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lockedstuck · 3 years

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beyond our fury and our silences

2021, 04/17 - Sollux Captor

You envy the patients on the unit who have a “normal” to return to. You never have, and never will. You’ve had periods of more gentle oscillation, like high school as opposed to the jagged highs and equally disruptive lows of your undergraduate years. However, you haven’t been “normal” in terms of psychopathology since you were a kid.

Dr. Vandayar suggests that perhaps your childhood years did a number on your sanity, though not word for word. He’s way more polite about it. You kind of want to hit him for it.

Your dad did his absolute best to raise you, all seventy hour weeks to afford summer camp for gifted kids and SHSAT prep classes. So did your mother, teaching you math and history, even if she was psychotic, even when her mental landscape frequently shifted like sand on the beach.

Once, when you were maybe ten, she came home an hour late from a quick run to the grocery store five blocks away. She explained, gentle yet adamant, that people had decided to follow her home, and she did not want them to know where she was going. What if they’d decided to rob her? Your dad sighed. He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

She sat at the dining room table later, repeatedly drawing pictures of seashells. When you sat down next to her, and pulled your chair close so that you could see her work, she started to explain the Fibonacci sequence to you. It wasn’t hard to understand adding the sums of the two previous numbers together. She launched into another explanation of the not unrelated golden ratio, and you just sat there and let her go on for a while, even when you didn’t quite understand.

She took out a nautilus shell that she had fashioned into a necklace, showed it to you, and wound up giving it to you. When you asked her why, she smiled and shrugged. You continue to wear it underneath your clothing.

Perhaps you’ll give it to Feferi when she gets discharged, given her love of all things aquatic. At this rate, she’ll probably get out before you do, what with the nine ECT treatments you still have to complete.

Out of nowhere, Roxy walks over to you, and you glance up at her. You know by now that whatever comes out of her mouth will be either offensive, amusing, or both.

“Aradia’s on the phone for you, Lispy! Hey, could you tell her something for me?”

You stand up and stretch, fingertips toward the ceiling. “What is it?”

“Tell her that her voice is really cute, but that she’s way cuter in person,” she replies. “Wait, hold up. Tell me she’s not straight. Is she straight? I don’t want to make her uncomfortable.”

You don’t know whether or not to answer truthfully. You should probably ask Aradia about that beforehand. You walk over to the pay phone, and put the receiver to your mouth.

“Ray? Is that you?”

“Hey, Sollux,” she says. Then, a pause that stretches into infinity, or ten whole seconds at the very least. “Is it okay if I visit tonight instead of tomorrow? One of my students is actually attending my office hours, which--”

“--overlap with my visiting hours,” you finish. Maybe you should have let her complete her sentence.

You’re tetchy and impatient, the first thing having been induced by your session with Dr. Vandayar, and the second by the fact that next week will mark one whole month since you arrived at this hospital, and what precisely do you have to show for it?

Roxy’s almost completely weaned off methadone and will probably leave next week, to go to inpatient rehab. June is going home the Monday after next. Feferi got here the same day as you and will most certainly be gone the same week as June. Eridan will be gone before you finish out your ECT treatments, since his conclude next week, as will Karkat, Porrim, and probably even Calliope. The only person who may not leave before you is Latula, and although she’s perfectly kind, you don’t know her very well.

You didn’t realize how long you’ve stewed in your thoughts until you hear Aradia ask, “Are you still there?”

“Yeah. You said you wanted to come tonight as opposed to tomorrow. That’s fine.”

“And what about you?” she asks.

You shrug.

“What about me?”

“Are you fine?”

The only person you suck at lying to more than Aradia is your father, and your dad is only leading by a narrow margin. That may be why you signed a HIPPA release so that your treatment team could talk to both of them.

“I had a weird therapy session today. Normally I get along with my therapist, but today I almost wanted to punch him in the face.”

Aradia asks if you’d like to talk about it, and your kneejerk is to say, “hell no”, but during another therapy session a couple of days ago, Dr. Vandayar stressed the importance of not being unwilling to depend on one’s support team. As vaguely annoyed as you still are at him, you did concede the point on Monday afternoon.

“I guess it was because… well… fuck, I don’t know how to explain this without sounding like an asshole. He didn’t actually say anything that wasn’t true, but maybe it was the way he said it? I don’t know. I’m sorry, Ray, I’m rambling all over the fucking place.”

“Don’t worry about it. Go on.”

“He pretty much said that my situation with my parents could have contributed a lot to why I’m all fucked up in the head. Not currently, but like, before, when I was a kid. I was like, where exactly does this guy get off making that kind of judgment? And then I was like, dude, you weren’t there, you didn’t see it, so how do you know? ‘Cause my parents, they did the absolute best they could with what they had. I mean, I didn’t say that to him, but I felt it. And I felt angry at him about it.”

A long silence, one that you feel sink down to the pit of your stomach.

“Well.”

“Well, what?”

“I get that you’re upset, but Sollux, it’s not like this is something you’ve never said to me.”

“But Aradia, that’s different. I was there. So were you, for parts of it. You’ve met my parents a billion times. But aside from a few conversations with you and Baba, Dr. V barely knows anything about my life. For him to say it like that… I don’t like it. I don’t know why, but I don’t.”

“Because it seems like he’s judging people and events he hasn’t had the opportunity to witness first-hand.”

“Yes! Exactly! That’s it!”

It feels like an indictment against your family, and if you are anything to a fault, you are loyal to Mituna and your parents. All of them came together for you, the youngest, the most successful. Even being here, unable to provide for them both emotionally and financially, feels like the worst blow in the world.

You shouldn’t be here getting the memory zapped out of you in some last-ditch effort to quell your mania and depression. You should be outside working, seeing to the needs of someone besides yourself. You should be meeting Aradia at her apartment every other night, helping her clean out her apartment, which quickly devolves into chaos, ashtrays full of spent cigarette butts, and dishes piling up in the sink, as she scrambles to finish up her master’s thesis.

Because if there’s one thing you’ve learned from your father, it is that you are what you contribute, and being here, seemingly unable to contribute anything, might just be the worst sensation in the world.

You’re alone with yourself here, face to face with everything you hate about yourself, with all your aspirations and all your neuroses, and you hate it, you hate it, you hate it, you want out so badly. But what if they don’t let you leave and you end up at your mother’s worst fear - involuntary status? If four weeks of hospitalization seem like hell, what about sixty days, your fate handed down via court order?

What if that knee-jerk desire to 72 hour letter yourself away from thrice weekly therapy sessions is just another trap? What if you leave and try to slit your throat again? What if you actually succeed this time around? Who the fuck is going to take care of your family?

It all comes down to that.

You’d rather like to bang your head against the wall until you either make things clearer or knock yourself out.

“I’ll be there tonight, Sollux,” Aradia says, suddenly. Not for the first time, you wonder if she can read your mind and tell when you’re starting to decompensate more than usual.

Aradia gets there long before six o’ clock. In fact, you notice her tell-tale garnet-colored blazer, as you look through the small rectangular window in the door of the main unit, sometime around 5:20. A woman in a small black dress stands not far away from her, and once you notice her carefully coiffed blonde hair, you walk over to the women’s side of the unit and loudly knock on Roxy’s door.

“And what can I do for you?” she asks, removing the headphone radio that has all but been surgically attached to her head. “Do you have news about Aradia’s sexual orientation?”

You roll your eyes at her, more to keep up appearances than an actual rebuke.

“Your mom’s here,” you reply.

Roxy seems to consider this, then picks up her stuffed cat from her bed and pads into the hallway. Calliope waves at you, the light on their side of the room switched on so they can write. You wave back, then follow Roxy back to the main door of the unit, to resume your little vigil.

You stand without word or gesture, a good six feet away from the door so the night staff doesn’t bitch. They seem to have given up on Roxy, who stands only two feet away from the door and jumps up and down as she waves to her mom. Her mom waves back, though in a more sedate fashion than her child.

You rather like Ms. Lalonde, honestly. It’s hard to dislike a family member who comes so often. According to Roxy, she only misses Mondays for work related reasons. You think the only person who has her beat in terms of visiting is June’s dad, who has yet to miss a day of seeing his daughter, at least during your stay here.

After about ten minutes of furious waving, Roxy starts doing the YMCA with her arms. Her mother actually returns the motions.

Aradia glances at her, cracks up, and giggles helplessly, which makes you smile.

When they finally start letting visitors in, Aradia steps behind Ms. Lalonde without a word. Aradia signs the book after her, and then Mr. Egbert signs after that.

Maybe he smuggled a whole ass lemon meringue pie onto the unit. You’d probably kiss him if he did that, and you’re pretty sure macking on your friend’s hot dad is frowned upon in most situations.

Aradia walks into the unit, and it’s only a moment before you’ve scooped her up into your arms. You’re so skinny that Karkat calls you a walking skeleton comprised of caffeine and spite, and Aradia has more curves than a parametric equation. You still manage to pick her up so her toes momentarily leave the ground, pull her close, and kiss her forehead before you let her go.

She interlaces your fingers with hers.

“What table are we sitting at tonight?” she wants to know, gazing at the sea of round wooden tables in the dining room.

“The one by the window, in the corner,” you decide, after a moment’s thought. The chairs are heavy, so they can’t be thrown across the unit by angry patients you suppose, but you pull out your chair and sit down easily enough. It occurs to you that maybe you should have pulled hers out, but she gets the job done.

You sit right beside her, and before you can think on it, you let her pull you close. Your head on her shoulder, and your arm thrown around her back. It’s not the most comfortable position, but she smells like lilies, cocoa butter, cigarettes, and home.

You bring to mind all the animal skulls on her shelves, all the volumes of dead poets stacked haphazardly around them. Everything has been arranged to display her fixation on things that have shuffled off this mortal coil, for the exception of the flourishing plants on her terrace.

Her arms come up around your shoulders, and she scoots over so the position is more comfortable for your lanky ass. She presses a kiss to your temple, and then to the shell of your ear. You smile in spite of yourself.

It occurs to you that you have not had a self-loathing thought since she arrived.

It’s easier to not hate yourself when someone who would either try to refute or talk you through your issues sits beside you, singing softly.

“Tastes like strawberries on a summer evening. And it sounds just like a song...”

You snort. “I had no idea you were so fond of Harry Styles.”

She stops singing for the moment, but you’ve already started to hum the next part of the song, while she explains where she first heard it.

“My neighbor used to like to sit on her balcony and listen to the radio while I talked to my fig tree. It was on constant replay on Z100. And it’s catchy. So I sang it. A lot.”

You imagine Aradia as she sings, the long dark curls of her hair unpinned the way they usually are when she’s at home, moving along to the music as she waters her plants. It’s a nice mental image, the kind you wouldn’t mind getting lost in.

Here is one way you might safeguard yourself from the impulses and the dorco razor-blades.

You can’t watch Aradia bustle around her apartment if you’re not alive. You can’t help her, or your dad in their gardens - why do so many of your loved ones have an affinity for plants when you can barely keep a cactus alive - if you’re six feet under.

You also cannot remind her of her own neglected tasks - “Aradia, c’mon, you have to wash these dishes, there’s fuckin’ fruit flies here, I hate fruit flies.” - and then watch as she makes a meal with the newly washed dishes just so that she knows you’ve eaten that day.

You think she’d give an approving nod to your thoughts.

“Hey, Sollux,” she says. You glance at her face, the anxiety written across it.

That won’t do. You never liked seeing her worried about anything.

“Yeah, Ray? What’s going on?”

“When you get out of here, after all your treatments are finished, I was wondering…”

“Wondering what?”

She exhales slowly. She takes your hand in hers. You let the warmth suffuse through you.

“Would you like to move in with me? I know you need to be close to your family, but it’s just the F to the 7 train to get to Flushing.”

You consider this. You’ve known Aradia since the sixth grade, and you are now twenty-seven, which adds up to something like sixteen years of friendship. Aradia knows you like nobody else. Not even your father.

She’s handled your weird mood shit and chronic suicidality with more skill than some clinicians you’ve had. In return, you’ve kept her alive - her parents coddled her to a fault, and she had next to no idea how the world outside academia functioned - and helped her through her occasional bouts of clinical depression.

“You’ll take me to Essex Market and get me that bougie vegan cheese?” you ask.

There are more questions, several in fact, that you need answered before you give her a decision, but you’ll start with the inanities and work your way up to the logistics.

“When have I not?” she replies.

You snort.

“How much am I going to pay in rent, for one?”

Aradia seems to consider this for a moment.

“For now, nothing, since you’re not working, and I’m already covering my rent with my job,” she says. “But once you get a job, I’d like you to kick something in. Not too much.”

“Where would I even sleep?”

“The couch in the main room is a pullout. And even If you wanted to sleep in my room, I think I have enough space for another bed.”

You think it over, and some traitorous part of your brain bristles at what is essentially charity from her. Her family - comfortably upper middle class - must be helping her with rent. There is no way in hell that she scored a one bedroom near Bowery on her salary as an adjunct professor. You don’t know what they’d think of letting you live there, or maybe you do, and that’s why you’re hesitant to accept this. They’ve come to actually like you, but you’re not eager to test out how far that goes.

She must sense your hesitation. She once more interlaces her fingers with yours, and lets out a small sigh.

“At least think it over, Sollux.”

“You know I will.”

“I think we function better when we’re in the same place than when we’re not.”

You grin. “You know it.”

The other thing that gives you pause consists of your own confusing feelings about her.

Some days you want to kiss her senseless, peel her out of that red jacket, the black tank top, the long gray skirt. You want to see her, and only her. You want to shed your t-shirt and skinny jeans and have her see you. You want to hold her, press against her, and have her return the gesture. Your longing to be as close to her as humanly possible sweeps over you like a wave, and you have never been known for any particular skill at swimming.

Other days, you just want to sit next to her and make fun of her when she sings Watermelon Sugar. Or like the time she forgot her umbrella at home, a torrential downpour decided to strike and you had to run to the Second Avenue F train station and hope you got there in time to catch her. Still, more recently, the pair of you playing video games and swearing at each other with a giant container of mapo tofu between you. You want the easy rhythm of your close friendship, something familiar, and easy to navigate.

Most of all, you’re afraid. You’re afraid that if you take the plunge and alter the parameters of your relationship, that you’ll lose her entirely if things don’t pan out. And where the hell would you be without her?

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goldinavonlea · 5 years

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WHERE do I even BEGIN?????

gonna put it under a cut because i have. lots of thoughts

I’m only going to do a rough take now and I’ll get pretty and clever with it later but the centrality of family to this episode but the specific way family was framed as a concept and what that means... exceptional. Truly, stunningly beautiful.

When Anne asks Ka’kwet the word for family, she explains that in Míkmawísimk, the term they use means ‘people I am connected to because we’re alike’ (which... just need to take a pause to say what an incredibly beautiful piece of language and—since language has such a profound affect on how we look at our existances—what an incredibly beautiful way of seeing it).

I felt like that formed the real thematic backbone of the episode: family not being nearly as simple as blood or something you’re born into, but something that can be fostered and created, something that can be found, which considering Anne’s history and the jounery she’s going on, is so incredibly beautiful and important.

I felt that the entire episode was giving us example of example of these bonds—these relationships of family through connection and similarity. The way Ka’kwet explained family really chimed for me with how Anne sees Kindred Spirits (which makes sense, since ‘kin’ is a term for family!), which is just one example of how Anne and Ka’kwet are immediately drawn to one-another, immediately alike in many ways and so there’s this instantaneous sense of family there.

I love that Anne was having a bit of a giggle over Matthew and Marilla’s similarities over dinner, but there’s an a slight undertone to it—she’s looking at the ways they are evidently family in a manner which doesn’t neccessarily include her. But there are so many ways in which the episode also makes her similarities to them—the ways in which she is so absolutely connected to them through likeness and in family—clear. I mean just watching Matthew and Marilla being absolute muppets to surprise her with that cake—Matthew with his book upside-down, Marilla straight up giggling to herself. They’ve taken in so much of her levity, her mischief and joy: they’ve become more like her, they’ve learned from loving her and changed in the process of becoming a family.

The same with Diana!! With her whole prank to get Anne over for the birthday tea—I mean can you imagine the Diana we first met in season one, who decalred herself to be lacking in imagination and who was so constrained by propriety, getting up to such hijinks? Purposefully yanking her neat hair out of its ribbon (about which I have two points: first, Di’s hair looked absolutely glorious down like that, she’s looking vital and lively and stunning this season; and second, the parallels of Di pulling her hair out to prank Anne, Anne loosing her ribbon and shaking her hair out on the horse, and Ka’kwet taking out her own hair ties she’d made to trade with Anne. Again, parallels are similarities, and similarity means kindred!)

NOT TO MENTION our girl kicking off at her parents about Queens using words like ‘supercede’, demanding her right to an education, slamming furiously away at her piano when she’s dismissed? God I have never been prouder in all my days, but again—she’s grown so much fire since meeting Anne, so much spirit and determination through knowing her. They are alike. They are family.

And with the girls from school in a wider sense too—there’s so much more ease there, a sense of unity and belonging and knowing of each other that lends a fluidity and familiarity to their interactions as a group which was frankly delightful to see (plus: Jane and Tilly both already have me cracking up this season which is wonderful because more of those two was something I really wanted to see). There’s no hostility there now, really—just soft-worn treads of exasperation and bickering which feels deeply familiar. They share the same stories, the same jokes. They have a Togetherness.

Mary and Bash were just... a fucking delight. A true joy. And again! The unity! The way they laugh together, share lines of thought, share such a sense of spirit and cheekiness. And of course they share an Actual Baby now which I will come back to I promise because that deserves space of its own.

And... look. Anne and Gil. If family, if kindred, is something made of things shared, of the ways people are the same, then one really can’t have enough of a giggle over the fact that they both, in the space of one episode, managed to have a moment of Putting Themselves Out There to the other only to be SPECTACULARLY shot down by the absolute MISSILE of the other being a complete fucking idiot. Like, to steal from Josie’s ‘too close to the sun’ comment to Moody (who remains, as ever, a Mood and a half), Anne and Gil each performed a truly impressive Icarus moment in the others’ presence this ep. Gilbert was Full On, Pedal to the Metal making allusions to their Future and Courtship and Marriage (he actually honest to god used the word Future in that conversation bless him, just bless his heart) and Anne just fires off a zeplin-felling, building-flattening rocket launcher of ‘you should really get on with it with Ruby’. And his whole 360 from being Absolutely Prepared to get in on this take notice thing, practically had Anne’s name written out already, to the screeching halt of Disaster Teen like ‘yeah I’m not really a take-notice kind of guy’ god I’m loving getting to see them just be Deeply Stupid Adolescents it’s... so enjoyable.

AND ANNE! Anne Shirley-Cuthbert! Madame! Was fully flashing back to Marilla’s ‘when someone loves you, then you’ll be kissed’ guidance because clearly her brain started to kick into gear when Ruby went off about the romance in his eyes and she just went ‘whelp the only possible way to get to the bottom of this is to corner him, give him a good Staring At, and see if he plants one on me’. Christ she’s iconic, just the monumental, fearless idiocy of that. I mean I’d thought a lot about what barriers there might be in place between Anne and Gilbert assuming from promo materials that they both had to be cottoning on at least a little bit to their feelings, and most of my thoughts were deeply angsty, but I didn’t at any point consider the most simple, the most obvious, the most hysterical answer which is that they’re just both absolute morons about this shit. Gilbert definitely being the greater moron though I mean ‘See ya’ YOU FOOL? YOU FOOL SHE CORNERED YOU ALONE TO BLINK AT YOU AND LEAN INTO YOUR SPACE YOU WERE PRACTICALLY READY TO PROPOSE JUST HOURS BEFORE WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK IS HAPPENING HERE?

Anyway how that ties into my original point on family/kindredness is that Anne and Gilbert are both precisely the same tone of Very Smart Person Who Is Also Catastrophically Stupid At Inopportune Moments and that’s why they’re kindred.

God he asked her if she’d forgotten what she was going to say, the pain I will feel until the end of my days that Bash was not there to witness that moment and tear literal shreds out of Gilbert for it it’s an honest to god tragedy.

which, coming back to our fave married couple because did i not promise???

the baby. THE BABY!!! Bash and Mary have a BABY they have a DAUGHTER her name is DELPHINE and Bash speaks to her in RIDICULOUS VOICES and apparently gets JEALOUS that he couldn’t help FEED HER! Mary carries her on her back and hangs out with Marilla thrice weekly (because Marilla wants baby cuddles) and Bash and Mary cooing over their beautiful daughter?? being desperately in love and so happy? i could scream i could SCREAM

Just the whole dynamic of the Lacroix-Blythe familiar unit broke into my home stole my heart out of my chest and I’m not even mad about it. Gilbert teasing Mary about bossing them about like their old boss on the steamer? the two of them sharing a What a Loveable Idiot Look re: Bash when Bash won’t stop talking to Delphine in weird voices? The ease and comfort with which they all exist in that space that was so sad before? and is now alight with joy and family? Gilbert kissing Delphine’s head and saying goodbye to her before he leaves for the day and mercilessly ribbing Bash on his way out? I’m gonna rewatch it I’m gonna rewatch that scene and literally if anything happens to this family I will scream I’ll SCREAM they’ve all been through enough they all deserve joy.

anyway it’s 3:00am and I’ve descended into nonsense so I’ll be back with a more thought out post (broken up into several because this is long as hell) when I’ve slept but in conclusion I love everyone (except, as ever, Billy Andrews) and I’m so so so happy to have this blessed show back in my life

#anne with an e #awae s3 spoilers #spoilers #awae spoilers #awae s3 #awae s3 e1

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relapseblog · 4 years

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Dear Father: A Letter I will Never be Able to Send...

I’m unsure how to begin this. I don’t know what words to use. I don’t think there is an adequate or befitting way to compose a thesis or introduction. However, I do have a vague notion of the thoughts I’d like to convey.

I am hurt. I’ve existed in a state of superposition for as long as I can remember; simultaneously occupying space in two separate but parallel realities. One is authentic, one that is insincere. Within the authentic reality I suffer perpetual agony. Within the insincere reality I function through enactment of a false display so skilled that I at times even fool myself, forgetting that my authentic reality is one typified by anguish. To a slightly lesser degree, this remains true today.

Since before I was even born the story of how I would come to exist in such a state was beginning to transpire. You abused my mother ever since the two of you first became associated until the day she took us and escaped from you. You once threw her onto a bed where my baby big brother lied, proceeding to wrap your hands around her throat asphyxiating her, whilst at the same time suffocating infant Trey under her body weight being forcefully pressed against him. You could’ve killed not only my mother, but your infant son as well. This is just one of many incidents of this kind that I’ve been told of. I am certain for each story of your iniquity I’ve been told there exists another three.

I don’t have detailed memories of the cruel torment you imposed on my mother. I have very few fractured memories of the vile things you said and did to her. what I do remember are the feelings of confusion, anger, helplessness, fear, and heartache. Feelings that I’ve carried with me my entire 25 years of life. Feelings so excruciating they placed me on a path of self-destruction where thrice I’ve attempted to kill myself, where I’ve wished for death innumerable times, where I’ve incalculably deliberated killing myself whilst writhing in tears and pain. Feelings that I wanted desperately to banish from my mind. At the tender age of 13 I became a heroin addict who would wish silently every time she stuck a needle in her veins that this would finally be the fatal shot she’d been waiting for. That this would finally be the shot that would end her lifelong torment she’d been subjected to.

It was also around this age I ceased believing in God. I did not believe that I would go to Heaven upon my death; I was not hoping to escape this world seeking refuge in a better place, I was hoping to be annihilated. To cease to exist. As though I’d never existed at all. I’d fantasize about my lifeless body going cold, then stiff, the bloating and changing colors, then beginning the process of decomposition until there would be no remaining trace of evidence that I was ever a living organism that existed on Earth. These thoughts strangely elicited a sense of comfort. But accompanying them were thoughts of how my mother and the rest of my family that loved me would feel. These thoughts were painful. Even more painful were the thoughts I’d have regarding you. I’d think to myself that if I were to die you would never even know, that if you did somehow find out you wouldn’t care because you don’t love me. The comforting images in my mind of my death did not stay comforting for very long before the accompanying thoughts made me feel worse than I previously had. Self-hatred ensued.

Before becoming a heroin addict often I’d dream of you at night. You’d come to where we lived in Iowa to visit me and Trey. Despite the fact she abhorred you and feared you my mother always graciously let you stay out your visit in our home so Trey and I could spend as much time with you as possible. You had missed us, you were happy to be with us, we were happy to be with you too. These dreams were extremely vivid. I would wake from my slumber, eagerly searching the house looking for you only to find that it was just a dream. This was very painful. I had variations of this dream at least twice weekly for four years. Eventually I stopped searching for you upon waking up, as I had accepted that it was merely a dream. Just as I had accepted that you didn’t give a fuck about me or Trey. I mean, you didn’t give a fuck about Aaron either; it was a bit narcissistic of me to believe that I was somehow any more important.

I’d always hated you for what you’d done to my mother; it’s unforgivable what you did to her, and she deserved none of the cruelty she suffered by your hands. For this, I have hated you all my life. I’ve also hated you because during my childhood in California and Illinois you never had a job, you never tried to help support our family, you were never a man. Rather you let my mother run the streets day and night committing illegal acts putting herself and our family in jeopardy because you were a lazy piece of shit. For these two things, I have always hated you. But it was during this time in my life, around age 13, that I started to hate you for what you did to me. Even thought I hated you for what you did to my mother and for what you did not do for our family I still loved and admired you. In my eyes you were strong, intelligent, wise. I loved you with the most unconditional love that anyone could ever have for another person. And you never came to see me. I just wanted to see you. To hug you. But you never came. I hate you so much for that. I loved you so much. No matter what you did wrong I always loved you. Despite my belief that you were evil I still loved you. But you didn’t love me. So, I buried it deep inside.

The first time I ever used heroin I felt brand new, reborn, like I had been recreated by this substance into someone I could never even have dreamed of being. I felt exalted. I felt warm. I felt happy. I felt safe. I felt loved. I felt serenity. Every ill thought and feeling instantly vanished. It felt as if I had been cleansed and anointed by the God I no longer believed in. There was no more pain. I was unbound, infinite. As I continued to inject heroin into my veins day in and day out I found that I no longer had those painful dreams in which you loved me only to wake and be faced with the fact that you didn’t. For a while everything finally felt okay, better than okay. Exceedingly better than okay. Heroin comes to you as everything you could ever want to possess and own for yourself. But that’s the thing about heroin, you can’t own it, rather it owns you. I soon spiraled downward at an exponential rate and became slave to this cruel and beguiling master. i no longer had free will. My thoughts and actions were no longer mine. I now existed only to seek and use heroin. And I was still a child.

Injecting heroin every day, typically multiple times a day, continued until I was 19 years old. But I couldn’t live as a sober individual. I didn’t know how. Aside from the lifelong pain you inflicted upon me, now I had damaged my brain irreparably with heroin. Serotonin and dopamine were no longer being synthesized correctly in my brain, leaving me extremely depressed and angry all the time. I became violent like you. Moreover, the person I was at this point was someone I hated; someone I was ashamed of. I no longer recognized who I was. In my mind I was a filthy, immoral, lowlife scourge upon the Earth who had done nothing but degrade my own self and sadden, disappoint, and horrify my family to no end. I viewed myself as innately bad; I even went so far as to say to myself that I was evil. Because of the anger and rage I harbored I thought I was just like you. Which to me was the worst thing possible. I’d rather be like anyone, like anything, rather than be like you.

Even though I quit using heroin I continued to use methamphetamine and by the age of 23 I had relapsed on heroin too. Also at the age of 23 I got arrested for the first time. Then I was arrested again. And again. And again. The last time I was arrested I decided I needed to change. I was, and still currently am, in school studying criminal justice and psychology. Despite my deteriorated mental health, I always yearned to by successful. To graduate college, have a career, make my mother proud. I had spent half of my life putting her through a living Hell that I’ll never be able to comprehend. She has always felt that my addictions, my feelings of confusion, anger, helplessness, fear, and heartache, my wish for death, was all her fault. My wonderful mother whom I owe nothing less than everything believes that she has failed as a parent.I need to prove to her that she didn’t fail. If I succeed she will believe that she has succeeded. So, I quit using methamphetamine and I quit using heroin. My goal in life, my purpose for living, is to make her proud. To instate within her an overwhelming feeling of joy, success, and peace.

I have been clean and sober now for almost two year, though not without a couple of brief and minor lapses along the way, I am very proud of myself. I have not allowed these lapses to dishearten me or lead me to believe that the time I have managed to remain clean is null and void. I am affording myself grace. I am relearning how to live life. I have come to realize that I am not a bad, immoral, or evil person. I am simply a product of my upbringing which was less than favorable and of no fault of my own; though I also know that it is on me to become better, and that my past is not an excuse to continue to choose to be a bad person. I’ve come to realize that the circumstances of my birth and upbringing are not things that I can allow to define who I am and who I become. I’ve come to realize that my suffering is not in vain. I can help others who suffer as I have.

I am a heroin addict and a meth addict. This is something I must continue to manage and will continue to struggle with for the rest of my life. There is no cure for addiction. There is no cure for my bipolar disorder either. I am permanently afflicted, but I am not worthless, bad, immoral, or evil. I am a strong woman, but at the same time I am a very sad and broken little girl.

Last night (the other night at this point) I had that dream again for the first time in probably 12 years. I was little. Trey was little. Mother was gracious. You were with us. We were happy. I woke up wailing with tears streaming down my face as I placed my hands on top of my head and pulled my hair tight into my fists. All the painfully familiar confusion, anger, helplessness, fear, and heartache came flooding back. I wanted to run. I wanted to get high. I wanted to die. I wanted to disappear. I went to work that night at the emergency youth shelter here in Des Moines on overnight shift. All the boys on my unit were sound asleep throughout the entire night. I was alone in an eerily silent dimly lit room. I sat there a cried virtually all night because of you. Yet again, all the confusion, anger, helplessness, fear, and heartache resurfaced.

I don’t think these feelings, which are the product of being witness to the horrible things you did to my mother, will ever leave me. They are a permanent part of me. This is what you’ve given to me rather than love. Where your love was supposed to go, instead you have placed confusion, anger, helplessness, fear, and heartache. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with these things aside from using them to help others who feel similar things. But that still does not tell me what I am supposed to do with them when I dream of you, or when I am crying all alone for hours in pain because no matter how much I hate you I can’t unlove you. I wish I could. Living would be a lot easier if I could.

I used to view you as strong, intelligent, wise. I cannot say that this perspective has changed entirely. I will think that you are intelligent to a certain degree. My mother used to refer to you as a “smart dumb motherfucker.” To me this is an accurate statement. You’re intelligent, but mindless. I no longer view you as strong. You succumbed so easily to the vile and sordid influences of this world, being whisked away by them falsely thinking they somehow made you powerful. That they made people respect you. That they gave you control. Fact of the matter is that you were too weak to fight to retain your moral humanity, so you forfeited it. You had no power, respect, or control. You allowed the depravity of this world to control you thus becoming depraved yourself. Though I once thought you to be evil I never thought you to be ignorant to what a proper sense of morality was. I know you understand right from wrong, yet you could never summon the willpower to make the right decisions. Your trepidation of fear and lack of strength always prevailed.

In my eyes today you are a coward. You are a coward for your acts of violence and abuse toward my mother. You are a coward for being too ashamed to attempt to reconcile with the children you have forsaken. You are a coward for being too afraid to turn inward to fix whatever it is that’s inside of you that makes you so angry, calloused, and violent. To my dismay I am quite a bit like you. I’ve got your temper. I’ve got your rage. I had begun to become cold and calloused like you. I’ve got your propensity for violence. But the difference between me and you is this, I am no coward. I will admit that once I was afraid to turn inward and look at myself for who and what I was. I was afraid of what I would see. I was afraid of having to deal with the horrible things that I’ve done. I was afraid of having to relive moments from my past that I’d tried for so long to banish from my mind. Most of all, I was scared to think too critically about you. But none of this is true today. Unlike you, I am brave. Unlike you, I am strong enough to not allow this, at times, cruel world to corrupt me. Unlike you, I am not afraid of the pain associated with accountability and personal growth. I would much rather endure that pain than be forced to endure the pain of self-destruction. I would much rather endure that pain than become a monster who inflicts the pain I feel inside upon others.

I know that you were, and probably still are, in pain too. Hurt people hurt people. It isn’t an excuse for one’s shitty actions, it’s merely a fact. I no longer think that you are evil. At least not by some sort of malign nefarious nature. Any evil that exists within you is present not because you’re innately malevolent, rather it’s because you relinquished your control over the one and only thing you did have control over. Yourself. I can’t speculate much more than this about you. You’re a person shrouded in mystery and I think that I’ve finally accepted that I don’t have to fully comprehend the reasons for your actions and inactions.

I hate you. I love you. I hate myself for loving you, but I am learning to be gentle and kind with myself because regardless of anything you were my father. Regardless of how cruelly you treated my mother, regardless of your lack of ambition and failure to provide, and regardless of the fact that you abandoned me and Trey, for a short time when I was a small child you were an active and doting father to me. You made me feel like a beautiful and powerful princess in a world that does not readily subscribe beauty, power, nor prestige to black women and girls. You encouraged me in everything I did. You taught me many things that I carry with me to this day and will continue to carry with me for the rest of my life. This is the person I love unconditionally. The person that I’ve mourned the loss of for 16 long years who exists now only in my memory.

The person who victimized and tormented my mother for years without remorse as her two small children witness it crying a pleading that it stop, the person who failed to ever contribute to society and help provide for his children, the person who so easily cast his children aside, the person who seemed to delight in feeling evil. That person is not my father. That person is someone that I’ve had the grave misfortune of knowing. That person is someone that I’ve allowed to wreak havoc on my life for as long as I can remember. I don’t love that person. i abhor that person. That person is the exemplification of everything I never want to become. That person is who I fear every day that I will become because he is the reason for my anger, hostility, and predisposition for destruction and violence. That person is the cause of my greatest everlasting sorrow. That person is you.

For what you’ve done only God can forgive. If there is a God I pray that you find serenity and peace that you’ve never known on Earth. If God doesn’t exist and annihilation follows our death, then I hope that you somehow manage to make peace with yourself before death. I know pain, and it is not something anyone should have to carry with them to the grave. Not even you, Arcell.

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growingstronglikeahighgardenrose · 4 years

Text

The Greatest Gift

The last part of my ‘The Holiday’ series, and with it also my last entry for the 12 Days of Sanditon challenge (albeit four days late). It’s been a wild ride between past and present, I had a blast exploring all characters in all kinds of settings, and I hope you did too!

Pairings: Charlotte/Sidney, Esther/Babington, Georgiana/Crowe

Characters: Charlotte, Sidney, Esther, Babington, Crowe, Georgiana, Susan, James

Prompt: The Gift/Tis the season to be jolly, for the 12 Days of Sanditon hosted by @sanditoncreative

Synopsis: Charlotte finally arrives to the holiday home as everyone is preparing for the New Year's Eve Party. She realizes with shock she has much catching up to do.

Available on AO3 (please drop a like if you enjoyed)

Over mountains cold, and rivers frozen, lay a house amidst the woods. The house was neither large nor small, it was just perfect for the amount of occupants who spent their days there. Before they’d entered the house, they’d been two separate groups of friends, acquainted but not familiar with the other. But after spending days together filled with fun excursions to Inverness and the surrounding woods, and nights drowned in alcohol, friendships were established, and relationships blossomed underneath the star filled sky.

When the missing link, one part of the reason as to why these friend groups had come together, Charlotte Heywood arrived on the thirtieth of December, she had a lot to catch up with. In just eight days, Esther, who had always been keen on keeping her personal space, had shed her old habits which had been developed through years of living in a cold household devoid of love, and was now always touching Babington in some way. She rarely sat on a chair anymore, finding the lap of her newly acquired boyfriend much preferable. Charlotte had sometimes wondered how her friend would be if she were to enter a relationship, but never had she thought that she’d dive into a relationship after just a couple of weeks of knowing someone, and get comfortable with being in a relationship so easily. But then again, no one was aware of how Esther and Babington had regarded each other with certain fondness and interest since Esther’s first year at Sanditon Uni.

James, Georgiana and Crowe boasted it had been their ‘Mistletoe Madness’ scheme which had brought the mom friend and dad friend together. Babington and Esther didn’t care to tell them anything about how it had actually happened.

But then Sidney and James laughed how Georgiana and Crowe had used their mistletoes a lot as well, always accidentally finding themselves underneath them, and regularly disappearing together. Susan smirked that James, despite mocking the four new lovers, had actually appointed her as the official proof-reader of all text messages he sent towards a girl she was interested in.

Sidney had sorely missed his girlfriend, and couldn’t be parted from her for any prolonged period of time. Now nine, the group revelled in the haze of the period between Christmas and the New Year, happy and relaxed despite the approaching finals.

It was the season to be jolly, and no sadness or dark thoughts were allowed in their holiday home.

December thirtieth passed, and everyone was looking forward to celebrate the start of the new decade. Was it to be the sweet ten years in which the world would recover from the past decade? Would stocks reach record peaks, and Wall Street boom a steady golden roar as everyone celebrated life?

The next decade was as much a mystery as the paths their lives would take after this year. Within less than a year, they would all graduate. They would never be students again. The era of absolute freedom came to an end. The real world was quickly approaching. The twenties were the decade of their twenties, and they would end ’29 in their thirties: they would find employment, get engaged, get children and pay taxes. It was a bittersweet day as they accepted the prospect, and some were more heavily affected by nostalgia for years gone by than others. But united they stood strong, encouraging each other with smiles, hugs and words of kindness.

They had no clue what would happen to their friendship in the next decade, but they were determined to at least celebrate the last day of the year, sliding into the new year Gatsby style, clanking crystal and dancing with reckless abandon. The day was spent with ice-skating, a snowman competition and preparing appetizers and desert for the festive meal. There was little work to be done for the main meal since they’d all be using the electric grills on the table to bake their own pieces of meat and vegetables, yakiniku style, the only thing they had to do was to chop some vegetables and prepare a pot of pasta salad.

After all was prepared, the girls took two bottles of fizzy martini to their bedrooms to prepare for dinner together. The men remained behind, deciding to watch the new Witcher series and start drinking as well. If the preparations for the Christmas dinner were anything to go by, the girls would take up to two hours to get ready.

Make up your mind sweet baby, right here, right now's all we got

A little party never killed nobody, so we gon' dance until we drop

A little party never killed nobody, right here, right now's all we got

In the largest bed chamber, The Great Gatsby soundtrack was playing. Esther was in the shower, Susan was doing her makeup, and Georgiana was doing Charlotte’s hair. Esther returned, starting to paint Susan’s nails a deep red, but putting a golden topcoat over her ring finger. Afterwards, the favour was returned. They all kept changing places, drinking martini and laughing, until they were all washed, their nails painted and their hair was done up in some kind of 20s style with decorative glittering hair combs and lacey headbands.

The playlist was switched to one of Georgiana’s after the album was done.

We go together

Better than birds of a feather, you and me

We change the weather, yeah

I'm feeling heat in December when you're 'round me

‘Oh, that’s our song’, Georgiana sighed happily as she plopped down on the bed, Esther crying out that she had to be careful with her hairdo.

‘That shall be one hell of a opening song on your wedding’, Susan laughed.

‘You have a song already?’ Charlotte asked with amusement.

‘Of course, don’t you?’ Georgiana asked, turning onto her belly to look at Charlotte.

‘Well, we’ve only been together for a month.’

‘And honeyboo and me have only been together for a couple of days, yet we have one. Was there never a song you two had a moment to, or which reminded you of your relationship?’

Charlotte bit her lip. Was there a song which reminded her of him? She could still remember the song they first danced to years ago. But it wasn’t representative for their relationship. Yet, yet she couldn’t help but think of him every time she heard it in the years since.

‘I have one’, Susan admitted to give Charlotte some more time.

‘Oh, which one?’ Georgiana asked.

‘It’s a bit cliché, but it’s Waterloo. It’s the song I chose as my swan song on the evening my achievements as a student representative were celebrated. It’s always been one of my favourite songs, and well, he was always there with me when it was put on. And, after all, he did have a hard time conquering me.’

‘How long have you been together with Alexander?’

‘Almost my entire studies. I think I can expect an engagement before I turn twenty-five at the pace we’re going.’

‘And you’re of course going to accept’, Georgiana smiled.

Susan nodded.

‘How… do you know? It’s easy to know you love someone, but when do you know it can be forever?’

‘When, even way past that first sweet period has passed, you still feel butterflies thinking of them. But that’s not all, that’s how you know you’re still in love. But I knew we had a real chance at staying together when, amidst all the craziness of the year in which I combined seven councils, simply receiving a text or a hug from him felt like a good night’s rest after a particularly exhausting day. All my worries and all my burdens still lay heavy on my shoulders, but he made me feel calm and strong.’

‘Oh, that sounds so wonderful. He sounds so sweet’, Esther breathed.

‘It does’, Charlotte admitted.

‘He isn’t sweet by no means. He never says everything will be alright, he never says it’s okay if I fail. He tells me what I have to hear instead, but he’s a good, supportive and capable man, and he understands that I need someone who encourages me, not someone who tells me sweet things. But I love him.’ She shook her head, as if, after all these years, she was still amazed by the love she felt.

‘I have a song, by the way’, Charlotte admitted.

‘Tell!’

‘It’s the song that played at least thrice the evening we first met. Halsey’s song: Closer.’

‘Oh, that’s cute! And it fits as well!’

‘It does?’ Charlotte asked as she put on her red velvet dress. Esther snuck to her room to get her dress and shoes.

‘Yeah! You look as good as the day I met you. I forget just why I left you, I was insane… And four years, no call… And then you met and hit it off again!’ Georgiana smiled.

‘Well it’s only been about three years and we only hit it off again after a month of weekly meetings.’

‘Details!’ Georgiana cried before finishing her glass.

‘So, Esther, how bout you and Babbers hmm?’ Georgiana asked as Esther entered the room again, glittering 20s style Mary Janes and blue flapper dress in hands.

‘Why so curious?’

‘So you have one’, Charlotte smiled.

‘Maybe I do.’

‘Oh come on Esther, you already keep secret how you two have gotten together, you can at least tell us the name of the song.’

‘Fine. I Want To Know What Love Is, satisfied?’

‘Why Esther, I never took you for a Foreigner fan’, Susan exclaimed.

‘Coincidence. Can we now stop discussing love, I’m not planning on being emotional before midnight.’

Georgiana laughed and handed Esther her glass once she’d finished zipping her dress.

‘Alright then ladies, let’s go to the living room and have some fun.’

In dark suits the men sat gathered on the couches, hair groomed and smelling good. But their preparations didn’t compare to the flurry of glittering glimmering festival to their eyes the girls presented as they descended upon them with their curled hair and sparkly jewellery and bright red lipstick. Their cheeks and beards were covered in bright lipstick, and champagne was popped.

‘You all really came prepared’, Princey laughed as he trailed his fingers down Susan’s long white gloves.

‘We agreed upon celebrating Gatsby style. We simply did as agreed upon.’

‘I’d say you did more than just that’, Crowe breathed as Georgiana rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. He wasn’t sure he’d make it till midnight without a short heated intermezzo.

She jumped upright with a smile. ‘Excuse me as I try to capture the moment.’

She photographed him like that, sat in the couch with arms raised in question, a glass of champagne filled with water in hand – he wanted to remember every minute, at least until midnight.

‘Do you like it?’ Esther purred softly as the others were occupied.

‘You have no idea.’

‘Enlighten me.’

‘You look extraordinary… Magnificent.’

‘Do I?’ she smirked as she traced his stubble with her gloved hand.

‘Miss Denham, I must beg you to spare me. I’m not afraid I’ll last the night otherwise.’

‘Who says I intend you to?’ she laughed as she readjusted her weight on his lap. He could only just supress a groan and press his lips against hers.

A flash went off, the screen presenting a figure with flaming red curls with her arms around the brown haired man she sat on top off, his hands almost reverently placed on her upper back.

Another flash captured James and Princey pointing their tongue at each other in mock disgusted of the kissing.

There's glitter on the floor after the party

Girls carrying their shoes down in the lobby

Candle wax and Polaroids on the hardwood floor

You and me from the night before but

‘I’m still so confused as to how it all happened. I don’t know what to think about it’, Charlotte confessed to Sidney as they gazed at their friends.

‘I think this would be a so called… Christmas miracle’, he laughed.

‘I believe the entrance of this house must have been a portal to a Hallmark movie. It all just went so quickly.’

‘Didn’t we go quickly as well?’ Sidney asked, burying his nose against her sweet smelling neck.

‘It was different.’

‘How do we know they’re not different as well?’

‘Well, with Esther and Babington I dare not judge, but Georgie and Crowe?’

‘Hmm, two dramatic extroverted personalities seeking enjoyment together? I don’t think they’re that odd together.’

‘Perhaps not.’

‘Let us not worry. Before we worried it would be awkward introducing our friends to each other. Our fears turned out to be utterly unfounded. Let’s just enjoy this.’

Charlotte agreed, pressing her lips against his.

‘Let’s. I just can’t believe it all. I’m so happy, this is perfect. I just… Look at everyone having fun and being happy and laughing so much! And it isn’t just because they’re drunk. I’ve never seen all my friends in such a pure state of happiness for so long. I haven’t seen any of them smile so much. I think no one has gone half an hour without smiling once I arrived.’

Don't read the last page

But I stay when you're lost and I'm scared and you're turning away

I want your midnights

But I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year's Day

The night was filled with laughter, and the hours slid past at record speed.

Heels were kicked off and dancing took place. It really wasn’t good, and they would be divided between loathing their embarrassing postures in the pictures, and loving the photographs because of the memories they contained.

You squeeze my hand three times in the back of the taxi I can tell that it's going to be a long road I'll be there if you're the toast of the town babe Or if you strike out and you're crawling home

Midnight was approaching. Shoes were put back on again, and the girls were provided with the blazers of the men. The Final Countdown was put on – James’ final joke of 2019 – as the group started counting down. The new decade was approaching, and they all stood outside united in the snow, bottles of champagne in hand.

Ten seconds to go and the bottles were shaken, ready to be popped at midnight. They screamed and laughed their way through the countdown, and then the moment was there.

Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you And I will hold on to you

Corks went flying and lips were kissed as firework shot into the sky. Streams of champagne reached for the sky as friends embraced. They could see the explosions of gold, red, purple, green and blue from the nearby city perfectly above the lake, it was even reflected on the lake. Champagne was drunk from the bottle, and group pictures were taken of all of them in the snow, with fireworks artfully exploding in the distance.

All loneliness and heartache of the past years, and all insecurity about the future was left in the old year, obliterated by the happiness of the past few days.

A new era in their lives was approaching, and they were ready for it, together, united.

Please don't ever become a stranger whose laugh I could recognize anywhere Please don't ever become a stranger whose laugh I could recognize anywhere

They would always remember the first New Year they celebrated together. Even as responsibilities started entering their lives, they always fought to keep the week between Christmas and the New Year free for each other to capture the feeling of old, and create new ones.

Slowly, people were added to the celebrations. Susan and James brought their partners with them the following year, and Princey his first serious girlfriend the year after. And then, a ring was added to the company around Susan’s finger. Esther and Babington were up next, at the ages of twenty-seven and thirty, to tie the knot. Then followed a round belly for Charlotte, who was surprised when Susan announced her flat belly contained a baby as well. And at the end of the decade, Esther announced her pregnancy and Georgiana and Crowe who hadn’t been meant to last the first time around, reunited after finally accepting all that came along with growing up, and this time they decided to put in the serious work. Crowe admitted himself to an AA program the day after New Year, they were wed the day after he got his One Year degree.

They exited the decade with a big Gatsby Party, and though they had indeed had a bigger financial strain on their backs and uncorked non-alcoholic champagne like they would’ve had it been the 1920’s, they were all still just as happy and rich in friends as they had started the decade. Their friendship had been the best gift they could’ve ever received.

____________________________________________________________

71263 words, 12 works, you guys! I'm 4 days late (10 if we count the official deadline of December 25) but I've finally wrapped up the 12 Days of Sanditon.

I want to thank everyone for reading, liking and commenting! It has been such a delight and your words of encouragement kept me convinced to persevere and wrap up the challenge even as I found myself uninspired or tired. It hasn't been my best work, I probably skipped over a lot of typo's and grammar mistakes, and the wordings and stories probably weren't always as good but I haven't written as consistently as this since I was 15! I could've probably spared myself a lot of trouble by not making my works as long (some are well over twenty pages on word), but I had a blast and I hope you did too! I love this fandom, tiny and young as it is (and it won’t get a lot better since the show’s been cancelled) and all the active people in it <3

Much love, Lynn

#12 days of sanditon

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caffeineivore · 4 years

Text

Commission #6, Belatedly

For @d3fiant, who prompted R/J from an old ficverse.

Holly isn’t in this business for the ill-gotten means, as it were, he’s sure of it.

Of course, it’s not her real name, but then again, none of the women that Jack has come across in the last two years since the beginning of his acquaintance and association with D use their real names. Men in their world still have an easier time of it-- most bystander witnesses would not remember the likes of Noel, for example, beyond hulking shoulders rippling with tattoos, or Konstantin beyond polished but nondescript businessman with watchful eyes and a three-piece suit. Holly, on the other hand, has a face which could grace the covers of glossy magazines and a voice to match the black satin of her hair. He’d been able to pick her out from across a crowded room the minute he’d met her.

He wonders if D has an affinity for herbology of some sort -- certainly, the aliases of his female associates are various types of flora-- all innocuous but deadly. Holly. Jessamine. Daphne. Belladonna. He’s not paid to wonder about it, or about Holly’s origins and habits and what makes her tick and what makes her smile, but a man convalescing from a gunshot wound is a man with nothing but time and his mind for company. Holly, certainly, does not bother to visit more than the bare minimum. Sensible girl.

She brings him his meals, though, three times a day. He is almost certain that wherever she’d brought him is not one of the usual safe houses-- his room locks from the outside and he is both too weak and too smart to attempt to explore outside the confines of the four walls. There is a shelf full of books for his entertainment as he recovers-- ranging from leather-bound classics to trashy paperback sci-fi novels to a good year’s worth of subscriptions to various magazines both pithy and frivolous-- Time. National Geographic. Better Homes and Gardens. Vogue. Us Weekly. The furniture is elegant and tasteful, running towards graceful antiques rather than the sleek and modern, but for all that, there’s no coziness to the room. The hermetically sealed window-- storm-paned glass-- looks out to a well-manicured expanse of yard featuring velvety lawns and neat beds of stately, formal flowers-- two banks of rose bushes, red and white, line up with the precision of soldiers, bordered by neat green hedges. The yard is completely bordered by tall, upright poplars, shielding it from view of prying eyes. It’s certainly too nicely-appointed of a property for the likes of the average safe house, which in Jack’s experience has always been as deliberately nondescript as possible down to the dun-coloured siding and the mid-sized minivan generally kept parked in the driveway.

A clock-- one of those graceful silver-and-glass affairs with Roman numerals marking the hours-- ticks away at the top of the bookshelf, and just as the hour of noon, a key turns in the lock, and Holly walks in with a tray. She is always punctual on these thrice-daily visits: breakfast at eight, lunch at noon, dinner at six. Jack gives her his customary grin, which she does not return, and takes her in.

She’s wearing a cream-coloured silk blouse and a quiet knee-length skirt in dove-gray, with matching stilettos which are completely silenced by the plush of the carpet. No adornment aside from the ruby studs in her ears. Add in a leather handbag and perhaps a long coat in a neutral shade, and she’d blend in with any socialite out for lunch or shopping. He’d bet any money, though, that there’s a gun strapped to her leg under the skirt. She doesn’t know him any better than he knows her. And considering the last time he’d seen her wielding a Beretta 92 at a pursuing car’s tires, he’s well aware that she’s more than proficient with firearms.

“What’s for lunch, Jill?” His inquiry, as intended, earns him a thinly veiled glare. She doesn’t look like a ‘Jill’ either, but it’s fun to get a reaction out of her. She’s normally so controlled. She sets the tray down on the desk, in precisely the same spot as his breakfast tray from earlier had been.

“Grilled salmon and a whole wheat roll, with a spinach salad with blue cheese and cranberries on the side. Don’t call me Jill.” It’s always healthy, well-prepared food, and he thinks that it is perhaps the type of fare that she would eat. There’s a bottle of grapefruit juice to go along with his meal-- no wine, no beer. He has a mid-level craving for a greasy, juicy burger with everything but the kitchen sink piled into it and an icy, foamy lager, but he’d have to be somewhere other than this most well-appointed of prisons before he’d be able to indulge.

“You gonna join me for lunch for once, sweetheart? Just a quick meal between friends and associates. I won’t bite.”

“I have a lot of other commitments this afternoon, and you have a checkup.”

“Ah, yes. With the good doctor from the docks. You know, I do think she’s the only one of us who actually has no ulterior motives or hidden agendas. The only ‘good’ one, as it were. She didn’t even ask questions when you and Noel brought me in, did she? What a kind soul. What’s her name again?”

“Angelica. You seem to have a real problem remembering people’s names.” Holly doesn’t spare him a glance as she lays out a place setting-- complete with a snowy linen napkin and heavy silverware, arranged formally, and pours his grapefruit juice into a glass half-full of crushed ice. She definitely grew up in a household accustomed to formal meals, whatever she’s doing these days amusing herself by running recon or engaging in gunfights rather like some elegant version of a gun moll.

“I will try harder.” Jack tucks his tongue in his cheek and admires the way her legs look in that prim, narrow skirt. “So that’s a no on joining me for lunch, huh?”

“Noel will be over in an hour to take you to physical therapy. You need to fully recover from your wounds, and will be of very little use to D if that gunshot takes you out of the game.”

“It would be a damned shame, wouldn’t it?” Jack cuts into the tender pink flesh of the salmon with his knife and fork. “I suppose I’d have to live out the rest of my days in boring, civilian anonymity. Probably learn how to mow lawns and weed gardens. Your yard is very nice. Who takes care of it?”

“I have a gardener on staff, and contract a landscaping company that handles the heavy work.”

“So this is your home, then. I feel so honoured to be a guest.”

Perhaps she was not trying to tell him so much. Jack grins even as she scowls. “Don’t worry, beautiful. I know not to brag about our time together. Is it so wrong that since I am stuck here until I heal I try to get to know you better? I knew everything about everyone on my platoon, down to MacMillan’s allergies to cats and Patterson’s wife’s obsession with reality TV to Rosenberg’s fondness for gas station hostess cupcakes. We spent a lot of time together, often in close quarters, always with the same people. And besides, isn’t the point of being part of a team knowing and trusting your team members?”

“If you think that spouting off some corporate bullshit team-building synergy nonsense is going to persuade me, you are vastly mistaken. I’m not here to be your friend or your confidante. Just eat your lunch and get yourself ready to your physical therapy.” Holly, clearly at the end of her patience, tidies up the remnants of his last meal and drops his empty coffee cup onto the tray with an irritated clatter. “I have to deal with you when we are working together so as to not end up on the wrong side of a bullet. Outside of that, we’re not here to be buddy-buddy.”

She takes the tray and walks out of the room without a backward glance, and Jack listens to the sound of the lock turning in the door. He could, if he really wanted to, pick it with the tines of his dessert fork. Or smash through the window and rappel down the side of the house and take his chances. But it would be a pity on all levels-- at such an egregious breach of conduct, D would kill him, if Holly didn’t do so, first. And he’s almost certain if the day came that his life was forfeit to the syndicate, he’d deserve it, and never see it coming.

He finishes his meal-- it is expertly prepared and delicious, after all-- and goes over his mental notes about the beautiful, deadly enigma whose somewhat unwilling hospitality he is currently imposed upon. Holly looks to be perhaps in her late twenties, born into great wealth and privilege, and on their first meeting, had spoken flawless French like a native Parisian. But her English is definitely American, with traces of New England society in its haughtier moments. Her hands are elegant and manicured, but he’d seen her just as gracefully snap the neck of one of the goons who’d attempted to corner her in the deserted warehouse. She handles hand-to-hand with the cool, business-like attitude of someone viewing it as a necessary evil, competently and skillfully, but not with any particular relish. He can’t quite pinpoint where she’d been trained, but the style is distinctly Asian, with its graceful stances and lethal strikes and kicks. Every little tidbit of information he gleans brings with it more questions, more interest.

“You’re a hell of a woman, Jill.” Jack grins at nothing in particular and makes his way to the en-suite bathroom to wash up after his meal. There, too, no expense is spared-- the towels are plush, the fixtures pristine, and the soap and shampoo smell pleasantly of cloves and sandalwood. He is given a razor to shave every morning, but it’s always gone out of the bathroom by breakfast-- taken out with his dinner tray and the hamper of clothing. She trusts him enough, perhaps, to keep him in her home rather than a safe-house, but not enough to leave completely to his own devices. Perhaps she wonders about his background and motives like he does about hers.

Noel knocks on the door before unlocking it, right on time. The big guy is a lot less mysterious than Holly is-- Jack already knows the gist of his background. Former Irish mob, a bare-knuckle brawler with the big arms and shoulders to prove it. He’d seen Noel hot-wire a car on one occasion in all of seventy-five seconds, and also seen those big bruiser’s hands, skillful and gentle as a maiden aunt’s, fiddling with wires and microphones to bug an opponent’s office after they’d broken in. Noel doesn’t try to hide the Boston in his accent, or indeed the Galway when he’s particularly riled up. He’s been in D’s employ for two years longer than Jack has, and simply refers to the kingpin as “Boss man”. Quite efficiently, Noel wheels him down the hall, then into an actual elevator. He’s brought outside into a van bearing the name and logo of a dry cleaner’s and efficiently strapped in. Noel takes a circuitous route through town-- not that Jack can see anything from the back-- but at least deigns to play music during the drive. It’s unapologetic, kick-ass hard rock heavy on the guitar and drums, precisely the type of music that does not invite or facilitate conversation.

By the time the van’s doors are opened again, Jack is far, far away from the polished, glossy neighbourhood of Holly’s residence. Garbage-laden alleys and derelict buildings dot these tenements with urban blight, and the industrial building they’re parked in front of is pock-marked with graffiti and rust stains on the concrete walls. To get in, Noel has to swipe a keycard, then punch in a code. They wheel down a straight hallway bright with fluorescent lighting and Noel unlocks the next set of doors with two different keys. The clinic that Dr. Angelica runs, though, despite its singular location, is clean as a whistle, equipped with state-of-the-art technology. She meets them at the door, a petite, pretty woman with sad blue eyes and a wistful smile, and turns her attention to Jack.

“You’re looking well. How are you feeling?”

“A lot better than when I’d gotten shot, that’s for sure.” The bullet had hit him in the leg through the door of their escape vehicle, and Holly had taken control of the wheel from the passenger side even as he’d slammed on the brakes, nearly causing a spin-out. In the tense seconds that followed, though, she’d managed to fire off three shots through the open passenger side window, taking out their pursuer’s two front tires and the windshield. That car had rammed into a wall head-on, and she’d managed to keep him awake and alert for long enough for backup to arrive. He’d woken up, briefly, in this same clinic, groggy on meds, with Angelica patiently stitching him up. She’d taken the time to explain that he’d caught a bullet in the leg and was very fortunate that it had not nicked his femoral artery, but it would be awhile before he could be up and running again. He’d taken it as a matter of course-- really, if one were to think of it, he’d been fired at with a lot deadlier weapons back in the day with his platoon in war zones. A 9 millimeter in the leg from a gang member’s Glock could have been a land mine, or a hail of bullets from an AK-47. Then she’d put him under again, and he’d woken up in that room in Holly’s house some days later, disoriented but safe enough. A week and a half later, Holly still lets herself get annoyed with him whenever he teases her, and a small part of him finds that gratifying.

“I don’t have to explain how lucky you are, of course. With your background, I’m sure that you know. But with the right therapy and exercise, I don’t see why you wouldn’t make almost a full recovery in good time.” Angelica tells him after running some tests. “You are quite healthy otherwise, and you neither lost a lot of blood or received any extensive bone and tissue damage. A clean through-and-through, as we say. It certainly could have been a lot worse.”

“I could be floating facedown in the river, yeah,” Jack says drily. “How long are we talking, Doc?”

“For someone of your size and health, you can be up with crutches as soon as two weeks from now. If you maintain a healthy regimen of light but steady exercise on that leg, you should gain full mobility in another month after that.”

“Do you really think Holly will put up with me for that long?” Jack asks drolly. He isn’t quite sure how well the good Dr. Angelica knows Holly, but certainly the doctor knows enough of the syndicate’s business to not only ask no questions when he’d been brought in, but set up a whole secret clinic in the slums that runs as well as a trauma center in a major hospital. He’d heard of the Doc in the docks since he’d started, but until now, had never had occasion to meet her. “You know Holly, right? Black hair, red lipstick, very hot, keeps a Beretta on her at all times? She can’t stand me.”

Angelica’s lips twist into a faint smile. “If you say so. I know her of old. We roomed together freshman year at Yale. She’ll find a way to tolerate your company for as long as needed, I’m sure.”

Yet another tidbit of information about his elusive, fiery partner-of-sorts falls into his lap. It’s almost more exciting than the prospect of crutches in the next two weeks. Jack lets Angelica poke and prod some more, answers questions by rote, and counts down the hours until he can see her again.

#R/J #senshi/shitennou #sailor moon #fanfiction #fanfic #commission

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xrunesh-45 · 4 years

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HomeSick and HeatStucked

Well here I am. Home. I am officially home. I am now neither Homesick nor Heatstruck .I am not permitted to complain about the Indian weather in any way ever again – either directly or implicitly – for the rest of my life (this is apparently a proper legal condition for expats returning from sunny climes, according to my friends). I have had a wonderful time clothes shopping – buying woolly tights, scarves, brushed-cotton pyjamas and winter boots. I have consumed a lot of shawarma & grilled falafel and tea & cake and Burgers & chips aplenty.

It is utterly bloody wonderful to be home and to be settling back into normal life ,although I don’t as yet have somewhere permanent to live, I am very much enjoying being a frightful burden to my family. I am currently (and this is no word of a lie) sitting beside a blazing log fire in my parents’ sitting room, while my mother cooks and grinds at the stove and my father grids on laptops computers . I have just been for a glorious autumnal ( can say so) walk in the parks near our house and my cheeks are all appley with the sunshine and the crisp, cold breeze. Heaven.

I’ve only had one wobble so far and that was when I was trying to make my way down a flooded footpath in driving rain in the dark with all the suitcase and backpacks ( as I came back to Dubai after a small vacation).That was a bit of a ‘Well, this wouldn’t happen in Dubai…’ moment, but it wasn’t long before I was home and dry and blissfully cosy in my new brushed-cotton pyjamas and all was well with the world once more.

Talking of umbrellas, I have discovered that I’m not very good with them. We have really needed umbrellas here in the South East in the last couple of weeks; the rain has been BIBLICAL. [Note to lawyer – I am not complaining about the weather, I promise, this is a simple statement of fact.] But umbrellas do not like me. I am the opposite of an Umbrella Whisperer; I am their thrice cursèd nemesis. Umbrellas turn inside out if I so much as look at them. As soon as I buy one, it immediately starts plotting its desperate escape. The other day I owned an umbrella for fourteen minutes – fourteen minutes – before losing it.

So, other than the astonishing amount of autumn rainfall (climate change, no doubt), what else has changed in five years? Well, I’ll tell you the three main things I’ve noticed so far…

1. The telly has got seriously crap. Significantly worse than it was five years ago. Honestly. With the exception of a few beautifully made high-budget dramas (loving the BBC’s Sunday night literary adaptations) just about everything is cheap-as-chips reality drivel. Wall-to-wall singing and dancing and cooking and dining and wife-swapping and antiques-shopping, and, no, Greg Wallace, I don’t care that this family of half-wits could have got their weekly tonne of pork mince 73p cheaper if they’d gone to effing Lidl. I really, really DO NOT CARE.

2.The viruses have mutated into something monstrous. I have caught two colds since arriving home. The second one nearly did for me. It went to my chest, my ears, my larynx, m – have you ever had a cold in your eyes? It is horrific. My immune system may have hardened itself to MERS and all manner of terrifying exotic diseases, but the English Common Cold has vanquished me. Much like our national cricket team it truly is a contender on the world stage. [What’s that you say? Really? To India? Oh bloody hell…]

3. The roads are now nothing but pot holes. We’re basically all driving around on roughly cut slabs of tarmacadam-Swiss-cheese. Lord knows what the overall cost of damage has been to the suspension / wheel alignment of the nation’s vehicles. I nearly got whiplash the other day swerving around a cyclist who was swerving around a pot hole, resulting in me driving straight into another, even bigger, pot hole.[Roughly all this in India]

Other than these things I can assure you that, whatever the newspapers may try to tell you, everything else is pretty much fine and exactly as it was when I left.

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imyourliquor-youremypoison · 5 years

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Anniversaire (Klaus x Reader)

Anniversaire (noun; French) /a.ni.vɛʁ.sɛʁ/

Someone’s date of birth. (ex: Happy birthday!)

A date that celebrates a meaningful event. (ex: It was their tenth anniversary.)

Synopsis: Post TUA No Apocalypse!AU in which Y/N is Klaus’ childhood best friend. Even when he lived far away from the Academy, he always took time out of his doubtlessly busy schedule to celebrate her birthday. It’s their tradition.

Word count: 11,3k (May I suggest you settle somewhere comfortable?)

A/N: As always, there’s some slight physical description for the third person reader, because it was written with an OC in mind. Either ignore or enjoy.

MASTERLIST

“My birthday party,” she grumbled and reaffirmed her grip on his arm. “Birthday, my ass! This rather looks like your party,” she accused a very much inebriated Klaus slouched against her.

She wasn't frail but Klaus was tall and not exactly a lightweight either. The walk was a slow and tedious one for (Y/N), who had to drag along her friend's heavy, useless carcass out the back door of a clandestine underground club. Trust Klaus to know the existence of this place.

Klaus' half conscious mind tried to force his feet to move and help (Y/N) in her endeavor, but they weren't very synchronized, if at all, with her steps. He mumbled something against her shoulder and (Y/N) acknowledged him with a hum but did not answer. What was there to answer to an incoherent mumble anyway?

He could feel the alcohol course in his veins and still felt hot all over from the stifling, humid air of the club where he had dragged his best friend for her birthday. After twenty-two years of knowing each other, he was starting to run short of ideas. It was easier making shenanigans when they were kids, they could get away with a lot more than now. Hell, he was lucky (Y/N) was always up for whatever foolish, crazy plans he came up with; she never shot him down for being too childish or silly.

He suspected she sometimes only agreed to make him happy; Klaus didn't have a lot of people in his life who put his happiness before their own, especially on their birthday. His (Y/N) was something else.

(Y/N) wasn't really into big celebrations but they usually did something with just the two of them. Stuffed their faces with Agnes' donuts, booby-trapped Diego's entire bedroom, tried to sneak into the sacra-saint office of his now dead father, or – now that they were adults - just sat at a bar and pretended nothing else existed for one evening. Not his powers, not other people around them, not all of this constant noise.

They had met in rather unusual circumstances as children, and were quite inseparable since then. Klaus, of course, did not stay at the mansion much longer than he needed to, especially not with his abusive father looming over his shoulder all the time. (Y/N) did not enjoy watching him turn to drugs to drown out the white noise and to escape his reality, nor did she like hearing he had skipped town from one day to the next.

She would have liked a goodbye.

But he always came back and that's all that mattered. Of course there were the occasional surprise visits whenever he was close-by and felt like saying hell, but more importantly, he came back for a very specific occasion. For her birthday, every year for the last ten years, he had shown up at her doorstep bright and early, somewhat sober, and told her to get ready, chop-chop, because he had planned the whole day for them. It usually turned into a long week-end - whether or not her birthday was on a week day did not matter at all to him - and (Y/N) learned to take sick leave for a couple days after the first two years.

How long would it take for her boss to figure out that she was “sick” every year at the same date? Time will tell.

This year's celebrating wasn't particularly inspired as he had only meant to bring her to a club and dance the night away. At the beginning, she had indulged him, because his father's death anniversary – and the family reunion that goes with it - had taken place only a week before and he had struggled to push through without turning back to drugs, so his mind must have been elsewhere. However, (Y/N) could not keep up with his drinking, and she soon realized she might have to be the one who stuck to water in order to make sure the other one would go home safely.

There was no doubt in her mind that Klaus had been in worse predicaments than simply being drunk at a club and unable to go home – she knew for a fact that he had slept in back alleys before and wasn't afraid to do it again. During Sir Reginald Hargreeves' lifetime, any place was better than the damn academy. Then again, (Y/N) wasn't as adventurous as Klaus, and a soft mattress was a must to end the night.

When she reached the corner of the street, (Y/N) was sweaty and felt damp all over. They both smelled like the bottom of a tequila bottle, but she hoped someone would still let them climb into their car. She hailed a cab, with Klaus still leaning on her like the passed out idiot he was, and the man in the driver's seat shot them a nasty look, but she smiled kindly and he reluctantly nodded.

Thank the fuck. She wouldn't have been able to haul his ass all the way back to the academy and she did not want to try sleeping in a trashcan. The ride was silent except for Klaus' barely audible mumbling in her ear and snuggling against her like she was his favorite pillow.

“Happy 28th birthday to me,” she grumbled and rolled her eyes when he began to snore loudly, his hair tickling her cheek.

Ben sat riding shotgun, smiling to himself while he watched them in the rear view mirror. She couldn't see or hear him, though she was aware of him following Klaus around pretty much all the time.

“Happy birthday (Y/N),” he said, and disappeared. He wasn't needed tonight, Klaus was taken care of.

Why was that house so damn big? There had only been the ten of them who lived here, so what were all 42 bedrooms for? Why did she have to drag Klaus' limp body through an unnecessarily big house? And why on earth was his room all the way to the back? He was just lucky she could navigate through the many corridors and didn't get lost thrice before finally seeing the door to his bedroom.

“You are so damn heavy, you know that?” she asked him, if only to make conversation for herself.

Unexpectedly, he answered, “Hey! I can hear you! 'm not fat.”

“Must be the weight of your idiocy then.” She shook her head and kicked open the door, nearly losing balance and falling over, Klaus and all. She could have blamed it on her short stature, but elected to blame Klaus' tall figure instead. “And for heaven's sake stop leaning on me you jerk, or I'll drop you right there.”

He did somewhat relieve her of some of his weight but she was still navigating them both through the mess on his floor. Why did he have to live in this garbage?

“I don't feel so well,” he admitted, his head hanging on her shoulder.

“That's what you get for charming almost everyone in this club into buying you a drink,” she huffed with a laugh.

She couldn't remember how the topic first came up but she bet Klaus that he wouldn't be able to seduce a really hot girl into paying for his drink. He wasn't one to back out of a challenge, especially if a free drink was on the line, and he did get the drink, much to (Y/N)'s bafflement. He didn't stop there though, and serial-flirted with every single soul who dared come near him until he was too drunk to even dance anymore.

So this was really all his fault if you thought about it, because (Y/N) only challenged him to win one free drink, not ten.

“But I feel really awful,” he insisted, nudging her a little to make her pay attention.

“I bet you do. Also, eww, your breath smell like death, man!” She scrunched up her nose and waved her hand before her face to dissipate the smell. “We can't put you to bed like this. Bathroom first.”

“Why is the room moving?” Klaus slurred out the question just when (Y/N) opened the door to the bathroom across from his room.

Hadn't she carried him around for a lifetime already? That was that for her weekly exercise, no need to go to the gym this Tuesday. The bathroom was cold and dark. She was always taken aback by how uninviting this manor was. It was so richly ornate, so vast and in-your-face that one would think the rooms where at least heated correctly. But a shiver ran down her spine when she took the last few steps towards the single chair sitting next to the tub.

(Y/N) dropped Klaus on it, then she stretched her back with a delighted groan when her joints cracked a little. Ah yes, she could finally stand upright. When she lifted her arms to stretch, she realized that she didn't smell like roses either, but this was due to carrying Klaus around, she was sweating now.

A quick shower would do her good once she had taken care of her sleepy best friend. He was very pale in the face and rocking between sleepiness and exhilaration. Kneeling down, (Y/N) placed her hands on Klaus' knees and shook him a little to gain his attention. She did not expect what she got instead.

Klaus toppled over and before she could process what he was doing, she felt a distinguishable warm, sticky substance spill on her thighs.

“Fuck! Klaus!” she shrieked, forgetting about anyone else being in a nearby room, asleep. “What the hell?!”

After all she had done for him tonight, he just barfed on her jeans? And the stench... She was going to be sick too. She quickly grabbed a towel and wiped most of it off before discarding said towel. They had enough bathrooms anyway, one missing towel wouldn't be the end of them.

“'orry, s'rry,” Klaus was muttering, barely audible over the sound of (Y/N) fuming and cursing tequila.

She wiped him clean as best she could; her jeans would have to wait until she was done with him, even though it disgusted her. The stench was plain unbearable. Klaus regained some colors, which was the only plus side to this debacle.

“We'll see how sorry you are tomorrow morning,” she snapped, throwing a towel to his face – albeit a clean one, she wasn't like that. “I wish you a hangover!”

“You don't mean it,” he laughed a silly kind of laugh. His upper body was slowly leaning towards the left until (Y/N) stopped him from falling over and sat him upright again.

“C'mon now,” she sighed and took the towel from his hands. “Let's get you cleaned up and call it a day. You know, we're getting too old to party like that. I don't know how you keep up with this lifestyle.”

“I don't,” he blurted out, staring straight at her, sounding more sober than she had ever heard him. “But tonight's your birthday,” he added quickly, breaking into a sloppy grin again, making (Y/N) wonder if she was staring to mishear things because of how exhausted she was.

“Yesterday, actually. It's well past three in the morning.” He seemed to have fallen back into a half slumber, so she added, “Clothes off now!”

He didn't need more convincing than that and allowed her to remove his jacket and shoes, tossing them in a corner. Then she handed him a glass of water to rinse his mouth. This required a little effort from him and he swallowed some wrong and ended up coughing for a solid minute.

“Nearly there, now be a dear and use this mouthwash, because you reek or liquor and puke,” (Y/N) said teasingly, though Klaus was too far gone to notice her playful tone.

He obeyed and when she was satisfied he wasn't too smelly anymore, she nodded to herself.

“Shirt off,” she ordered, holding out her hand. The task was a tedious one but Klaus finally handed the sweaty shirt over and she tossed in the same corner as the rest of his clothes. “Now the pants, and then I'll let you sleep.”

Part of her was glad he was too fucked up to see the blush on her face when she said that. It really shouldn't be there, they had been friends forever and there was nothing she hadn't seen already. But removing lace-up leather pants was an entirely different ordeal than taking off a t-shirt, and Klaus groaned in protest.

“Don't be a baby, Klaus! I wanna go to bed too!” He wouldn't do as she said, so she made him stand up. “I can't believe I'm doing this!” she grumbled to herself, counting on the fact that Klaus wouldn't remember anything that happened tonight once morning came round.

Otherwise, God forbids she ever did what she was doing right now. Her hands fumbled awkwardly with the front laces of his pants and she had to admit it was quite the task. No wonder Klaus didn't want to do it, even she struggled to open them.

“Mmmhm,” Klaus let out a sort of giggle, sort of sigh. “What are you doing, (Y/N)?” His voice shouldn't have been so deep, it made what he said sound sexual.

What was she doing, indeed? Fuck that! He would just have to sleep in his dumb leather pants! She gave up on the task and left his pants half open at the front, raising both hands in the air as a sign of defeat.

“Nothing!” she told him, running a hand through her hair. “Let's get you to bed.”

The short distance between the bathroom and his bed was much more easily covered than their walk here. Klaus fell heavily on the bed, face first, and crashed into his swarm of pillows. Would he be able to breathe like this? (Y/N) briefly wondered. Well, he survived up to his thirtieth birthday without her checking if he wouldn't stifle in his sleep. She shrugged and returned to the bathroom to take a rapid shower. She had deserved it.

Once clean and smelling like Klaus' coconut soap, she hopped out and dried herself. No way she was going to slip into her disgusting clothes again! Her jeans were done for, she would have to burn them. She put her underwear back on and made her way to Klaus' room wrapped in a towel, then she searched through a drawer until she found a shirt that looked clean. This would do.

And finally, blissfully, (Y/N) went to bed too. She pushed Klaus over to make room, and slipped under the covers, passing out almost instantly.

Klaus was the first to wake up, and he was extremely confused by everything he saw. First of all, he tried to remember what happened last night. It was (Y/N)'s birthday, so they went out, obviously, but where? How long? What did they do? Oh God, what did they do?

When he startled awake, he first thought he was cuddling his bolster, but it moved and pillows usually don't move. His eyes opened, and he realized his arm was wrapped around (Y/N)'s middle, pressing her back up to his chest, and their legs were sort of tangled. Immediately removing himself from her, as though he had burned himself, Klaus's eyes widened in shock. What the hell was this? What happened? He had clearly spent the night nuzzling (Y/N), why didn't she just push him off the bed?

Having been in this sort of situation before, Klaus' first reflex was to lift the duvet and check what he was wearing. A sigh of profound relief fell from his lips when he saw his pants were still on. But- wait. The front laces were... undone? And (Y/N)'s pants were gone altogether!

His brain slowly powered up while he blinked away the remaining traces of sleepiness. If he based his reasoning on his current position, last night must have seriously gone off the rails. How drunk had he been? Surely he had known worse, because he wasn't too hangover this morning. He had never made a move on (Y/N)! What could have happened that made him do it last night? Why did she let him?

Oh fuck. He couldn't think about this before coffee. He needed coffee. Thank the fuck for Number Five who brought caffeine back into this house after their father's death. May the old prick rest in pieces.

Klaus sneaked out of bed without waking up his friend, grabbed a clean shirt, and headed downstairs. Yes, coffee first, dealing with his drunk-self's decisions later.

The house wasn't as full as it should have been so soon after their reunion – a real joke, if you asked Klaus. He had come because the timing was great, he had planned on flying over to see (Y/N) anyway, and this time Allison had paid for his trip because she wanted them all to be together.

She was the first to go, soon as the last toast had been given, she'd flown back to her life of glitter and gold. Luther hung around for no other reason than he did not know what else to do. Ever since getting back from the moon, he had been aimless. Number Five was stuck in a fifteen-year-old body and could not go live on his own yet. He lived in the academy all year round, and sometimes Diego came too. He was on the move now that detective Patch was dead. Vanya lived nearby but she didn't stay too long, the place held bad memories for her.

Klaus hated the academy, but it was still his home. He didn't have a place of his own like (Y/N). Coming was no choice for him, it was the only thing to do. At least Grace and Poggo were happy to see him.

He had been sitting in the kitchen, his right leg nervously jumping up and down, eyes wide open staring ahead of him while he bit the nails of his left hand and held his third cup of coffee in the right one. His memories from last night were still hazy at best, he did not remember much apart from getting a lot of free drinks, and dancing with (Y/N).

The logical thing to do was to wait until she woke up to ask her directly, but Klaus wasn't known for making rational decisions. Were it anyone else, he would have bounced the moment he woke up. Shit. He had done so well all these years, being the best friend, never crossing the invisible line, why'd he have to mess up now?

“How much longer are you going to be like this?” Number Five asked from his left. He was reading the newspapers, not even looking up as he asked the question.

His question did not even register in Klaus' brain. Five looked at Luther who sat across from him.

“I think someone broke Klaus,” he told the number one.

Luther grumbled something about it not requiring much given the state Klaus was usually in, before grabbing his bowl and putting it in the sink. Just when Luther left the room, (Y/N) swooped in, looking refreshed despite their late night activities – Jesus, it sounded so bad, even in his head. She was basically at home here, and knew her way around the house, greeted everyone like they were family.

But when Klaus saw her walk in wearing nothing but one of his shirt and underwear, he nearly tipped his chair over. Some steaming coffee spilled over the edge and burned his hand right when (Y/N) greeted them.

“Good morning,” she cooed, stretching like a cat when she stood in front of the counter, probably thinking about what she wanted to eat for breakfast.

Klaus' appetite had yet to make an appearance today. His eyes were glued to her until he realized he was staring a little too hard too long at his best friend's butt. When he turned his head back, he caught Five sending him a suspicious look through narrowed eyes.

“(Y/N)!” Klaus couldn't help but exclaim. Both Five and her stared at him curiously, waiting to see what he wanted to say. “There's a child in the room, have a little decency, please.”

Five rolled his eyes and his attention went back on the newspapers. Meanwhile, (Y/N) smiled wickedly and slowly turned back around, taking extra care to show her backside while she leaning forward to place two slices of bread in the toaster. This usually would have made Klaus laugh, even if it was tainted with longing, but after last night, it just made him swallow hard.

“Five is two times you age,” she pointed out. “Also, how's the hangover, Klaus?” Her fingers were tapping along to some imaginary tune against the counter while she waited for her toasts to pop up. (Y/N) then hopped on the counter and sat there, a butter knife in her hand. She began to unscrew the pot of raspberry jam.

“Not in this timeline,” he argued. “And I replaced alcohol with coffee, I'm fueled up for the day,” he assured her, lifting up his cup. “Don't remember much though.” Except his vague memory of (Y/N) fingers tugging at his pants to undo the front lacing, and some other flashes of disturbingly enticing memories.

“You're shaking, how many have you had?” She pointed at his left hand and Klaus had to admit she was right, it was shaking slightly. It took some focusing to steady it but he shot her a confident smile.

“Two.”

“Four.”

Klaus glared daggers at Five for betraying him like this; Five looked totally unfazed. The toaster dinged then, and Number Five folded the newspaper and stood up.

“If you'll excuse me, I have better things to do than sit here and watch you two make small talk to avoid the tension in the air.” Klaus was so going to get back to him for this, child or not. “Nice seeing you, (Y/N). Catch up soon.”

“The tension in the air?” (Y/N) repeated to herself, wondering what Five meant by that. She bit in a toast and walked to the table, sitting where Five sat only seconds ago. He sure as hell did create tension with his comment, but the air had always been clear between Klaus and her.

“Did we sleep together?”

Klaus' question came just as (Y/N) was about to take another bite from her toast, but instead it fell from her hands and landed on the wrong side on the table. What kind of question was that? She always crashed in his bed whenever they came back from a night out. It was how they did things, it had been this way since the beginning.

“Yeah,” (Y/N) answered with a shrug. “I mean unless you woke up on the floor, in which case I'm sorry for pushing you out of bed.”

Ignoring her humorous comment, Klaus gasped and nervously bit his fingers. She frowned but elected not to make anything of it. It was Klaus after all, he must still be out of it from last night. He poured her coffee in a robotic manner, as if it was born out of a reflex more than an actual intention, like when some people walked all around their room when they made a phone call, because moving helped them think.

“Why aren't you wearing pants?”

(Y/N) groaned before taking a sip of coffee. “Oh, thanks to you my pants are lost to the world! There's no getting them back. I was hoping you would lend me something to wear.”

Klaus nearly had a stroke, picturing the two of them bumping from wall to wall along the corridor leading up to his room, kissing feverishly and scattering clothes along the way. Speaking of, where were his clothes? He put on a shirt before going to the kitchen this morning, but he didn't forget that he woke up half naked, cuddling his equally half naked best friend in his childhood bed.

Why was she acting so natural around him?

“My closet is your closet,” he answered, somewhat mechanically too.

He saw the way she frowned at him before attempting to pick up her face-down toast. He watched her dip her finger in the jam on the table then lick it clean a few times, he closed his eyes right before the sight turned him insane. He could feel his body react to her; the mixture of apprehension and this enticing sight made him all kinds of confused and horny.

“I think I need a shower,” he stated and stood up quickly, before (Y/N) could catch sight of his current state. A cold one.

“You sure do,” she agreed and nodded without detaching her eyes from her newly jammed toast. “I'll be going home soon, but I'll see you again before you leave, right?” she asked hopefully, a second before Klaus stepped out.

He wanted to turn around to tell her this face to face, but he really had to get out of here before she saw what she did to him.

“I think I'll stay a bit longer.” This came as a shock to (Y/N), whose lips parted slightly, asking a silent question. “Can I come by tonight?”

She nodded, a smile on her face.

Klaus' head had been a mess all day. Especially after he got out of the shower and found (Y/N) in his bedroom, putting on a shirt he had once stolen from Allison. It was all too much and the cold shower he had taken minutes before did nothing for his hazy memories and slight dizziness.

In the evening, when she opened the door and saw him standing there, grinning wider than the Cheshire Cat and looking twice as mad, (Y/N) she was in for one of their endless contemplative conversations. She popped out some fancy glasses and mixed them each a cocktail, and off they were to her fire escape stairway. Access to the rooftop was banned since her 25th birthday, the year Klaus thought he would surprise her with fireworks. It was a nice idea, worth being forever banned from up there. So the stairway was the next best thing.

Immediately after they downed their drinks, Klaus' mood shifted and he blurted out the last thing (Y/N) expected. She had noticed how frantic he acted this morning, and was hoping he would be back to his normal self by tonight, but he clearly had something to say. It wasn't always easy being a Hargreeves, this wouldn't be her first improvised therapy session, except they usually only started after the fourth drink.

“(Y/N), I see dead people,” Klaus breathed out as if it were a hush hush secret and not a widely known fact.

“I know Klaus,” she laughed and tipped over her empty glass, watching the melting ice cubes swirl around.

“You don't get it.” He shook his head, his fingers nervously tapping against the railing. “I see everyone, the living, the dead, hell why not throw in the undead too? Sometimes I'm not sure who is who. I'll be talking to someone and I won't realize they are dead until I catch other people staring at me like I'm a freak,” he began rambling, staring off into the night. (Y/N) didn't dare interrupt. “I am, aren't I? I'm a freak. Why would someone like you stick to my side for so long? It makes no sense, so what proof do I have that you're alive and not some ghost following me around?”

(Y/N) extended her hand for him to take, except Klaus, in his state of existential crisis, did not take it right away and simply started at it like he had never seen a hand before in his life. (Y/N)'s nails were painted black because he had done her nails last week, for the memorial, though the polish was chipping off now, and the pure silver ring Klaus had once gifted her as a diploma gift was on her right middle finger.

He tried to remember a time when she wasn't wearing it but couldn't come up with anything. (Y/N) had been wearing it day in day out since he gave it to her – both as a way to celebrate her passing her exams and also to stick it to his old man. It had been a very lavish and expensive gift whose real value was known only to Klaus himself because he knew (Y/N) never would have accepted it otherwise.

His eyes moved back to her eyes. They shone bright like uncut stones, and her rosy cheeks swept by the evening wind made her look terribly adorable. She rolled her eyes after a while and simply grabbed his hand in hers. For whatever reason, he seemed taken aback. As if he had expected her hand to go right through his.

“You can touch me,” she told him, a slight blush warming her faces. True, he had developed the ability to physically interact with Ben now, but he had always been able to touch (Y/N), from the very first moment they met and he had grabbed her arm to pull her out of the way just when a car came crashing into the front façade of a pawnshop. Good times. “And your family see me too.”

“Right. But it still doesn't explain why you stick around. I'm a mess!” He laughed a sad, hysterical laugh that broke her heart, his eyes glowing under the harsh light of the nearby streetlamp. “You should have left years ago, when I started using. Do you know I don't even remember a bunch of your birthdays because I was so high? Who does that? Who celebrates their best friend's birthday high off their ass and forgets about it afterwards?”

He had abruptly let go of her hand. It hurt to hear that some memories that she cherished weren't shared, but (Y/N) never blamed Klaus for trying to escape his distorted reality any way he could. Doing drugs wasn't a good solution, but if he hadn't found a better one yet, who was she to try and force him to face his demons? She had always thought that he would do it in his own time, when he was ready. And he did.

“It's more complicated than that. I know that you-”

“It really shouldn't be. I should have been there - and I mean really there - for you. Why did you wait for me? Even when I left town, you waited for me.”

His sputtered out sharp, accusing sentences; his breath was short, erratic, a bit like when he was coming down from a high. But this wasn't it. Drugs didn't have anything to do with this.

(Y/N) found it difficult to swallow and it took her a little while to decide on the right thing to say. Her feelings for Klaus had always been a touchy subject, but so far he had never questioned their relationship – they were simply the bestest of friends, and that was that.

“I don't know what else to do,” she admitted, feeling the emotion built up. This really was a bad time for her, she becomes weirdly emotional after nightfall and even more so if she drank on an empty stomach. “If you weren't a part of my life anymore, I'd have a huge gap to fill. I look forward to seeing you show up at my door every year for my birthday. You never give me a heads up but I wait for you every damn time. There's no one I would rather get stuck on a deserted island with. You're my ride or die person.”

“I'm not reliable. Ask...” He gestured vaguely. “...literally anyone.”

“You've never let me down so far.” She shrugged. “The rest doesn't matter to me. Now stop questioning my reasons for sticking around. I love you Klaus, what else is there to say?”

He couldn't do anything but stare. (Y/N) wasn't a coward but her courage deserted her suddenly and she had to look away, ignoring his hard stare on her, willing her face to stay cool. Ben was glaring a hole into the side of his head and told him what he had been repeating Klaus all day, slowly driving him insane.

“Tell her. Tell her you love her too.”

Klaus would've told him off or hissed at him if he wasn't hyper aware of (Y/N) patiently waiting for an answer. What he settled for was even worse.

“Your mistake,” he eventually said before letting his head fall back. It was meant to be funny but it came out the wrong way.

“Are you fucking kidding me!” (Y/N) shouted all of a sudden, stung by his comment. “You are one whiny bitch, do you know that? Just accept that you're stuck with me for the rest of your life and move on, because I'm not turning my back on you regardless of how much you bitch about it.”

“You said 'bitch' twice,” he pointed out.

“Yes but one was a noun and the other was a verb.”

“I still don't get it,” he insisted.

Ben scoffed and turned away, as if he couldn't bear to witness Klaus' stupidity in action any longer. Klaus had to admit – at least to himself – that he was being stubbornly dumb with (Y/N). He didn't really know if he wanted to make her mad so she would leave him alone like he deserved, or if he was in complete and genuine denial of his own feelings.

“I don't get how gravity works but you don't see me floating away,” she replied, her tone settling down and getting relaxed again. “Whether you believe or not doesn't change the way things are. This ain't Neverland.”

There was a pause. She waited for a reaction. Klaus rubbed his hands over his stubble.

“I don't understand this reference,” he admitted, very begrudgingly.

“It's from Peter Pan, Klaus! How do you not know that?” (Y/N) raised both hands towards the sky in frustration but her smile betrayed how she felt.

“I've had a pretty rough childhood,” he chuckled as if it was an inside joke. Reluctantly, (Y/N) joined in and they shared an understanding look. “I feel like I lost the superpowers lottery,” he added. “The award for the worst superpower goes to Klaus Hargreeves.” A humorless chuckle. “I can't do anything with it. Nothing heroic at least. I can ask David Bowie if he likes my outfit before going out, but that won't save anyone's life.”

“You saved my life,” (Y/N) reminded him.

“We saved each other's life, it's a draw,” he shot back, frowning as he usually did when (Y/N) brought this up. It had happened eons ago, they were children for fuck's sake. “I couldn't protect you today. I'm not strong, I can't travel through time and space-” he paused, his eyes glazing over for a second as he no doubt remembered Dave, “or force people to do as I say, I can't even throw knives. Anyone can throw knives! You even don't need powers for that, but I still can't do it.”

“I don't need protection.”

“You will if you insist on staying in my life. Trouble always finds us - it finds me,” he added the last part a bit more quietly. “Trust me, I tried to outrun it for years.”

“I don't remember a time in my life when trouble didn't know exactly where I was and when to knock me off my feet,” (Y/N) assured him, setting her empty glass down now. She felt she would snap it in two if she kept twirling its stem between her fingers. “Whether you were there or not.”

“I know you're talking about your time in college, but that's just how college is I think,” Klaus chuckled. “Not that I would know, but that's what I've heard.”

A sad smile etched on (Y/N)'s lips forced Klaus to be serious again.

“It's not just that,” she told him quietly. “Also, you would've loved college. I know you're smarter than you let on, and it would have bought you four years away from the academy. Four years of absolute madness with Yours Truly.” She gestured at herself, grinning bright and wide.

“See? You should have listened to me, that's exactly what I told you ten years ago,” Ben added, much to Klaus' annoyance.

He didn't like when his brother meddled with his conversations with (Y/N), especially not if he teamed up with her against him – she didn't need that kind of support, she was right most of the time anyway.

“I would've blown it. I don't do well with authority,” Klaus argued, mostly to deflect Ben's argument than (Y/N)'s.

Ben huffed and disappeared again. Good riddance, don't come back before I go home, Klaus thought. Just because he's dead doesn't make everything he says cool and mystical.

“Whatever you tell yourself to feel better,” (Y/N) chuckled and grabbed a beer from the edge of the window behind them. “You look a little... off, Klaus. What's bothering you so much? Been seeing more ghosts again?”

“No, I mean yes, but that's not why I'm weird today,” he fumbled with words, pressing the cool beer bottle against his forehead to calm the whirlwind of thought in his head. It was just (Y/N), there was no need for such anxiety. “I don't understand how you can be so relaxed about it.”

“About what?”

“Don't act like you don't know!” He pointed an accusing finger at her and (Y/N) stared at it with wide, confused eyes, blinking slowly.

“I don't know what you're on about, dude. Is it something that happened last night?” A light bulb seemed to light up above her head suddenly. “Did you finally remember how you barfed all over me? Wasn't your most brilliant moment I have to say.”

“I did what now?” Klaus asked, baffled. “No, I don't remember that, and I sure hope I never will.”

“Then what's gotten your panties in a twist?” (Y/N)'s frustration was growing. If he didn't tell her right the fuck now why he acted like that, she would have to tease it out of him some way or another. “You are testing my patience, I can only handle so much nonsense, you know it.”

“Don't I,” he whispered to himself. “You know what? You're right, I'm being dumb. It's not a big deal, we're adults.”

(Y/N) frowned deeper, not having a clue what he was raving about, but deciding she was going to wait until he finished another beer to push the matter. His mind was clearly a mess, who knows if he even knew what he was talking about? Let's change the subject.

“You know, I'm glad this year's celebration was on the legal side, I really didn't want to be arrested again, and if we can avoid any and all near death experiences in the future, that'd be cool too.”

“Yeah,” he drawled out. “I thought we'd go back to classics this year,” he told her. “Since you vetoed all the fun stuff!”

Last year had gotten out of hand, which prompted (Y/N) to set some ground rules for future birthdays and other celebrations.

“I trust you to make even a plain, boring night at the club special,” she assured him, stroking his ego like nobody's business – it wasn't like anyone else did it anyway, his head would still fit through the door in the morning. The other umbrellas and his father always underestimated him. “I've never spent a dull evening with you.”

“So many compliments! Are you trying to get into my pants, (Y/N)? Because that's exactly how to do it.” He poked her cheek when her dimples showed and (Y/N) gave him a pointed look.

Yes, this was easy, this he knew. Just act normal, Klaus buddy, and she'll never know how freaked out you are about spending a night of drunken passion with your best friend, thus defiling your childhood bed.

“I'm way out of your league, man,” she scoffed in mock disdain and turned away from him. “You'd be lucky to get a hand job out of me.”

“Do I hear a challenge?” he asked immediately, jumping to the occasion to tease her further – he knew exactly what it took to make her turn beetroot red in the face. He liked how she tried to hide it behind a curtain of her dark hair. However, he knew he was treading on thin ice, and he had to keep himself in check if he didn't want to fall through.

“No, it's not Klaus!” she fired back, turning red alright. “It's a hard fact.” Fact, my ass. It wasn't even true. “Beer won't do if that's where the conversation is going. I'll be back.”

She climbed back into her living room and disappeared from sight. Klaus let out a sigh and looked into the night. It was mostly silent tonight, except for the cars driving by and the light music (Y/N) put on for background noise.

What kind of a mess had he put himself into? And fool as he was, he kept digging deeper and deeper. He needed to watch his tongue and stop making innuendos all the time. But it's what he usually did, so wouldn't it be weirder to simply stop? Would (Y/N) notice? Well, of course she would, she knew him better than anyone, except maybe Ben, but this was merely due to his ghost status that rendered privacy nearly impossible. Geez, did this mean that Ben saw the whole affair? Klaus dry heaved at the sheer thought that his brother had seen (Y/N) and him in action.

Also, if he couldn't remember shit about it, than it wasn't fair that Ben got to.

“Hey!” (Y/N) called, and Klaus felt something cold and damp against his arm. It was a glass of what he assumed was a gin tonic that she pressed against him to make him snap out of his bubble. “Are you going to take it or should I dump it directly into your mouth?”

God, he thought, accepting the glass but not taking his eyes off her, maybe Ben was right.

He squinted his eyes when he realized she was holding something else, a piece of paper, or was it? He couldn't tell, she was clearly trying to hide it in her palm.

“Since we're already on the subject of sensitive topics, I have a question for you,” (Y/N) told him as she sat down, her arm grazing against him and her eyes meeting his. “I've been meaning to ask you for a while now, but it never feels like the right time.”

He wasn't very good with social cues most of the time, but he had learned to pick up (Y/N)'s. Right now, he knew she wanted to have a serious conversation, her eyes told him so. It prickled his tongue just to know that for once he wouldn't be able to joke his way out of a situation, he would have to answer her truthfully, whatever she asked.

Neither of them drank the gin tonic she brought. (Y/N) thought it might give her a bit of courage if she drank before diving in the great unknown and asking the question that burned her lips. But she felt she might become sick if she so much as brought the glass to her mouth. She set it down on the iron railing.

Soon enough, her eyes prickled a little. Damn, why did she have to be so emotional after dark? It was exactly like when she was little and spilled all her secrets to her friends during a sleepover – the next day they told everyone who her crush was. Guess (Y/N) hadn't learned her lesson yet. No, she wasn't going to cry. She wasn't. Klaus' eyes were still glued to the side of her face, waiting for the anticipated question.

“Why did you leave, Klaus?” Even her voice was full of tears, but she somehow kept them from falling. Her eyes were trained on the photograph in her hands – an old picture of Klaus, Ben and her that Allison had taken a few weeks prior to Ben's death.

It was then that Klaus had fallen well and good into self-medication, and she knew she had lost him, she had seen his departure the following year coming from a mile away. Though it didn't hurt less when he disappeared without a goodbye.

“You know why.”

(Y/N) laughed a little. Klaus rarely used this serious a voice, she must look a fright if he didn't try to tease his way out of her questioning.

“That's not what I'm talking about.” No, she wasn't talking about Klaus skipping town at age twenty because he couldn't take the abuse anymore and still grieved his brother. “Reginald is dead. Why'd you leave last year? I thought you might want to settle down somewhere now that his influence can't reach you anymore.”

He shook his head and resting his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his open palms.

“This house isn't home. I don't see his ghost but his bitch ass haunts the place as sure as I am the hottest sibling. I can't even sleep in this house when you're not here,” he scoffed and slammed the full glass on the ground too.

It took (Y/N) aback. She blinked away the remaining tears and a put herself together. He still couldn't sleep. How did that affect someone's daily life?

A childish, idealistic part of her wanted to tell him to come live with her. He knew he was always welcome, she never rejected him. But the adult part of her knew it wasn't that simple. He couldn't spend his life on her couch.

He could just sleep in my bed though.

No, she shook the thought away, that was just plain stupid. The silly, naive teenage girl she never truly stopped being clung to an old hope. She had to let go of this.

“Sorry,” she muttered, feeling the ridicule of her sudden outburst now that it was over. She hadn't gotten the answer she was hoping for, but at least she would wonder anymore. “I ruined the mood, didn't I? There was a time I wasn't so serious, see what happens when you're gone too long?”

Shit. She closed her eyes and kept them tightly shut for a second. That wasn't the right thing to say. It came out all wrong, but Klaus still huffed and laughed.

“You mean you becoming boring? Tell me about it, I should take you out of this soul-sucking city before it's too late.”

(Y/N) thought she might like that.

All night they talked, and talked, and talked, but now once did Klaus mention what really bothered him. (Y/N) sat and listened to his jokes and his stories about Five going through puberty again and she laughed with him and huddled under a blanket with him when the night became too cold.

Yet he still would spill the beans to her. It was the first time she felt as though he was withholding information from her, that he didn't just refuse to talk about something, he refused to talk about it with her. Made her wonder if she did something wrong. The only reason why he would hide her something was if she was the source of the problem.

It pained Klaus to see her wait in expectancy all night, hoping he would open up to her. But the more he looked at her – really looked at her, her shining eyes, her smile, the way she shook her head when he told her something funny – and the more he realized he was living a lie he told himself. Ben had always been right. But (Y/N) couldn't know.

So she obliviously kept laughing with him, hoping that whatever preoccupied him so much would soon be dealt with, one way or another. God knew how long he was going to stay this time.

“... I mean, adolescence sure doesn't sit well on Five, he's been insufferable since I suggested he bust a nut to unwind. Something about cheating on Dolores,” Klaus kept going on and on. “Can you imagine? How long will it take for him to recognize I gave him valuable advice? Even you and I did it the other night, and we're fine as fiddles.”

(Y/N) blinked slowly, feeling a wire snap in her brain.

“Wait, what?”

(Y/N) didn't have a superpower. Or maybe she did, only different from the kind of power the Umbrellas had. Klaus wasn't sure. All he knew was that she made things go quiet and he needed that in his life.

When she was sitting next to him the dead didn't come too close. When he held her hand he didn't hear their heart wrenching moans. And the best part was that she didn't even realize, she just hung out with him because they were friends.

One day, he mused, Luther said something in a fit of anger that Klaus hadn't forgotten since, despite the years. He told him that he used (Y/N) for his own benefit and that he would step out of her life if he cared for her at all. That was shortly before Klaus skipped town and became a regular at rehab and the ER.

But he couldn't stay away, he couldn't abandon his best friend. He came back at least once a year for her birthday and tried to come by as often as he could without relapsing. Yes, he was a shitty friend, but he tried. And once a year, for a few precious hours, he was at peace.

He already lost his love once, he won't let it happen again. There was nothing he wouldn't do to keep (Y/N) in his life. Sometimes he still thought of Dave, of course. It lasted a flicker beat, during which he wanted to reach for the dog tags - except they weren't there anymore. He had kept them, put them somewhere safe as they were precious memorabilia, but they were no longer part of his everyday attire.

At the beginning he needed to feel them again his chest, they grounded him while he mourned. But over time they began to hang heavy around his neck, weighing down on him instead of helping him keep his head out of the water. That's when he decided to take them off, as painful as it was. Dave was in the past, far, far away in the past, and he was dead. How long could Klaus hold onto the memory of a dead person before it drove him crazy? He was unbalanced enough as it was, no need to add to it.

But as recalled holding (Y/N) against his chest, he thought maybe there was still hope for him. Maybe all the good parts of him hadn't died with Dave in Vietnam. It wasn't her job to fix him, obviously, Klaus knew that, he was aware he couldn't rely on her to fix himself. Perhaps though, waking up next to her and seeing her smile was all he needed to give him the courage to get better. The strength to get out of bed and not dread the day ahead. Maybe he had found a secure place for his heart again - he knew she would take great care of it, she always had.

He shook his head.

He was just putting the cart before the horse. Who said she felt the same as him? Sure, he thought that she act strangely calm after their drunken “hook up”, but he knew now that it was all in his head. She acted normal because nothing happened. She made it very clear that nothing occurred between them, so much so that Klaus would have taken offense if he wasn't busy feeling all kinds of other troublesome emotions.

This was giving him a headache. He had been hiding in his room like a teenager for days now. A few horrendous, boring, restless days during which he barely got any shut eye, for various reasons.

For now, he would enjoy his bath, but how long until (Y/N) barged in here to demand an explanation?

“Where's Klaus? He's been avoiding my calls,” (Y/N) asked Poggo the moment the large double doors opened.

He gave her a crooked smile, and made a slight head movement to the left. She sometimes thought Poggo knew when she was going to come before she even took the decision. She thanked him and stormed in, heading straight for his room and banging on the door. No answer. Her hand flew to the handle and she burst in uninvited. No one. Fine.

There was only one other place he could be if he wanted to avoid people and that was the bathroom. This time (Y/N) did not even knock and simply waltzed in, shutting the door behind her so abruptly that Klaus nearly dropped his headphones in the water.

“(Y/N)! You scared the shit out of me!”

Did he just... summon her? No, that didn't sound right. It was a mere coincidence.

“You should've answered my calls, it would've spared you a heart attack,” she replied, walking straight to the tub he was soaking in. “What's the matter, Klaus? Just say it so we can move on.”

“It's nothing!” he exclaimed, his voice too high pitched to be telling the truth.

“I don't believe you.”

“Just tell her. You know she won't drop it,” Ben told him with his usual 'I am full of wisdom' voice.

They would really need to have a conversation about how dying doesn't make you smarter or give you permission to spy on people's bath time.

“I know!” Klaus shouted at Ben.

(Y/N) took it for herself.

“Then why don't you spill the beans? I'm not going to judge you, whatever it is. Have you had a relapse?”

“No...” Klaus rubbed his eyes both his thumb and pointer finger, feeling tired already. It was barely past noon and he wanted nothing more than find cover in his bed.

“Why are you hiding it from her? Maybe she loves-”

“Shut up!” Klaus yelled, his head snapping to his right.

“Wait, is Ben here?” (Y/N) asked. She knew how much Klaus hated to have more than one conversation at a time, what with ghosts always trying to get his attention. It made it hard to focus and that's what made him turn to drugs in the first place. “Do you mind? It's rude to eavesdrop.”

Ben smiled even though she couldn't see it. She was standing there, fists on her hips, trying to look stern while Klaus sat naked in the tub, unable to avoid this conversation. Reassured that he would not just jump out of the water and try for a run, Ben nodded.

“You can't avoid this anymore. It's long overdue anyway,” he told his brother right before leaving them alone.

“He's gone,” Klaus informed (Y/N).

His shaking hands removed his headphones and reached for the window's edge to grab a cigarette. What had him so nervous? (Y/N) grabbed the lighter and lit his cigarette for him before he burned himself or dropped it in his bath.

“Please, Klaus. I'm getting worried.”

Her eyes shone in the bluish light filtering through the opaque window. He couldn't resist those big puppy eyes. (Y/N) sat down, back against the side of the tub. When his arm extended over the edge to hand her the cigarette, she took it and placed it between her lip.

“Is it something I said? It's not still about last week, is it? I told you: we didn't sleep together like you thought we did,” she said, blowing out smoke and watching it swirl skyward and dissipate before hitting the ceiling. She handed it back to him but he didn't bring it to his mouth.

(Y/N)'s gaze got stuck on his goodbye tattoo.

She, too, had been thinking over and over again about their conversation. When he admitted he thought they had spent the night together, she was taken aback. So much so that her first instinct was to deny vehemently, maybe too much even. It didn't come from a bad place, she was just surprised and shifted into her default denial mode. Whenever someone asked her if Klaus and her were a thing, she flipped and sputtered out something about male and female friendship being possible without developing romantic feelings.

Truth was, it was possible. It simply wasn't the case for her. She had always had a thing for Klaus, and she always thought he was aware and elected to ignore it for the sake of their long standing friendship. She realized how she felt upon seeing the enormity of the emptiness in her life, right after he left.

More than once, (Y/N) almost took a leap of faith and confessed, but they saw each other so rarely already, what if he simply walked out of her life for good after that?

She was blind and that was it. They were already so far from each other on a daily basis, she had nothing to lose, nothing at all. If he didn't share her feelings, they would still have a whole year to put that behind them and get their friendship back on track for her next birthday.

(Y/N) took the cigarette back. Klaus still hadn't answered her. Her fingers lingered on his hand and slid towards his tattoo, circling it.

“You surprised me, to say the least,” she started, still wondering what she was going to say next. Sometimes autopilot was the best option. “On the one hand, I'm glad we did nothing because you were drunk out of your mind and would have forgotten it all – which honestly would've crushed my self-confidence – but on the other, I think it would make for a memorable birthday present.”

It sounded better in her head. When she looked up, she met his eyes and it nearly broke a dam inside her. He looked so vulnerable, so heartbroken. She hadn't seen those eyes in years – or so it felt – and they rendered her helpless. (Y/N) swallowed, unable to look away, trapping by his big, glossy eyes.

“Don't say that,” he breathed out. She barely heard it, as if he was talking to himself and not to her. But she did catch his words and they burned in her mind.

“I am saying it. We've been together for so long now, I should have said it eons ago and not wait for a dumb misunderstanding before finally telling you.” He was so silent, everything was silent, almost like they were alone in the house. A shiver ran down (Y/N)'s spine and her heartbeat picked up its pace. “Say something, Klaus. Anything.”

“I hate this place.”

Well, it wasn't what she was hoping for, but at least he said something.

“So?”

“So I hate coming back. It makes me feel wrong, it's like a poison,” he tried to explain, finally freeing her from his gaze.

“Maybe you shouldn't come back then,” (Y/N) said, feeling herself growing sick.

“I can't,” he admitted, his voice desperate all of a sudden, breathless almost. “I can't stay away, as much as I hate it, I have to come back, because you're still here. And I can't leave you.”

It was difficult holding up his gaze now. What was he saying? Why couldn't he speak plainly? Then again, neither could she. It was so hard putting yourself in a vulnerable position – it was like exposing your neck to a hungry lion and seeing if he would bite you or spare you.

“I can't live without you.” His confession hit her like a thousand bricks, knocking the air out of her.

“Why does it make you so sad?” (Y/N) pushed.

“I already told you. I'm no good, I can't protect you, I'm a forever work-in-progress, you'll nev-”

“Don't presume to tell me want I am, or want, or need, Klaus,” she warned him before he could go any further.

“I can't even sleep most of the time. My life is a nightmare when you're not right next to me,” he whined, pressing his palms against his temples.

(Y/N) extinguished the cigarette on the tiled floor and stood up, kicking off her shoes. When her hands reached for the front button of her jeans, Klaus' shook his head.

“Wha- what are you doing (Y/N)?” he asked, blinking as though he thought he might be seeing things.

Soon, she stood (once again) half undressed in front of him. What he genuinely did not expect, was to see her take a hold of the edge of the tub and slowly climb into the water with him. Water spilled over the edge of the tub but they didn't care. Klaus froze and blinked dumbly, staring at her as if he didn't trust his own eyes. She was sitting in the tub, straddling his waist to be face to face.

He would lie if he said this hadn't happened already in some of his fantasies, but when he extended his hand to touch her arm, she was real.

“Do you know how difficult it is to take off wet jeans?” she said as an answer to his previous question – which he had completely forgotten about. “Why are you staying in cold water by the way? It's freezing in this bathroom.”

“Welcome to creepy manor,” Klaus replied on reflex. “Where everything is as cold and dead as Sir Reginald's stone heart.”

“You're joking because you're nervous,” (Y/N) said with a blinding smile. Klaus shot her a crooked little smile.

“Guilty. I'm only a man, and you just took a very sexy initiative, bravo.”

He licked his lips. (Y/N) let her fingers trail up his forearms, leaving a path of wet in their wake, little droplets running down to his elbows and returning to the tub. For the first time, she allowed herself to touch him in a new, unfamiliar way. Klaus stopped breathing altogether until she stopped her exploration and simply moved her hands to his neck, her thumbs brushing along his jaw.

He wasn't so cold anymore now, and (Y/N) must have felt it too. He was stark naked, there really wasn't anything he could hide from her, now could he? It wasn't fair, now that he thought about it, it was only right that she dropped her top too. His hands slid under the hem of her shirt and lifted it; she got the message and helped him take off the wet garment.

Klaus seemed to finally come alive when his hands settled on her waist, and (Y/N) replaced her hands where they were. Their proximity was exhilarating: they could feel each other's hot breath against their skin, they got drunk off of it. Klaus' head spun a little. His eyes locked with (Y/N)'s seconds before they met.

Seeing no hesitation on his part, (Y/N) smiled and touched the tip of his nose with hers, making him break into a similarly wide grin. Then, she leaned forward, sending some more water over the edge, and finally kissing him. One of his hands moved to the small of her back and pressed her to his chest, urging her to deepening the kiss. (Y/N) wanted to taste him first, savor the softness of his lips, enjoy the tickle of his facial hair.

But she was hungry too and she was done holding back and being a good girl. Their kisses became more frantic, they lingered; their lips became swollen and red too. Soon, Klaus' lips trailed down towards her neck and her collarbone.

(Y/N)'s hand shot out and held Klaus' throat, cutting short his ministration. Their chest heaved and they grinned madly at each other, completely forgetting the cold water. The rest of (Y/N)'s clothing was soon thrown across the room, hitting the door in a wet splash, triggering a round of giggles.

“Are we really going to do it in a tub?” (Y/N) asked, biting the skin right under Klaus' left ear, sucking it lightly to leave a mark.

“It's no smaller than my bed,” Klaus pointed out with a laugh, though his brows remained knitted together and his eyes closed in delight. He held to deploy an extraordinary effort not to moan out loud.

There was a glimmer in his eyes when he stared at her, as though he still didn't quite believe she wasn't a ghost or a figment of his imagination. He pushed back her hair, taking a fistful of it without ever stopping to look at her like she hung the moon in the sky.

He pulled her closer to him yet, and (Y/N) dived on his lips before answering, “there are 42 rooms in this house. Just imagine the possibilities.”

Neither of them was going to get out of this tub before quenching a thirst that had kept their throat dry for years now. It was messy at best, water everywhere, fumbling hands, voracious kisses, bites, nails marks – they laughed it all off, feeling so light they would fly away.

When they joined, there was a moment of silence, of holding onto each other for dear life, taking it all in and accepting that this was the beginning of something new. Klaus was the first to snap out of it, and his cupped (Y/N)'s cheek, watching her nuzzle his hand and place a soft peck on his palm.

Of course he loved her. How could he ever doubt it?

“What are you thinking about?” (Y/N) asked Klaus with a sly smile, already shifting closer to him as she pushed his hair out of his face.

It had been a long, tiring day – both emotionally and physically – and it had been no small feat to sneak out of the bathroom and into Klaus' room without getting caught. Five would have plucked his own eyes out and Luther might have spontaneously combusted.

Huddled together in Klaus' bed to warm themselves after the cold but no so cold bath they share, they fought to stay awake. Klaus' mind jumped back to his earlier musing about waking up beside (Y/N), and he knew he had been right.

“Nothing,” Klaus lied right away, refusing to reveal the ridiculous musings that crossed his mind. (Y/N) leaned into him, her breath hot again his neck when she spoke again and whispered

“Liar” against his skin.

His Adam's apple bobbed up and down again as he swallowed. The scariest part was behind them now, there was no need to be nervous. (Y/N) hand was placed over his heart and he briefly thought she could feel the desperate thumping of it in his ribcage.

“I was thinking-” he started, his throat a little dry, eyes lost in (Y/N)'s hopeful ones. “I was thinking I could stay for a while.”

#klaus hargreeves #tua imagine #klaus hargreeves imagine #the umbrella academy #tua #robert sheehan #umbrella academ

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lizzieraindrops · 4 years

Text

Your chance to make the sun rise thrice (Chapter 2)

a river that still runs (8803 words)

Beth Childs has come to Helsinki to meet her best friend Veera for the first time in the Herbs on the windowsill universe, an alternate timeline where the original Helsinki massacre was prevented and DYAD routed by Clone Club Alpha’s successful publicity stunt back in 2001. Veera Suominen and Niki Lintula survived and decided to live in a little apartment together as qpp’s. Numerous Leda clones worldwide are now in contact via a secure online network that Veera maintains.

Note: This chapter is a bit heavier than the rest of the AU. Beth is still struggling with a lot of the same challenges in this universe, even if the events causing them are somewhat different because of such early canon divergence. But the whole point of this story is that things can end up okay no matter how rough it's been. She's getting the help she needs and she's gonna be alright. That said, warning for soft discussion of past abuse, the effects of trauma, depression and anxiety, and some suicidal ideation. And of course, lots of love and learning how to heal, with support from her best friend.

Fun fact: Veera's username is 3mika, and she always sets her font to the precise warm turquoise of hex color #2299aa. She thinks she's hilarious, and she's right.

Also on AO3 | Playlist | Aesthetic sideblog

Part 1: Herbs on the windowsill

Part 2: Someday colors

Part 3: Your chance to make the sun rise thrice | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

***

Beth wakes on a squashy couch that isn't hers. Morning-soft sunlight pours through the window above her, bouncing back off the walls to fill even the shady corners with a warm secondhand glow. Her limbs are soft, splayed under unfamiliar blankets and sinking into the cushions. She doesn't move yet.

The apartment. Helsinki. Beth's really here. She holds herself still, letting the truth sink into her. She half expects the usual anxious tension to clench her into a ball the instant she moves a muscle, but it isn't there. Neither is the invisible weight that so often pins her immobile. She still wakes frequently with both of them holding her body hostage, keeping her muscles unmoving but restless, even in sleep. Right now though, they're gone. She just lies there, soft beneath the window.

It's quiet but not silent. The occasional car on the little road outside chuckles as it passes. A soft rush of water echoes through pipes in the walls, running toward an early riser in another unit. These sounds fall strangely on Beth's Toronto-bred ears, isolated in the stillness of this of this little apartment on the outskirts of the city. Still, the early-morning atmosphere settles comfortably into her jet-lagged bones, murmuring a rhythm for her to sink into. The temporal upheaval of a transcontinental red-eye and a series of exhausted naps yesterday have left her a little unbalanced. And yet, here she is waking up with the day, and the ground under her feels so much more stable than she’s used to.

Beth breaks her stillness with a deep, deep breath that she can feel expanding all the way down to her feet. She stretches, too, but soon pulls the toes that get exposed back underneath the warm, scratchy blanket. The cushions of the old couch creak a little in complaint as she shifts, but her limbs remain supple. For a time, she just observes the sensations. Then, her awareness spreads beyond the couch and the window to the rest of the room.

All around her, an oddly blocky pattern covers the walls. It's one of the first things she noticed when she walked into the apartment yesterday afternoon. The pattern isn't wallpaper like it appears at first glance, but actually a multitude of small photographs. Most of them are unframed, but taped up in crisply aligned rows. In them, she sees the same face infused with a hundred different lives. Just above her, a sleeping, slack-jawed redhead with bulky headphones around her neck sprawls on the very same couch Beth's laying on now. A few rows down, a brunette and a blonde with their long hair in matching wild waves are leaning all over each other and grinning like devils. One of the few framed photos shows a girl with a hospital-short buzz cut and a delighted expression, sitting in front of what looks like a mouthwatering strawberry shortcake. Beth can see at least six others in the background behind strawberry girl. Among them are Mika with her unmistakable scars and Niki with her bright blonde hair, their arms around each other's shoulders.

Morning light glances off the glossy surfaces of the photos on the west wall. The particularly bright reflection off one of the framed photos draws Beth's eye. With a tiny jolt, Beth recognizes one of her own selfies beneath the glass. In it, she's wearing the same old turquoise blue sweatshirt that's spilling out of her suitcase next to the couch right now. Underneath it, she's wearing her track gear, so the photo is at least two years old. She'd had to quit cross-country so she could try to get the shitshow her life had become under control. She vaguely recalls sending it to Mika a long time ago. It's strange to think that her presence has been in this apartment for so long.

She's here. In Finland. Staying with Mika – Mika - and Niki. Far, far away from everything.

Sprawling on the couch she slept on with a sigh as if she hadn’t a care in the world, Beth can't believe she's really gone and done it. She's run so far away that there's an ocean between her and her problems. It’s so much better than she's dreamed, even if it's only for a little while. It’s worth it, even though she'll be going back far too soon. For the first time in years, it feels like she’s where she’s supposed to be right now.

It had all started out as foolish idea she'd floated one Saturday morning, months ago. She hadn't been serious at all. She'd woken up so relieved at not having to get up and go to work, until she remembered her weekly therapy appointment with a hopeless groan.

Putting off the genuinely daunting prospect of hauling herself out of bed, she reached out to snag her phone from on top of her dresser, checking to see if she'd heard from Mika overnight. After all, Helsinki was nine hours ahead, so Mika had already seen most of the day that was just beginning for Beth. They talked so often these days, since they'd first made contact over two years ago. Rarely a day passed without touching base. But there wasn’t anything since Beth had checked last night. She took it upon herself to send the first message of the day.

runwaterblue: god, i dont wanna get up and deal with any of thsi shit today

After her world fell apart, after finding out about Project Leda, after realizing that all her nightmares and more were real, after her father...

runwaterblue: wish i could come visit u and get away form everything for awhile

Mika replied almost immediately.

3mika: you can

It was evening in her time zone, but to be honest, Beth had no idea if she had anything resembling a regular sleep schedule. The girl was always online.

3mika: though you really should go to your appointment. you always feel better afterward

runwaterblue: howd you know i have therapy today

3mika: you always have an appointment saturday afternoons

runwaterblue: yes but how do you remember that? i cant evne remember my own appts lmao

3mika: you mentioned it months ago when you switched from sundays to saturdays

Beth shook her head with a smile. Mika was so good with details.

3mika: anyway. you’re welcome here, if you can get here

3mika: it would be great to see you

3mika: Niki wouldn't mind. we've had a bunch of Ledas visit us here, it's always fun

3mika: except that one time Dani and Ary got into a fight over football. some French-Italian team rivalry thing. that was not fun.

Beth laughed. It was funny how Mika was so good at making her do that, even on days like these. She leaned back against her pillow and held her phone over her head without sitting up, being careful not to drop it on her own face. She'd done that before. More times than she'd admit.

runwaterblue: i was kidding. id love to visit, but idk how id get there

runwaterblue: u should see the americans go off abt their football lmao. they're nerly as bad as the hockey freaks here

3mika: pls no

3mika: no more sports. it was a year ago and I’m still exhausted

3mika: sports are banned in this apartment.

Beth snorted. Mika wanted nothing to do with sports of any kind, and with Beth's athletic record, the topic had become a point of mutual teasing between them.

In so many ways, they were such different people, DNA be damned. Mika was reticent where Beth was outgoing. (Or at least, Beth had been. She was never quite sure how to think of herself these days.) Clone drama aside, Beth had been a pretty average Canadian high schooler. She got reasonable grades, played a few sports, and kept mostly out of trouble because there would be hell to pay if she didn’t. Mika was a brilliant homeschooled autistic orphan who had been raised in near isolation by her guardian after surviving the hospital fire that marked her skin for life. Beth mostly listened to pop music, and where no one else could hear, the occasional classical symphony. Mika held fast to Finland's weird obsession with death metal and dabbled in literally everything else.

And yet, Mika understands Beth like no one else does. And it's not just because they've both been through all this Project Leda bullshit. Though Beth doesn't know what she would have done without Mika to help her through that, too.

Beth won't ever be able to forget the moment that everything changed. Recognizing a her own face from the mirror on the evening news stopped her in her tracks, as something in her gut caved in with the hollow certainty that it wasn't her. Then face after face flickered before her, a flipbook barrage of déja vu. Blonde and smiling. Scarred and pensive. Braids and piercings and a rakish grin. Beth was rooted in place as people she had never been wearing things she had never worn said things she was never supposed to know.

That utter strangeness on the screen immediately seeped into her life like an oil slick into a river, tainting every thing she thought she knew with clinging uncertainty. Her father was inexplicably even more upset about it than Beth was, yet adamant that they shouldn't look into the matter. But it was already too late to stop herself from thinking. With slow horror, the truth of what exactly his behavior must mean dawned on her. And yet, even with the desperate growing certainty about who her Leda monitor must be, it was hard to believe that he could be anything other than her plain stern father.

He was always a bit strict and overprotective - probably well more than a bit, she realizes these days. But she’d thought that's just what it was like to be a cop's daughter. He'd never done anything really extreme, nothing beyond the firm discipline any kid could expect. He was just not a man to be trifled with, that was all. So until everything she thought she knew shifted that day and threatened to topple every assumption she’d built her life on, she had never truly dared to cross him.

Outright daring him to say to her face that he wasn't her monitor was probably considered a step beyond trifling. He did not take it kindly.

Two months later, Beth and her mother were living in an apartment on the opposite side of the city. It took two months for the two of them to lay plans to leave together, for good. For two months, her every move was watched. She spent two months knowing there would be hell to pay if she didn't give the performance of a lifetime pretending everything was fine, even while sirens blared inside her day and night. Two months was more than enough to teach her things she never wanted to know about the hidden marks fear leaves on the body.

Even after she finally escaped, her life was in tatters and nothing made sense. It wasn’t just the sudden jarring discovery of Project Leda, or the crisis it had forced her to confront. It was learning that, deep down, she had known that she’d never once felt free. She’d unconsciously kept herself from knowing to avoid exactly that conflict of wills that she’d known she would lose.

Trying to come to terms with what had happened and how it changed everything, Beth was continuously losing her balance. Questioning which parts of her life had been screwed over by her father and which by being part of some ridiculous supervillain science experiment was like trying to stand on two kickboards in a pool. She couldn't find her footing, and all she could do was try and stay afloat. She had to repeat her whole junior year of high school that she lost to this shitshow, while starting over at a new school, and only barely scraped her way into senior year. Now that she knew how honestly terrible she'd been at judging who in her life she could trust, it was as hard to talk to old friends as it was to make new ones.

Therapy helped her start sorting out what she was feeling, and how the environment she’d grown up in was really not the healthiest. She hadn’t realized how much she’d learned to doubt her own perceptions. That made constructing any kind of new understanding of her situation an uphill struggle. And of course, her therapist couldn’t help her confirm anything about a human experiment that was so illegal it had been an international secret. As she continued to stumble forward, Beth even started doubting her former certainty of the identity of her Leda monitor. She questioned herself and everything she knew until she wanted to scream with frustration or weep with confusion. The floor of the counselor’s office could have been mopped with her tears. It was, quite literally, driving her mad.

So, finally, Beth had taken up the invitation on the banner of every Leda news feature to "Contact the secure, clone-run Clone Youth Group Network (CYGNet) for answers by emailing [email protected]."

She wanted something concrete that would help convince her brain to stop reenacting these head games that warped her reality. It still insisted on playing through the patterns it had been taught, even in its teacher’s absence. She needed something that could brace her against the ideas that she was really just paranoid, overreacting, accusing, that this was all her fault for making a big deal out of nothing. Even with his other faults (cruelties, her mind whispered) aside, at least his involvement with Project Leda was unforgivable, and she wanted proof of it. Maybe if she had that, she could stop being mad at herself for not wanting to forgive. And if anyone had that proof, CYGNet would.

Maybe it was just because of the sheer blunt honesty about her motives, or the inescapable vulnerability of the message Beth sent, but Mika had replied to her within a day. And she'd been so gentle about it, too, enough to make Beth later question where the stereotype of autistic brashness came from. Then again, over email, Mika had all the time she needed to compose her thoughts and lay them out as softly as she wanted. She didn't have to spit them out as fast as she could to keep pace with a quick and painfully overwhelming world.

Hi Beth Childs,

I'm so sorry for what you had to go through. I still don't know how they got away with doing things like this for so long. I suppose people will always find ways to be cruel. But we've survived this long, and the whole point of CYGNet is to help us all heal. The experimental network has been dismantled, and we are assembling resources to help us. We've brought mental health professionals on to the project to develop custom programs for our needs. We can make them available to you, if you are interested.

I attached scans of some of your files that we recovered from DYAD. There are a few case reports with the signature of the person you asked about, spaced throughout your lifetime. There are also financial records with his name in the list of paid employees. He was without a doubt part of the Leda monitor program. I can provide all of the documentation that we have related to you, if you like, but I thought that would be too much all at once. I know these are hard to look at, but I hope they help let your mind rest. They are very real, and every awful thing we have experienced was also real, no matter how they tried to convince everyone that we were making it all up.

Please take your time with these, and stay in contact if you want to. You can join our mailing list, if you want to know when we have new information or new resources available. We're here for you.

And hey, if you just want to talk to someone who knows what it's like to deal with all of this, I'm here, too. You can reach my personal inbox or IM me at [email protected]. It'll be okay.

-Veera

Beth had started crying before she even finished reading the letter, much less opened the attachments. She cried so often these days. She only knew why half the time. But this time, it felt like the tears were extracting some of her pain as they left her, instead of just overflowing from the unending wellspring of her directionless distress. All of this was real, and someone else knew it.

Though she was grateful beyond measure for her mother’s untiring support, they were each other’s too-close, ever-present reminders of what they’d survived, trying to act like they weren’t, trying to convince each other and themselves that they were okay. Beth had needed something else, too, something until now unnamed.

This was a handhold, a backstop Beth didn't know she'd been desperate to find. It wasn't just the confirmation of what she’d concluded about her father. The ability speak plainly to someone she didn't feel the need to pretend around was an exhale of a breath held too long. At least one person in the world not only understood, but really and truly didn't want or expect her to act like any of this was normal or okay, or that she would ever be the same again.

Veera – or Mika, as she often went by online – made good on her offer of a sympathetic ear. Their correspondence started off with awkward, grammatically correct messages about the less painful details of their lives. Mika told her about the farmer’s market three blocks away where she went walking early in the morning before it got busy, and the plant stand there that her best friend and roommate Niki (also a Leda) had to ask her to stop buying so many succulents from.

At first, Beth tried to chatter like she used to, but there were no safe subjects. What had happened had touched all of her life. Normally, she’d talk about school, or sports, or her friends. But she was trying to start all over again at a new school with all the struggles that came with it. She didn’t have the time or energy for sports anymore, and talking about them hurt, now. Running used to make her heart sing. But no matter how she tried, there was no joy in the motion anymore. To top it all off, it was as hard to connect with old friends from her old life as it was to try and make new ones. She spent most interactions either doubting her own character judgement or dreading the moment people recognized her Leda face from the news.

She didn’t know how to talk about any of it to anyone. Maybe she could have if it had been just the clone thing or just the dad thing. But the two were inextricably entangled, and she still couldn’t even explain it to herself. It was all unbelievably horrifying, and any time she tried to be honest about it, people ended up disbelieving or horrified. Shocker.

Maybe, though, it wouldn’t be weird to talk about it with Mika. Mika already knew the worst. Beth didn’t have to hide that hurt from her to keep from shaking her world, or to keep her dismissal from hurting Beth. Maybe that’s what was hurting the most: the feeling that even after escaping, she still had to pretend to be okay. That compulsive stifling feeling choked her whenever it bubbled back up. On her bad days, a simple “how are you?” could reduce her to a blank face plastered over a raw tangle of emotions held motionless her own iron grip.

But Mika mentioned having bad days, too. Days came where she was too scared and nightmare-weary to do anything but make herself some tea and soak up some sunlight in the safety of home. Beth could casually say things like after those two months, i still twitch every time i hear a door open, and i wish my body would quit feeling like it doesn’t exist, my legs feel numb. It barely broke the surface of what it was like in her head, but was discomfiting enough for people that she held her tongue at school.

Sometimes, Beth got tired of constantly thinking about all this shit and tried to lighten things up. On one comically disastrous occasion of cultural exchange, she liveblogged Mika her attempt at eating the infamous Scandinavian lutefisk, along with an audio recording of the incoherent horrified noises she made after tasting it. In return, she received a recording of someone, presumably Mika, laughing harder than she’d ever heard anyone laugh before. It made Beth smile. Not many things did, back then.

Slowly, as the formality fell away from their transcontinental conversations, their heavier stories seething below the surface seeped in. Beth had been in therapy long enough now to know that she couldn't just recklessly unload on people the way she did in counseling sessions. But a counselor couldn't always provide the same kind of unspoken solidarity that someone in the same boat could.

Bit by bit, slipped into the chats that were becoming a daily occurrence, they talked about monitors, about what the experiment had really all been for, why that both was and wasn’t important, and how they'd discovered they were a part of Project Leda. Putting words to the pain hurt, a lot. But the ability to lay out long-unspoken truths in front of each other, knowing they were believed in the way that only people who have shared something can, was a healing kind of pain instead of the festering one Beth had been living with.

The two of them had more in common than they'd thought, growing up a world apart. Beth's experience raised under the subconscious wariness of her father's hovering thumb felt a lot like what Mika described growing up largely isolated with her former guardian. But sometimes, whenever they realized that something they'd both thought was normal was pretty not, they got a good laugh out of it despite the weight of their pasts. Mika seemed somewhat accustomed to her normal being considered pretty weird, so she usually took the revelations in stride better than Beth did. Beth wouldn't find out for at least a year after meeting her that it was because of her Asperger's, since it was a topic Mika seemed quite sensitive about.

Mika explained it once, in a conversation full of long pauses on her part and watching the typing icon disappear and reappear on Beth’s. The way she put it, it just meant that her brain worked a bit differently than most people's, processing sounds and sights and all the information it took in at different speeds and with different emphases. The difference could turn everyday things like the sound of a refrigerator running into a splitting headache, or something as simple as the soft texture of her favorite jacket into a kind of bliss. That alternative way of processing also extended to things like words and emotions as well. Sometimes, it took her longer than the world was willing to wait to process them into something that made sense. It often made communication tricky, trying to compensate for the gap in mutual understanding with most people. The world and the people in it could be so overwhelming sometimes, so fast and bright and full of noise and uncertainty and bewilderingly arbitrary social conventions. But the biggest challenge was other people expecting her to do everything the same way they did, ignorant of the fact there were any ways to exist other than their own, and completely oblivious to the fact that she was already putting in at least twice as much effort to communicate with them as they were with her.

And yet, even coming from such a different perspective, Mika gets it. Beth says sometimes i dream of drowning and its not a nightmare and i wake up not knowing how to feel, and Mika says I still dream of burning and wake up not knowing which fires are real, and they both say yeah. And they sit there across the world from each other knowing these things, knowing that it doesn't fix anything. And yet, it does change something. Nothing's any better, really. But somehow, the knowledge that someone else understands makes it a little easier to bear.

And that's just it. Somehow, without ever even having seen her face, Mika sees Beth clearer than anyone. All of her, all the ugly parts she hides so that they can't hurt anyone, and all the good parts that she also hides so that nobody can hurt them or take them away from her. Mika sees all of that and then just tells Beth another story about the Northern Lights she sees on the regular. Apparently, in Finnish, they’re called "fox fires." Beth hardly ever sees the aurora, living relatively far south in a bright city. But her stories about life in the metropolis by the lake intrigue Mika as much as the tales of the twisting green lights do her. And Beth can talk about something lighter again while not having to pretend that the heaviness isn’t there, too, even while she’s just once more trying and failing to explain poutine. For her, the weight never really goes away. But the effort of pretending she’s not carrying it takes more out of her than the weight itself. Mika understands that.

Maybe that’s why Beth had talked it over with Mika first, even before her mom, when she was considering taking a gap year after she hopefully managed to finish her senior year of high school. (God, it was so hard to think about English or math or whatever when just that morning she’d woken from a nightmare about being back in a not-home house that she never escaped.) Beth's mom had been so unbelievably supportive of Beth's recovery, even while she herself was adjusting to the wrenching change in both of their lives. It was both inspiring and a little intimidating. If her mom managed to run a household and raise a daughter all on her own, even while trying to heal from her own trauma, how could Beth not do her utmost, too? She was grateful to be able to talk to Mika about it, to get a reality check from someone who both understood her situation intimately and didn't make Beth feel that pressure of expectation. In the end, Beth did decide to take a year or two off before considering college, and her mom was again nothing if not supportive. Beth figured, after this entire mess, she deserved some time to herself to work on sorting her shit out, and her mom agreed.

After graduating with reasonable if not flying colors, Beth worked a series of part-time and odd jobs that didn't stress her out too much, letting herself focus on her own healing. In between her mom's support, seeing a counselor regularly, and the security of having a friend she could really trust, Beth felt like she was making progress. Slow progress, sure, but progress, nonetheless. Considering that she had seventeen years' worth of lies to unbelieve and emotional trauma to finally acknowledge, Beth figured that there was only so much she could do in the three years she'd had.

Her days were still hard. Getting sleep and waking up and eating and even just existing were still so fucking hard sometimes, and it was horrible. Some days, the thinnest sheet trapped her in bed like it was a car pinning her down. It felt so stupid for such simple things to be so hard. But then her therapist would remind her that that’s what mental illness and trauma was, that this was what the wounds in her mind and heart made her feel like. And once in awhile, sun broke through the shadows, and she had a day that reminded her what an okay day felt like – that okay days existed. That more might.

Now, she’s here, lying in a bright living room so far from home, with her dearest friend in the next room. She’s comfortable, except for the knot in her neck from sleeping oddly on the couch. The soreness pales in comparison to the usual tensions that are so strangely absent. Beth can’t remember the last time she felt this okay. She’s not steeling herself to go to work. She’s not dreading the next conversation with her mother that goes quiet as they both remember awful things they don’t mention. She’s not bracing herself for the next time her brain runs rampant worrying about whether she’ll run into the subject of her restraining order somewhere in the city and have to wonder if he'll honor it.

None of that reaches her here. There’s something about this quiet little pocket of space. It’s overrun with a proliferation of potted plants, from the sprawling lacy-leafed monster in the corner, to the fern peeping out of the kitchen, to the vine cuttings spilling out of an oddly familiar leaf-shaped glass bottle on the sill. Sunlight streaks through leaves and windowpanes and across the colorful patchwork of rugs on the floor. In the midst of it all, Beth is held by a palpable aura of gentleness. It holds her so softly that she doesn't need to hold herself in. It's like the layer of caution that she always keeps wrapped between herself and the rest of the world has simply dissolved away. In this moment suspended in morning light, she is okay.

She feels safe.

The realization undoes something in her. She feels the tears starting, and she expects the taut tension of involuntary stifling that always comes with them to return. But it doesn’t. She lies still and soft on the couch with the water creeping over her cheeks, breath occasionally catching but flowing freely. She savors it in the quiet.

The soft thunk of an ill-fitted door opening breaks into her odd reverie. Mika’s up. Beth sniffs and scrubs at her eyes halfheartedly, but she can’t hide them right now and she doesn’t want to. Mika notices immediately, and comes trotting over with quiet steps, leaning forward all concern.

"Beth," she says softly. She shifts from foot to foot like a nervous cat, watching Beth with enormous eyes. Beth has never met anyone else with such an intense stare. Or maybe it's just the fact that Beth knows beyond all doubt that she's being looked at by somebody who really sees her in her entirety. It's like she's staring right into Beth's soul. But Mika was able to do that long before they saw each others' faces. They've shared so many thousands of words over screens and seas, so many emotions that have gone otherwise unspoken, so many too-early mornings and too-late nights on the fringes of each other's dawns and dusks.

“What’s wrong?”

Finally, a flash of that sick tension runs through Beth’s body. It’s been okay when Mika has asked that before, when it was just silent letters on a screen. But out loud, the question falls on her ears like every well-meaning inquiry she’s ever had to scramble to find an acceptable answer for. The strain begins to cinch tight around her again like coarse ropes across barely-healed skin, ready to compel her to replace the truth with something safer. Her arms and legs tied, she begins to freeze, railing against herself for tainting the softness, the safety of this place.

"Beth." Mika says again, softer but more urgent.

In the gap between thoughts created by hearing her name, Beth seizes the chance to redirect them to the present. She clings to the welling in the corners of her eyes, the warmth of the sun caressing her back. The leaves of trees whisper outside the third-floor window in a mild breeze. The brightness spills over the sill and across Mika’s asymmetrical, half-craggy face and lights up tufts of her short hair as she steps closer. The couch dips as Mika sits down next to her, tilting Beth toward her.

Without meeting her eyes, Mika lifts a hesitant hand that hovers in the air between them, uncertain yet reaching. Her gentle palm falls onto Beth's forearm as softly as a floating leaf. The fingers curl around Beth’s arm just below the wrist, firm but not tight. Comforting.

The softness surrounding Beth seeps back into her, saturating her. As the memory fades like a ripple into water, the tension slackens. But it leaves her shaky, with traces of a familiar ache in her neck muscles, one that goes deeper than the simple stiffness from the couch. She sucks in a few unsteady breaths while Mika gives her arm a gentle squeeze.

“Sorry,” Beth says in a small, awkward voice.

Mika tilts her head. “Why?”

“Uh, I didn’t mean to bring all – this mess, in here.” Beth rubs the back of her neck with her free hand. “It’s so... soft, and okay, and – I don’t wanna ruin it,” she says, trailing off into a mumble.

“Hey.” Mika moves her hand from Beth’s arm to her shoulder. When Beth looks at her, she’s looking right back. Mika's eyes dart down to the floor for a moment, but then return to hold Beth’s with deliberate steadiness. “It’s alright. It’s like this here because we wanted it to be safe to be messy. You’re not ruining anything.”

“... Oh.” She’s steadied by Mika’s fingers curling around her shoulder, by the tendrils of sunlight spreading across her head and back and arms. Mika’s voice is small but steady, and somehow it comes from the same throat that makes that huge pealing laugh. It’s so strange how they sound nothing alike. Until yesterday, Beth hadn’t heard her voice since the lutefisk incident. They’d mostly kept to text and pictures. It had seemed easier, the way it gave them both plenty time to think before they spoke through their different uncertainties. Beth was already planning her trip before they realized that they’d never actually called each other. By that point, it sounded like more fun to meet in person the old-fashioned way.

"I'll make you some tea." Mika abruptly stands and lets go of her. Beth is sad to lose the contact. She flits across the room toward the kitchen in her soft cotton pajama pants, complemented by yet another black graphic tee for yet another Scandinavian metal band Beth's never heard of. Or at least, she'd never heard of them before Mika, who has something to say about all of them, and now Beth knows more than she'll ever need to.

Mika moves in and out of view behind the half-wall that separates the little living room from the kitchen. The fronds of the fern on the counter make a green rustling as she brushes by them. It sends soft feathered shadows waving across the wall opposite the window. Beth hears the rush of water boiling out of sight, and soon sees steam rising from the mug that's being handed to her.

"It's hot," Mika says unnecessarily. She sits down next to her again, this time leaning into Beth with her arm. Beth’s glad for it.

"Have you ditched the bags and gone loose leaf?" Beth says, eyeing the fragments of bright green leaf free floating in her mug.

"It didn't come in a bag. It came from the window."

"The window?"

"It's basil tea. For the fear and pain. Five large fresh leaves in two hundred and fifty milliliters water. We grew it here."

Beth takes a cautious sip. It's surprisingly sweet, and the savory smell of the steam rising from it curls into her sinuses. The aching in her head and neck begin to relax. It's unfamiliar, but it feels like home should, just like everything else here.

"Thanks," Beth says. On an impulse of craving closeness, she leans her head onto Mika's shoulder with a sigh. The sensation of contact deepens as Mika leans against her, too.

Beth holds the cup close, fingers wrapping around its warmth. She takes another sip and gets a bit of leaf stuck in her teeth. The way she scrunches up her face trying to dislodge it pulls a tiny laugh out of Mika.

“You don’t have to be okay here,” Mika whispers. “You can just be. That’s what we do.”

Beth finds her eyes wet again, but she smiles while she sets her mug down and wipes them away. “Kinda already wish I could stay here,” she says with a chuckle.

“... That’s probably not impossible.”

“Really?” Beth asks wryly. “Not even twenty-four hours, and you’d already be willing to put up with me?”

“Twenty-four hours and twenty-seven months.”

Beth melts a little even while waving the idea aside. “I wasn’t serious.”

“I know, but... weren’t you looking at the school here?”

“I mean, yeah, but... really, my mom just thought I deserved a break to get away for a little while. She’d saved up a bit, and I didn’t want to make it a big deal or anything, but she really wanted me to. She knew I wanted to come see you. Checking out the school was mostly an excuse. I know it’s a great place, but... I don’t really think it’ll help with what I wanna do.”

“What do you want to do?”

Beth sighs and leans back, looking at the ceiling. Mika follows her so that they’re still shoulder to shoulder, and pulls her feet up to tuck them in cross-legged.

She flounders for a moment, trying to find where to begin. She hasn’t told anyone this yet.

“This Leda crap has been kind of awful, right? It’s screwed so many of us up. But there’s only, what, a few hundred of us? And that’s not the only reason things get messed up.” She swallows. Her eyes trace irregularities in the ceiling: a knot in an exposed wooden beam here, a sealed and repainted crack there. “Kids like me are a dime a dozen. There’s so many people out there going through hell, just because they got stuck with people who are hurting so much that they hurt other people. And then they go on and hurt more people. It’s a cycle that’s really fucking hard to break.”

Breaths that have become harsh force her to pause and let them lengthen again. A touch on her knee draws her eyes down to a hand resting on it palm up, offering. Beth takes it. Mika squeezes her fingers in reassurance.

“When I was little, I wanted to be a cop like my dad, did you know that?” Mika, eyes wide, shakes her head. “Yeah. That was always my plan. I used to think he was so brave. Wanted to be just like him.” She shudders. Mika grips her hand, steady. “Even if I could do it better than he did, the system is still full of people like him. It’s broken. I couldn’t – I can’t end up like that. I can’t keep being a part of this shit. I want to actually help people.

“I never thought about it before I met you, but the people you brought in to do therapy programs and all for CYGNet? They’re amazing. The stuff I’ve gotten from them has helped me so much. And I don’t know what I’d do without my regular therapist. These people really help people like me. Like all of us. Those are the kind of people I wanna be like.”

Beth’s voice drops and becomes small and secretive, but firm. “I’ve been looking at the social work programs at home. There’s some really good ones at the uni near where mom and I live now. And that’s the city where I grew up. I know how things work there. I know it won’t be easy, but. I could really... do stuff.”

Silence stretches. Beth looks at Mika, only to be completely thrown off by an expression she can’t make heads or tails of. “What?”

Mika’s face is blank yet soft, only barely hinting at her thoughts in the faintest crinkling of her eyes. It’s funny, how quiet her face is most of the time. Beth never would have guessed, going off her online impressions of her. Mika’s so expressive and eloquent with her written words. In person, she is much more subtle. But even after only a day spent around her, Beth is already starting to see how her movements speak volumes in a language of their own. The flickering of her hands flares to life with excitement. The casual shake of her head tosses her hair out of her eyes even when it’s not in the way, like she’s clearing the slate of her mind. And much like Beth these days, she goes very still and tense when she’s getting uncomfortable or overwhelmed, the way she did after a particularly loud whistle at the train station. It shows in her shoulders. They’re soft now though, and she just watches Beth and squeezes her hand once more.

“You’re really amazing, you know,” Mika says.

“Wh- huh?”

“Well.” She looks away and turns their hands over, but doesn’t let go. “After the awful things you’ve been through – nnnh! Don’t pretend,” she says, looking back sharply as Beth begins to protest that she didn’t have it that bad. Mika knows her so well. Beth can’t help but laugh a little. “After all that, you just want to help people. All I ever want to do is get away from them, most of the time.”

Beth quirks a brow at her with a bemused grin. “Really? Because setting up and running an organization that provides mental health resources and extremely important information to a few hundred people is a really shit way to not help people.”

“I never talk to most of them! And CYGNet only has one hundred and thirteen members, not hundreds.”

Beth rolls her eyes with an exaggerated motion. “Yeah, so, you’ve somehow convinced, what, a whole freaking third of a huge group of scared strangers to trust you?”

“A lot of that was Niki and the press team, she’s way better at talking to people th–”

“And you’ve been careful enough and clever enough to keep them and all the information you got from DYAD safe and secure? I can’t even imagine the organization and, and cyber-security and whatever the hell else you put into all this. That you still put in. And look what you’ve done. You’re helping so many people. You found something only you could do, and do it really damn well.”

Mika looks down into her lap, half her face flushed. The raised ridges and swirls of the scarred side are pink, but not as dark. Her shoulders curl in a little, but she doesn’t pull her hand away from Beth’s. If anything, she holds on a little tighter.

“You don’t have to like talking to people to help them. You don’t have to be someone you’re not,” Beth says gently, then pauses as a new thought occurs to her. “Why did you talk to me?”

Mika gives a tiny shrug, eyes still downcast. “You reached out to me. Most people are scared, or suspicious, or hard to talk to, but you were just... honest. You told me exactly what you needed, even if that meant sharing your painful secrets with a stranger. I...” She trails off, looking toward the closed door of Niki’s bedroom. She blinks slowly.

“It reminded me of something Niki said a long time ago. When we first met. We didn’t trust each other at first. But when things got bad, we needed to, and she just... We’d only known each other for a day. She told me a true story that people had called her crazy for, and trusted me to believe her. And when I told her about... my Asperger’s, about being autistic, she just told me something about herself, too, another thing that a lot of people get cruel about when they know. This was back before she came out, too. She was hardly out to herself, then, really. But she told me anyway. ‘Secret for a secret,’ she said.”

“She’s really special to you.” It’s not a question. How could it be, with the sheer softness of love rounding out every syllable and making Mika melt into the couch and into Beth’s shoulder.

“She’s... yes. She’s my family.” Mika looks out the window, and the bright light dances over her nose. “I don’t remember ever having one.”

Beth slings an arm around Mika’s shoulders and smiles as she curls closer into Beth’s side. “Looks like you’re part of a pretty big one, now,” she says, waving a hand at the dozens of photos on the walls circling them.

“I guess so.”

“No need to guess. The evidence is right there. And I’m right here.”

Mika turns those huge eyes on her again. She’s done that multiple times now, even though Beth knows she rarely looks people in the eye. Eye contact is too much, most of the time. She describes it as too intense, too distracting, too intimate. Meeting those eyes – so like Beth’s own, but filled with such a different kind of light – Beth thinks she understands a glimmer of it. If every eye she met were as overwhelmingly expressive as Mika’s, Beth probably wouldn’t meet them all either. It keeps taking her by surprise, coming across their eloquence in an otherwise quiet face. Caught by that gaze, every emotion that lives in it touches Beth. Right now, it’s soft with adoration but shaded with a gradient of doubt. The width and depth of Mika’s eyes reveal a clear view of a vulnerable, aching, healing heart that spent eleven years starving for the love it needs and still hasn’t forgotten the famine.

It might be breaking Beth’s heart. No wonder Niki is always showering her with hugs and kind words and gentle hands on rounded shoulders. Maybe one of these days, Mika will have spent long enough finally getting to soak up all that affection that she won’t look at Beth like this when she says the simple truth.

“Hey. Here I am. Really.” Beth’s voice is a little choked up. She pulls Mika into a proper hug with both arms. Mika squeaks in surprise at being squeezed so emphatically, but returns it all the same. God, but she gives the best hugs of anyone Beth’s ever met. All contact and even, firm pressure and steadiness. “It’s so damn good to see you. I can’t believe you’re...” real, Beth thinks but doesn’t say. I can’t believe I didn’t imagine you. I can’t believe you’re just as kind as your words. I can’t believe how good it feels to be around you. “I can’t believe I’m really here.”

Mika doesn’t say anything. For a moment, one of her hands leaves Beth’s back to fiddle with something, then comes back to give her a little squeeze that Beth returns.

Beth’s phone buzzes a notification behind her on the little glass-top table next to the couch. The table’s wooden base is a round blob carved into the shape of a very fluffy and very ugly sheep with curly horns. Beth’s arms loosen from their embrace as she turns to look at it, bemused. No one but Mika really messages her except for her mom. But if it’s morning here, it’s about time for bed at home. She checks it, just to be sure she’s okay.

But it’s not from her mom.

Mika reaches out to gently grasp her forearm again as Beth shoots her a quizzical look and opens the message.

3mika: I'm glad you're here.

Beth's heart quails.

To think, that her darker days might have kept her from ever being in this moment. Beth might never have gotten to this point, hurt but healing and here. Here, she's seven time zones and an ocean away from the cycle of pain she grew up in, barely aware she needed to escape. She might well feel safer right here in this crossroads of time and place than she has at any other in her entire life. It's a realization that's as humbling as it is nourishing.

Already, the distance this journey has taken her has given her so much perspective. She wasn’t sure, before, whether the work she’s been considering was just a response to what she’s been through – or just a way for the cycle to keep her within its spiral. But she’s seen what Mika can do, what Beth could do one day, if she keeps on.

It won’t be easy. She’ll go back, and deep-seated memories will try to drag her back into small dark places. But being here, even for only a few hours, has already changed her. She can change, and she can grow, and she is already tapping into new strengths that her past has yet to reckon with. She is here, right now, in spite of all of it. And today is not a dark day.

“Me too, Mika. I’m glad to be here, too.” Beth’s tongue stumbles over the name, because she’s never said it out loud before, only read it on a screen.

Surprise sends Mika’s eyebrows up and her eyes wide again, like she’s never heard it before, either. Maybe she hasn’t. She tilts her head again like a question, touching her ear and looking at Beth.

Beth grins. “Mika.” A smile blooms on that curious face, lighting it up. She’s the one who pulls Beth into a hug this time, and it’s both fierce and soft. When she lets go, she leans into Beth’s side again and they stay like that, arms over shoulders and comfortably curled up together, soaking in the warmth of each other’s presence like leaves drink in light. The simple sweetness and companionship of it soothes Beth’s heart, seeking its way into the aching crevices. It’s an odd feeling, both seeping inward and flowing outward, trickling all the way through her until it warms her cold toes in a way that feels both new and strangely familiar.

A long, sleepy yawn announces that Niki’s awake now, too. Soon, she comes out of her room stretching her arms over her head. Mika reaches a hand out toward her to wave in greeting, though she leaves the other arm draped over Beth’s shoulders. Niki smiles at them. That kind smile, too, adds to the warmth washing through Beth. Her feet practically itch with it, and with a growing sensation of déja vu. She fidgets her toes against the floor as Niki walks over to brush Mika’s outstretched hand like a touchstone.

“How'd you sleep? Isn’t that couch the comfiest?” she says to Beth.

“Well, I’ve got a crick in my neck, but I still slept better than I have in years.”

Niki turns her sunny smile on Beth. “Good to hear it. Weird, though, I nap there all the time and my neck’s always fine. Huh. Anyway, I think I might make waffles. You two want some breakfast?”

Mika nods, but doesn’t let go of Beth yet. Beth is lost in thought, trying to remember what that light, floating feeling in her feet reminds her of.

“Sweet.” Niki ambles toward the kitchen and bends down with pursed lips to peer at the fern perched on the counter. “Hmm. You still look a little pale. Let’s get you some more sun.” She brings the plant over to the living room and is fussing over settling it on the sheep table when it clicks for Beth. A physical memory washes over her, for once welcome. She lets it fill her, refreshing like a deep breath of cold morning air her lungs are suddenly hungry for. She flexes her calves and ankles, her legs remembering the joy and freedom of stride and strike. Her bones are finally recalling how they once carried her with ease, even while they're adjusting to the new weight of who she's become. Fully alive again for at least this moment, her soles are practically prickling with the desire to eat up ground.

“How about you, Beth? Do you like waffles?” Niki asks, fluffing the fern’s crinkly green leaves. Mika squeezes her shoulder.

Beth grins and plants steady feet on the blue rug in front of the couch. “Save a few for me? I think I might actually go for a run first.”

#orphan black #clone club #veera suominen #beth childs #niki lintula #mk ob #mika ob #herbs on the windowsill au #lizzie taking up space #lizzie's adventures in writing #welcome back yall #long post #fic #ob fic #that a garden will grow

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seb-ass-tian-stan · 5 years

Text

Oops! | Sebastian Stan fic | Three

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Eve (ofc)

Summary: Eve (22) and Lisa (20) are best friends, living in New York. Lisa is 40 year old actor Sebastian Stan’s daughter. One night, when Eve’s date blew her off and Sebastian came back to town, they sat to catch up in a bar. What happens next is… Oops.

Warnings: Language, Age Gap, Sexual Tension, Drinking.

Word Count: 1.3K (oooouuu finally something i wrote that’s over 3 paragraphs this is exciting)

A\N: I forgot to mention that english is my second language so forgive me for any mistake.

two

For her, it was game on. She knew he was under her spell in some form or another. The things that were exchanged that day on the rooftop were simply formalities, seeking to hide truths.

Fun and dangerous truths.

For a while, there have been several times of these truths almost being unveiled.

One of them, was when Eve had plans with Lisa and their friend group to go out and about. With a spaghetti sleeved red dress and a red plastic flower in her hair, she stood in the hallway, waiting for a certain short, charcoal haired lady to open the door and welcome her in for a small pre-outing drink.

Instead, Sebastian greeted her with wild feathery hair, low-hanging sweats, a white shirt and, lest we forget, a devilish and slightly self-absorbed smile.

His tall structure towered over her petite one, but she didn't flinch. With confidence, she declared, "Hello, kind sir."

"Hello, fair lady." He moved to cross his arms and lean to the side. "Is there a Lisa here?"

"She's in the shower."

"What, fuck! We said 9, why the hell is she showering just now?"

"I gave her all the punctuality genes."

"She'll be long?"

"She just got in."

"I'll just wait here then." She said and made it seem as if she was about to sit down on the hallway floor.

"Get in, you vermin." He laughed, got behind her and jokingly pushed her inside.

"A-ha-re you sure you're cool with it?" She said while stumbling a bit.

"Perfectly fine. You want coffee? Tea?"

"Gin."

"I don't think there's gin here." He quickly searched the fridge.

"There is. Why'd you think I came over? To take out your garbage?"

"You've gotten salty."

"Do you like it?" She sat down on the couch, he put down his glass of wine and gave her the gin. He sat down and gazed at her for some while, enchanted.

"I do."

"Have I gotten a confession out of the great Sebastian Stan? Be careful, you're starting to let your guard down." She said and chugged some liquor down her throat.

"I already have." He put a hand behind her, on the back of the couch, she, in response, leant in a bit.

"When was that?"

He moved his gaze to her lips, "Every night for the past week."

Rude of him to say that. She could not hold her feelings (which were a mix of arousal, worry and excitement) in, so she made an unconscious move closer to him. Their lips were now extremely close but not touching, breathing warm air, making their mouths gape a little.

"This is risky." Eve mumbled, moving slightly closer but not yet meeting him. "We shouldn't." The stopping of the water sounds coming from the shower made Eve successfully shook herself out of the bubble. In a panic moment, she got off her seat.

“Lisa’s done.”

“Sit down, it’s fine.” He said while holding her wrist and giving her a look that, later in life she’ll describe as the second most relieving (and breathtakingly beautiful) look she has ever recieved, which made her feel less like a sad backstabbing perverted excuse for a best mate, and more like a woman who’s simply starting to fall for this charming man.

She back down casually, taking the gin in her hand.

“That’s gonna be hard to set aside.” She said.

“It’ll be much harder for me. believe me.” He laid back, desperate. She got up and told him, “Well if that’s any help, m’gonna go help your daughter pick an outfit. Lisa! You done?” She shouted from the hallway, leading to the bathroom and her bedroom.

He quickly got up, “Thanks, that’s about ruined the moment. Appreciate it.”, and went to his bedroom. She turned to him and giggled sweetly, going the opposite direction.

“Get out of the fucking bathroom, L. Your Dad’s tryna’ be funny.” She said, purposefully loud.

Eve would return from each of these rendezvous’s to her empty, tiny flat. After her time in Europe, moving back to New York after a time of working minimally and traveling in several expensive countries (except when she visited Hungary to see where her jewish family lived back in the early 30s) had her moving to the tiniest of places in the filthiest of neighbourhoods, with a flatmate that, unfortunately had to move back to Boston.

Therefore, she had to decorate it to make it a home.

Her efforts included hanging a ridiculous amounts of fairy lights on the wall (the place being so little meant the string of lights covered every section of it other than the toilettes, which played for her favour), cascading plants, photographs that she took and messy piles of clothing. The latter contributed the most to warm homely feeling.

But there was one thing missing. She’d come home charmed by his looks, his scent and his words, and have him nowhere near. The coziness she’s fabricated aroused her and the sparkling light caused her to romanticise it all the more.

What made that even worse was the hasty intoxication she’d indulge in every time she hung out with dear Lisa.

So combine all that, and you got Eve texting Sebastian in the middle of the night, after seeing him when stopping by Lisa’s to take her out, not exchanging a single word since, this time, her friend was ready on time.

1:38AM: “hi LISA’S DAD this is her friend eve”

1:40AM: “fisrt of all, i feel like i miss you which is weird”

2:11AM: “second of all you looked really good today. i really held myself there lmao”

3:03AM: “also”

The next day she was working, to her sorrow. She came in late to the coffee shop (which she swore was only a temporary thrice weekly job until she’d get promoted at the production company she was working for as a camera assistant) tired and hungover.

After being on her feet for 2 hours, serving coffee for poor art students, a tall man with a hat and a pair of sunglasses approached to the cash register stand where she was and said, “Also what?”

The camouflage was lousy, and fooling only bypassers who had no reason to suspect it was in fact Sebastian Stan. And she saw that as an opportunity to poke fun at him, as usual.

“Hey there Joel Goodsen, came here in ya Dad’s Porsche did ya?” She said without raising her eyes at him from cleaning the counter. He simply chuckled and before saying anything, she continued.

“You smartmouth. You don’t remember last night, do you..?”

“Fuckin’hell. I don’t get it, I woke up at my place. How--”

“No, Eve. We didn’t do anything.”

“That’s too bad.”

“You did.” He said and she gave an examining look. “You texted me.”

“Oh.”

She dragged him after her to a locker room in the back, originally made for the waiters to change to their uniforms in but turned by them into a smoking room along the years.

“Show me what I wrote.” He clumsily took his phone out the back pocket of his trousers and handed it to her.

“What’s the passcode?”

“061299″ He impulsively said and she gasped, “Should’ve guessed it.”

When she opened the texts, she was reading in with confusion and he looked at her from above, grinning. “Also what, Eve?”

She opened her mouth to explain that she was too drunk to have intention behind her words, but if there was intention, it was probably booty calling him. She was about to say that when she suddenly felt his lips attaching to hers in a sweet motion. Her eyelids fluttered when they started to dance around with hers, and her arm took the back of his neck to bring him closer.

Everything was new; the warmth of his mouth, the feeling of his hair between her fingers and his arm around her waist, caressing lightly. He pulled her body closer and his tongue met hers. The sweetness of his tongue made her unwillingly release a small moan, he, in response started laughing into the kiss, which made them detach, not before leaving several extra pecks.

“Meh.” she said and he chortled.

“Unbearable. Absolutely unbearable.”

taglist: @joyofbebbanburg masterlist

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writerkenna · 5 years

Text

The Lights of Stars and the Glitter in your Eyes Chapter 3

Okay y'all here's the spotify playlist. It is my jam, seriously: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/33fFZZf5GuCb5iKylbEL1V

Songs that I listened to while writing this, in no particular order: I Do Adore, Let's Hear it for the Boy, Yellow, Daddy Issues, and Anything for You

Enjoy!

The meetings, which consisted of councils that were becoming increasingly blurred in Thor’s head and streams of words like ‘judiciary system’ and ‘delegation of power’ pounding at him, had become thrice weekly, always in the morning, always packed.

“I’d like to put my name in for consideration,” Valkyrie said with enough force to rouse Thor’s chin up from slumping on his hand. He hadn’t slept well-consistently hadn’t been sleeping well, whether that be Bruce sharing a bed with him or his political strife was undetermined-and had only been half a part of the conversation so far. He scanned the room and its holographic boards to catch up. Leader of the warrior force, Thor deduced.

“Uh, I, me too, for that. Yeah,” Korg followed. Valkyrie shot him a look, but Korg didn’t seem to notice. The groups of people that made up the councils and parliamentary members present in the room were generally displeased by both nominations, not that they really could do much about it. In the end, Thor would make the choice. On every council leader and major edict of society, it was him who would make the call, which was a boost to his ego while also terrifying as all hell.

Valkyrie eyed him carefully, and Thor knew just from the shift of her lip that she was deciding her odds. She deserved the title, more qualified than anyone in the room, excluding himself, maybe, despite what the rest of the assembly thought of it, thought of her time away from Asgard. Thor would try to find Korg some position, though, fabricate a title if he needed to.

“I’ll see those of you on defense again three days from now. Education and Agriculture, tomorrow morning,” Heimdall ordered. He had alleviated Thor of the duty of running these things, and Thor was more than grateful. They disbanded in a shuffle of mumbles and Thor dredged himself up to stand.

“Hey,” Valkyrie said as she shoved her elbow against Thor’s bicep. He shoved back at her with a grin.

“Trying to take up the old mantle, huh?”

“Yeah,” Valkyrie eased slowly, a prick of something being held back and shift of her shoulders, prepping for a fight, “so?”

“No, no, it’s good! I’m like, yay, Val, you go girl!” Thor covered quick, gesturing a non committal fist bump and Valkyrie took it with a side-arching smirk and roll of her eyes.

“Okay, then.”

“Just don’t let the, well, the others worry you, alright? You’re suited for this.” Thor hoped this was enough for her to understand his leanings, as much of a hint he felt he could reasonably give. Valkyrie’s eyes went wide and her lips formed a flat smile. It warmed Thor a little, to issue something with some effectiveness, some net good.

Loki passed them and they both called after him. He halted with a huff.

“Yes?” he hissed at them both.

“So, what, no bid for power?” Valkyrie snarked back.

“I was expecting at least some sort of coup attempt or something,” Thor added, his glance catching on Loki, who was not exactly mad, maybe closer to a flat discomfort.

“No, not this time. Not me.”

It dawned on Thor how quiet Loki had been in the past two weeks of meetings. No bursts of anger, no snips at parliament, no desperate sieges on Thor himself. It was almost like Loki was actually exhibiting restraint, or possibly embarrassment, maybe some sheepishness to act around a people who would never trust him, but past experience made Thor doubtful of any of those.

“Well,” Thor sighed, feeling some mix of awkward tension and familial sympathy. He shifted on his feet and looked away from the lines of Loki’s unreadable but undeniably dreary eyes, “I think I’m going to find Bruce now.”

Loki and Valkyrie’s eyes connected for a moment, and a smile crossed Loki’s face for the first time in a while. Thor didn’t understand them.

“Mmhm,” Valkyrie hummed. Thor leaned in to them for an explanation, hands squared at his hips, but Loki just breezed a snip of a laugh as Valkyrie wiggled her brows too fast, a sort of suggestion of something.

“Go on,” Loki said with a flick of thin fingers on a tight hand, smirking in a way Thor knew was never good for him, “find your mortal.”

Thor was not in the habit of referring to Bruce, in any capacity, as ‘his mortal’ and he wanted to battle on Loki’s usage of it but both him and Valkyrie looked so smug he didn’t think it would do him much good. Thor sniffed a goodbye and turned towards the cafeteria.

Bruce was in the middle of conversation with a gaggle of kids when Thor found him. They were teaching him an Asgardian card game that was older than Thor. Bruce, everyone had discovered, was actually pretty good with kids when all his context wasn’t hanging around. Thor hesitated before stepping over.

He noticed, not for the first time he must admit, the true gentleness of Bruce Banner. It was an extreme counter to Hulk and all his brash moves, swings of fists and garishly loud outbursts at the wrong times. Bruce was contained and careful with every adjustment he made. Thor could see it right then, how he took his time as he slid cards to the members of his circle. Each movement started with a ducked head and a shared look, quick but practiced, a final check of consent, a caring concern, before Bruce enacted it. It was close to overwhelmingly sweet, if not worryingly so.

“These kids are whoppin’ my butt, Thor!” Two of the girls in the group giggled. Thor lowered himself around Bruce’s shoulders. Bruce adjusted and Thor caught a hint of a smile and a touch of a blush.

“Play this one.” Thor touched a card with the blunt edge of his nail and Bruce flipped it down onto the table. Someone issued a groan and Bruce gained a point. Thor removed himself from over him, catching the closeness. Bruce gave the win to the kids after the next round and Thor and him made their way back to the room.

“Give me like twenty, thirty minutes, and then Weird Science, okay?” Bruce said as he pulled up all his tabs and his ever-growing paper. It was his plan to have the full paper done and ready for peer-review once they landed, as a sort of homecoming gift of well wishes to earth, a band aid for his long absence from academia. Bruce wouldn’t tell him directly, but Thor could feel the nerves and apprehensions boiling so clearly under Bruce’s skin when they talked about their destination. Thor was relieved the paper was, if not an actual solution, a nice distraction.

Thor flopped belly first onto the bed as Bruce got lost to his work. He appreciated their routine after meetings, work time for Bruce, then a Midgardian film, before they split again and he went to spar with Valkyrie or Korg or any warm, muscled body he found and Bruce dove scrunched-face first into the study of the science of matter in a void or something of the like. Thor, on most days, enjoyed the brief moments of sleep he could steal before Bruce woke him up for the next cinema classic he determined was on their required viewing list.

Thor managed fifteen minutes of a nap before he roused himself with a low groan and pulled two thick packets from his nightstand. He was supposed to have his new education system picked by the next morning, and the thought of that made him want to be swallowed up by the satin sheets under him so deep even Heimdall’s sight would be blind to him. Yet, still, he made a try to read the dense things. As Thor finally reached the bottom of page two, Bruce concluded his work session and turned over his shoulder to him. Thor’s eyes flicked up from his pages and gave Bruce one small scan.

He exuded, even in Sakaarian dressings, a very specific energy, the energy of someone who could be actively interested and spend ten straight hours of research on topics Thor fell asleep just hearing of. Frankly, Bruce Banner was a huge nerd.

“Okay, so this one is-”

“You must come to my meetings with me.”

“Ah, buddy, I don’t… that’s kind of an overst-” Bruce took a pace back to his screens.

“Yes! This is a brilliant solution! You shall come from now on, Bruce. It’s set.”

“Am I even allowed to be there? Like, isn’t it sort of an Asgardians only thing?” Bruce stumbled, wringing one finger around another.

“Korg’s there,” Thor supplied, seeing his idea, his salvation from the weight of a whole people on his shoulders slinking away as Bruce broke eye contact.

“Well, I-”

“I really want you there,” Thor pleaded. The corner of Bruce’s lips flicked up briefly, enough for Thor to count it as a win.

“I-maybe, okay, I’ll think about it. So am I, like, going as your . . . friend, or just a bystander, or . . . ?”

Thor puzzled on this. Bystander, a very inactive and unhelpful role, was not what Thor wanted. He had sort of pictured more of someone who would pretty much make all the choices for him. He beamed when he found the right word.

“Chancellor. You can be my chancellor. Will you?” Thor pulled his knees up under himself, growing giddy with the the idea of it and feeling his chest get a little lighter. Bruce’s eyes were wide and Thor couldn’t figure if they were going more towards bright surprise or intense shock.

“Ah, wow, that’s-Thor, thanks. That’s, um, chancellor sounds like a big deal, though,” Bruce said as he paced his way over to the bed with his careful tension.

“Well, yes, it is a bit, I suppose. You’d be my advisor and confidant for all matters. Every great king has had one,” Bruce was still unconvinced, hanging on the edge of sitting on the bed and avoiding Thor’s stare. Thor was beginning to feel a hint of desperation in himself, and he suddenly needed this more than he thought, “Bruce, please, I could really use this. And you are-I mean this quite truly-the smartest person I know.”

This seemed to be the secret charm for Bruce, as hearing it made his smile bloom into his cheeks, his bottom lip tucking up under his teeth in a way that reminded Thor of how full Bruce’s lips were.

“Well, I guess I . . . where do I start, then?” Bruce shrugged, not fully sure, but it was enough to get Thor to bound up like a spring to deliver Bruce the packets.

“Yes, yes, thank you, Bruce. You are a wonderful friend. Here, education system outlines. I’m supposed to have one picked by tomorrow.” Bruce’s brows spiked up and he shot Thor a look that was the exact halfway between the start of a laugh and the dip of a frown. He shook his head and opened up the first packet. Thor leaned over and tried to be subtle as he watched Bruce’s face scan the papers. Bruce had the paper close to his eyes as he picked at each line with his finger tracking along, the same look he got when he found a good source on cosmic ray collisions (and Thor actually knew what that meant, which, if anything, was a testament to Bruce’s passion). He seemed to be getting more out of it than Thor could have ever hoped to.

“You should go with this one, I think,” Bruce said as he handed a packet back over to Thor, “It has a really good curriculum already set for the younger kids and a lot of elective choices for the older ones. It will be good for entering the workforce.”

Thor blinked down at the paper, then back up at Bruce who was aflame with blush.

“You’re a genius.”

“Ah, ha, I don’t know about that-” Bruce’s lips went tight across his teeth and his face reddened even further.

“You are,” Thor affirmed. In terms of genius Avengers, Tony was usually the first one that people thought of, but Thor felt, especially over the course of these past few weeks spending majority of his time with Bruce, that he knew exactly who the real brain of the team was. Stark always seemed to understand this, too, if his little remarks about Bruce’s papers and the way he deferred to Bruce in their shared lab work were indicators. Bruce’s intelligence and how far it stretched amazed Thor to no ends, from the second they had met in New York. Bruce was stunned into silence and Thor admitted he was a bit pleased with himself that he was the one able to make sure Bruce was aware of his own brilliance. They were staring at each other now, stuck in that silence, and Thor felt a tingle of electricity mixed with something else slip down to his fingers.

There was an uneasy rumble from beneath their bed and as Thor started up to check on it, the ship jolted harshly to the right and he landed face first into the pillow. He pulled his head up to find Bruce tossed against the floor.

“Thor, y-you okay?” Bruce staggered as he peeled himself off the floor. Thor was quick to pull him back up.

“Let’s go,” Thor shot, and then they were on their way to the hull, bolting down as the ship rustled and tossed. Once they reached the front of the ship, Valkyrie, Heimdall, and Loki were already there. Outside the front window, rocks crashed about them, immense and jagged.

“What’s happening?” Thor asked the crowd.

“Asteroid field that wasn’t on our maps,” Heimdall informed. Another rock hit their left and Bruce fell into Thor’s side. Thor wrapped an arm around him to steady them both, and because Bruce was looking just a bit green at his corners.

“We need to-” Loki started, but he stumbled forward as they were slammed into from behind. A low growl bubbled out from the figure under his arm and Thor checked to find Bruce shaking whatever that was off him.

“Thor, you, ah, you gotta get me to the r-room, now, or I-I gotta-” Bruce’s sweat was sponging off onto Thor’s shoulder. Thor pulled his arms tighter around Bruce as he squirmed.

“I’m going to-uh . . .” Thor shot his eyes over to Loki, who upon seeing Bruce groaning, nodded fast and gestured them off. They had a hard time even staying balanced as Thor got them both back to the room. Bruce was lost from him at this point, half green and drifting further from himself with each tumble of the ground below.

“Bruce, hey, Bruce, let’s just-” Thor tried but Bruce had been good as gone since Thor had closed the door.

“Thor!” The word ripped out of the morphing body in front of him, breaking in the middle, shifting from Bruce’s squawk to Hulk’s howl. A green head tossed back with a roar and Thor was face to face with an eight foot mass focused only on him.

“Hulk, my friend,” Thor eased, with careful hands poised out in front of him as he tiptoed closer to Hulk.

“Hulk miss pretty god. Hulk come to see him.” Hulk pressed in towards Thor, that cocked up grin back again. Thor was washed over with guilt and he shut his eyes with a wince. The interaction started to feel like a betrayal and Thor fell back a few steps away from Hulk.

“You . . . you can’t just take over Bruce to see me. That’s not okay.” Thor remembered Bruce’s theory, the pendulum effect, and worry covered the pit of his gut as he considered a permanent loss of Bruce Banner. Hulk grunted, his brow folding into angry creases, and he punched a lamp off a counter.

“No, no, Hulk want Thor! Hulk come see him!” Hulk threw large fists onto the bed and a pillow bounced to the ground. As his arms continued to thrash about, Thor could see the trajectory of this freak out and while the ship rocketed them around, Thor rushed over to him to calm the storm.

“Okay, shh, shh now,” Thor murmured as he put a hand to Hulk’s chest. He felt the thunder of his heart simmer down to a rumble, and Hulk lowered to sit on the bed, green eyes softening when they found Thor in their line of sight. Warm breath gusted across Thor’s neck and they both inhaled together. Thor chanced a grin, “hey, sorry, we’re okay, alright. I missed you, too. I-just, is Banner going to be able to come back, uh, maybe, one day?”

Hulk frowned at the accusation and nodded. Thor sighed and the situation felt less hefty.

“Hulk let Banner come back tomorrow, okay? But Hulk and Thor first,” Hulk said in a near whisper, a voice Thor was hearing for the first time, and Thor’s breath caught when it hit him, soft and crackling like a hiss of a dying fire. It was a surprise to neither of them when Thor was pulled into the crevice between Hulk’s legs and their lips crashed like a spray of ocean into each other.

The guilt still covered Thor, but it was being eaten up by his excitement. He squeezed his thighs together in some last ditch attempt to stop him from falling down this hole again, but he had been thinking about Hulk’s cock inside him for two weeks and his member was like a dagger jabbing his leg. He was little more than a pulsing mass of flesh that hungered for the dark and full taste of Hulk, and Bruce’s well-being had slipped far, far, back in his mind.

“Unghh, fuck, Hulk, please, take me,” Thor groaned. He rutted himself against the point of Hulk’s knee. Hulk hissed and hummed, playing out a rhythm with his puffs of air into Thor’s hair.

“Thor go here,” Hulk moaned and Thor gave over to Hulk’s force as he moved into the V of Hulk’s legs. Hulk ripped off the bits of torn scraps of Bruce’s pants and Thor’s chest plummeted forward when he was level with the twitching of Hulk’s dick. The ship rattled him forward and his hand was on it.

“Ooh, I . . .” Thor didn’t finish whatever his train of thought was driving towards. He buckled at his waist and stretched his lips into a vice grip around the head of Hulk’s cock. It was pulling him too tight, tight enough that he fretted for the briefest moment his mouth might crack at the edges. But, he wouldn’t, he affirmed to himself, and in the heat of this, in the euphoria that was the challenge of Hulk, found he would allow himself to crack.

Hulk rocked his head back and forth across his shoulders and Thor tracked the motion, rolling his tongue over the slit of the head. Hulk shivered under Thor’s palms.

Thor had decided that this was what he wanted, constantly. He wanted his limits pushed while Hulk moaned and he rubbed himself raw. He wanted to be a whore for this cock, for all the parts of Hulk’s warm and muscled and strained and yet so, so sweet form. Thor dipped down further on the shaft, enhancing his moans to ridiculous proportions, because he needed it to reach Hulk and seep into his ears until his soul could feel Thor’s desperation.

They were animals here, stripped of their context and all of Thor’s problems and Bruce's anxiety and Hulk's danger, and they were just two creatures grinding against each other. They were base and primal, and that fact was making Thor delirious as he yanked on his cock. Hulk splattered in and across Thor, Thor following a moment or two after, and they both slipped back from each other.

Thor licked across his lips and sucked in Hulk’s seed. It was bitter at first but as Thor swallowed it down, it was sweet on his throat. He looked up under his lashes at Hulk, who was panting with a grin. They blinked at each other for a moment, and then Thor was hoisted up and over the rim of the bed to land upon Hulk’s wide barrelled chest. Thor rested his head down, wondering as he rattled in the bed if he needed to get back to the hull and assist, but then, giving in, he shut his eyes, and he guessed they were cuddling. He liked it more than he would have expected to.

They didn’t bother with cleaning up after, as there was some satisfaction in staying sticky and soiled together. They slept in the blanket of their stench of sex, one of Thor’s more sound sleeps recently.

When he woke up to Bruce, he removed himself without a word, and when they saw each other in the meeting, when Thor saw Bruce’s gentle grin and tired eyes, last night was moot.

(I know RDJ is in Weird Science shhhhh he's just Tony's doppelgänger)

ps yes they have watched dumbo together it was the first film they watched

COMMENT

#thorbruce #gammahammer #thunderscience #thor odinson #bruce banner #mutual pining #MCU #thulk #hulk sex

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