#Moon of Indigo Cloud

[coquelicoq]

martha wells loves to do this thing where she takes a character who has to hide and pretend to be something they're not so that they aren't shunned and hated by everyone around them, and then introduces a new character who is also whatever the main character is hiding being but who is not a damaged broken liar about it because they have people in their life who know about it and love them. and then she makes the second character and the people who love them experience trauma. and she makes the first character observe this and fear that love at the same time they long for it. and above all she makes me have emotions about it. she's constantly doing this. thanks a lot for that.

[rjalker]

The

~we originally let you into our group with the explicit purpose of exploiting you in some way, and only got you in here in the first place by lying to your face, but now we've gotten to know you, so we don't want to exploit you anymore, and we want you to stay because we actually care about you as a person~

trope does, in fact, require that the group prove, in a real meaningful way, with permanent negative consequences of some kind for that group, that they're not trying to exploit the outsider anymore.

You cannot just tell us that they never intended to exploit the person at all when...we literally all know that's not true?? Everyone in the audience knows that’s not true. And all of your characters are also painfully aware of it. That is not how this works.

Don't insult your audience by trying to convince them that the group was never trying to be exploitative when that's literally the entire basis for the relationship between the group and the outsider existing in the first place.

Attempting this doesn’t make the group look better, it makes them look worse. Because instead of coming clean about everything...you’re having them double down on the lying that established the exploitative relationship in the first place.

You cannot make this trope work if you’re just going to lie to your audience, both within and without the narrative, about the relationship between the group and the outsider.

You have to actually have the group prove that they care about the outsider as a person now, and not something that’s there just to be exploited like they did before.

To prove this, the group must *willingly* and *knowingly* give up whatever it was that they hoped to gain from the outsider.

It must be a move that unquestionably has negative impact on the group in some way. This is how they prove that they actually want to accept the outsider for who they are, and not just what they gain from their presence.

They must give up something they can’t get back in order to prove to everyone involved, including the literal audience, that they’ve actually changed for the better and are actually doing the right thing now, even though it doesn’t benefit them.

If it's clear to everyone reading that the group has everything to gain from keeping the outsider with them, and no downsides to doing so, then you're not proving that they actually like the outsider for who they are.

You're just providing further evidence that the group is still being exploitative and still views the outsider as a resource to drain and not a person who they care about.

And simply telling us this ~isn't what's happening~ does not make these facts any less true.

You cannot have the outsider be explicitly tricked into joining the group for the explicit purpose of being exploited, and then have them stay with the group to continue being exploited, while the group gives up nothing in return, and expect us to believe that they're there simply because they're wanted, and not just because they're still literally being exploited.

And no, the outsider being aware they’re being exploited does not make this better, it makes it even worse.

Especially if the outsider in question has severe abandonment issues from repeated trauma and abuse and is starving for any sense of belonging or community they can get their hands on, no matter how thin the veneer, and no matter how much holding onto it hurts them.

Having the outsider be aware that they’re being exploited by the group does not mean they’re not being exploited. It just makes it worse, because they now have to live with the fact that they know, for a fact, they’re not actually there because they’re wanted, they’re just there to be exploited.

And if the outsider is aware of this fact, and you decide to write the group constantly denying this fact when they’ve never done anything to prove it wrong...that’s once again literally just making the group even more abusive. It’s not making them look like better people.

Doubling down on the abuse and exploitation does not prove that the group isn’t abusive and exploitative.

If you are not willing to have the group actually make any sacrifices to prove they really care about the outsider as a person, and not just a resource to be sucked dry, then flat out, do not even attempt to write this trope. You’re going to fail. Miserably.

If you refuse to do it properly, don’t do it at all. Because if you fail to actually condemn the exploitative practices of the group, the only thing you’re doing is upholding abusive power structures and normalizing them, and insulting your audience at the same time.

You cannot expect us to believe that the group isn’t actually being exploitative when you’ve gone *out of your way* to write it so that flagrant, open exploitation and lies were the foundation of the relationship, without ever once doing anything to change that after the fact.

If you want to do the trope of “a group wants to exploit someone, but then changes their mind when they realize like them for who they are, and they become a found family”, you have to actually prove that the group has stopped being exploitative and abusive.

Otherwise your found family is literally just another abusive family that needs to be escaped from.

[walks-the-ages]

[ID: an MS Paint illustration of a scene from the Books of the Raksura series, showing Stone and Moon's first meeting in The Cloud Roads. Moon is standing on a grassy floating island at night, and is a small humanoid with dark brown skin, short black hair, and bright green eyes with yellow sclera. He is wearing a ripped green tunic, a red belt, and torn, tan pants, with a metal cuff with a broken chain around one wrist, holding his arm and looking over at Stone with a wary expression. Stone is an absolutely massive draconic, black-scaled being, casually leaning against the floating island with his giant claws resting on the ground behind moon. Stone has a crown of webbed horns around his head, spines going down his chin, and massive dark wings spreading beyond the scene. His eyes are blue, and the right one is clouded and hazy. Stone is so big that just one of his eyes is the size of Moon's head. Stone is telling Moon "Go to sleep already", to which Moon replies, "Uh, no, you'll just eat me!" to which Stone responds, "Seriously?" in exasperation. end ID]

So how about that size difference, eh? Even this is running on the small side, honestly.

Stone should be even bigger than this lol.

also here's a daytime version thats easier to see.

[ID: the same image described above, but with no speech bubbles, and all of the colors have been lightened so there is more contrast between the green grass, the bright blue sky, and the darkness of Stone's black scales and Moon's dark skin. end ID]

[luna-lovegreat]

Happy Moon Day! Or Merry Moon Night, I couldn't decide on a greeting. It's the day humans walked on the moon! (July 20th) Which is obviously important and cool and AWESOME. Idk if this'll post before midnight or not we'll find out.

I went and watched the moon for moon day of course and. it was cloudy so no good moon pictures :/ But I just wanted to tell yall Merry Moon Day (or something like that) because I love the moon and think she deserves to be celebrated :)))

[leona-florianova]

Moon consort of Indigo Cloud

So I read The Books of the Raksura and it was pretty interesting read, I didnt like it as much as Murderbot and it has ton of problems, but the lizard people are still pretty cool... fragged up but cool...  

**Also... I read the whole first book somewhere online, and the text had all the second L's in words with two LL's missing, and I just thought that that was like.. writing quirk for that fictional world...but no :V

[joelletwo]

[growing feeling in me] i worry that im gonna come out of the raksura books really irritated by indigo cloud lol. i worry that if i were moon i wouldve ran away and taken my chances w the murderous groundlings the first couple times they made clear they were gonna be stuck up and combative to me about every single thing and then after all that go aw moon why dont you think we like you!

[doumadono]

Warnings: violence, viking!Dabi, viking!Shoto, earl!Endeavor, viking!Hawks, viking!Natsuo, fem!reader, viking themes, smut (deflowering, p in v, blood)

Summary: as you reconcile with Touya, the dynamics between you two intensify, and with his departure alongside Shoto and Hawks, you find yourself grappling with the profound implications of Touya's gift, navigating a new chapter in your life

Word count: circa 8.1k

A/N: if you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series, please let me know ♥

KVITRAVN - MHA VIKING AU • MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS CHAPTER • NEXT CHAPTER

ACT IV - IN THE VEIL OF DARKNESS

Several days had slipped by.

Touya, consumed by the impending expedition, had become an elusive figure in your world. The anticipation of the journey ahead, alongside his youngest brother Shoto, Hawks, and a group of warriors, left little room for casual conversations. The Great Hall bore witness to his unwavering focus as he meticulously prepared, sharpening his weapons with an intensity that hinted at the challenges that lay ahead.

In the midst of the preparations, you frequently encountered Touya in the hall. His presence was undeniable, a brooding silhouette engrossed in the art of perfecting his sword and axe. The air around him crackled with an energy that mirrored the impending adventure.

Yet, despite the shared space and the fleeting glimpses, there was a palpable silence between you two. Whenever your paths crossed, he would promptly withdraw, leaving unspoken words hanging in the air.

In the meantime, Shoto, on the other hand, endeavored to draw nearer to you, under the impression that you harbored an interest in him. However, you gracefully declined each of his advances. Yet, in the face of his advances, you maintained a graceful poise, politely but firmly declining each of his attempts.

The evening was bathed in a cold, biting chill, the kind that seeped into the bones. As the sky painted itself in hues of indigo and ebony, you found yourself entrusted with a task that seemed simple on the surface but proved to be more challenging than expected.

The warriors' clothes, worn and stained from battles past, awaited a thorough cleansing. The Great Hall had called upon you to fetch water from the bay, two heavy pails that seemed determined to resist your every attempt to carry them. Wrapped in a thick fur that clung to your shoulders, you ventured into the frosty night, a lone figure navigating the shadows.

The bay was a silent expanse, its waters reflecting the pale light of the moon. The air was crisp, filled with the briny scent of the sea. With each step, the crunch of frost-coated grass beneath your boots echoed in the stillness of the night.

As you reached the bay, the water shimmered in the moonlight, a tranquil contrast to the arduous task ahead. The pails, when filled, felt like anchors, their weight digging into your weary arms. The wind whispered tales of distant lands, carrying with it a numbing cold that penetrated through layers of clothing.

The journey back to the Great Hall became a battle against the elements. The fur draped around your shoulders provided little solace against the biting wind, and the weight of the water-laden pails seemed to increase with every step. Your breath formed delicate clouds in the frigid air as you pressed forward, determination masking the discomfort.

The Great Hall loomed in the distance, its warm glow promising respite from the harsh elements. With each step, the anticipation of a crackling fire and the warmth of shelter spurred you on.

As you struggled with the weight of the water-filled pails, a smooth, male voice sliced through the cold. The offer of help hung in the air, a surprising interruption to your solitary struggle. Instinctively, you refused, a reflex born of independence and perhaps a hint of pride.

Yet, within moments, the burden was lifted from your frozen hands. Bewilderment etched across your face, you slowly raised your head to find the source of assistance. A shock coursed through you as your eyes met those of Touya, draped in a thick, black bear fur.

Silence lingered for a moment before you managed a nod, acknowledging his unspoken gesture of aid. The air crackled with unspoken tension as the pails now rested in Touya's capable hands. The night seemed to hold its breath, awaiting the exchange of words that hung in the chilly air.

You suddenly uttered, your voice measured, "I appreciate the help, but I had it under control."

A chuckle escaped Touya's lips, warm against the icy backdrop. "Sure looked like it," he remarked, a teasing glint in his turquise eyes. Touya's gaze lingered on you, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Sensing your reluctance, he ventured, "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

You nodded, the weight of unspoken words lingering in the air. The memory of Touya witnessing to Shoto's unexpected kiss, cast a shadow over the present.

Touya, breaking the awkward silence, continued, "Listen, about that night…" He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "I should have said something. I should have…"

You interrupted, your voice a mix of reluctance and honesty, "It's in the past, Touya. Water under the bridge. And just so you know, I didn't want that. Your brother was drunk."

"I avoided talking to you," he confessed, his voice tinged with bitterness, "because I thought you were into Shoto. I thought he'd be better for you in so many ways than I could ever be, Y/N."

His words halted you in your tracks, and you turned to face him, your expression a mix of surprise and bitterness. "Why say it now?" you asked, your tone edged with a bitter curiosity.

Touya sighed. "Because I need you to know the truth. I need you to understand why I've been distant. My scars, my fucked-up character — I didn't think I was enough for you. I thought I was saving you from someone like me. Not to mention I brought you here against your will."

The truth hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, the silence between you was almost suffocating. Lowering your head, you took a deep breath before opening up to him, "Despite all that, Touya, you've always been kind to me. You've seemed to genuinely care, and I appreciate all the little gestures."

A hint of surprise flickered in Touya's eyes, and you continued, "Even tonight, when you helped me with the pails, it didn't go unnoticed. And about your scars, both physical and mental — I don't mind. They don't define you." You paused, reflecting on a specific memory, "Remember the night we kissed? I felt comfortable, Touya. Despite the circumstances, I felt a connection. Your scars never mattered to me then, and they don't now. And I have no idea why you like me. I'm nothing but a thrall."

Touya's frown deepened as the word "thrall" escaped your lips. "Don't say that," he hissed, a hint of intensity in his voice.

You chuckled bitterly, "But it's the truth. I'm just a slave to you and your family. After these months, I've gotten used to it, even if it's still hard to be polite at times when people treat me like a piece of meat."

The weight of your words hung in the air, and Touya gently placed the pails on the ground. Cupping your face in his gloved hands, the soft touch of thick leather against your reddened cheeks felt surprisingly comforting. "Don't ever call yourself that," he insisted, his eyes searching yours. "You're not just a thrall to me. You're… you."

You met his gaze, a mix of confusion and gratitude in your eyes.

Touya continued, his voice softer now, "Around you, I don't have to pretend. I don't have to be someone I never was, you know? Only with you, I feel like I can be myself fully."

His words lingered in the cold night air, a vulnerable admission that cut through the complexities of your situation. The touch of his gloved hands on your face, an unexpected tenderness, conveyed a depth of emotion that defied the roles you both found yourselves in.

In that moment, beneath the moonlit sky, Touya, for the first time, allowed himself to be seen, and you, in turn, found solace in the unexpected warmth of his touch.

Silence settled between you and Touya, a quiet understanding born from the unspoken exchange. You nodded, acknowledging his words, and without further discussion, you both resumed the journey back to the Great Hall.

The moon cast its gentle glow on the path ahead as you walked side by side. The rhythmic sound of boots on frost-coated ground echoed in the stillness.

As you approached the Great Hall, the door creaked open, and you both stepped inside, the warmth enveloping you like a familiar embrace. The pails were set down, and the flickering light of the hearth danced on the walls.

"Thanks, Touya. I appreciate the help," gratitude filled your voice as you thanked him for his assistance.

A small, genuine smile curved on his lips as he removed his gloves and fur. "It's no problem. Let me know where you want these," he gestured to the pails.

"The backroom," you replied, "Hilda and the other girls are there. We're doing laundry tonight."

With a nod, Touya complied, carrying the pails to the backroom.

As he entered, Hilda and the other thralls, caught off guard by the unexpected guest, momentarily stood up, bowing respectfully.

Touya, however, remained polite and offered his assistance. "Let me help you with that."

Hilda, blinking in surprise, tried to dissuade him. "Prince Touya, this is not a task befitting of your status. We can handle it."

Touya chuckled, a genuine warmth in his keen eyes. "I'm here to help. No need to treat me any differently. What can I do?"

Hilda reluctantly assigned him a task, and soon, the room buzzed with activity. Touya, alongside you and the other thralls, engaged in the laundry work. The atmosphere, once laden with tension, now hummed with a shared sense of purpose.

Conversations flowed naturally as you worked, the rhythmic splash of water and the occasional laughter blending into a harmonious melody. Touya, despite his royal status, interacted with the thralls on a personal level, breaking down the barriers that society had imposed.

As the laundry was washed and the room filled with the scent of soap and clean linen, Touya continued to lend a helping hand. Together with Hilda, he assisted in hanging the freshly laundered clothes, ensuring they would dry efficiently.

However, unbeknownst to all of you, a pair of sharp turquoise eyes observed the scene from a concealed vantage point. The eyes lingered on the group, absorbing the unexpected sight of Touya, a heir, engaging in the everyday tasks alongside thralls.

Hilda's gratitude was expressed through a gentle rub on Touya's shoulder. "Thank you, Touya."

He responded with a nod and a warm smile. "Anytime," he said sincerely. "You can always ask me for help if needed. I will do my best to assist."

The evening continued with the familiar sounds and scents of the kitchen. Pots clanged, and the aroma of simmering dishes wafted through the air as you busied yourself preparing supper for the earl Endeavor, his sons, and the departing warriors, including Hawks. The flickering flames in the hearth cast a warm glow over the room, but a sense of unease lingered within you.

Touya's presence had offered a respite from the isolation you often felt, but the worry about his well-being persisted. The failed attempt to gather information from Shoto had left you in the dark, and the unanswered questions weighed heavily on your mind.

Hilda, noticing your distraction, scolded you for bringing the young prince into the fold of daily duties like laundry. "You shouldn't involve the prince in such matters," she chided, her tone firm.

You listened to her admonishment, understanding the societal implications of your actions, yet you couldn't help but defend Touya. "He genuinely wanted to help. It's more than I can say for some others."

As the night unfolded, you focused on the task at hand, serving the prepared supper to the earl and his sons, hoping that the meal would provide a momentary respite from the weight of unanswered questions and the complexities of the world you found yourself entangled in.

Amidst the clatter of cutlery and the hum of conversation at the dinner table, your keen observational skills didn't fail to pick up on the subtle glances exchanged between Shoto and Hawks. They sat on opposite sides of the table, but a series of shared looks and silent nods hinted at some unspoken understanding. Though you couldn't quite discern the nature of their exchange, a feeling of unease settled within you.

Despite the undercurrent of mystery, your attention occasionally wavered as you found yourself caught in the interplay of glances with Touya. Whenever your eyes met his, a warmth spread across your cheeks, and a shy smile played on your lips. Touya's nods and the subtle touch of his hand when you refilled his cup with mead sent a flutter through your heart.

The atmosphere at the table, fraught with a mix of hidden agendas and unspoken emotions, contrasted sharply with the routine of serving and replenishing dishes.

The night unfolded in a flurry of activity. After the supper, you and the other thralls diligently cleaned the main chamber, ensuring every dish and piece of cutlery sparkled in the soft glow of candlelight. The earl Endeavor and his sons retired for the night, and as the main chamber returned to a state of quiet, the rhythmic sound of washing dishes and the occasional hum of conversation among the thralls echoed through the longhouse.

After the tasks were complete, and the main chamber restored to its usual order, you took a quick bath to wash away the remnants of the day. As you made your way back to your shared room, wrapped in a simple linen robe, you unexpectedly crossed paths with Touya in the hallway.

"Touya," you greeted him, a mixture of surprise on your face as you tightened the robe around your figure. "You startled me!"

He flashed a confident smile. "Hey Y/N. I was hoping I'd run into you before I leave tomorrow morning."

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk forming on your lips. "And what brings you seeking my company, my lord?"

"Well, it gets lonely in those grand chambers," he mused.

You couldn't help but laugh at his audacity. "Are you implying I'm your solution to loneliness, my lord?"

Touya's grin widened, and he nodded. "I guess so, yes. Plus, I can't resist the chance to spend more time with someone as captivating as you."

You rolled your eyes, but a playful glint danced in them. "You're quite the charmer, aren't you?"

"Only with the ones who matter."

After a moment of consideration, you nodded. "Alright. I'll stay with you tonight."

The warmth of Touya's chamber enveloped you as soon as you stepped in alongside him, the crackling fire from a fireplace casting a gentle glow.

You tightened the robe around you, feeling a sense of comfort and vulnerability in this shared space. The flickering shadows played on the walls, creating a dance of light and shadow.

With a graceful movement, Touya began to unbutton his white shirt. The flickering firelight highlighted the contours of his physique as he revealed the toned lines beneath the fabric. He folded the shirt with a practiced ease and placed it gently on a nearby chair, the white contrasting with the rich hues of the room.

As he laid on bed, Touya's eyes met yours, a silent invitation lingering in the air. He reached out, pulling you closer, and you could feel the warmth radiating from his scarred chest. The touch was both gentle and reassuring, a gesture that spoke of a shared vulnerability beneath the layers of status and circumstance.

You nestled against Touya, resting your head on his chest, feeling the rhythmic rise and fall as he breathed.

As the quiet moments passed, the inevitable topic of Touya's departure hung in the air like a lingering shadow. You couldn't shake the feeling of sadness that settled in your chest, and the words weighed heavily on your tongue. "Touya," you began, your voice soft but filled with genuine concern, "I can't help but worry about what might happen when you leave. Shoto… He's unpredictable, and I'm afraid he might try to hurt you."

Touya's expression softened, and he let out a gentle chuckle. "You're worried about me, huh?" he said, his eyes meeting yours as he tilted your head by catching your face between his thumb and forefinger.

You nodded, the worry etched on your face. "I've seen the tension between you two, and with the things that have happened, I can't help but be concerned."

Touya's hand found yours, his touch reassuring. "Listen, Y/N," he said, his tone gentle, "I appreciate your concern, but you don't need to worry about me. Shoto and I have our differences, yes, but I can handle myself. Plus, I've got a knack for avoiding trouble." A small smile played on his lips as he continued, "And here you are, worried about your own captor, how amusing."

You blinked, a mix of surprise and confusion in your eyes. "I just don't want anything bad to happen," you admitted. "Despite everything, you've been kind to me, and I don't want to see you hurt. Is it so hard to understand?"

"I appreciate that, I really do," he said. "But you don't need to worry about me. Focus on yourself, okay? Things will work out, and I'll find a way to handle Shoto. Just take care of yourself in the meantime when I'm gone."

Then, with a gentle lean, Touya bridged the remaining distance, capturing your lips in a slow and passionate kiss. The world outside faded away as the warmth of the moment enveloped you. His lips moved with a tenderness against yours.

As the kiss lingered, it held the promise of both solace and anticipation, a silent affirmation that in the midst of uncertainties, there existed moments of connection that could be cherished.

Touya's kiss was intense, a fervent embrace that drew you closer, your bodies molding together seamlessly. A pleasant buzz filled his mind as your lips danced with his, and he felt the alluring weight of your leg draped over his muscular thigh. With a smooth motion, his hand descended, fingers curving to grip the soft flesh of your exposed thighs.

In response, your nimble fingers wove through his white hair, eliciting a soft groan from Touya. A sudden, sharp tug sent a gasp escaping his lips.

Impatience guided his hands as he skillfully unraveled your robe, allowing it to slide off your shoulders, revealing the supple skin beneath. The sight before him left him breathless. "Y/N," he whispered, the words barely parting his lips, "You're so beautiful."

Mounting him fully with newfound confidence, you recognized there was no reason for shame. As the realization washed over you, you deliberately shed your robe, letting it fall to the side, baring your body completely to his keen gaze. Your lips were gently caught between your teeth as his calloused hands found their place on your hips, a slow ascent following the contours of your waist, finally reaching your breasts. His touch was tender, cupping them lightly.

You captured Touya's bottom lip between your teeth, the kiss deepening as you almost drew blood. The resulting pain elicited a loud moan from him, prompting him to assert control - he swiftly shifted, flipping you onto your back, pinning you to the furs beneath with the weight of his hips and his hands firmly securing yours above your head.

A soft grunt escaped you, followed by a whimper that sent a jolt of desire straight to his cock; it was alreadyt tenting in his dark pants.

Touya's mouth found its way to your neck, where he suckled with a fervor that left an angry mark, destined to be a bruise by tomorrow. Your arms instinctively curled around his neck, and you gasped softly, welcoming the pleasant weight of his dominance and the enveloping warmth that surrounded you in the charged intimacy of the moment.

Touya emitted a gruff sound; the truth was, he hadn't been with a woman in years, and the enticing warmth of your body, coupled with your deference and moans, was stirring a primal desire within him. With practiced skill, he unbuttoned his pants with one hand, letting them slide down his muscular thighs. In a swift motion, he kicked them off, unveiling his well-endowed shaft that. A gasp escaped him as the room's air enveloped his throbbing member, causing it to pulsate involuntarily.

Soft, breathy sounds emanated from your lips now as Dabi moved his hips against yours, his throbbing cock damp and solid against the gentle skin of your hip. You responded by wrapping your legs around his firm waist, pressing against him in a mutual, fervent embrace.

"Y/N," Touya murmured, his voice a low, lustful cadence. He descended down your body, nestling his face between the soft contours of your breasts. Warm breath, coming in soft pants, caressed your skin, sending shivers through you. His touch worked its magic; your nipples hardened under his skillful exploration. Touya took one into his mouth, suckling softly, the flat of his tongue tracing a tantalizing pattern again and again.

Firmly gripping the sides of his head, you filled his ears with the symphony of moans, the sounds now unceasing. Your movements became more fervent, heels digging into his firm ass as you squirmed against him.

Touya emitted a gruff, almost winded grunt, his desire evident. His fingers ventured southward, sliding between your thighs.

You sighed as his coarsed fingers touched your soft folds, finding them heated and slick, just for him.

Whispering soft words in a language Touya couldn't comprehend, you gently tugged on his hair, bringing him closer to seal your lips in an open-mouthed kiss. The exchange of tongues was a dance, each movement syncing seamlessly. Touya, guided by your touch, positioned himself at your entrance, teasingly rubbing his cock along your wet folds.

A whimper escaped you, only to be stifled by Touya's loose hair that fell to the side, playfully tickling your face and finding its way into your mouth, causing laughter to bubble between you. As he rested his weight on your body, Touya applied gentle pressure to the front of your neck with his free hand, a delicate squeeze accompanying the sensation. Simultaneously, he drove his rigid cock inside your willing body.

"Touya!" A cry of his name escaped your lips as you endeavored to relax, attempting to minimize the inevitable discomfort of the initial contact. Despite your efforts, the pain was unmistakable, casting a shadow over the shared intensity of the moment.

Lowering his head, Touya pressed a tender kiss to your temple, his lips brushing against your skin. His voice, laced with reassurance, urged you to take a deep breath.

Your eyes widened, a sharp gasp escaping your lips as Touya fully immersed himself within you. Your hands instinctively fisted in the furs around your head as you arched your back.

Touya, grunting at the sensation of tightness enveloping his cock, propped himself up over your form, holding still for a brief moment. As your gaze met his scarred face, lips parted and breath quickened, you smiled softly.

Touya's hand remained at your throat as he initiated a deliberate rhythm, pulling almost entirely away before plunging back in. With each of his controlled thrusts, a soft, breathy noise escaped you, spurring him on. His focus shifted to your flushed cheeks and pert breasts, rising and falling in tandem with your breath. Droplets of sweat traced paths between his shoulder blades and dotted his forehead, a single bead descending from the tip of his nose to splash onto your belly, prompting a gasp from you.

He paused in his movements, fully immersed within your wetness, savoring the intimate stillness that enveloped both of you.

Your hands sought purchase, gripping his thighs and tracing your nails over the taut muscles.

Touya, attuned to your desires, comprehended the silent cue. With a gentle release, he withdrew his hand from your throat and enveloped you in the shelter of his powerful arms, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

A soft whine escaped you at the subtle shift in angle, and as your moan caressed his ear, Touya withdrew, only to return with an impactful force, spreading your pussy wide with his cock. The intensity of the thrust nearly compelled a scream from you, your fingers trailing up his sweat-slicked, scarred back in response.

Touya emitted a low groan as he felt the clenching warmth of your pussy around him. Pulling back, he thrust into you with unrestrained force, over and over again. His teeth found the red mark he had imprinted earlier on the junction of your neck and shoulder, and his body moved with a raw intensity against yours. Your moans, a symphony of passion, intensified the desire pooling hotly in his belly. "Fuck, Y/N," Touya gasped loudly though gritted teeth.

One of your petite hands clutched his thigh, the fingernails like slivers of hot metal leaving an impression on his skin. The other hand wove into his long, white hair, a firm grip offering a delightful blend of sweet pain to complement the intense pleasure of your velvety, gummy walls embracing his pulsating cock. The sounds of his hips colliding with the backs of your pale thighs, his grunts and groans, and the whimpers escaping your lips were the only sounds to fill the chamber, creating a sensual symphony that left Touya buzzing from head to toe.

The fusion of your arousal and bloo, the lingering traces of your virginity, a gift offered to Touya, had become so intense that it now adorned the insides of your thighs and the front of his abdomen, covering the vertical strip of white hair running from his belly button to his groin in slickness. The wet, squelching noises echoed softly as he withdrew and thrust forcefully back into you.

Touya seized your tender lips with his own, engaging in a fervent kiss. His teeth grazed your tongue and the corners of your mouth. Another sharp pull on his white strands forced his mouth from yours, and as you gazed into his turquoise eyes, you let out a tiny gasp. "T-Touya…"

The vice-like grip of your soft walls around his dick prompted a strangled moan to escape Touya, his eyes briefly shutting in response. When they reopened, your back had arched, pressing your breasts firmly against his scarred chest. Your head tossed back, and the hold you had on his hair had loosened. A moment of suspended breath passed before it was replaced by a whimper.

Touya emitted a drawn-out, deep moan, his brow furrowing as you fluttered around his rigid shaft, coating it in a palpable surge of wetness mingled with traces of blood. The sensation sent shivers down his spine, and he sensed himself edging closer to the brink of his own release.

"Touya," you breathed, touching his cheek softly.

He sighed, surrendering to the sensation as he kept moving, albeit at a slower pace.

"Touya," you asserted, gripping his throat firmly, eliciting a raspy breath from him.

His climax engulfed him hard, prompting a whine akin to a wounded animal as he thrust into you with every ounce of intensity, releasing his essence into your yielding pussy.

Your hand descended to press against his chest, and he rode the waves of pleasure, his head dropping forward, lost in the overwhelming sensations, his mind devoid of coherent thoughts. "Fuck," he snorted. "Oh, fucking shit."

Your hurried breaths slowly brought him back to the present, grounding his focus. Tenderly, he draped his form over yours, planting wet kisses along the side of your face, his flaccid cock still nestled inside your folds. As your legs eased down to the bed, your fingers traced gentle patterns across the skin of Touya's muscular back.

Once your breathing had steadied, and the sheen of sweat on Dabi's body had mostly evaporated, he rolled off you onto his side.

You reached up, pushing a few stray strands of mussed hair away from Touya's face, tucking into his arms afterwards.

Touya cradled you, his arms providing a secure embrace, and he sighed, the lure of sleep tugging at the edges of his awareness. Pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head, he murmured, "I didn't hurt you, right?"

You nestled closer, content, and mumbled, "I'm more than good, Touya."

Touya held you close to his chest, his strong arms wrapped securely around you, and he gently rubbed your shoulders. "Thank you," he said, the words soft and sincere.

With a slight frown, you looked up at him. "Why are you thanking me?" you asked, curiosity etched in your gaze.

Touya met your eyes and explained, "You're the first woman I've been with in many years, and I want you to know it wasn't just about… you know, getting laid. It just felt like the right thing to do, to be that intimately close with you."

You fell quiet for a while, tracing patterns on his chest and abdomen with your fingertips. Eventually, you responded, your voice soft and sweet, "Did I let you down with how inexperienced I am?"

Touya's head shook, the gentle curve of a smile on his lips. "No, not at all. It was perfect. You were perfect. I appreciate you letting me claim you as mine."

You blinked, propping yourself up on his chest, curiosity in your eyes. "What does it mean, being yours?"

Touya met your gaze and explained while wrapping a strand of your hair around his forefinger, "It means I want you to be my woman, but only if you reciprocate my feelings."

A blush crept across your cheeks as you reevaluated everything that had transpired between the two of you — from the day he took you captive after the tragic events in your village to bringing you to his settlement and making you a thrall. Despite the lingering anger and sorrow in your soul, you couldn't deny the undeniable spark in your heart whenever you were close to him, whenever his eyes met yours.

After careful contemplation, you silently agreed, the unspoken understanding settling between you two as you gave him a slight nod.

Touya, his grip gentle yet firm, pulled you to him by your chin, sealing the moment with a kiss on your lips. "You're a free woman from now on."

As he released you, you sat up, eyes glistening with a mixture of emotions. With a quiver in your voice, you asked him, "What does this mean?"

He met your gaze, sincerity in his eyes, and replied, "It means you're free, no longer bound as a thrall. You have your own choices now, including whether you want to stay in Skjaldvargr or not."

A chill coursed through your veins as Touya's words sank in — unfamiliar and unsettling, the concept of freedom felt surreal. Blinking in disbelief, you grappled with the weight of this unexpected liberation. It was as if a door to an uncertain future had swung wide open, leaving you standing at the threshold, torn between the familiarity of captivity and the uncharted territory of choice.

Despite the cold tendrils of fear that coiled within you, an overwhelming wave of gratitude and an odd sense of vulnerability washed over. You hesitated for a moment, then, as if propelled by the uncertainty of newfound freedom, you hugged yourself to Touya. Tears spilled into the crook of his neck, a mixture of relief, gratitude, and an acknowledgment of the tangled emotions within.

Amidst your tears, you confessed, "I want to stay. I don't really have anywhere to go, and, strangely, I've grown fond of Skjaldvargr." The admission carried the weight of your complicated journey, a fusion of sorrow, attachment, and an unexpected connection with the people and places you had come to know.

Touya nodded affirmatively. "Well then, you'll stay here. My chambers are now yours, and you are an outright member of the settlement and my woman," he declared.

Shivers of worry coursed through you as you voiced your concerns about how Touya's father and brothers might react to the unconventional decision of freeing a thrall and choosing to be with her. Your apprehension deepened as you acknowledged your own perceived lack of talents, admitting, "I'm just a mere woman, and I don't really have many skills… I can sing and play a harp, but…"

Touya, smiling softly, gently pulled you close and silenced your self-deprecating words with a kiss. As he broke the kiss, he whispered, "Don't worry about that. I'll make it work." His reassurance lingered in the air, a promise that he intended to navigate the challenges ahead and carve a path for the two of you, regardless of the judgments and expectations that might come from his family. Touya, holding you close, looked into your eyes with a tender gaze. "I see way past the talents and appearance," he admitted softly. "What captivated me was your unaware gentleness, the way you carry yourself, and the kindness that emanates from you. That's what truly matters to me."

"Thank you, Touya Endeavorson," you whispered, kissing his jawline.

He chuckled softly, the sound a soothing lullaby, and soon, the gentle rhythm of sleep claimed both of you.

The next day, as the sun hung very low on the horizon, the warriors gathered for the final meeting with the earl.

Dabi, reluctantly torn from your peaceful slumber, pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder before gently tucking you into thick furs. He left the chamber, heading to meet his father.

In the meeting room, Shoto was already present, exchanging a cold smile with his eldest brother. Hawks and the other warriors formed a solemn assembly, awaiting the earl's words.

Natsuo stood nearby, eager to hear what their father had to say and to bid farewell to his brothers.

Endeavor's stern voice echoed through the hall as he issued orders to his sons. "Shoto, Touya, you depart soon. Ensure everything is in order for the journey. You have no time to waste."

Shoto, attempting to be the epitome of politeness, spoke up. "Father, may I suggest we also check the provisions and inspect the gear to ensure nothing is overlooked for the journey?"

Endeavor's gaze shifted to Shoto, a brief nod acknowledging the suggestion. "Very well, Shoto. Attend to the provisions and gear. Dabi, focus on the horses and make sure they are in prime condition. You leave nothing to chance."

Dabi, ever the stoic one, simply nodded in acknowledgment, the weight of his father's expectations settling on his shoulders.

The preparations for the journey became a meticulous dance under Endeavor's watchful eye, each son fulfilling their assigned tasks with a sense of duty ingrained in them by years of training and discipline.

Dabi meticulously checked each horse, ensuring they were in optimal health and prepared for the upcoming journey.

As he worked, Natsuo approached him, a note of concern in his voice. "Be careful, Touya," Natsuo said, his eyes reflecting worry.

Dabi, giving his brother a brief nod, adjusted the long, thick, black fur draping over his shoulders. "I'll. And you, keep your eyes open and make sure everyone is safe and nothing bad happens, understood?"

Natsuo chuckled at the protective tone of his elder brother. "Understood, Touya. Just don't go doing anything reckless."

Dabi flashed a small smirk, a mixture of confidence and assurance. "Reckless? Me? Never." Despite the banter, a hint of camaraderie lingered in their exchange, a silent understanding between the brothers in the face of the impending challenges.

Natsuo ruffled Dabi's stallion's mane, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I hope father knows what he is doing, sending you to a land we've never been to before."

Dabi, continuing to attend to the horses, looked up at his brother. "Apparently, he does. The journey doesn't seem as tough as it sounds," he assured.

As Dabi continued with the preparations for the journey, he turned to Natsuo and asked, "Take good care of Y/N while we're away, will you?"

Natsuo, puzzled by the mention of a name of their thrall, furrowed his brows. "Y/N? Why?"

Dabi smirked and explained, "I freed her. She's my woman now."

Natsuo blinked, a mix of surprise and amusement crossing his face. He smirked smugly, poking his older brother's shoulder. "Well, well, has my brother fallen in love with a woman!?" The revelation caught him off guard, but Natsuo couldn't resist teasing his brother about his newfound connection.

Dabi, his usually stoic expression now tinged with a mix of vulnerability and anger, confirmed, "Yes, Natsuo. I fell in love with her. Any problem with that?"

Natsuo shook his head, a reassuring smile on his face. "No problem, Touya. I'll protect her. You don't have to worry about that. Focus on the trip, and I'll handle things here on your behalf."

A sense of gratitude flickered in Dabi's eyes as he nodded, appreciating the support and understanding from his younger brother.

Touya gracefully mounted his stallion, and Shoto did the same.

As they prepared to depart, Endeavor emerged from the Great Hall. "Bring back as much as you can, and scout around," he ordered, his gaze piercing.

Shoto, ever the dutiful son, assured his father sweetly, "Everything you said will be done, my lord."

They departed in unison, the rhythmic sound of hooves echoing through the settlement.

The horses moved one by one, a procession of warriors embarking on a mission of importance. As they rode, the figures of warriors and their leaders gradually vanished on the horizon, blending with the imposing mountains in the distance.

Dabi, throwing a final glance back at the settlement, silently offered a prayer to their gods for success on the mission. The vast expanse swallowed them, leaving behind the familiar and venturing into the unknown.

You awoke alone in Touya's bed, the furs enveloping you in a warm embrace. Stretching languidly, you shifted, and a blush tinged your cheeks as you became aware of the remnants of wetness and slick covering your inner thighs. With a mix of shyness and self-consciousness, you decided to freshen up.

After cleaning yourself and running a brush through your hair, you prepared for the day. As a free woman with newfound autonomy, uncertainty lingered in your choices. Unsure of what to do, you settled on paying a visit to Hilda.

On your way to your friend, you were unexpectedly intercepted by the earl himself. Endeavor, a commanding presence, stopped you in your tracks. "Come with me, Y/N," he requested, his tone leaving little room for refusal. "I wish to talk to you."

Curiosity and a hint of apprehension danced in your eyes as you followed the earl, the path veering away from your original destination, leaving you to wonder what discussions awaited in the halls of the settlement's leader.

Endeavor, seated on his imposing throne, gestured for you to take a seat on the smaller throne positioned on his left side. Hesitantly, you complied with his request.

Endeavor's stern expression softened slightly as he began to speak. "Touya informed me of what transpired," he stated, and a blush instantly covered your cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and uncertainty coursing through you.

The earl continued, his gaze unwavering. "He freed you. I do not condone such actions, especially considering your status. You are not of royal blood, but as long as you make my son happy, I am inclined to respect that."

You nodded, a mixture of relief and nervousness settling within you. "I assure you, earl Endeavor, my intentions are pure. I mean no harm."

Endeavor, though maintaining his stern demeanor, seemed to consider your words. "Very well," Endeavor declared after a moment. "In such circumstances, if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask the thralls, Hilda, or even me or Natsuo. If you prove your worth, maybe I'll look at you more kindly."

You promised not to be a bother but a valuable asset for the settlement. As the conversation progressed, you gathered the courage to pose a more personal question. "My lord, would you have anything against me fully embracing the worship of your gods?"

Endeavor's initial shock was evident, but after a moment, he smiled at you, nodding in acknowledgment. The acceptance of your desire to align with their religious practices hinted at a potential bridge between your newfound freedom and the intricate dynamics of the settlement. The unspoken understanding between you and the earl carried the potential for a more harmonious coexistence, provided you could prove your dedication and commitment to the settlement's values.

"You wish to step away from your Christian God and embrace our gods?" he asked.

In response, you nodded, meeting his gaze with determination. "Yes, earl Endeavor. I want to embrace the beliefs of this settlement, to become part of the community and honor the gods that are revered here. The day my village was raided, it felt as though my God had abandoned me," you expressed, the weight of that moment etched in the somber tone of your words.

The earl, after a moment of contemplation, surprised you with a geniune smile. He nodded, a gesture of acknowledgment. "Very well. If it brings you closer to this community and my son, then I will respect your choice. The gods, after all, have their own ways." Endeavor considered your newfound interest in embracing the local beliefs and, after a moment, spoke decisively, "I will take you to our seer. She will impart the knowledge you seek. Eventually, you may find yourself visiting Uppsala, a vital religious, economic, and political center in Svealand."

Your eyes lit up with interest at the prospect, and you nodded eagerly, fully intrigued by the idea of exploring such a significant place. Curiosity guiding your words, you asked, "Will I be able to go there once Touya returns?"

Endeavor, after a brief pause, agreed, "Yes, once Touya is back, we can arrange for your visit to Uppsala. It will be an enlightening experience for you."

You nodded at Endeavor, absorbing the significance of the upcoming journey into the settlement's beliefs and practices.

As you settled into the smaller throne, Endeavor looked up at you, a question lingering in his eyes. "Do you know where you're sitting?" he asked.

You replied hesitantly, "Obviously, it's a throne, my lord."

He chuckled, confirming your observation. "Indeed, it is a throne, but it holds a particular importance. This is reserved for the earl's wife, the queen of the settlement."

Your gaze shifted, and you asked cautiously, "Where is your wife then, my lord?"

Endeavor's expression softened, carrying a weight of sorrow. "She passed away after giving birth to Shoto, my youngest son."

You remained silent, acknowledging the gravity of the loss. "I'm so sorry for your family's loss," you expressed.

Endeavor waved his hand dismissively, as if to sweep away the weight of the past. "This is what the gods had prepared for her," he said, a touch of acceptance in his voice. "I miss her wisdom every day." He then looked at you, his gaze steady. "I let you sit here because, eventually, this place will belong to you."

You blinked, shocked by the unexpected revelation. "To me?" you asked, seeking more details. "I-I don't understand, my lord…"

Endeavor nodded, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Yes." Endeavor leaned in, his voice lowered as he shared a revelation with you. "Since you are my eldest son's woman, it is likely that Touya will want to marry you one day." He paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in. "And I have already chosen Touya as my legitimate heir. Once I am gone, he will take over the throne."

You were shocked by the revelation, and you whispered in response, "But from what I observed, I was fully convinced you would want Shoto to inherit the throne, my lord…"

Endeavor sighed, a mixture of regret and remorse in his eyes. He began to share the mistakes of his past, confessing to an attempt on Touya's life when he was a child, influenced by the wrong people. The consequence was the multitude of scars that adorned Touya's body, a lasting mark from a hot, boiling tar. "After all these years," Endeavor continued, "and witnessing Touya's growth, even though it was much harder for him due to his past and vulnerabilities, I have come to the conclusion that there is no other candidate for the throne than my eldest son. Shoto is full of passion, yes, but he is also very unsorted, having too many ideas and never fully indulging in anything but quick, meaningless affairs." The earl's admission offered a glimpse into the complexities of his decisions, revealing the burdens of the past and the intricate dynamics within the royal family.

As the revelation unfolded, a mix of emotions churned within you. The realization that Touya would be as shocked as you, having believed all along that his father saw him merely as a warrior, added a layer of complexity to the unfolding dynamics within the royal family.

You turned to Endeavor, the weight of the situation settling in, and expressed, "Whatever you decide, I will condone, my lord."

Endeavor's response was a smile, a gesture that softened his stern features. His rough, huge hand reached out, gently caressing your blushed cheek. "I think I'm starting to understand what Touya sees in you," he admitted. "You remind me a lot of my wife. You're very kind, and you seem to carry a wisdom I might not comprehend." Endeavor's gaze held a mixture of seriousness and earnestness as he spoke, "I ask you to be good to Touya. He deserves the world I couldn't provide him with."

The horses moved steadily through the wilderness, Dabi and Shoto riding side by side. The rhythmic sound of hooves on the earth beneath echoed in the quiet expanse around them. Hawks and the other warriors trailed at a distance, granting the brothers a semblance of privacy.

Shoto, breaking the silence, turned to his older brother. "So, how is it to possess a thrall?" he inquired, a curious glint in his mismatched eyes.

Dabi, eyes fixed on the distant horizon, remained silent.

The younger brother, ever probing, continued with a wry tone, "Is she better than the whore you laid with before?"

Dabi's jaw clenched, and for a moment, he maintained his stoic composure. However, the barb proved to be too much, and he finally snapped back at Shoto, his tone sharp and cold, "Watch your tongue, Shoto. She's not just a possession, and you will treat her with respect." The intensity in his words mirrored the protective edge that had developed over the time he spent with you.

Shoto chuckled dismissively. "Why would I respect a thrall? She's nothing but our slave."

"I freed her," Touya retorted sharply, his voice carrying a harsh edge. "So she's not your slave anymore."

Shoto, not entirely convinced by his brother's words, chuckled again. However, when he caught the stern gaze from Touya, he groaned in frustration, relenting but not without adding a snarky, awfully bad comment under his breath. "Oh, brother, you've fallen so low that you bedded a thrall and freed her just because she was good in bed and made doe-eyes at you. Pathetic."

Touya, his patience wearing thin, warned Shoto sharply, "Don't say anything more about Y/N. I won't hesitate to hurt you, Shoto."

Shoto, unfazed and ever mocking, responded with a smirk, "Hurt me? Come on, Touya, you're just defending your little pet. I didn't know you could get so attached to a mere thrall."

Touya's jaw clenched, his restraint visibly tested by his younger brother's taunts.

Their exchange was abruptly interrupted by a loud howling in the distance, a haunting sound that echoed through the wilderness. The mournful cry carried an eerie resonance, adding an ominous atmosphere to the already tense scene between the brothers. As the sun began its descent down the horizon, casting long shadows and painting the sky with hues of orange and red, the howling persisted.

"Wolves," Touya said carefully, his eyes scanning the surroundings. "We should set up camp here. It's too risky to ride further."

Shoto, involuntarily agreeing with Touya, nodded in acknowledgment.

As the camp took shape, Touya decided to rest in his tent. Lying on the furs, he closed his eyes, allowing the sounds of nature and the quietness of the night to envelop him. The occasional chatter of their warriors echoed in the background. Touya's thoughts drifted to you, and as he drifted into sleep, he envisioned you through the canvas of his imagination.

heathen wolves: @queenkhepri @indignant-alpaca @misafiryanki @roast-toast @within-eyesight @crystalwolfblog @haseki-huricihan @violet-forgetmenot @dagger-dragger @smartspot

[superblysubpar]

masterlist | the music

19.7k words | Sorry freaks, no smut this chapter - but the series is 18+ and so is my blog so skedaddle on out of here if you're not!

A/N: I have a really long one here - so I'll just say thank you once again and that I love you. Also, another special thank you to @sweetsweetjellybean and @loveshotzz💛💛

chapter warnings: very brief mention of religion (but not reader participating or believing in one in particular) | small mention/description of reader's maternal death and cancer symptoms | teeny tiny spoiler for the ending to the movie 'when harry met sally' | use of dialogue from the movie 'My Best Friends Wedding'

Why do we want to believe in things like fate or destiny - divine intervention? Why do some put their faith in religions with blind following? Why do we look to the stars in moments of despair, when we’re desperate for hope, when we’re lost? 

We seek out answers from something we can’t see but we want to believe in. Whether it’s a fortune cookie in your take out, a penny head’s up on the sidewalk, a community of like minded souls coming together for prayer or worship, or a horoscope you read on your morning Instagram scroll - the reasons have to be the same for choosing to believe, for the hope that starts to rise in you for the promise these things try to offer. 

We look for solutions to problems. We need reason. We need purpose. We need to feel like we’re not alone. We need confirmation that it’s all gonna work out even though nothing can really guarantee that. 

When you look up at the stars that work hard to shine through clouds and a full moon, your chest rises with air trying to fill your lungs and you wonder if they’re up there. Your eyes blink up at that indigo sky, searching. Steve sits next to you and Leigh waves, whispering their hellos. His hand rests next to yours on the plaid blanket, he clears his throat and straightens his shoulders. It’s all too stiff, too on edge, and you hate it. That attempted deep breath is unsuccessful, lungs deflating as it catches in your throat, and your thoughts wander back to the stars again. They wander to him, and them, and seek answers. 

What if they are up there, watching, like it’s one of those movies your mom was always putting on and your dad and you boo’d at from your spot playing cards. When he walked in with her with that on her finger, your mom would have gasped, she would have paused the movie, she would have yelled at you and your dad about the plot. She would have thrown popcorn at the TV and declared there’s something going on, he couldn’t, no way - there was no way. She’d have calmed herself down, rationalized there was still time left, gone to the pantry for more chocolate, kissed the top of your head and your dad’s cheek as she passed. By the end of the film, her prediction would have been right, she’d be crying and sighing at the couple who got their happy ending.

So could Steve declare his feelings for you here in a dramatic scene? Tell you it was all a big misunderstanding - that he’s sorry, that it was a rocky road but being together is worth fighting for? Could you leave here, hand in hand, as a top forty song plays and the credits roll? 

Of course not. 

Because this isn’t a rom com your mom would have loved. Life is not a movie full of soul-mates and cosmic connections. People like your parents are the exception to the rule. The couples who make it work - the ones who don’t let the trials of life take their love away like Allie and Noah, Kate and Sam, or Westley and Buttercup, are fictional characters. They’re stories to escape into when the despairing reality of yours is too much to read or write anymore. It’s exactly why you don’t like most movies or stories like theirs. Because eventually, the movies end, the credits do roll, and you have to face real life once again. Love like that doesn’t exist off the big screen, and you’re just kidding yourself when you fall into their traps. 

Knowing this simple fact of reality doesn’t stop the hope though. 

That painful, aching hope that clings to your skin like honey when you can feel the heat from his arm even through the sleeve of your sweater - like your bodies burn hotter when closer together - too close to the sun. It feeds the hope that your brain tries to squash away but your heart thuds harder for. The what if, what if, what if replacing each beat of it. Hope that makes you want to cry out ‘please let this just be a bad dream’ to the universe. Hope that tries, but can’t escape the gnawing pit in your stomach that’s growing wider, threatening to swallow you whole. Hope that makes you wonder why this can’t be a story - why can’t you just be the grandson, yelling at his grandfather that he can’t be telling it properly? Someone is getting the story wrong. He can’t be marrying her, you’re just sure of it. Screaming at him, at someone, to please, just get it right. 

You wonder if someone were watching, would they be feeling the despair you are? Is this the moment? That scene in the movies is always the gut punch - for the audience and the character. It’s meant to hurt, make you hold your breath. Made to be dramatic - yell at the screen, break your heart, make the character in the action get back up and fight. They’re moments made to ignite that hope - but really, it’s the double tap - coming right after the feeling catches flame, that’s made to shatter you completely. 

The moment that extinguishes the what if for all it’s worth. When the audience’s heart's already breaking for the grandson, only for the grandfather to ask who says life is fair? Where is that written? When the knife is entering your chest, but the mask falls and the killer turns out to be someone you thought you could trust. When you’re untethered in space only for your last moment of consciousness to be watching a friend cut the cord. The person who sucker punched you is now kicking you when you’re weak, taking it one step too far, leaving you crumpled on the mat. It’s all enough to make that fight, that urge to be angry instead of scared or hurt, disappear. It’s enough to knock you down so hard, you can’t possibly get back up - the hope is extinguished, and the story seemingly over. 

Robin squeals quietly, pulling Leigh’s hand across you to admire the ring, knocking Steve on the shoulder and saying something about the Dingus doing good. Your gaze flits down to the brown sugar and apple donuts in your lap, convinced you’re about to get sick right on top of them. Not because he’s marrying her, but because instead of being angry with him, you feel like you’ve been squashed, you’re hurt, you’re betrayed. Despite your better judgment, despite the past several years, you’ve let a man make you some pathetic, sad, heartbroken, and weak version of yourself. 

When Leigh’s hand retreats from Robin’s, lifting and curling a piece of hair behind her ear, diamond sparkling in the moonlight as she smiles over at Steve, your story’s end is written, and you need to accept it if you ever want some semblance of normalcy to return. You can’t lose him and them. But when Steve’s pinky brushes yours and you look over, his eyes resemble the broken beer bottle from the football game all those weeks ago. Shattered emerald and amber, cutting you to shreds with each shard of glass as he murmurs, “Can I tal-“

“I’ll be right back!” You whisper-shout, cutting him off and squeezing Robin’s shoulder as you get up. 

She yanks on your wrist, halting your attempt at an exit. Her eyes narrow as she interrogates, “Where are you going?”

Swallowing harshly as her blue eyes peer directly into your soul. She can probably smell the desire to run on you. Remembering your vow that Steve won’t take them away from you, a not quite a lie falls from your lips as you gesture to the concession food trucks, “You don’t have those cinnamon roasted almonds. They were my mom’s favorite and the smell is driving me crazy. Promise that’s all.”

“I swear to god, if you don’t come back, I will literally come stand outside your window on the sidewalk and scream-sing Monster Mash until someone calls the cops and I’ll drag you down with me.”

Her eyes blink, features incredibly serious despite the amusing threat. Your laugh mixes with Leigh’s and you ignore the shared moment, tugging your wrist free. “Would expect nothing less Robin.”

She motions she’s watching you, fingers to her eyes then yours, lips twitching in the corners before she turns back to the screen. 

Your feet feel heavy as they drag through the damp grass, and come to a stop to wait in line. It shouldn’t be a surprise after ordering when you hear his voice behind you. It floats through the air, soft, barely audible over the popping kettle corn, “I really didn’t know you’d be here. I wouldn’t have…” he sighs, settling on restating, “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Your shoulders fall and your eyes stay focused on the truck. You’ve had time, since that night on the sidewalk, but your hurt still sits fresh under your layer of armor - tender like an open wound you need to keep protected. Your palms slide further under the sleeves of your sweater, clinging to the garment like the shield you’re willing it to be - you don’t want to fight with him anymore, no matter how hurt and angry you are. 

So the tone you respond with aches to sound indifferent, if not a tad harsh, reminding him you’re mad and pretending there isn’t any spark of hope within you still. It’s over, it has to be over, and all it ever was to him was something to kill time - fun and no strings exactly what you wanted. So your words are really just a reminder to yourself, another layer of the wall you need to keep up around him, “It’s fine Steve. Would have been nice to get a head’s up,” your shoulders shrug, “But, well, that’s probably too generous for the girl you were just fucking while waiting for the one, right?”

The people next to you clear their throats and you can’t find it in yourself to care, to be embarrassed. 

Steve moves in front of you, his face filling your vision. He shaved - no more scruff you like. His jeans are dark again, with fresh, new creases, and a light blue sweater pulls across his chest and shoulders. He’s picture perfect, his polished uniform in place.

He shakes his head, eyes bouncing between yours as he asks, “Is that really all it was?”

Your shoulders shrug again, because it’s easier. It’s easier to try to deny, to ignore the flutter the question causes in your stomach. Easier to bite back the words that try to form on your tongue. Because of course that’s not all it was, at least not to you. You wouldn’t feel the way you do right now if that were true. But what’s the point in telling him that though? What happens? Can you forgive each other for the words said, that, no matter how true, can’t be taken back? Things like this only end in heartbreak - because what happens if you tell him how you were starting to feel - does that change anything for him? And even if it did, that means a broken engagement, it means complicated truths coming out, it means attempts at forgiveness. And even after all of that, life won’t give you a guarantee. There is no promise of zero fights, of nothing bad ever happening. There is no happily ever after where the possibility of a break up, of losing everyone you’ve grown to care for deeply, doesn’t exist. 

So yes, it’s easier to not say any of that, because you know. This isn’t how life works. This isn’t a movie. No one is immune to life’s misfortunes. These sorts of open-ended questions and complicated emotions that come from his simple ask are unmeasurable and unreliable. Wondering and giving into those feelings only open you up to be used as a target for someone else’s shooting practice. You’ve known this, but you allowed yourself to forget, hating it was Steve who had to remind you. 

Which is why you look away from his eyes as you say, “I believe that is what was established a few weeks ago at that party Steve. You were there, remember? You were dressed as a pirate.” 

His head drops, hands running through his perfectly styled hair as he laughs, breath shaky, like the laugh is covering up any feeling in his voice. “So, that’s it? We’re just gonna act like none of it happened? You don’t wanna talk. You run away every time we get a chance to do so, a beer in my face and-“

Your hand rising in the air cuts him off, his mouth clamps shut as you make eye contact with him. “You deserved that and I’m not apologizing for it.”

He takes a step closer to you, his hand reaching towards you, then back into his hair, second guessing himself. “I’m not asking you to, and I’m not apologizing for what I said either.” Steve swallows, hands on his hips as he looks at the ground then back up at you, “What I said wasn’t a lie.” 

He breathes out the next words, both of you staring at each other with the weight of what he says hanging in the air between you.

“You couldn’t tell me.”

Your hands shake from the confrontation, from his request you left unanswered that night. The emotions that still want to bubble over, the time apart did nothing to cool either of you down. That what if, what if, what if that replaced your heartbeat grows louder, but your brain only shuts it down harder. If you hurt now, how will it feel if you keep feeding the flame only for him to extinguish it again?

The beat of your heart and those hopeful words thud in your ears as your head shakes and your voice tries not to, barely audible as the words leave your lips, “I don’t want to do this anymore Steve. We’re just going in circles. You’re getting married. You didn’t tell me. Can you look me in the eye and tell me you were really my friend while you were clearly getting engaged this whole time?”

Blue light flashes from the screen, catching the corner of your eye and illuminating his, their gaze bouncing over your face. Your bodies move closer like they can’t help it, like they know they won’t be this way again. Steve’s tongue darts over his bottom lip before his breath blows out, your name a whisper on it. The way he says your name with that look in his eyes, chests almost touching, it’s easy for your head to tilt with familiarity. Your breath out is his breath in, and it’s even easier to forget the last time you were this close. Sounds other than his harsh swallow and your heartbeat fade away. Time freezes, just a little, and the air pulses with a tangible possibility of hope. 

A shrill classic horror movie scream shatters the bubble. Your name is called, you blink, and take a step away. Guilt washes over you as you see your friends staring intently at the movie you’d practically forgotten you were there for. Leigh and Robin talk quietly and your eyelids flutter as you will whatever wants to escape down your cheeks away.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore Steve. I just want to go hang out with my friends. I need this to be over. Can it please be over?” You stare intently at the ground, one single tear slipping past your lashes. It feels like it rolls down your cheek for an hour before Steve finally answers. 

“Okay,” he quietly agrees. 

Your head nods once and you brush past him, barely choking out a whispered ‘by the way congratulations’ as you grab your snack. Hand swiping at the stray tear as you make your way back to the blanket slowly. 

When you sit back down, Leigh’s typing on her phone. She squeezes Robin’s hand before whispering a goodbye to everyone. She jogs over to Steve, cocking her head at him. He pushes his hands through his hair again, giving her a short smile. He runs his thumb and forefinger down the bridge of his nose, swiping under it with the back of his hand. His other extends towards her as she reaches him, fingers lacing together as they walk out. 

Robin’s shoulder nudges yours and your head turns to find her with eyebrows pinched together. She leans in and quietly asks, “Is he okay? Did he say something about leaving to you?”

Your head shakes, and you extend the bag to her with a tight smile. You will just keep lying to her. Steve and you will move on, and maybe, one day in the distant future, you’ll be able to tell her. It’ll all work out.

She mirrors your sad smile, the wrinkles in her forehead deepening as she takes a small handful and turns her attention back to the movie. Or she tries, but you watch as her eyes glance down to her phone every few minutes, until it lights up with his name and she quickly starts typing a response. 

It’ll all be fine. 

“Said ‘I’m fine’ but it wasn’t true. I don’t want to keep secrets just to keep you…”

The pop song playing overhead makes your teeth grind, your skin itch, it pries at your armor. It clangs its melody like fists on the metal plates around your heart, screaming to let it in. 

Fuck Taylor Swift and her poetically relevant lyrics. 

You’re fine. 

“Mommy, why is that lady wearing pajamas?”

“Well, sometimes people, um, well maybe they’re sad or-“

“Not sad,” you call over your shoulder, but spin as you decide to face the stranger. The poor, unsuspecting stranger who is unprepared for the wrath of a person wearing blue, fuzzy pajama bottoms with ducks all over them, yellow smiley slippers, and holding several pints of Cherry Garcia in her arms. “Could just be sick. Or lazy. Could be a lot of different things, but sad is not one of them, and it’s rude to assume there’s any reason at all. I could just have wanted to stay comfy today, you don’t know!”

It’s almost laughable, if it wasn’t so humiliating or awkward. A practically audible record scratch kind of moment. Conversations of several other customers quiet then stop altogether. Eyes blink at you in concern and pity under too harsh of fluorescent lights, surrounded by neon advertisements and packaging trying to convince you the world isn’t shit as long as there’s junk food. The poppy beat overhead seems to play even louder, yet a pin could drop and people from another state would hear it. 

The mother’s hand runs through the small child’s hair next to them as she stammers an apology, “I really…I’m sorry, I just-“

“No, no, I’m so sorry. It’s fine…I…” You close your eyes and turn back around, mortified beyond a depth you ever thought possible. The pints of ice cream tumble onto the sticky counter-top, lottery tickets beneath it staring up at you and mocking ‘hey wanna test your luck even more?’. Your hand flies up into the face of the cashier as you grumble, “Not a word, Keith.”

The employee you’ve come to know on your late night and early morning snack runs snorts. His mouth closes, slurping his Mountain Dew through a straw as he rings up the ice cream. His lips leave the red plastic, squeaking it against the lid harshly, about to tell you the price you already know, when a bottle of wine is placed on the counter with a low thunk. A leather clad arm extends across your vision, a second bottle landing beside it. A deep and familiar voice from behind your shoulder calls out, “These too. But definitely not because she’s sad.”

Turning, you find Eddie just as you knew you would, his brown eyes the same as they have been since you met. Full of warmth that’s contagious, except now something darkens them, they’re colder. Reminiscent of how they looked in a bathroom that feels like you were in it ten years ago instead of a month. They’re kind, but they’re hurt, confused, and most importantly - disappointed. 

“Right,” you clear your throat and look away from them. Embarrassed, but adamant in your denial of the purchase and your appearance having any connotation with the emotion they all think you’re feeling. “These are not sad items.”

Despite the look in his eyes, Eddie’s lips twitch in a fight of a smile. He looks over your outfit and the hint of amusement disappears. His mouth turns down in a grimace. He faces Keith, hand waving across your form, “Right. Sad people don’t wear duckie pj’s to the store to buy ice cream and wine, they just don’t. People who ignore their friends though, they might…”

Honestly, the call out is nicer than what you deserve. You hadn’t dared to miss a text or call from Robin again, but all other group contact had gone unreciprocated for two weeks - convincing yourself it was easier for everyone that way. Biting the inside of your cheek, your eyes blink up at him apologetically, hopeful you can fix a small part of the mess you’ve made still. “Yeah. But if a person,” your hands wave as you speak, “Who isn’t sad,” you quickly tack on before continuing, “Did ignore their friends, it was probably for a good reason and she probably feels really bad about it and-“

“Jesus Christ, pay for your sad shit and get out,” Keith groans, snapping his fingers and then waggling them for payment. 

Eddie mashes his lips together, a genuine smile threatening to break as he hands over a bill. He salutes as he grabs the bag of items. “Keep the change, dude.”

“See you tomorrow, new shipment of Ben and Jerry’s at nine A.M!” Keith calls to your retreating forms. Eddie and you turn in tandem, flipping him off. 

“Mommy, what did that mean?”

Eddie snorts, his laugh finally bubbling out of him as you hide your eyes under one of your hands. The door swings closed behind you as the brisk November air does little to cool off your embarrassment.

His laughter trails off in a sigh and yours in a groan. When you peek at him from behind your fingers, you hold your breath as they fall to your side. Eddie’s eyes seem to poke and prod at you with their gaze, like you’re a frog laying open on a table for dissection. Like he already knows what he’s about to find, but he’s giving you an opportunity to just say it before he makes the first cut. 

Gesturing towards the bag in his hand, your eyes drop to the ground as you clear your throat. “Thank you, you didn’t have to pay. And I really am sorry for going radio silent. I’ll get better at that.”

When he doesn’t respond right away, you risk a glance up. His brows are furrowed, meeting under parted bangs, brown eyes glued to your pajama pants. Eddie nods slowly, tucking his tongue into his cheek before clicking it against the roof of his mouth. Rocking back on his heels, the plastic bag swings at his side. “Sure. What are friends for?”

His eyes meet yours again finally, and as your lips part, he keeps going, his voice a little crisper than it’s been to you before. “Cause, we are friends. Right?”

Head nodding as your brows bunch together from the tone delivering the question. That and his gaze makes something under your skin itch, your feet restless against the pavement like a horse before a race. 

Hesitation heavy in your words as you respond, “Yeah, of course…listen, I have to get back but-“

“Great,” he spins on his heel, heading down the sidewalk like he was waiting for those exact words to leave your mouth, “I’ll walk with you, sad girl.”

Blinking at his abrupt interruption, hand still raised to take the bag from him, it takes you several seconds for his words to register. He’s already halfway to the corner, your apartment just around it and you have to take a quick few jogs to catch up with his long strides as you call out, “I’m not sad.”

“Uh-huh,” Eddie nods, flicking a zippo in his hand, converse scuffing against the sidewalk as he kicks a pebble, “And I’m the King of England.”

Tired of his tone and demeanor you didn’t invite or ask for - you don’t need this. Eyes rolling as you huff past him, your shoulder bumping his harshly as you do. Eddie scoffs, but falls back into step close behind you, not letting you get away. “Quite the attitude to have with the friend who just bought your sad girl treat, even threw in the wine.”

Your shoulders hunch at his words, eyebrows pulling together and face growing hot as you fiddle with the first key to the apartment building. “Well, I didn’t ask you to buy it and if you only did to just rub it in my face you’re not really my friend. And I didn’t ask you to come here.”

Eddie’s hand lands on the door above your shoulder as you push it open, arm blocking you from entering. “Quit the tough girl act, you’re not fooling anyone.”

Your skin burns at his accusation, hands balling into fists at your sides. “I’m not trying to fool anyone, Eddie, or do anything. I literally don’t know what you’re talk-“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you can keep trying to sell this shit to everyone else, but I’m not buying.” He points inside, “Let’s go.”

Face feeling hotter than when you were six and scolded in public, you stomp through the entryway, each step echoing across the old tile. As you turn to head up the stairs, if only to get away from his all seeing eyes, the realization of what your apartment looks like and how extremely not ready it is for guests has you pausing mid stride. 

When your gaze makes contact with his again, Eddie simply makes a statement. Flat, disappointed, and no question in his tone, “It’s worse than I think isn’t it.”

Before you can argue, before you can tell him to leave, the keys in your hand are snatched by swift fingers, and Eddie’s long legs are jumping up the stairs, skipping over several steps and disappearing around the landing. Chasing after him, the thundering of both of your feet is dulled by the faded and dingy carpet and the shriek of his name leaving your lips. 

Watching as he pushes the key into the lock, turning the knob, you sprint down the hallway. Your body barrels into his, but it’s too late. Eddie falters from your weight crashing into him, but he remains upright, although slightly hunched, as your body clings to his, trying to drag him down. The door swings open and he winces, and you drop to the ground, defeated. 

For the first time in a few days, you take in the state of your living space from an outside perspective. You watch as Eddie reviews it all for the first time - the take out on your counter, the empty beer bottles pushing the lid of the recycling up. The stack of Double O Seven DVDs on the coffee table. The couch covered in blankets because you’ve been sleeping there, your bed still sitting free of sheets in the other room. The bag of chips and the tub of frosting. It’s not a pretty picture. 

Eddie suddenly crouches, hands grabbing at you and you push him away shrieking, crawling into your apartment and away from him. Both of you swat at each other, hair flying in faces and grunting like you’re siblings fighting over the remote. 

 “Go-get off! What the hell is your problem! Eddie!”

He manages to grab your phone out of your sweatshirt pocket and you leap towards him, arms over his shoulders, you reach for the phone, and he holds himself up on his knees, arm extending it away from you. He manages to tilt it just right to get your face to unlock it and you growl, thumping on his bicep as he shoves you off. He presses the familiar green icon on your home screen while you accuse, “What is your deal? What the fuck are you-“

Eddie groans, holding up the screen displaying the last song you’d been listening to and getting to his feet. He points towards your bedroom. “Go put on some jeans. No more sad girl music. No more cheese out of the can. Field trip. Let’s go.”

Your hand holding a slipper that had fallen off in the scuffle points towards the open door, any neighbors paying attention getting a hell of a show. Your scowl meets his frown. “Um, you can go. Don’t basically break into my home and insult Britney and Easy Cheese in the same sentence asshole. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows, they disappear under his bangs and he looks at you as if you’re the child you’re determined to act like. He sighs, voice dripping in drama as he heads into your kitchen, “I really didn’t want to do this, but you’ve left me with no other choice.” He spins the cheap metal cap off of one of the bottles of wine theatrically, flicking the cap onto the counter before turning the bottle upside down as he stares at you. “I’d get going. The ice cream is next.”

Your eyes roll as you scoff, “You’re not gonna do shit to the Ben and Jerry’s, you and I both know it.”

He starts on the second bottle, both ringed hands holding tight to each, red liquid splashing the sides of the sink. “I will literally drag you back out of here in your sad girl jammies to a very public place. I’m generously giving you the opportunity to avoid that embarrassment, but if you insist…”

Eddie sets the bottles down in the sink, stepping over to you in two strides, hands on your waist as he moves like he could toss you over his shoulder.

Your hands push at his chest. “Fucking fine! Give me a few minutes.” You start towards your room but spin sharply on your socked heel, one foot still in a slipper that skids as your finger points in his face. “Touch my ice cream and see what happens.”

He snorts, crossing his arms. “Big, tough words coming from a girl with chocolate frosting on her chest and ducks on her ass.”

You turn away from him, slamming the door on his call of, “If you ever want to see your precious Ben and Jerry’s again, you’ll be back out here in five minutes!”

When you make eye contact with the chocolate stain in the mirror, you have to suppress your groan. 

Eddie’s Jeep tires crunch over gravel before coming to a stop in a homemade parking lot. Tan dust kicked up and floating through the air partially obscures where he’s taken you. 

The entire twenty minute drive had been enveloped in stilted silence. He had managed to dump one of the pints while you changed, claiming to have thought you weren’t coming back out, and now he was on the receiving end of one of your finest silent treatments. His hand flexes on the gear, moving the car into park. As his jaw clenches while yanking the keys out of the ignition, you start to rethink your silence. There’s a part of you that wants, maybe needs, to run back to your apartment, lock the door, and never speak to him again. But there’s another part, far larger, and riddled with guilt, that made you follow him. 

Staring out the window at the dilapidated bar, your voice feels scratchy from the lack of talking as you push out, “What are we doing-” Eddie’s driver’s door slams, and the end of your question falls into the empty car, flat, as you blink at his back walking away from you, “Here.” 

As Eddie makes his way to the building, you hoist yourself out of the Jeep and begin to follow despite the cold shoulder. You’re willing to appease him and participate in whatever this field trip is if it means you can somehow get the apology you definitely owe him out - try to make things right for the mess you’ve pulled him into. 

A faint and familiar sound echoes in the quiet and practically empty parking lot. The distinct whip of a ball and the ting and harsh smack of metal meeting it, mix with the crunch of rocks under your rubber soles. Behind the tired and washed out brick building, chain link fencing rises, hinting further to what the sounds are and where they’re coming from. The large red letters above the doorway spell out “Murray’s” in distinct vintage lettering, hollowed out with unlit bulbs reminiscent of an old theater’s marquee lights. You pause beneath the sign, stealing a deep breath because something tells you Eddie has officially pinned you to the table, and the first inevitable cut of the dissection is imminent. Your fingers curl around the gray, metal door’s industrial handle and pull, and you step inside. 

Billie Holiday’s voice croons from somewhere deeper in the building. Voice and music crackling and staticky, like it’s playing off a real vinyl. The urge to find out why Eddie’s brought you to a place seemingly stuck in the past draws you deeper down the dimly lit hallway. Rich, red paint on the walls partially covered by framed photographs line the entire space. Black and white film prints of American icons, with individual golden lamps lighting up each from their spots attached to the frames. Your feet carry you past Elvis, Jackie Robinson, then Marilyn, and Michael Jackson before you enter a spacious and circular room. 

Red vinyl booths line the curve on one side, small round tables meant for two lit by glowing lamps scattered across the floor. A stage and space for what appears to be a dancefloor sit opposite of you, nestled between the booths and a bar running across the opposite curve. Speckled and worn mirrors behind the bar reflect the wide range of liquor bottles and the different glassware in a variety of shapes and colors, clearly thrifted antiques, hanging above them. Eddie leans against the bar talking to an older man, neither of whom spare a glance in your direction. 

This room’s photographs on the walls are covers of Life and Time, clippings from other renowned news outlets - all famous headlines like when man went to the moon and the JFK assassination, the Cubs winning the world series, spanning all the way to current events. As you spin, you see the vintage photo booth, much older than the one you and Steve took photographs in at Replay, and you push the memory away, focusing on the bulletin board next to it instead.

The flier for Corroded Coffin has your attention as the song crackles on it’s end notes, the next from the album playing softly. Billie’s voice sings the familiar lyrics of ‘I’ll Be Seeing You’ and your heart drops into your stomach, palms sweating profusely. Why the hell are you here? Why this song? Why, why, why.

“Ouch. Who broke your heart?”

The unfamiliar voice asks the same question Eddie had asked you back in September, and this time you’re even more unprepared for it. Your head whips to the side, gaze looking over your shoulders that hunch. Your body turns to face them head on, but your arms cross in defense. The man Eddie had been chatting with now has his focus solely on you. Wire rimmed glasses frame eyes that stare intently at you as he wipes down a glass. His balding head of hair and the confidence he carries, along with the way he tosses the rag over his shoulder before leaning on the bar, has you feeling like you’ve suddenly entered a sitcom. 

Eddie continues to ignore you, one foot resting on the metal of stool as his ringed fingers crack peanuts. He avoids your gaze as you turn your frown on the man who seemed to have read your mind. You keep your voice as neutral as you can when you ask, “Excuse me?”

“Written all over your face, kid.” The nameless man, but you have a hunch the name of the establishment and him are one in the same, winces with his words. He pulls down three amber colored, short glasses, then a bottle of vodka. Before you can argue, he keeps going as he pours, “Well, maybe you’re not in love. Not yet anyway,” he muses to himself, “Or maybe he is and you don’t know how to let the poor sap down?”

His eyes lift from the glasses of alcohol to yours and he squints. Pausing before pouring the third glass, humming, “Wait, no, well…maybe.” Keeping his eyes on you as he tips back one of the generous shots before he breathes out with finality, “No.”

Eddie smirks into his own shot, as the man snaps in his face, but technically commands, “Name.”

Your mouth opens to stop this nonsense and analysis you absolutely didn’t ask for, but Eddie beats you to it. Eyebrows raised, mouth pursed as he offers up, “Steve.”

The man behind the bar hovers the liquor bottle above the now empty glass, blinking wide behind his frames. He sets the bottle down, pressing his palms to the bar top. Scoffing with an incredulous tone, “You’re kidding.”

“Excuse me!” You try to interrupt, but the man shakes his hands, ignoring your objection. 

“We’ll deal with that little slip in the simulation some other time,” pushing the third glass down the bar towards you as he continues, “So, Steve,” he laughs a little, licking his bottom lip, “Right. So he loves us, maybe, but perhaps it is us who loves Steve? Mm, tragic, because he doesn’t reciprocate? Or are we too scared to tell him how we feel?”

Your shoulders are up to your ears now, arms wrapping around yourself even tighter, trying to make whatever see-through, vulnerable shield this man can penetrate more resilient. Your gaze is harsh on the side of Eddie’s face, death stare glaring and attempting to burn his cheek with only your eyes as you ask again, “What are we doing here?”

“The cosmic question, isn’t it?” The bartender muses, pouring another glass for himself. He raises his eyebrows at Eddie in a silent question who shakes his head no. 

“I’m leaving.” You start to turn towards the door, but Eddie’s call behind you makes you freeze.

“Have fun walking back then!”

Your hands go to your pockets, searching, even though you know they’re empty. When you look at him, you see your phone in his fingers and his brown eyes that have turned to stone. “Yeah, I still have this. So either you can participate in the field trip, or you can walk all the way back home to your sad girl cave.”

“I’ll just have him call me a cab.” Gesturing to the nameless man with your solution. 

“Murray,” he offers with a toothy grin and head nod, confirming your assumption. 

Eddie laughs, cold, tossing a peanut shell on the bar, “Yeah? And pay for it how?”

You’ve been very, very, dumb, because it’s only now you realize the empty pockets would also mean you don’t have your wallet. Your eyes close in defeat. 

When you open them, Eddie is staring at you and it feels an awful lot like that scalpel is resting just over your heart, waiting for any final words. 

He doesn’t take his eyes off of you as he says, “I’ll take those quarters now.”

Murray rolls a tube across the bar to him, eyes darting back and forth between you two like he is watching a ping pong match. 

Eddie grabs the roll, storming past you and down a different hallway, out the back door of the bar. The chipping black paint flutters as the door swings closed, a slam as it meets the frame making you flinch. The final notes of ‘I’ll Be Seeing You’ finish and you release a shaky breath. 

“And I suppose I’m to follow him and his mysterious quarters?”

Murray’s lips twitch and he raises his hands in surrender. Your sigh and step towards the door has him dropping his hands though, nudging the still full glass of vodka towards you. Figuring it’s his way of telling you to clean and sterilize the wound before the prodding at it begins, you take a step closer. Hesitating slightly, your finger wraps around the amber glass, a deep breath leaves you as you tip it to your lips. 

He nods his head towards you and raises his own glass, and as the liquid flows into your mouth, he toasts, “To Steve.”

The liquor sits on your tongue longer than you’d like it to as you glare at him. Swallowing it down, you blame the harsh burn in your throat for the prickle that’s forming behind your eyes.

Spinning on your heel to follow Eddie, Murray’s voice calls out quietly, making you pause.

“I’d tell him sooner, rather than later.”

Looking over your shoulder, he puts the glasses in a bin underneath the bar, not looking back at you as he quietly adds, “In my experience, there’s always space to dive deeper into the story. Things are often not what they appear to be. And well,” he chuckles to himself, “Harrington’s got a lot more going on under all that hair than meets the eye I think.” Your brows furrow as Murray looks up at you, patting his hand over his heart with a smirk on his lips, “And I’m not talking about the stuff on top of his head.”

Normally, the joke about Steve’s chest hair would have your lips twitch into a smile, a roll of your eyes, but instead, his words float through the air until they arrive in your gut, sitting heavy and dragging you down. They try to ignite that hope again, but you know it’s no use in letting it light anymore. 

Your feet push forward, stomping down the hallway without a word back. As the door swings closed behind you, your eyes blink, adjusting to the harsh sunlight you’d forgotten was shining outside. The sounds from earlier now connecting to what’s before you. Several enclosed batting cages sit just beyond a wooden and covered back patio of the bar. There’s two older men with their bags of gear sitting at their feet. Each drinking a beer at a small wooden table, rubbing their shoulders. Eddie is inside one of the cages. His leather jacket hung on the fence, a blue helmet squishing down his curls. The white cotton of his baseball tee stretches over his flexing back muscles as he swings at a ball released by the machine. 

As your feet scuff against the deck and then the gravel, you take another deep breath, mouth opening to just blurt out some sort of apology to him. Eddie stops the machine with a harsh smack to a button on the side of the cage. He comes out the door, holding the helmet and bat out to you, chest moving up and down with each ragged breath. He offers a closed lip smile as he says, “Your turn.”

“Eddie, I really don’t…” you trail off until you settle on just asking, “Why?”

“Would you just do it?” He frowns, tone annoyed as he extends his arms towards you further. 

Eyebrows raised in anticipation he nods once as you take the items with a huff and stomp into the cage. As you place the helmet onto your head, and stare down the machine, you exhale and press the button. It whirs back to life as your hands wrap around the bat and you step up to the metaphorical plate, Eddie’s voice calling from over your shoulder as you do. 

“So, wanna tell me why you’re sad? Talk about anything Murray said?”

Your fingers curl tighter around the grip, shoulders going up in defense again. Your jaw clenches before you grit out, “For the last time Eddie, I’m not sad. I’m fine.”

Eddie snorts behind you as you swing at the first ball released, missing.

Strike one. 

“Sure, figured that’d be your answer. So,” he sighs heavily and you hear the fence rattle like he’s kicking it, “Why’re you avoiding us again then?”

You knew this topic couldn’t be dodged forever. It’s true, you’d been pulling away again since Halloween, and getting the save the date was the nail in your friendship’s coffin. As the wedding looms in the not so distant future, it’s easier to pull away from him, from all of them, because you know that they were and always will be Steve’s friends first. Intentions of not letting Steve keep them from you seem futile now, when you know the history and depth of friendship you’re up against. You’re not gonna say that to Eddie though, so as the next pitch is released, you swing and stammer out a pathetic lie. 

“I-I’m not.” The ball makes contact, causing your forearms to vibrate from the bad swing. Your grip tightens so the bat doesn’t fall from your fingers as the ball pops up and behind you, rattling the fence. 

“Well that’s a load of crap. Wanna know what I think?” Eddie yells, not pausing for you to refute and sarcastically continuing, “Great, I’m overjoyed to tell you.”

Your heel digs into the gravel and your eyes narrow on the whirring machine, waiting for him to sink the scalpel into you, defenseless - trapped from running away from him, stuck in this cage with nowhere to go to avoid what he’s about to tell you. 

“I think you are sad. I think Murray was right and you don’t wanna admit it to him, to anyone, and especially not yourself. Instead of an easy fix of talking about it, you wanna sit in your pity and throw a party.” Eddie’s voice takes on a dramatic, high pitched imitation of you as the next ball is released and you swing, “I’m Y/N! Woe is me! I’m all alone! Nobody loves me!”

You miss the ball again, shoulders hunching in, desperate to make yourself smaller with each of the words that he shouts at your back. Turning to look over your shoulder, you glare at him. 

Strike two. 

Eddie leans against the fence, glaring right back at you with his eyebrows raised as you hiss, “You’re being an asshole.”

“Yeah? At least I’m an asshole who’s got friends,” he gestures towards you, “You clearly think you don’t.” You twist your toe in the gravel deeper, returning your focus to the machine and taking a deep breath as he keeps going. “I’ll have Murray pour you some more vodka and you can sit here and think about how your life is horrible. Truly tragic.”

Your eyes narrow from his bored tone, lifting your chin and elbow, adamant to ignore him. 

“You have nothing and no one.”

Another exhale, your chest rises and falls with a deep inhale and your shoulders relax. Straining to hear the hint of the ball being released instead of Eddie yelling at you. 

“Maybe you’ll get a cat one day, but ultimately you’re gonna die alone!”

SMACK.

Your bat meets the ball and it soars to the end of the cage and you spin on him. Face hot, your emotions bubbling and ready to explode. Anger mingling with adrenaline coursing through your veins from the hit, amping up how the words fall out of you in an angry cry. 

“Yeah! I am Eddie! And that’s what I want! So fucking lay off!”

“Why?” 

“Because it’s easier!” 

When he yells right back, without pausing, asking you for a reason, the excuse falls out of you easily. Your mouth closes immediately after the words tumble out in your scream, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes as Eddie’s narrow. He shakes his head, volume lowering only slightly. 

“Nah, that’s just fucking running. And take it from someone who ran for a long time, it feels easy, but it’s the furthest thing from. Eventually, you are going to get tired, and your problems will be right on your heels. 

Facing the machine again so you don’t have to look into his eyes any longer, you shake your head no at him, letting a ball hit the end of your bat, popping forward limply as you try to speak with confidence. 

“I’m not running from problems Eddie, I’m just…it’s easier to be the one who does the leaving than to be the one who’s left, okay?”

The words float through the air, unable to be taken back, and their weight makes something in your chest squeeze and constrict. 

“That’s some next-level, glass half empty, pessimistic, depressing shit. And who the hell said anyone was going anywhere? You’re refusing to see that if you looked back for one second from the door you’ve been half out since you got here, that nobody else even has their shoes on.”

The squeezing in your chest only intensifies, his cut getting deeper as he searches for answers, and your bat hesitates halfway through your swing, sending a ball straight up into the air above you. You breathlessly ask, “What?”

Eddie waits until you look over your shoulder at him, emphasizing each word. “Nobody’s leaving you.”

His words hit you harder than your bat has hit any of the balls. It feels like one was pitched right into your gut, expelling all the air from your lungs and causing the tears that have been right behind your eyes to well up hard and fast. You spin to avoid his gaze again and square up for another pitch. 

Eddie doesn’t know that it’s not a promise anyone can make - life doesn’t care. 

Your head shakes, tears brimming on your lash line as you argue, “You can’t know that Eddie, not really. It’s better this way.”

SMACK.

A tear slips over your bottom lashes, trailing down your cheek as the bat makes good contact again and Eddie digs the scalpel in for his final cut. “Fine. Believe that. But you need to admit that you’re slamming the door on our faces and pretending like no one is still standing on the other side, knocking and asking to be let back in.”

The machine whirls, it wooshes with the release of a ball as another tear, and then another falls. Your vision progressively grows fuzzy, the world around you blurring as you swing again and his voice washes over you. 

“Did you know that Nancy is a freak just like you, and I’m sure she’d be happy to split some Cherry Garcia any time? God help you both for liking such a disgusting flavor.”

You let the tears fall openly, but silently, as you swing harder this time. The weight in your stomach - the knots that have been forming since the very first lie was told - twist and tug harder. 

“I know you’re not stupid enough to think I wouldn’t come have a beer with you, or take you to Target to get some new sheets or food that doesn’t have the Frito-Lay logo plastered on it.”

Another ball pops up and behind you as you clear your throat. Refusing to believe what he’s saying, you wonder if he can see the tears hitting the tan gravel beneath you and darkening it like drops of rain.

“And Robin! She’d love to watch Double O Seven with you. You should hear her Sean Connery impression. It’s terrible.” Eddie laughs a little and you twist the toe of your converse into the gravel, covering up a dark spot. 

“But no. Instead of any of that, you just gave up. You didn’t give any of us a chance. Steve Harrinngton’s dumb ass is the only thing to blame for all your loneliness, sadness, and problems. So keep ignoring the footsteps running behind you and the knocking, or open the fucking door.”

You want to believe Eddie, you really do. But what happens when you come to rely on someone, need the support to lean on, and they’re gone?

Your head shakes harder, a sob stuck in your throat as you barely murmur, “Eddie, I can’t.”

His voice is softer than it has been all day as he asks, “Can’t or won’t?”

More tears fall past your lashes. The last ball is pitched and you choke out, “I’m sorry.”

You don’t attempt to swing at this one and it hits the fence behind you. The machine whirs one final time then stops. 

“Yeah, me too.”

Heavy, suffocating, disappointment lingers in the air around you. 

It takes several minutes, even more tears falling quietly, for you to remove the helmet from your head and drop both it and the bat on the ground with a clang. When you turn around, swiping at your cheeks, Eddie isn’t there. 

Each drag of your feet inside is an active fight. Limbs heavy, heart even more so, because you know what awaits you inside before it’s confirmed. 

Murray looks up from a keg he’s tapping and simply nods to the end of the bar. Your phone and wallet sit there and you know the Jeep and Eddie will be gone when you push out the door crying. 

You’ve somehow done the leaving and were left this time. 

Strike three. 

It’s literally a symptom, or as some like to claim - stage - of grief. 

Denial. 

We lie all the time. We tell lies to spare or protect feelings, and more importantly, we lie to ourselves, instead of facing truths head on. 

Because it’s easier to lie - to avoid, to shut something down, or deny its existence when it’s too hard to look at directly. Which is interesting. Why has there not been some sort of evolutionary transformation from this reaction? And really, the longer you wait to face something, the harder the truth is going to hit you. The time you give a truth to sit untold, unacknowledged, it only grows larger. That truth takes hearty roots, and your avoidance in the form of lies, whether to yourself or others, or both, only allows it to spread more rapidly. 

Eventually, you will have to stop lying, to stop running, and that truth will have grown in strength. It has sprouted new truths or problems because your lies only fed it the fertilizer it needed to do so, and now it’s suddenly not the one thing you have to face anymore, but the multiple harder truths. 

Which may be why you’re still outside, staring up at Nancy’s brownstone, where all of your friends, or well, the people you hope are still your friends are-

“Out of the bike lane!”

You jump forward onto the sidewalk just in time for a man in bright yellow spandex to zoom past you shouting some sort of curse as you clutch the dessert in your hands tighter. 

Grateful you had a firm handle on it to begin with, it's one of the few family heirlooms you held onto along with the recipe it’s holding. Hoping to gain some sort of courage from deep within it, like your mom can offer you some through the dish, you make your way up the brick steps. 

The only reason you're here, the only reason you’re facing this day the way you’re feeling just so happens to be the one to open the door before you can even ring the bell. 

The door is flung open and her bright blue eyes fight to sparkle behind squinted eyelids that are almost shut she’s smiling so wide at you.

“Happy Friendsgiving!” Robin shouts louder than she needs to and holds her arms out in a dramatic greeting. She’s covered from fingertips to elbows in thick, orange goo, her clearly thrifted oversize old man sweater sleeves pushed up to her shoulders. You smile your first genuine smile in weeks as she goes to hug you and you both pause, rethinking it. 

“Fall in a pumpkin?” You quip as you balance the dessert in your hand to shrug off one arm of your coat. 

Robin wiggles her fingers and hands spirit and jazz style with a beam that shows off her dimple as she corrects, “Sweet potato casserole.”

“You fell in a sweet potato casserole?” Following her deeper into Nancy’s, you take in a long breath, the tight chest you’ve had since Eddie left you at Murray’s loosening with each word exchanged between you and her. But knowing you have to face him, Nancy, Steve and her, and continue to pretend nothing is wrong while around Robin, has the constricting pressure around your heart returning quickly. 

Robin rolls her eyes, turning and walking backwards and making a face at you. She huffs as she turns back around, “No. Steve is making his famous mac and cheese and apparently I was annoying him, can you believe it? So him and Nance put me on mashing duty to keep me busy like a toddler.”

“You said it, not me!” Steve calls, his wine glass stopping before his lips when he makes eye contact with you. 

Weeks of not seeing each other after the way you left things was going to be hard, you knew that. But you really weren’t prepared for how he looks today, or how it would affect you. 

He’s got a burnt orange, almost brown, thick sweater on with light wash jeans. You’re sure both are from the section of his closet you stumbled upon months ago. That part holding his clothes he doesn’t wear often for whatever reason. He looks comfortable, casual, content. Down to the tube socks on his feet and the worn brown leather of the band of his watch. Your chest aches a little as you wonder if it’s Leigh that’s gotten him to relax into this version of himself. Even his hair, longer than a few weeks ago, is different than you’ve seen from him. Far messier than usual - like it hasn’t seen products or been styled lately, and several days of facial hair evident on his jaw. He looks like a version of Steve designed to torture you - a Steve who you’ve only gotten glimpses of and you miss before you’ve even really met. 

“Hi,” he says quietly, smiling closed-lipped at you.

“Hi,” you offer with your own hesitant smile. Your fingers fiddle with the tinfoil over the edge of the dessert from your spot where you linger in the doorway.

“How are you? Do you…wine?” Steve stammers over his questions, cheeks turning pink. He spins and starts pouring you some without waiting for your answer. It gives you a small bit of relief that he’s as anxious as you are, neither of you knowing what comes next. Do you ever return to normal? And what is normal for you and Steve?

“Sure, yeah, good. You?”

Steve nods his head too quickly, spinning to face you again with the wine. “Good, yeah, thanks.”

“Good.” 

“Yeah.”

Steve blinks at you, hazel eyes bright under the soft glow of Nancy’s pendant lighting hanging above her island. As you stare at each other, unsaid words float in the air, it was silly to think it could ever just be over with him. You miss entering a room and not sharing this awkward, palpable, tension - when it was a smile or joke exchanged instead of forced greetings, a warmth and joy felt instead of dread. 

You hate that you don’t hate him. 

You hate that there’s this horrible ache in your chest, like words want to tumble out but you physically can’t say them - why can’t you both just apologize? Why can’t that save the date be ripped to shreds? Why can’t it all work out? 

“You two are acting weird.”

Robin’s voice bursts whatever bubble you were both in, and you clear your throat, looking down. Steve’s fingers adjust on the wine glass and he shakes his head. 

Steve stammers, “N-no, we’re g-”

“Good?” Robin questions, eyebrows raised, “Yeah I gathered that.”

Before either of you can say anything in response, Nancy’s voice calls from the front door, “Crisis averted! I found a bag!”

Her brown curls bounce against her cheeks as she jogs into the kitchen. Dressed up in black suede boots and flared jeans, her tan peacoat left open showing off a silky black blouse. She pauses, mid stride, bag of marshmallows held aloft and her smile faltering as her gaze darts around the room.

Feeling warm under Robin’s sudden perceptiveness, you’re grateful when Nancy springs into action, relieving the awkward tension. 

“Geez Robin, did any sweet potato end up in the dish? I left you alone with them for twenty minutes.”

Robin’s lips twitch slightly, eyes finally leaving Steve’s as she looks down at her hands, flexing her fingers, the orange goo becoming stiff and hard on her skin.  

Nancy gives you a look, her eyes narrowed in a question but smiles when Robin looks back up. She places the marshmallows on the counter and grabs her hand. “Well, Y/N, can finish up.” She directs her next words to you, head nodding to a pan on the counter, “Put those marshmallows on top and stick it in the oven. Steve, your cheese isn’t gonna grate itself. And you,” Nancy tugs Robin out of the kitchen, smiling sweetly at her, “Are gonna come get cleaned up with me.”

Robin’s entire face turns pink, freckles standing out on her skin, from the way Nancy stares at her intently, like no one else exists. You look down, hiding your smile when Robin coughs, sputtering out something that you’re sure is supposed to be a yes. She eagerly nods and Steve huffs loudly, which makes her turn to glare over her shoulder at him, but it quickly turns into a smile as you call out, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” to their retreating forms. 

Their footsteps fade and Steve reaches out with one hand, looking at the dessert as he asks, “I can grab that from you?”

As the door to her bedroom clicks closed, you breathe out an exhale, unsure of how much longer you can keep it all up. His eyes are warm as his fingers brush the dish and you pull it back from his reach a bit, whispering, “It’s really fragile.”

Steve’s eyes bounce over your face, setting the wine down, both hands reaching for the dessert as he promises, quiet and sure, “I got it.”

Your fingertips graze each other as he takes it, and the electricity of just one more touch from him is enough kindling for the hope to spark. The heat from his stare has your cheeks warming and his turning pink. Steve’s lips twitch slightly in the corners as he glances down at the dish, then back up at you. 

“So, this just from Mariano’s then?” 

Your eyes roll hard at his assumption, scoffing as you turn to rip open the bag of marshmallows and keep your back to him. “You would ask if it was from there instead of Jewel.”

Steve knocks the faucet off from washing his hands, shaking them into the sink and flinging water across the stainless steel before drying them. He sucks his teeth with a wince as he turns to the counter, his shoulder next to yours. “Yeah, okay that’s fair.”

You laugh quietly, popping a marshmallow in your mouth in between placing them haphazardly across the orange mixture. Steve sighs next to you and gestures to the dish. “See, this is why I asked. No way you baked something. Didn’t think you could do anything in the kitchen except keep your take out menus impeccably organized.”

“Impeccably huh? That your word of the day on the calendar Robin got you?” You toss another marshmallow in your mouth with a smirk. 

“Actually, no today’s word was assiduous.” 

The veins in his hands flex as he grates the cheese, and he gives you a look as he says the word with confidence and emphasis, eyebrows raised.

You stall, taking a sip of your wine and hiding your smile in the glass before asking, “What, am I supposed to be impressed or something?” 

He dumps the cheese into the pot and turns to you, cocking his head, tongue in his cheek before he frowns. “You’re not?”

Steve’s lips twitch, his facade breaking easily and you both laugh. Your shoulders relax further and so do his. Why does it have to be so easy with him, yet so hard?

“Actually, I think it will be you who’s impressed,” you start, making the marshmallows a little more purposeful and pretty for his sake. 

“Oh yeah?” 

You hum, nodding, “I made that pie from scratch.”

“No you didn’t.”

Looking up, you see him shaking his head. He makes eye contact with you and he shrugs, adamant, “Nope. No way.”

Your hands land on your hips as your tone turns indignant. “Yes I did! I made the crust from scratch, cold butter into flour and everything. Rolled it out, doctored up the filling in a pan on the stove. Brown sugar, the works.”

His hand stops on the second block of cheese, eyes narrowing at you as he questions, “Really?”

A laugh leaves you from the tone of his suspicion as you slide the pan holding Robin’s dish into the oven. “You sound like my dad when my mom made it the first time.”

Steve doesn’t say anything and your lip tugs between your teeth as you remember the moment between your parents. Maybe it’s the holiday, maybe you’re just tired, maybe it’s the few sips of alcohol that let the story fall out of you so easily. 

“She was really awful at cooking,” you laugh, taking a sip of wine and waving your hand in the air, “I mean like, awful. She could serve you a grilled cheese that was somehow burnt but the cheese was cold? She got better, but anyways, I really don’t know why she thought she’d be any better at baking…”

Steve’s eyes meet yours briefly as he takes his own sip of wine and you look away, grabbing some of the cheese and deciding to help as you keep talking. 

“I don’t remember how she decided to do this, but my dad was out of town for work, and she wanted to make him something special, and to her that was a pie, I guess? But she was adamant that it be from scratch. Made and baked with love. And so we did. We went and got all of the ingredients, and we destroyed the kitchen, but it was the most fun I’ve ever had with her. We listened to Dolly Parton and drank wine all day, totally got flour and butter everywhere, I told her about classes, and the guy I was seeing…”

Your eyes drift off the counter, remembering it was right before you knew she was sick and your chin trembles as a watery laugh leaves you, “And then my dad got home. Oh my god, his face. He, he…” you blink away tears as you start laughing harder, “He just dropped his duffle bag on the ground and shook his head looking around in shock and my mom yelled ‘We made you a pie!’ and my dad just raised his eyebrows and said ‘Sure looks like you made somethin’.”

The last words come out shaky and it isn’t until you feel a pressure on top of one of your hands that you realize you had been grating the cheese down to almost nothing, stealing it from him. Glancing up through blurry vision, tears continue to fall down your cheeks as Steve quietly asks, “But it was good?”

You snort, more tears leaving you as you shake your head no. “It was inedible,” you laugh harder, “Like raw, but somehow dry and clumpy, so bad.”

Steve squeezes your hand, eyebrows furrowing together as his confusion settles deeper in his face and he starts cautiously, “So…you…made an inedible pie for us tonight?”

Your head shakes more and you take a deep breath, laughter and tears slowing. “No, after that, she, um…” closing your eyes, you take a deep breath and push out, “She needed to keep her hands working…” 

When you open your eyes again, Steve’s staring intently at you, waiting. You wonder why he can wait patiently for this story, look at you like he’d wait an eternity for you to tell him the ending, but he couldn’t wait for you. But, would you have wanted him to? When you’re certain that the potential of losing him, all of them, completely, isn’t worth the risk. Would he have waited forever for you to change your mind?

Your voice breaks as you finish, “Her chemo…she started to get neuropathy, and making the crust and keeping her hands and brain busy helped. So she kept practicing until it was perfect. And now it’s one of the last things I have from her. The dish too, we went and searched for the right one…” Fingers of your free hand form quotation marks as you roll your eyes with a laugh, remembering her ridiculous insistence on it and the day of estate sales and thrift stores.  

It’s silent as the unsaid ending washes over you both, the importance - the weight - of the dessert and the story. The immediate need to take it all back rises up in you hard, wishing you could put the entire thing back inside yourself and rewind the last few minutes. The vulnerability leaves you cracked open and exposed to him and you’re not sure you can handle his reaction. 

“I’m sorry,” your brows furrow, “I don’t know why I just…”

Steve’s fingers wrap around yours tighter and he squeezes. Your eyes meet the moss and honey you want to avoid because you’re sure they’re looking at you with that look. The pitying one, the one that everyone gets before they tell you a sorry that doesn’t help. 

But Steve’s eyes shine with something stronger - admiration and amusement as he winces, “So, see, that story tells me that your mom practiced and practiced to make a perfect pie not you and-”

Your hand smacks at his chest lightheartedly, laughing around a protest. Steve holds his hands up in surrender, “Hey, hey, okay!” 

Both of your laughter subsides and he smiles, a genuine smile, one side of his lips twisted up as he looks at the pie then you. “I’m sure it’s great. I’m excited to try it. Thank you for telling me that…I wish I could have met…”

As he trails off, your fingers brush against his on the counter, your bodies shift closer, letting the story and laughter pull you into each other’s gravity once more. Maybe it doesn’t have to be hard - there’s a reason you can fall so easily back into each other. A reason you can offer up a story you normally keep close if he’s the one listening, a reason you can forgive. There has to be a reason your body wants to be closer to his, a reason you want to feel his lips on yours again. Maybe there are cosmic connections, unexplainable phenomena of the universe, fate and destiny and invisible strings. 

Hope flourishes inside of you, it catches on every bounce of his eyes over your face, the way his finger nudges against yours just like they did in that car ride to a lake so many weeks ago. It sparks and drifts into the air, it floats around you like embers from an actual fire as he breathes your name out and your body takes one step closer, making you chest to chest. One easy tilt of your head, one bend from his and maybe it’d all be okay again.  

The doorbell rings, making both of you jump apart. The reality of the situation hits you, like someone dumped an entire bucket of water over the hope as Steve looks toward the door and frowns. You keep letting yourself end up in this position and eventually it’s going to hurt so much you’ll never be able to come back from it. 

You’re not his, he’s not yours, and it’s too late. Another girl calls him baby, he calls her honey, and they go on and have the life you were certain you never wanted - all because you can’t let him in the way he wanted you to. This isn’t a movie, there is no rewind, there is no pause, and it’s time to move on. 

“I’ll go get that, you have cheese to…uh…” 

“Y/N, wait-”

You’re already out of the kitchen, speed walking to the front door. Dreading the girl you’re certain is on the other side, you start to pull your shoes back on. Maybe you could slip out with an excuse and leave. Your destiny isn’t Steve, it’s to always run, to always be alone. 

The door swings open and you look up from your crouched position, one shoe on. Eddie is standing in the doorway, holding a bag of Hawaiian Rolls and looking at you, eyebrows raised in wait.  

He holds open the door and gestures outside as he asks, “Should I leave this open?”

Your stomach swoops, thinking of the chance he’s giving you, the opportunity to do what you want, no questions asked. But your heartbeat thuds loudly in your ears at the opposite side of the coin - the other chance he’s giving you. 

A deep breath is exhaled as you shakily ask, “That depends…are you still knocking?”

Eddie shrugs. “Maybe. Only one way to really find out right?”

Nodding once, you stand. A limped step over to the door with one shoe on, and you close it. Your palm rests flat against the wood as you take another calming breath. The sounds of the others in the kitchen are muffled as you turn around and look up at Eddie. You kick off the shoe, take a step forward, and mime opening a door.

Letting a tear slip past your lash line, you shrug, standing in the metaphorical open doorway and hold your breath. 

He smiles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Thank god, my arm was getting really tired.”

Another watery laugh starts to escape you and you wrap your arms around him in a hug. “I’m sorry. For everything, for dragging you into all of this and for leading you on and…and…”

He extends his fingers, counting his points as he sighs, “You forgot for being stubborn, for not asking me to be the Inigo to your Buttercup, for-”

“I’m sorry.” You force every ounce of meaning behind the words as you squeeze his waist tighter and he finally meets your hug, long arms wrapping around you. 

“We’re all good sweetheart, don’t sweat it.” He pats your shoulder and takes a step back, cocking his head, “But that’s not all…” he taps his finger to your forehead, “What else is going on up there? Why were you leaving?”

“Y/N, please don’t…” Steve trails off as he comes into the entryway. You duck your head and sniff quietly, hoping there’s no evidence of your tears that escaped and break away as Steve clears his throat. “So-sorry. I thought you were…nevermind.”

Steve turns quickly on his heel, back towards the kitchen where the sounds of Robin and Nancy arguing about something echo louder down the hall. Eddie sighs, rolling his eyes at Steve’s back, and gestures for you to go before him, quietly whispering, “We’ll chat later about that.”

“Why does it smell like that? What did you put in it?” Nancy is bent down, looking at the dish you placed in the oven. Her hair is damp, curls weighed down against her cheeks, but her sleek outfit is back on, sans coat, sleeves rolled up. 

Robin’s hair has a towel twirled on top of it, though she’s otherwise back in her jeans and sweater, her hands on her hips. “I don’t know! I did exactly what you said!”

“What’s going on?” Eddie asks, tossing the bread onto the counter. 

“You don’t smell that?” Nancy shakes her head, hand held out to the air in exasperation. 

Steve’s back is to you as he dumps cooked noodles into his pot of melted cheese and Eddie shakes his head no. Your nose starts to wrinkle though the longer you sit in the space. 

Your hands raise, “I swear I just put the marshmallows on.”

It takes Nancy gagging on a bite she tries to eat of the casserole and Steve going through his spices next to his pot to realize Robin used paprika instead of cinnamon. A lot of paprika. 

She throws her hands up in the air as she storms out to the deck, where you’ve all decided it’d be better to eat, bundled up from the cold, than inside trapped with the smell. “You know what, I never asked to cook anything so eat you’ll eat your paprika sweet potatoes and like it!”

As everyone sits at the table, Eddie looks around and asks, “Shouldn’t we wait for one more?”

“What?” Steve asks him, tone a little sharp, sitting down in the seat across from you.

“Your fiance? Isn’t she coming?” Eddie prods, meeting Steve’s cold attitude with an equal sting and rolled back shoulders. 

“I’m sure she was earlier,” Robin mumbles into her wine glass, “Ow.” She glares at Steve who kicks her under the table. 

Nancy rolls her eyes as Steve shakes his head no, clearing his throat, “She’s…we haven’t…she’s with her family already.”

Robin sighs from her spot next to you and your eyes meet Steve’s before jumping down to your plate. The pressure around your heart squeezes even tighter - maybe it was only easy with him because she’s not here, and that is not always going to be the case. Your fingers itch, neck rolling from the tension. You want to get up and walk away, but Eddie’s knee nudges yours and your shoulders relax slightly. 

Nancy raises her glass, changing the subject, “Okay, before we dig in, I want to say that I’m very grateful for you all, and here’s to many more years of Friendsgiving.” She smiles at Robin when she uses the name. 

Robin beams, holding her glass up too, “Here, here! Now everyone take two scoops of the potatoes.”

Glasses clink and laughter shared, it's easy for you to believe Nancy. Easy with Steve smiling across from you and Eddie and Robin bickering about the food next to you, with her not there, to believe that you’ll be a part of their stories. Maybe - 

“So, Dingus, it’s time to spill all the details about Leigh.” Robin leans forward on the table, her eyebrows raised as Steve’s glass pauses halfway to his mouth. “We don’t know anything and you’re getting married in like five months.”

Nancy and Eddie’s bites and glasses also freeze, not so discreet looks at you from both of them. Nancy finishes swallowing and shakes her head, “Robin, we know enough! Let Steve-”

“No we don’t! I don’t know how you met, or if she’s moved in, and how he proposed and why on earth he didn’t tell his best friend! I have him cornered finally and you’re all gonna help me. Don’t act like you guys don’t want to know either!”

“Robin,” Steve starts licking his lips as he looks at her then you, “Can we not do this right now?”

“Time’s up bub,” Robin frowns, shaking her head, “I promise we like her, she’s cool. But you’ve been dodging the questions and me for weeks now. Start with the easy one, how’d you meet?”

Steve looks at you like he’s in physical pain and you look down at the liquid in your wine glass, swirling the red wine around as you wait for the story that is sure to kill you. You wish he’d just rip the band-aid off, get it over with.  

“We, uh, met through my parents.” Steve swallows a large gulp of wine. 

Your head whips up at the comment and Steve stares at you, frowning before he looks up at the sky. 

Robin’s brows furrow as she asks, “Your parents?” Equally shocked as you are. It isn’t a secret that Steve and his parents aren’t always on the same page. 

Steve rubs at his forehead, closing his eyes before he sets the wine glass down. He straightens, rolling his shoulders back, “Okay, it’s all going to come out anyways so…our parents set us up. It’s been arranged for awhile, we didn’t really date or anything, we’re getting married because that’s what we do. She’s from a good family and I’m from a good family, it makes sense. For business and life and…that’s it.”

The table is silent as Steve’s lips twist, waiting for someone to say something.

Your heartbeat isn’t loud in your ears, your stomach doesn’t swoop - it’s like all noise has left the planet. It’s like someone actually hit pause as his explanation and the last few months catch up with each other in your brain until they meet in a loud explosion. It’s an actual glass shattering sound effect. Heartbreak and hope and disbelief and anger swell inside of you like a wave ready to devour anyone who was stupid enough to enter the unpredictable ocean. 

It’s surprising to everyone, including yourself, when you’re the one to break the silence. The question leaves you so quietly, you weren’t even certain you asked it out loud until he looked at you. 

“So you’re not in love with her?”

As Steve stares at you, the table floats away, it’s just you and him. His mouth parts, but no response falls from it. You stand abruptly, chair scraping against the wood deck harshly as you push back, muttering something about needing to put the dessert into the oven. Your stomach that’s been twisted into knots for months feels like someone pulled one loose thread and it’s unraveling inside of you. A box of bouncy balls released, an unpredictable canon of confetti, trapeze artists, butterflies, boulders, and a deep ocean swallowing you. All of it, finally coming together and creating catastrophe. 

It’s like every single moment you’ve been angry with him is turned up to eleven, but so is every look and touch. Every single one feels like a lie, a slap to your face - he was just using you because he was indecisive, scared, afraid to give up his single life. Steve Harrington was just like every other man. Your entire last few months swirl around inside your brain, replaying every moment, every emotion like a favorite movie. But it’s like someone took that film and told you every single thing wrong with it. Like they pointed out how everything you loved was just covering up the real and horrible plot - bright lights and pretty sets to convince everyone they had a good time, when in reality it was cheaply made and not worth it. 

Your hands shake as you start to rip at the foil covering the pie, and his voice calls out behind you, “Please let me answer that question. Please let me explain.”

A scoff leaves you, eyes closing as you bite back, “It’s fine Steve. Clearly I was just some placeholder for you the whole time.”

“Placeholder?”

You spin, hands in the air as you search for words to make him see how much this hurts you. “Yeah, yes. Some, I don’t know. Last hurrah!”

“What?” The word comes out sharp, like he truly doesn’t understand what you’re saying. His cheeks are pink, his hair blown from the wind outside, eyes wide and blinking at you like you’re crazy.

“You heard me! I was just some fun fuck before you sealed the deal on your spoiled brat fate.”

Steve’s mouth falls open, then quickly closes, taking a step closer, hands clenched into fists as his brows furrow. His jaw tightens with each word, “I’m not a spoiled brat!”

Another scoff, a cold laugh as you wave your hand again. “Oh please Steve! You used me to bide your time and prolong the inevitable! You were just avoiding looking at the contract you signed!”

Steve stands over you, both of your chests rising and falling in time, the air inside the kitchen warmer from the oven being on all day and your words shouted at each other - the sparks leaping from your bodies and engulfing each other. 

“I didn’t use you! You offered! It was all your idea! I’m so sick of this-”

You shove at his chest and he grabs your wrists, as you mock him, voice dripping with fake pity, “Oh, poor Steve Harrington. I have to get married and say goodbye to my single life, but let me use this girl-”

“This isn’t about me, I have to make decisions that affect my whole family, I can’t just say no! And what was I supposed to do? The person I want doesn’t want me!” HIs voice cracks as he drops your hands, fire cracking and sizzling between you both. His admission, the chance to tell him he’s wrong, that you do want him, makes your heart beat turn rapid, like it’s actually trying to punch its way out of your body. 

You shake your head, pushing down the flames of hope threatening to burn you alive, pushing him away. “You saw an opportunity to postpone but not fully deny. It’s fine Steve, I get it. It was the safe option.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Grabbing the pie, you sob, “Security. Money. You couldn’t say no to them. And then when I offered to fuck you no strings attached? Man,” you scoff out another laugh around your tears, “You probably thought you won the lottery, huh?”

Steve grabs for the pie, his eyes wet as he shakes his head. Voice hoarse as he argues, “You’re so unbelievably wrong. I couldn’t fucking wait for you to maybe, hopefully, open up one day! I have to move on! And it’s not like she’s a bad person, and I don’t know why we’re arguing about this again, because clearly you’re with Eddie.”

You tug harder on the dish but Steve doesn’t release as you cry out, “Oh! No! Don’t even try that! Eddie and I aren’t together and we never were! You’re using that as an excuse! Tell me Steve. Tell me you love her, that you want to marry her.”

“I-”

“Is that what your future looks like? Huh? Ten years down the road, it’s her? That’s what you imagined and not your parents?”

“Y/N, it’s not that simple!”

“It is! What do you want, Steve?”

You need him to tell you and he needs you to tell him and neither of you will - because you’re scared, stubborn. Two suns burning too hot and close together, and it was inevitable for it to end this way. You both stood on the edge of that cliff and saw the end you’d meet and you jumped anyway. Was it worth it? 

“I can’t believe you two.” 

This is the moment. 

It wasn’t when he showed up at the football game with her. It wasn’t the party. It wasn’t the engagement.

It’s the look Robin is giving you both from her spot in the doorway. It’s the pie and the glass dish hitting the floor in shards of sapphire blue and orange peaches. It’s Steve and you both turning to her, shaking your heads no, saying her name in the same pleading way.

Her bright blue eyes turn to glass as she chokes around a tearful laugh, “I knew, I knew you both were hiding something, I just…why? Why couldn’t you just tell me?”

Nancy reaches for Robin’s wrist, “Robin, they didn’t mean to…”

Robin recoils, swiping at her cheeks. She looks at Nancy, then at Steve whose head falls, his hands in his hair. Eddie looks down too when Robin turns to him and she steps back again. “Everyone knew, huh? You all have been lying to me this entire time? Why? I don’t…” She shakes her head again and runs past you both, down the hall and slams the door. 

Steve starts to go after her when a small frame stands in front of him like she’s twice his size, hand pressing to his chest. Fury burns in Nancy’s eyes as she blocks the hallway. Her voice low and far more angry than you’ve heard it be before. “I think you’ve done enough.”

“Nance, come on, that’s not fair,” Steve steps forward again and when she stops him with two hands now, his voice turns sharper, “Don’t act like you’re the only one who cares about her.”

“Yeah, well you’ve got a funny way of showing it Steve.” Nancy looks at you, “I think you should leave. All of you.”

Eddie grabs your elbow, speaking quietly, “I can drive you home.”

Steve laughs, “Oh, I’m sure you can.”

“Steve,” you start and he interrupts you, hands running down his face. 

“No. It’s fine. It’s all my fault right? I’m the only one in the wrong?” He pushes past you, shoulder hitting Eddie’s hard and the door slamming even more so behind him. Pictures rattle against the wall, Nancy and her family's smiling faces tilted in their frame. The world turned off its axis. 

It’s Nancy’s quiet knock from down the hall, Robin’s shouted ‘leave her alone’ and Eddie’s sigh of ‘fucking, christ’. It’s that there you stand, the door closed behind him, the mess you made, literally, surrounding you. 

This, the consequences of all of your actions - is the double tap. 

You let the mess build, you let the avoided truths take deeper roots and spread lies to cover them up. All because you wanted the hope to stay - you wanted it both ways - despite telling yourself different, despite lying to yourself for months.

Now, it’s too late. You’re just a girl who isn’t in a rom com with a happy ending. You’re alone, and the hope that maybe you wouldn’t be for once isn’t just gone, it’s ripped from your fingers. 

The book is closed. The knife drips in the killer’s hand as the victim’s chest stops heaving. The spacesuit floats through a noiseless and lifeless galaxy. The body doesn’t get up from the mats and a silence falls over the crowd. 

“Fuck!”

Your hands smack the steering wheel, a sob leaving you as your forehead falls against it. 

You’ve been driving around for hours, hopeless. Your heart hasn’t stopped its erratic and hard beats since you ran out of Nancy’s. Somehow your body still courses with adrenaline, fight or flight still at war inside of yourself. Every time you think about the look Robin had on her face, every time you think about how much you hurt her, or how you may not see her again, you feel real, visceral, pain and panic. Your hands start shaking, the crying starts its cycle over from scratch, and you have to pull over until the snot sobbing stage settles into a calm, sort of silent cry. 

This is a mess, and it’s your mess. Despite wanting to put all of the blame on Steve, you simply can’t run from this truth anymore. It was you who came up with the plan. Steve was hesitant immediately, bringing Robin’s thoughts up right away. It was you who came up with the Red Hot Ranch code, who kept going. It was you who called it off and started it up again despite knowing how it would all inevitably end. It feels like you pushed Steve off the cliff and thought it was okay because you were diving after him. 

As you stare out the windshield, you know you have to stop running. Eddie’s words ring through the air.

Open the fucking door. Nobody’s leaving you.

You have to at least try, right? You have to apologize to her, to tell her it was all your fault so if she at least doesn’t forgive you, maybe you can offer a crack in the door to her forgiveness for the others. The others who simply got caught up in your lies, tripping over the tangled knot of roots they took.  

You’re certain Robin and you met how and when you did not by chance, the universe gave you each other for a reason. You’re certain that there are soul mates, they’re just not in the form you always suspect. And you’re certain that if you don’t try to make things right, you’ll be miserable and truly alone for the rest of your life.

Robin once told you that she was there, and that she would be there when you were ready and you hope the offer still stands. Maybe you can’t make everything right, you can’t rewind, but you have to at least try to make the ending bearable. 

When you turn the key in the ignition though, your car sputters. Your face twists into an expression of disbelief, only deepening when it does it again and your mouth falls open in shock when it suddenly starts to rain, mixing with snow that melts immediately on the ground. You laugh, looking out the windshield at the bleak and miserable sky, washing out the city in a dull gray. 

“Of fucking course,” you mumble under your breath. Getting out of the car, you sigh as you lock it. You shield your eyes as you stare up at the sky and laugh, “You’re real funny. Great joke.”

Maybe it was a sign from the universe that you needed to really work for it, maybe it was bad karma, maybe you really deserved it, maybe it was even supposed to be a blessing - washing away the past to clear the slate for the future. 

Regardless of reason, you don’t take the train, and you make the slow and wet walk back to where you came from. 

The buzzer for her place rings with no answer. You know that she’s home because the light is on, and you intercepted her take out. 

“Buckley I’ll keep buzzing, your egg rolls are getting cold!”

When she doesn’t answer again, you sigh, pressing your wet forehead to the cold brick and hold it down again, pulling out the big guns. “Okay, Robin, I, listen. I am so sorry. And if you want to hate me and never see me again, that’s totally fine, I understand. Because honestly, I am…I am scum for lying to you. I am pond scum. I’m lower than pond scum. I am the fungus that feeds on the pond scum.”

You release the buzzer and when there still isn’t a click of her responding your chin trembles. Maybe you really did fuck it up that badly and there is no coming back from this. It was silly of you to think she’d ever forgive you, especially when she has Steve. You’re about to set the food down and buzz again to tell her you’ll leave when the front door opens. 

“You’re lower actually.” 

A sob leaves you as Robin stands in the doorway, arms crossed over her favorite Hawkins Band sweatshirt. The fuzzy lime green socks with banjos on them that you got her for her birthday on her feet.  

You nod, swiping at your tears with a free hand. “You’re right. Lower than the fungus. I’m the pus that infects the mucus that cruds up the fungus that feeds on the pond scum.”

Robin’s lips twitch, but she rolls her eyes before they look at the ground. “Quoting Julia Roberts is really unfair. You know how much of a sucker I am for her. Cheap shot.”

A crack in the tightness in your chest starts to pry open as you whisper, “I almost bought roses and had this plan to blare classical music from my car but it broke down and…well, here I am anyways, asking for forgiveness and a chance to explain.”

She raises her eyebrows, waiting, and your chin trembles as your voice shakes, “Robin I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to lie to you about it all for so long. And there were so many times I wanted to tell you. I was selfish and wrong and scared I would lose you - that you’d pick his side and shut me out - but I’m here trying now…please don’t hate me forever. And don’t hate Steve. He did nothing wrong. Or Nancy, or Eddie. It was all me and I’m so, so, so, sorry, please let me explain everything and give me another chance to be even half the amazing friend that you are.”

It’s silent, for what feels like forever, until her eyes meet yours. Shining from tears and her nose wiggles as she sniffles, “You were going to Pretty Woman me?”

You nod, tears roll down your cheeks and mingle with the rain that coats them. 

Robin sighs, choking on her own tears as she laughs, “You just get me.”

She engulfs you in a hug and both of you cry into each other’s shoulders as she says, “I’m still mad you all lied. You’re not off the hook. I think giving me limitless veto power for movie nights is extremely fair and nonnegotiable.” 

Your body feels lighter than it has in months as your arm tightens around her as you agree with a teary laugh, whispering another apology while silently vowing to never let her go. It doesn’t matter what happens next, because at least you have her, and you know you always will. 

Robin trips on a heel as she emerges from her closet. Tilting your head at the dress she holds up, your nose scrunches as you shake your head no. 

She sighs, throwing it on the no pile and groans, “Ugh! This is hopeless!”

As she flops onto her bed with a huff, you laugh and swap places with her, “No, no, come on. Tell me again.”

Robin sits up, staring at her dresser with a furrow forming under her bangs. “I want to look professional, put together, but not like it’s an interview, you know? I want them to take me seriously, but I want to look like me. Ergo, I am doomed.”

Your fingers trail over her clothes, eyes searching again after they roll. “Ergo, you’ve been facetiming Dustin too much.”

A black dress catches your eyes, velvet and cinched at the waist. Pulling it from her closet you hold it up. “What about this? I’ve never seen you wear it. Is it new?”

Her head tilts, “Huh. I forgot I bought that for…” she trails off and looks at you with a sad smile. “Right. Yeah, you don’t think it’s too low cut?”

You shake your head no, taking a deep breath at her change of subject, thoughts drifting to if she bought it for the wedding or something related to it. Maybe you could ask, but you’ve sort of had a non-verbal agreement to not discuss Steve the last month and it’s been working. After explaining everything to her, including how you felt about him getting married, your complicated feelings, it just felt easier to not discuss anything relating to him. 

“Throw a nice necklace on, you’ll be perfect babe,” you make an a-okay symbol with your fingers, “The Wheeler’s aren’t gonna know what hit em.” You smile and look at the clock on her nightstand, handing the dress out to her, “Get to it though, or you’ll be late.”

Robin makes no move to get up, holding the dress in her hands and staring at it. 

She shakes her head no. “I can’t do this.”

Sitting next to her, the bed bounces lightly and you grab her hand. “You absolutely can do this. It’s just meeting the parents and siblings, all of whom you’ve met already.”

“But not as her girlfriend. When I met them she wasn’t even out. What if they hate me? What if I spill something? What if I order the wrong wine?”

Laughing, you hold her panicking face in your hands, taking a deep breath to encourage her to do so too. “Robin. Breathe.”

She does, her exhale shaky and you smile, head tilting as you let her face go, fixing a curl you smooshed. “You really love her don’t you.”

It’s not a question, but Robin answers anyway. She nods vehemently, words tumbling out of her like she can’t help it. “God so much it’s scary. But also not? I want to spend every second with her. I want to tell her about every dumb little thought that pops into my head and I want to hear what she ate for lunch every day. I want to wake up and fall asleep next to her and that’s insane! How can you love a person like that so quickly? Like everything in your body is screaming for it? It’s…it’s that kind of love I’ve only heard about before? That kind of love…” she trails off, maroon polished fingers covering her smile before she keeps going, “It’s easier than breathing. It is breathing, you know?”

As she says the words that prick at something inside of you, prodding on thoughts you’d locked away, her skin pales, looking like she’s going to be sick. “Oh my god I really can’t do this. I can’t-”

“Robin. One step at a time. Change your outfit, you can do that right?”

She laughs, head falling to your shoulder, a sing-song lilt to her voice, “We’ve been here before.”

“Yeah and look at what happened.”

Robin sits up, biting her lip, nodding once and standing. “Right.”

As she changes, you assess her jewelry box. Your eyes roam over the mirror of her vanity, smiling at the pictures. You pause at the one of her and Steve that’s new to you. He has his tongue out, her arm around him and your fingers touch the corner, an ache in your chest wondering what they were doing and what stories they’ll have from the day. 

“Have you talked to him?”

Her question startles you and your shoulders lift. Clearing your throat, you hold the necklace out to her. “No, um, I haven’t. He’s good?”

Robin starts to hook the necklace as she hums, “I think so. It’s hard to tell some days.” She hesitates, her face pinched into a familiar look to you, the one that looks like she’s physically holding words in, a true test for her. She bends down to buckle her heels as she asks, “Is it always going to be this way? Avoiding talking about each other? Seeing each other?”

“No, I don’t think so. I just need some time. I’ll be okay.” Shrugging with a smile, you grab your purse and coat. 

Robin’s blue eyes sparkle under shimmering gold eyeshadow and she tilts her head, a smile forming on her lips as she nods, confident in her words, “You will be. One step at a time.”

“Cute,” you muse, and take a step back. You twirl your fingers for her to spin and she rolls her eyes but obliges. The black velvet dress cuts off at her calves, hugging her curves in a sexy but modest way and the gold pendant on her necklace matches the blocky old-fashioned heels. You yell out, “Ow-ow!” 

Robin laughs, waving you off and grabs her phone. “Okay picture!”

“Ew, Robin no! You look so good and I am literally in my sweatshirt with the mustard stain on it.” 

She shushes you, “Tough tater tots toots.”

She pulls you in as you laugh, both of you easily falling into a goofy pose as she snaps a selfie. She nods her approval and grabs her coat, “Oh yeah, that one’s definitely going on the board.” She clicks her phone closed and you both head towards the stairwell. 

As you step out of her apartment building, Nancy is getting out of an Uber, an emerald peacoat wrapped around her and she stops, eyes only on Robin. 

“Hi,” she whispers, smiling, “Wow. You’re so beautiful.”

Robin’s face turns as red as her nails and you duck your head. “Well, I think that’s my cue to leave. Have a good night,” you squeeze Nancy’s hand, “Tell your brother and El hey from me?”

She squeezes it back, confirming she will, and holds the door open for Robin, then jogs around to the other side and you have to smile at her lack of wanting to scoot across the seat or maybe it’s just her old fashioned, secret romantic side coming out. 

As you start to walk away, you hear your name and spin back around, Robin is leaning out of the window, smiling wide as she asks, “Benny’s tomorrow? 10?”

“I expect a full report!” You cross your arms over your chest, fore and middle fingers crossed in a good luck to her that she mirrors as the car drives away. 

The walk to the train from there is short, your car still out of commission, and you pop your airpods in, debating how your evening will go. Eddie is already home for Christmas with his uncle in Indiana, Robin and Nancy together tonight, and Steve…

Before them, an evening alone like this never would have bothered you. Eating what you wanted to eat, watching what you wanted to watch - you got good at being alone, enjoying it actually. Now, there’s a funny little feeling that pulls at a thread inside of you, trying to unravel the work you’ve done. 

As you wait for the train, pulling your winter hat tighter over your ears, you watch a couple come up the stairs. They have shopping bags in their hands, dressed in warm, wool coats. Giggly, pink cheeks, gloved hands clinging to each other. They sit just down from where you stand against the railing when you get on, huddled together as they look at a map on his phone, and you wonder what their story is - where they were, where they’re going, and if they love each other. It seems like they do, and you wonder if it’s the kind of love Robin explained.

How can anyone love like that aside from fictional people in the movies? How can you love someone so deeply and intensely, without fear of it being ripped away?

But maybe people do fear it being ripped away, and they love regardless. Fear doesn’t make love disappear, it makes it stronger. Because what if that person is gone one day? What if you never told them how you felt? What if you never even got the chance to see if you could love like that? Isn’t it better to try than never know?

As you look out the train doors, the sky is turning a soft pink and purple. The sun is setting over the city in one of those perfect nights, slow, like each color being revealed is a purposeful brushstroke, hand painted. A sign. 

Sunsets. Steve. A good song. Steve. Your friends. Steve. Your family. Steve. 

Easier than breathing. 

An undeniable, unavoidable, unforgiving wave of heartbreak rolls over you. But it’s not alone, it’s hope, it’s questions and answers, it’s relief and clarity and you know what you have to do. 

You unlock your phone, a desperation and need to get all of it out now, fueling each press of your thumbs to the screen. Maybe the story is wrong, but you’re the main character, narrator, and author and you can change it if you just put in the work to do so. Tears begin to fall down your cheeks, and you let them, unashamed, finally free of the place you’ve kept them locked away. Pressing send on the message, you hold your breath, hoping she’s not already too preoccupied with Nancy. 

The train doors open and you rush down the stairs. Each step slams against the sidewalk, sending shocks up your spine, cold air filling your lungs as each stride brings you closer to him, but not fast enough. You have to try to change the story, you have to tell him.  

But when his location is just out of your reach, when you see him, you slow down. 

Steve stands beneath the gold twinkling lightbulbs of the old brick theater, the white marquee sign displaying the title ‘When Harry Met Sally’. He has a black beanie on, hair sticking out and curling slightly. A dark gray peacoat flutters against the back of his thighs in the wind, open to reveal the yellow sweater he has on and your feet come to a skidding stop. His phone is pressed to his ear as he looks up from where he was scuffing his Nike against the sidewalk and makes eye contact with you. 

Your heart beat has thoroughly been replaced again as your hands start to shake, each slow step to him stretched out and lingering, lasting for what feels like minutes instead of seconds. 

What if. What if. What if.

The phone slips, hand falling to his side. His brows furrow just under his hat and you want to reach forward and brush the worry away with your thumb. His greeting leaves him quietly, a puff of his breath and the word floating in the air just a few feet from you.

 “Hi.”

Gesturing with a trembling hand to the sign above that you can no longer see, fully under the gold lights, you blurt out, “Did you know that it came out in 89’? So technically it’s a bad 80s rom com. I was wrong.”

Steve shakes his head, the twinkle of the lights highlighting the brown in his eyes, warm and sweet and deeply confused as he starts, “What are you-”

“I was wrong about a lot of things, Steve. And I know I’m late in saying that. I know I’m late for a lot more, but I think it’s better to say it late, to say it now, than to never tell you and wonder for the rest of my life.”

Steve’s lips part, your name a whisper on them, but you take a deep inhale and prepare to get it all out fast and without fear of needing a breath akin to the way Robin speaks, just so you can leave yourself open and vulnerable despite knowing that it could, and most likely will, hurt. 

“I’m sorry if Leigh is inside or she’s gonna be here soon, but I have to tell you. I…Steve I’m sorry. I wanted to be friends with benefits because I was selfish. You were right. I wanted it both ways. At first, you were just this guy who was hot and funny and knew what he was doing and I didn’t want to lose that. But then, then I got to know you and that’s when it got complicated, because I really didn’t want to lose you then.” You swallow as Steve freezes in front of you, no longer stepping towards you and his shoulders hunch like he’s holding his breath as you keep going.

“I wanted you, but I was scared to commit, scared that if I did commit, I’d lose you all anyways. And I still am scared. Terrified,” you laugh a little as tears start to roll down your cheeks, “But I think being scared is worth it if I’m doing it with you. Because…” Inhaling, you take a step closer as Steve blinks at you, willing the words to keep coming.

“Because I think we could be something special if we gave it a real chance. And I think that we can’t know what’s going to happen, maybe it all blows up in our faces, but at least we tried and we’ll know and we won’t spend our lives wondering what if.” Tears blur your vision as you leave it all out there, words that feel like they’ve wanted to tumble out of you forever just keep coming, faster and faster, your hands gesturing wildly with each one, stepping closer and closer to him.

“And I want to try so badly Steve. I want to hold your hand in public and go on dates and tease you and make memories with you and I think we could fall in love, I think I was already starting to. Like real love. Like that undeniable, scary, kind of love, and I’m sorry you’ll have to wait for me to get there to say it, but if you give it a chance…I think we’re worth the wait. I don’t care that I’m saying all of this too late, I don’t care that you’re getting married because at least I said it and if you wanna stand up there and say I do to her in May then that’s fine, I can move on, maybe, I think, because at least I’ll know I tried and-”

“Woah, woah, woah.” 

Steve grabs your shaking hands, interrupting you. Cedar and mint hit your nose as you inhale, his cologne lingering on his scarf. His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. One hand leaves yours, fingers curling under your chin as he murmurs, “I’m not getting married.”

“You’re…” you hiccup a laugh through your tears, “What?”

He tilts his head and clears his throat, repeating it as his thumb brushes a tear from your cheek, fingers squeezing your hand. “I’m not getting married.”

“You’re not getting married,” you repeat it again, quieter, letting the words sink in. 

Steve shakes his head no, the back of his knuckles brushing more tears from your cheek as he lets out a shaky breath. “I called it off the day after…after everything.”

“Oh,” you swallow, eyes blinking up at him under wet lashes as the reality of the extremely vulnerable words you practically just shouted at him sit unreciprocated still, unable to be taken back. 

Steve’s lips twitch on the right, like he’s fighting a smile, eyebrows furrowed deeper as he sighs, “Yeah. Quit my job too.”

“What? Steve, why, what-”

His fingers trace your jaw as he shakes his head again, rolling his eyes but the smile fighting on his lips wins. “This girl that drives me crazy basically quoted The Notebook scene at me and I decided I’d rather have the life I wanted, have her, or have nothing at all. But I didn’t think she felt the same way, and I wasn’t going to push her again.”

You smile, a laugh bubbling out of you as you shake your head, “You’re crazy about me?”

Steve laughs, his hat bumping yours as your foreheads touch. You drop his hand, both of yours pressing to the soft yellow material against his chest. His breath warm against your cheek as you ask, “So what happens now?”

He pulls away, forehead leaving yours and creating a small space between the two of you, you already want closed again. The lights make the green almost disappear from his eyes, golden, sunshine pulling you in and making you beg for more of it to light you up, a tether, your gravity, just like they’ve always been. 

Steve clears his throat, hands reaching up to cup your cheeks, thumbs brushing over the apples of them as he declares, “Well, rule number one, we tell Robin.”

“Deal,” you tilt your head, playing his game. Your hands slowly crawl up his chest, wrapping around his neck, playing with the collar of the coat as you throw out, “Pet names?”

Steve nods dramatically, pinching his eyes closed, “Oh yeah. So many.” He leans in, nose tracing up the line of yours slowly, foreheads knocking together as the tips of your shoes meet. “I’m gonna call you babe and honey loudly at the grocery store for no reason other than I can.”

“Yeah?” Your top lip hits his with the lift of your smile and question.

He nods. “Yeah.”

Steve’s hands cup the back of your head, tilting you open for him as he ducks down, mouth hovering above yours as he speaks like you’re the only two people in the world. 

“But right now? Right now I’m gonna kiss you.”

“Which bad 90s rom com you steal that one out of, Harrington?” You whisper against his lips. 

Steve smiles, gaze tracing the curve of your lips then meeting yours as he takes a deep breath. 

“You liked it.” 

And maybe the marquee lights twinkle above you a little brighter as you finally meet in a kiss. Maybe snowflakes start drifting down from the clouds lazily, covering everything in a fresh start right at the moment his hands wrap around your waist and pull you impossibly closer, your back arching from the passion of his kiss. Maybe a terrible top forty song blares out of someone’s car as it drives past, your foot popping off the pavement a little when he pulls away for a breath only to lean and kiss you deeper and slower. 

The universe can’t guarantee anything for you and Steve, but it is giving you a chance. There is nothing, not even love, that can keep away the inevitable struggle, heartbreak, or loss life will be sure to throw at you. Which is scary, but doing it together, his hand in yours, makes it less so. Yes, it won’t always be easy, but the hard work you’ll both put in when it isn’t, means it’s real. There is no one other than yourselves who can decide if your relationship could be like the movies. The two of you are the only ones that can calculate if there’s still time for a happy ending in your story. Only Steve and you can be certain that the fear of heartbreak or pain is worth taking the risk, because if you don’t, if you let the chance slip away, you’ll never know if one day you could have called it love. 

WCIL Taglist: @loveshotzz @myobmaya @sweetsweetjellybean @pastel-pillows @littlesubbyflower @johnricharddeacy @freezaz123 @selfdeprecatingnerd @big-ope-vibes @manda-panda-monium @hellkaisersangel @yogizzz @soulmatecashton @happytimeunicorns @mandyjo8719 @lunarxeclipse @buckleylips @beckkthewreck @differentdeputyfishpaper @supardupar @micheledawn1975 @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint @sagelittleplace @totally-bogus-timelady @steves-babysitter @fallinginlovewithqueue @aftermidnightwriting @omgshesinsane @pootcullen @definitionwanderlust @nostalgiafool @palmtreesx3 @scoopshxrrington @live-the-fangirl-life @eddiesguitarskills @mannstarkey @keepingitlokiii @silkholland @redbarn1995

[domainedewinter]

The Price of Fire 1/4

The fire that shines under the moon

Summary: Aemond meets a mysterious silver-haired girl on the beach while facing Vhagar. Solving mysteries is an intellectual game he loves to play and what a magnificent mystery he now has in his hands.. Unbowed, unbent, unbroken, hm?

Warnings: DUBCON, TYPICAL TARGARYEN INCEST, profanity, innuendo, he/him pronouns, you pronoun, fingering, oral m receiving, oral f receiving, misogyny, toxic behaviour, Dom!Aemond, begging, underage HOTD style, nsfw.. (coming soon, I will indicate the chapters containing smut with a 🔥) 

Rating: 18+, MDNI

English is not my first language

If your life has always been beautiful, bathed in opulence and pleasure, your birth remains a mystery nonetheless. As you look at yourself this evening in the tall mirror of the room where you are staying during this journey, this thought crosses your mind once again.

You were still just a baby, a newborn, the day a man you know nothing about except that he was unpleasant to look at and had difficulty walking, offered you to your father with a lot of gold to leave the continent in the greatest secrecy. A wealthy and respected Dornishman, a Martell, who raised you as his own daughter, integrating you into his powerful family upon his return to Dorne and taking care to protect you as if the sky might one day open to take you back. When he couldn't sleep, he would look up at that same sky, scanning the horizon for a threat of which you knew nothing. Yet, with every dream of dragons, clouds, and storms that you shared with your father, he became increasingly vigilant.

It took a lot of persuasion to convince him to let you accompany him to the royal city, the same one he had always warned you about. But he had no choice, always preferring to know you were with him or with trusted people, like the family you had arrived at a few days earlier. And it was not without regret that your father had to leave for a week-long trip, leaving you alone here with your uncle and aunt who treated you like a diamond to be hidden from others' eyes. You never went out, and if you had to meet other people, it was always with a scarf to hide your hair, eyes downcast, so as not to reveal the lovely color of your eyes.

But tonight, awakened by yet another dream of growling, fire and the noise of wings flapping, you look at yourself, still sweaty, in the mirror. Your hair is long, slightly wavy, and moon-colored, as much as your eyes are a pale indigo, asking for answer you're craving to discover. You need to get some air, to be alone, far from this golden prison your father left you in. Gathering your courage, you climb out the bedroom window with grace and agility before slipping into the streets, guided only by your instinct and the sound of the waves calling you.

The sun has set for a while, but the night is surprisingly clear, the moon almost illuminating as if it were dawn. The crowded streets turn into alleys, then paths before your bare feet in Dornish-style sandals - like the rest of your outfit; mustard-colored pants slit at the thigh and a burgundy drape revealing your shoulders - touch the sand still warm from the day. You smile, sighing softly with pleasure and relief to be away from everything and everyone, until a strange noise, a purr or rather, a growl, draws you down to the sea. 

It is not a rock, as you first thought, that stands there, but something alive. And enormous. As you approach, hand outstretched, curiosity getting the better of you, a huge eye opens not far from you, making you gasp in surprise. And it is not the only thing that opens; an huge maw with the smell of sulfur parts, an unknown but dangerous light emerging from its depths.

“Vhagar! No!” 

The voice of a man makes you look up, waking you from the stupor that had paralyzed you upon seeing the creature open its maw before you, and not just any creature: a dragon.

“Who are you and why were you trying to attack my dragon? Do you seek death, little girl? Because Vhagar was about to grant your prayers!” says the voice again, a silhouette stepping between the monster and you, drawing your attention. This silhouette is none other than the prince to whom this dragon belongs, and you know this because your father has taught you. You know the princes and princesses of the great houses, the useful names, literature, philosophy, and religion too.

Tilting his head slightly to the side at your silence, the prince before you seems to be losing patience as you search for his name in your memory. You can see it in his one-eyed gaze, fixed on you. Not knowing what to do, and still somewhat shaken, you turn on your heels and start running, but the flight is short-lived for, after hearing footsteps behind you, you feel a grip on your arm, forcing you to stop your run and turn so quickly that you lose balance and fall backward. The sand cushions your fall, a gasp of surprise and pain escaping your lips as you find yourself pinned to the beach by him. You're not afraid and respond with courage, your thin eyebrows furrow and your gaze attempting to be threatening, even though the man questioning you doesn’t seem frightened at all. 

“That is very rude, turning your back on a prince and refusing to obey, hm? Perhaps you are truly suicidal...”

He almost seems angry that you are so reckless, but you only struggle more, apparently unimpress by him.

"I wasn't trying to hurt your dragon, I just raised my hand to touch it, so let me go!" you reply with rage, kicking and wiggling your hips to free yourself, but Aemond holds on and has a clear physical superiority over you; the rigorous training he engaged in daily since the accident had sculpted his body fiercely and effectively. 

However, despite all his hours of training with Cole and all the fighters he now beat, nothing had prepared him for such audacity from a woman, let alone one so young and in a definitely delicate position.

"Prince Aemond..." you murmur, your voice suddenly losing its courage as you recognize the man who has literally fallen on you. 

It is his single eye that helped you regain your senses and memory. Under other circumstances, you would have been quicker to remember, but the sight of a dragon and the confrontation with a man, alone in the middle of nowhere, had made you lose your composure more than you would like to admit.

Out of all the people living in this great city, you had to stumble upon a prince, and not just any prince; one of the king's sons, the one whose dark rumors reached Dorne. Being terribly close to him, you cannot ignore his hair of the same color as yours, and his eye, his only eye, which stared at you with the same violet gleam.

Your father would be terribly furious and scared if he learned about this. It shouldn't happen; you need to leave and disappear as quickly as possible, return to your chamber, and not come out until his return.

Just for a moment, you think you might be scared - not only of Aemond Targaryen, but of the consequences of your encounter. But the thought doesn’t have time to take root before the prince lifts you to better pin you against the ground again, wanting to bring you back to reality.

"You seem to know who I am but refuse to tell me who you are." The prince growls, the coldness of his fine features turning darker. He obviously isn’t used to being refused, let alone by a young girl lost on the beach daring to resist him. "Answer me, it's an order!"

You don’t know what you risk by refusing to obey a prince, but the mere idea of your father’s reaction or being recognized fills you with more fear. Trying to sit up, you growl in frustration. "Get off me! I swear I wasn't going to do anything, so let me go!"

Wanting to tip the odds in your favor and taking advantage of the element of surprise, you quickly lift your knee, managing to hit him, probably not hard enough to hurt but enough to surprise him. If he thinks he could intimidate you, he doesn’t know you because when Aemond’s eye widens in surprise, you quickly turn your head and bite his forearm as hard as you can, tasting the warm metallic flavor of his blood against your lips.

Vhagar growls in concert with his rider, who releases you with a hiss of pain, as if he has just put his hand in molten lava. Astonishment paints the prince's features, and it’s the moment you choose to stand up, finally finding yourself on your feet before him. But Aemond Targaryen is quick and just as swiftly on his feet, his dagger in hand. Both of you face each other, in an attack or defense position, no one could really tell.

The only thing you want is to flee. Run as fast as possible, as far as possible. Do not look back. Forget this evening, the dragon. Forget the prince and the fear.

You have not learned to fight, and now that the moon reflects the prince’s deadly blade, you know the fight is lost from the start. Yet, that’s not the only thing the moon and the fight have uncovered; your scarf is negligently stretched out at your feet, in the sand, revealing your entire hair and leaving no doubt about your astonishing resemblance. 

At this sight, the prince lowers his weapon slightly, fascinated by what he sees; not only by your similar traits but by you, just you. He looks at you as he has never looked at anyone, a new gleam born in his eye. “It seems we started off on the wrong foot. Will you stop struggling or trying to flee? On my side, I promise not to use this,” he says, showing you his dagger, “against you.”

The options are unfortunately limited for you, but curiosity wins over your reflections, abandoning all common sense. The worst is already done; Aemond Targaryen has seen how much you resemble him so, why to refuse? You nod gently and stand up completely, letting your hands hang at your sides as he approaches cautiously, scrutinizing every part of you his lilac eye can land on.

“What is your name?”

“Roxaene.”

"Judging by your clothes, your posture and your intact features, you come from a house with, at least a last name I imagine."

“Martell.” You finally add, a sigh of frustration escaping your lungs at having had to reveal so much to him.

His fine eyebrows furrow for just a moment, creating a line between his two eyes. “The Dornish women have quite different physical characteristics in my last memories; they are known to be magnificent and captivating and although I definitely don't question the beauty of your face - and what else I can see...” he says, letting his eye run along your body, your skin offered on your shoulders, seeing the paleness of your thigh and your bare arms. “..it seems obvious to me that if you live in Dorne, you are not originally from there. Isn’t that right?”

Uncomfortable, you swallow, your gaze unable to fix on anything, uncertain. You bite your lip for a moment and look at him again, not wanting to appear frightened or hesitant. “There are some shadows around my early days of life...”

Aemond murmurs in approval, circling you like a bird with prey, like a dragon before attacking, and it’s when he is behind you that you shiver as his blade appears in front of your eyes, just far enough for both your reflections to appear. “Shadows or not, you cannot deny what you see, can you?”

Feeling him so close to you, almost glued to your back, makes you tense, but you remain stoic. Of course, you see how your resemblance is unsettling, of course, you see the similarities that make you who you are. But your father never wanted to tell you more, so even if you wanted to, you couldn’t reveal more to the prince.

“Yes... but I’m afraid I have nothing else to tell you.” In a last moment of courage, you turn your head towards him, your gaze meeting his. “In fact, I was hoping that by coming to this city, I would be the one to get some answers.”

He remains motionless, staring at you while listening to you and yet, even if your words have reached his mind, the prince cannot help but smell the scent of orange blossom from Dorne's gardens filling his nostrils as he inhales you like a succulent meal to taste, pressing his chest closer to your back to feel the warmth. At that moment, the young prince knows that he will never want to let you go again. Aemond Targaryen loves to plan, think, decode, understand. Solving mysteries is an intellectual game he loves to play and what a magnificent mystery he now has in his hands.

Unbowed, unbent, unbroken. Without a doubt, you respond proudly and courageously to the dogma of your house, but this, instead of curbing the curiosity and desire of Prince Aemond, only increases his desire to unravel your mystery. To make you bow, bend and break for him.

[lindentree]

Thinking about the helscape not having a sky. It's like the nether, so the closest they have is the cavernous netherrack ceilings. The only weather they have is ashy smog and the occasional rain in warped forests if you're lucky. All anyone knows about the sky is rumors passed down from the few people who have made it out and back again.

Imagine getting out. You'd heard of the sky, of course. Everyone had. You knew it was blue in the day, and black with white specks at night. You knew about the sun and the moon, about clouds and weather and storms.

What you see still completely stuns you.

You've seen blue before, in warped trees and the occasional lapis vein. This is completely different. It's so many different shades of blue at once, and so vast it goes on forever. Clouds float lazily across, fluffy white and welcoming. The sun is bright and warm, and you have to stop yourself from staring at it. It's all so vibrant you can hardly believe it's real.

Oh, and sunsets! The sky is pained with every color at once! Red to orange to yellow, a thin line of green, then blue to purple to black. The colors stretch for miles, and if you didn't know better, you would've thought it was one of those rainbows you had heard about. And as the sun sinks deeper, pinks and golds dance across the clouds and cast shadows above them. You stare and watch for hours, until the sky is completely dark.

The description of the night sky was the most lacking, you think. The stars - white dots was no where near a good enough comparison - dash all across the sky. If you look close enough, some are even different colors. Some make pictures, you remember vaguely. You don't know which ones. You make up your own, and it's endlessly fun. Where stars cluster closer, the sky turns different colors. Indigos and purples and navy blues. You wonder how such colors can even be made. It seems magical.

And as you sit and stare, you know that none of this was meant for you. This sky belongs to a loving universe, and to the people that it loves. You do not belong here. Your home is a hateful universe, where pain and death are ever looming. Where the closest thing you have to a sky is the far away ceiling and the closest thing to clouds are the ghasts that float by.

This sky will never be for you.

[shiny-kaibernyte]

hi i heard you're The Guy Who Writes Drayton Stuff /silly uhhh if you're ok with it could I possibly request something with Drayton x Reader who's mute (and bullied because of it)? thank you :)

This is the first post i have written since coming back for the new year. I'm currently focusing on my new etsy shop I'll be opening soon but I'm so happy with how this one turned out and I do hope you do to. 💜

Moonlight Silence | Drayton x Mute Reader

Pokémon Scarlett and Violet Indigo Disk DLC Spoilers ahead!

Mentions of bullying and self doubt. Drayton comes to your side in your moment of zen. Deciding to tell you what he truly thinks in the first moment he gets to share with you.

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

It was so quiet. The stars above you shining brighter than normal, the moon's radiant light more prominent than you’d seen it before, almost a halo around the planet. Refreshing. That was the only word your mind could muster up in the sea of peace. Just you and the sky, no Pokémon, no people, not even a cloud. Pure peace, the odd sound of a Pokémon cry being the only thing truly bonding everything together. Sometimes the thought of what was up there ran across your mind… what if you could just grab a star, hold it, love it close up instead of admiring from afar. As if you were trying to make your thoughts come true, your hand reached up towards the sky, covering the moon so only the stars could be seen by your eyes, until another sight took over. “Seems you’ve taken, reaching for the stars literally huh!” Your new vision chimed looking down at you completely covering your vision. Lowering your hand you realise your visitor is no other than Colgate himself, Drayton. 

Quickly sitting up, you stare at him in pure confusion. Drayton was never up at this time, he may have been a bit laid back but he stuck to a very strict sleep schedule, so seeing him up past that was highly confusing. Not to mention the fact he was out here alone, normally he’s paired up with Crispin. Apparently your confusion was noticed by your new companion who simply chuckles at the sight of your face, sitting down beside you.

“I came looking for you…” Drayton bluntly responded, a small smile appearing on his face when your confusion only grew more. He was looking for you? Once again as if he could read your mind, he continued. “Your confusion, I can tell you are wondering why I'm out here. Now you're asking yourself why I came out here specifically to find you… If I'm honest, I've been trying to find you all day. Seems Arceus had other plans for me today.”

Turning on your knees, you give him your full attention, confusion now curiosity as your attentive ears perk up in anticipation. Why had he been looking for you all day? He had your number so he could have just texted you, left a voicemail, anything at all. Why in person?

With a sigh, Drayton turns his head to the sky admiring the same stars you just were. “You know I'm not one to use tender words. Just wastes time and plays on the emotions of others. I prefer speaking plainly and honestly! You know that better than anyone… So I'm going to ask you this plainly all you need to do is nod yes or no.” 

His attention was now back on you, a small bit of concern laced over his eyes, causing your stomach to sink slightly.

“Yesterday, those two boys… were they bothering you?” He asks plainly. Within a moment your eyes grew wide as you replayed the scene in your head. Skipping over small details, only remembering the feeling of them pushing you against the wall, dragging you around in a strange push pull game, yelling hurtful and disgraceful things to you, all because of your silence. This wasn’t an uncommon occurrence either by these two. To be used as they’re punching bag in a sense. But never once would you go for help, to you, it would have only been confusing. Having to write down what you wanted to say. So all you could do was repress the thoughts in your head and continue on with your day, as if it never happened. But now… sitting here, being, asked about the event. The images of their faces, coated in a sinister smile, as if these boys had some kick in seeing your misery. Their eyes were black in your mind, blocked out completely, only their mouths repeating the words over and over. “That’s a yes”

Drayton's sudden words pulled you from your daze, staring intently at him, confused as to how he knew this. From your knowledge… No one else was there in that hallway.

“You know you can come see me if you're being bothered right? You don’t have to go through something like this alone! No one deserves to be treated like that. And don’t give me that ‘I don’t know what you mean look’ This isn’t the first time I've witnessed it…” He looked at you completely focused on your expressions reading each one perfectly. Gently taking your hands into his he pulled up towards him before continuing once more. “I care about you… so much, and seeing how people treat you, just because you don’t talk is heart breaking, but knowing the fact you didn't think you could come to me, hurts even more. You are so important to me, and I want you to know that I will always be here for you. And I want you to know that I will protect you, even if you don’t want me to stand by your side, I will protect you from afar, or as close as you’ll allow me. But please, don’t push me away, it's alright to be afraid, to feel outcasted. But know, you will never be left behind by me, I will never leave you out to dry.”

Tears began welling up in your eyes, your mind running through the words he said over and over again.

“I just wish I had said all this sooner… This whole Kieran situation, the battle league, everything was keeping me away from telling you this…” Suddenly he snaps out of his own daze, seems he got so caught up in the moment he hadn't realised what was going on, and seeing your surprised face, tears running down your flushed cheeks caused him to smile warmly, running his free hand across them to clear away the tears. “I’m sorry, seems I got caught up in my own talking I barely gave you a chance to process anything I said”

You began profusely shaking your head, not wanting him to apologise to you for anything, you just couldn't understand why he was saying any of this to you or why he would care so much in the first place. Just thinking of it made you smile. This whole situation was so overwhelming yet so comforting, the only thing you could get your body to do was hug him. A hug which he returned, no hesitation. His embrace was warm, comforting, even more so than the night sky you’d been absorbed in just moments before. All his words seemed so true at this moment.

“You know… I’ve seen many sights since I came to this school, views many people only dream of seeing, and yet, none compare to your smile.”

[coquelicoq]

the moon indigo cloud feel of growing up with a complex about being the only freak of your particular flavor of freak you've ever met and then all of a sudden meeting other freaks who DON'T have a complex because they grew up surrounded by fellow freaks. so now you have your original complex plus a complex about how you're not even good at being a freak even though being a freak has defined your entire existence. you'd think you would feel comforted to find people who understand you but instead it's just making you feel like an outsider again but in an exciting new way. hooray.

[rjalker]

There's a difference between the author really wanting me to believe that these characters think something, and the author actually convincing me that they do, in fact, think that thing. You can't just tell us that they do. You have to convince us that they do.

Yes, author, you very clearly believe that the characters believe XYZ. But you haven't actually convinced me. You just keep telling me like if you repeat it often enough it'll be true, without actually putting the work in to make it unquestionably true.

You can't just rely on the existence of tropes to prove you're successfully writing those tropes.

[walks-the-ages]

someone explain to me how Moon still somehow speaks perfectly fluent Raksuran despite last hearing the language before he knew how to fly, which means he was younger than even Frost, Bitter, and Thorn were in 'The Cloud Roads'.

Like, please, imagine for me if Moon's 30 (40?) year isolation from his culture meant more than him being the Raksuran Equivalent of a Tomboy Warrior Princess.

Imagine Moon having a distinct, strange accent that other Raksura immediately pick up on, because he's learned the various Trade Languages all his life and hasn't spoken Raksuran since he was extremely young.

Imagine Moon not being able to pronounce certain words correctly , stumbling over his words, or getting frustrated when he's not able to communicate his meaning properly because he's more fluent in five other languages than he is the language of his birth.

Moon not knowing how to read Raksuran is a nice touch............ except it's never really impacted him or the plot and it pretty much never comes up because why would it?

The Raksura barely write anything down, Moon never needs to know how to read, it's never a triumph of learning and self-determination when he's able to decipher some important writing on the wall that would have been unintelliglble to him just a book or two ago; him trying to learn how to read is just barely mentioned in passing and as far as I can remember he never fully learns to read either, and I read literally all of the books. I legitimately could not tell you if Moon ever truly learned to read Raksuran because it's literally just not important, either to him as a character or to the plot lol.

Just.......... Moon's been has been seperated from his people since he was too young to fly. And he's in his 30s or 40s. Him being an Outsider and an oddity to Raksuran cultural norms would have been so much more believable if he couldn't talk the talk or walk the walk, not just him being uncomfortable because he's experiencing Role Reversal Misogyny, and doesn't know Raksuran body language, and keeps threatening to eat people as a scare tactic and then gets mad when people are afraid he's going to eat them.

[miyuhpapayuh]

24

“I'm so excited to be here!”

“We're so excited to have you, dear! Have a seat!”

Having been on edge all day about making a good first impression, once she'd gotten to the facility and saw five women that looked like her, their warm energy calmed her instantly.

“We got you a latte, didn't want you to feel left out.”

“Oh, I really appreciate it! I hope everyone's morning has been good!”

The ladies nod in agreement before the leader begins her ice breaker.

“This may seem a bit school-ish, but I like to go around the group and get a fun fact from each of you, and it wouldn't be fair if I didn't kick it off! So, I’m Roni and I started this group a few years ago so black women could have a creative space of our own.”

“And we love you for it! I'm Leia and I'm one of thirteen kids!”

“Oh my gosh, really? What's that like??” Zora asks, which makes everyone laugh.

“Girl, hectic! We're all two years apart, too.”

“My word. Well, I'm Zora and I actually had given up on wanting my own art career, but I'm getting back out there!”

“We're all so proud of you for doing that, it takes courage!”

“Thank you!”

“Of course, doll. I'm Fran and I'm fifty-five, sitting on a pretty pension from my dead husband.” She says, before cracking up, making the girls do the same.

“A hoot, that one is! I'm Trina and I collect rocks and turn them into little scenes.”

“They're really cool, she's gotta show y'all her latest one before we leave! But I'm Dina, and I'm a photography finatic! I'll take a picture of anything!”

She pulls out her phone and swipes through her gallery to emphasize her point. Nothing but trees, cocktails, food spots, selfies, her cat Toby, the sky and moon and clouds in between.

“You're just like me, for real.” Zora laughs. “Also I've never seen a black cat named Toby, how adorable.”

“She's a girl, too!”

“Really?? That's so adorable, too!”

“I know!” She giggles.

Roni and the others laugh at their interaction, knowing Dina and her infectious personality would pull her right in.

The activity of the day was to take your feelings and turn them into a scene. Any theme. People or no people.

Zora painted a vibrant sunset on her new balcony. Two glowy orbs side by side, overlooking the breathtaking view.

“Can I just say wow!?” Fran gasps as she looks over from her own masterpiece, a never ending garden of bright tulips and wildflowers.

“Oh,” Zora covers her face, “thank you!”

“I've never seen anything like this before. How'd you do that, with the shading around the orbs and stuff??” Trina asks, as the group moves in to see her work.

Still flustered by their sweet reception, she blows out a breath. “I actually tried something out while painting. Took the shades around it and made a color and outlined them, it adds some depth to it.”

“Hell yeah, it does!” Roni agrees, making the ladies laugh.

“Thanks, you guys! Now let me see what everyone else is working on!”

“Ooh, come look at mine!” Dina says, pulling them over to her portrait of Toby, his big green eyes making them gasp.

“Wow, those are her eyes, alright!” Trina says, giving her a high five.

“They took me like twenty minutes, they better be her eyes!” Dina laughs.

“She's so cute! Her and vday gotta do a playdate!”

“Absolutely!”

“Uh oh, miss Fran! Let's talk about these flowers!”

“Oh, my pride and joy! I've been gardening for about twenty years, and this is what my garden looked like until a couple years ago. The last time I was able to get out and tend to it all, I took a picture of it and now it's memorialized in this painting.”

“Who knew flowers could make you cry,” Zora frowns.

“That's beautiful, Fran.” Roni says. “Wildflowers are your favorite, huh?”

This makes everyone laugh.

“How'd you guess, you smart cookie??”

“Come look at my pretty rock!”

Trina painted a giant black obsidian rock that was cracked in half, indigo and violet on the inside, pale yellow twinkling in certain spots.

“Wow! I like this one better than my own!” Dina says, punching her arm.

“Y'all are the most talented women ever, I'm convinced.” Roni compliments.

“Wait, let's see yours!”

An up close view of a rib cage, pink and green butterflies litter the inside and linger at the garden planted in the center of her chest.

“Rooted in love?”

“Absolutely!” She smiles. “It's how I've been feeling since getting engaged. Just a love plant.”

“Awww, that's so sweet!”

“Yeah! Are we invited to the wedding??”

“Absolutely! It'll be in the fall, sometime. It's our favorite season.”

“Leia, what did you paint?”

A silhouette of a woman behind a rose colored sheet.

“What's the story behind this?”

“Hollowness, really. I feel hidden most times.”

“Oh, babe,” Trina frowns, hugging her.

Welcoming the gesture, she softly laughs.

“Thanks, but I'm okay, I'm just a middle child.”

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

“Honey, I'm home!” Leon yells from the front door, chuckling as Zora damn near crashes into him, hopping into his arms.

“Hey, baby!” She squeals, inhaling his woodsy scent.

“Hey, my love. I see you missed me!”

Carrying her over to the couch, he plops down with her still attached to him.

“I did! I couldn't wait til you got here so I could tell you how my day went!”

“Oh yeah, I'm all ears! How'd everything go??”

She fills him in on all her sweet new friends, shares their paintings, and gives him a rundown of how their next few meetings are gonna go.

“Look at you,” he cheeses, “my artiste!”

Her nose crinkled as she covered her face.

“I'm good, I guess!”

“Zora Jean, please. You're the best.”

“The best, huh??” She uncovers her face as they both laugh.

“And you know this, lady bug!”

“Thank you, best chef and photographer ever!”

He humbly dusts off his shoulder, making her giggle.

“Speaking of! I can share this with you now,” he says, placing his hands on hers, “today was my last day of work at the warehouse.”

Her mouth drops open in surprise. He smiles widely at her reaction, proud that it was worth keeping to himself.

“You quit?!! Finally??”

“That, I did!”

“I'm so happy for you!” She beams, squeezing his hands now.

“Thank you, my sweet lady.” He smiles, leaning in to kiss her face.

“Aw, you're so happy about this, I love it! What's your plan??”

“Well, I think I can kick off my vlogging now. Not sure if it'll be more than just cuts of me cooking, but it's a start! Also, my boys said they'd support me with whatever I needed while I'm getting started.”

“That's really sweet of them! I can't wait to see your first video! I've got a thing for cameras now ‘cause of you, so if you need any help.. I'm here too!” She cheeses, earning three kisses on the lips.

“Thank you, baby. I may need you to be my camerawoman from time to time, when you're not busy with your own artiste dreams, that is.”

“I'm proud of us. We quit our regular-degular jobs to focus on our passions! How many people, our age especially, get to say that!!”

“We must be god's favorite, huh?”

“Oh, yeah!” She nods, meeting him halfway for a high-five.

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

“Alright ladies, today we are meeting with a few investors and they are very fond of each of your portfolios, so if all goes well, your names will be on front street before the weekend!” Roni squeals as the ladies do the same.

“I'm a little nervous, wow!” Zora huffs, placing her hand over her heart.

“Don't worry honey, your art is divine! If these suits don't like it, they don't know talent. Okay?” Fran says, rubbing her back.

“O-okay. I'm gonna head to the bathroom.”

Excusing herself, she heads down the hall and into the biggest stall of the bathroom, immediately calling Nique.

“Hello?” Her best friend sings into the phone.

“Girl, investors are coming to chat with us today! They've seen our work and are apparently impressed, which is great! This is what I've always wanted… but what if they get here and see our latest pieces and their opinions change? W-what if they don't wanna—”

“Zora! Hey! Calm down, sweetie!” She coos, snapping her out of her spiral.

Inhaling deeply and exhaling roughly a few times, she places her hand back over her heart. It wasn't beating nearly as fast, but she was still frazzled.

“I– it's been such a long time coming, ya know? I'm just… I don't know!”

“It's okay to be nervous, Jean. This has been like ten years in the making! Those investors already like your work, right?? So, you're in there! Don't worry about anything else. It would be remiss if you didn't celebrate your wins. You put yourself out there. You found an art group and they welcomed you with open arms! Investors know who you are!! They know what you're capable of and they're coming to see you and your work. Hell, let's call up that ex whore of yours and rub it in his face, cause you're killing this shit and you haven't even really started yet!”

By this time, Zora’s face was covered in salty tears at her friend's sweet and true words.

“And stop that crying before them girls think sumn wrong with you!” She jokes, making Zora laugh.

“Shut up, man.” She sniffles, wiping her face.

“I appreciate you for saying all of that. You're right. I've waited so long for things to fall into place. It's my time to show what I'm capable of!”

“Hell yeah, it is!” She agrees. “And I know it's rough, but you have to know– believe that you've already done the hard part. Get yourself together and walk out there with your head up high, mmkay?”

“Thank you, Nique Nique!” She coos, making kissy noises.

“Ah, what would you do without me! You're always welcome, Jeanie! I'll be sitting at home, waiting for you to tell me how it went!”

“Expect my knock, later!”

They squeal and talk a bit more to calm her nerves, before bidding each other farewell.

Thankful for her deep brown complexion, she wasn't as flushed as she feared. She wets a napkin and wipes her eyes and cheeks, before washing hands again.

Rejoining the group and assuring them that she's okay, they fall into conversation to ease the leftover pressure even further.

“I've been curious about this for a minute, but I didn't wanna be that crazy old lady that asks too many questions,” Fran laughs, before looking over at Zora.

“You've got a boyfriend, don't ya?”

The instant smile that covers her entire face makes the ladies coo and giggle at her.

“I knew it!” Dina adds. “Caught her smiling at her phone the other day, but I let her live.”

“Y'all,” Zora laughs, shaking her head, “y'all remind me of my sisters so much! Only, they wouldn't let me live anything down, so thank y'all for that.”

“We had to ease you in, first!” Roni pats her shoulder.

“But now that we know you're in loooove,” Trina sings, making them crack up.

“Yes, tell us allll about it!” Leia chimes in.

“He's so sweet, y'all,” she gushes, unable to help the bright smile on her lips as she goes on about her man.

How smart he is. How generous. Rugged. Driven. Hardworking. Dedicated. Inspiring.

“Does he have any brothers??”

“I had to hook my sisters up! But I'll see if he's got any cousins or uncles up for grabs! A young uncle for you, Frannie.”

“That's my girl!” Fran claps.

Soon the investors arrived and Zora was ready to let her work do the talking, her nerves steady.

There were only two people, a white man and woman, which helped a lot. Not too many people to interact with. Zora wasn't the only one who internally felt that way, either.

“Ladies, this is Roberts and Williams, senior investors from Canvas & Company. They came by to talk to us about their experience with buying and selling art, how the market works and how to invest in it.” Roni introduces.

“We are very excited to meet you ladies! In fact, on the way over, we pulled up each of your files one more time, just blown away with the talent we've seen!” Roberts exclaims, clasping her hands together.

“Indeed! Haven't seen much talent like this in a while. Definitely refreshing.” Williams adds, before they get into their spiel.

“Now the art industry has definitely changed in the last thirty years, pushing boundaries on how we capture an image and paint it for others to see. It's very interesting what one can do with a paintbrush or pencil. Speaking of, what's everyone's favorite medium and why?” Williams asks, looking around the room, his finger pointed at Dina.

“Pencil. There's an eraser always close by.” She laughs, and he fondly shakes his head.

“Gotta love the mistakes, too.” He says, pointing to her twin sister.

“Charcoal. I love the mess of it!”

“See? My kinda girl!” He claps, pointing to Fran.

“Watercolor! I love how lightweight it is.”

“I agree, it's probably the lightest type of paint.” Next was Zora.

“Acrylic paint. It's so vibrant and rich, experimental even! Perfect for my pieces.”

“Acrylic is best for that type of thing. Building color, texture.. it's a hassle to preserve, though.”

“Oh, tell me about it! My poor palette has never been the same.” She laughs and so does he, before pointing to Leia.

“Oil pastel, I love the way it glides!”

“As do I!”

Moving on to a slideshow of how investing in art works, the ladies quickly realized they were on the fun side of things, seeing how much people empty their banks for it.

“Seven grand on one painting?? That would take care of so many things.” Fran mumbles, shaking her head.

“Imagine!” Roni whispers back.

“You'd be surprised how much one would spin! One impression is all it takes, a lot of the time.” Roberts says, looking over to her colleague who agrees.

“They try to scare you with the emerging and well known artists as top sellers, but we don't all curate art the same way, which is why we're here. We see potential in every one of you, even your lead! Phenomenal work, ladies, really.” She adds, to which they all graciously thank her.

After the meeting is over, Zora feels a ton lighter than she did when her day began. She was proud of herself.

Making it home, she showers, changes into her sweats and heads across the hall, not even getting to knock before Nique opens the door.

“Hey, girl!”

“How did you–”

“I was sitting on my patio and saw you pull up! Knew the knock was coming!” She answers, pulling her inside and closing the door behind them.

Plopping down on her oversized sofa, Zora lets out a sigh of relief and grabs a handful of popcorn, stuffing her mouth.

“Tired?”

“Mmhm! It's been a long day,” she says with a mouthful, tucking her feet underneath her.

“Well, how'd everything go??”

“Great! There were only two people, a man and a woman, both white and like our mamas’ age. Cool people, though! Super friendly. They asked us about our favorite mediums and told us about how they can help and hinder, how the investment market works and girl, these people spend money!”

How much we talkin’?”

“Anywhere from a couple hundred to a couple hundred thousand!”

“Really??” Nique asks with wide eyes. “Let me go paint sumn real quick.”

Zora laughs, stuffing another handful of popcorn in her mouth.

“No, but seriously I'm glad it went great! No stress, no mess, just you and your unbelievable talent showcasing itself!”

“Me too, it's nice having people with loaded pockets take more than a glance at your work! Hell, I might have met potential buyers!”

“Fingers crossed! Your artwork is gonna be in everybody's living room! Just you wait!”

“You better be in the first ten people to buy sumn!!”

“Like I haven't been buying your artwork since we've known each other! Ima be the first! Next piece you cook up, it's mine!” She declares before grabbing her remote.

“I know that's right! What we watchin’?”

“Beauty shop!!”

“Oh, my movie!!”

@ghostfacekill-monger @thegifstories @blackerthings @planetblaque @blowmymbackout @henneseyhoe @honestpreference @blackpinup22 @abeautifulmindexposed @nayaxwrites @twistedcharismaaa @kindofaintrovert @sageispunk @madamzola @soufcakmistress @megamindsecretlair @starcrossedxwriter @slippinninque

[honey-minded-hivemind]

⚔Wouldn't You Like🏛 AU, The Gods of Genosha, Krakoa, and the Human Kingdoms:

Charles Xavier/Cerebro: one of the kings of the gods, is the god of the mind and learning, can control minds, influence thoughts, heal inner pain, cause hallucinations, and puppeteer others; has a moving throne of metal and stardust; sometimes wears a helmet with an X on it; is married to Erik/Magneto, the other king of the gods; his symbols include: twined branches, mourning doves, ravens, and peridots, jades, and emeralds...

Erik Lehnsherr/Magneto: the other king of the gods, is the god of metals and justice, can control any metal, make anything from metal, is immune to certain powers, can manipulate iron in the blood, and uses metal to summon or throw lightning; has a helm of metal, a cape of silver, and usually his face is unseen; is married to Charles/Cerebro, one of the kings of the gods; his symbols include: shields, helmets, crossed spears, eagles, and titanium, iron, and silver...

Ororo Munroe/Storm: is the goddess of all weather as well as motherhood, can summon any kind of storm (snow, sand, thunder, etc.), can control lightning and the winds, can make the sun shine or make it rain; has a cape/cloak of clouds, hair of mists, and fastenings of gold; her symbols include: clouds, raindrops, lightning bolts, cranes, and blue/yellow topaz, aquamarine, and diamond

Raven Darkholme/Mystique: goddess of trickery, deceit, and secrets, can turn into any person or animal, is able to spy in any form, and is the wife of the minor goddess Destiny, who sees the future; appears naked, but is always blue, wears a belt and loincloth of white or black silk, sometimes a top of white or black; her symbols include: blue snakes, blue moons and stars, tragedy/comedy masks, and sapphires and garnets...

Logan Howlett/Wolverine: god of the wilderness and protection, as well as small woodland predators (ex. wolverines, badgers, foxes, wolves, coyotes, etc.), can go into a berserker mode, has six sharp, gleaming claws of poisonous metal, can take on an army of hundreds of soldiers, can bring out the protective side of others, can make a person become like an animal; wears a jacket or coat of brown leather, and pants or a loincloth of faded blue or black; is the brother of the older (and dual) god of nature and the wild, Victor/Sabretooth; his symbols include crossed claws or swords, badgers and wolverines, and howlite, hawk's eye, and jasper

Victor Creed/Sabretooth: dual god of nature and the hunt, as well as large predators (ex. smilodons, tigers, lions, bears, etc.), can fall into berserker mode, lives by his instincts, can drive men into insane rage/bloodlust, can destroy an entire kingdom barehanded, is also a god of protection; is the older brother of Logan/Wolverine, the autumn side of nature to his winter; wears large furred coats and jackets, or loincloth of golden or brown; his symbols include: tigers, lions, fanged skulls, curved, clawed footprints, and tiger's eye, amber, and gold + pyrite...

Hank McCoy/Beast: god of science, teaching, medicine, and literature, possess great strength of body and mind, knows the secrets of medicine, has scrolls and stone tablets of ancient texts, has taught medicine and shared written language with kingdoms past, and is both a lover and a fighter; is fluffy and dark blue/indigo, has little need for cloths, but will wear dark blue/black pants or cloths; his symbols include: gorillas, lions, scrolls, quills, medicinal herbs, and labradorite, obsidian, and turquoise...

Kevin Sydney/Morph: deity of cunning, mirth and merriment, comedy and tragedy, and change, can take any form and any power, can cause madness, is a master trickster, tends to help down-on-their-luck mortals; is a good friend of Logan/Wolverine; wears a cloth/toga, can be naked or covered in a jacket or clothes, usually in shades of brown, yellow, or blue; their symbols include: chameleons, vipers, butterflies/moths, caterpillars, masks, and opals, color-changing sapphires/garnets, and pearls

(They all had once trained and given a gift/blessing (a mutation) to Reader, but after The Fight, they rarely speak of them... no one can ever speak ill of Reader in their presence or where they can hear, lest they earn the wrath of any of them... they try to be better mentors (read: parents) to the new demigods...)