneficial - for both Mariah and him- and handily trap got Dolan arrested . They had planned everything, even the littlest detail . The plan was easy , yet complicated.

He would wake up at 7:15 a.m. as always . Head to the kitchen to make his morning coffee , catch up with Mariah who would accidentally leave the house . His phone would remind him about his last meeting with Y/N , where she would end up thing with him . Or what Mariah had decided to do for her . Y/N had left the island months ago when Mrs.Dolan appeared in her house and threatened to kill her and her soon-to-be-born child. As Andy would drive his way , Sherlock would leave his fingerprint everywhere , placing them carefully at the edges of the gun . Next step would be Y/N’s doppelgänger, nice and murdered next to the white rug .

-

The unbearable route of the dull prison . The thousand of men behind the metal bars , hungry for every kind of fight and sexual intercourse nettled his every atom . Compelling himself not to communicate with anyone , Andy , who had received a life imprisonment lost and the last bit of faith . There was no salvation for him , it never existed . “You have a letter .” the word taking him out of his dwelling thoughts. His family never sent him letters , not that they were coming . Drugs were forbidden, or that was the law applied . “Sender ?” “Unknown .” Andy wasn’t in the mood for playing games . This almost one years in prison erased all of his lenient future. Additionally, alleviating his last mendacious fantasies about life .

Taking the rigid piece of paper , the handwriting of a woman caught his attention . Refraining himself from toring it apart and throwing it to the trash can , he want for abstinence. Cutting the edges with a small knife which used to hide right down his pillow , the form a photo fall on the floor . Inhaling a piece of pure reluctance , Andy took the shiny piece of paper between his hands . The silhouettes of two girls laughing at each other quirked his eye brow . But her ineffable and disheveled beauty stopped his breath . A baby adjoining her side , made him caught the implication . The transparent eligibility to join this family causing him to incandescent. That was his child and his Y/N .

Last thing , eyes traveling at the bottom of the photo

- SHOT WITH NIKON 456 | 6/4/2021 | 7:56 p.m.

And they were alive .

////////////////////////////////////////

Tag list ; @ferndolan @brooklinn13 @lavenderahs @mllxngdonswife @kitty4860

If anyone wants to be removed or added just say it lol

[i-prefer-the-term-antihero]

Additionally, your thoughts on Dracula and Adrian from the Netflix adaptation of Castlevania? I find Dracula really tragic, and the ending scene of Season 2 crushed me because I was not expecting Adrian to cry. He’s usually so stoic and calm that I didn’t think he would weep, I expected him to just shrug it off like heroes usually do, but no, when given time to process everything, the first thing he does is break down into tears. Sypha was right in calling him a brooding teen in an adult body.

Ohh man. If you just take a look at my writing blog (or anywhere I post my fanfiction) it’ll become pretty clear pretty quickly how I feel about them XD So far all my Castlevania fics have been about the Tepes Family. Adrian and Drac are my favorite characters in the series!! (Though I do love pretty much all the characters in it.)

YES YES YES!!

They did an incredible job making Drac sympathetic and tragic. I don’t know if you know anything about the games, and granted, they couldn’t put a lot of story stuff in the games, but (at least as far as I’m aware) in most of them it’s like “ya, he was an evil dude who did evil things because he was evil.” So it actually would have been pretty accurate to the source to make him just an unsympathetic, irredeemable villain, but they didn’t and I LOVE them for it. Playing Symphony of the Night (Alucards game) after watching the series l was almost longing for that Drac I know and love from the series, (though it’s fun to see evil Drac too).

As I’ve said, I adore redeemable villains, and they did an amazing job with him, to the point where pretty much everyone in the fandom adores him, which is extremely tough to accomplish—even if you write a redeemable villain well, often large parts of the fandom don’t see it and hate the character. I knew that the point was that they were going to defeat Drac but I have to say, especially since I originally knew nothing of the games, I was hoping they’d save him by the end.

I think the fact that he liked and was kind to Hector and Isaac was evidence that he wasn’t too far gone. I mean, the only two people he genuinely trusted and liked in his court were human…that’s so interesting, I wish it was at least talked about, either in the show or in the fandom. I think he actually liked humans, partially or especially because of Lisa, he just...was so angry, and needed someone to blame. He probably ultimately blamed himself for not being there to save her, and it was just easier to blame the humans he once hated/didn’t understand, even if in reality he didn’t hate them as much as he thought he did...

Doing more thinking and research into the show for my “If These Walls Could Talk” fic I recognize now that symbolically it made sense even within the show that he died when Lisa died (which I can explain more about if you want but id probably end up going off on a long tangent so I’ll save it)...but I still thought practically, in the show, he could have still been redeemed.

Omg I LOVED that. The longer I take to sit with it, the more I realize just how much I loved that they put him crying instead of shaking it off.

It’s very interesting that Drac and Alucard are more openly emotional characters. I might be totally wrong, but as far as I remember, they (...and Lisa when she dies, and probably Isaac in a flashback), are the only main characters we see openly cry. It’s a pretty bold move to make any of your characters emotional like that, but especially your villain, and your bold handsome hero. It’s sooo easy to get emotional characters and emotions wrong…or just offputting to some people...but more on that later.

I think Adrian and Drac are both rather sentimental, in an odd way. Much of Drac’s motivations in the show and even in the games (the times his motivations are explained) had to do with his wives (yes he was married before Lisa in the games...unless Lament of Innocence was retconned...) which is interesting. So many of his decisions are based on emotion. He lets Lisa in just because he likes her, he goes to war with the world because of Lisa, he sits in his study mourning her loss, he let’s Alucard kill him… I also notice very often he digs his nails into his palms until they bleed, presumably because if he didn’t he’d hurt someone else (in the scene where he hurts Alucard, he does this). His sentimentality doesn’t diminish is power as a villain, which is SO difficult to accomplish.

 I am emotional myself so I absolutely love to see emotional characters, but for most people, seeing even a normal character be emotional diminishes them in their eyes, or makes them whiny, so making your villain even a little emotional, and having that not take away from the audiences perception of their power as a villain is sooooooo hard to do, and I applaud them for making a so well-beloved, and still villainous and intimidating, but also emotional (at times) villain.

For Alucard. I don’t see any problem with him being emotional, but it makes even more sense if he’s a teen in an adult’s body—which was indeed portrayed quite well.

Yes that was interesting when he cried when drawing his parents!! I wasn’t expecting that when I saw him drawing them. I was enjoying and intrigued by his story so much, then when he started crying I was caught off guard—but in a good way. It really made me feel for him, and understand that he was still grieving his mother, and that knew the gravity of what he was currently doing.

I think it’s kind of important to show that kind of thing in a situation like this. It’s easy to think Alucard hates his dad, and they need to show the emotion of the situation to make it clear “no he doesn’t hate his dad, this actually breaks his heart, he just knows he has to do this.”

I loved when he was telling Trevor and Sypha about how much the world would lose by killing Dracula. It’s really interesting that he hides his emotion with them, and that Trevor and Sypha are so stoic. The son of Dracula isn’t the guy you expect to be the only hero who cries.

In “For Love” when Trevor’s like “Don’t get weepy about it” I was sitting there, sobbing, like “No, please get weepy about it! Let the boy cry for goodness sake!! Give me some emotion!!” But I too was not expecting him to cry like he did, and in grieving the death of his parents...

I knew the crying scene was coming because I’d seen pictures of it on here and pinterest, but I had no context for it. In the end it wasn’t just the weeping itself that made the scene so impactful, it was everything surrounding it. I didn’t know it would happen when he was completely alone (and would be for the foreseeable future), and in grieving his parents, or about the ghosts/flashbacks before it (cementing his grief), or that it was literally the last scene of the season, or that there would be no music for both the scene and the credits thereafter.

And that was what really got me.

Because, firstly, we never got to see any flashbacks to his childhood, and that was what I was begging for the entire series (and hence why its what I write about). To finally get it, and it not to just be something the audience gets to see, but something Alucard himself is seeing... a happy memory he’s seeing when he knows that is completely gone, he cannot hope to have it again, and for him to now be in his father’s place…that’s heartbreaking. Like just having your character cry—let alone those kinds of full-on sobs—is painful enough, showing a son grieving his parents is a particularly heart wrenching kind of sadness, but showing that he is haunted by memories of those parents he lost—not only lost but one of which he killed, and, if SOTN is canon for the show, the other of which he could have saved—of a happy childhood, and he is alone with these memories for the foreseeable future...that is truly heart wrenching.

Also the scene with Trevor and Sypha in the wagon earlier in the episode was super sweet, they could have easily put the Adrian crying scene earlier, and had the Trevor and Sypha scene be the last scene of the season (and Trevor’s game actually does end with them looking into the sunset, so ending with the last scene of “For Love” would be accurate as well), and left it on a positive note, and the audience would have been left with a completeness. But they made a conscious choice put his crying scene last, and it was so powerful, because it made you remember that at the end of the day, he isn’t just our bold handsome hero, he was a son who lost both his parents, and that, to him, this isn’t really a triumph, but a loss. It also kinda confirmed that Drac wasn’t an "evil guy, end of story". That there was reason to grieve him, and to show his son grieving, and to leave it there because of it. It was a personal gravity too

In the end, it was the lack of music in the scene, and even more so during the credits, so theres only his tears, and all you are left with in the end is this amplified emptiness that really did me in. I think I literally sat there, tear tracks on my face, my mouth open when I hit the credits.

Playing Symphony of the Night after watching the show is really interesting in exploring his character. I knew there was very little story, so I wasn’t expecting much from the story, but I actually found that I was beyond excited whenever there actually was some story, and the few lines they did say are stuck with me.

Maria comments early on that Alucard’s not very good at talking. At first I just chalked it up to...weird translations or whatever. But the more I played the game and the more I thought about him in the show...I think she’s right. He’s not very good at talking, yet if and when he does talk he’s quite eloquent, and precise with his words. (This actually makes him a somewhat difficult character to write). I wonder if perhaps this has some connection to his emotionalness. He’s very careful with what he says, and this may spread to what he does—such as being careful when he shows emotion. I’m curious why he’s like this. It could just be his nature, but I wonder if as a kid he was ever hated because he was a vampire—maybe people made fun of him, and he cried, and they made more fun of him because of it—and he learned both to hide his emotions, and that he had to be very deliberate and show people he didn’t mean any ill will with his words. (And he looks older than he is so people might call him immature for acting his mental age). All very speculative, of course. But it’d be fun to write about!

Also, another thing from SOTN that is related to this topic, there was a fight that really struck me (enough I actually wrote a fic about it (inverted recurrence)). SOTN takes plays 300 years after the events of The Netflix Series (aka Dracula’s Curse). Most of the bosses don’t seem to have a lot of meaning story-wise, they’re just there for you to fight. The other day I (Alucard) walked into a boss room...and there were Trevor, Sypha, and Grant (who was omitted from the Netflix series). They were fake versions of them, of course. And there’s no dialogue in the fight so maybe I’m just speculating, but what struck me was that the fact that Dracula could use them against him probably means he still cares about them, even after 300 years. It probably also means that they’re some of the only friends he’s ever had. Granted, he was asleep for a good chunk of those 300 years, still. It goes back to that sentimental-ness I was talking about earlier.

I few years ago I watched the Gravity Falls commentaries, and from them I got a lot of the writing advice I still think about and use today. Alex Hirsch said something on this subject which I really liked which is “Hold your tears.” When a character cries they’ve broken, that’s as far as they can go. So if you make a character cry when the audience themselves doesn’t feel the weight of the scene, or it doesn’t feel like the character has broken yet, it can feel like too...much/cheesy, and distance the audience. especially with cartoons where the way it’s drawn can actually affect your sympathy for the character (it can look weird or accentuated).

They did such an awesome job with this by literally holding his tears until the very end. I don’t know how other, non-emotional people felt about it, but Ive don’t know if I’ve ever seen tears used so well in a show, pack such a punch. To have it not just be a part of the scene but literally the focus, and at the end...it was powerful.

Sorry for the long response, and more importantly, I’m beyond sorry for taking so so SOOO long to respond. I hope you enjoy my response, if you see it <3

P.S. For anyone else who made it all the way to the end, I actually have a Castlevania sideblog now: @symphonyofthewrite !! I’d be beyond happy to recieve asks like this over there, if you’d like to hear more of my thoughts!!

[torikengel]

Thomas Hewitt x Reader (Part 4)

“I see you already gave breakfast to her.” Luda, Mae smiled. “Is everything alright, m’dear?” She asked with a cheerful tone in her voice. “Yeah, I am okay.” You answered with a forced smile. “Then I will leave you two alone if you need anything just lemme know, darling.” She stated and disappeared in the hallway. You looked back at Thomas and could see how hurt he was by your sudden behavior. Even though he and his family literally kidnapped you, you felt the urge to apologize, so you did. “I am sorry for startling you; I really didn’t mean to. It’s just that I remember yesterdays’ events only partially. I-I think I might’ve hit my head or something…” you stuttered nervously as you could feel his gaze on you. Honestly, you felt incredibly exposed even though you were fully clothed. He kept staring at you without saying a thing. Right, he was mute… so how are you supposed to communicate, you wondered. Well, he could at least answer with yes or no by nodding or shaking his head, you thought. “So… umm…” you mumbled, not knowing where to begin. “I really want to remember everything, so there won’t be any misunderstandings in the future, but please bear with me, you know that this… it’s tough for me.” You tried to explain how you felt the best way you could. He nodded, but then pointed at the plate with breakfast. “R-right, I should eat to gain some energy first… after that, can you help me recall exactly what happened yesterday?” you asked as you took a bite of the bread with a slice of cheese. Thomas just nodded again and sat on the floor, his eyes not looking away from you for a second. 

As you were chewing the dry bread, you realized that they must struggle to buy food, that’s why they are doing all this. You suddenly coughed as the urge to throw up made you choke on the food. Thomas panicked but tried to help you by slapping your back. He was so clumsy when it came to human contact, and he hit you a bit harder than he should have. But it helped you because you stopped coughing in no time, and your attempts to catch breath turned into giggles. You enjoyed this lighthearted and awkward moment in the middle of your miserable situation. Thomas just got more and more confused by everything you did. “I am sorry, I guess I am just trying to laugh at the fact that you eat human meat instead of crying.” You didn’t understand your need to apologize to him and admired your brain for coping with cannibalism in such a way. You were stoked that you could remember something, even though it wasn’t charming this time. After you finished your breakfast and put the plate on the nightstand, you turned to Thomas, who was still exploring your body with his eyes. You took a sip of water to clear your throat and gestured for him to sit next to you on the bed. He hesitantly did what you wanted. “So, I know this might be a bit tricky, but I want to know what happened to me. Please just nod when I say it correctly.” You pleaded and took his hands in yours. He immediately nodded but looked away in embarrassment as he felt your touch. Everything he felt yesterday came back to him.

You calmly started speaking from the very beginning, talking about how you went to Luda’s shop, then about the spike strips that caused the accident, and after that, how Hoyt shot your friends and took all of you to this house. Still, you didn’t know where it was or how the house looked from the outside because you were unconscious until you woke up in the basement. Thomas just nodded as you seemed to recall everything correctly. “Now, it might be difficult…” you said as you tried to remember what happened there. You looked at Thomas’s face and thought about his mask for a while… Chloe and Matt… right, he killed and butchered them, as he did to Emma. “You killed all of them?” you asked, and Thomas looked away while nodding. He was nervous, he didn’t want you to hate him. “I guessed your name…” you looked over to the nightstand, “… and you gave me water when I asked for it.” You exclaimed after seeing the glass of water next to the empty plate. It bothered you because you didn’t understand why he helped you, why were you still alive. “I sang for you, and then Hoyt came into the basement and…” you stammered, “Emma was there because he did stuff with her.” You stopped talking to gather your thoughts, and Thomas just kept nodding. “And then we ate dinner… human meat?” you didn’t remember what happened at the table because of Hoyt. “You took me upstairs; I mean here, and I went to sleep?” You looked at Thomas who was now lost in his own thoughts. He was hoping you’d remember the kiss, so now he was disappointed. But maybe it was for the better. He knew that one day you would have to go, one day he will have to kill you… right? There’s no way you would accept him like this; he was a freak, an animal just like everyone has told him, plus his family was far from normal too. You, on the other hand, were simply perfect. After all, if you had the opportunity to run away now, you would do it without question.

He didn’t realize you were getting closer to him this whole time. You were intrigued by this man, you didn’t know if it was the instinct to survive or the trauma you went through, but you felt like he was the only safe space you had right now. He never mistreated you; he helped you when you needed and did whatever you asked of him. And those eyes, you could stare into his eyes eternally. You felt a familiar tingling in your stomach that made you recall one more thing. “We kissed…” You wanted to think it was the fever, but you couldn’t deny it anymore. There was no logic behind it, only honest feelings. When Thomas realized how close you were, it was too late for him to react in any way as you cupped his cheeks with your hands and desperately kissed him with tears forming in your eyes. Thomas moaned quietly into the kiss as your hands traveled from his cheeks into his hair. Even when you were almost breathless, you didn’t stop hungrily kissing him. Thomas held you tightly around your waist and closed his eyes while he tried to keep up with you. This all was still very unknown to him. You finally parted lips gasping for air. “T-Tommy…” you whimpered, trying to hide your tears. You knew it wasn’t right, and you were beating yourself up for feeling this way, regretting your decision to ever go on this road trip.

Thomas’s heart was pounding so fast as it was about to explode. He was happy, yet hopelessly confused. Did he hurt you? What was he supposed to do? He remembered how you snuggled in his arms last night, so he hugged you and caressed your hair, trying to calm you. Your muffled cried were becoming even more desperate as gruesome flashbacks from yesterday appeared in your mind. He could’ve killed you the same way he killed your companions, yet he chose not to. He spared your life.  “T-thank you…” you sobbed into his shoulder as he kept holding you in his big, muscular arms. You were grateful that he let you live and even felt sorry for his situation to some extent. You could imagine that his life wasn’t easy, and you couldn’t bring yourself to hate or blame him.

But he was even more grateful than you because you were the one who actually saved him. In the moment of inevitable death, you showed him humanity and kindness. His whole life, everyone called him a monster, an animal, so he became one. You treated him like a human without prejudice or disgust, and by doing that, you managed to save that sad, pained boy deep inside him. You took him back to his childhood and his teen years when he didn’t resent every single human except his family. In those days, he still had hope that someday he would have a normal life. He had his dreams and achievements he wanted to accomplish. He lost all of those the day he snapped. After each kill, it became easier, especially as his victims fought back with more nasty words, and Hoyt just fueled his hatred. However, now, with you in his arms, he felt like he could take on the whole world. He still wasn’t sure about all this, and he didn’t trust you yet as everything he was taught telling him to kill you, but his heart warmed when you were next to him, so as long as you didn’t try to run away, it would be alright.

When you finally calmed down, you leaned your body against the wall while rubbing your eyes dry. You were embarrassed by being so vulnerable in front of your captor. Even though you just woke up, you were still exhausted, and intrusive thoughts about your situation bugged you to no end.

Then you looked at the man sitting in front of you… this man who you just spent such an intimate moment with. You knew him for one day, yet you felt a sense of familiarity when you were with him. You pushed away the reality of him being a killer and a cannibal at that and settled with a thought that if he didn’t kill and eat you, it was okay. “Thomas?” you raised your eyebrow playfully as you put your hand on his thigh. “Can I please take a shower? And… if it’s possible, get the suitcase from the van? I have some clothes there… Pretty please.” You decided to make the best of your situation, at least until you can escape… plus he wasn’t so bad after all. Thomas still couldn’t process your mood swings very well, but a smile made its way on his lips. That made your heart flutter as this was the first time you saw him smile… he was kind of cute… kind of. Thomas nodded and left the room when he realized that your hand was on his thigh. He still got startled easily when he got personal with you as he was very touch starved and only used to pain coming from encounters with other people. He made his mind up that he would try his best to fulfill your request, however, it wasn’t up to him. You looked after him as he disappeared from the room like he was a mirage never to be seen again, and your heart ached unexplainably.

The reality of your situation dawned on you again as you blankly stared into the hallway. He left you to yourself, and you really didn’t know what to do. “Is he going to do what I asked for?” you started quietly talking to yourself to make yourself less lonely. Am I going to be here every day like this, you wondered? It felt so weird, especially how physically close you got to your captor in one day. “It just felt right at that moment! Don’t beat yourself up over it like it’s your fault! It was probably a onetime thing as well…” you argued with yourself, but then decided to stop acting like a lunatic and stretched your sore body. Your leg was cuffed to the bed, but you could at least stand up. Then you just stared outside from the window, lost in your thoughts. You ignored the passage of time. Loud footsteps that gave you goosebumps echoed in the hallway and made you realize that you’ve been doing nothing for more than an hour. Thomas came into the room with your purse and suitcase, looking defeated. “Oh my god! You actually got my stuff. Thank you so much, Thomas!” you jumped up, ready to look through everything, but your clumsy self, tripped on the rope again and felt on the floor with a big thump. Thomas chuckled under his mask when you tried to stand up again. As you noticed his expression, your face became completely red. So, he’s having fun at your expense, huh? A thought came across your mind, and you fell back on your knees, covering your face with both hands as you started sobbing. Thomas’s smile disappeared, and he rushed over to help you. As he got close enough, you suddenly burst out laughing and grabbed his hand. “Got you!” Your prank irked Thomas, but when he saw your genuine smile, he melted. That was the first time in many years someone laughed together with him and not at him. “Sorry, but that’s what you get for looking at me embarrassing myself like that.” You smirked at him. Talk about being positive in a bad situation you thought for yourself when you looked at his bloody apron. “So, now that we got this out of the way, can you take me to the bathroom, please?” you stood up and looked at Thomas, attempting your best to look as cute as possible. He nodded and uncuffed your ankle. You contemplated if you should just run for it, but he was too used to this, so he grabbed your wrist, almost crushing it. “Ow, ow, ow.” You cried out in pain as his grip was tightening around the abrasion on your wrist. Startled, he completely let go of you and stepped back to the door so that you wouldn’t escape.  “That hurt,” you looked at your bruised wrists. “How about we take it slow?” you sighed, and Thomas grunted. You opened your suitcase and took out a black lace top, white shorts, and clean underwear. “Now,” you stepped closer to Thomas, who guarded the only exit with his big body. “Let’s try this.” You grabbed his hand and teased him, “Don’t let go if you don’t want me to run.” He rolled his eyes and led you to the bathroom, clearly confused about whether to be happy or mad. When he closed the bathroom door behind you, your body finally gave in. You exhaled and felt all your muscles loosen. For the first time in two days, you were free to an extent. The bathroom was far from clean, but you felt happy, finally having some privacy and time alone without being tied up. You stepped into the tub and let the brownish water run down on your hair and body. There was nothing but a bar of soap, so you just used that to clean yourself. When you were done, you dried yourself with what seemed like a clean towel and put on your clothes. You weren’t sure if you felt cleaner, but you definitely felt more like yourself now. You then looked around for anything useful, but then scrapped your silly idea and just opened the door.

Thomas looked you up and down, mesmerized by everything. However, he snapped back to reality and grabbed your hand, so you don’t try anything to escape. He led you back to the bedroom. When you sat on the bed, he kneeled to inspect your wrists and ankles. Maybe he could get his momma to look at your wounds for him? He then loosely cuffed your ankle again so that it wouldn’t deepen your wound, but not that you could slip out of it. He glared at you with a growl, trying to say: Don’t try anything stupid. “Thank you for your concern…” you shook your head a bit. How could he think you’d be able to escape when he had the key? He stood up, prepared to leave as he had work to do, but you stopped him. “Am I going to die anytime soon?” you bluntly asked him as you braced yourself for the worst outcome. He shook his head and looked you in the eyes. There is going to be a time when he would have to get rid of you… He knew it would be hard as he saw you as a human, not a piece of meat. “I am glad to hear that… because you know, despite everything, I want to keep living.” You teared up a bit at the thought of his cleaver next to your skull but quickly wiped your tears off.

Thomas rushed out of the room, closing the door behind him, leaving you confused and alone once again. He wasn’t prepared to face the reality of you being a victim and him being a captor. Him being the one who took your life, not literally, but still. He took away your freedom, family, friends… They won’t ever know what happened to their precious y/n. You made his mundane duty so difficult to carry out by acting the way you did. You didn’t even realize it, but by everything you’ve done so far, you completely changed Thomas’s life. He wasn’t sure if he liked it, because it made everything very hard. All he had to do up until this point was providing for his family without any hope for having a nice future for himself. He just did what had to be done and listened to Hoyt’s commands. Sometimes he thought about having a normal life, a normal face. Everything could’ve been different, and he felt so desperate about being unable to change it. That’s why when he saw that handsome soldier boy, he ended up taking his face… because that guy had everything Thomas could only dream of. He had given up on his dreams after the first kill; he knew he became the monster everyone wanted him to be. However, you made him think about his dreams again.

His thoughts dispersed as he heard Hoyt’s voice. “So, how’s yer bitch doin’?” he snickered. “Why are you even keepin’ her, it’s just ‘nother mouth to feed?” he kept blabbering. “Let him be Charlie, and he can keep ‘er until we run out of meat.” Luda Mae interrupted. “Okay, whatever you say, ma, but maybe I could show him some tricks, so he gets the best outta her.” He teased. Thomas was clearly uncomfortable, even though he was used to the sex talk and knew what it was as he grew up next to Hoyt. This time it wasn’t just a random girl. You had a name. He also realized that even if he tried to touch you in that way, you would probably finally curse him out and look at him with disgust. Hoyt often bragged about how amazing it felt and how Thomas should finally become a man.  Hoyt even offered to show him how it’s done with some victims. Of course, he would love to try it someday, but only with someone who would like touching Thomas, and he was convinced there was no one like that in this world. He didn’t like the faces and sounds the girls were making when Hoyt did it with them. For him, it just tainted the fantasy.

a/n: I swear this was so hard to write, but I am trying my best <3 Thomas is so precious, I just wanna kick everyone who bullied him... and I want you to show him all the love in the world too, but you are still a victim of kidnapping... we are steadily getting there though. Any comments would be highly appreciated.

[zims-left-shoe]

Hello, I had a really cute idea for a request if you dont mind. Since it's been lockdown and stuff could I get a Zim x S/o where they're finally able to see eachother after isolation. Bonus for fluff if that's ok with you?

This request??? Amazing. Absolute perfection. And of course there’s going to be fluff!! Chaotic and feral Zim is great, but I love me some soft Zim.

Oh, and there’s no specific age here. Could be high school, could be adults, I’ll leave that up to the reader.

Blinking furiously, your eyes eventually settled on a squint as your phone cast painfully bright light into your face. The surrounding comfort of darkness was fended off by the harsh screen you continued to stare at. Nothing had changed in the past hour, nothing new was written. You weren't sure what you were hoping for. 

A simple 'FINE' within a chat bubble marked the end of your conversation. Normally, you would snicker to yourself about how he flat out refused to write in lowercase, but the anxiety gnawing at your stomach prevented you from doing so. 

Sighing, you rolled onto your side, hanging half off the bed in order to plug your phone in for the night. After that was accomplished, you flopped onto your back, staring into the black abyss that was your bedroom ceiling.

Quarantine had been a lot more difficult than you had originally thought. At first it was fun, you could be as much of an introvert as you wanted and could take care of your responsibilities on your own time and schedule, for the most part anyway. But once the weeks turned into months, and those months began to increase exponentially, it became a problem. Going just a bit stir crazy was bad enough, but the worst part was being unable to see Zim.

Again, at first, you didn't think it would be such a bad thing. He tended to get a bit clingy and possessive, so you thought a little me time would do you some good. But as time stretched onward, you realized that you missed the little roach bastard more than you had anticipated. 

Of course you couldn't see him, considering not only the high human-to-human spread, but neither of you were quite sure to the extent Irkens would be affected, if it would be much more dangerous for Zim than an average human. As if that factor wasn't bad enough, Zim was already a huge germaphobe, so he rejected the idea of even socially-distanced hangouts with masks and all that.

So, being responsible and considerate, you had agreed to stick to text communication. It was fine at first, and you both talked regularly. Until about a month ago. Your worries began at the occurrence of two solid weeks of radio silence. Assuming the best, you waved it off as maybe he went to space and therefore couldn't get Earth cell reception. Finally, he had contacted you again, but brushed off any questions regarding the period of being off the grid. However, any response he gave you was short and simple, often a yes or no without elaboration, even to prompts where those answers weren't even valid. 

This is where the unease began. Your mind began to run rampant with thoughts on the matter. What if he had gotten tired of you? The reasonable person inside of you told you that if that was indeed the case, then his loss, but that didn't mean you had to be happy about it. Just when you would convince yourself everything was fine, you managed to come back with something else, always a variation of the last negative thought. What if he had realized that he liked being alone, that he missed being a lone wolf soldier focused on destroying the world with no one to care about? You could never fully refute that one. After all, was a genetically modified alien soldier truly content being tied down by something such as a relationship?

The only thing that brought you any solace was that he had reached out to you that morning, requesting your presence at his base. Things had gotten better, allowing for the two of you to meet with contact, person to person. Well, person to Irken. Of course, your brain wouldn't let you enjoy that. It just had to spin some tale that would send you into a spiral of dread. Now, as you laid in your bed, sheets bunched in your fists, you were convinced that he wished to break up with you. Well, at least he had the decency to do so in person, if that even was the case.

You wanted nothing more than to be overjoyed that you would finally be able to see him after all this time. You had become quite attached to Zim, more than you ever would like to admit. You should be filled with excitement. However, you felt nothing but a sinking feeling that made your skin crawl. 

"Just...please let me have a good night's sleep, would you?" You pleaded with your mind, shifting onto your side to face your wall, letting your eyes shut tight.

(more under the cut)

-

Unfortunately, you and your brain have two very different ways of defining 'a good night's sleep'. Trudging into the bathroom to get ready for the day ahead, you couldn't hold back the massive yawn. Stretching, about ten different joints popped as you remembered tossing and turning for a majority of the night. The worst part was the two or so hour period of staring blankly at the ceiling, mind racing with ideas of nothing at all. 

Staring at your reflection in the mirror revealed you to be looking like hell...and not on wheels. More like hell discarded on the side of the road next to an empty shopping bag. Dark circles rested under your eyes, which weren't only from the previous night. Your sleep schedule had been almost non-existent thanks to quarantine, some nights you wouldn't surrender to slumber until three in the morning, and other days you would succumb to sleep's tantalizing claws at four pm. 

Not to mention that you could barely remember the last time you had worn anything but pajamas or sweats. Groaning, you pulled on presentable clothes, as if this was the largest inconvenience you could ever be faced with. Not that Zim would care, but you didn't want to be shown up in the outfit department by a being from beyond who wore the same saturated pink military uniform every day. 

You didn't even bother to glance at the time, it wouldn't matter. Either way, Zim would most likely chide you for being late, even if you were an hour early. You weren't sure if the construct of time even existed in the reality that was Zim's mind. Now that you thought about it, you couldn't say for certain if you had even set a specific time arrangement. All you had agreed upon was to be there some time in the morning.

It didn't matter regardless, he would be there whenever you decided to show up. He hadn't left his base once for the duration of quarantine. Zim had patience when it came to being cooped up for long periods of time, you would give him that much. It was about the only time he had patience, but it counted nonetheless. 

That negative feeling wouldn't cease tugging at you as you meandered your way to Zim's base, quite literally dragging your feet down the sidewalk. Occasionally, you would come across a stray stone or pinecone, and you'd strike out with a half-hearted kick, watching it skitter across the pavement.

The entire walk was forgettable, and you had made the trek enough times for your brain to transition into autopilot until you made it to the fence line. The first few times you went to his place were unsettling. Now, you were completely unfazed as the security gnomes eyed you when you padded up the sidewalk, approaching the door. Their beady laser eyes tracked your every breath, but by this point you were unbothered. Besides, you were fairly sure that Zim had put you on the white list, so they shouldn't shoot at you unless it was a direct order.

You pressed the doorbell, folding your hands neatly in front of you as you waited for Zim to answer, scrambling to get a heartfelt speech together in your head. Whatever string of words you had managed to stitch together was thrown out the window when the door swung open, revealing a very animated GIR decked out in his doggy disguise. He frantically waved a black 'paw' to you, a grin splitting his face.

"Hi, Sparky!!" He hollered in your face, greeting you with a name that wasn't yours, per usual. Before you could even open your mouth to respond, he began talking again, in very much an outside voice. A chip right off the old Irken block. "Didja bring the pizza?!" The little robot inspected your arms curiously, stepping around you to make sure you weren't hiding the greasy pie behind your back. 

"I, uh, wasn't aware I was supposed to be bringing pizza." You knew this was just an instance of GIR being GIR, but you went along with it anyway. He couldn't help himself, it was just the way he was wired. Or, maybe it was the fact that his brains consisted of useless pocket junk. It didn't really matter. GIR moved back to stand obediently in the doorway, you peering around the frame to see if Zim was anywhere to be found. He wasn't, which only made the nerves worse. Despite your worry, you kept your voice even and neutral. "May I come in?"

"Mhm!" He hummed, jumping aside to let you in. You closed the door behind you, standing around awkwardly for a moment before turning back to GIR, who was already shimmying out of his doggy suit.

"Do you know where Zim is?" Something seemed to click with GIR, however, it was not something that would answer your question. The poor robot burst into tears, which also wasn't out of the ordinary, falling face first into the floor and pounding his metal claw on the tile.

"That boy missed you so much!! He so sad, he even cried!! He loves youuu...!" He wailed, loud enough to draw Minimoose into the room who offered a soft and sad 'Nyah', seemingly agreeing with the statement. You couldn't confirm, since only Zim and GIR were fluent in the language you lovingly called 'Moosinese'. Tears continued to stream down the robot's metal face as he screamed, Minimoose resting a comforting purple nub on his back.

"Is that true?" Your response was calm, having dealt with GIR's outbursts many a time. You couldn't attest to the accuracy of his words, considering correct information was almost similar to a Russian roulette wheel when it came to GIR. 

And as if nothing had ever happened, the robot immediately perked up, popping up to his feet with a smile, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. "Yep!! Master's been down in the base the whole time!! Just sittin' there all shmoopy-like!" A giggle followed, pushing his previous bout of sadness into the past.

"Nyah!" Minimoose showed you a bucktooth grin as he looked to you purposefully. 

"Really? Fascinating." Again, you couldn't speak Moosinese, but still, you nodded. The purple moose appeared to be satisfied with your response, floating off to who knows where.

"You wanna come play with the piggy with me?!" GIR bounced up and down, eager to drag you off to roll around on the floor and have a tea party with whatever pig he had brought home this week. 

"Maybe some other time, GIR." You weren't opposed to spending time with the little robot, but he wasn't exactly who you were here to see. He didn't seem offended, all he did was shrug his metal shoulders.

"Okie dokie!" He brought his claw up to his forehead in a salute, turning away from you and making a mad dash to the kitchen. You heard a noisy metallic clang echo from the kitchen, and you didn't need to witness the event to visualize GIR smacking face-first into the cabinet.

"Careful, GIR! My milk squid experiment is in there!" A familiar voice rang out from the kitchen, and two immediate questions sprung to mind. The first was why in the name of anything would you keep milk in the cabinet (even if it related to a squid)? The second being just what in the hell had he been doing all this time?

The whiny complaints had quieted to low grumbles as just the alien you wanted to see paced into the living room, eyes cast downwards, antennae drooping. The words that had been forming in your throat were choked into barely a squeak when you got a closer look at him. Zim still didn't seem to notice you, red bug eyes trained on the tile, hands clasped behind his back. That wasn't the surprising bit. A jacket you thought you had lost some time ago was thrown on over his invader uniform. You couldn't remember if maybe you had left it there or maybe Zim had taken without your knowledge, but either way, he was swimming in it. The sleeves were rolled up to meet his wrists, gloved hands peeking out from the fabric. Most of the jacket itself was well past his thighs, stopping just above the knee. It had been just a bit big on you, so of course it would be massive on him. You felt any unease you were feeling immediately leave at the sight. Clearly, he hadn't been enjoying the separation as much as you thought.

"I was wondering where that coat went." A chuckle slipped past your lips. Finally, Zim seemed to notice you, head snapping in your direction, antennae perking up to attention. 

"Eh?" He didn't quite register your phrase, almost as if he had been wearing your coat for so long that he had forgotten it wasn't a part of his usual attire. "Y/n, I don't-" Zim looked down at himself, finally realizing why you were staring at him like that. He wriggled out of the jacket faster than you could gush about how adorable it was, throwing it forcefully behind the couch. "YOU CAN'T PROVE ANYTHING!!" He shrieked, pointing a clawed finger at you, antennae flattening against his head in curt embarrassment. 

"So, you like my stuff, huh?" You asked cheekily, relishing in his refusal to look at you as he unknowingly clutched the hem of his invader uniform, scuffling his boots on the tile. You couldn't help but snicker. It wasn't often Zim would let himself be sheepish, since he normally knew nothing of shame.

"Nonsense!" He waved a hand dismissively, eyes still refusing to meet yours, although without his contacts, it was a bit hard to tell where exactly he was looking if his head wasn't turned. Crossing his arms tight to his chest, he wracked his brain for possible excuses. "I was just, er, working on repairs and didn't want to get my clothes dirty! Yes! I found this filthy piece of clothing and figured it would suffice." You rolled your eyes, knowing full well he would never admit to the true motivations behind his actions.

Lucky for you, someone else chimed in to voice your exact thoughts. "That's a lie." The computer spoke up from nowhere in particular, monotone voice bringing a growl to rise from Zim's throat. 

"YOU'RE LYING!! There is no evidence of this!" The Irken jabbed a claw up towards the direction of the many cables and wires strung across the ceiling. This wouldn't be the first time you've witnessed him get into a spat with his computer. They could be quite entertaining to watch, actually. 

"Proof." The computer said in a matter-of-fact tone, the gargantuan TV screen buzzing to life, static clearing to reveal a recording of internal base camera feed. The date was in Irken, but you were wise enough to surmise that it was from some time over the quarantine. 

The screen displays Zim begrudgingly wandering over to the voot cruiser in the hangar. In the video feed, he looks decently depressed, antennae slack and hanging limp, posture slouched. He climbed into the ship, looking for something. Whatever it was, his search came to an unresolved end as he lifted your jacket from the seat. Apparently, you had left it in there the last time he had taken you for a flight. His eyes darted around to make sure he wasn't being watched, slipping on the coat and hugging his arms to his chest. The sleeves extended well past his hands. He brought them to his face, sniffing them. A delighted smile ghosted his mouth as he rubbed the sleeves against his face.

"Why would you record that?!" His voice cracked at the end, and you were trying your best to hold in a laugh as the TV faded back to static for a split second before opening on another instance.

This time the video depicted GIR and Zim sprawled out on the couch, watching something on the TV. Zim was wrapped in your coat as if it were a blanket, seeming to be content enough with it. GIR had reached out a claw for the article of clothing, wishing to share. Zim hissed, yanking the coat away from his grip, swiping a clawed hand out like a cat. Clearly, he wanted it all to himself. 

This time you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing. You tried to apologize, especially since the Irken standing next to you looked absolutely horrified. You were sure he felt his dignity had just faded away right along with the video feed.

"Oh, and my personal favorite." The computer added helpfully as yet another recording presented itself on the TV. This one was a bit tougher to make out. 

Zim was down in the depths of the base, and much was dark, the only light being cast from a large monitor just off screen. You were able to see Zim, sitting on the floor, sporting your jacket. He stared longingly at the sleeves that covered his hands. After a moment he shoved his face into his arms and knees as tears slipped down his face. You could only make out the tears due to the light being thrown from the monitor, making them glisten like jewels. Separation appeared to be much harder on him than you had thought. Maybe that was why he had been ignoring you, although it seemed counterproductive. It was possible that texting you made him miss you more.

Zim was not amused in the slightest by this particular clip. He stamped his foot on the tile, making frenzied cutting motions with his arms.

"COMPUTER!!!" His voice was high in volume, but a nervous chuckle laced each syllable. "I think that is quite enough!" 

The computer groaned, cutting the feed back to static, eventually switching the TV off completely. "I was just trying to be accurate."

"You only seem to care about accuracy when it is of no benefit to Zim!!" You could only imagine what was going through Zim's head in the moment, because from the outside, he was a ball of red hot rage. However, the computer was having none of his antics, going dormant once more.

"Zim? You're up here." You raised a hand above your head to indicate his anger level. "I need you to be down here." You lowered your hand to your abdomen, knowing that was a complete stretch to ask for. Especially since he was so upset he was stringing together curses in Irken. He would only speak in his native tongue around you when he was incredibly furious. His teeth were gritted tightly, foot tapping audibly on the tile.

"That damn computer." His growl was closer to that of a feral animal, and although he was calm enough to speak in English, he still required some de-escalation. 

"Relax, we'll just pretend it never happened."

"Good. Forget about those recordings." His eyes were narrowed, but he was relenting his irritation.

"What recordings?" You shrugged, a smile playing at the corners of your mouth. Zim seemed appeased, and in a split second, all of his anger was gone and replaced by something else entirely. All the fight seemed to leave his body as he looked to you, red eyes softening completely when they caught your own. He seemed relieved to see you, as if being away was one of the hardest things he had been through in years.

Wordlessly, he strode over to you, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face into your chest. Soft Zim was a rare occurrence, but these moments were something you absolutely treasured. It almost made the months of isolation worth it. 

You returned the action, and the second you put your arms around him, every muscle in his body relaxed. It was a bit strange, really. To have a hardened alien soldier all but melt in your arms. He wrapped his legs around you as well, clinging to you like a koala. It wasn't hard to maintain balance since he really wasn't all that heavy.

"Couch." He mumbled, his chin resting on your shoulder as his arms were draped around your neck, your own arms supporting him under his legs. A chuckle fell from your lips at his behavior. At first it seemed like he had no energy, but in reality, it was closer to him being soothed by your presence. You were about the only living creature, scratch that, the only thing in the entire universe that could ease him like this; even he wasn't sure why you had this effect on him.

"Sure thing." You walked him over to the couch, using one arm to snag your jacket off the floor before sinking down into the cushions. There was a bit of a strange smell emanating from where you sat, most likely due to GIR spilling countless snacks, messes that weren't completely cleaned up. It wasn't super potent, and in that particular moment, it wasn't one of your concerns.

As you sat on the couch, Zim remained cuddled into you. A snicker slipped out as you tossed your coat over him as if it were a blanket. At first you assumed he would protest, proclaiming that he wasn't cold, nor a weak little smeet who needs to be cared for. So when he removed his arms from you, you were bracing yourself for a lecture and/or rant. However, all he did was tuck the jacket around him better, silently snaking his arms back around you afterward.

"You really did miss me, huh?" It was a redundant question, since without even saying, you both were aware of the answer. Still, you wished to hear him say it. It would put you in good spirits. 

"Your absence was...not pleasant." His voice was uncharacteristically hushed, muffled by your clothes. His words were chosen delicately, as they always were when he didn't want to admit to something that he knew to be true. 

"So you missed me." The smile that was spread on your face shone through your voice. 

"If that is what you would like to think." Zim made an attempt at being snarky, but any mockery in his words was half-hearted at best. Breathing a sigh, you let your head fall back against the back of the couch. You knew full well that was the best you could hope to glean from him, even in his current subdued state.

"For the record, I missed you too."

"As you should. Zim is very great." Looking down, you were met with a sight that melted your heart. The coat still wrapped around him, arms still clinging to you as if you would walk out any minute. Zim's eyes were closed as he laid his head in your lap, quiet purrs rising from his throat as your fingers absentmindedly played with his antennae. You almost thought he would fall asleep. 

"I know. You're the coolest Irken I know." You may have only known one, but still. Zim was pretty amazing in your book, despite being a self-absorbed idiot at times. A pleasant silence settled over the room for a moment as you continued to twirl his antennae between your fingers.

His eyes still closed, Zim spoke again, mumbling, "Zim's next plan is to eradicate these abhorrent human pandemics." The words slurred together a bit, and although you knew Irkens to not sleep due to lack of biological necessity, whenever he was completely relaxed, he tended to get drowsy. 

"Good luck with that. I support your efforts one hundred percent." Despite the first statement harboring a twinge of sarcasm, the second was completely genuine. 

"Does Zim detect a hint of ridicule?" His words may have been a challenge, but not a single eye opened even a crack, not a single muscle in his body so much as twitching.

"All I'm saying is I haven't seen much progress on your original plan of eradicating the humans, and it's been how many years?" 

"Quiet or I'll steal another one of your inferior human zip-cloth thingies." He may not have technically stolen the first one, but you had to make a mental note to keep track of your jackets and hoodies. Or at the very least, make sure to keep the ones you wore often out of reach. You supposed in the end it didn't really matter. You would know where to find them if they did happen to go missing. And besides, he did look rather cute in them. 

[straycat-writes]

the one real thing (dazai osamu)

summary: What a tragedy it is that you both love each other a little too much for your own good.

warning(s): swearing, infidelity(??), a shit load of angst

The creaking sound from your door opening and closing awoke you from your light slumber. Instead of moving, however, you just lied on your bed, lips pressed into a thin line. You wanted to get up and go to him, you should have, but the storm of conflicting emotions in your head didn’t allow you to.

In the 2 AM darkness of your bedroom, you heard him clumsily fumbling with his clothes and cursing slightly under his breath. A few minutes later, Dazai dropped into bed beside you, snaking an arm around your waist and pulling you closer to himself, your back to his front. You frowned in the pin-drop silence.

After a while, you finally managed to say something, “I made dinner for you.”

“Yeah?” he murmured softly, “Well, maybe tomorrow, belladonna. I’m so tired.”

You screwed your eyes shut tightly, “F-fine.”

He was asleep within minutes. Prying his arm off your waist as gently as you could, you got up and stealthily left the room, wanting to be literally anywhere except beside your lover. Your feet unconsciously led you to the spacious bathroom of the apartment you shared with Dazai. Only when you went in and locked the door did you find yourself being able to breathe properly.

Letting out a shaky sigh, you finally looked up at the mirror. With disheveled hair and dark circles adorning your eyes, you looked like you hadn’t slept in weeks. Maybe you hadn’t. At this point, you couldn’t really remember.

This wasn’t the first time Dazai had come home at ungodly hours of the night. Far from it, actually. At first, you thought he was just busy, that maybe his workload was heavier than usual. But you couldn’t fool yourself with that lie for too long, everybody knows Dazai doesn’t do regular work, let alone overtime. You wanted him to have his space, so you didn’t say anything. Besides, he only does it once in a while, so what’s the harm, right?

But then he started disappearing for long hours every other night, and coming back home tipsy and disheveled, and worst of all, with someone else’s perfume on his clothes. And it hurt, goddamn it hurt more than anything had ever hurt before, but what could you do? Leave him? Of course not. How could you ever bring yourself to do that?

You gripped the porcelain sink in front of you tighter as tears blurred your vision. The two of you had been together for so long now that you could no longer imagine what your life would be like without him in it. That’s a lie. You could imagine it; it would be cold and sad and empty. You loved Dazai so much it hurt, and you just wished he would do the same, but apparently you were no longer enough for him.

You sighed and gave yourself a watery smile in the mirror, “That’s alright. I can live with that. I can – l-live with that….right?”

One more chance. You had promised yourself you would give him one more chance, but that was several chances ago and you would say that to yourself each time he stumbled back home and into your arms, with someone else’s lipstick staining his collar but not anymore.

“I can’t….” you whispered, a blank look on your face, “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Do what?” Dazai looked up at you and blinked from where he was busy taking off his shoes. It was two in the morning and he was late and slightly drunk and had stumbled back home for the umpteenth time that week and you were done.

“This.” You sighed weakly, gesturing vaguely to the both of you, “Us. I’m done. You can go back to whoever you’ve been fucking all this time, I won’t stop you.”

That seemed to sober him up instantly, “(Y/n), I – “

“Save it.” You said severely, but you couldn’t keep the tears at bay for long, “I have been with you for four years, you fucking asshole! Did all that time mean nothing to you!?”

“It did! Of course it did! I – “

“Didn’t think you should’ve kept it in your pants and been loyal for fucking once in your life!? I loved you!”

“I love you too, sweetheart!” he pleaded, and it scared you a little because in all the time you had been with him, you had never heard such desperation in his voice, “I love you, more than anything…”

“Then why!?” You screamed, tears cascading down your cheeks freely now, “Am I not enough for you? Are you bored? Is that it!?”

He didn’t say anything, but by the look on his face, you knew you had hit the nail right in the head, and your heart shattered into a million pieces. You covered your mouth with your hand and took a couple of steps backwards as more tears spilled from your eyes. Dazai moved to touch your arm but you that just made you flinch further back.

“Don’t touch me!” you cry, “Just…don’t.”

What really hurt was that Dazai didn’t say anything in his defense at all. He just stood there with a frown on his face, watching you shake with sobs, your eyes red and face tear-stained. Huh, guess I’m not even worth trying to hold on to. You almost let out an ironic laugh at that thought. You swallowed hard, blinking away more unshed tears as you forced yourself to look at him.

“…I’m leaving.”

He had been staring at his feet but jerked up his head at that, “What? No, belladonna, please…”

“Please what? Please stay? Please, I’m sorry? Please, I’ll be good?” you scoffed, words laced with venom, “Well, save your lies for someone who would believe them, because I don’t anymore.”

That night, you hastily packed the bare essentials, because you knew that if you delayed even a moment, your resolve would crumble and you would end up staying. And as you stormed out of the house, of the home you two shared, you knew that it was probably the last time you’d ever see your lover. Well, ex-lover.

You had been right about that, it was indeed the last time you ever saw him. Two years later, however, he did see you. Dazai had been dragged to the nearby district for a case by Kunikida. The moment his eyes had landed on you across the street, his heart had skipped a beat. Your hair was a lighter shade now, probably shorter too, and you looked healthier. Happier.

“Oi, Dazai! Focus!” Kunikida hit him on the head, before his eyes followed Dazai’s gaze and landed on you too, “…Oh.”

“Yeah.” Dazai murmured, “Oh, indeed.”

You didn’t seem to be aware of his presence across the street, much to his relief. You were with someone else, your new lover in all likelihood, if the way he smiled at you and held you by the waist were any indications. Dazai felt a sharp tug at his heart at that, and immediately despised himself for it, because really, did he even have the right to be sad now?

“Hadn’t she left Yokohama after you…you know?” Kunikida asked, looking deep in thought.

Dazai nodded, “She had. She must be back for a vacation or something.”

“You know what, Dazai?” Kunikida said after a while, grimacing to himself, “No offense, but you’re a despicable human being for what you did to her.”

Dazai smiled ruefully at that, “I know.”

I’m barely even a human being, he had wanted to add. His eyes travelled to you again. You were laughing at something your companion had said, and Dazai remembered how you hadn’t laughed like that for months before you left. Man, he really had been an asshole to you. But you were happier now, and that meant his goal was accomplished.

Getting you to leave him was hard. Dazai was, and always had been, a void. There was a black hole inside of him that swallowed every bit of happiness in his vicinity, both his own and that of others, and even though you were the brightest light he had ever seen in his life, light still couldn’t escape the pull of a black hole, and he didn’t want to taint you like that. Dazai had went through life destroying everything he ever touched. He was a void, an empty space, with edges so sharp he hurt everyone who came close.

The last thing he wanted was for you to be another casualty of his catastrophe of an existence. And so, two years ago, he had tried everything in his power to make you leave him, to drive away the one good thing he had in his life. Just because he had you doesn’t mean he deserved you.

But of course, he could never actually bring himself to even touch someone who wasn’t you. He would frequent bars, get just enough drunk so that you’d notice that he was, and fool around a little with someone, just enough for you to notice that he had. And then he’d come straight back home to you. He’d fall into bed beside you and hold you close, and he wouldn’t fail to notice how you’d tense up in his arms and sniffle softly, and it hurt, goddamn, it hurt more than anything had ever hurt before, but what else could he do? Perhaps it wasn’t the smartest choice on his part, but it was his only one.

You had stayed longer than he had expected you to. He had to keep pretending he was sleeping with someone else for months before you finally reached your limit. Dazai knew you well enough to know that you must have cried for weeks after you left, that you must have been completely wrecked.

But you were much happier, much better off now, with someone new. Someone who wouldn’t hurt you or inevitably break you like Dazai would have. Someone who wasn’t him.

“We need to go, Dazai.” Kunikida called out to him, already a few paces ahead and checking his notebook for all the stuff they still had to do.

He took one more glance at your retreating figure. Your companion had said something, making you smile and blush. Dazai felt warmth spreading in his chest. Kunikida called out to him again. He sighed.

“Coming.”

By the time you turned around to inspect why you felt like you were being stared at, there was no one across the street.

“'Cause there we are again, when I loved you so, back before you lost the one real thing you've ever known...” - All Too Well, Taylor Swift

[elliethesuperfruitlover]

Comfort Crowd

A/N: Luba is another character on the list of needing a hug. Along with literally every other Rob character. He’s very soft and lovable, and I’d like to highlight this, and give him some fluff. Enjoy you gremlins.

Warnings: angst, death mention, food, crying

Cheeky Tag List: kat and sups already saw it so, @badsext, @joz-stankovich

“Baby, can we just not today?” Luba asked, eyes looking sad. You tried making out with him, but he pushed you away, hands colder than usual.

“Oh sure honey. Anything you have in mind?” you ask, sitting down next to him, legs crossing.

“I kinda just want to sit. And mope. And cry. And mourn.” Luba said, tears slipping from his eyes, wetting the sheets.

“Oh honey, come here.” you say, letting Luba cry into your shoulder, their sobs racking their soul.

  He’d been struggling for a while, especially after Naadirah's death. He acted like it didn’t impact him, and like he didn’t care, but he did. You knew it. Nobody would stay out for that long, then come home, eyes puffy and red. He was hiding from the truth, and you knew it. And it broke you. It absolutely tore you apart, and he thought he was doing okay. Threw a smile on his face and went on to the parlor, the club, wherever it may be. You’d wake up in the middle of the night and hear him sobbing. On the couch, gin in hand absolutely tattered. You knew it was tearing him apart, and finally seeing him break down in your arms tipped you over as well.

  You began to weep along with him, tears falling onto your shirt, darkening the fabric. Luba moved, and got into your lap, arms around your middle. His wet face dropped in the crook of your neck, and his broken breaths shook you, and forced you to break down completely as well. Every breath seemed impossible to get past, and Luba’s hands clenched over your shirt, balling it up with his fists. He wanted to scream until his lungs gave out at that point. Nothing he could ever do was going to bring her back, no wish, plead, or screech to the heavens. Not a single breath given could grant it back to her lifeless body. And he wanted her back so badly. The giggles between breaks, jokes about past lives, gossip about managers. It was all gone. He tore himself to bits for letting her go. Sometimes he wished it was himself, buried six feet under instead of her.

“I hate myself for letting her go that night. I-I should’ve followed her home, asked where she’d be. I could’ve trailed her, just to make sure. But I didn’t. Now she’s gone forever, almost without a trace. And I’m left here, trying to pick up the pieces of my broken fucking life. It should’ve been me.” he whispered, eyebrows scrunching in frustration, fresh tears still falling from his face.

“Luba, I know you wish you could’ve done something. And I wish you could’ve as well. Sometimes things happen that we can’t explain. And we might not know why. And I mourn with you, and allow you to grieve. However, it shouldn’t have been you. It shouldn’t have been her. Neither of you would deserve it.” you reply back, brushing a stray curl past his forehead, hand rubbing his back.

  Hiccups went past his mouth, and his cries calmed, but just a little. Luba curled up against your form, and continued to play with the fabric of your shirt, feeling how soft it was between his fingers. He looked so serene and calm in the early morning sunlight, but grief took its toll on everyone in different ways. Your tears dried on your face, and you fell asleep, Luba’s breath helping to calm you. The both of you slept for a few extra hours that day, and you woke up first, Luba snoring against your form. You wiggled out from underneath him, and wrapped a blanket around Luba’s body. He cuddled into the fabric, and his hand wrapped around the tassels near the end. You smiled at him and kissed his forehead, which made him slip a smile in his sleep. You walked off from him, and got started on his at-home therapy.

“How the hell am I gonna do this before he wakes up?” you ask yourself, after washing your face and shaking off the bad vibes.

  You gathered materials for a pleasant movie night, such as snacks and soft blankets. You headed onto the kitchen, and decided to make a comfort food of Luba’s. You were almost out of food, but you managed to scrape up some chicken noodle soup, trying to keep it as light as possible. Lu’s stomach tended to get upset when he wasn’t having a good time emotionally, so you wanted him to keep everything down. You left the soup on the stove, and had it on low heat. Your feet trod along the stairs, and you checked in again on Luba, who flipped over in his sleep, still snoring your ears off. The bathroom would have to suffice, and you cleaned the tub out, then prepared a bubble bath. You tested the water, and it was warm enough for comfort, and you added the soap, vanilla scented. You made them as a hobby, and the smell permeated the room almost immediately.

  The candles in the closet came to use, and you lit a few around the tub, far enough away so that no harm would be done to them. You went back downstairs, and collected more blankets, and a couple chairs. You hung the blankets at a lovely acute angle, and created a blanket fort. The spare fairy lights in the closet would have to do, and you hung them up randomly as well. You looked back at the work, and smiled at yourself, proud of the accomplishment. You walked back up the stairs, and found Luba still sleeping, breaths coming in even puffs. You walked to the side he was closest to, and brushed blonde curls from his face. His face calmed at your touch, and moved into your hand. You gently shook him awake, and he groaned at the contact, hiding his face like a cat would.

“Come on baby, wake up. Don’t want you cranky later,” you said, rubbing his back to help out. “I have some things set up for you.”

“Thank you honey. I gotta go take a quick piss, then I’ll be ready.” he whispered, arms dislodging themselves from your waist.

“Ah, take the bathroom downstairs baby. Got something in this one.” you said, almost not catching yourself. He waved his hand in acknowledgement, and walked down the stairs, and you heard the door close.

  You fixed the bed, and rushed down the steps, making sure you caught Lu’s reaction to your surprise. As soon as you got there, he almost began crying again, rushing to give you a bear hug. He thanked you, and kissed the top of your head, moving down to your lips. He pecked them a couple times, and let the last one linger. His hands were at your waist, and you breathed into the kiss, letting go.

“I don’t deserve this. Why did you do this, and all for me?” he asked, tears threatening to fall.

“It’s because it’s what you deserve Luba. After all this, you need it.” you replied, hugging him.

  You led him to the kitchen, and his mouth fell open once again, and he kissed the side of your head again. He peeped into the pot, and rushed to get a bowl, feet slapping against the floor. You smiled and he ladled himself a good serving, and almost ran to the living room, where his bowl almost crashed against the carpet. You smiled at his actions, and he sat down in the blanket fort. His hands clapped and he squealed at the placement of everything. You joined him and you two ate your soup in mostly peace, but was somewhat interrupted when Luba said this.

“I love you so much. I don’t know if I deserve all of this. Thank you so much honey. I really appreciate it.” Luba said, looking at you as your spoon dropped into your bowl.

“I-I love you too Luba. You’re very welcome, as you deserve all of this.” you stated, leaning over to kiss him, which he happily reciprocated. “Come on, hurry up, we’ve got a bath to take and some movies to binge-watch!” you said, playfully nibbling at his neck. He giggled, and got up soon after, taking your hand to join you in the bath.

“Thank you for all of this baby. I really mean it too. I’ve really been struggling, and I needed this. Naadie did this for me as well, and I missed it. I’ll miss her. But I’m happy that you’re here with me, and for me. I really thought I couldn’t find love after Naadirah, but you came into my life and turned it around. And I’ll forever be appreciative of that.” Lu whispered, looking you in the eye.

You blushed, and sank into the water, and he laughed at your attitude, leaning over to kiss you. The two of you continued to bathe together, chatting over some light piano in the background. Luba relaxed in the bubbles and you watched him as he slowly melted into a state of calm, almost falling asleep. You let out the water and helped him into some night clothes. You led him downstairs, and put on comfort movies. He sat in your lap, and you hugged around Luba’s middle, letting him sleep peacefully in your lap. Your hand stroked his back as he slept against you, cute snores coming from his mouth. You smiled and kissed Lu’s forehead, making sure that he slept well that night, as he always should.

Masterlist

[anonniemousefics]

My Dearest Inej | Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Masterlist

Originally posted on AO3

Rating: Teen And Up

Synopsis: A series of letters kept among the personal belongings of Captain Inej Ghafa.

Chapter Sixteen: My Dearest Jailbird

Good morning, Sunshine!

If you are reading this, you are probably waking up alone and wondering where you are and how you got there. And your assumptions are correct – Wylan and I are indeed criminal masterminds who’ve drugged you and kidnapped you and sold you to the Shu. Now all of your suits are mine!

Yes, I’m joking. Don’t kill me. In all of this mess, the one thing I’ve found amusing is thinking of how this must all be playing out from your perspective. You take a dog for a walk, you fall asleep on my couch, you wake up surrounded by Shu. Sorry about that. The real truth is you were poisoned, pretty badly. Inej says the Shu have the best hospitals and mediks – you’re in Bhez Ju. And before you start complaining, we paid a lot of money to convince them to take you, so keep the whining to a minimum.  

I know your Shu’s a little rusty, but Wylan is with you. His Shu is also rusty, but between the two of you, hopefully you’ll manage all right. As soon as you’ve got a clean bill of health (just physically speaking – no one’s assessing your laundry list of mental problems, don’t worry), Specht is prepared to bring you home.  

That’s the where of it all with a bit of the why. I imagine you have a lot more questions. Why were you poisoned, for example? Great question, Kaz. I think it’s because you stabbed a twelve-year-old. Can you not do that again, please? It really pissed him off, and some old enemies happened to catch wind of it and then we had to fight them. Which enemies, you ask? Yes, with you, this statement does require some clarification; there are so many. The Haskells, Kaz. I know, your favorites.

They tried to seize control of the Dregs, but they had kind of banked on you dying. Thank the Saints you’re stubborn in that department. Inej came back and handled it. Oh, you want to know how? I’ll tell you how, but if you’re going to be gross about how amazing she was, do it in private, all right?

Right. Let me set the scene. It was early morning in the warehouse district, sun coming up over the harbor. We hadn’t slept in days. We’d whisked you to the coast to meet Specht just the morning prior, before sunrise. We’d pressured Wylan to go, too – it was unpleasant. There may have been tears. (Not mine, let’s get that on the record right now.) And then Inej was orchestrating a massive takedown. Anika was delivering missives while pretending to look loyal to Haskell. (Whatever you’re paying her, it’s not enough.) The crew of the Wraith was assembling. Pistols, knives, explosives. We were all ready for the showdown of the decade.  

(For you, Brekker. I hope you’re picking up on this. You may be a bastard, but you’re our bastard. No one else is allowed to poison you but us.)

Inej had brokered terms with Haskell, and they had agreed to meet in the warehouse district. Haskell wanted a gentlemen’s duel – pistols at dawn -- which was downright laughable given the cheating tactics he’d already shown willing to employ. But Inej was eager to make a show of his humiliation for any remaining holdouts.  

I was nervous, I’ll admit. Guns and bullets are my thing. I was not happy that she was acquiescing to Haskell’s wishes – she’s meant for knives. I’m learning, though, as I’m sure you are, that second-guessing Inej is a waste of energy.  

And she assured me it wouldn’t matter whether she won or lost, not with the attack she was strategizing with her crew. She and Anika were working out how to use them to take out every one of Haskell’s snipers without word getting back to him. You know, the sneaky things Inej does best.

So, the morning of the duel arrives. Haskell and five of his associates stride in to the warehouse district, armed to the teeth in pistols and grenades. It feels very much my last morning in the world, and if Inej feels the same way, she doesn’t look it. She’s sharpened all of her knives all night until they’re practically mirrors, hidden away in all of her limbs, and I loaned her one of my pistols (I think I cried over that).  

Rhett Haskell made some bloviating demands about how we were to hand you over when we lost, because of course he was unaware that you were already halfway to Shu Han, but that’s beside the point. Inej told him to shut up and name his second. They met in the middle of the street, back to back, and began their paces. I began counting them down.

This is when shit started to hit the proverbial fan.

Haskell had no intention of abiding by the rules and turned at the count of eight.  

Inej anticipated, but Haskell had already drawn.  

Anika was watching it all and gave the command. Inej leapt left, Haskell’s bullet singing past her face. She springs the quick release on the bone-handled knife you gave her.  

And then the rest of the Dregs start pouring in at Anika’s orders just as Inej’s knife handle is sticking out of Rhett Haskell’s throat. They’re moving in to take out the rest of Haskell’s men.  

Then in that same goddamn minute – The Stadwatch roll in. Rifles, batons, handcuffs, smoke grenades. They’re coming in with wagons and shields, rounding up anyone they can get their hands on, carting them off. It was Haskell’s last trick. He’d tipped them off. If he couldn’t have the Dregs, no one would.  

Where was I in all of this? That’s a good question. Inej had named me her second. For a moment, I thought she’d been shot when I saw her go down to dodge the bullet, and I ran at her. I was aiming at anyone who’d get too close, and then, when she pulled herself up and I saw she was all right, we were back-to-back to fight our way out, pistols and knives at the ready.

But then, the Stadwatch. Kaz, you’ve got to believe that I was prepared to do whatever it took to get her out of there. If she wasn’t so heavily armed, I’d have even thrown her over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes, but she most definitely would have stabbed me if I’d tried. When the Stadwatch rolled in, she told me to run. It happened so fast, Kaz. She said I was the one who could arrange to have you cared for, arrange for the payments and such. She said I had to go. She fucking hit me in the face, Kaz, like really hard. So, I did what I was told.

So, that is both the good news and the bad news. And the infinitely worse bad news. The good news is the Haskells no longer maintain hold over the Dregs. The bad news, of course, is that the majority of the Dregs are in the custody of the Stadwatch. And the worst of it is that that number includes Inej. She will stand before a judge next month, who will almost definitely sentence her to Hellgate.

But don’t panic! We have time. You can write her; I visit her regularly with the solicitor I’ve procured for her case. And it’s just Stadhall right now. If you’re reading this, you’re awake, and you can help me figure out how to break her out. That’s a cake walk for you. Don’t panic. We have been in worse scrapes than this.  

Do try to keep things light when you write her, though, all right? What happened to you hit her pretty hard. It’s been difficult to watch.

And, for Saint’s sake, thank Wylan for me. Daily. He doesn’t say it, but I know he’s furious.  

Best wishes,

J. Fahey

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

My dearest Inej, most cherished jailbird in all of Ketterdam,

First things first, I’m all right. Probably infinitely better than you, actually. I can move all ten fingers and toes and speak in complete sentences, and I’ve never been so patronized in my life for such menial accomplishments. At least I think that’s what these Shu mediks are doing when I do something they want. It sounds very patronizing, anyway.

I won’t bore you with too many details, which could easily be done, because it’s very boring here. The food is bizarre and horrible. I’m forced to walk laps around the ward at least three times a day, no matter how badly my leg hurts, but I’m proud to report I’ve not strangled a single nurse, even though I’ve really wanted to. Wylan has even said I can tell you that I’m a “model patient” – although I did glare at him rather heavily to get him to agree to do so. You can let Jesper know we're getting on all right. He enjoys my card tricks the most out of any of you, so if I can't be stuck with you, at least it's him.

All of this is, of course, thanks to you. I’m caught up on the letters, and I can hardly believe it all. I owe you far more than a debt of gratitude. I owe you my life. I owe you an entire city. I owe you everything.

Which, of course, brings me to your predicament. I’m working on it. I have said I would come for you, and I have always meant it. I will, love, just as soon as I can manage it. I am spending every waking second until then scheming what needs to be schemed to get you out of this.

In the meantime, have you tried not getting caught? That usually works for me.

With love and with gratitude and with every bit of strength I have,

I’m yours,

K. Brekker

P.S. – And, for gods’ sake, tell Jesper to stop telling me not to panic. It’s literally the most panic-inducing thing a person can say, and the nurses keep saying it's bad for my constitution.

P.P.S. - What happened to Artie Galligan in all of this? Or is the answer to that question bad for my constitution as well?

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

Zenik,

I had to call in some favors to get this to you. Don't ask, but you are allowed to be impressed. I need your help.

-Brekker

[harrys-kiwi]

don’t leave like this

summary: when (y/n) can’t cope with Bucky going back on missions after he was hurt on his last one, the pair gets into a fight the night before Bucky is set to leave.

request: Hey! Just Stop was so good! Amazing job, lovely! X could I request a Bucky x Reader where she lives at her own apartment and has a panic attack because of a mission that Bucky plans on going on and it’s super dangerous so she stumbles to the tower to see him and he calms her down (tho it takes ages!) and he chooses to not go on the mission? Seeing the girl he’s so close with so upset made him change his mind? Thank you so much!!!. Xx

category and warnings: fluffy in the beginning, then angst! mentions of injury and a light panic attack.

authors note: sorry for disappearing. I promise I will get to your requests soon, for now requests are closed. would you mind checking out my masterlist? thank you for your support and feedback :)

word count: 3.2k

Pacing up and down her living room, (y/n) decides that she needs to calm down. Unless she calms down, she thinks, she wont be able to come up with a reasonable, sound argument as to why Bucky needs to stay home tomorrow. It would be a tough case to argue, but she thinks she can do it. She watched all seven seasons of Suits and even helped her friend study for a test in her advanced negotiation class, for crying out loud. This should be a walk in the park.

She checks the timer on the oven one more time, making sure that the scent of apple pie will be wafting through the air by the time Bucky walks into her apartment. Walking toward the large mirror in the hallway, she checks her dress, straightening it out and making sure it’s sitting properly. It was the cutest navy casual 40s dress - sans the ruffles. She wanted to bring him back to the 40s - but one, it couldn’t be too obvious and two, she hated ruffles. She knew that Bucky missed the decade, so she would use his nostalgia for his pre-soldier days to her advantage.

The doorbell rang, and (y/n) made her way to the door. Opening it with the largest smile she could wear without looking cheesy, she saw her super soldier leaning against the door frame. Upon seeing her, he raised his eyebrows and whistled lowly as his eyes looked her up and down.

“Hello mama,” he flirted, grabbing her hand and raising it over her head so she would give him a little twirl. She obliged, blush spreading over her cheeks as he continued lowly, “look at you.” He lowered her hand to his mouth, giving it a gentle kiss before pulling her to him and planting a firm kiss to her lips. He pulled away ever so slightly and took a deep breath, “what is that smell?” (y/n) smiled against his lips, feeling very much accomplished already.

“Apple pie. I tried this new recipe I got from the bakery down the road.” She mused, biting her lip as he knitted his eyebrows upward, bringing his hand up to his chest.

“What did I ever do to deserve you!” He sighed. She smiled to herself; she had him right where she wanted him.

“Well, you haven’t done anything yet,” she said, leading him toward the kitchen, “but there is something you can do.”

“Oh? And what would that be?”

“You could stay with me tonight.” She bit her lip.

He chuckled lightly, walking up to where she stood against the counter and lifted her up so she was sitting on it instead. “And how would that work, Doll? You gonna wake me up at four in the morning so I get to the tower in time for briefing and take off?”

She grabbed his hands that were resting against her thighs, and threaded their fingers together. “Well,” she drew out the word, biting her lip and looking up at him with big doe eyes, “you could always spend tomorrow with me too.” She smiled shyly.

Bucky held back his laughter. He leaned in to kiss her pouted lips instead. “I love you,” he mumbled, kissing her again, “but no.”

(y/n)’s face scrunched up. “No?” Bucky let go of her hands, moving to the other side of the counter. “What do you mean no?”

He sighed contently, turning to the oven. “This pie should be just about done, right?”

“Baby, why won’t you stay with me?”

“I mean, it smells ready alright-“

“Buck!”

“And then it has to cool for another ten minutes anyway. So we should just take it out now.”

“Stop ignoring me!” The girl whined, feeling her plan shattering. At that, the timer went off and Bucky’s smile got even larger than it was before.

“I knew it was ready!” He grabbed a pair of oven mitts, taking out the pan carefully and setting it on the counter. Closing the oven door and discarding the mitts, he turned to face his girlfriend, who was giving him a sour glare, arms crossed in front of her chest. Bucky inwardly laughed, noting how much she looked like a kid who’s parents had denied her request for a new toy.

“Bucky…” she warned, narrowing her eyes at him. He sighed, walking over to her and throwing her over his shoulder, making his way to her bedroom. She squealed and hit his back, “put me down!”

He placed her onto the bed, throwing off his jacket and crawling on top of her. He placed gentle kisses all over her face, much to her disapproval.

“Um hello, does it look like I’m in the mood to sleep with you right now?” She sassed.

“Why else would you have invited me over? Thought I was here to claim my goodbye present, maybe a slice of pie, and then leave?” He teased. (y/n) narrowed her eyes at him, trying to keep her composed exterior. Channel Harvey Specter, (y/n), come on.

She pushed against his chest, letting him fall against the mattress as she straddled him quickly. “Mr. Barnes, I’m afraid the sex-and-pie offer is a two-day deal only. Unless you are prepared to spend the night and the entirety of tomorrow right here, we have no deal.”

Bucky smiled up at his girl, tapping her butt as he feigned contemplation of the deal. “Well I guess we had sex yesterday, that should keep me going for a few more days. And there’s pie at the bakery down the street you mentioned. I guess that’s no deal then.” (y/n) stared down at him, completely unimpressed.

“What is wrong with you.” She said, getting up to go back to the kitchen, but Bucky pulled her back on top of him, laughing loudly as she planted her hands on his chest.

“Hey now who told you to get up? I like seeing you up there.” He winked.

“Buck, come on, be serious,” she whined, “why do you want to go on that mission so desperately?”

“Doll, you know this is the first proper mission they’re letting me go on since Trujillo. Don’t you want your poor old boyfriend to have some fun again?” He asked, rubbing circles into her hips.

“I want my poor old boyfriend in one piece.” her eyebrows furrowed, breaking their eye contact as she looked down at where her hands still rested on his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat. “Or did all the morphine make you forget what happened in Trujillo? Why you weren’t allowed on missions in the first place?”

“Of course I haven’t forgotten, sweetheart. Which is why it can’t happen again, I’ve learned from my mistakes on that mission now. Besides, tomorrow isn’t gonna be anywhere near as dangerous.”

“But Bucky!” She cried, throwing her hands up in the air and swallowing thickly, trying not to cry from frustration and worry. “I don’t even know how long you’ll be gone for! And we’re not allowed to communicate during the entire time, how am i supposed to know how you’re doing? If you’re injured? Trujillo was such a close call baby, how can i ever let you go on a mission again without fearing the worst the whole time you’re there? I know for you it’s all adrenaline and you have the super serum to protect you, but that doesn’t make you immortal, Buck!”

Sometime during her rant, Bucky had sat up and leaned against the headboard, wiping away some of her tears that had fallen without her realizing it. When she had finished talking and was trying to steady her breathing, he grabbed the back of her knees to pull her toward him so that there would be no space between them. He pulled back her hair into a ponytail, securing it with an elastic he had around his wrist. When she had calmed down, breathing steady and eyes no longer wet with tears, Bucky spoke up.

“My sweet girl, I know this must be scary for you. I agree that the circumstances during the mission aren’t ideal. But this is what makes me happy! This is the job I chose, and if I were to decline this mission then I wouldn’t be a man of my word.” Bucky cupped her face, running a thumb over her quivering bottom lip. “I can promise you, everything will be alright, and I will be back in your arms before you know it.”

(y/n) let out a sob, admitting defeat: Bucky wouldn’t stay. “You can’t promise me that though.” Her voice was strained, and he could tell she was trying to remain composed. He reached toward her to try and wipe away her tears, but she pulled her head back and hid behind her hands instead. Bucky went to wrap her in his embrace knowing that always helped her calm down, but she refused and got up from his lap altogether. She stumbled toward her bathroom, closing the door and turning on the faucet. God, she had never felt so helpless and desperate before. She rubbed the cold water on her face for a few seconds, before turning off the faucet and wiping her skin dry. Grabbing a tissue, she blew her nose and sat on the toilet seat with her elbows resting on her knees and her head cradled in her hands. Her eyes were closed as she tried to steady her breathing, so caught up in trying to calm herself down that she almost missed the sound of a knock on the door. It opened gently, and Bucky came into her view as he kneeled down in front her.

Grabbing her hands and pressing gentle kisses to them, he mumbled apologies over and over. (y/n) almost started crying again at the thought of losing this. “Bucky, please. I’ve laid all my cards on the table; I’ve literally spent the last ten minutes crying and begging you to stay with me. Are you even considering it?”

Bucky swallowed harshly before shaking his head no. (y/n) shifted her gaze to the ceiling, blinking back tears. She took a deep breath, “Then you should go now.”

Bucky’s heart dropped, stomach clenching uncomfortably and he could hear his heartbeat in his ears. “Doll, I’m not gonna leave you now, like this. I’m going on a mission tomorrow and I don’t want this to have been how we part.”

The rational part of (y/n) was begging her to agree with him, kiss him, savor the remaining time they had together, and then send him off with pride. But that part was silenced by everything else in her that felt hurt, scared, and rejected. She shook her head, refusing to look at him. “Go, Bucky. I’ll see you after the mission.”

“You can’t be asking me to leave right now. Please, let’s talk this out! Let me give you the security you need that everything will be okay and let me leave when I won’t feel guilty for having to do my job anymore.” His voice was wavering, but (y/n) didn’t want to break this time. She got up from where she was and stalked back to the bedroom, falling onto the bed in an exhausted heap. She covered herself with the blanket, pulling it up over her head, and closed her eyes.

When she opened her eyes again, she realizes she fell asleep. Cursing herself for that, she rips back the covers and stops as she sees that it’s dark outside. “Bucky?” She calls out, hopefully, but she knew it was futile. Her heart begins to beat much faster than it should, and she can feel her hands get clammy. She runs to the kitchen, seeing the apple pie still there where Bucky had placed it on the counter - completely untouched. The sight almost made her cry, but she didn’t have time to waste. Grabbing her phone from the counter, she checks the time: 2:46 AM.

Before she knows what she’s doing, she’s sprinting down the stairs of her apartment complex while still tugging on her jacket. Shoving her phone and wallet in her pocket, she hails a cab and jumps into it, mindlessly rattling off the address of the tower. She had no clue how long the ride was, having spent most of it trying to get her hands to stop shaking. Once she got there, she payed the driver, and ran toward the entrance of the tower. Hoping security wouldn’t be a hassle, she entered and went through the process. Time being a concept she could not fathom right now, she found herself sinking to the ground of the elevator. Hands still shaking and tears falling unwillingly, she prayed she had made it in time. If Bucky had left and their last exchange was that, she would never forgive herself.

Once the doors opened, she ran down the corridor to the door she knew was his and knocked several times as hard as she could. Ages seemed to go by as she stared at the door, the lump in her throat growing larger and the pressure in her chest constricting her breathing. But finally, finally, she heard the door being opened. As soon as Bucky came into view - shirtless with old ratty sweatpants on and his hair a mess, she allowed the sobs to escape her throat and launched herself at him.

Bucky stumbled a bit at the contact, but quickly steadied himself and wrapped his arms around her. Thank God she came to her senses, he thought to himself. She was incoherently mumbling apologies while he tried to shush her. He pushed the door closed with his foot, squatting a little and grabbing her legs so he could pick her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and buried her face into his neck as tears continued to fall. He carried her back to his bed, where he sat against the headboard and tried to detach her from him, which only made her hold on tighter. He chuckled and kissed her shoulder to reassure her, “I just wanna see your pretty face, Doll.”

She sniffled and pulled back, resting her forehead against his. “How are you not mad at me?” She cried, looking into his eyes. He smiled back at her, reaching up to wipe away her tears.

“Well you’re here now, I have no reason to be mad, no?”

“I’m just so sorry, Buck, I don’t deserve you. I was so awful, I can’t believe I asked you to leave. What if I hadn’t woken up and you would have left and something would have happened to you? I would never be able to look at myself again. God, I was so awful to you instead of being happy for you for getting a chance to do what you love doing-“ Her rant was cut off by a pair of lips on her own. She melted into the kiss before pulling back abruptly. “No! You’re not supposed to forgive me so quickly, you have to be mad at me Buck! I messed up so bad.” She swallowed thickly, looking down at her lap again.

Bucky pushed himself away from the headboard and onto the mattress, (y/n) now lying on top of him with her chin resting against his chest. She looked up at him through thick eyelashes, silently begging him to comfort her and reassure her. He looked back at her and told her, “Tell me you love me,” she quirked her brow at that, “I just feel like you haven’t told me in a while.” Bucky smiled, feigning annoyance as she shook her head at him and chuckled.

“I love you, James.” She cocked her head to the side smiling up at him gently.

“Wow, James huh? Pulling out the big guns I see?” He laughed as her smile grew and she blushed. She scooted up so they were face to face and cupped his face in her hands.

“I love you,” she kissed him before pulling back and repeating; “I love you.” She continued this until Bucky felt his heart was going to burst and he had to stop her by deepening her kiss. When they pulled back, he retracted his hands from her hair, eyeing her ponytail.

“You still got my hair tie, don’t you?”

“Oh my bad, here you go.” She went to pull it out of her hair, but Bucky grabbed her hand and brought it to his mouth to place a kiss on it.

“Let’s just sleep now, doll.” Bucky gently pushed her head against his chest and her arms came to rest on his shoulders. He then wrapped his arms around her middle, bade her good night, and let sleep consume them.

When (y/n) awoke with Bucky underneath her, she sighed in relief that everything that had happened last night was not a dream. She woke him up by shaking him gently and a series of kisses, to which he responded with a groan and holding her tighter. She giggled but didn’t let up. “Come on, you big baby, it’s time for you to save the world.”

“Have you even seen the time, (y/n)?”

She furrowed her brows and checked the alarm clock next to her, eyes widening in shock and she bolted up instantly. “Bucky you’re so late! Get up and get dressed, I’ll tell them you’re on your way!”

Bucky chuckled and pulled her back down onto bed, rolling on top of her so she couldn’t get away. “Buck, you’re crushing me! Oh my god, get off!” She tried to push him off her - to no avail. The man wouldn’t budge.

“Shh, (y/n).”

“Did - did you seriously just shush me?”

“Yeah,” he yawned, “now let me sleep.”

“What about your mission?”

“Well obviously I’m not going,” he whined, “now shush.”

“What?” She half-yelled, and Bucky groaned at the sound. She used this opportunity to escape from under him.

“That was right next to my ear, doll.”

“What do you mean you’re not going? This is your job, you have people counting on you! You have to go!”

Bucky turned to his side to face her, a confused look on his face. “I tell you I’m going on the mission, you get mad at me. I tell you I’m not going on the mission, you get mad at me. Make up your mind, woman!” He groaned, tugging the covers back up and closing his eyes.

“Why are you not going?” She said, this time much softer, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

“Talked to Steve yesterday. He agreed it might be too early for a mission this big. Said I’d join them on the next one.” He mumbled. He scrunched up his face as he felt wet kisses on his cheek, “Yeah, yeah, you’re welcome. Now leave me alone.”

“But Bucky, I promised you sex and pie if you stayed here with me!” (y/n) mused, getting up from the bed and walking toward the door. He was next to her in no time, sweeping her up into his arms as she laughed heartedly and wrapped her arms around his neck, planting a soft kiss on his lips.

[rayshippouuchiha]

Merthur drabble

So this is the first time I’ve written something since I wrote a Gary Stue x Mary Sue kind of fic at age 11, so don’t judge it too hard ok?😅Also, it’s more a collection of ideas that spawned from the first one than a drabble, since I didn’t want to expand too much on it. Do tell me what you think please 😊

The idea was born over me wondering “since Merlin is immortal, even from physical wounds and poison, what would’ve happened if his magic was discovered by Uther and he’s taken to the pyre?”. Bonus points if you catch the reference to an episode in the later seasons of the show that I sneaked in there. This would take place right before Morgana goes to the druids the first time (meaning she is still mostly loyal to Uther, Arthur and Camelot). Maybe Myror doesn’t try to kill Arthur during the tournament but instead disguises himself as a servant and tries to do it when he finds himself alone with Arthur in a corridor, with Merlin coming from around the corner just in time to catch him.

Merlin is too far away and the knife was thrown from such close range that he can’t save Arthur subtly as usual, and is forced to conjure a magical barrier between Arthur and the assassin instead, while still in Arthur’s field of vision. Using the assassin’s moment of shock against him, Arthur is able to kill him but is then consumed by the feeling of betrayal and rage. He does what he always does when he wishes to see someone punished: he takes Merlin to Uther, initially expecting him to be merely banished from the kingdom on account of having used magic to save his life. Pretty soon, he realizes that Uther does not care in the slightest what the magic was used for, only that it existed, when he declares that Merlin will suffer the ultimate punishment for his treason: the pyre.

Arthur ardently tries to protest, of course he does, but it is already too late. There is no going back, and due to his strong feelings on the matter Uther confines him to his rooms, watched by half a dozen guards, so that he would be unable to help Merlin escape. He also decrees that he cares too much about a mere servant, and to teach him a lesson he will be forced to witness the execution himself

Merlin is taken to the dungeons, bound in cold iron shackles (or something similar), unable to access his magic to free himself, and is visited by Morgana.

She starts cursing out Arthur for his part in his fate, but he begs her to forgive him. “He’s an idiot”, he says, “but he didn’t mean for this to happen. He just thought that I had been lying to him all along, and he wanted me banished for it so he acted impulsively. We both know that if he had taken a moment to think he would have sent me away himself then changed his mind in a few days after speaking to you and Gaius. You didn’t see his face when Uther declared I was going to the pyre. Please don’t blame him”

Morgana then tries to tell him that she will get him out somehow, but he convinces her otherwise, since she already attempted to allow Tom to escape recently, and thus would be the main suspect. And besides, he is being too closely guarded for any escape attempt to succeed without the use of magic.

He explains that he knows she has magic, and begs her forgiveness for not helping her sooner. He suggests that she make up a reason for going on trips occasionally, and use that time to ask the Druids living nearby to teach her to control her powers. Finally, he grabs her hand, smiles sadly and says:

“You are the kindest, fairest lady I have ever known. Don’t let your fear and anger make you lose sight of that. I am honored to have called you my friend. And remember, never lose hope, because at the very least I will make sure my death reminds Arthur that magic is not always used for evil. He will change things once he is king, I know it. So have faith, milady. And protect that cabbagehead for me once I’m gone, will you? He gets into so much trouble, he’s gonna need someone at his back”

Morgana loses her composure and begins to cry, releasing heaving sobs while Merlin tries to comfort her. He tells her that it will be alright, and to stay with Gaius and Gwen the next day. He does not wish for them to see him die this way.

The next morning at dawn, he is taken before the stake where his “crimes” are read out loud. He is then tied to the stake and allowed to speak his last words. Merlin draws himself up as much as he can, and declares in a loud voice that he didn’t choose to learn magic, and was instead born with it, and in all his years he has never once used his abilities for evil. He proudly proclaims that he has only ever used his magic in service of Camelot and his lord, Prince Arthur. He killed the afanc and thus ended the plague upon the kingdom. He enchanted the blade that defeated the griffin. He defended Arthur from bandits and assassins from the shadows. He discovered the treachery of the sorcerer Edwin then used his own magic to reverse the spell that would have killed Uther. He killed the Sidhe Sophia and Aulfric before they could sacrifice Arthur’s life to return to Avalon. He took part in the forging of the blade that ultimately felled the wraith of Tristan de Bois. He convinced Anhora, guardian of the unicorns, to give Arthur another chance when he first failed his trials. He saved Arthur from the bite of the Questing Beast by offering his own life in return, then struck down the sorceress Nimueh when she attempted to take the life of an innocent person instead. He defeated the dark sorcerer Cornelius Sigan and his magical army, then sealed his soul away once more.

Once finished listing his deeds, he looks Arthur directly in the eye and says with a tremulous smile “Arthur may think of me as an underachiever but I’m quite proud of those accomplishments. I… I can die happy”

Incensed, Uther gives the order to light the pyre while a heartbroken Arthur is forced to watch, held back by two guards as he desperately tries to run over and free Merlin from his bonds. The fire ignites, and Merlin can’t help but scream. Arthur closes his eyes. Next to him, Leon turns away.

One hour passes. Then three. Then six. And yet, Merlin’s screams still ring out over the crowd. Many people, initially eager to witness the execution, now thoroughly regret coming. The screams, they reverberate in their minds, and those with family members around his age feel sick to their stomachs. No one in the world, not even the most heinous of criminals, deserves such a brutal, horrendous pain, and if his words before the pyre was lit are to be believed Merlin deserves this least of all. No one can understand. There is no wind to blow away the flames, no rain, and Merlin is clearly burning, yet he just won’t die.

Looking closely, it is apparent that something strange is afoot. Merlin has burns all over his body, his skin is red or blistered or charred black by turns. In some places, one can even see the white of his bone peek through his wounds. However, after a few seconds, the blackened skin seems to heal and turns pink once more, only to burn again.

Uther orders several of the guards to move forward, and use spears to end Merlin’s misery. They stab him in the gut, and Merlin’s blood dies the ground crimson. After a few minutes, Merlin’s screams cease and a sigh of relief sweeps through everyone present.

…

But it is not over. Soon, Merlin’s shrieks start anew, and one knight slits his throat in desperation. But to no avail. Suddenly, as the wound at his throat heals itself, Merlin’s cries restart. But they have changed. The ground shakes, and the sky turns black from countless dark clouds suddenly converging over Camelot as he loses control of his magic. And over the cacophony of noise from the thunder and the rumbling of the earth and the screams of the frightened public, Merlin can be heard…. Begging someone to please, please kill him.

Arthur weeps helplessly in the grasp of the guards. Uther is flabbergasted. He doesn’t understand what is going on, and thus is forced to call his resident magic expert to the scene. Gaius has to be dragged kicking and screaming before him, tears running down his face.

“What is it you want, your majesty? Isn’t it enough that you are killing the closest thing to a son to me, for the crime of saving your son’s life? Do I have to watch it happen as well?”

Uther forgives his insolence, just this once, and instead asks why it is taking Merlin so long to die. Gaius almost can’t believe what is happening, but ultimately explains that Merlin is called Emrys the Immortal by the druids, who say he is magic itself. He never believed this literally, having only thought they meant he is a being of unfathomable magical power, but it is now apparent that their words are nothing but the truth. Merlin can’t be killed, and continuing with this atrocity is only meaningless torture.

Uther agrees, and has Merlin taken into the castle. Arthur immediately frees himself from the stunned guards and goes after him, only to find him in the corner of one of the cells with his wounds slowly healing by themselves, crying silently while occasionally letting out heartbreaking whimpers. He is staring at the wall blankly, and doesn’t react at all when Arthur speaks to him. His mind wasn’t able to withstand the excruciatingly torturous experience, and has shattered.

Eventually, Arthur convinces Uther to allow him to keep Merlin with him, since he is clearly not a threat to anyone. After a while, Merlin stops making any sound and will only look ahead, unseeingly, only capable of following orders, completely unable to do anything by himself. Wracked with guilt, Arthur then does his best to take care of Merlin with the help of Morgana, Gwen and Gaius; feeding him, bathing him, dressing him, and comforting him when he wakes from night terrors in the middle of the night. Looking after someone who is essentially disabled eventually takes a toll on Gwen and Arthur’s relationship, and they agree they are better off as friends.

At some point, Arthur is attacked again and Merlin instinctively protects him with magic: this is the first action he has taken by himself since the pyre. Arthur breaks down into sobs, hugging Merlin close and begging him to say something, ANYTHING. Merlin doesn’t answer.

It takes many months, perhaps even years, but eventually with Arthur’s loving care Merlin does get better. His very first word after his ordeal is “Arthur”.

Arthur is so overwhelmingly relieved the first time Merlin makes a sassy comeback again that he falls to his knees in the middle of a council meeting. A panicked Merlin helps him to his feet, and Arthur uses his arm to pull him into a backbreaking hug. Merlin becomes Arthur’s most trusted advisor, and there is no threat they don’t face together.

In the meantime, his words before the pyre and the way he continues to protect Arthur, even in his current state, move the hearts of the people and obviously Arthur himself. Eventually, the protests in favor of repealing the ban on magic get so ridiculous, with so many people behind them, that even Uther has to concede defeat. Forced to face the truth about the nature of magic users and the reality of his actions against them, Uther health deteriorates from the stress and he confesses his mistakes to Arthur and Morgana, particularly in regards to what happened with Ygraine and Vivienne. It is a long time before either of them will speak to him again after that, and it takes almost until he is on his death bed. When he takes his very last breath, their forgiveness feels like absolution.

Morgana takes Merlin’s words to her that night to heart, and settles for being named an official princess once Arthur is king, and being given her very own stretch of land to lord over. She still spends much of her time in the castle, and once Merlin is back to his old self somewhat, she visits him often to practice magic, dote on Aithusa and share gossip. She eventually makes Morgause come around and she becomes Morgana’s most fearsome guard and protector. She is also given a place in court by Arthur.

Arthur names Merlin Court Sorcerer, and eventually their devotion for each other blossoms into a love so passionate, so fiercely protective on both parts that no one dares speak out against it. Gwen agrees to be their surrogate to create heirs to the throne, with loving support from her husband Lancelot. He and the other Knights of the Round Table accept Merlin as one of their own, and are almost as protective of him as their king. Soon, Uther’s supporters, magic haters and dissenters stop appearing.

With the entirety of Albion behind them, Merlin and Arthur bind their lives together in what is later called the wedding of the millennium.

As prophecy stated, together Merlin and Arthur usher in an era of peace the likes of which the world had never known, for both magical and non magical people. Once Arthur decides to retire, he leaves the kingdom in the capable hands of their first born, and then they leave to explore the world. They come back from time to time, of course, to check in, to share their wisdom, and they defend Albion with everything they have when called, but for the most part they just travel and revel in each other’s presence.

As their legend spreads throughout the world, people will sometime claim to have seen them in one place or another. Sometimes it’s true, sometimes it isn’t. And when Albion’s greatest time of need comes, they are there to face it. Together.

[ibelieveinharrystyles]

Chapter Seven: Chaotic Christmas

Forever? Masterlist

24th December 2016

“Simply having a wonderful Christmas time!” Harry and Ashley sang in unison as they cruised up the M1, they were on their way home for a family Christmas, which based on tradition, Linda was hosting this year. Luckily, they had timed their departure from London perfectly with Daisy’s nap, which was an accomplishment compared to how disastrous their last journey with her had been. “I’ve missed your mum’s cooking, she does make an impeccable roast,” Harry sighed, his eyes focused on the road ahead.

“If you tell her that she will love you forever,” Ashley chuckled.

“I don’t need to tell her, she already does.” Shortly after Harry’s quick witted reply Daisy stirred from her nap, crying for attention.

“We’re going to have to stop at the next service station H, she’s due a feed.”

“There’s one just up ahead, we’ll pull in there.”

Somehow Harry managed to find a space in what was a very busy car park, they clearly weren’t the only ones driving home for Christmas, Daisy was getting restless, her screams were almost deafening, “Alright Daisy my love we’re here now.” Ashley hopped out of the car, taking Daisy out of her baby seat in the back of the car, taking her round to the boot, where Harry was already grabbing the nappy bag, “Don’t bother with the buggy, I’ll just carry her, we’ll find a nice cafe in there somewhere.” The two of them weaved their way around the groups of people, Harry had his hood up in an attempt not to draw attention, even though everyone was already looking at Ashley and her screaming baby. Eventually they found a table in a little cafe where Ashley could contently feed Daisy, “You wouldn’t mind getting us some food whilst I fed her would you?” Ashley asked Harry as she made up Daisy’s bottle.

“Course, anything in particular?” Harry asked.

“Something fresh, and some apple juice if they’ve got it please.”

After a long drive up the motorway Harry, Ashley and Daisy arrived safely in the comfort of Holmes Chapel, Linda rushed out of the house greeting them all with hugs and helping Harry with the bags while Ashley carried Daisy, who had just stirred from another nap. “How was the journey up? I imagine the world and his wife were travelling up from Lonson,” Linda asked as they made their way into the house, the smell of her homemade mince pies.

“It was alright, the service station was a little crazy, but that's the price I have to pay for being best friends with a global sensation.” Ashley told her mum as she got Daisy out of her adorable little snowsuit, “Can’t take you anywhere can I Harry?”

“I’m such a troublemaker.” Harry winked, placing the bags down in the hallway and taking Daisy from Ashley so she could sort herself out. Ashley entered the perfectly decorated living room, reminding her of all her childhood Christmases, Linda always went the extra mile at Christmas, draping holly, ivy and mistletoe berries along the beams that supported the roof of the living room. A splash of colour was always something the Hanson family had opted for at Christmas, this year the tree was decorated with teal and gold decorations, growing up Ashley’s dad had always been chaotic when it came to decorating the tree, it was always his job, but he loved to attack the tree with an unorthodox method of decorating, so in a way of paying homage to him Linda always used a less traditional colour scheme every year, but still to her taste. Harry and Daisy sat on the sofa, playing with one of the many toys Linda had scattered about the living room.

Harry had gone back to spend the night at his family home before the chaos of Christmas Day, leaving Ashley and Linda eating their way through a stuffed crust pepperoni pizza, watching the intense Christmas Eve special of Coronation Street whilst Daisy played happily on the floor. “Your dad would be so proud of you, you know that don’t you?” Linda told her daughter, placing her hand on top of Ashley’s, “You’ve achieved so much this year already, moving to London, having a baby on your own, he would’ve absolutely adored Daisy.”

“I’m not on my own mum, I’ve got Harry.” Ashley reminded her.

“I know that my love, it's clear he cares very much about you both, but one day he will meet someone he wants to settle down with, and that means he probably won’t be as involved in your life.” Linda explained.

“I’m aware of that mum,” Ashley sighed, her mum wasn’t wrong, one day Harry would love another woman enough to want to marry her and have children with her, she just had to accept that, “I think I’ll take Daisy up to bed, it’s been a long day.”

“What about the mince pies?” Linda asked.

“They’ll keep till the morning, night mum.”

Usually Ashley was good at sleeping the whole night through, that was when Daisy wasn’t waking up for a feed, she laid in what was once her childhood bed completely restless and unable to get to sleep, so she concluded fresh air would do her some good. She made her way downstairs, opening the door to the back garden, the cold air nipping at her skin, she took a seat on one of the thick branches of a tree that was at the back of Anne’s garden, but had grown so much that the branches stretched, well over into Linda’s garden. Ashley and Harry spent hours when they were younger, climbing and playing games on it. “Couldn’t sleep?” the familiar voice shook her out of her daydream as she noticed Harry climbing up the tree to perch beside her.

“I’m just thinking about things,” Ashley sighed.

“What things?”

“New job kinda things,” Harry’s face appeared puzzled, “Capital have offered me a promotion, a big one, they like the increase in attention they’ve got from us being friends, and Roman needs a new co-host,” she paused, “They want me to do the breakfast show with him.”

“That's incredible Ash, but why does that require you to be sitting on our tree at 2 in the morning?” 

“I don’t know if it’s the right thing to do, Daisy will be barely six months old when I start in January, I don’t want to miss a massive chunk of her childhood, and it feels like I would be exploiting our friendship.” Ashley explained.

“If it's the breakfast show that's only four or so hours of the day, you could always do it for a couple of years, and when she’s off to school and needs you there in the mornings, I’m sure you will be given an even better opportunity,” Harry assured her.

“I remember when I was the one who gave you advice,” Ashley whispered resting her head on Harry’s shoulder, “Anyway, why are you out here at this time of night?”

“I’m thinking about next year, Ash it’s going to be crazily busy, with the album, tour and also the film.” 

“Well whatever happens, whatever people say, you’ll always be my best friend,” she whispered, taking his hand in hers, “Now go and get some sleep, mum will be raging if you’re half asleep during Christmas Dinner.”

The following morning Ashley stirred from her sleep, she checked the time on her phone, it was well gone ten in the morning, Daisy wasn’t in her cot, Ashley chucked an old hoodie on over her pyjamas and made her way downstairs. Her mum, Harry, Anne and Gemma were sat round the dining table, indulging in croissants and pastries, Harry had Daisy sat on his knee, bouncing her along to the cheesy Christmas music that played in the background. “Merry Christmas,” Ashley smiled, greeting them all with hugs, Harry respectfully handing Daisy over. “Hello my princess, happy Christmas,” she bounced her on her hip, before taking a seat at the table, “Has she had her morning bottle?” 

“Yep, first thing Harry did when they got here, he crept into your room, retrieved Daisy, and bought her down here for breakfast.” Linda told her,

“Thank you,” Ashley smiled, “I’ve actually got some news, well I made the decision last night, with the help of Harry, as of mid January, I’m going to be co-hosting the breakfast show on Capital.”

“Ashley that’s wonderful news!” Anne cried, offering her a big hug, “isn’t your mummy clever?” she whispered to Daisy, tickling her under the chin.

Ashley glanced over at her mum, who was wiping tears from under her eyes, “Are you alright mum?”

“I just know how proud your dad would be Ash, all he wanted was for you to be happy.” Linda smiffled.

“I am happy, and I’m so happy to spend Christmas day with all my favourite people.”

After an impeccable Christmas Dinner thanks to Linda, everyone took their seats around the tree, as due to tradition, Harry handed out the presents. They all took it in turns, opening their gifts, Daisy only had a few, mainly from Harry, as everyone agreed she was only little, so she wouldn’t remember Christmas that much. Harry got her a mini xylophone, some stuffed animals and of course some designer baby clothes, that Ashley didn’t dare consider the possible price of. There was one gift left under the tree for Daisy, Ashley opened it, seeing a little white teddy, “Who is  this from?” She asked, all of them looking at her blankly.

“Oh that was on the doorstep when we arrived earlier.” Gemma told her.

She checked the label, making sure she knew who to thank, her heart was in her mouth, she stood up, heading to the kitchen and chucking it in the bin, Harry followed after her, noticing the sudden change in her mood. “Hey what’s wrong?”

“It’s him.” She whispered, leaning on the kitchen counter, holding her head in her hands.

“What’s him? I don’t get it.” Harry replied.

“The label on Daisy’s present said dad, Matt sent the present, what if he knows where we live? He could be outside as we speak.” She panicked.

“Hey Ash, you need to calm down,” Harry soothed, wiping her tears away from her cheeks, “This is a small town, everyone knows everyone, there is an extremely high chance he just sent it to the local post office, when I used to get all that fanmail, people literally just put my name and Holmes Chapel on it, you don’t need to worry.”

“I do though Harry, what if he wants to be part of her life? What if he wants custody of her? I can’t lose her Harry, I can’t.”

“Ashley you are an amazing mum, when you told Matt you were pregnant he went awol, no court is going to deem him a fit father.” Harry assured her, taking hold of both her hands, “As long as I’m walking this earth, I am going to do everything I can to keep you and Daisy safe, you have my word.”

[oneletteredwondered]

Notes on a Wall

Sum: Patton communicates with his roommates through notes on whiteboards.

Pair: literally whatever you want, but honestly probably polyamsanders/LAMP

Warnings: uhhh slight weed mention? pot brownies for like four lines, lots of food mentions, swearing

–

When Patton first decided to live off campus and live in a shared house with three random strangers, he honestly really didn’t know what to expect. Sure he had been hopeful in some regards, maybe he could make a friend in this new place, or maybe one of them would answer the door when he knocked so he wouldn’t have to put the heavy box in his hands down to fish out his keys from the depths of his pocket.

“Hello?” He calls into the open room. No answer. He lets out a small huff and works on kicking the box in with his foot in lieu of lifting it back up. He closes the door behind him to not let any of the colder air out and then takes a look around his new living space.

It looks exactly as advertised. Plainly painted beige walls and plain beige carpet. He stands in the living room, spinning in a bit of a circle to take it all in. The living room is a decent size for a rented place. Someone already brought in a couch and there’s a TV placed on the floor. It’s all joined into what could be a dining area if there was a table, but for now it’s just this floating open space. Then there’s a kitchen, small, cramped, and a single coffeemaker stands on the counter. 

On both sides of the living space is two small hallways, each with three doors. The two on the ends are bedrooms, the one in the center a shared bathroom between the two bedrooms.

Patton twists up his nose. He huffs again and lifts up his box of books, the heaviest of his things so the first he brought in and heads towards the left hallway. Both bedrooms doors have some small decal on them. The room tucked in the corner has a wooden sign on the door, the words “Please do not Disturb” written in white against a dark blue background. The other has a wooden name placard in a bold glittering red, ‘R’, written in calligraphy that’s almost hard to read.

Patton teeters to the right side of the living room with his heavy box.

The door more hidden in the corner has purple caution tape wrapped from corner to corner, making it look like an X across the door. Patton tilts his head to the side to read the writing. ‘Caution Reclaimed Water Below’. Now Patton is sure that’s not accurate, but he doesn’t know enough about the place to dispute that claim. He turns to the other door, plain and unmarked.

Carefully, and with his tongue peeking out of his mouth, he manages to twist the knob without dropping his box on his foot and opens the door. Finally! He is able to put the box down in somewhat of a proper place. He puts his hands on his hips in triumph for just a good self proud second, then heads right back out to grab more boxes from his beaten down truck.

Perhaps not a good car, but he loves Bessie and the little cow plushie sitting on the rear dash too much. His truck is plain silver and on the smaller side when compared to most trucks, but it makes him worry less about driving in the lines so it works. The back seat is full of boxes of random things for college while the bed of the truck holds his dresser, bookcase, and a side drawer painted with bright blue flowers.

He’ll travel later tonight to get his bed from his dad’s house. It’s one of the last things he has at his dad’s place besides an odd photo album or poster or two. Patton can barely believe they’ll be apart like this for the first time. Sure he’s been at college for about a year now but his dad kept his bed even when he moved almost three times during the year. It’s an odd feeling.

Patton manages to get the rest of his things settled in his room, beginning the stages of putting stuff in their rightful place as the night creeps in. His clothes are hung up and his college books are placed back on the shelves of his bookcase. All in all he’s rather accomplished.

He skips out of the room, eyeing his box of kitchen wares on the floor near the open space next to said kitchen. It hasn’t been touched, which is a good sign so far. None of his roommates have sticky fingers, or they just haven’t come out of their rooms yet. Patton blows up a puff of air at some of the curls in his face and heads out the door, locking it snugly behind him.

–

Patton is sniffly on his way back to his new apartment. He and his dad shared a very tearful goodbye, knowing they are very much separated now that Patton no longer has a bed there. But there were promises to write all wrapped up in a linked pinky that makes Patton feel better. He’s on his own and he’s proud of himself for that.

Plus! Now he has more than a bed. He has the old rickety table that leans to one side but doesn’t wobble, an old set of knives his dad never used, and then a set just for Patton. The knife set is complete, the blades baby blue and the handles white. Of course Patton cried. He loves them so much.

It’s been his passion since he’s been young and with a degree in hotel and restaurant management under way, he’s even closer to owning his own restaurant. He loves cooking too much, the passion of food, the spark of delight, and seeing someone ask for seconds fills his heart with rainbows.

He takes the box of knives in first, placing them in the kitchen area to be dealt with after the bed and table situation has been figured out. His box of other supplies has been moved slightly to a less in the way spot.

He struggles of course getting his mattress inside, but makes due all the same. When it’s finally set up and Patton manages to hook the corner of the fitted sheet over all edges, he flops down hard. He ends up giggling to himself. He did it all by himself and he feels tired, sore, and so accomplished.

But there’s still more to be done.

He’s about to get up when he hears a door open, and close. He can’t help it. He rushes to his own closed door and rips it open, just in time to see the front door close shut. His shoulders drop comically. So close, yet so far. It takes a moments pep talk for him to head to the kitchen area. Not a lot of drawers are taken up and there’s ample space for Patton to put all his utensils. He hums a little himself putting everything away, happily smiling at the sets of knives he now owns. Those go on the counter.

With everything put away he puts the container on the floor of their small pantry. Only a few things left. The table is much easier to move inside by himself. It fits nicely in the corner spot and even though he doesn’t have chairs, it’s still makes the place feel more homey. It’s then Patton knows exactly what to do with his dad’s other present.

All the time he’s been there, less than a whole day, Patton has felt off about the place. It looks like people live here, but it doesn’t look lived in. There’s no spark of fun. And Patton plans to fix it.

His last gift from his dad is a set of note boards. One plain white board, one scheduling white board with the days of the week with enough spots for four people, a cork board, two pads of paper, two different sticky note pads, and a dozen magnets.

He puts the cork board near the front door all even like and the scheduling white board right next to it. He writes the letter ‘P’ in a bright blue marker and what he knows of his schedule for the next semester. Next he puts the plain white board on the fridge with the magnetized pad of paper next to it. After careful consideration, he opens the fridge, and jots down on paper what to get from the store next time he goes.

After more consideration, he draws a simple blue heart on the fridge white board too.

After even more consideration, he takes a piece of paper from the pad not on the fridge, left on the counter, and writes down a simple greeting note.

“Hey! I just moved in! Feel free to use the boards!”

He pins it to the cork board, and heads to bed.

–

Shopping, Patton decides as his stomach grumbles audibly, is the most important thing to do with his morning. He woke up way too late in the afternoon, tired from moving all his stuff yesterday. Classes don’t start for another month or so, so he’s in no rush.

The bathroom is open for his use and he locks the door behind him. He puts his stuff in one of the open drawers and his shampoo in the shower corner. There’s already some stuff in there, including a make-up bag. Though curious to it’s contents, Patton doesn’t pry. He takes a decently long shower and feels happily refreshed and ready for shopping.

Maybe he writes on the mirror in washable marker a smiley but that’s not a big deal.

He grabs the shopping list off the pad and squeals when he notices.

To say Patton is delighted to see his boards have been used is an understatement.

There’s more items on the shopping list than before, two other sets of hand writing, both having written please on the bottom. Patton would be thrilled to get them things.

His face feels like splitting int two when he sees a note in response to the one left on the cork board.

“heard you come in last night. wanted to help but I didn’t. was too nerv didn’t know if was asleep.”

Even though Patton is unsure how they could have heard him and be asleep at the same time, it doesn’t stop him from appreciating the sentiment all the same. in response, Patton takes one of the sticky notes, draws a happy face, and tacks it to the response note.

During his whole shopping trip, Patton can’t help but feel giddy at seeing someone else’s writing next to his. He gets so much food, probably too much. But he saw the empty contents of that fridge and he is not about to let anyone eat scraps of food. Not on his water proof watch.

He shuffles in the groceries himself. Almost having to make three trips but he struggles with a determined smile on his face. As he puts away the groceries his mind races and over thinks and thinks again about all the different kinds of dishes he can make with his new ingredients. It’s a whole world to explore and the only constant is that he wants to cook for his new housemates.

So Patton does the only thing he can think of, and writes on the white board on the fridge, biting his lip happily seeing a red crown drawn next to his blue heart.

“I want to make dinner for you! What kind of foods do you like?”

And how he can not wait for a response he’s tempted to sit on the kitchen floor and hope someone comes in and answers his burning question. Do they like chicken? Steak? What about veggies? Are they vegetarian? Pasta? There’s so much Patton can barely contain himself.

The barely turns to can’t when he goes to head to his room and notices more writing on the schedule board. ‘L’ writes in black and their handwriting is neat. Patton can recognize it from the grocery list. They have their next semester schedule written along with times for going to the library, perhaps a job? Patton doesn’t know, oh but he wants to.

There’s a small pang of sadness knowing he has yet to actually meet, let alone see any of his roommates, but this? This is a wonderful start.

He’s certain the homemade mac and cheese he makes tastes better than ever this time around. He puts the leftovers int he fridge and puts a sticky note on it.

“Feel free!”

–

It’s not until later does Patton hear a door open, and yet again, even though his door is open this time, he doesn’t catch whoever is leaving. He huffs. Shouldn’t they talk by now? It’s been at least a whole day! He trudges to the living space, still not exactly lived in. Maybe if he sits on the couch someone will appear. Like magic, or hopeful thinking.

Still he smiles at seeing the last two spots on the schedule board filled up. ‘R’ uses red and takes up as much space as possible with their writing, and ‘V’ barely writes down any info except for some times and ‘out’. But it’s something and Patton, well Patton always did love too easily now didn’t he?

The only trouble comes when he does really look at their schedules, and how well they don’t line up at all. They have classes at different times, work and ‘out’ings all scattered, there’s barely a time when either of them could be in the house at the same time at all. That surely puts a damper on Patton’s not so slowly growing fondness to people he’s never really met.

He’s nothing but not optimistic, and that optimism strikes hard seeing some of the food taken out of the mac and cheese bowl, two new sticky notes of thanks written on the containers, and wonderfully, lovingly, responses written under his question from earlier.

“I am partial to nothing in specific. I appreciate the sentiment to make food for the house.”

“I am fond of Italian and Spanish cuisine~ Spicy foods always have a way to my heart as well~”

“pineapple pizza”

“hEATHEN”

Patton can’t help but giggle at the word boldly written through the pizza suggestion. As an aspiring food connoisseur he has yet to give his full opinion on the pros and cons of pineapple on pizza and will make no such judgement lightly. And maybe he does wish the other two had given him more to work with, he has something now and the words reply in his head like a melody in bright red marker.

Italian. Spanish. Spicy.

He can work with that. It’s not a lot, but it’s something and Patton loves it all the same.

So he cooks and fills the house with lovely smells and even if he doesn’t get to see someone eat it right away, he somehow knows they will like it.

–

“Thank you for all the food darling~”

“I agree it was delicious.”

“thx.”

–

Patton manages to land a job within the week, some moderately busy bistro in town. Not quite hole in the wall, but a very local business. The owner and manager is lovely and they seem to adore Patton. The head chef takes a shine to him right away and pulls Patton under his wing before Patton can properly say hi. To say Patton loves his new job is an understatement. 

He’s lucky, he knows he is. They are willing to work with his school schedule and the owner is willing to help Patton understand the business and how it works giving him an edge in one day owning his own place. It’s nearly a dream come true.

Patton takes his training very seriously and though it makes the head chef laugh, he admires Patton’s attitude when it comes to creating and cooking and actively encourages his branching out. Whenever they practice new dishes, they let Patton take home extra for his housemates. It’s the little things Patton decides.

He lets out a happy sigh at home, body buzzed and head full of fluff at his day at work. His work schedule has already been added to the white board and a take-out menu is pinned up to the cork board. It’s joined by a pamphlet to the planetarium, a list of dates for a school play, and flyer for some concerts in town.

Maybe it is silly but Patton loves writing to them. They still haven’t met just yet, but Patton swears he saw one of them passed out on the couch covered head to toe with a blanket the other day, and he swore he could hear another singing across the living room. Either way, he’s happy they are at least interacting with him in small ways.

He goes to put the containers in the fridge, marking an ‘L’ on top of the one he has, thinking that whoever ‘L’ is, they will enjoy this dishes specifically. Gosh if he doesn’t sigh dreamily looking up at the white board, looking at what everyone has written for the day.

“Thank you for the food, wonderful as always.”

“Everyone at my theater is jealous of my personal chef~”

“thx for food”

–

“Would you be willing to make the salmon and rice dish again? I find myself craving it’s flavor.”

“Not until they make those red hot wings again! I want to not be able to feel my taste buds!”

“do you want like us to pay you for this or something? you like buy all our groceries too dude i feel bad”

That question has two arrows pointing to it in different colors. 

That gives Patton pause. Pay him? Well, sure he wants to be paid for this eventually, and he is buying the groceries a lot, but he finds he doesn’t really mind. His college is mostly paid for on scholarship, and his job pays him well enough to cover rent and some fun. But most of Patton’s fun is cooking anyway so he would just spend it on groceries in the end.

He bites his lip as he responds.

“Only if you want to! I love cooking so it’s not a bother to me!” 

He’s sure to draw a small smiley face too. He hums happily and makes his way to work. He wouldn’t mind the financial help, but thinking back to the little notes of thanks and compliments they give him, it almost feels like payment enough.

When he gets home, he’s absolutely tickled to death seeing three separate magnets, one black, one red, one purple, each with two twenty dollar bills underneath. Well Patton may just cry at the thoughtfulness. He’s quick to write down the ingredients for Salmon Pilaf and Red Hot Wings. One day he hopes ‘V’, or who he thinks is ‘V’ based on color scheme, will write down what they like so Patton can make it for them.

He takes the money off the fridge.

“You guys are so sweet!!!!!”

–

“Thank you for the meal.”

“I want a copy of your cookbook, a subscription to your cooking show, and you as my personal chef~”

“thank”

–

Patton looks at the schedule, sticking his tongue out slightly. He’s sure, almost positive, that no one is home. ‘R’ and ‘L’ are out, and though ‘V’s schedule doesn’t say they are out, the house is so very quiet Patton doesn’t think they are. So he risks it, and dumps fruits and juice into the blender.

It’s not the most pleasant of noises, yet the way everything looks being ground up into a slush makes Patton wiggle in excitement. He’s left sticky notes on all his outward appliances, telling the others they can use them, but he doesn’t think they do. Maybe he’s spoiling them. He giggles because he enjoys it for now.

Once everything is blended he fills a cup up with the slushie smoothie mix he made. He keeps the rest in the blender and smacks the lid on. It’s put in the fridge with the same note all his mass of extras has.

“Feel free!”

–

“I had completely forgotten about breakfast foods, the smoothie was a good wake up.”

“My taste buds are singing your praises~”

“can you make another one? if its not too much trouble i mean”

–

Patton experiments with breakfast foods after that, leaving some pancakes and eggs and bacon and toast either in the fridge or carefully in the oven with notes telling where food is for them all to find.

He works with more fruits now after ‘V’ asked him to make another smoothie. He finds that his sweet things, not quite desserts, but fruity dishes go by fast. Perhaps he finally found out what ‘V’ likes and doesn’t that make Patton float above the ground.

Experiments are fun and though he’s not sure what he’s doing, Patton sticks his tongue out as the fruit simmers with the sugar carefully added. It’s a mixture of a few recipes from online with his own base instinct. He pours it in a mason jar to let cool and puts it in the fridge with a question mark written on a sticky note on top. Then he goes to the white board next. After his question has been posed, he takes the grocery list, another twenty magnetized next to it, and heads on out the door.

“I tried to make jam! Let me know how it tastes?”

–

“I may have gotten carried away, my apologies.”

“I didn’t even get to try any you scoundrel!”

“wow savage”

Well Patton surely didn’t mean to come home to the jar empty, finger scraped clean, and half of the loaf of bread gone. It’s a good thing he bought more fruit.

–

“Hope your classes go well today!”

–

School starts up and Patton is diligent in his classes. Business, Math, Home ec, Yoga because it’s good to breathe once in while. Enough to keep him busy. He’s begun making food in containers, easily portable to and from school for him and his housemates.

Sometimes he wonders if he’s seen them before on campus. It’s not a large campus but it surely isn’t the smallest. ‘R’ once said his theater was jealous of their food, do they do any of that at school? What about ‘L’ or ‘V’? Do they bring the food out? What if Patton sees them eating it in public? Wouldn’t that be a shock to them all.

Either way he works, focusing on what he needs and wants to do. Really he thinks of his housemates as his test group. Figuring out which of his dishes are better than others, which ones take work, which ones they ask for more often.

He collects all that, written down in his own notebook for future menu item ideas. He has no idea which kind of eatery he wants to run. He loves breakfast foods, but lunch is so yummy, and dinner makes him so warm inside, and desserts he has yet to master. But what can he do?

He worries his lip between his teeth, wondering if what he’s going to do is a good idea. He writes on the whiteboard and then hides in his room, not ready for the answers.

“I want to own my own restaurant. But I don’t know what kind. Any ideas maybe?”

–

“Apologies but I would have taken up the whole board so I am writing on the notepad. I firmly believe that regardless of what kind of restaurant you own, you will be exceptionally proficient in whatever you chose to excel in. That being said, what kind of food gives you the most satisfaction to make? Is there more worth in making one style of food over the other? Which one would make you more financially stable? Can you be happy making one style of food all your life or will you change eventually? These are important things to ask yourself when figuring out your path.”

“YES PLEASE DO THIS I LOVE YOU I DON’T KNOW HOW TO HELP BUT I WILL EAT THERE EVERYDAY TO MAKE SURE YOU STAY IN BUSINESS~”

“idk follow your heart dude your stuff is good”

–

Maybe Patton cries a little at their blind support, but no one has to know that. He takes a picture of their notes and pulls ‘L’s from the board to keep forever. In turn he draws a big heart on the board with no reservation what so ever.

–

“fuck math holy shit.”

“Are you having problems in your course of study?”

“Math is the bane of my existence and steals my soul like a demon at midnight~”

“numbers and shit”

“Aw math is difficult for me too kiddo”

–

“I apologize, it seems I have lost some self control again.”

“That was MY jar of jam thief of sweet!”

“sux 2 suc”

“I can make more!”

–

Glimpses of feet, of hair, of something not enough is all Patton gets and his heart aches to meet the people he’s considering friends. He wants to know so much. The notes tide him over, but how long until it’s not enough?

–

“I shall be out at rehearsals all weekend, coming home late~ Wish me luck~”

“Fracture a femur.”

“dude what”

“Dinner is in the fridge! Good Luck!”

–

“okay can you actually make pizza from scratch or are you bullshitting me”

“Language! Yes I can, it’s not that hard really!”

“It sounds like a very tedious process and one must be skilled to get it right I presume.”

“put pineapple on it”

“HEATHEN”

–

Patton’s day is, not going well. He almost missed a class, did not do well on his test, and certainly did not have time to prepare for the rush at work, which left both him and his bosses frustrated. Not at him they reassured, but Patton knows he could have done better.

He flops to the couch at home, sniffling softly. It’s not the worst of days yet it could have been so much better. He doesn’t care enough to muffle his sadness and falls asleep on the couch, too tired to move.

The next morning he wakes to the smell of eggs. He rubs his eyes, crusty from tears and sleep, and looks at the box in front of him. There are two things on it, a book on ‘Tricks of the Trade in Food Industry’ and a plate of messy scrambled eggs with a small note on it.

“i tried - v”

Patton pulls the blanket on his shoulders tighter, knowing for a fact the deep red blanket is not his and he certainly didn’t fall asleep with it, and carefully brings the plate to his lap. He can see bits of shredded cheese mixed in with some left over sausage he made the other day on the side. Maybe the eggs aren’t the best and the sausage is old, but Patton loves it more than words can handle.

“Thank you guys so much

–

“Thank you for the meal.”

“Lovely as the sun shining~”

“thanks”

–

“Did you make brownies darling?”

“Nope! Were there brownies in the fridge?”

“Well they were exquisite!”

“I saw them earlier but they did not posses the usual ‘feel free’ notice.”

“have fun in like an hour dude my friend made those green”

“I can hear colors and you all sound wonderful~”

–

“Whomever left their music going, I turned it off. I apologize for breaching privacy but it was starting to cause a headache.”

“sorry my b”

“That was your Disney playlist going? Have you been saved by the glory of goodness?”

“bruh”

“I want to watch movies now!”

–

It had been a risky move, one that Patton isn’t even too sure how it worked. The schedule whiteboard works well for all of them, a simple notice of who is going where without saying much. ‘L’ has been changing the dates, written in neat black marker and surprisingly, everyone else keeps up with writing their odd outings as well.

Patton had wanted this though and so he put on his free Sunday night ‘dinner?’ and then put little blue question marks on everyone else’s, so far free, Sunday night. He expected rejection just a little bit, but he comes home from work, to everyone writing their confirmation, and someone erasing his own question mark. That causes some butterflies.

It’ll be their first dinner together, it will be their first time together at all. Patton can hardly wait.

–

“What would you all like for dinner on Sunday!!!”

“Whatever you decide to make will be satisfactory for all of us.”

“I will love anything you can stir up love~”

“uh spaghetti?”

–

Patton is going all out Italian. There is pasta boiling, meatballs sizzling in a red sauce made from scratch. He even bought a wedge of parmesan to properly grate into shredded cheese. There’s a bowl already on the table of a classic ceaser salad with four places set and ready.

He dips a small spoon in the red sauce, taking a quick taste. He drops the spoon to the sink and adds a few more spices to the pan, stirring it all together once more. He has to make sure it’s right, just right. After all this time, he wants everything to be his very best.

He carefully slices a fresh loaf of bread to put on the tray, garlic bread a must for this endeavor. He’s melting butter in the microwave and adding spices to it. He’s in the middle of carefully mincing his garlic clove when the front door opens and Patton freezes.

“Oh it smells absolutely divine in here~” The person says. They lock eyes with Patton and somehow the dashing smile they wear grows even wider. Their hair is wavy and tousled and there’s a dimple high on their cheek. They stand tall in a red and white jacket and Patton is too excited to meet them to breathe.

Luckily they close the door and put their bag on the couch. They come right back to Patton and hold out their hand. Naturally going for a handshake Patton takes it and is wonderfully delighted when his roommate turns his hand and kisses the back of it, complete with bow at the waist.

“It is simply an honor, my personal chef, to finally meet you~” And Patton, well he can’t help the stream of giggles that burst out of him. He covers his face with one hand and tries to say thank you or hi or anything really. He can’t though and frankly, his roommate looks smug about that.

“Oh to hadestown with it!” They say suddenly and Patton is wrapped in a hug that lifts him off the ground and twirls him about. Oh if he thought he was dizzy with happiness before, this certainly makes it worse and better all at once. He’s laughing loudly now and he’s sure his face is flushed dark when he’s finally put down.

“My name is Roman,” They introduces themselves. Patton smiles so wide his face hurts.

“Patton,” He’s breathless. Something beeps and Patton hops so fast out of Roman’s hug he actually feels the loss for a moment. His focus is now razor sharp, cutting the garlic again and mixing it with his butter and spice.

“Do you require assistance?”

“Nope!” Patton pops the ‘p’ and continues on. He spreads the garlic butter on the bread and pops it in the oven carefully setting a timer for barely a minute long. The red sauce is tried again and satisfied with the flavor, Patton picks it from the stove to place on a trivet to the side. He tests his noodles by picking one out with a fork to nibble.

That too he pulls from the stove and strains. Once the water is gone he replaces the noodles and drops a decent portion of butter in the middle of the noodles. He lets it melt slowly as the oven beeps and he pulls out the tray of garlic bread. The smell wafts through the house and someone whines hungrily. 

“You can start on the salad if you’re-” Patton finally looks up, not realizing that two people are now watching him, both already with plates of salad in their hands.

“Beat you to it puffball~” Roman winks and shoves another bite in his mouth, making it crunch decidedly. The other person eats more carefully, adjusting their glasses every so often. They wear a black long sleeve and a tie.

“Salutations, it is nice to be able to formally introduce myself. I am Logan,” They say. Patton lets out a happy sigh.

“I’m Patton.” The edges of Logan’s mouth twitch up in an almost smile before they hide it in their salad. Patton goes back to his work. He slowly mixes in the melted butter to make the pasta shine. He sprinkles some of his freshly grated cheese on the bread and pops it back in the oven for just one more minute. The meatball skillet is brought to the table and then follows with his pasta pot.

“I am sooo hungry, I skipped lunch to make sure I was extra prepared for this,” Roman says as he takes a seat at the table. Sometime during their stay, four mismatched chairs appeared. Patton never questioned it and right now it seems fitting.

“That is an unwise decision,” Logan remarks and sits down at the table as well. Patton laughs and makes sure all the appliances are turned far off. The garlic bread is stacked on a plate and brought over to the table along with the plate of grated cheese. Patton looks at his work and can’t help but feel proud and so elated that he’ll finally be able to see to the people he’s been feeding for almost half a year eat his food in person.

“So worth it~” Roman manages to say around another too big a mouthful of salad. Patton snickers and Logan rolls his eyes, there’s a small smile on his face so it’s okay. Roman reaches for the pasta ladle when Logan speaks up.

“Aren’t we currently missing someone?” The question gives them all pause and Patton glances over to the hallway leading to his door and the other’s. Patton bites his lip.

“We have to wait for them,” He mutters out determined to have them all there. Logan folds his hands and though pouty and hungry, Roman leans back away from the ladle. Good thing it doesn’t take too long.

They all perk up when the bedroom door opens and closes softly. A head peeks around the corner and looks visibly shocked to see them all there.

“Oh okay shit fuck we’re doing this okay,” They take a deep breath and come around the corner. Their hoodie is ripped and sewn back together, a mess of purple and back. Patton can’t stop his smile.

“I’m uh.. V,” They say and give an awkward two finger salute. Patton beams as they all introduce themselves one last before sitting down.

“Thank god,” Roman breathes out and immediately drops a hefty portion of pasta on his plate that could really be considered ‘too much’.

“Roman!” Patton squeals out. Roman just flashes him a smile.

“Food coma or not, it shall be worth it,” He teases and plops meatballs on his plate too.

“I’m such a slut for garlic bread,” V takes three pieces and uses the spoon to put red sauce on them, along with more cheese and then tops it with spaghetti, making a weird pasta pizza. Logan takes his time, getting an almost measured ratio of pasta to meatball to sauce to cheese. Patton can’t wait to hear their thoughts.

It takes a minute or so, watching with baited breath as they all finally start to eat. Patton has yet to put food on his plate, much more eager and interested in them. Roman breaks first with a loud over done groan.

“I’m in heaven,” He says somehow with a face full of pasta. Patton feels like he’s glowing.

“Like I said before, it is satisfactory to the highest degree,” Logan comments as well, carefully putting each bite in his mouth to not spill.

“If I wasn’t already gay for food, this would turn me,” V raises one of his bread pieces in a ‘cheers’ like motion, then ceremoniously shoves the largest bite he can into his mouth to the point he can barely chew. It causes Roman to nearly spit up his own food and Logan just puts his hand to his head.

And to Patton it’s everything he could have hoped for and more. He finally gets a plate of his own food, happily eating his own meal with the others around him.

“So this is like a new regular thing right? We can round table pick the dish and have it every Sunday?” Roman is leaning back in his chair, hands on his belly and a dazed smile on his face. V, who is very much in a similar position shrugs. Logan who paced himself and ate a proper amount, wipes his face with a napkin.

“I shall not be opposed to Sunday dinners if that is what is preferred.” Then three pairs of eyes on him and Patton blinks back.

“Is that okay?” Roman asks.

“We do not wish to impose of course,” Logan adds.

“No pressure,” V mumbles to him as well.

Patton can feel the smile spreading across his face into one in full bloom. They want him to keep cooking for them.

“I would love that,” He says and the already easy atmosphere around them grows more loving. It cuddles them all close and Patton, who once didn’t even properly know his roommates names, feels closer to them more than ever.

–

I really liked this au, wouldn’t mind writing more for it if anyone has like, a scene they want to see or something

[joetatoeheads]

Together X David Dobrik

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.7K

Masterlist

David had titled the video “WE LOVE EACH OTHER BUT WILL NEVER BE TOGETHER” and it sounded like clickbait because the idea of David being in love was clickbait in itself. He had no other idea of what to title this video and it scared him a little to do something like this again. His breakup video was almost 2 years ago and now he was going to make another video explaining his feelings to the world. David got his camera recording in front of them.

“I feel like I should be sitting down like a proper person.”

“Move over. You’re like in the middle,” said David.

“Well I’ve never been on camera so I don’t know.”

“Do you want a pillow or something?”

“If I lean back would it be too weird or informal?”

“You are really nervous about this.” Laughed David.

“I am and you aren’t.”

“Kinda used to the cameras. I know you aren’t and I’m sorry for doing this.”

David gave Y/N a kiss on the forehead and she smiled, “Okay. Let’s get this over with.”

“You have plans for tonight?” asked David.

“Not really. I was gonna make pasta tonight.”

“Stay over we can have pizza.”

“Sure… David we have yet to introduce ourselves we are literally just rambling on.”

“They all know me.”

“Funny.”

“Do you want to introduce yourself or do I do it?” The video cuts to the two of them sitting down next to each other and everything looks perfect. “Hey guys welcome back to another video. This is Y/N and from the title of the video this isn’t a regular vlog. How do we start this?”

David turned to Y/N who went wide eyed, “I don’t know.”

“So…I think we should – we should just explain everything?” asked David.

“Honestly where would we even start?”

“So we met through Matt!” started David.

“Surpringsly.”

“Matt and Y/N went on a date and it ended horribly.”

“It didn’t end horribly we just found each other to be too similar,” clarified Y/N.

“Their heads were too big to fit in a restaurant that’s why the date went bad,” joked David.

“Funny.”

“Matt did say you corrected him too many times and he doesn’t get that often.”

“He’s just a little sensitive sometimes.”

David laughed, “But he liked you enough to keep you around.”

“He used me as a source whenever he would get into arguments sometimes.”

“I liked her because she shut Matt up sometimes.”

“I liked him because he such a good person. Like he was funny and happy and I loved being around him.”

“And then we fell in love!” smiled David.

“You didn’t like me in the beginning.”

“No I thought you going to be another Matt, but your just Y/N.”

“I feel like that isn’t a compliment.”

“Of course it’s a compliment,” laughed David.

“Sure.”

David kissed Y/N on the forehead again before Y/N smiled at him and looked into his eyes, “I really liked you.”

“I didn’t like you,” said David staring into her eyes until he looked back at the camera and Y/N followed.

“You were funny and you were nice to me, even if you didn’t like me.”

“You were Matt’s friend I wasn’t going to kick you out of my house.”

“I mean you could’ve.”

“Are we just going to jump to when we fell in love with each other?” asked David.

“I mean I guess.”

“You first.”

“You suggested it!”

“You first. I want to hear why you love me,” smiled David.

Y/N rolled her eyes at him then David kissed her on the forehead again. “So I guess I liked David from the beginning because he’s David, he’s really easy to like. I realized that I liked him when one night we were kinda hanging around the house and I was getting sleepy and David was editing really late.”

“Hey I know what you’re talking about!” interrupted David.

“He let me sleep next to him and he just put his arm around me during the night and we woke up the next day in each other arms.”

“You make it seem like a movie. I woke up with her on me and my shirt was drenched in drool,” smiled David.

“Oh you liked it. It was the most action you got in a long time,” joked Y/N.

“It was nice,” agreed David.

“Basically being with David made me realize do I want to be somewhere else? No. Do I want it to be someone else? No. I already liked him but that day made me realize I wanted him as more than a friend.”

“Who knew me never leaving my bed meant me almost getting a girl,” joked David.

“You’re very nice to cuddle with,” smiled Y/N.

“I try. Why have a hard body like Jeff when Y/N prefers me like this?”

“You were like a very nice body pillow.”

“I swear she wouldn’t sleep during the night just so she could come over and sleep on my bed.”

“You have a nice bed,” shrugged Y/N.

“She would take naps all the time at my house.”

“To be fair I have going to school full time and I worked full time but David would call or text asking me to come over.”

“Is it my turn now?” asked David.

“Go ahead.”

“I realized I loved Y/N months after what she just said. I was editing really late and Natalie was talking about Y/N leaving for school away from California if this one school rejects her.”

“They didn’t,” interrupted Y/N.

“Yeah but you had so much anxiety for weeks worrying about getting accepted that you made yourself physically sick.”

“It’s wasn’t that bad,” said Y/N as she rolled her eyes.

“It was. It was so bad that I cried over how scared you were.”

“Continue,” said Y/N changing the subject.

“Well Y/N was applying to states in the Midwest and I was like holy shit what happens if she leaves. I guess the idea of her not being next to me almost every day didn’t make sense to me. I didn’t want her to leave. I wanted her.”

“I guess this kinda leads to why we won’t ever get together.”

David nodded, “We are at two different points in our lives.”

“David has so many in store for 2020 and he’s already done so much. Seeing his interviews and him being in a movie, it makes me so happy that he’s accomplishing so many things,” smiled Y/N as she started to tear up.

“Y/N is doing amazing. She’s going to get her doctorates and she’s already helping so many people with her job and I know that she doesn’t want this life. Being on camera and having her life out in the world.”

“I would give up my privacy for David,” said Y/N.

“I would give up a lot of things for Y/N,” said David.

“But I love him enough to not let him give up anything for him.”

“And I love her enough to not let her give her privacy for me and the internet.”

“I know we can’t be together. I know we are just at two different points in our lives and we have so many things to accomplish.”

“I know people are going to say ‘oh you can have both’ and that’s not the truth. I know how some of guys were with Liza and I know how horrible the internet can be. I don’t want that for Y/N. She doesn’t need that stuff in her life,” explained David.

“David enjoys making videos, he enjoys making people’s lives better. The tuition, the iPads, the toys they are meant to make people happy. David has a big heart and I don’t need to be in it.”

“That’s a lie. I love you; you’ll always have a place in my heart,” said David as he kissed Y/N on the forehead. It felt like the millionth time in the video, but Y/N would have this smile on her face that was so different and everyone watching would catch it.

“I love you too.”

“Y/N is amazing. She leaves me speechless every time she talks to me and tells me what she’s doing at school or at her job. She has a big heart and I know that me keeping her away from that will hurt so many people.”

“Can we stop for a bit?”

David looked seeing she was crying. They enter a long hug and the video speeds up showing Y/N crying and the two of them hugging and then talking for a little bit. The video returns to normal pace with David lounging back with Y/N on him.

“I think we should continue the video.”

“We can wait a little longer,” whispered David. His whisper was put in caps on the video incase no one heard him.

“Come on David.” Y/N wipes the tears and straightens herself out before David does that same.

“We’ll continue being in each other’s life,” explained David.

“Of course.”

“We know we are in love with each other.”

“Yes.”

“And we know that we will always be there for each other.”

“Of course,” smiled Y/N.

“I just want people to stop with the videos, the comments, and the constant harassing. Y/N didn’t sign up for any of this and I – we wanted to clear everything up. I realize that keeping this in would only hurt Y/N and that’s the last time I want to do.”

David and Y/N turned to each other and the video ended with them smiling at each other looking as if they wanted to cry again. While the video ended there the two hugged and Y/N ended up cuddling on David for the rest of the night. David played with her hair as she rubbed the left side of his body. So many nights they spend like this and they knew it would come to an end eventually.

“I love you,” said David.

“I love you too,” whispered Y/N.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.”

[heroloverangel]

Better Late Than Never

#6 spot goes to the top hero himself, All Might!

You only need to see Toshinori interact with children once to know he was meant to be a father.

You’re over the moon with happiness the day you marry him. He promises you an entire sports team of kids, a future full of all the love in the world, and you don’t doubt his words for a moment. You have complete trust in him when he explains why he can’t publically claim you as the love of his life, why you have to put off starting your family for so long. It’s just too dangerous while All for One still lurks in the shadows, perfectly willing to kill the innocent to strike a harsh blow to the Symbol of Peace. You understand, and you wait patiently.

Gran Torino is the one who calls you that night. You’re not allowed in the operating room, a frantic nurse only tells you a few phrases that don’t belong in the same sentence as All Might. Phrases like “catastrophic injury” and “emergency surgery” and “critical condition” that leave you sobbing in a waiting room. You’re there for hours with Sir Nighteye and the old man; eventually your tears run dry and you just sit there staring off into the distance for an eternity until finally, finally an exhausted surgeon tells you he’s stable. She explains his condition to you, although you can barely focus you’re so wound up with the need to see him.

Toshinori is asleep when you enter his room. You knew he was in bad shape, but you can’t stop the shocked gasp at the sight of him looking almost deflated. Still, you’re at his side in a heartbeat, taking his hand as gently as possible, kissing him and telling him you’re here, you love him more than anything, you’ll get through this together. He’s been broken, but he’s your hero and you’re not about to start doubting him now.

Nighteye feeds a story to the media about All Might being out of town for a family emergency to give him a chance to heal. You stay by his side as much as possible, watching in silent horror as his body continues to deteriorate until it reaches some platitude as scarecrow, so painfully thin and frail. It’s not until the hospital staff force you to go home and rest that realization finally sets in. You look around your empty house, abandoned for days, and think about how Toshinori’s given everything with the goal of avenging his master and still couldn't defeat All for One. That monster is still out there, your husband wouldn’t survive another attempt to bring him to justice, and your family will never truly be safe. You lay in your bed alone that night and mourn the loss of your dream of being a mother with the man you love.

Eventually, you heal. You devote your life to supporting Toshinori, fighting with all your heart against his own self-doubt. You’re truthful when you insist he never feels like a burden, you have no desire to marry anyone else, you still enjoy his body no matter what it looks like. Still, he hears the hesitation in your voice when you tell him you don’t regret that you’ll never have kids together, you don’t ache for the family he can’t give you anymore. It takes years before you tell yourself enough to believe it.

You don’t figure it out until a few weeks after the rescue mission. Like everyone else in Japan, you’re glued to your TV as you watch All Might’s final fight against his greatest enemy. You spend the next days moving into campus while he recovers, enjoying the reactions as word spreads among the students that oh my god, All Might is married. At first you assume your period is late because of the stress you’ve been under; you don’t dare to hope even as you sit in your bathroom waiting for the test to process. You still refuse to let yourself believe it when you look at the result, convinced it must be a false positive. It takes a visit to your doctor the next day, when you hear it confirmed out loud that you tell Toshinori that against all odds, you’re pregnant.

Your pregnancy isn’t easy. You discover new health issues lurking in your body that you’d never even suspected. Your morning sickness gets so bad at one point that you’re hospitalized for a few days. You end up going on bedrest for the last six weeks, following your doctor’s orders with almost religious devotion. You do it all without objection, because when it comes down to it you both know the truth. You’re well over a decade younger than your husband and still have time to conceive again, but considering Toshinori’s health, this is your only chance for a child and you fight for your baby with everything you have.

It takes twenty-six hours of labor to bring your daughter into the world, and your sweet husband never leaves your side. Your water breaks after the first seven, but someone refuses to make her appearance even after that. At last, after an entire day of suffering, your doctor puts you out of your misery and orders a c-section. There’s only a moment of pain as you’re being pumped full of merciful drugs and then just a sense of pressure as your body is operated on. Toshinori remains planted next to you, holding your hand and praising you through it all.

You’ve been up for almost two days at this point. You’re disoriented and exhausted, fatigue settling into every cell in your form. You’ve literally never been this tired in your life. And yet when you hear those first soft cries from your little girl, every complaint you have is forgotten in an instant. You insist that he hold her first while they put your body back together and watch your new family with delighted tears in your eyes.

He’s silent for a moment, taking in her chubby cheeks and golden hair. Then his face breaks into the largest smile you’ve ever seen, quite an accomplishment considering he made an entire career out of that. His voice is gentle, every word filled with a lifetime of love.

“Hello, Nana. We’ve waited so long to meet you.”

[fromherlips]

you’re gonna live forever in me

did y’all REALLY think my ass wasn’t going to do something for this? i remember thinking that 2019 was so far away when i finished ‘in your atmosphere’ and now it’s here and i’m here and we’re here and i can’t believe that time has passed like this. in full disclosure: this is completely self-indulgent. i haven’t written anything in almost a year but i couldn’t resist. so, here we are, pals. many, many years later. happy end of nyfw!

New York Fashion Week was a spectacle that Eva had dreamed about since she was a kid. Growing up, it was a week long event she strived to be a part of, someway, somehow. She wanted to live and breathe the same air as the editors and buyers, cramped in the corner in standing room only or sat in the frow, brushing shoulders with fashion’s elite. It happened twice a year and determined trends, styles, moods, personalities, and so much more.

Eva’s first fashion week was just two weeks after she moved to the city. She didn’t know a single soul, but went to shows to cover for her boss, an influencer with enough clout to land her in the front row. Eva sat rows behind, not important enough to land a coveted seat, but she was just happy to be there. Things were different now. Seats were filled by Instagram following and not status in the industry, but she was stuck in the whirlwind of Manhattan (despite subletting a closet-less room in Crown Heights). Eva was left taking notes on her phone, geared up to write a review for her boss’ blog after their next show, typing furiously on her outdated iPhone (by New York standards) in the back of a luxury Lyft while they carted off to the next show.

By the end of her first day carting around from show to show and trying to keep up with her new boss who didn’t talk very much–not even on her Instagram Stories–but seemed to know anyone and everyone at the shows and events they attended, Eva was exhausted. She collapsed onto her stiff mattress, the cheapest she could find on Wayfair without blowing through the meager savings she had from college, too tired to go to the fridge to get water and heat up the pasta she had made the night before, and too burnt out to talk to her roommates who were perched on the couch watching whatever they were binging on Netflix at the time.

With her clothes still on, Eva rested her hand on her cheek, careful not to transfer any makeup onto her comforter. She squeezed her eyes shut, the feeling she’d been trying to suppress for months creeping up. It came to her in the moments when her guard was down, when she was too tired to fight the thoughts that plagued her mind. But in her moments of weakness, her mind always traveled back to the moment in his bedroom, both crumpled on the floor, sobbing like they’d never sobbed before. Back to the green-eyed, floppy-haired boy with tattoos scattered across his skin, the same skin her fingers had skimmed over, the same skin she felt beneath her, on top of her. Back to the person she loved the most in this world, the only person she wanted to curl up next to after a long day.

Harry was everywhere. There were the obvious places. On the radio when she took cars with her boss (she couldn’t afford them on her own), playing when she browsed through stores while she tried to make friends, on posters around the city promoting their newest single, one that Eva couldn’t bear to listen to anymore. He was in the Chloe perfume she kept on her nightstand, in the threads of her Wildfox sweatpants she debated on donating before she moved, in the sketchbooks she hadn’t touched since she moved. Harry was everything and then he was nothing and Eva was the only person to blame.

She hated that word, blame. But what else was she supposed to call it? She knew it was for the best, somewhere deep down within herself, even if she couldn’t recognize it anymore. But knowing it was right didn’t make it less painful. Knowing it was right didn’t make the image of his face, puffy and red and damp with tears, disappear from her memory. It didn’t make her stop missing him. It didn’t change anything, but it kept her hopeful, even if it didn’t feel that way most of the time.

Eva felt sad and lost and lonely and like she was failing at everything she set out to accomplish. She wanted New York City more than anything she wanted in this entire life. But she knew it wouldn’t be easy. So she cried into her brand new sheets after her first day of New York Fashion Week. She cried for Harry, she cried for herself, she cried for the unknown.

That was the last time she had cried during Fashion Week. Her life in New York still brought her to tears, but she was starting to learn that it was normal in her twenties and the breakdown she had during her fifth month living in the city was a right of passage that she accomplished early on. It took her six months to feel okay with herself, but not once did she doubt the decision she had made to move. She knew the city would knock her on her ass, both figuratively and literally (tequila, stilettos, and cobblestone in Soho don’t mix), but it was worth it, wasn’t it?

By her second spring/summer fashion week the next year, Eva felt confident in herself, in her work, in who she was becoming. She sketched more, she made friends, she invested in a mattress topper to make her sleep schedule less painful. She had also started dating a model (unplanned) who lived near her office (convenient) and had blonde hair and brown eyes and not a single tattoo anywhere on his body. She thought she had loved Paul but when they broke up ten months later because of distance (the irony didn’t miss her), Eva didn’t cry, didn’t dwell, didn’t spend months wondering if it was the wrong choice. She wasn’t angry or hurt or confused, she just felt lonely again in the big city, something easily solvable by brunch, happy hour, or casual movie nights with friends.

By fashion week in 2019, Eva had been in the city for over three years and was still settling into her position at Milly. She loved working as an assistant and adored styling for the now defunct print magazine that likely still owed her some money, but being a design assistant at Milly was everything she could have asked for as a 25 (going on 26) year-old. She was still close with Jillian and her old boss, which is how she somehow managed to score an invite to a Conde Nast party on the second night of fashion week.

She had gotten a dress lent from a PR company thanks to Jill and somehow managed to figure out her hair and makeup on her own. Eva painted her lips with crimson red, a stark contrast from the cobalt blue of her dress and white frothy collar adorning her neck. She’d slicked her hair back for ease (and because it was admittedly a bit dirty), hoping it would stay in place throughout the night so she wouldn’t nervously play with it. She wasn’t sure what to expect from the party aside from free food and drinks and hopefully some entertainment.

Eva spent the first hour wandering around with a glass of champagne in her hand, making eye contact with people she vaguely knew from other events or photoshoots but didn’t speak to out of fear of conversational rejection, something she knew well from living in Los Angeles for so long. It didn’t bother her, she liked the people watching and was just happy to be there, truthfully.

A seemingly familiar face caught her eye, but she figured she was just seeing things. Forever a lightweight, she was already two glasses of champagne deep on an almost empty stomach and was seeing things. Hallucinating. It could have been anybody.

She switched to water and grabbed a few hors d'oeuvres, silently chewing in the corner of the space while she tried to sober up. This wasn’t the night for reminiscing. This was a Conde-fucking-Nast New York Fashion Week Party, for gods sake.

At least half an hour had passed and Eva had made the rounds again after meeting up with Jillian and one of her industry friends for a legitimate conversation on Fashion Week plans and not something superficial (which was gratefully appreciated after her years of fashion week attendance). She was in search of another drink now that she was sure she was done seeing things.

Unfortunately, Eva couldn’t make it to one of the waiters making the rounds before she saw the familiar face again. This time, she couldn’t blame it on the alcohol because she knew it was real. He was alone now, swirling what was left in his champagne glass. He looked the same, yet entirely different, and Eva felt transported to a different time. A time when he was hers and she was his and they were tangled underneath the sheets of her bed in that shitty Los Angeles apartment that was too small for her and her things and their makeshift life together.

She felt nauseous then sad then nauseous again. Was the room spinning? It felt like it was spinning. She wondered if this moment would ever happen, if fate would put the two of them back in the room together (even if fate went by the name of Niall, her meddling friend that wanted his power couple back together). She even thought about what she might say–what she might do–if she was put into this situation. But now she was here in a pretty dress and wanted to bolt as far away from the boy whose heart she broke so many years ago, the boy who wrote a Grammy nominated album on how she’d ripped his heart out, the boy who probably deserved better but also needed to grow up.

Despite the fear and nausea, Eva felt herself walking towards the person she’d never thought she would see again. Did he see her? She thought he looked her way, but he didn’t start sprinting so maybe he’d looked right past her. She was still the same Eva, but her hair was shorter and her cheeks more angular. But then she could see his eyes fixated on her, watching her as she maneuvered through the party guests that seemed to gather in his atmosphere.

She didn’t have a line planned. Was she just going to say “hi” or “hello” or just silently stare and hope that was a sufficient greeting? This worried her as she approached him, her feet planting straight in front of the boy she used to love.

“Eva,” he said, no greeting required. “What’re you...hi.”

She tucked a rogue curl behind her ear, sweeping it back from her chin.

“Harry,” she replied, her lips curling into a sweet smile. “Congrats on the new album coming out in a couple of months. It’s nice to see you back with the boys.”

Congrats on the new album? Is that all she could say?

“I...thank you,” he replied. “It’s nice to, erm, be back,” he told her.

“Right, I can imagine,” she said, her heart thumping harder in her chest. Was she okay? Or was seeing Harry after all these years setting her into panic mode? “You lads are close. But, I-uh...how’ve you been, Harry?”

How have you been? Are you serious, Eva? What the fuck, she thought.

“Same old,” he replied.”What about you? I didn’t, um, didn’t know you’d be here?”

She quirked her brow. “In New York or at the party?”

“The party,” he replied. “Niall...he told me you were here a while ago.”

She nodded. Niall was their unofficial liaison, it appeared.

“I saw that you moved here,” she said. “Those damn trending headlines. Niall mentioned it once or twice or a dozen times as well.”

“Just needed a change of pace,” he explained with a shrug. “I’ve always liked visiting, Figured there could be no harm in living here for a bit.

“It’s a good place to be,” she agreed.

She knew she was staring, but there was something so mesmerizing about Harry. She was no stranger to his good looks and undeniable charm. The thing about Harry was that she still saw him everywhere. She saw his many haircuts, his new tattoos, the shift in his style. She saw his attempt to grow facial hair and the 90s haircut and the mismatched rings adorned on his fingers. But she still took the time to study his face and take him in for all that he was, finally in front of her after all of those years.

It didn’t escape Eva that this was how they first met. Well, kind of. He was drunk and slurring but still trying to be as helpful as he could be. Eva was burnt out and fighting imposter syndrome, wondering what this pop star was doing talking to her in the room full of people who were infinitely more interesting than she was. But now she was drunk (or at least buzzed) standing in front of the same boy in his pastel blue pants and ruffled shirt for the first time since that night in his bedroom, the night that changed everything for them, whether she liked it or not.

She wasn’t sure how long she had been staring, but Eva snapped out of her daze when she heard Harry speak again.

“Coffee,” he said, beginning to play with the rings on his fingers.

“Coffee?” she asked.

“I mean...we should get coffee. Or smoothies. Or…” he stammered, letting his voice trail off.

“I’m pretty busy this week,” she replied.

“Fuck, right,” he swore. “Fashion week...you’re right.”

“But give me your new number and I’ll let you know when I’m free when this week from hell ends,” she added quickly, fishing her phone out of her clutch. She tapped her feet nervously while Harry typed his number in. Niall had tried giving it to her but she didn’t trust herself with it. She’d have one too many drinks and say things she didn’t mean. Or worse, she’d let it sit and rot in her contacts, too afraid of what could happen.

Eva wanted to linger in his presence, soaking up every last second of his aura. But instead, she slipped her clutch back underneath her arm, taking two steps backwards as she waved goodbye, faintly smiling at the boy in front of her.

“Good luck, Ev,” he told her as she walked away, disappearing into the crowd.

It felt like she was walking through a daydream. She could barely register anything around her. She merely grabbed another glass of champagne, pressing the glass against her lips and leaving a deep red stain in its place. She found a semi-abandoned corner of the room, sipping slowly while she tried to process the moment. It was short, no longer than five minutes, but it felt as if she had been standing in front of Harry for a lifetime.

For so long, she wondered what she would say to him, what she would do, how she would feel. But nothing could prepare her for the actual moment when their lives collided again, intersecting like they had when they were nineteen and drunk and tired and two entirely different people. 

Their moment was over, but it didn’t feel as such. She felt something in the pit of her stomach, albeit faint, but it was there. It very well could have been the champagne, or hope, or a combination of both. Harry Styles had managed to orbit back into her life, or hers into his, but this time it felt different. She felt different. And that had to mean something.