#also i finally learned how to properly use motion blur

[bonnieisaway]

im never touching another fucknig keyframe again

[bluejayblueskies]

10 for the hug prompts with JonMartin? 🥺

touches prompt list

10 - hiding their face in the other’s neck

a no-fears au where jon and martin are in an established relationship! cw for nausea and a brief mention of vomiting (doesn't actually occur)

.

Jon doesn’t do roller coasters.

It is not, despite what Tim says when he thinks Jon isn’t listening, because he’s a, quote, ‘old man at heart’ and doesn’t know how to have fun. In theory, Jon is actually rather fond of roller coasters. He’d watched a documentary once about the design of them, and it had been rather fascinating.

It’s not because Jon doesn’t like roller coasters. It’s…

Well. It’s probably more accurate to say that roller coasters don’t like him. Specifically, his sense of equilibrium and his digestive system. Pills help somewhat, if he remembers to take them, but the fact of the matter is that he’s much more likely to leave the ride with a feeling of intense nausea than of exhilaration. He just… gets motion sick. No way around it. He always sits in the front seat of cars, ensures that he’s in a forward-facing train seat at all times, rarely travels by boat, and… avoids roller coasters.

The fact that he is currently standing in the queue for a particularly large and particularly frightening-looking roller coaster is not, therefore, due to his overwhelming love for them. It is instead entirely due to his overwhelming love for the man standing next to him, eyes bright and excited as he explains the history of this particular roller coaster. His hand is warm and soft in Jon’s, and their clasped hands swing absently back and forth as they slowly inch forward in the queue. His curls are a shock of auburn against the sky, and when he laughs and squeezes Jon’s hand, Jon forgets his anxiety entirely for a moment, lost in a wave of affection and fondness.

“—and because it’s the twenty-fifth anniversary of the ride,” Martin says with a wide grin, “it’ll be running backward today! Well, all season, I- I suppose, but we’re here today, so…”

Jon has never been on a roller coaster that’s traveled backward. It does… not sound appealing.

“That’s… very exciting,” Jon says with a smile, trying to make the words sound as genuine as possible. Because he is a coward. Or, perhaps, just very in love. Maybe both.

It’s just… Martin had been so excited when he’d dropped the amusement park tickets in front of Jon a few weeks ago. And in the four months or so that they’ve been dating, Jon has found it increasingly hard to say things that will cause that wide, unabashed smile on Martin’s face to dim even in the slightest. So Jon had discretely taken several motion sickness pills before they’d left that morning and had told himself that there were plenty of other things to do at an amusement park besides roller coasters and spinning rides and other things that make it their personal mission to tie Jon’s stomach into knots.

And then Martin had spent the entire train ride rambling about the various roller coasters and how he’d always wanted to go to an amusement park but he’d never been able to find the time or the money before and how he’s never been on a roller coaster but they look so fun, and Jon just… hadn’t been able to tell him.

It’ll be fine, he tells himself as they finally reach the front of the queue, the brightly colored cars sitting empty in front of them. It’ll be… completely, totally fine. Nothing to worry about.

They sit a few rows from the front. The click of the restraints makes Jon’s stomach squeeze with nerves, and he swallows around the lump in his throat. He doesn’t realize that he’s gripping the bar in front of him with white knuckles until Martin says gently, “Hey. Is… everything okay?”

No, but it’s certainly too late to change my mind now, Jon does not say.

“Yes,” Jon says, loosening his grip with considerable effort. It’s fine. “Just… b-been a while since I was on one of these.”

Technically not a lie.

“Oh!” Martin gives him a soft smile that makes his heart stutter in his chest. “Well, it’ll be a… new experience for both of us then, I suppose.”

The car jerks into motion, and Jon’s hands tighten instinctively on the bar again. It’s a… disconcerting effect, to be moving backward rather than forward, and one that Jon is decidedly not fond of. They exit the staging area and begin to climb up the first of the many, many hills Jon had eyed warily from their place in the queue. Jon looks straight ahead and does not look down and tries to breathe through his nose.

A warm hand covers his, and Jon looks over to see Martin watching him, that same soft smile on his lips. Martin squeezes gently, and Jon relaxes, just a fraction.

Then, the car tips over the peak of the hill and begins to accelerate, and Jon’s world blurs into a mess of colors and sensations.

The only part of the ride that Jon enjoys is the fact that it’s over quickly. By the time the car rolls to a halt—after a terrifying sequence of loops and drops and harsh curves and tight spirals—Jon feels as if his insides have been scooped out, stuffed in a washing machine, tumble dried, and then pushed back into him at all the wrong angles. Martin’s hand is still gripping his, somehow, and it remains there as they exit the car and make their way down the ramp and into the main thoroughfare. Jon’s legs feel boneless, like they’re made of jelly, and he is deeply afraid that if he opens his mouth, he is going to empty the contents of his stomach onto the pavement below.

Gentle hands are on Jon’s shoulders then, and Jon finds himself guided onto a metal bench just a few meters away from the exit ramp. Jon tries to protest that he’s fine—they have limited time here and he doesn’t need to take a break—but his stomach rolls and he pinches his lips shut before he manages to form a single word. When a hand settles on his upper back and presses down gently, he finally gives in to the urge to bend over and tuck his head between his knees in an effort to alleviate some of the lingering vertigo.

“Breathe, Jon,” Martin says, and Jon does. He takes a few deep breaths, and when a particularly powerful wave of nausea overtakes him, he can’t help the groan that escapes him. “I know,” Martin says softly, moving his hand in soothing circles on Jon’s back. “Just keep breathing, Jon. We can get some water in a bit, just… for now, let’s sit.”

Jon is too nauseous to be properly embarrassed by the coddling. That situation changes quickly as the minutes pass and Jon’s stomach begins to settle. After what must be nearly ten minutes, the nausea has faded entirely, but Jon keeps his head between his knees so he doesn’t have to look at Martin’s face.

“Feeling any better?” Martin prompts, and Jon lets out a slow breath. He nods once, and—with the help of Martin’s hand on his arm—straightens slowly, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the ground as he does so.

“Sorry,” he says, so quietly he isn’t sure Martin can hear him over the din of the crowd.

“You don’t have to apologize for- for feeling sick,” Martin says. He rubs a thumb against Jon’s arm and says, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I- I didn’t think… it would be this bad?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jon sees Martin give him a look that very clearly expresses his skepticism.

Jon sighs and puts his head in his hands again. “I just… didn’t want to disappoint you, I suppose.��

Martin is, of course, sharper than Jon gives him credit for sometimes. “Because I said I’d never had the chance to go on a roller coaster before?”

Jon nods miserably. “I-in my defense, I thought you would start with something significantly less… gravity-defying.”

“Jon,” Martin says, kindly and patiently yet with a chastising edge to it. “You could have waited by the exit.”

“I—I didn’t…” Jon feels the tips of his ears grow warm. “I didn’t want to leave you.”

“Oh,” Martin says, his voice pitched a touch higher than normal. “That’s… um, r-really sweet, actually.”

Jon is glad that Martin can’t see his face because he’s sure whatever expression would have crossed it just then would have been utterly sappy and mortifying.

“B-but I—I don’t want you to make yourself sick on my account,” Martin hastens to say. “There are loads of other things to do here. W-we don’t have to ride the roller coasters.”

Jon uncovers his face and looks at Martin. “But you want to ride the roller coasters.”

Martin worries his bottom lip between his teeth. He doesn’t deny it. Instead, he says, “I… also want to spend time with you, Jon. D-doing things we both want to do, not… not just me.”

Jon stares at Martin and thinks, not for the first time, that he loves him. But it’s still too early to say it, probably, and he’s certainly not going to do so sitting on a sticky metal bench surrounded by children and tired-eyed parents. So all he says, in the end, is, “If… if you’re sure.”

Martin takes Jon’s hand in his and squeezes gently. “I am.” Then, he gives Jon a wide, soft smile that has Jon’s stomach twisting all over again. “So. What do you do at amusement parks, then?”

Jon flushes. But Martin doesn’t laugh at him when he mumbles that he’s actually quite fond of carousels. Instead, he takes Jon’s hand and walks with him across the park—staying away from the more crowded sections, stopping to buy some horrendously overpriced bottles of water on their way—until they’re standing in front of the carousel, painted in lovely pastel blues and yellows.

Jon, for a moment, feels self-conscious and more than a bit childish. But then Martin squeezes his hand and says, without a hint of teasing, “So, what animal do you prefer?” and the tension in Jon’s shoulders melts away in an instant.

Jon learns that Martin likes the classic horses, manes painted gold and plastic saddles a bright cherry red. (And Martin is entirely unsurprised to find that Jon chooses the cat, every time.) He learns, as they continue to explore the amusement park, that Martin likes caramel apples but hates how they get stuck in his teeth. (He purchases one anyway, rolled in peanuts and little rainbow sprinkles, that gives Jon a toothache just looking at it.) He learns that Martin does not appreciate his explanation that the monsters on the haunted house ride are ‘just dummies’ and ‘obviously fake’ and ‘really, Martin, that’s not even the correct number of bones in a human skeleton.’ (Though he secretly treasures the way that Martin clings to his side in the car and hides his face in Jon’s neck, his curls tickling the sensitive skin just underneath Jon’s chin.)

And Martin, apparently, learns that Jon is strangely good at midway games.

“You know those things are totally rigged, right?” Martin says, staring at Jon in disbelief as he tries and fails to adjust his grip on the frankly enormous plush teddy bear the midway worker had begrudgingly surrendered to him. And the medium-sized plush cat he’d won earlier. And the dozen or so little plushies and trinkets and accessories he’d acquired along the way. “You’re not supposed to be able to win.”

“Yes, well.” Jon gives up on trying to find a comfortable way to carry his prizes and extends the massive teddy toward Martin. “I suppose I’m just… lucky.”

He is certainly not going to admit that he spent a good three days researching what to do on a carnival date, came to the conclusion that it would be romantic to win an enormous stuffed animal for Martin, and committed himself to memorizing which games were easiest to win and what strategies he should employ in order to have the best chance at success. That would be… well. A bit much, he thinks. Best to just… not mention it.

Martin carries the teddy all the way back to his flat, his cheeks flushing a lovely pink whenever an occasional curious glance is thrown in their direction. It’s only once they get there and Martin tries to pass the plushie back to Jon with a sheepish, “Suppose I better give this back now,” that Jon realizes he had… indeed not been very clear about his intentions.

“It’s… for you, actually,” Jon says, ignoring the way his cheeks are growing steadily warmer. Then, Jon takes a breath and pushes the rest of the plushies rather unceremoniously into Martin’s arms, save for the cat which he’s… grown rather attached to in their short acquaintanceship. “Th-they all are. Er. F-for you.”

“O-oh.” Martin looks down at the collection of brightly colored things in his arms, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. “I—I… really?”

Jon hugs the cat tightly to his chest, feeling something like embarrassment curl in his stomach. “I-if you don’t want them, I—I can—”

“No!” Martin says quickly, curling his arms protectively around the plushies. “I—I do. W-want them.” He looks down at the teddy sitting by his feet, then up at Jon with a warm, shy smile on his face. “Th-thanks, Jon.”

I love him, I love him, I love him.

Jon nods, pinches his lips together, and tries to keep his affection contained. He doesn’t want to come on too strong, after all. That’s… something he’s not meant to do, he thinks.

Then, when they’re both lying in bed and Martin’s chest is pressed against Jon’s back, his arm curled around Jon’s middle and his nose buried in Jon’s hair, Martin murmurs, “I love you,” and Jon’s breath catches in his throat.

“I… I love you too,” he whispers. And it’s such an easy thing to say that Jon wonders why he’d ever worried at all.

Martin makes a sleepy, contented noise, burrowing closer and wrapping Jon more tightly in his arms. And because he can—he can, he can, Martin said it first, so he can—Jon says again, so quietly he isn’t sure Martin can hear it: “I love you.”

The words are sweet on his tongue, like candy floss and funnel cakes and caramel apples.

[painless-innit-colourful]

Invisible

Potions of invisibility grant the user the ability to disappear, functionally: the concealment of one’s self through magic, distilled into a draught easy to swallow. For better and worse, Tommy’s familiar with the taste.

It tastes sour, primarily. 

Looking at the ingredient list, no wonder. Nether wart and fermented spider eye. Gross. There are some things a golden carrot just can't balance out. 

It's such a disgusting taste he doesn't notice the shimmering feeling, instead focusing his attention on scraping a thin layer of translucent brown sugar-mushroom-spider ick off his tongue. Not until: 

"Tommy?" "Y- Bleh- Yeah?" "Oh!" Tubbo waves his arms in a wild arc, smile growing, before his hand collides with Tommy's arm, and he picks up Tommy's wrist. "It worked!" "What do you- Ohhh..." 

If he blurs his vision, Tubbo's fingers circle around nothing. If he looks properly, he can just about see the edges of his wrist, the lines of his shirt sleeve. "Dude, how does that work?" "Which bit?" "Clothes. My clothes didn't drink it too." "Dude, I dunno... My turn!" 

They learn to spot the tiny signs of an invisible person. They learn to disguise them. Tommy tries to tackle Tubbo and misses completely, and both of them fall about laughing. 

Call that a drug van success story. 

--- 

He sprints past it, hoping they aren’t following, panic filling his bloodstream. He chugs the potion as he runs, drops spilling down his front, staining his navy coat with off-white shadows as he shimmers and disappears into thin air. 

Please don’t see me, please don’t see me.

He stumbles into the shallow waters of the lake, wading - disturbing the water, too many signs, you're gonna be seen - towards Tubbo's tunnel. He takes three steps and slips under the surface, landing on his hands and knees on the tunnel floor, waiting, waiting- Where are they? 

There's the sound of an arrow seeking its mark and hitting true, and for a split second Tommy sees an arm with deft fingers and a dark blue sleeve fall over the side of the entrance, and then the body is gone and shit shit shit- 

Tommy sticks his head back out- Who was that? Wilbur? Tubbo? He feels the shimmering feeling again - "a quick escape", where are the others - and slowly drops back to the tunnel floor. 

Make a decision, what if they find you, Little Laddy One Life? He walks away, opting to live to fight another day, hoping that his friends will join him soon. 

--- 

Funnily though, while clothes disappear with the potion, armour doesn't. He doesn't know why; he's not smart enough to. And right now, as he yanks the shoulder straps of his chestplate tight, he doesn't really care. 

"Stop!" They don't stop, voices mostly drowned out by the overwhelming sound of rushing water. Dream, his face also hidden, but by his signature mask as opposed to the magic of an invisibility potion, holds his hand towards Tubbo and tells him "I need the disc." Tommy crests the wreckage of the Community House, no longer attempting to stay hidden as the water thunders down around his ankles, pulling him towards the platform in the centre. It's a bizarre version of the Pit. It’s an arena. It's a stage. 

"No!" He screams, as Tubbo takes half a step back towards the ender chest. Heads snap to his position, looking at the empty suit of armour that's just appeared beside and above them. Tubbo stutters something in quiet disbelief, and between that and the sudden attention, Tommy falters. If he took off his armour now, could he get out of there? Or would the same fate that once befell Wilbur catch him? The blame for this building is on him, after all. 

He jumps in, landing on his feet between Dream and the cabinet of L'Manberg. He is caught in the crossfire of their questions: "Tommy?" "Is that Tommy?" 

He shouts, and he screams, and he revolves like a merry-go-round, trying to keep his eyes on everyone, not trusting that his armour'll be enough to protect him from the sheer amount of enemies about. So many people hate him, he realises, it's 30 v 2. Technoblade would like those odds. Technoblade, who's standing beside him, not invisible because he went to get milk. He likes the protection; he thinks. 

They don't listen. Tubbo keeps insisting he betrayed them all by teaming with Techno, that he betrayed L'Manberg, but they don't understand, he didn't have a choice, "You don't know what he did to me in exile." Tubbo has the disc in his hands, and without having an inkling of where Dream's eyes are, he watches him consider simply snatching it from Tubbo's hands. 

"You're not gonna give him the disc." Tubbo looks at him like it's a dare, and why can't he see? Tommy's practically crying with the effort and exertion of watching his best friend betray him in slow motion, of being this close to his abuser, of being blamed for something he didn't do, of being beaten down every time he gets on his damn feet. 

"I don’t need to prove myself to you. This wasn’t me. Trust me. Jesus— for once in your life, Tubbo, trust me." Tubbo's eyes are cold, his mind made up. What happened to us against the world?  "I did trust you. Once. The first time all of this happened. And I won’t make the same mistake twice." 

There's a little moment where time stops, and everyone draws nearer like a crowd at the coliseum, and Tommy feels his invisibility ripple slightly, warning him it's about to wear off. Who the fuck cares. 

Tubbo takes a step towards Dream, and Tommy lunges to put himself between them. "Don't you dare." Tubbo's hand goes to his axe. "You betrayed me, Tubbo, you- Did you just-" Both of their eyes are on Tubbo’s weapon, when he puts the disc away, staring Tommy down plainly with his one hand returning to the axe at his waist, and the other taking out his shield. "I didn't betray you." His voice is level, all business. Okay then, Mr President.

"You betrayed everything that you'd built with presidents prior." Tommy's anger, and hurt, and frustration, and pain finally boils over, so much so that it's visible in the way he shakes as he brings out his axe. "You know what?" He bites into a golden apple, feeling its effects drown out the rushing water and the shimmering sensation of his invis. "You've got your axe up." Technoblade’s tone is surprised but light as he tells Tommy to make this decision wisely, but he’s already gone, his safety and conscience be damned. He throws himself at Tubbo, brandishing his axe as the pigman taught him, like he once practised with the brown-haired boy he’s swinging at, thinking You say I betrayed you? I'll show you a traitor. 

Poetically, perhaps, it's less like a fight, and more like a dance. They are a whirlwind - a hurricane - clashing and blocking and pushing and shoving across the otherwise empty floor. Somewhere in the gushing water, Technoblade's bloodlust has seized him, and he's gone for the L'Manbergians and the festival-goers and the unrelated parties that came when they saw the destruction, and he's scattering them this way and that, but who cares about that? 

They are not equally matched. Tommy shakes too much: there is too much of him vulnerable here, not just his mortality, something that neither invisibility nor armour can keep from being scratched and damaged. He's losing. He's quite badly losing, despite Tubbo's inferior armour and weapons and allies, and he leaps into the nearest watery wall, letting the Respiration helmet Techno made for him protect him as the water drags him under and away from his attacker. His best friend. He bites into another golden apple, his pleas swallowed by the torrent. He still hears Tubbo's shout though, permeating the water and being relayed through his communicator from wherever Techno is. 

"Where are you?" 

He pops back up, shaking and soaking wet and sees a familiar sight: an old friend, a brother - once - staring him down with death in his eyes from behind brown hair. He was wrong, oh so wrong, all those weeks ago: at once he is Schlatt, alone at the end of his days, and there's Wilbur, old pals who'll be the death of each other. No. 

No. 

"I didn’t betray you, you teamed up with the very person that destroyed us the first time!" He feels his invis shimmer one more time, and the timing is immaculate, really. Cinematic, one might say. 

"I went for the discs— Tubbo, the discs— The discs were worth more than you ever were!" "No... Wh- Th-" The world stands still, and it feels so good, it's so good to finally say it, to watch Tubbo's face fall, his shield slipping from his hand, listen to the reactions around their little arena, watch as Tubbo shuts his mouth and yanks on the strap of his chestplate and lets it drop to the floor, leaving him defenceless and open to attack and wait- no- wait- 

Mutely, Tommy’s gaze drifts skyward, and it should feel good because they know now, they know how he feels, but it's not, it's not good because that- that wasn't true. That wasn't right. 

And he looks back at Tubbo, and finally, finally, his invis runs out, and he hopes it shows on his face, that he knows he's fucked up because Tubbo looks destroyed, and a shiver goes through him because he no longer looks angry he just- He just looks sad. 

He takes off his helmet, breathing heavily from the ache and exertion, heart burning in regret. 

‘The discs were worth more than you ever were.’

How do you fix that? For one crazy moment, he considers the invis again. Turning translucent and running, back to Techno- back to Technoblade who'd congratulate him on 'moving on' and tell Phil like he was proud and probably write that line on the fucking wall, how could he be such a monumental ass- 

"Tubbo?" Their eyes meet. Tubbo says nothing. 

"Give him the disc." 

He looks bewildered, "You want me to give Dream the disc?" He says, the tiniest sliver of something they used to have peeking through, the bearest hint of kindness, and bless him, it's more than Tommy deserves. It makes him want to go invisible again. 

He smiles softly, and it can't reach his eyes, but he pours every ounce of good left in him into it and desperately hopes it's enough.

"Yeah." And because he's fucked up, because he knows they can never go back from this: "I'm sorry Tubbo." 

--- 

He's done it again, he keeps fucking up. Sam's hand is holding him down by the shoulder, firm fingers digging into him, keeping him from reaching Ghostbur. 

He tried so hard. His throat is sore from not coughing. His muscles hurt from the pure tension and adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream, from his stubborn heart to the ends of his fingers and toes. He thought he'd gotten caught when he drank the potion in the waivers room, and his heart had been beating so loud that he'd thought Sam could hear it. 

Yet, they made it. But it doesn't matter, because he pulled out the axe too early, and now he's busted, and Sam's gonna kill him or Wilbur's going to come back or both, and it's all his fault. 

Every time he tries. Every time he tries to fix things, or do what's right, or have something for himself, it's taken away, destroyed and he's kicked to the ground. Every time. 

It's enough to make anyone want to be invisible.

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

Unexpected Places (Pt. 04 of 11)

Pairing: Ivar the Boneless X Reader/Bjorn X Reader

Word count: 3 K

Summary: As a princess, you've lived in a golden cage all your life, always a piece on someone else's game. But everything changed when the Norsemen came crushing down on Wessex, like waves in a violent storm. Their king spared your life and decided to take you with him to his kingdom, in what felt more like a rescue than a kidnapping. There, you were not only confronted with a completely different culture and lifestyle, but also with two of his sons. The oldest one has his eyes set on you, but it's the youngest one, Ivar, who gets who claimed your attention since the first sight. And he seems to have an unnamed interest in you. Of course you hoped whatever that was would pass, but when unexpected feelings start to flow a different way, things begin to change.

<- Previous part (03)

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{Vikings Masterlist}

×

Fit For a Princess

You're listening to the chattering between Aslaug and Helga, looking at pieces of jewelry at the market place. You say something every now and then, but you can't shake away Ivar's stare. On the last days, two weeks or so, he's right there, sitting across from you on every meal, eyes burning through you. Hvitserk said he's studying you, still expecting you to snap, to decide you had enough of all this and want to go back home. To Wessex, where your older brother now rules. And Ragnar already said he'd take you back if you wanted, so there's that.

But leaving Kattegat hasn't even crossed your mind, not before and not now. How could you trade all you have here, and slide back into the invisible chains you had on? It wouldn't be just stupid, it would be the death of you. You're finally understanding who you are, the things you like, the kind of people you like. In England, you had to play a specific role, because everything was political. Here, you're just who you are. And you do what you want to do. This is true freedom.

“I really like this one,” Helga says, as your eyes wander through the many rings, earrings, and necklaces. “I'd like those two as well.” She continues as you pace around, further away from both women, turning the corner and then walking to another store. The pieces they have here are all made of metal, delicately bent into beautiful shapes. You caress a bracelet with the tip of your fingers, wondering if it'd look good on you.

“Don't waste your time with these cheap things.” The voice, that you now recognize immediately, makes you turn around. Ivar comes from among the people, only stopping when he's standing next to you.

But despite his attention being on the jewelry, your eyes are on him. “You're tall.” It comes out suddenly, because he never stood beside you like this, so you couldn't have noticed.

“Well, you're tiny.” Ivar glances at you, playing with one of the rings. “Anyway, you shouldn't be looking at these things. They won't suit you very well.”

Giving the old man an apologetic look, you randomly pick a bracelet. You don't get why Ivar is being rude, but, judging by what Hvitserk had told you, his brother isn't one to hold back. He says what he thinks, it doesn't matter how mean it may sound to others. You're still trying to figure out if this level of brutal honesty is good or bad. “I really like this one.” Searching on the small bag attached to your dress, you take four coins, way more than what the bracelet is worth, handing it over to the man and putting the bracelet on. The silver color is beautiful, and the drawings carved on it remind you of the pattern you saw on one of the boats that brought you here.

Ivar rolls his eyes exaggeratedly, sighing. “You are such a kind princess.” Dropping the ring, he starts walking side by side with you when you set in motion through the market. You weren't expecting that.

“King Ecbert was king of Wessex. This isn't Wessex.”

“(Y/N)! Wait for us.” Aslaug calls and you stop, giving her a look and a nod before turning to face Ivar, who towers over you.

“Therefore, I'm not a princess anymore.” Shrugging your shoulders, you give him a small smile.

“That's a shame, isn't it?” He lowers his voice, leaning closer.

“Not really.” Shrugging your shoulders, you give a little step back, putting a strand of hair behind your ears before giving him a little wave, walking back to where both women are.

After they're done shopping, as you walk back home, the clouds push themselves apart just enough for the sunlight to appear. That makes you stop, taking in the warmth on your skin, but it soon disappears.

“Hey, (Y/N),” Hvitserk calls, coming from the beach with his father, Ubbe and Bjorn, who's walking behind them. “We're going to meet some traders. Wanna come?”

“Why not?” You mumble, elbowing Hvitserk when he's close enough.

“Go put on some pants then. We're riding there.”

“Oh.” It's so absurd it's stupid, how you can't seem to do the simple things people know by heart here. “I'm not very good at riding.” Whispering, you tell him, not wanting anyone else to listen.

“I'll help you out.” He nods, tilting his head to where Bjorn is. “Without cracking your head open in the process.”

Smiling you nod before heading inside to change out of the dress. You're just about to head out when Aslaug tells you to grab a cloak in case it rains later, so you have to make another trip to your room. But soon enough you meet Hvitserk and the others again, reading the horses.

“Which one is mine?”

“Over here.” Hviserk guides to a beautiful white horse. “Give me your leg.” He says, and for a moment you furrow your eyebrows, but soon enough you understand what he means. Raising your leg, Hvitserk grabs your calf and you push yourself up, successfully mounting on the horse with his help. It feels funny to be this tall. You have ridden before, but most of the time you used a carriage. There was no need for a princess to ride on the back of a horse at Wessex. It's wild though, and you've grown to love wild things. “Keep your feet like this on the stirrups at all times. Don't put of your feet all the way in or it might get stuck if you fall. If you touch her with your ankles, she'll move forward. Pull the halters and she'll stop. The same thing goes to pull her left or right, but since we'll ride together she'll just follow the other horses.”

“Got it.”

“Your ass might hurt at the end of the day, so be prepared.” He warns before jumping to the back of his horse. “If it'll help you feel more steady, you can hold on the saddle, but trust me, you'll get the hang of it once you lose the fear of falling.”

“Have you ever fallen from a horse before?” As you speak, the small group starts moving, and your mare does the same, keeping their pace, slow at first until everyone starts galloping, and all air leaves your lungs. You hold tightly to the saddle, scared at first, but you remember what Hvitserk just told you. If you let the fear of falling win, you'll never learn to ride properly, and you'll never enjoy it. Slowly, you let go of the saddle, holding only on the halters, making sure it's loose so she'll feel free to run.

And the sensation is amazing. The wind makes your hair whip your face over and over, and you lightly shake your head to get rid of it. Glancing at Hvitserk, you mirror his position, a smile creeping over your lips. The landscape, green, blue, and gray, passes by in a blur, and you try to take it all in. It's beautiful, breathtaking. Almost literally, because when you finally stop, you're struggling to catch your breath.

“You ok?”

“Yeah.” You answer, and Hvitserk nods before moving to stand next to his father and brother. You see a small troop approaching, riding up the hill.

“You're quite good at this,” Bjorn says, guiding his horse away from his siblings and near you. “A few more lessons you'll be riding like a true Viking.”

“I really like it. Its... Thrilling.” You're finally calming down, and your thighs ache a little bit.

“Wanna see the traders coming?” Turning his horse around, he gestures at a cliff, not too many miles away. “We could go up there, it'll give us a nice view.”

“Isn't it a little high?”

“The horses are used to it. C'mon.” Without waiting for your answer, he starts galloping away.

Glancing at Hvitserk, you hold the halter tightly to keep the mare from moving. “You think I should?”

“Sure, it has a nice view. But if you feel like the trail there is too much you come back here, alright? The horses are used to it but you're not.”

“Alright.” Touching the mare with your ankles, you loose the halter and she immediately moves, following Bjorn's horse. It doesn't take much until you're deep inside the woods, the horses now trotting. Bjorn keeps silent, giving you a few glances since you're slightly behind him.

“That way.” He says, and you just let your ride follow his. The smooth ground soon starts changing, with more rocks, and becomes unravel. When you see a steep slope, with apparently nothing to hold on to, you pull the halters, making the mare stop.

“I think it's too craggy.” You speak up, getting Bjorn's attention. “I don't want to fall on my first try.”

“She's used to this kind of inclination. You'll be fine.”

Considering it and also what Hvitserk said, you decide to leave the cliff viewing for another day, when you feel more secure on the horse. “I think I'll pass, Bjorn. Maybe another cliff where I can go on foot.”

“Don't be a pussy. It's not that craggy.” Then, he kicks his horse hard and it sets in motion. It doesn't surprise you, but when the mare moves as well, following him, you're startled, and in the sudden change, you let the halter fall.

Holding on the sell, you can only watch as Bjorn's horse easily climbs the slope, at a fast pace, and yours do the same. But when it suddenly turns left, around a huge rock, you lose your balance, and since there's nothing to hold on to, both your feet escape the stirrups, and you're pulled to the ground hard. Losing your breath, a sting on your ankle makes you yelp as you roll down the slope, only stopping once the ground is flat again. Rolling on your back, you take deep breaths, trying not to move the left leg since the pain is spreading through your foot and calf. “Damn it!” You exclaim, removing the hair from your face.

“(Y/N)!” It takes only a few seconds until you see Bjorn kneeling by your side. “Are you alright?”

“I just fell from a horse and rolled down a hill!” You speak fast, the pain on your back making itself aware. “Of course I'm not fine!”

“Let me take you–” He says as he starts to pull you up.

“No.” You cut him off, slapping his hands away. Bjorn has done enough for today. If he wasn't trying to be a freaking show-off, this wouldn't have happened. “Go get–”

“(Y/N)?” You hear his voice and breathes out relief. “I heard a yell.”

“Over here. Lying on the ground.” Annoyed, you cover your eyes with both hands. “Can you please see if my ankle is broken?”

“What happened?” He asks in a low voice, and you uncover your eyes to see him jumping to the ground, kneeling next to your stretched out leg.

“Bjorn made his horse bolt up the slope and mine followed.” You explain, giving him a hard glance, groaning when Hvitserk lifts your leg to remove your boot. “Easy there!”

“Sorry.” He mumbles. “But calm down, it's not broken, just sprained.”

“Shit.” Taking a deep breath, you sit up taking off the other boot as well and throwing it at Bjorn. “You can't keep yourself from getting me hurt, can you?”

“Me? Everything you had to do was hold on. The horse–”

“I'm not a Viking!” Bursting out, you look up at him. “I'm not some shieldmaiden, I'm still trying to fit in here and learn things. You can't expect me to follow your pace.”

“I just–”

“Bjorn, you should get back. Help father with the traders, I'll take her back to Kattegat.” Hvitserk interrupts him, and Bjorn leaves after a grunt, saying something you couldn't understand.

“And he thinks he has the right to be pissed!” Lying back down, you groan. “I think this is a sign to stay away from him. Every time he's in the situation, I get hurt.”

“Alright, c'mon.” Hvitserk pulls your arm until you're seated again. “You need to put some ice on this ankle, let's go.” Hvitserk takes your mare first, tying her up with his horse before mounting and pulling you up to ride with him.

Despite the slow pace he keeps, your back still hurts. Resting your head on his back, you sigh. “Why are you so quiet?” You ask after a while.

“I'm thinking about the right words to tell this to mother. She won't be happy.” He answers, a hand resting on his thigh as the other holds the halter. “She's not very fond of Bjorn already.”

“It was partially my fault too, I think. I let the halter slip and had nothing to hold on to.”

“You're know Bjorn likes you, right?” Hvitserk suddenly says, and you pinch your eyebrows together. This thought hasn't crossed your mind. “That's probably why he did that. That's how he... Gets a woman's attention.”

“Would you do the kindness of telling him it's not working?” Muttering, you rest both your arms on his back folding them as if his shoulders were a table. “Actually, I've been meaning to tell you... I met Ivar at the market place today.”

“...And?” He asks after a few seconds of silence.

“Nothing, just... It was nothing, really.” It's hard to understand exactly what you want to tell Hvitserk. You just can't seem to put your feelings or thoughts together. “I was looking at these things and he said they wouldn't suit me.” Stretching out your arm, you show him the bracelet. “I bought this there.”

“That's nice. But cheap.” Rolling your eyes, you remember Ivar said pretty much the same thing.

“He also said I'm kind. But that was probably in a mocking tone, so...” You get into Kattegat, and Hvitserk greets some people. “I don't know.”

“I believe it's safe to assume Ivar doesn't hate you.” Hvitserk slows down the horse when a group of kids run by. “If he did, he wouldn't put himself on your way like that... Or look at you the way he does.”

“And how does he look at me?” The words come out slowly because you're not sure if you want to know.

“The only thing I can say for sure is that he never looked at a woman like that.” You finally get to Ragnar's house, and Hvitserk asks a man to help you down. Once you're safe on the ground, he jumps off, telling the man to take the horses. “And I mean it in a good way.”

He puts a hand around your waist, helping as you jump on the right foot until the table in the main hall. “Do you think he–”

“What happened this time?” Aslaug asks, her voice already giving out that she's not happy.

“Twisted ankle. She fell from the horse.”

“Take her to her room, Hvitserk.” The Queen mutters, saying something to the girls who were following her. “And carry her this time if that isn't too much to ask.”

“Alright.” He replies, picking you up with a hand on the small of your back and another under your legs, quickly finding the way to your chambers.

Giggling, you give him a look “I love when your mother–”

“Careful with the teasing this time. I might just drop you to the floor and I don't care if your a princess who fell off a horse.” The fake angry tone makes you laugh again.

“My bad, Prince Hvitserk.” You snap back, rolling your eyes.

Aslaug has her maids help you bathe first, cleaning the dirt that is attached to your face and hair before lying you on the bed again and applying a piece of fabric with cold water on your ankle, keeping it elevated with some pillows. She isn't happy to know the whole story, despite you assuring her it's alright now. You could've died, she said, breaking your neck. But it's useless to worry about what could've happened. The best thing to do now is to focus on the ankle, which she said will be better in a few days, and let the whole incident go.

Later that night, you give little jumps to the main hall to eat something. It's just Ubbe and Bjorn, seated on a table at the corner. Nodding at them, not wanting to chat with Bjorn at the moment, you sit at the edge of the table in the middle, your back turned at both men, taking the jar and pouring yourself something to drink.

“How's your ankle?” Ubbe asks, and you look over your shoulder.

“It's fine. I'll be able to walk normally in a few days. But my back still hurts.” Completely ignoring Bjorn's existence, you turn away from them again.

Drumming your fingers on the table, you wait for the Queen's maids to bring your meal. When you feel someone moving behind your back, you assume it's them, and place your cup further away to open some space. But instead of the bowl with rabbit stew, a necklace is put down before you. And it's absolutely beautiful, with three blue stones surrounded by a golden metal, delicately molded around it. It's different from anything you've ever seen in Wessex. Taking it in your hands, you see Ivar dropping to the seat next to you, and you turn to look at him.

“What is it?” You ask, unable to hide the smile that comes to your lips.

“A necklace.” He simply says, and you roll your eyes at his tone. What a way to ruin the mood.

“Yeah, I noticed.” The smile slowly drops as your eyes go back to the piece, fingertips caressing one of the stones.

“This was made for a princess. Not those cheap things.” He gestures at your bracelet, and you giggle.

“Well, this is absolutely beautiful.” Glancing at him, you find he was already staring. “Is it for me?” You inquire in a lower voice, not wanting to make any assumptions that might embarrass you.

Ivar nods, lightly pushing your shoulder. “Turn around. Let me put it on.”

Doing as he says, you turn your back at him. Ivar takes the necklace and places it around your neck, and you hold your hair up so he can close it on the back. Once he's done, you let the hair fall before turning to face him, folding your left leg and carefully laying the wounded ankle on the bench between you and Ivar. “How does it look?”

You wait for an answer, but it doesn't come. Ivar's eyes were fixed on the necklace, but slowly, they come to meet yours. Tilting your head to the side a little, you feel heat spreading through your cheeks.

Shaking your head lightly and looking down, you take a deep breath. “Have you heard that I fell from a horse this afternoon?” You're glad you got your brain to function, changing the subject. “Twisted my ankle.”

Ivar's stare falls to your bare feet on the bench, the skirt of your dress pulled up to your knee. “Mother told me it was someone else's doing.” As he speaks, Ivar gives an angry stare at where his two brothers are, and it's obvious who he's looking at. “But I think you'll survive.” You feel his fingers caressing your skin, from your knee and down through your calf, so softly you wonder if he's really touching you.

“I will.” You assure him, biting back a smile.

“Ivar,” Ragnar calls, and it does take a while until you both look at where he's standing, near the thrones. “Your mother wants to speak with you.”

“What now?” He asks, annoyed.

“I don't know. Go ask her.” And he disappears.

“Guess I'll have to go.” He glances at you, grabbing the clutch.

But before he can push himself up, you grab his arm. Perhaps you shouldn't do it. Perhaps this whole thing is just some kind of joke he's pulling on you, but still, the necklace is beautiful and he was... Kind. So you lean closer to him, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for the gift. It's very beautiful.”

Ivar is frozen, even after you let go of his arm. He stands there, blue eyes locked on yours. Slowly, painfully slow, a smile comes to his lips. And it feels different. True, genuine. “You're welcome, princess.” He whispers before pushing himself up to his feet and walking away.

You're still a little dazed when the rabbit stew comes, and you can do nothing but play with the spoon. But heavy footsteps get your attention, and when you look at your side, you catch a glimpse of a very angry Bjorn disappearing inside.

He saw everything. And it takes you by surprise to notice that, the moment you laid eyes on Ivar, you immediately forgot Bjorn and Ubbe were here. Everything just... Faded away, and there was nothing else, just you and him. And this is not the first time it happens.

×

@multific @revolution-starter @crackhead1-800 @youbloodymadgenius @clown-boyyy @kitten0394 @castielsangelx-blog @goldlion07 @midnightmystic @readsalot73 @xvxcarolinexvx @momowhoo @fangfoxy @msrawog @walkingonshunshine @alytavzla @anotherfan07

[sativaaaaaaa]

The Secret In The Tears || Mildred Ratched & Wilhemina Venable

warnings: depression, intrusive thoughts, self harm, suicide attempt, major angst

~~~~~~

Your relationship with the two reserved redheads had been purely carnal to begin with. They used you for sex and you were fine with it. It then turned into something more....intimate. Long nights spent keening underneath them turned into early mornings wrapped between their arms.

Soon after these changes they asked you to be their submissive; their pet. And of course you happily agreed. You had always let them lead in the bedroom, so everyday life couldn't be much different right?

Well you were wrong. It had been much more than you expected and thought you learned quickly, the adjustment to the new environment was rough. Now here you were six months in feeling like your head is underwater. You life scheduled out by the hour and punishments handed out when things are not up to par. You were trying the best you could, but it seemed like you were being degraded more than praised and it was breaking you on the inside. Yet you never said a word. You just kept with the motions; doing things just good enough so you wouldn't get yelled at.

You were reaching your peak. You started sleeping in a different room at night just to have some peace but it was never granted. You spent many hours of the night crying silently and holding yourself as you tried to put the pieces back together. You felt low, unappreciated, unloved, empty. And once again you cried yourself to sleep, this time not caring if you woke up or not.

~~~~~~~~

To your dismay you did. Alarm blaring at 5:30am like any other day. You hit the button to turn it off and stayed in the bed just staring at the wall. You laid there until you heard Mildred rumbling around; getting up and going to your bathroom to avoid her for the time being. You lulled through your hygiene routine and changed into some sweatpants and a t shirt. You made your bed despite the desperate want to climb back in it and headed downstairs. You walked down the hall and towards the kitchen; the smell of brewing coffee roamed through most of the house. As you turned the corner you saw Mildred in her nurse uniform packing her lunch for the day. She glanced over her shoulder looking at you as you walked into the kitchen.

"Well good morning to you too." She said frowning. She looked over your attire before shaking her head.

"Sorry. Good morning." You said in a low voice with your gaze fixated on the ground in front of you. Mildred paused what she was doing to look at you properly; frown still plastered across her face.

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you. And what on earth do you have on?" She chided. You drew in a silent breath and raised your head to look at her.

"I'm not feeling too well so I just put on something that'll help me be a little more comfortable." You replied whilst wrapping your arms around your abdomen.

Her eyes scanned over you once more to take in your appearance. Your glassy eyes and dark circles led her to believe you were telling the truth about not feeling well. She turned away from you and continued to pack her lunch.

"Do you need to see a doctor?" She asked as she set her lunch to the side and poured herself a cup of coffee.

"No, I'll just take some tylenol and lay down later on. I should be fine."

"Alright well if you change your mind just give me or Wilhemina a call." She said as she turned around to face me.

"And why on earth would she need to call me?" You hear Wilhemina ask as she walked into the kitchen. She almost immediately walked over to Mildred to place a soft kiss on her lips. The action torn you to pieces.

"The poor girl isn't feeling well. Just look at her eyes." Mildred said pointing in your direction. You shifted uncomfortably now that the attention was on you. Wilhemina looked over your physique before scoffing.

"She looks perfectly fine to me. I expect everything to be done by the time we make it home. Understood?"

You swallowed the lump that was forming in your throat before looking up at her and nodding.

"Yes ma'am. I understand. If you'll excuse me." You said before turning around and going back upstairs. As you were walking up the stairs tears stung your eyes, you wouldn't allow them to fall though.

Meanwhile in the kitchen Mildred was feeling conflicted. She could see that something was wrong with you. At least she thought she could. But she didn't want to start an argument with Wilhemina over the matter; so she stayed silent. They both left the house bidding you goodbye as you slowly made their bed.

~~~~~~~

You did your daily routine of cleaning and preparing things for dinner before collapsing on your bed. You curled up in the center of the bed and let your eyes close from mental exhaustion. You never fell asleep though, you only laid on your bed in silence. After a while you finally opened your eyes and checked the time. 4:15pm.. They would be home soon.

You sighed and forced yourself to get up and go downstairs to the kitchen to start dinner. You took all the ingredients out of the fridge and laid them on the counter. Soon after you moved on to chopping the ingredients needed to make the redhead's favorite foods for dinner.

You gaze turned to the shiny blade of the knife and you zoned out, getting lost in harmful thoughts.

'Just do one.'

'Stab yourself.'

'Do it.'

'Do it.'

'DO IT!!'

Before you realized it you had given in and acted upon your thoughts; deeply cutting your inner forearm. You dropped the knife on the floor and grasped your arm with a pained gasp. You turned to go towards the sink but the sudden movement combined with you not eating all day caused your vision to blur. Time seemed to slow down and you hit your head against the edge of the counter before crashing onto the floor. The fall knocked the wind out of your body making you frantically gasp for air.

You were fighting to stay conscious when you heard the front door unlocked with some banter.

"All I'm saying is you don't need to be so rough all the time. Loosen up some." You heard Mildred say.

"I still don't see why I need to. I made a commitment to you, not her." Wilhemina shot back almost as if her words were laced with venom.

Upon hearing that you let go. You stopped fighting to stay awake and let the darkness take over you as you heard the click of heels approaching. Your eyes were finally shutting as you heard a loud gasp and the drop of a bag. Then everything went black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A faint beep noise met your ears as a wave of pain surged through your body. You lowly groaned and struggled to open your eyes; a bright light blinded you causing you groan a little louder. You heard a gasp and heels clicking over to where you were, the sound pained your ears.

You began to blink slowly as you took in your surroundings. Painfully white walls, two chairs and the sun setting beyond the other side of the window.

"Y/n, Y/n honey can you hear me?? Wilhemina go get the nurse."

"You are a nurse."

"Her nurse. Jesus Christ must you be so literal right now?"

"Fine I'll go."

You groaned once again before moving to cover your ears; a searing hot pain ran through your arm causing you to stop and whimper.

"You're being too loud." You rasped lowly as you fully opened your eyes and looked towards Mildred.

"Oh I'm sorry sweetheart. I'll talk softer for you. How are you feeling?" She asked pulling her chair next to the bed so she could sit with me.

"I'm fine. When can I go home?" You saw a wave sadness in her eyes as you questioned her.

"Are you sure you're okay? That was a really bad cut." She poked again. But she was weeks too late, you had already shut down and closed off your true feelings.

"Yes I'm fine. I just want to go home." You said in a huff while rolling your eyes.

She frowned at your sudden attitude but stayed quiet. Soon Wilhemina had walked back in the room with a nurse; she took her seat next to Mildred laying her hand on Mildreds knee whilst the other hand rested on the head of her cane. She hadn't spared you glance so you didn't dare look in her direction.

You let the nurse check you and answered all her questions as best as you could before taking some pain medication and sitting in silence. You all sat in silence before Wilhemina spoke up.

“So what was that?” She inquired quite harshly.

“What was what?” You shot back in a low voice. You had been slowly falling asleep due to your pain medication so you were basically on the edge of consciousness.

“Oh don’t play dumb. What’s your problem? What are you tired of living or something?” She interrogated further. Her voice was harsh and usually they would hurt but this time they didn’t.

“Wil, now’s not the time. Let her rest.” Mildred butted in trying to calm her down and also keep her from stressing you any further.

“I’m not living.. I’m surviving. I’m barely doing that correctly. Doesn’t seem like I do anything right anymore.” You said in a small voice. The room went silent.

A wave of sadness had over come you. Tears stung your eyes causing you to close then completely. You rolled over onto your side; back facing them as you finally let your feelings and sleep take over. You fell asleep curled into yourself with tears running down your face.

~~~~~~~~~~~

word count: 1687

[chksuki]

Photoshop Finale

I used photoshop for half of the progress then I decided to switch to Clip Studio Paint EX because, the brushes on Photoshop kept lagging and for some reason won’t allow me to erase certain parts. As such, I’ve continue rest of the progress in Clip Studio. For me, it is easier as I am more familiar in Clip Studio compared to Photoshop.  - In the finalised version, I wanted to create an atmospheric feeling to it. I did this by using a Airbrush tool and lightly make the edges darker. I have also included rain. This is done by doing quick strokes and use the motion blur filter. Furthermore, used add glow layer for certain part that I wanted to light up such as, the window lights, sign boards etc. - I am happy with how I did the reflection on the ground. This is to enhance the rainy mood. I used references that had this reflection style as well. I’ve also used some parts of the images that I took during the photoshoot. I was not able to find the right images I wanted to use for example, the large pipes. Although, I could have done better with the photobashing and blending it in properly. It doesn’t match with building colour and looks out of place.  - Adding characters was the last decision I have made. I was debating whether to add people in or not. But I decided it be a good idea to showcase the size difference. The stylisation choice I’ve made for the characters, were to make them look simple. So I quickly doodled them in and added few details, such as, the highlights.  - All in all, there are some parts I wish I could have done better. Aside from some missing details here and there. This is the final photobash for the diorama. In the end am I proud of it? Yes, any mistakes is part of the learning progress. I am happy with how it turned out and I really enjoyed the full progress of making the diorama, from start to finish!

Jordan Grimmer is one of my favourite landscape artist and I tried to copy some of techniques into the photobash. Such as, using the polygon lasso tool to create certain shapes i want, different layer modes and adjustments. Definitely check out his work because, it’s amazing to see how he creates the basic shapes first then turning them into buildings, mountains etc.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u1YwlsvaChA&t=840s https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XjWE9bA05Fo&t=1396s 

[anistarrose]

Summary: Stan finds a recording from a fateful puppet show, a few disjointed memories fall into place, and the Pines family has some tense conversations.

Relationships: Ford Pines & Stan Pines, Dipper Pines & Ford Pines & Mabel Pines & Stan Pines

Characters: Stan Pines, Ford Pines, Dipper Pines, Mabel Pines, Bill Cipher (posthumously)

Set in early September, probably a little less than a week after Dipper and Mabel went home.

(It felt good to write some Stangst again! Title is from Monster Town by Go! Child because when I can't think of titles on my own, I go to my GF playlist for inspo, and that song jumped out at me today)

***

“We should probably bring a backup camera on the boat,” Ford mused, in a tone that made it impossible to tell whether he was talking to Stan or just to himself. “Maybe even multiple backup cameras. There’s no telling what the Arctic climate could do to their circuitry, and people hardly take cryptid reports seriously even with photographic evidence, never mind with just an eyewitness account and an excuse about a broken camera —”

“Easy, Sixer.” Stan set down his fully-packed suitcase at Ford’s feet, satisfied with its contents. “I’ve got a camcorder up in my room, or maybe in — actually, I can’t remember where I decided to keep it, but it’s probably still in the house somewhere. If I can find it, you can add it to your camera horde.”

Ford zipped open Stan’s suitcase, revealing hand-knitted sweaters and Hawaiian shirts in approximately equal numbers, and sighed. “Some brave wardrobe choices you’re making here. Or have you forgotten that the first beach we’re stopping at is in Alaska?”

“Well, someone’s gotta lead the fashion revolution in the Arctic Circle, and it sure ain’t gonna be you,” Stan called as he headed upstairs, provoking a resigned “hrmph” from Ford.

Stan decided to look for the camcorder in his bedroom first — because while his memory still had some scattered gaps, his gut instincts rarely lead him astray, and checking his room had been his first impulse. Sure enough, he found it sitting on a shelf and covered in slightly less dust than the adjacent stack of magazines, just as he ever-so-vaguely remembered it.

“Better make sure this thing works, before Ford declares it too unreliable for yeti hunts or whatever,” he muttered to himself, leaning back onto his bed and fumbling for the power button. The camcorder blinked to life, presenting an interface that was probably hopelessly outdated — but Stan didn’t care, while Ford would have no way of knowing what modern Earth technology looked like.

What’d I even record on this thing anyway? He selected a random video from June, was greeted with his own voice singing the first line of the Stan Wrong Song, and immediately deleted the recording. With a sigh and silent vow to never let Ford learn of the song’s existence, he moved on to a video from July.

Once again, it was Mabel’s handiwork — heh, no wonder I couldn’t remember what I used this thing for, since the kids were always borrowing it from me — but this time, Stan himself wasn’t in frame, though the craft supplies strewn about the living room were enough to stir dormant memories.

“Dipper! Puppet Dipper! Smile for the camera!”

Dipper yawned, then somewhat half-heartedly mimicked the motion using the sock puppet on his hand. “Puppet Dipper’s not really feeling up to it this morning.”

“Did Puppet Dipper stay up too late trying to solve a mystery? Bwap!” The footage blurred as Mabel nudged Dipper with a sock puppet of her own. “Do I need to make him a little puppet-sized pillow?”

“How about… some puppet-sized sunglasses, for a puppet detective?” Dipper suggested.

“Good idea!” Mabel agreed. “Then no one will notice when Puppet Dipper falls asleep standing up!”

Stan shook his head and smiled.

Man, I wish I’d found this back when my memories were still a mess — Mabel kinda skimmed over the whole puppet saga in her scrapbook. Wonder what else got recorded from that week…

He selected the next video chronologically, noticing that it was also the final recording on the device, and the smile vanished from his face.

“You can’t stop me!” It was Dipper’s voice, yet not Dipper’s voice — all fury and arrogance, and the camcorder’s cheap speaker crackled with static, like the voice was too much, too wrong, too alien to properly record and then replicate. “I’m a being of pure energy with NO weaknesses!”

Without a doubt, Dipper’s body was onscreen, but he was staggering towards Mabel with arms twisted at impossible angles. He lunged for the journal in her hands, eyes glinting the same gold color as the emblem of the six-fingered hand —

Stan hit the power button, rolled over on the bed, and buried his face in his pillow as the wave of memories crashed into him.

Brushing off Dipper’s sorry state as sleep deprivation, until the kid collapsed on the way out of the theater. Seeing the cuts and bruises all over Dipper’s hands as Stan helped him to his feet, and grilling the kids on what happened the whole drive to the hospital. Not getting an answer beyond “sleep deprivation.”

Not being able to give the doctor an answer beyond “sleep deprivation.”

Telling the twins’ parents it was just “sleep deprivation.”

A tense phone call, assuring Mr. and Mrs. Pines that Dipper’s recovery would be swift and tha Gravity Falls was still safe for their children. Stan’s hands shaking as he holds the phone, having no idea if that’s the truth, if he’s doing the right thing.

Mabel crying over a crumpled-up scrap of paper — a note? — she’d found in the car, and refusing to show it to Stan. Half-overheard secrets, whispered between the younger twins when they think Stan isn’t paying attention — apologies, worries, and murmurs too soft to be in any way decipherable.

Dipper, still with bags under his eyes, spending the next few days doing almost nothing but looking over his shoulder and burying his head in the journal. Stan pretending not to notice, but secretly finding it far too familiar for comfort.

Later memories, too — memories of demons, and handshakes, and feeling his body go numb. Memories of a voice, a furiously shrieking voice — both terrified and terrifying, but more than anything, alien.

Now, far too late, Stan recognized it.

***

“We’re calling the kids,” Stan barked, barging back downstairs, and Ford jumped.

“What’s wrong? Are your memories —”

“Better than they’ve ever been, actually.” Stan stormed directly to the living room table, flipping open the laptop on loan from Soos and clicking the video chat app. “Good enough to figure out something that apparently no one thought it might be important to tell me!”

“Are you sure?” Ford put a hand on Stan’s shoulder. “We can still call them, but let’s talk this through first, make sure you’re not missing any gaps —”

Stan paused, cursor an inch away from the call button beneath Dipper and Mabel’s profile picture. “Did Dipper tell you about the time Bill possessed him?”

Ford started to say something, stopped, and tried again. “I… I assumed you knew. I’m sorry.”

“Did you know I ended up taking him to the goddamn hospital afterwards?”

“No,” Ford whispered, and Stan felt Ford’s fingers dig into his shoulder. “Call the kids, Stan.”

Mabel must’ve been online, because she picked up almost immediately. The video opened with her sitting in her kitchen in Piedmont, Waddles in her lap. “Grunkle Stan! Grunkle Ford! Guess what I —”

The joy drained out of her smile when she noticed her grunkles’ grave expressions. “What’s going on?”

“Mabel, pumpkin,” Stan murmured, trying to tune out the sound of his heart thumping in his chest, “could you go get your brother?”

“I’m here, I’m here!” Dipper slid into view, almost falling off his chair, and Mabel scooted out of the way so they could both comfortably face the laptop. “Is something wrong?”

“Not anymore,” Ford explained, “but Stan and I wanted to talk about… communication, among other things — Stan? Are you sure you’re alright?”

Stan wiped the sweat from his forehead and shuddered, forcing himself to take a deep breath as he stared at the computer.

Dipper’s back home. Dipper’s safe. They’re both safe, and they’ll never have to worry about Bill again.

“Stanley?” Ford echoed, increasingly distressed. “Please, if —”

“I’ll be alright,” Stan managed, because even he wasn’t a good enough liar to convince anyone he was alright at this exact moment. “Promise. But kids, why didn’t you tell me when Bill hijacked your puppet show?”

Dipper and Mabel exchanged a guilty look.

“Was it because you thought I’d take away the journal?” Stan regretted his ‘only self-defense’ stipulation for the third journal more than almost anything else he’d said that summer, because he’d always known deep down that it wouldn’t stop the kids — and in hindsight, he would’ve much rather known what trouble the kids were getting into, not have them hide it from him with their late nights out in the woods and nonspecific excuses.

“At first,” Dipper replied. “But we ended up worrying a whole lot more about you sending us home early —”

“Your parents almost made that decision for me,” Stan admitted. “They were ready to drive up here and come get you when they heard what happened. I dunno how I convinced them to let you stay —”

He sighed. “And maybe knowing the truth wouldn’t have actually helped me that time — but it would’ve been nice to know how big a lie I was telling when I told them this town was safe for you kids, y’know?”

He regretted voicing that thought immediately, but regretted it even moreso when Dipper looked away from the camera, mumbling: “I’m sorry, Grunkle Stan.”

“Stan’s not trying to guilt you,” Ford spoke up, “but we want you to know you can talk about these things honestly with us — and that goes for both of you, Dipper and Mabel. We’d never want to punish you for something that was obviously… someone else’s fault.”

Thank god one of us has finally learned to think through what we say before we say it, Stan figured.

“I’m sorry too, kids,” he added out loud. “For getting angry at you a minute ago — ‘cause I’m not angry at you, I’m angry at Bill for what he got away with right behind my back, and I… I just…”

He brushed a finger across their digital faces, a gesture that no doubt failed to translate to the video feed Dipper and Mabel were viewing, and smiled. “Thanks for picking up so fast, ‘cause I really needed a reminder that the two of you are safe and sound and all.”

The kids smiled back, visible for just a second before Mabel leaned forward to hug her laptop and the screen went dark.

“Anytime, Grunkle Stan.”

***

“Coffee?” asked Ford, ever the early riser, as Stan trudged into the kitchen the next morning. “You look like you need it.”

“Gee, thanks, Sixer,” Stan groaned, slumping into the seat across from Ford at the kitchen table. “I’ve heard of backhand compliments, but now I’ve gotta live with your backhanded coffee offers too?”

“Sorry. I’m sympathizing, not mocking — I promise, when I woke up today, my eyes were just as bloodshot as yours are now,” Ford replied, sliding Stan a mug of steaming coffee. “How are your memories?”

It was a routine question as of late, but Stan still managed to botch it completely.

“Too good,” he muttered under his breath, and earned a quizzical look from Ford.

“Pardon?”

“…Good enough that I can remember all kinda things to feel shitty about,” Stan reluctantly admitted. “Like not even noticing when Dipper was possessed, for one thing. I spent the whole summer worrying about him, except for when he was actually in danger —”

“Oh, Stanley,” Ford sighed, “that’s not your fault. You know Bill was an expert liar; he scammed too many people to count —”

“Yeah, but I shoulda seen through it!” Stan brought his fist down on the table, and the contents of his mug sloshed precariously close to the top. “Of all people, I should’ve known better —”

“Right.” Ford grimaced. “Right. Because no one else who should’ve known better was ever tricked by a dream demon for a whole lot longer than a few hours —”

“Shit. Ford, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it like —”

With a controlled glowering expression and deliberate motions, Ford stood, marching across the kitchen with all the fury and hesitation of a slow-moving thunderstorm.

“I didn’t mean it was your fault! I’d never — ”

“…I know.” Ford came to a halt at the door, bracing one hand against the frame. “But if you can say as much about me, then… then why can’t you just say that about yourself?”

“What?!”

“You would’ve caught on soon enough, if Mabel hadn’t defeated Bill when she did — I wasn’t there, but I’m sure of that because I know you, and I know how well you know Dipper.” Ford shook his head. “I didn’t catch on to Bill’s lies for years. I gave him free reign to hurt people for so much longer than one evening —”

He crossed his arms, and his imposing silhouette in the doorway seemed to shrink.

“So if you’re not blaming me for anything to happen this summer, then you’d better not blame yourself, you — you knucklehead.”

“Are you kidding me?” Stan leapt out of his seat. “It’s no wonder you didn’t see through Bill’s lies, when your whole life, you had me watching your back — and then I wasn’t there for you, when you needed me more than ever —”

“Because I pushed you away!” Ford shouted, whirling back around to face him. “Do you know what I realized while I was trying to fall asleep last night? That if I’d just stood up to Dad when he kicked you out, if I’d just done the right thing for once in my formative years, then the end of the world as we knew it would’ve been averted altogether! No falling for Bill’s flattery, no arguing over the zodiac, no Weirdmageddon! We could’ve had it all, but we just couldn’t live in that better world, all because I convinced myself you were suffocating me —”

“But it sounds like maybe I still am, huh?” Stan growled. “If all I do is just make you furious like this —”

“No,” Ford gasped, all the hostility in his voice and his glare immediately melting away. “No, no, absolutely not! I’m not furious at you, Stan, I’m…”

“Furious at yourself,” Stan accused, “for being even worse than me?!”

“No! Don’t even say that!”

Before Stan could process what was happening, much less protest it, Ford was hugging him, burying his face in Stan’s shoulder.

“Maybe — maybe I am angry at you, after all,” Ford admitted, “but you’re my hero, Stanley. My inspiration. If am angry with you, it’s — it’s just because you’re too damn stubborn to forgive yourself…”

Stan gingerly placed a hand on Ford’s shoulder. “…Yeah, and you’re one to talk.”

“I won’t deny that,” Ford mumbled. He went quiet for a few seconds, and when he spoke up again, his voice was quieter, yet slightly more composed. “Maybe we need to just… call a truce. Find something positive to agree on. We’re both too stubborn for this argument to end with either of us admitting we were wrong —”

“At least for give-or-take the next forty years,” Stan interrupted, punctuating his words with a bitter laugh.

Ford barked out a laugh of his own, loud and cathartic, and withdrew from the hug, removing his glasses to rub his eyes. “If Dipper and Mabel were here, they would have told us to stop being stubborn old men a while ago. I wish they were here.”

“They’d probably also tell us it’s more Bill’s fault than either of ours,” Stan added. “And… I guess they’d have a point.”

“I can see the logic in that.” Ford smiled faintly. “I’m sorry for making this about me, by the way. You opened up to talk about your own issues, and I —”

“Hey, I made it about you just as much as you did, Brainiac,” Stan reminded him. “…But damn. You think we’ll ever be able to talk about our feelings without shouting our lungs out at each other?”

“We’re still no good at thinking through anything before we say it,” Ford replied, “though I guess we must be getting a little better, since we didn’t even stop speaking to each other this time.”

“Thank god. I’m tired of not talking to you.”

The two of them settled back into their seats at the table, and Stan reached for the morning paper, but Ford spoke up once more.

“I know forgiveness, especially self-forgiveness, can be… complicated,” he told Stan in a low voice, “so maybe I’m biased, speaking as someone who’d rather not grapple with my own personal guilt — but even more important than whether you forgive or blame yourself, I think, is acknowledging that you made mistakes, yet still deserve good things from the universe. And that goes for you and me both.”

Stan took a sip from his mug, pleased to find its contents were still warm. “Good things like coffee, and adventures sailing around the world?”

Ford chuckled. “My priorities exactly.”

[orionwhispers]

Fools Gold // Tommy Shelby

(A/N - ok. i started this imagine in december but then life happened and here we are almost in march. this took a really long time to write and im honestly kind of iffy about it but i hope you guys like it. also side note - tommy is a MASSIVE dick in this and do not let a boy/girl/anyone treat you like this - this is purely fiction and irl if someone uses you like this then they are trash. also second side note im mean to grace in this but I have a lot of feelings ok. LOVE U GUYS)

Thomas Shelby needed a distraction.

His mind was hazy, like looking through a cloud of smoke. He saw Grace everywhere. Sunshine coloured hair reflecting on the grey puddles in the street, sapphire blue eyes watching him from the bluebells sitting on Polly’s desk, her soft laughter in his ears whenever he heard a bell chime. He wanted a distraction. He wanted a quick fix, something soft and warm that would fill the emptiness of his bed and the hole in his heart, but he never imagined just what that would cost.

The first time he saw you was on a Wednesday. The clouds were silver and the air was cold, and London was a welcome change in scenery. He was visiting Ada, in the city for business but wanting to see the kind face of his sister, some softness in his world of sharp. It was late at night, the moon round and full and the library almost empty, and he nodded at his sister in greeting as she filed away the last of the novels.

“Tommy.” She smiled, with rosy cheeks and tousled hair. “Let me just grab my coat and we’ll be off.”

She turned to speak to someone, and Tommy impatiently tapped his clipped fingernails along the edge of a desk, his brain always working, mentally relieving business deals in his head as he waited. He listened to the low hum of the roads outside and the incessant flickering of a street lamp through the window, turning slowly at the sound of footsteps approaching.

His breath hitched in his throat.

Standing beside his sister, all kind eyed and ink stained and sweet as strawberry ice cream was a girl. A girl that for the first time in a long time, made the memories in his brain curl off and vanish like wisps of smoke.

A girl that could be the perfect distraction.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright closing up? I’m sorry to rush off like this.” He didn’t register his sisters voice, his ocean blue eyes trained on you, with your cherry bitten lips and pink polished fingernails.

“Oh Ada, I’m fine. Have a lovely time.” You replied, voice just as honeyed as the rest of you. You gave Tommy a soft smile, wringing your hands together, slightly uncomfortable with the attention you had accidentally drawn to yourself.

He stepped forward without a second thought, his palm outstretched. You blinked back at him, like a deer caught in headlights. Ada had spoken about her brother; how he could sweet talk the devil, and how he was destined to rule the world with his golden mind and silver tongue. You had been intimidated by her words, and standing before him you felt utterly, hopelessly, mortal.

You tried to hide your nerves as you shook his hand, his large fingers engulfing yours and sending sparks down your spine. His blue eyes reminded you of the ocean, like a stormy sea and the smell of salt, and you were worried you might just drown. He wasn’t handsome. He was beautiful.

“My apologies for stealing my sister away.” He said, his voice even and still, warm like a summer breeze. “I’m Tommy.”

“(Y/N).” You replied, trying not to falter under his unwavering stare.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, (Y/N).”

You held his gaze for as long as you could, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks and your neck grow hot. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and that was what unsettled you the most. You had never been in the presence of someone so powerful and striking, and you felt so small next to him.

After a moment you pulled away, biting your lip gently and motioning to the overflowing bookshelves around you. “I should get back, it was nice to meet you. Have a nice night, Ada.” You smiled at your friend, before turning on your heel and walking away, feeling eyes bore into your back.

Tommy watched as you left, entranced by the swish of your skirt and the soft footsteps you took, and-the dizzying length of your tight clad legs. Ada tightened her scarf around her throat, a smirk on her face as she made her way to the door.

“Don’t even think about it Tommy.”

——————————————————-

It was hard for him not to.

That night, as he drove back to Birmingham, he pictured your pretty face, your teeth chewing on those rose coloured lips, the slight tremor in your words as you spoke. In the quiet of his bedroom, the moon watching him from high above, it was usually Grace who disrupted his nightly reflection. But for the first time in a long time, it wasn’t her voice soothing him to sleep.

He knew he wasn’t going to fall in love. Grace might have been on the other side of the Atlantic with a husband that didn’t deserve her, but Tommy was a romantic, and he truly thought that one day they would reunite. Lizzie was a good fuck, but she was temporary. Now she was hired as his secretary he didn’t want to blur the lines of their relationship, and he could already feel her growing too close for comfort. He didn’t need a girlfriend, especially when he knew that no one could compare to Grace, he didn’t need another person to worry about and he certainly didn’t need another broken heart. But what he did need was something to fill the void.

It was easy to find you, even with just your first name. He spoke to one of his informants in London, under the guise of ‘looking for a new assistant’ and the following day he had a stack of papers sitting on his desk.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N). You worked at the library two days a week, and spent the other three training as a nurse. There were no previous addresses or references from past jobs, just your current flat and the hospital where you worked part time. There was nothing personal, no mention of family or relatives nearby, just a slightly faded photograph of you taken before the war. You weren’t looking at the camera, your eyes occupied elsewhere, almost as if you were shying away from the photographer. You looked younger, but just as beautiful and Tommy thumbed the worn print between his fingers; careful not to smudge your face, a fingertip trailing along your lips.

———————————————————-

The flowers came three days after you had met.

You had been at the hospital learning how to properly stitch wounds, and your head was numb from processing so much information. You were exhausted, droplets of rain splattering across your collar and down the back of your blouse, and you were desperate for the warmth of your bed. You toyed with the keys in your pocket, finger running across the ridges so that you could get in as quickly as possible, but you fumbled when you noticed a spark of crimson on your doormat.

It must have cost at least a hundred pounds. Rich, ruby red roses all neatly clipped and arranged, their petals healthy and as soft as butter, and the gold foil writing on the box was of a store on the other side of London, one you had been too intimidated to even step foot in. You assumed that it was for Mrs Kim upstairs, or perhaps a gift from Ron to Mark after they had one of their colossal rows, but as you reached for the label, you felt your brow furrow.

“It really was a pleasure to meet you, (Y/N). Regards, Tommy Shelby.”

You left them in your kitchen, squashed into the only vase you owned, clipping them practically to the wick to get them all to fit. You ignored them as you ate dinner, the radio nothing but noise in the background. You tried not to think of them as you sank into a scalding hot bath, or as you clambered into bed, and it worked - because what you thought of as you drifted off to sleep wasn’t ruby red roses, but ocean blue eyes.

——————————————————————

Two more bouquets came in two weeks. Both just as lavish and extravagant as the first, and both sitting in the biggest drinking glasses you owned. Your flat smelt like a florists’, and pollen lingered on your clothes all day, a constant reminder of the man who had sent them. You busied yourself with work, letting the day to day distractions of the injured occupy your mind. The hospital had needed an extra pair of hands and you needed experience, but when you finally returned to the library, you cornered Ada as she restocked the shelves.

“Oh (Y/N)!” She smiled, as pure and fresh as new snow. “It’s not been the same without you.”

“I don’t want a boyfriend.”You blurted out, eyes wide.

You had hoped to say something more eloquent, but Ada’s jet black hair and similarity to her brother made you fall pathetically at the last hurdle. Her eyebrows shot up, and you inhaled deeply. “Sorry, that came out wrong. Please tell Tommy, thank you for the flowers, but I’m not really looking for something right now.”

“Tommy sent you flowers?” There was curiosity evident in her voice as she stepped forward, heeled boot clicking against the floor.

“Well, more like three bouquets.”

“Wow.” Her brows almost reached the pendant light dangling from the ceiling.

“I thought you knew - I mean, I thought you gave him my address.”

She shook her head, a small smirk dancing in her face. “Nope. But that’s never stopped Tommy before.”

You exhaled, looking up at her and chewing on the bottom of your lip. “You know that I - I can’t. I don’t think I’m ready, you know, after everything...”

Ada was your closest friend, she had been since she arrived in London. Beautiful and intelligent, with her young son and quick wit - you remembered meeting her on her first day at the library, feeling nervous and intimidated by such a confident and clever woman, but barely a week passed and it felt as though you had known her your entire life. As the months flew by, the two of you would often go for drinks or dinner by the river, staying out till midnight and laughing until your ribs felt tough. She trusted you enough to let you babysit Karl, the little boy calling you his Auntie and making your insides swell with pride. And finally, on a warm summer night, with her cherry red lips and coal black eyeliner, the two of you watching the sun set from the balcony of her expansive house, she opened up to you.

As the sky darkened and you shared champagne and strawberries in the open air, she told you about her family and her past. Her voice was smaller than you had ever heard it, such a powerful woman almost seeming meek as she bore her soul to you. She told you about Freddie, the headstrong and golden hearted man she had fallen for, and you intertwined your fingers when she spoke about his death. She told you about her reasons for arriving in London, cautiously speaking about a gang that roamed the streets back home, you listened intently, eyes wide when she revealed that the main members were of her own blood.

She trusted you inexplicably, telling you things that she had burrowed away for years and that meant the world to you. So under the moonlight, you tipped your head back and emptied your glass, blinking back tears as you explained your own past, the one you had been running from.

Now though, she pressed a kind hand to your shoulder, her eyes softening ever so slightly and it broke you away from your thoughts.“You don’t have to explain anything to me. I’ll tell Tommy to keep his cock in his pants.” She winked at you, making you let out the breath that you had been holding, a relieved chuckle escaping from your throat.

She tugged your sleeve gently, motioning to the overflowing pile of dog eared novels by her feet. “Come and help me sort all this out.” She said “And let me fill you in on my date yesterday.”

Ada phoned Tommy as soon as she arrived home. He answered on the third ring, his voice tired and thick with smoke, his exhaustion evident through the speaker. One mention of you however, and he perked up like he had downed three shots of espresso. Work had been fucking awful, and imaging you and those rosebud lips was a pleasant distraction from the ache in his skull.

Ada told him to back off, and he could practically feel his sisters stern expression despite being 100 miles away from her. “She’s too nice for you Tommy, and not interested. Besides aren’t there enough girls in Birmingham? Why do you have to come after the one I’ve actually made friends with?”

Tommy had rolled his eyes. He loved his sister, but he didn’t feel like explaining his reasoning to her. He knew that she would never approve, never really understand him.

“You know I want you to find someone, especially after...” She inhaled sharply, choosing her words carefully. “Look, Tommy, you’ll find someone, but just not (Y/N), yeah? She’s been through a lot.”

He hummed, not voicing his real thoughts, always liking to keep his cards close to his chest. He said his goodbyes and hung up, Ada’s words lingering in his brain. His spine had stiffened at the implication of Grace, he hated being reminded of the past, especially memories he was trying so hard to forget. But it wasn’t just that, there was something about the words she had chosen that had sparked a fire in his gut.

“She’s been through a lot.”

He wasn’t quite sure what she was insinuating, but to him, it made you all the more alluring. He would never pursue a woman who truly wanted nothing to do with him. He might not have been the textbook definition of a ‘good man’ but he respected those who turned him down - although it was very much a rarity. But there was something about you, something about the way that you had held his stare, the innocence in your eyes and the attractiveness that hung around you like sugar water.

He loved the chase, especially when the reward was as sweet as you.

—————————————————————-

He waited outside your flat, hands in his pockets and peaked cap low on his head. It was almost six and he knew that you would be returning from the hospital soon, so he crossed his legs, leaning on the doorframe with a cigarette between his lips, secondhand smoke curling in the air.

He heard you before he saw you; the hiss of the cold air as you fought with the heavy door, the clunk of your patent loafers across the concrete and the jangle of your keys in your palm. He smiled to himself. Watching as you walked up the stairs, rifling through papers in your hands and then looking up suddenly, your eyes widening with shock.

“Tommy.” You said, filled with genuine surprise, clutching your handbag tightly, sure that you would drop it otherwise.

He liked the way his name sounded on your tongue.

He reached forward, steadying your wobbling hands and collecting the papers before they could scatter down the hallway. You stiffened at the contact, but he held you secure.

“Is Ada alright?” You asked quickly, hoping his impromptu visit didn’t come with bad news. He looked down and felt his stomach twist at the sight of your long lashes and shining wide eyes.

He shook his head. “My sisters fine. I actually came here for you.”

“Me?”

“Ada rang me, and I wanted to apologise for being so forward. It wasn’t my intention.”

You straightened, pulling slightly away from his hands. “You could have called, or written a letter.” The words came out slightly sharper than you had hoped, but you felt bristled by his sudden appearance.

He smiled. A half tug that looked boyish and cheeky, almost a smirk, and you hated the way that it made your heart flutter. “Well, yes, but that would have meant not seeing you in person.”

You fought back your own embarrassed grin, feeling blush rise from your throat to the plump of your cheeks. A flicker of humour sparked in his eyes, feeling triumphant at getting even the smallest of responses from you. The heat around your collar was turning such a delicious shade of red, like a honeycrisp apple, and it was hard for him to look away.

“Let me take you to dinner.”

You shifted on one foot, trying not to look into his milky blue eyes, knowing that if you did he would have you hook, line and sinker. “Tommy... I don’t know.”

“Just one dinner and I’ll be out of your hair.”

You exhaled, feeling yourself starting to cave. “Okay. One dinner. And nowhere fancy.”

Five minutes later and you were out the door. You had slipped off your work uniform and stepped into a lavender beaded dress and a pair of modest kitten heels. You hated the way you double checked your reflection in the mirror, smoothing out the stray hairs by your forehead, placing a cool hand to your chest to try and level your breathing. You didn’t put on any makeup, you weren’t trying to give Tommy the wrong idea.

You reminded yourself that you were just going to dinner, as friends. Nothing more.

Tommy watched you under the shimmering lights of the club. The rhythmic clash of the jazz band echoed all around him, beautiful women laughed and swayed on the dance floor, and the air was thick with smoke and bitter whisky, but his attention was solely cast at you.

Your head was down, and you were picking at the food on your plate. The expensive bottle of red wine sat opened in the middle of you both, your glass untouched and his filled halfway.The owner had recognised him immediately and sent over the gift, and he didn’t miss the caution that flashed on your face at the gesture.

“Are you sure you don’t want a glass?” He asked, voice smooth like silk.

You looked up at him. “No, thank you though. I have an early shift in the morning.”

He nodded, cutting through his steak, a sliver of blood on his knife. “How long have you been a nurse?”

He already knew, but he wanted to hear your answer.

“Well, I’m technically not a nurse - not yet. I’m still training, but I only have a few months to go.” You smiled, and he watched as your whole face lit up as you talked about your passion. “I’ve always wanted to do it. Now I finally am.”

“Well, I think that’s very admirable.”

“And what do you do?”

“Oh. I’m a bad man.” He said, as if it was the most causal thing in the world. His cobalt eyes flickered from his plate to you, holding you hostage in his gaze.“But I’m sure Ada’s told you all about that.”

You inhaled. “I try not to judge people based on rumours.”

“Even if they hold some truth in them?”

You didn’t say anything. You swirled around the spaghetti on your plate, spearing your fork through a pea. After a moment you cleared your throat, daring to look up at him.

“I think the world has changed. Times have moved on, and sometimes it requires a firmer hand to get where you want to be.”

Tommy paused, genuinely taken aback by your reply. You had been so timid and placid before, but now there was an intensity to your words, one that he found particularly alluring.

“It doesn’t mean that I agree, but - ” You sighed. “A few years ago, I was turned down by a nursing school; they said I was too young and too inexperienced and... it really shattered my confidence. I was going to give up completely, but instead I decided to keep studying, and I was working three jobs to just make ends meet. When I applied again I made sure that there was no way they would reject me.”

Your eyes flickered up momentarily as you chewed on your upper lip. “All I’m saying is, sometimes you have to work hard to get what you want.”

Tommy mulled over your words, tongue running over his teeth. He picked up the stem of his wine glass and held it towards you in a toast. His eyes caught yours and his stare was unwavering, the edge of his lips unturned in a boyish smirk.

“To getting what we want.”

———————————————————-

You really, truly, honestly, didn’t want to enjoy your dinner with Tommy - but you did. The night was so easy, after a while you managed to find a comfortable niche and the conversation flowed like running water. As time passed you found yourself giving into habits that you thought you had left behind, like tucking a loose curl behind your ear, or giggling into your hands, a warm shade of pink staining your skin. Tommy watched you, the anchor on his chest lifting slightly, the way it always did when he found himself getting his way.

He walked you home with his suit jacket draped over your shoulders; despite your protests, leaving you smelling like whisky sours and cigarettes. He could feel your apprehension as you stood under the archway of your apartment building. The wind had picked up and rain was drizzling onto the both of you, and his stomach tightened when you looked up at him with raindrops coating your eyelashes. He was waiting for you to speak first. If he had his way, he would be joining you in your flat, pressing you up against the wall and kissing your lips until they were swollen. He wanted to untangle the braid in your hair, unlace the dress that made you look ethereal and feel you breathless under him, but he remained patient.

The truth was that even though you had only spent one evening alone, the constant buzz of work and life in his brain had faded into static. (There was only one woman who had ever made it fully fade, but now he knew now to take whatever he could get). He had genuinely enjoyed the night, even without the guarantee of ending it in your bed. It was pleasant to spend a few hours talking about something other than business deals or brutality, to fill silences with stories about films you had seen or your misbehaving patients.

He would be satisfied with a goodnight kiss, to taste the sweetness of your lips and feel the curve of your waist under his palm. He liked the way that the nerves you had started the night with were flittering under your skin once again; it made him feel good, it made him feel wanted, it made him feel powerful. It would be enough to sate him over until the next time you met up - because believe him, there would be a next time - but even he couldn’t stop the flare of surprise that splashed over his face when you simply handed him back his jacket and darted up the stairs.

“Thank you for dinner, Tommy. Have a good night.”

Underneath the broken bulb in your hallway, with his expensive patent shoes slowly filling with water, he let out a loud, genuine, chuckle.

—————————————

A few days passed, and whilst your evening with Tommy still lingered in your mind, work was much too hectic for you to be wrapped up in distractions. There were no more surprise bouquets or unannounced visits, and no phone calls at the end of your shifts either, you knew you should have been relieved, but you couldn’t ignore the tiny flicker of disappointment. You decided to tell Ada, mentioning your dinner casually the next time that you saw her, dropping it into conversation as though it wasn’t a monumental piece of gossip.

“You did what?” Her voice echoed around the expansive library and you playfully shushed her, pointing to the people reading on the floor below.

“It’s not that big of a deal!”

“Psh! Easy for you to say!” She huffed, elbowing you in the ribs as she meticulously rearranged the books on the shelf in front of her. “I thought you were... you know...” She waved her hand like she was wafting smoke from her face, a clear indication of what she thought you were going to do to her brother.

You sighed, wiping the dust from a hardcover. “I know, I know. But he’s... charming.”

“Yeah, like a fox.”

You laughed at her blunt tone. She turned away and continued working, her shoulders shrugging with her movements. “Just be careful, okay?”

“I will, mum.” You tugged on the bottom of her hair like a child, making her meet your line of sight. “Honestly, Ada, it was a nice night, but it’s not like it’s going to go anywhere. I have no plans to see him again - ever.”

Your intentions were shattered as you left the hospital one evening, stopping dead in your tracks when you recognised the distinct peaked cap and felt the unmistakable domineering aura all around you. You tried to bite back the smile threatening to take over your entire face when you saw him leaning against a red brick wall, tall and cool, the kind of man that would have a million songs made about him.

You couldn’t deny the twist in your gut when he smiled at you, so cheeky yet smooth like rich dark chocolate. You felt the envious glances of the other nurses leaving their shifts around you, bubbling with jealousy and curiosity. You didn’t even care that you would be the main topic of discussion at the next tea break on Monday, as much as you hated to admit it, you felt like the world around you was blurring, leaving nothing but the two of you.

“Is this a social call, Tommy? Or should I get the first aid kit.” You called out under the noise of the streets around you, your voice deceivingly controlled.

He flipped his leather notebook closed, one you hadn’t even noticed he was so engrossed in, sliding it into his pocket and uncrossing his legs, his eyes shining with humour.

“No, not tonight. Although I’ll know where to come if I ever need it.”

You came to a stop just before him, not trusting yourself to get too close.“What can I do for you, Thomas?”

He didn't comment on the space you had left between you, but you knew that he had noticed it. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his wallet, nimble fingers rifling through until he pulled out two stubs of paper.

“I have tickets for the play tonight.”

You felt your eyes widen as he showed you the passes. You had made an offhand comment at dinner about wanting to see this particular play, one that you didn’t think he had even noticed, but he was obviously more observant than you had given him credit for.

“Wow. That’s great.” You smiled, “Well, I hope you have a lovely night.” You winked at him, turning on your heel but he grabbed the edge of your sleeve, pulling you back towards him.

“I think it’ll be a little rude of me if I show up alone, and besides, a lot of these things tend to go over my head, I think I might need somebody to help me understand everything.”

You wanted to resist. You wanted to tell him no. You wanted to be strong and admit that the fortress you had built around yourself wasn’t ready to start crumbling down, not just yet.

But you couldn’t.

You knew that this could all be a mistake. Letting people in wasn’t something you were used to, especially not someone as charming and handsome as Tommy. But you found yourself liking him, as though he had some kind of magnetic hold over you, pulling you closer even when you wanted to run.

“Tommy I - It’s kind of you, but I don’t think it’ll be wise.”

“Please.” He said, and hearing such a vulnerable word coming from his mouth made your throat constrict. “I know that I’m being forward and feel free to tell me to piss off, but honestly, I had such a wonderful dinner with you and I would love to take you out again. And besides, you’re my only friend here in London.”

“What about your sister?”

“Oh we’re really not that close.” He teased.

You laughed, chewing on your lip so harshly you thought you might draw blood. Despite the protests in your brain you reached out and took a ticket, looking up at him with those big eyes that made his toes curl.

“Fine.”

The theatre was beautiful. It was wide and open, with red velvet seats and high ceilings. It was the prefect escape, laughing and gasping with the audience as the actors fought and danced on stage, magnificent hand painted back drops making you feel like you were no longer in London. You ate truffle coated popcorn and drank glasses of champagne, all sent over by the ushers that recognised Tommy instantly, practically bowing to him when you both arrived.

But Tommy truly couldn’t care less for whatever was happening in front of you both, because he was completely captivated by you. He liked when you tipped your head back when you laughed, he liked the way your eyes lit up and followed the characters on stage, as though you were in a trance. He followed the curve of your nose and the pout of your lip under the cream coloured lights, unable to fight back the smile when you noticed him, blush rising up your neck like a tidal wave.

He walked you home that night, just like he had before, his jacket slung over your shoulders and his hand ghosting against yours. You seemed more open, your anecdotes a little more personal and your laugh a little louder, and he really felt like he might be getting somewhere. He liked making you giggle and the way you tucked into his side when a car raced by a little too fast, and he wasn’t even disappointed when you simply handed back his coat at the end of the night, a ghost of a smile on your lips - if anything it made him want you more.

The morning after the play, with eyes blurred from sleep and a migraine brewing behind your eyes, you found a still warm lemon loaf and a container of expensive coffee on your doorstep. You smiled as you tied your hair up messily with a powder pink ribbon you had around your wrist, placing the coffee inside by the kettle and half of the sickly sweet treat in your handbag, knowing you would need it to soften up Ada when you inevitably told her about the evening you had shared.

She had rolled her eyes and scolded you; reminding you to be cautious. And you wanted to be, really, but there was something about him that made you ignore the warning signs hammering in your chest, and before you knew it you were back under his arm when he next showed up on your doorstep.

He took you to a horse show on the other side of London, telling you that he needed another pair of eyes and a consultant for helping him choose a new mare. You had told him you knew nothing about horses, and yet he persisted, pulling you in with that damned smile and those ocean blue eyes. You had managed to get one over on him though, meeting him at his car the next day, dressed in a blood red gown that made his breath get caught in his throat. You looked beautiful, ethereal even, with your curled hair and shy eyes. And that colour red, the colour of sin against such a gentle soul made the fire in the pit of his belly reignite whenever he looked at you, but worst of all, was the way that colour reminded him of her.

He didn’t want to be wallowing in the past. So he allowed himself to get sucked into you, allowed the smell of your perfume and the sound of your voice and the warmth of your body distract himself from the blonde beauty that was clawing back into his mind.

He was waiting for you in his matte black car on his last night in London, and you tried to ignore the thump of your heart when you realised that he wanted to spend his final day in the city with you. He drove to Hyde Park, the sun was high and the sky was the cloudless, a long stretch of blue that seemed to go on forever. You walked across the grass, keeping your hands laced together so you wouldn’t risk brushing your fingertips against his, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to hide the goosebumps that would rise on your skin.You watched him smoke, inhaling and exhaling smoothly, blowing out nicotine like it was water, and he smiled when he caught your eye.

“Why did you bring me here today?” You asked finally, when the two of you came to a stop by the edge of the pond, watching the ducks and swans swim between the reeds.

“I like appreciating beautiful things.” He said, tilting his head so he was looking you in the eye.

You sighed, watching the sun reflect diamonds from the water. “I don’t understand you, Tommy, and that makes me nervous.” He didn’t know what to say, and so he let you continue. “How much has Ada told you about me?”

“Nothing. She’s a good friend.”

“She’s my best friend.” You murmured, and he watched the way your eyes glossed over, like you were replaying a million memories in your head. “You know, she told me to stay away from you.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that.”

“I don’t know why you’re pursuing me.” Your voice was small, like the ripples that lapped over the top of the pond.

The truth is he didn't either. He knew it was wrong, using you as a way to get over Grace, but he’s never been known for having the most ethical methods. Doesn’t he deserve this? For everything he does, for the money he makes and the lives he’s built for his family, doesn’t he deserve something kind and pretty and gentle? Doesn’t he deserve a distraction from all the noise?

You reached into your handbag, rummaging around through the loose lipsticks and many receipts that you’ve shoved inside. He peered as you pulled out a small coin purse, rose coloured and no bigger than your palm. You unclasped the two little pearls at the top, and he noticed your fingers shaking ever so slightly, like a leaf in the wind.

You pulled out a picture and handed it to him, dog eared and greying but unmistakably you, laughing into the cheek of a young man, his arms slung over your shoulder. Tommy looked over at you, but you were watching the water, jaw clenched ever so slightly.

“Who is he?”

“Steven.” You cleared the lump residing in your throat, the one that always surfaced when you spoke about him. “We lived next door to each other, he was my first kiss, my first love, my first - everything.”

Tommy felt a pang in his gut like a sucker punch, he could hear the hurt in your words, he knows it too well, because it’s the same that echoes around his skull whenever he thinks about Grace.

You continued, “We were together since primary school, and all through secondary. I really thought we were going to be with each other forever.” You sniffled, and Tommy knows what you’ll say before you’ve even formed the words, because he’d been through the horrors himself. “He was a few years older than me though, and then he... and then he got drafted.”

“He was never made for the war. No one is, not really, but he was special. He was so kind and gentle and funny, and it wasn’t fair. We got married the day before he was sailing to France. I wore my mothers dress, it was too big and a few buttons were broken, but it was perfect. We were just kids in love.”

The silence that followed told Tommy everything he needed to know, and his gut felt heavy, like it was filled with lead. He wanted to reach out and touch you, the sadness radiating off of you like perfume, but he kept his hands to himself.

“How did it happen?” Tommy asked after a moment, knowing that you might not be able to bring up the subject unless he did.

“Second battle of Somme. Front line. They said he took the bullet instead of his comrade, jumped in the way to save him. They said he died quickly, that he wasn’t in much pain.”

“He died a hero.”

“He shouldn’t have died at all.”

Tommy agreed with that.

“The war took too many good men.” His voice was growing as sullen as his eyes, thinking back to a time that always sucked the life from him, his mind growing hazy with thoughts of the trenches and mud on his feet, sticky blood staining his hands.

“And destroyed those left behind.”

He inched closer to you. He was so tall and stoic, eyes focused on the water in front of you yet you felt completely seen, something about him making you feel content. Above you, the clouds were darkening, a chill whipping around you both. He brushed his shoulder against yours, the fabric making you shiver slightly, and he grabbed your wrist gently, intertwining your fingers with his, making the first move because he knew you couldn’t.

“Come on,” He said, voice raspy and thick like billowing smoke. “We don’t want to get stuck in the storm.”

The rain was torrential. It was almost comical how quickly the clouds gathered and darkened, spitting droplets from above that trickled down and splattered the both of you. You giggled as you ran to the car, Tommy holding his jacket above the two of you, your heels splashing through puddles. It felt like a weight had lifted from your chest, when you opened the car door and bolted inside, breathless and wild. It had always been hard to talk about Steven, the words getting stuck in your throat like thick honey, but the relief of having it out in the open was enormous. You didn’t realise just how much of the past you were holding onto.

Raindrops were scattered along Tommy’s fine leather seats, the bottom of your dress painted with a faint layer of mud. His windshield wipers squealed as the cleared away the water, the car thick with tension and heat rising from your damp bodies. It was late by the time you made it back to the centre of the city, the rain still cascading down loudly onto the pavement around you. You could hear your blood rushing to your ears, the kind of constant hum that made you feel as though you were being held underwater.

Your whole body was bubbling with apprehension, you could feel Tommy moving behind you, the edge of his jacket brushing against your arm. You couldn’t find your keys inside your handbag, struggling from adrenaline and the icy chill of the air. Wet hair clung to your forehead, and you were certain your mascara was halfway down your cheeks, and you turned to Tommy to apologise for your clumsiness, but he was already gazing at you.

You were looking up at him, so innocent and so gentle and so beautiful under the soft glow of the navy sky and the twinkling stars and all he really wanted was to kiss you senseless - so he did.

He tasted like sweet mint and nicotine, and you tasted like woodsmoke and wisteria. It wasn’t a gentle kiss, it wasn’t like stealing kisses in the alley when you were sixteen, or clumsy kisses in the bed you shared with Steven, this was intense and passionate and all consuming. Tommy allowed you to devour him, the smell of you overpowering his senses and he buried his soft aching hands in your messy hair.

His body was pressed against you, thick and hard against the velvet of your figure. You pulled away slowly, lips puffy and swollen and baby pink. You were blushing, red hot from nerves and exhilaration and you laughed sweetly against the crook of his neck, eyelashes fluttering against his flesh.

“Do you want to come inside?”

His fingertips were the paint coated brushes and your body was the perfect canvas. You reacted to his touch like it was everything you craved. Your kisses were open mouthed and messy, and he had to bite his tongue to stop the cascade of groans threatening to spill from his lips. Your pulses were synced, the low light of your bedroom made you look like a creature from a fairytale, and he touched you like you were made from glass. His hands were soft yet rough, you let him run his fingers through his hair and then leave bruises on your hip bones. He shuddered into your neck, sweat dripping onto your skin, whines leaving your mouth that he wanted to drill into his brain and remember for the rest of his life.

He was breathless. He closed his eyes as he laid down next to you, the sky outside black like coal. You had been perfect. He couldn’t hear the shovels. The usual constant battle in his brain was replaced by the salty memory of your skin, your hot breath against his ear, your legs tangling with his. He felt you next to him, curling into him slightly, your body still recovering and your toes twitching.

The bedroom was quiet, nothing but the creak of the wind against the window and the occasional pattern of rain against the glass. He felt his ears twitch when you opened your mouth, muffled and sleepy, a pang of sadness in your voice.

“Please don’t break my heart.”

He pretended to be asleep.

————————————————————-

He was gone when you woke up. You weren’t quite sure what you were expecting, but cracking your eyes open to the lazy sunrise and the emptiness of your bed was as painful as a bullet in your spine. You felt embarrassed, looking down at the marks of your skin as you scrubbed away the night in the bath, running a warm flannel over your skin so many times that your flesh turned red. You felt ashamed; ashamed that you hadn’t listened to your best friend and ashamed that you had put your trust in someone that you knew would hurt you.

But deep down, in the pit of your stomach, you couldn’t deny that you still liked him, still wished that he was with you. You knew it was wrong but you forgave him. You knew he had to leave early; perhaps he hadn’t slipped out the way you had thought, perhaps he had truly wanted to stay. You felt foolish and young and weak, but you missed the feeling of his lips and his skin, the weight of his hips against yours.

Two full weeks passed by until he showed up again. There were no calls, no surprise bouquets or impromptu visits, just the lingering feeling of shame on your body. You didn’t say anything to Ada, too mortified to admit that you had slept with her brother and he had run out before you had woken up. You knew that he was the one in the wrong, he was the one who deserved to feel like shit for treating you that way, but that didn’t stop the pounding of your own insecurities.

Rich raspberry wine and candied cherries, these were the remedy for a broken heart. You were sitting cross legged on the sofa, the radio crackling behind you, soft jazz lulling you into a relaxed daze. You were sewing the hem of one of your dresses, threading the needle and watching the stitches close. You had already downed two glasses of wine, loving the taste and the burn in your belly, and you groaned when you heard two sharp raps on the front door.

“Ron, did you forget your keys again?” You huffed, expecting to see your forgetful neighbour waiting for you, but almost catching your fingers in the door when you realised who it was instead.

“Hi.”

Piercing blue eyes and a jawline that could slice your palm, two things that you simultaneously adored and loathed. His hand curled around the door as you tried to slam it shut, pushing against you so it couldn’t be closed.

“Fuck off.”

“Please. Please. (Y/N).”

“No Tommy - Thomas. Fuck!”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah? Well, I don’t give a shit.” You lied.

“Please just let me explain.” He said and you huffed, trying your hardest to not look at him for too long, it was like looking directly into the sun: painful and disappointing.

“I - No.”

“Please.”

Fuck him and that fucking voice.

You opened the door a crack, enough for him to slip through and into your flat. He looked so dark amongst the bright colours of your crockery and the yellow tulips planted on your windowsill. You moved backwards, trying to make yourself as small as possible, ignoring the ache growing inside of you, the ache to run into his arms and forgive him.

“I’m sorry for the way I left.” He scratched his forehead and cleared his throat, the sound echoing around the room. “There’s no excuse.”

“You made me look like a twat, Tommy.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that.” You said, but you weren’t sure if you meant it, liking the vulnerability in his words, the tenderness of his voice soothing you despite your inner anger.

He lifted his palm to run through his hair, jet black coat cloaking over him like a shadow. You saw it then, under the light of the blue moon, a gash tearing through the skin on his wrist.

“You’re bleeding.” You stated, and you saw his eyes widen slightly, looking at the wound on his arm as if he hadn’t noticed it before.

“Huh.”

“God, Tommy.” You inhaled, sucking air through your teeth, “Let me clean it, it looks like it needs stitches.” You hated yourself for giving in, knowing that the cut wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t like he was going to be leaving your flat in a stretcher, but you still cared for him, despite everything.

The smell of antiseptic wipes and the tangy metallic taste of blood filled your bathroom. You pressed on him a little too hard, smiling as he winced slightly. Neither of you spoke, letting the silence hang between the both of you, almost tangible. You could feel his eyes on you, those fucking sparkling eyes following the curve of your nose and the wave of your hair, lingering a little too long on your lips.

“I really am sorry.”

“Yeah, you said that.” You bit through the gauze, measuring it against his skin, anything to not meet his line of sight.

“I have a habit of ruining good things.”

You scoffed. “Do you think I’m stupid enough to fall for that line?”

“I thought you might hit me if apologised again.”

Against your better judgment, you laughed. “Yeah, I might have.”

His palm, warm and heavy and reminding you of the pressure of his body on top of yours, clasped over your own, making you still.

“Have I fucked everything up?” He asked. You didn’t say anything, not trusting your own voice. You felt the roughness of his fingertips circling your skin, languid like waves lapping across the shore. He inched closer towards you, smelling like fresh crisp apples and old cigarette butts, managing to always be the perfect mix of chaos and control. “Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

You should have pushed him away, but you didn’t. You gave into the darkness of his blue eyes, the ring of lust forming around his pupils and the desire stirring in your belly like bubbling water. He tasted so sinful yet sweet and you were the perfect remedy for the terrible day he had, so receptive and angelic under his touch.

“If you rip your stitches, you’ll have to redo them yourself.”

He laughed into the soft, buttery flesh below your jugular, kissing your collarbones as his hands dragged you impossibly closer, lips crashing onto yours.

You fell asleep first. Hair cascading on your silk pillowcase, and he connected the freckles on your back like they were constellations. He could hear the gentle drip of the tap in the bathroom, and

the hum of the city around you. The noise in his head had stopped, but it still remained like a dull static in the back of his mind. He pushed it away though, focusing on the calming energy of your body and the tenderness of your touch.

He would be gone tomorrow.

He’ll let you wake up to him, he’ll drink the coffee in your kitchen and fuck you under the golden sunlight, open mouthed kisses shared in the confines of your apartment. But then he’ll leave again, giving you just enough to allow him to come back. He craved you, but it was medicinal, like a hit of opium when the shovels got too loud, not something he could afford to indulge in.

He looked over at you, fast asleep, your nose twitching slightly. He can’t give you what you want or what you deserve, but just for the night, in the quiet of your bedroom, with his hands on the curve of your hips, he’ll be the man that you want him to be.

—————————————————————-

His visits were sporadic and unpredictable. He would show up out of the blue, lurking around the back streets like a nomad, knocking on your door just before midnight, his hands covered in blood. On those nights you would clean him up, neither of you would speak as you washed away the crimson from his skin, rubbing ointment on the growing purple bruises on his knuckles. He would kiss you feverishly and wildly, desperate to feel your body so soft and pliant under his. Those nights he craved control, and you were the only person who would give it completely to him.

Sometimes he would show during the day, with a wide smile and an expensive suit, a bouquet of flowers in his hands. He would take you to dinner or for walks down the canal, you might sit curled in his lap at the pictures or perhaps drive to a new city, his hand in yours, allowing you to pretend that you weren’t just the girl he came to when he wanted to feel something.

He would take you gently, almost romantically. In the back of his car or at a hotel that cost more for one night than your months rent, moulding your body under his like clay. He’d make you moan for him, the prettiest sound he’s ever heard, and he’ll relish in the attention you’ll give him. You’ll be the one thing that calms him after a hard days work, it’ll be your body and touch that unclench his fists and help calm his mind. He uses you like snow, strong, hard hits that leave him gasping for breath.

He’d always be gone before the sunrises. He’d wait for you to be asleep, hair around your head like a halo, lips puffy and swollen from clashing with his, fingertip shaped bruises across your hips. He’d never stay long enough to hear the disappointment in your voice, see the gloss that coats your eyes, the hurt pounding in your chest.

It stings like alcohol on a wound even when you’re expecting it. When you wake up and your bed is cold and empty, and your body is missing the warmth of his. You’ll give yourself a few moments to cry, take a scalding hot bath and scrub his smell from your flesh, tell yourself over and over that this is the last time. Never again. But you know as you make your way home, with a clouded head and aching legs, that the next time he shows up, you’ll let him stay.

———————————————————-

It had been almost a month.

A month of complete silence. You felt stupid but not surprised, the sadness nothing more than a dull pain in your chest now. You felt like you were just existing, not living. Constantly waiting for him to show up at your door and make your world start spinning again. You tried to distract yourself with work, but hearing the ladies gossip in the cafeteria about their loving boyfriends and amazing dates made the hole in your heart throb.

You hadn’t told Ada what had been going on, but she was your best friend, and you were certain she had already sussed it. You’d been skipping shifts at the library, spending more of your time cooped up in your flat or the hospital, opting for overnight shifts, anything to distract you from the loneliness of your bed.

Your cupboards were bare, cups of tea gone cold dotted all over your flat, and cobwebs starting to appear in the corners of your walls. You needed to go to the grocer and buy something that wasn’t bread or wine or chocolate. You were rooting through your purse, hands smelling like copper when you heard the shrill ring of your doorbell. Your heart stopped, but you didn’t get your hopes up; you were done waiting around for him like a bloody border collie.

You could see her silhouette behind the door, raven coloured ringlets and red lipstick. You sighed, running your fingers over the creases in your jumper before you opened the door, expensive french perfume wafting into your flat.

“You’re avoiding me.” She said sharply, waltzing inside, thick fur jacket brushing past you.

“No I’m not, Ada.”

“Yes you bloody are!”

You watched as she rummaged through your cupboards, pulling out two glasses and then flopping down on your sofa and patting the seat next to her. She grabbed a bottle of vodka from inside her handbag, almost bigger than your head, and she started to pour.

“Tell me everything.”

So you did. It was embarrassing and awkward, but damn did it feel good to get off your chest. Ada sat watching intently, pursing her lips and sighing when appropriate, burgundy nails tapping on your table when she got particularly annoyed. She threw her head back and finished her second glass, faint cherry red staining the rim.

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a shit friend.” You apologised, gulping the remaining droplets of your own drink. “I just - God, I had no idea what to tell you.”

“You know you can tell me anything.” Her voice was ernest and for the first time in a long time you actually felt like you could breathe, Ada always had that effect on you. She had a way of making people feel comfortable.

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.” You sighed, cradling your knees to your chest. “I was too embarrassed.”

“It’s not your fault, babe, Tommy’s a dickhead!” She shoved you lightly and you smiled halfheartedly. “And I would tell him that in person! Not that I’ve seen him since Grace came back.”

You felt your spine go rigid.

“Grace?”

Annoyance painted Ada’s face, and she pursued her lips like she was sucking on a lemon.“He didn’t tell you about her? That she came back?”

Not explicitly, but she had always been there. Ada had once told you about her brothers lover, the beautiful blonde vixen who had turned his world on its axis. That was partly why you were so hesitant, knowing you couldn’t compare to a woman like her, but Tommy had made you trust him, and look how that turned out.

Now you were slapped with the cold, hard truth, and it hurt.

She was the woman always on the tip of his tongue, the one that he saw when he closed his eyes. You were the body he used, the temporary buzz and the hit of pain relief, but she was the one he really wanted, the woman he pretended you were.

“No. Must have slipped his mind.” You laughed falsely, feeling tears build behind your eyes. You inhaled, your voice quiet. “But Grace - she was the one wasn’t she? You know, the one who...”

The one who broke his heart. The woman he loved, the woman he really wanted.

She hesitated, but then nodded sadly. “Yes.”

“God I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“I’m sorry baby.” Ada pulled you into her arms, cradling you against her chest like she was comforting her son. You let the tears fall, felt them cascading down your cheeks like a waterfall. Ada stroked your hair and pulled you close, and you closed your eyes, finally giving into the sadness.

———————————————————-

It was slow - the healing process. Falling back into a routine of work and chores, and eventually starting to laugh and smile again. You passed your final exam with flying colours, finally becoming a registered nurse. Ada was there with Karl, cheering you on when you left the hall with papers in your hands. You continued working at the library, hiding behind the bookshelves at the back with Ada, clutching your stomach from laughing so hard, your knees weak. You made new friends with the ladies at work, visiting clubs and bars on the weekends, trips to the pictures after a long day on the job. You even got asked out on a date, with a handsome doctor called Dennis who always made you a cup of coffee in the morning and saved you the donut with pink sprinkles he knew you liked.

It took time, but you were finally starting to feel the wound scab over, but of course, a hurricane in the form of a smart mouthed gangster was just enough to blow down everything you had worked so hard in repairing.

Three months of no contact had passed.

It was late. Hot water billowed around you as you stirred your tea bag, inhaling the sweet smell of cinnamon and lemon. You pulled your satin robe tight against your skin, admiring the soft blush pink colour and shuffling towards the bedroom in your matching slippers. You hummed as you turned down your bed, longing for the sweet embrace of your covers, but you were pulled from your daydream by pounding on your front door. You sighed, ignoring it and continuing to fluff your pillows, but when it didn’t stop, you frowned and stormed towards the assailant.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” You muttered, swinging the door wide open, but the words evaporated like ocean spray when you came face to face with the man you least wanted to see. It was such a cruel sense of deja vu, and you could feel your face growing red hot with anger.

“Get the fuck away from me.”

He ignored you, stepping over the threshold and back into your life. You held your hands up, defensively and aggressively, your brain not knowing whether to fight or fly. You inhaled loudly, you didn’t want to give in, didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you upset.

“Please, Tommy. Just go.”

“I needed to see you.” His words were quick, raspy and urgent, but you brushed them off like they were nothing.

“You’ve seen me, now leave.”

“Not without speaking to you. Let me explain.”

“Was she busy?” You spat. “Is that why you’re here? She’s away so you think you’ll just come and see me and I’ll let you in? Let you touch me? Fuck you, Tommy.”

His eyes were wild, frustration painting his features. “It’s not like that.”

“Not like that?” You spat. “Not that you were using me as a tool to get over another woman? After everything I told you - ” You stopped, not wanting to think about your past. It was too painful.

He came closer, walking towards you so cautiously and softly you might have laughed. “Just hear me out.”

“Why the bloody hell should I listen to you?”

He shrugged exasperatedly, your words striking his skin like a branding, because you were right. He had no moral high ground or proper explanation for the way he had treated you.

“I’m fucked up. Too fucked up for you.” And he’s telling the truth. You’re so pretty and honest and kind, even when you’re crazy with rage, your whole body is practically buzzing with anger and you’re still so beautiful and light and he knows that he ruined you. You trusted him, you confided in him, and he still left.

“I can’t believe I was falling so such a goddamn righteous asshole!” You seethe, raking a hand through your hair. His eyes widened but you merely scoffed, if looks could kill he would have been swallowing dirt. “Don’t act like you didn’t know. Don’t act like you have no idea what I was feeling for you.”

He didn’t know what to say, and he could his stone cold heart breaking.

“I can’t do this anymore.” You sniffed. “This is the last time I want to see you.”

“Just let me stay, let me make it up to you.”

He moves closer, wanting to feel your hair between his fingers, the soft embrace of your touch and the sweetness of your lips. Things had been going wrong all day, the business struggling and the cops getting suspicious and all he could think about was holding you. He wanted to try, he needed to feel you, he needed to feel something real. He wanted to apologise, pull you under him and make the both of you forget. For one more night he didn’t want to be Tommy Shelby, he just wanted to be the man who got to hold you.

You inhaled. “I’m seeing someone else.”

He felt a knife slice through his abdomen. He had no right to feel the shock and jealousy prickling through his skin, not after what he had done, but he still felt the raging green envy bubbling inside of him. He was being completely unreasonable and cruel, but a part of him had really hoped you would wait for him, but it’s that unfair mentality that had cost him.

“What?”

“I’m seeing someone - someone from work.” You said, finally gaining the nerve to stand up for yourself, wanting to wash away six months of your life you had given to him. “We’ve been going out for the past few weeks.”

“Who is he?” His tone was more demanding than he meant it to be, the shock and twinge of insecurity he felt from your announcement was making his words sharper.

“You don’t get to ask me that.”

He needed to take back control of the conversation, he needed to explain. He knew just how much he had fucked up, he’d been gone for too long this time, and his own selfishness might have cost him the best thing he had going for him. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“No, you just never meant for me to find out.”

“That’s not true, (Y/N). Listen to me, I - ”

“I have a busy day tomorrow, Thomas.” You said firmly, putting your foot down and refusing to let him try to right his wrongs - you had worked too hard on moving on. The hidden meaning in your words made Tommy’s jaw clench, his hands reflexively flinching at his sides. “So, please, just... just go.”

You were crying, but trying so hard to hide it. He could see the gloss coating your eyes and the flush rising from your chest, as though your body was leaking sadness from every pore. He felt his heart pound against his ribs. He was so used to getting what he wanted, in business and in private, and yet he felt like he might have just lost it all. So he turned and left, shutting your front door and trying to tune out the sound of your sobs, feeling even more empty inside then when he had arrived.

—————————————————————

He finally got what he wanted.

Grace was sitting opposite to him, her knees brushing against his, her smell so familiar and dizzying, but yet it didn’t feel right. She was a vision in a sea foam dress, with her sunshine coloured hair and perfect features, her eyes filled with a million stars that he could once spend hours getting lost in, but not anymore.

It felt so fake, so forced. The conversation didn’t flow, his words were stagnant, getting caught in his throat. She was looking right at him, the same way she did when they would wake up tangled in one another, at a time in his life that he used to think he was the happiest.

But maybe that had changed.

He was finding pieces of you in her. He knew that Grace only drank red wine, but out of habit he almost poured her a glass of bourbon; because that was what you liked. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was nervous, the same way you did. How the shawl draped over her shoulders would look perfect on you.

He was sitting across from the woman of his dreams, but none of it felt right, because she wasn’t you.

Perhaps his dreams had changed.

He tuned out Grace as she spoke, her voice not calming him as it once had. All he could think about was what he had lost. He had been a prick, he knew that for certain. He hadn’t meant to not call you, to leave you in the lurch like he did, he just didn’t like anyone getting too close.

When he was in Birmingham he was the leader of the Blinders. He was smart and strong and thought things through so nobody else had to. He was the kingpin, the man who ruled with an iron fist and got exactly what he wanted, when he wanted it. But with you, in London, he had allowed himself a sliver of peace. He let himself sleep next to you, peach coloured moon dancing over your bodies, curtains blowing in the wind. After a long day he found himself driving to see you. Wanting to see that shy smile that would make his knees buckle, feeling like a teenager even when he had beat a man half to death mere hours before.

You were a forest fire. Just a small spark, the smell of your hair, the velvet of your skin, the sound of your laugh, and his entire world was alight. He remembered taking you out, the feel of your small hand against his, genuinely wanting to know how your day had been. He remembered the sound of your laugh, when he had you pressed up against the window of his car, in between ticket stubs and cigarette butts and road maps, unable to stop the grin making its way onto his own face.

Even in the months he was gone; when Campbell came back and turned his world back to shit, in the quiet of his office, his mind always wandered back to you. He thought about you whenever he saw fog rolling over the hills or he felt rain patter across his shoulders, he would lose himself for a moment and his brain would conjure up a picture of you. When he saw John and Esme at the Garrison, soft gentle touches reserved for one another, that stupid dopey grin on his brothers face, he thought of you.

It was more than just sex and he was a fool for thinking that that was all it had been.

“Tommy? What’s the matter?”

It was Grace. Her voice like ripe berries and warm milk, but entirely wrong. He blinked, remembering where he was, feeling the velvet of the sofa under his suit. She smiled when she realised she had captured his attention, slightly smug and self assured, and she continued her story of the joys of living in New York.

Tommy looked at her, really looked at her for the first time since they had met up. Here they were, in a five star hotel room outside of Birmingham, with champagne and caviar and imported chocolates. But she’s married, to somebody else. And yet, she had rang him and expected him to drop everything and join her.

He almost laughed at the irony of the situation.

Grace was like the first sunshine after being caught in a storm, but perhaps he’d grown to like the rain. He’d been chasing her for too long, like a fucking puppy, and now she was sitting centimetres apart from him, and he realised that she didn’t look all that magical. He thought about the anguish he felt when she left, the pure heartache that almost split him in two when he found out she had married another man, the pain of sleeping alone once more - and it makes him falter, because that’s exactly the same way he’d treated you, and you deserved so much more.

He knew Grace wanted. She wanted to fuck. She wanted to feel something other than her pathetic new husband, she craved the feel of power and the memory of what it’s like to run around with the devil. Her hand moved from the stem of her wine glass to the top of his thigh, a gentle, almost timid touch, testing the waters before she fully submerged. This is what he’d wanted since the very minute she boarded that train, to be back with the woman he loved, but now her soft caress feels like a slap. She didn’t notice his internal struggle, wine drunk and ready to fall back into his arms, but all he could picture was you with another man, his hand resting on the silk of your skirt.

He felt the familiar tick in his jaw, the way his knuckles flexed unconsciously, he knew he had no right but jealousy was eating away at him. How fucking stupid had he been? And now another man would have the pleasure of taking you out, making you laugh and blush under diamond chandeliers. Another man would get to walk you home, listen to your voice and then kiss you under the silver moon. He couldn’t even bear to think of the next part, the mere thought making flames ignite around his pupils.

“Tommy?” Grace asked, her eyes big and round like saucers, lips parted and just waiting to be pressed against his. She watched as he stood up, his knees clashing against the bar cart, far more flustered than she had ever seen him before.

“I have to go.”

———————————————————-

The club was loud, the bands instruments following you everywhere you went. The room was painted red and gold, shimmering lights and glowing pink shades reflecting from every surface. You were in a booth in the corner, nursing a glass of bourbon and eating sweet green olives, vinegar and alcohol on your tongue. Dennis was sat opposite, clad in a fine suit with a fresh haircut and laughing at his own anecdote, his hands gesturing wildly as he retold a story you had already forgotten.

You liked him, you did. He was nice and funny and handsome, - but he didn’t make sparks dance on your skin when he touched you, and he didn’t occupy your mind every second you were apart. Maybe that was for the best, maybe you needed to be sensible and date with your head, not your heart, because that was why you always got hurt.

You mind had been muddled since Tommy came back. All of your hard work had crumbled to pieces when he had knocked on your door. It was beyond frustrating, the way that he managed to crawl back inside your conscience with just a few words. You tried to blink away everything that happened, focusing on Dennis sitting on the other side of the booth, losing yourself in his kind smile and bright eyes.

He reached out and patted your hand with his, and you noticed how smooth his fingers were, not like the rough calloused pads that you could remember digging into your thigh and - you stopped, determined not to let your mind wander. You weren’t being fair to Dennis, he deserved someone who would give him their undivided attention, and didn’t spend the evening think of another man.

You let Dennis order another round of drinks, the conversation coming back round to the hospital - the only thing you seemed to have in common. You were just about to ask after a patient who you had heard wasn’t fairing very well, when you heard a commotion coming from the main hall. You raised your eyebrows and twisted around, trying to get a better view but you were blocked mostly by the sea of bodies. You turned to look at Dennis, but watched his own gentle brown eyes fill with shock.

“I need to talk to you.”

Fucking hell.

You felt flames licking your skin and ice cold water on your head at the same time. That stupid brummie accent that made your toes curl even after all the shit he had put you through. You saw surprise flash across Dennis’ face, his brows knitted at the stranger who had approached your booth. You didn’t want to turn around and face him, but you didn’t want the situation to get out of hand. You risked it. Swivelling in your seat so you could see him fully, your eyes flittering over the curls in his hair and the dammed sea blue colour of his irises.

“Tommy.” You kept your voice as level as you could, but it was proving hard. “Tommy, what the hell are you doing here?”

“We need to talk, come outside with me.”

His stare was so heated that it almost made you feel uncomfortable, and his hair was tousled, the way it always got when he ran his hands through it repeatedly. You could tell he was jealous, not missing the way his eyes had darted to Dennis’ hand covering your own. You could see the clench of his jaw and the tension in his forehead and it made you feel good, it was about time he had a taste of his own medicine.

“She doesn’t have to go anywhere with you.” Dennis said, rising from his chair so he could meet Tommy’s line of sight. You reached out and squeezed his wrist slightly, willing him not to get involved, not for your sake, but for his own.

“I’ve had a a really fucking long day and I think that it’s best if you don’t piss me off.” Tommy spat, his voice husky and exasperated, pointing a finger across the table. Coming face to face with you and your new lover was enough to tear the strings that were holding him together, he wasn’t a patient man and all he wanted was to explain himself, but it was hard when he was in such a jealous haze. His mind and his mouth weren’t working as one, he was losing his composure, and quickly.

“Stop it.” Your voice was stern, cold enough to turn him to stone. You could feel dozens of eyes on you, watching you all like you were performing at a play, mouths agape and eyes wild with anticipation. You blinked up at Tommy and you could see him soften, the hurt evident in your features enough to make him want to tear out his hair, furious at himself for how he always fucks things up.

You turned to Dennis, heart clenching as he held his ground despite being much smaller and a million times less intimidating then the gangster behind you. You gave him an apologetic look, knowing that the only way to diffuse the bomb that was Thomas Shelby was to speak to him alone.

“Thank you for everything, Dennis.” You said, shaking your head at the insanity of it all. “I’m so sorry, please forgive me for how this evening has turned out.”

He brushed off your words, as gentlemanly as ever, shooting a harsh look at Tommy. “Are you sure you’re alright going with him?”

You could see Tommy open his mouth to spit back something, his hands clenched at his sides, but you pushed him roughly in the torso and stormed past, heading for the back doors.

Your face was hot and red with shame, you could still taste alcohol on your tongue, but it had turned bitter and sour. You could hear him behind you, his expensive shoes clattering on the cobbled streets, his heavy exhales in the dark. He reached out, his touch timid and reserved despite the scene he had just created. At the feel of his fingers on your upper arm you pushed him off, walking further away into the alley.

“(Y/N)!) He called, but you ignored him, wiping away your tears before swirling on your heel, voice laced with venom.”

“It wasn’t enough for you to break me back at my flat?” You shouted, hearing your heart shatter with every syllable. “You had to come and do it in public too? What the fuck is wrong with you Tommy?”

“I know. I know.” He came towards you but you stumbled back, holding up a finger to keep him away from you. “I shouldn’t have made a scene.”

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?” You cried, it was hard enough to even try to get over him, but now he was making it impossible and you weren’t sure how much more you could take.

“I’m in love with you.”

You couldn’t stop the tears now. It was the words you had been begging him to say, the words that you had wanted to hear since you had first met, but they just made you weep harder. His face was so ernest, more honest than you had ever seen it, but it was so goddamn hard to believe him.

“You’re not in love with me, Tommy.” You murmured, swallowing the thickness in your throat. “You just want me because you saw me with another man.”

He shook his head, reaching out to touch you under the yellow glare of the streetlights. The feeling of you in his arms was so right to him, so familiar and warm that it felt like coming home. The tear streaks on your cheeks shone like the stars above the two of you, so beautiful and so heartbreaking and he needed to let you know how he felt.

“I’m in love with you.” His voice was firm, and even though you wanted to you couldn’t look away from him, trapped in his gaze. “It’s always been you. And I should have told you sooner.”

You stopped, everything you had wanted to say evaporated like ocean spray around the two of you, the water crashing so loud you could hear it in your ears. You were tired, and confused, half of you wanted to slap him and the other half wanted to fall into his arms. Instead, you sat down on the curb, feet planted in the gutter, dropping your head in your hands.

“I need a cigarette.”

Tommy smiled. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his packet and a lighter, giving you a smoke before lighting the end, watching the flame flicker in your eyes. You took three long drags, trying hard to control your breathing and rivalling emotions before you spoke again.

“How did you find me?”

He inhaled, puffing on his own cigarette. “I’ve had men watching you since the first time we met.”

You snapped around to face him. “You’ve fucking what?”

“You really think I was going to let you go around the city without protection?”

“I don’t know what to think.”

“I know.”

The silence was deafening and you hated how you instinctively wanted to move by his side, press your body up against his for warmth. Instead you looked up at the navy coloured sky, counting the stars and pretending you couldn’t feel him watching you.

“I fucked up.” He spoke. “ I used you and I hurt you.”

You bit your lip to try and stop the tears from falling once again.

“I was heartbroken because of Grace, and I needed a distraction.”

“A distraction.” You repeated.

“I’m sorry. It’s redundant now, I know. But I am. I fucked everything up and I’m sorry.”

The tension between you was almost palpable, like the nicotine that was surrounding you both. You could feel the sincerity in his tone, but you also knew that he could talk a man out of his house if he really wanted to.

“Did she turn you down?” You countered, facing him. “Is that why you’re here with me?”

He shook his head, tongue running over his teeth, wisps of smoke leaving his lips. “I saw her for the first time tonight.” He said, honestly. “I sat across from her and I realised that she meant nothing to me, not anymore.” You felt him beside you, the pressure of his thigh digging into yours, desperate to get you to look at him.

“It was just sex.” You muttered, looking for some kind of safety net to stop you from making the same mistake, no matter how badly your heart is pleading you to fall onto him.

“Don’t fucking say that. Don’t lie to me.” He stammered, as though your words had truly hurt him.

“You treated me like shit, Tommy. How can I ever trust you?”

“I can’t promise I won’t fuck something up. I’m a bad man and I do bad things, but I swear, right, on my fucking life - that I will never do anything to hurt you.”

He was so close to you. The strong man so weak as he brushed his nose against yours. He felt years younger, and felt the overwhelming ache to drag you into his arms and kiss you senseless.“I need you with me. I can’t do any of this without you - And will spend every day proving to you just how much you fucking mean to me.” He whispered, words trailing off into the

crown of your hair.

You couldn’t stop it. All of the warning bells in your head extinguished like candles, and all you could think about was him. He had hurt you, dug a knife into your rib cage and left you to bleed, and perhaps a better woman would have left him sitting in the gutter, but you knew that the two of you were bound together - just as beautiful and broken as one another.

You shook your head, looking up at him through your eyelashes, the man who had turned your life upside down. You didn’t want to think anymore - so you didn’t, instead you smashed your lips onto his, making his head spin wildly, losing himself in you.He’s always had a high tolerance, but somehow, just one touch, just the brush of your lips against his, the heat of your breath on his skin, has him utterly, completely, wasted

“Please don’t break my heart.” You said, reminiscent of the first time you had slept together, pressing your forehead against his. He breathed you in, the smell of violets and salt, warm coffee and vanilla, the scents that he wished he could bottle. He pressed his lips to yours, claiming you as his as much as proving he was yours. He relished the taste of you, his kisses greedy and passionate, making sure that you were still there and knowing that he would never let you go again.

“I won’t.”

And it’s a promise he’ll keep.

[seriouslyblacklikemysoul]

Until  Forever - Sirius Black

After a while, I have finished this chapter - it’s small but cute; I think. Also, since I have been away for a long time, just comment below this if you want to be tagged! The next chapter will be out withing this week. As always, my English is a warning by itself!  MASTERLIST  Prologue | Mercury | Delicate | Blue | Running | Aftermath | Stardust | December | Nightfall | Revelations  | Friends

Chapter 12. Resolutions.

             Twenty-two years should be enough time to feel like she belonged and that there was a place of her own. But twenty-two years have not been enough for her, and she had resigned to think that maybe no amount of years will be enough. She could not, after all, force a home to happen.             Her definition of “home” had been blurred, lost even. Instead, “home” floated between the longing for an unnamed place and a stubborn determination to make this place a “home.” This was not to say that she had never felt at home here. She had. Not always though. Other days she was a foreigner here and everything outside her window begun to look strange and dissonant. It was a bit of a paradox. Home had never been geographical for her. It was everywhere and nowhere.            Waking up in the same room, same bed with him was beautiful and terrifying because it felt familiar and hit her close to heart. She had drifted off to sleep without realizing that Sirius was afraid to close his eyes – how could he?            His wounds were bleeding badly, just by looking at her but at the same time it felt as if roses were spilling their sweet water down his spine – a chilling sensation run through his veins. For some reason he wanted to think about her loudly. He had thought about how hungry leaves looked right before a storm – wanting to live but desperate to die within the swirling sensation of the tornado. She was a loud thought. He could try to think of anything else – cookies or how tender flowers were and then she became the only thought in his mind. She swelled up and blocked everything else out. She became the sun, the moon and the stars – and he had loathed the stars, even his name, thanks to his parents, but of course, she was poetry in motion just like the tattoo she now had. She felt as a ringing in his ears, all sweet in its siren, all fluid, all open ache. In the middle of movies, of conversations, of collecting his life, she simply slipped in between the cracks.

           And he was thinking about her again – but looking at her made his mind stop for one moment. He had nothing to be afraid of, even his house felt distant. He knew how incredibly wrong it was but the world had seized to exist.             And now it was her turn to notice him in his sweet serenity and glory – but she couldn’t for if she focused her thoughts solely on him, she would cave in and ignore all the signs telling her to stop, including her own mind. She felt him turning, waking up and pretended she was asleep again with hitched breath, something he did notice. He had never slept so peacefully in his life but he knew that the night was gone and their time was running out. He didn’t know what to do nor how to act around her this time. It felt vulnerable as a moment. The frozen sun softly illuminated the room and the tender stillness gently reminded him that she was out of his reach. He tried to pretend she was asleep; it would be so much easier for both of them. But it was fake and with her around he couldn’t fake anything anymore. She had gotten under his skin and the truth was he didn’t want her to leave.            She never was in one place and he had finally understood why; a soft lover hidden behind cold lies to keep everyone in a safe distance; a rose appearing as a thorn rather than the delicate blossom. There was something in her eyes, as she dared to look at him, that made him question the universe itself. She indolently stretched her limbs and his eyes followed her body. Her eyes met his and the tension was so thick, she could cut it with a knife. She smiled kindly. Trying not to be too blunt about the fact that they shared a bed and much more intimate thoughts the night before, she decided to say a simple good morning instead of prolonging the inevitable, hoping for the lesser evil...            She did try to say it but the words were caught on the back of her neck. She wanted to make it less awkward but once her mind started racing, she would shut down and not be able to function. Instead, Sirius was the one to break the ice. "Hello sleeping beauty. James and the guys are waiting for us. Maybe we should get going. Whenever you are ready" he reminded her. Not having to conceal her tattoos anymore mainly because Sirius and Remus already knew... allowed her to see that things could move forward. As she moved forward she did hoped that she could have the courage to do things differently, to be the kind of a person who took the risk, who led with her heart and showed up in her life with a ruthless dedication to learning and growing and enjoying the hell out of her moments here. She knew that she had to trust the part of herself that felt there was more out there for her that was easy to quiet when she was trying to live by the rules and the expectations of a world that has bred so much dissatisfaction and sadness. She never liked the rules anyway. She wanted to free herself from the boundaries that could hold her no longer.            “Sure… just give me an hour to pack a couple of things and grab a shower, okay?” she boldly asked him as she climbed down from her bed, trying to stop her eyes from catching Sirius’s staring. He had a wicked smile plastered on his lips but agreed with her nonetheless and leaving her be.                                       “I’ll be in the common room. One hour” he chimed cheerfully and walked out of her room as if nothing had happened. She rolled her eyes and grabbed a backpack, charmed it to fit all of her things and threw everything in – the dress, the shoes, a pair of pajamas, a pair of jeans, a comfy shirt, undergarments, a pair of flats and her makeup bag. She always liked to be prepared for everything. She didn't want to go but after a night with him, she found herself persuaded... And the thing was he hadn't even asked her.            After her shower, she got dressed in the simple pair of jeans and a sweater, threw her hair in a bun, grabbed her bag and went downstairs to find him. He was there just like he had promised her. Exactly an hour ago. He was sitting next to the fireplace which was burning brightly, eyes lost in an invisible horizon, absentmindedly rolling a cigarette, his mind traveling miles away in the speed of light. She could almost see his brain thinking and twisting and swirling around - what, she did not know.                Watching him completely unaware of her stare made her realized how vulnerable he was, how soft and tender... and broken. She shook her head trying to stop her mind from wandering around the same old thought and instead focused energy on the one thing she knew she was going to go... She didn’t dare think she would enjoy it.            She would be lying to herself and everyone else if she was to say that being here, in that particular moment, having met the people she met, enjoying something that everyone else could only read, having the chance to be in fictional world, was merely okay... It was terrifying. She didn't believe she would characterize and label it as scary exactly because it was so beautiful an innocent and raw. But it was terrifying, knowing how the story ended, knowing that Sirius would end up in Azkaban, knowing the James and Lily would die before they could reach twenty-two, knowing that Remus would end up believing that he was all alone - but most importantly knowing that she could not change a single detail.            Looking at him was like a war. It felt violent and without escape. A star bathed in blood, tormented by the demons of his own existence. Demons that had escaped the gates of hell, a place she knew rather well. Eyes like spilled Mercury, fists covered in Ares' bruises, mind ruled by Athena's strategy and Pluto's deception. She couldn't speak of his heart; she didn't know if it was sacrificed to Aphrodite or given willingly to Persephone. Sometimes he felt like Hades to her. Dark, soft, bruised, wickedly sinister, broken, desperate for love, incapable of forgiving himself. There was a sad smile forming on her lips... She knew him all too well.            She was looking at him the way she had been wishing for someone to look at her; like the sun wasn’t bright enough; like the moon wasn’t soft enough; like the stars weren’t there anymore. Maybe she was biased. Maybe his eyes were whispering long-forgotten tales to her soul.           “You have that strange look, I cannot decode” he told her as he turned to face her. She just smiled, not hiding behind thin lies.            “Such a plot twist, you are” she whispered as he approached her. Her answer took him by surprise. They were used to playing a game of hide and seek – but she didn’t want to hide any longer. Her eyes spoke a million truths; all those answer he was searching for.            “Who are you?” he faintly asked her, playing with a strand of her long hair.                            “I thought I knew” she admitted. She didn’t know who she was but she knew that she was no longer the same person.            “You fell from the sky and turned my life upside down” he told her with a hint of anger in his voice but she merely chuckled.            “How do you know your life wouldn't be better turned upside down?” she quoted a favorite abstract of hers. He was about to say something but suddenly he stopped. He thought about those words.            “We should go” she softly reminded him.

              James was the kindest person she had met. She remembered him being described as a bully – he had never been one. Maybe he was voicing his dislike in a bit of extravagant way but he never bullied anyone. Okay, yes. Severus had been an exception – when they were 13. Stupid kids, not knowing how to properly react. Who could hold that against him?            He had been the perfect gentleman, as he helped her with her bag and showed her to the guestroom. She hadn’t even thought about a room – but his house was a mansion, a small detail that the books didn’t mention. The room was twice as big as her old one, with an en-suite bathroom.            Seeing Remus, practically stumbling upon him once she left her room, felt like a punch to her chest. He was so tragically beautiful, she thought. Strange, how she could get attached to two different people. But then again, maybe they weren’t so different after all. She saw the questions burning in his eyes. She wanted to tell him everything but how could she justify her selfish actions?            “You came” he looked at her in an almost surprised way. She contemplated her options. Of course, he was surprised. Who would have the nerve or the audacity to face their ex on such a short amount of time? Trying to find the right words to say, she realized that she was still very much drawn to him. Shit.            “I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. I really am, Remus” she found herself apologizing but what for? He saw her shift and smiled warmly. Fuck those amber eyes.        “There is nothing to apologize for, love. Just some things to clarify” he led on. She knew that he had to be aware of everything, she just wished that he wouldn’t want answers. But, who wouldn’t?            She pushed the door of her temporary room open with her hip and showed him in. It would be as easy as breathing to be honest – and as difficult as suffocating underwater. He had every right to know, she thought. This was his story, his life…

              Remus had never been stupid – he observed everything and everyone from a safe distance. With her, it had been different from the very beginning. He knew she had secrets and big ones, for that matter, but never had he expected to be told that she was from another dimension – or as she had labelled it, another possibility.              She gave him time; time to get himself together, time to understand her words, time to accept that maybe she was indeed honest, time to connect every bit of information. He was the one who pushed her for answers. He had to be ready to accept them. Yet, everything she told him seemed like a made-up story but he couldn’t shake that damn feeling that she was telling the truth. She hadn’t changed the subject, she hadn’t avoided a single question, she had told him every little detail that would be impossible for her to know otherwise. And he knew that she was special, he was aware of that. He knew that she was different – but how could he imagine that she was from a distant future – from another place, entirely, one he was a character in a book?                His mind was screaming at him for a breather but he refused – he needed to ask more questions but at the same time he already knew the answers. He was battling a losing fight inside of him; betrayal and understanding. She had chosen to hide the fact that she knew about his life and his entire future, yet how could she reveal it to him? It was obvious to him that she acted the exact same way he would have. He understood now the side glances, the soft but sad smile that was always on her lips whenever she’d see him, the inevitable of it all and how doomed everything mush have seemed to her.              Remus had never been stupid – he observed everything and everyone from a safe distance. And then she had come along, shaking his very core, only to reveal something unfathomable. He noticed her eyes again, slowly regaining focus as he tried to gulp down every bit of information. She hadn’t taken her eyes off of his and he felt that maybe, just maybe, history wasn’t written in stone – maybe this once. She had that ability – to change his mind almost instantly, to make him question the principles of nature and life itself. And then a tiny little voice, told him that he wasn’t the only one being affected by her presence.   Afterall, if everything she had told him was true, his friend did need her, and quite frankly deserved her, a lot more. How wrong of him, to objectify her and think of her as a need. She was happily unaware of those last thoughts, he knew.                    “I don’t know how to process this – or rather, how to deal with this’ he truthfully told her and her smile told him that she was expecting that very answer. Absentmindedly, she squeezed his hand and didn’t let go.              “I don’t know how difficult it must be for you, I can only guess. Listen, I could have lied, and believe me, we both would have been in a better shape, but to you – it feels impossible. Lying doesn’t work on you. You already know. And that’s why, I think, you are going to deal with this, one way or another; because you already knew. I know that it’s a lot and I am so sorry. It’s your life, your path, your decision. You can either ask me to obliviate the shit out of you or you can keep it to yourself, or even discuss it with the others” she offered him exactly what he needed. Solace.                      He thought about it for a moment and he knew that the moment would turn into many sleepless nights. How could he ever say those things out loud? How could he accuse one of his best friends that he would kill another? But then again, how could he not? He simply nodded, fully aware of the huge weigh on his chest – and painfully aware of her lips, inches away.          

[trensu]

Episode 28: The One where LXC Loses his Title as Greatest Wingman

THAT’S RIGHT GUYS

WE’RE HERE

THE ONE THAT HOLDS ONE OF THE MOST PRECIOUS, CLASSIC WANGXIAN SCENES IN THE WHOLE SHOW

THE SCENE THAT JUST BURSTS WITH WANGXIAN DOMESTICITY AND WE DIE FROM THE SHEER FLUFFINESS OF IT ALL

Shockingly this VERY IMPORTANT wangxian moment doesn’t start until the 34min mark.

So we’re gonna power through those first 34min to get to the parts that actually matter

We’re still at the burial mounds

Emotional Yungmeng Bro Drama happens

It’s very upsetting

There’s a lot of feelings everywhere.

I can’t defend you if you keep this path, jc protests 

You can’t defend me? Then Leave me, wwx says, tell the world i defected, he says, my actions are no longer associated with the jiang clan he says

WHO KNEW BROTHERLY LOVE COULD BE SO PAINFUL, AMIRITE GUYS? HAHA *CHOKES BACK SOBS*

LET’S SKIP AHEAD!

Jc’s gone, maybe it’ll get better now??

A-YUAN TIME!!

Oh no, little a-yuan is hungry!!

Wen qing gives him the last of the fruit because a-yuan activated her Good Big Sister instincts

Ah, look at his happy face as he takes the fruit!

The wwx shows up with MORE fruit and a-yuan does the leg-grabby thing!!

ADORABLE 

Great, now we get Emotional WWX and WQ Bonding Time

SHE TRIES TO GIVE HIM AN OUT

SHE TRIES TO GET HIM BACK TO HIS FAMILY

Wwx is not having it so instead he acts all charming and teases her until the matter is dropped

I LOVE THEM SO MUCH

Other stuff happens, boring boring boring

Moving forward

Yunmeng bro fight scene!

The first half was pretty neat and then they did a bunch of funky flying moves that had me like, why, why must you do this, please stop and give me wangxiantics instead

They did not stop

But they did do some wonderful Twirling, so I guess i can forgive them a little

Oh, sadface, a paperman gets viciously slaughtered by jc

(@theuntamednarrator​ pointed out that this fight scene PARALLELS a future fight scene on a moonlit rooftop THAT WE’RE NOT GONNA THINK ABOUT BECAUSE IT MAKES ME SAD)

Wwx, at some point in this fight is all: oh look, i’ve been impaled

(what’s a little light stabbing between siblings, amirite?)

More stuff happens that we don’t care about

But we’ll take a moment to laugh at wwx here

Wwx is like, imma hide this gaping stab wound from the world’s greatest doctor by distracting her with potatoes

It doesn’t quite work bc wen qing immediately makes a grab for him

Wwx is scandalized!

Wwx: Men and women shouldn’t be improperly intimate!!

Wwx: you suddenly doing this makes me scared for my virtue which i’m obviously saving for lan zhan!

She backs off for half a second; then wwx winces but he recovers quickly by being all i’m totally fine, look at how fine i am, i’m flinching because of HUNGER PAINS, NOTHING ELSE

If he weren't so charming and adorable none of this would've worked

Other non-wangxian nonsense occurs

Some more non-wangxian stuff

A scene featuring Disaster Het Jin Zixuan and our Perfect Elder Sister Jiang Yanli

Jzx is all, i know carp tower isn’t your home but i’m willing to build another lotus pier here for you

...ugh, fine, okay, maybe you’ve grown on me a little by now, you huge Disaster Het BUT ONLY BECAUSE YOU’RE MAKING JYL HAPPY, YOU HEAR ME?? ALL BETS ARE OFF IF YOU MAKE HER CRY AGAIN

We’ve made it through the 34 minutes!!

GET READY GUYS

We’re at a tea house in Yiling! There’s lots of people! AND THEY’RE ALL TRASH-TALKING MY BEAUTIFUL SUNSHINE BOY WTF

But hey, look in the background is lwj, (angrily) listening to people trash-talk our sunshine boy.

God, he sits so straight, it looks almost painful

I mean, in terms of posture

We know he’s not straight in any other way lol

The only time we get full body shots of him in this scene is when he’s blurred and out of focus in the background, which is interesting

When he’s at the forefront of the scene, it’s all close-ups of his (angry) face 

But even with the close ups, we only see parts of his face. One half of his face at a time, close-ups on the eyes (or one eye) specifically at times

It’s not until the end of that teahouse scene that we get to see a full shot of him and that’s only when he’s had Enough of people slandering his soulmate and slams his (poor innocent) tea cup onto the table and (viciously) glares at the gossipers

He leaves the teahouse (angrily)

Lwj is (angrily) walking through the marketplace 

He walks past some random lady and the lady turns the hell around so fast and BLATANTLY CHECKS HIM OUT, oh god, that’s HILARIOUS

(you are not alone in this, lady, YOU ARE NOT ALONE)

Then, we have one of the best tropes of all, ACCIDENTAL CHILD ACQUISITION

THERE IS A CHILD CLINGING TO HIS LEG

IT’S A-YUAN

A-YUAN HAS SURGICALLY ATTACHED HIMSELF TO LWJ

WE ALL LOVE HIM FOR IT

Wwx does not notice his child is missing bc he is haggling, which is important but maybe not as important as missing a child. 

Omg the look of panic on his face when he finally realizes a-yuan is gone gutted me for half a second. 

REALIZING YOU’VE LOST A CHILD IN A CROWDED PLACE IS THE WORST FEELING IN THE WORLD, OKAY

But i get over this quickly bc WWX FINDS A-YUAN CLINGING TO LWJ’S LEG. 

GUYS

GUYS

THIS SCENE

THIS SCENE MAKES ME SO HAPPY

IT’S MADE OF RAINBOWS AND BUTTERFLIES AND ITTY BITTY KITTIES

Okay, let's break it down because there’s JUST SO MUCH GOOD STUFF HERE WE NEED TO PROPERLY APPRECIATE ALL OF IT

FIRSTLY, lwj’s face.

There is a loudly crying child clinging to his leg

He is surrounded by nosy talkative strangers (PARENT strangers!!) all Judging™ him for his (lack of) parenting skills

And lwj’s face is about as External Panic as lwj can make it bc our boy is FREAKING OUT

THERE IS A CRYING CHILD

LATCHED ON TO HIS LEG

STRANGERS ARE ASSUMING HE’S THE FATHER

BUT HE ISN’T

THEY DON’T LISTEN WHEN HE TELLS THEM HE ISN’T

THEY SAY THEY HAVE THE SAME NOSE?? THEY SAY HE RESEMBLES THIS STRANGE UNKNOWN CRYING CHILD SOMEHOW?? 

AND WORSE STILL, THEY’RE SAYING HE’S A BAD FATHER

THEY’RE ALL LIKE, OH LOOK HE SCOLDED HIS POOR KID AND NOW WON’T EVEN HUG HIS KID TO MAKE HIM FEEL BETTER??

HIS FACE, OMG

HIS FACE SCREAMS: DEAR GOD WHAT IS HAPPENING HOW DO I MAKE IT STOP 

LWJ IS DYING INSIDE

AND HE KIND OF WANTS TO DIE OUTSIDE

(There’s one guy who kinda takes pity on him and was like, ah, he’s your first kid, huh? I was like that with MY first kid but now i know everything after my wife gave a few more births. It’s a learning process!)

And ohoho, boy, does lwj learn (later, after horrible horrible things happen)

Secondly, WWX IS HAVING THE TIME OF HIS LIFE WATCHING ALL OF THIS UNFOLD BEFORE HIM

HIS SMILE IS HEART-STOPPINGLY BEAUTIFUL

HE’S STIFLING GIGGLES

IT’S SO CUTE I WANNA DIE

Finally, wwx takes pity on poor lan zhan

I would like to point out that he takes pity on lan zhan only after  the crowd of Judgy Parents start asking A-Yuan where his mother is

And like, i don’t want to fall into the pit of heteronormativity and stereotypical gender roles, BUT THAT’S HILARIOUS

Wwx: Lan zhan!

Lwj looks up and the world fades away when he sees wwx, with his cute little smile, making his way towards him in slo-mo

Like, literally slow motion and literally the world fades away until basically only wwx is in focus, THIS IS HOW LWJ SEES WWX ALL THE TIME, OMG IT’S AMAZING

AND OF COURSE ~THEIR SONG~ IS PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND

I’M SCREAMING, EVERYTHING IS GREAT

LWJ STARES AT HIM WITH SUCH YEARNING

And even when they’re right in front of each other, they KEEP STARING AT EACH OTHER, SOAKING UP EACH OTHER’S PRESENCE

WHICH I LOVE, but also there’s a crying child right there maybe take care of him??

Wwx: lan zhan, what a coincidence! What are you doing i yiling?

WHAT DO YOU THINK HE’S DOING IN YILING, WWX

IT’S NOT LIKE HIS SOULMATE LIVES AROUND THAT AREA OR ANYTHING

Lwj: night hunt. Passing by.

Short and sweet and to the point

I’m convinced it’s because his brain has short-circuited from the double whammy of Accidental Child Acquisition and OMG My Beautiful Soulmate is With Me and Smiling

Lwj: ....this child

Wwx: ah, yes, this is MY son

I read a post on tumblr that says the actual translation of that line was more like “ah, yes, i gave birth to this child”

Which would explain lwj’s absolutely stunned and confused expression

I mean, the fact that he doesn’t immediately dismiss this as the nonsense that it is, is absolutely HILARIOUS to me

Like, for a split second there he honestly believed wwx??

He must’ve been like, wait, is this a side effect of demonic cultivation??!?!?

That doesn’t sound right but i don’t know enough about demonic cultivation to dispute it

But then wwx starts giggling at him which gives away the game

Wwx: hey, lan zhan, what did you do? Why is a-yuan crying?

Lwj: I didn’t do anything

Wwx: ah, i see what happened. Lan zhan, as pretty as you look, you still have resting bitch face. 

(no for real, wwx called him pretty, i died a little when i heard him say it and i’m pretty sure lwj did too)

Wwx: a-yuan doesn’t know any better so of course he’d look at you and start crying!!

Lwj stares at a-yuan (who is now clinging adorably to wwx) and you can see in his face that his New Life Mission is to get A-Yuan to Like Him.

It is IMPERATIVE that this small child Like Him. Not for any particular reason, of course. But this Must happen.

Even if it means having to go to an Ancient Fantasy China plastic surgeon to get his resting bitch face problem resolved

THANK GOD WE DON’T HAVE TO RESORT TO THAT

Wwx kneels down to comfort a-yuan and lwj watches him interact with this small child and VISIBLY SWALLOWS before looking away

Like it was too much cute to handle

Like oh shit, i want wwx’s children

Like oh shit, i want to be a dad???

GUYS WE SEE THE EXACT MOMENT LWJ REALIZES HE WANTS KIDS

THANK YOU WORLD FOR BLESSING US WITH THIS MOMENT

Okay, quiz time! 

How do we make a small child stop crying?

Answer - Distraction!

What is the best distraction for a small child?

Answer - TOYS

Wwx pulls a-yuan to a toy stall 

The music here gets all upbeat and playful. (In fact, it’s the same music that played in the ‘flower petals rain on LWJ’ scene in The One where NHS is Total Cockblock omg i just had to reference my own guide to make sure that was the right episode lol this is exactly why i’m making this). I love this music!!

So they admire the toys and wwx picks up one of them and is like, do you like this one?

A-yuan of course says yes bc all kids love toys

Then wwx is like, cool, and proceeds to drag a-yuan away from the toy stall without the toy

SAD FACE A-YUAN :(

Lwj sees Sad Face A-Yuan and does the Lan Clan version of running (aka lengthening his strides and quickening his steps slightly)

Lwj: wei ying, why didn’t you buy it for him?

Dude, he sounds almost accusatory here, it’s GREAT

Wwx: ??? why should I???

Lwj: you asked him if he wanted it, doesn’t that mean you’re going to buy it?

Wwx: asking is asking, buying is buying. Who says i have to buy something just because i asked about it?

Wwx, lwj has a point tho. It’s kinda mean to lead a kid on like that 

And here lwj sounds all hesitant (and shy?? maybe??) like he doesn’t want to scare a-yuan again. He looks at him briefly

Lwj: which one...do you want.

Then when a-yuan doesn’t immediately burst into tears, he speaks more confidently.

Lwj: among those, which one did you want?

And a-yuan points to the toy he wants with all the confidence small children have when  they know they’re about to get exactly what they want

Omg, lwj looks at wwx as soon as he sees which toy a-yuan wants

It’s a look that says I’M GETTING THIS CHILD A TOY AND YOU CAN’T STOP ME

And wwx just beams at him like a ray of sunshine!! HE’S MELTING INSIDE, YOU CAN TELL

HE’S ALL LIKE, OMG LAN ZHAN IS SO SWEET WITH CHILDREN

OMG LAN ZHAN WOULD BE A GREAT DAD

OMG I WANT LAN ZHAN TO CO-DAD A-YUAN WITH ME

Cut to a-yuan gleefully playing with his new toys 

He and wwx are play fighting with cute little wooden swords and it’s SO ADORABLE I’M GONNA DIE

And lwj watches them for moment with the FONDEST LOOK ON HIS FACE

A-yuan notices that lwj is there again and immediately ditches wwx to cling to lwj’s leg

Smart, kid, smart

Butter up the rich guy who makes wwx smile

Wwx laughs: lan zhan, congrats! My kid likes you! He only hugs the legs of his favorite people and then never lets go

Lwj: *internally probably* i wish YOU’D hug me and never let me go

Also

YES! LIFE MISSION COMPLETE. WWX’S CHILD LIKES ME

Wwx: you should ditch your night hunt and have a meal with me

Lwj: a meal?

Lwj: *internally probably* OMG DID HE JUST ASK ME OUT ON A DATE?? AND HE CALLED ME PRETTY EARLIER??? TODAY IS THE BEST DAY

He then pretends to hesitate bc YOU GOTTA PLAY IT COOL

CAN’T CLUE HIM IN ON HOW DESPERATELY YOU WANT TO KEEP HIM WITH YOU FOREVER

BE COOL, LWJ, BE COOL, BE COOL

Wwx: c’mon, we hardly see each other! We can reminisce about the old days! It’ll be my treat~!

Wwx what, YOU HAVE NO MONEY WHAT ARE YOU EVEN SAYING

Wwx grabs lwj’s arm and drags him away

Lwj’s brain rn: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

But they run off WITHOUT A-YUAN??

Good thing a-yuan is quick on his feet, god damn

AND THAT’S THE END OF ONE OF THE BESTEST EPISODES OF THE SHOW

GOD I NEEDED THIS AFTER THE HELLSCAPE OF LAST EPISODE WHERE EVERYONE MADE ME ANGRY

And lets give a round of applause to our precious adorable A-Yuan who somehow managed to latch on to the one person in the entire town that is completely head over heels in love with wwx and who wwx has been pining for since their sad separation in the rain.

FOUR FOR YOU, A-YUAN. YOU GO, A-YUAN!!

Return to Masterpost

[noirxxholic]

@delightful-dreadful here 😈 I’m thinking for Archie and Gretchen! - Drugs that paralyze the whumpee while leaving them conscious, the whumper getting to manipulate their body like a doll while they are horrified but unable to struggle Or -Promised pain meds that are actually aphrodisiacs Hope one of these appeal to you! @ me in your response so I can be sure to give it a read and a reblog 😊

@delightful-dreadful tysm! I went with the promised pain meds part, and I meant to write the actual sex part but the, uh, let’s call it foreplay just kept getting longer and longer so I’m just gonna post it now so it gets posted at all. I’ve been wanting to do something with them having sex in the basement for AGES so this is perfect! Contains: Does not contain sex but does contain talk about sex and penis mention. Also broken ribs, drugs, dub con, cutting, and restraints.

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

“You slept with her?” Eaton sputtered. “With Gretchen Lowell?” “Archie met his eye. There was no going back now. “We had sex, yes,” he said. “Many times.” “When did it end?” Eaton asked. “She locked me in a basement and tortured me,” Archie said, deflecting the question. “What do you think?” -- Let Me Go (Beauty Killer #6), by Chelsea Cain

Archie had no sense of time down here. The basement was windowless, lit constantly by the single unchanging bare bulb over his head.And he had been drugged -- he didn’t even know what all she had given him, but he knew it was hopeless to think about time with this cocktail of drugs in his system. It could be noon of the first day or midnight of the third week here, for all he knew.

But he did know one thing. He knew when it was time for his pills. He knew that one thing, because he could always tell when the vicodin she gave him was starting to wear off and the pain was starting to worsen again. And he knew that right now, the pills were long, long overdue.

She was doing this intentionally, he knew, to fuck with him. She must want him to be in pain, to be worried, to want her to come back so she would give him the painkillers and ease the agony of his broken ribs. It was just a way to manipulate him, to make him grateful for her mercy.

He knew all the psychology of trauma bonding. But knowing it didn’t stop it from working on him. 

He didn’t hear her come in; he was too deeply cocooned in the pain. She was simply not there one moment, and there the next. She picked up the vicodin bottle and he opened his mouth automatically, eagerly, like a baby bird waiting for a bug. She laughed at that, but even as dazed as he was, he could tell she was pleased. In the beginning she had had to force-feed him the pills. Now, he was learning to be good, just like she wanted. 

She laid the pills on his tongue and helped him lift his head to sip from a paper cup of water. It was the most motion he was capable of, strapped to the table as tightly as he was. 

“There you go,” she said when he had swallowed them. “I’ll give you a few minutes to let them kick in, and then I’ll come back and we can have some more fun.”

And then she was gone again, as suddenly as she had arrived. 

It was a long few minutes. Archie had nothing to do but wait to feel better, which meant he was his own watched pot. But finally, finally, the edge of the pain began to blur and the burning heart of it began to fade. It was never gone completely, and he expected it never would be, but it was enough to wash him with a wave of relief, to let him breathe just a little more easily despite the fractured ribs. 

But something was different this time. This was more than relief. The pain wasn’t gone, but there was something else in it now, a warmth, a shuddering shivering sensation that he couldn’t place until the moment she reappeared at his side. She was wearing a simple white dress, as if in a mockery of a nurse’s costume, and it hugged her hips and outlined the edge of her bra in bas-relief. For the first time since he had woken up here, he was thinking of her sexually again. The extra feeling that had come with the pills was arousal.

“What did you give me?” he asked, his voice croaking, dry and underused. 

“Just your vicodin, darling, why? Did you want something else?”

“No, no, it’s not just vicodin --” his detective brain was starting to work now, and he realized this had all been planned. “ -- That’s why you left me waiting, so it would hurt enough that I wouldn’t notice if the pills were different, I would just take them without thinking about it.”

“They’re the same pills as always, look.” She held up the same amber bottle with the same big oval pills she gave him each time, but he shook his head.

“No, it must have been something different.”

“Does something feel different? Whatever it is, it isn’t the medicine. Maybe it’s just you.” She rested a hand on his bare shoulder, and he flinched, not in fear or disgust or pain this time, but at the shock of his sudden desperate desire for her.

“Tell me, darling,” she said, running her hand down over his chest, over the places where she had driven nails into his ribs, and he twitched over and over with alternating pain and desire. “What’s the matter?”

He shook his head quickly, trying to shake off the feeling like a dog shakes off water. “Don’t do this.”

She only laughed. “I would say something mean about how you can’t stop me from doing anything I want to you, but I’m barely even touching you, what’s gotten into you?” Her hand moved farther down, to rest on his hip, and this time the twitch he gave in response was unmistakably more like a thrust than anything else.

“Ohhhh, is that it?” she said, head cocked to one side as if working out a puzzle. “You still want me, even now that you know what I am? You should have just told me, that’s so sweet!” She leaned over him, her face level with his, their lips almost touching, so close, too close, but not quite there. “There’s no reason it all has to be pain,” she whispered. “I can help you feel good too.”

He forced himself to remember Debbie, to remember the photographs of Gretchen’s victims, to remember that he was already guilty and all he could do now was to refuse to sink deeper into guilt. Through the pain and the haze of drugs and the heat of his sudden desperate need for her he forced himself to say it.

“No.”

“All right,” she said, and moved away from him so suddenly that, caught off guard, he nearly screamed for her to come back, but stopped himself just in time. When she did come back, she was holding her favorite tool, a scalpel, just like the ones she had used to carve patterns into each of her victims. She pulled a stool up next to the table, level with his groin, and touched his hip again. The thrust came automaticallly, but this time she ignored it. She pressed her left hand flat over his hip to keep it steady, and, holding the scalpel like a pencil, cut a short thin mark into the skin. As it started to bead with blood, she made a second mark next to it, a third, a fourth, and then crossed all four with the fifth mark, like a tally.

“What are you counting?” he asked, to distract himself from how close her hand was to his cock. 

“I’m counting how long it takes before you beg me to fuck you.”

“I won’t,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Then I’ll just get to keep cutting. Either way, I win.”

He was never going to leave this room alive. What did it matter if he let himself have this one thing?

He stared up at the bare bulb until his eyes hurt and spots swam in front of them. He couldn’t picture Debbie’s face anymore. 

“Yes,”  he said, but it came out wrong, creaky, unintelligible.

“What was that, darling?”

“Yes.” His voice was stronger this time, though still shaking. “Please.”

“Say it properly.”

“Please fuck me, Gretchen.”

She laughed. “That’s a start, now say it like you mean it and not like I’ve got a gun to your head. I’m not forcing this on you. In fact, if you’re really not that interested -- ” She dropped the bloody scalpel on a tray and stood up -- “I can just leave.” She turned toward the stairs.

“No!” Hardly even knowing he was doing it, Archie was suddenly pulling at his bonds with every muscle he had. “Please -- please, Gretchen,” he panted through the futile effort to break free so he could touch her, grab her, do anything to stop her from moving away. “Please, I’ll be good, I’ll do whatever you want, just fuck me, please, I need it, I need you.”

She stopped. Turned, slowly, too slowly, and came back to him, slowly, too slowly. But she was smiling. She was smiling.

She ran her fingers over the tally marks, dragging a trail of blood from them to his groin, and brushed them gently, too gently, down the length of his cock. “Say that last part again,” she purred. “I liked that part.”

“I need you.”

[zovioliswritings]

"Hopeless, worthless, and useless...." Leo x fem reader

(HI! so this is my first fan fiction in like...years lmao. So let me know what you guys think! Also, in this Y/N has an extreme fear of confrontation due to family history, having gone behind Leo's back to train with Splinter. What will happen when she is forced to do the one thing she fears the most?)

Y/N panted heavily, hunched over with her hands on her knees. Trying to catch her breath as Master Splinter watched with a small smile.

"You are doing much better my child." He relaxed from his fighting stance and made his way over to the young woman. Resting a gentle paw on her shoulder. "Though you need to learn not to waste so much of your energy so quickly."

She let out a small groan as she straightened her posture. "How am I supposed to do that? You're so much faster than me. I have to act quickly."

This earned a small chuckle from him, letting his paw fall back to his side. "That may be true, but you could benefit from being more defensive. Something you and Raphael have in common. You should train with him, you two could help benefit one another."

With a shake of her head, she let out a defeated sigh. "As much as I'd love to do that, I can't. That would just raise the chances of Leo finding out. You know he doesn't want me to fight, Sensei."

The rat sighed, shaking his head. Knowing exactly how his eldest son would react if he found Y/N sparring with his red clad brother. "Then maybe it is time we have a talk with Leonardo. This over-protectiveness of his has become overbearing."

Y/N shook her head frantically, her heart dropping as anxiety instantly filled her soul. "N-no Sensei, you promised me you wouldn't say anything. I-its fine, I know Leo means well. He just doesn't want me to be hurt."

"This goes beyond just you getting hurt Y/N, he refuses for you to learn how to properly protect yourself." Splinters eyes narrowed, irritated with his son's decisions. "I've kept my promise in hopes you would eventually tell him, but it has been 6 months. It is only a matter of time before he finds out."

"I-I know..." Y/N whispered, twiddling with her thumbs. Unable to look up at the mutant rat. Her anxiety of eating away at her, making her wish a hole would appear under her feet and swallow her whole.

Master Splinter let out a sigh, forcing his shoulders to relax. His voice soft, but stern. "I know your fear of confronting this subject is hard on you miss Y/L/N, but this can not drag on much further. I'm giving you two days to tell my son."

Y/N's eyes widened as she snapped her gaze up to him. Her heart pounding in her chest as her lungs suddenly founding it difficult to breathe. "T...T-two....two days? M-m-master splinter I-I can't p-p-"

He rested his paw on her shoulder once again," You can and you will Y/N. It is not healthy for him to keep you from doing things and you going behind his back to do them anyway. It has to come to an end. Within these two days you will tell Leonardo.....or I will."

Y/N's breathing picked up, fighting to keep herself from having an anxiety attack. Her heart nearly stopped and leaped out of her chest when a familiar voice appeared behind the two.

"Tell me what Sensei?"

His voice, it sounded concerned. Y/N could feel his eyes on her back, but she couldn't move to face him. She was frozen, her hands trembling terribly. Her thoughts running a thousand miles a minute, completely shutting out the world around her. That is until someone gently grabbed her shoulder, forcing her to turn towards them. Her anxiety crept up from her chest to her throat, squeezing around her vocal cords. Keeping her from being able to make any kind of sound. It was like things were in slow motion. Leo was there, right in front of her. His turtle form towering over her. He looked so concerned and confused. He glanced from Master Splinter and then back to her.

His lips were moving, but she still couldn't hear anything. Only her thoughts. 'He's going to find out....he's going to be so angry with me...he's going to hate me for going behind his back....w-what...what do I do...'

Tears started to blur her vision, with the last bit of control she had, she ripped herself away from Leo and ran. Running faster than she ever had before. She was out of the lair and deep within the sewers before anyone could even say something. By the time she got to the surface her breathes were coming out labored, barely able to keep herself up right as she leaned against a building. Trying to desperately catch her breath while looking around, trying to figure out where she was. Tears streaming down her face when she spotted her apartment building across the street. Within a minute she was in her apartment, slamming the door behind her. Quickly locking it before going to every window and locking them.

When she was done, she finally collapsed onto her couch. Her lungs gasping for air as her body screamed in pain. Having been pushed past it's limits and then some. She buried her face into a pillow, struggling to calm herself down. Her cries coming out in broken sobs and pants. Everything hurt, both physically and mentally. It didn't take to long before she fell unconscious due to exhaustion and over exertion. Leaving her mind a slave to itself.  

~

By the time Y/N woke up the next day, it was already 2:30 in the afternoon. She could barely move, her body still completely worn by last nights events. She laid there on the couch for a few hours before her stomach forced her to get up and feed it. Though nothing sounded good. Even though she was hungry, she had lost all appetite to eat anything. After a while, she just forced herself to eat a bowel of cereal before returning to the couch. Turning on the TV, using it more for background noise than actually watching it as she was pulled back into her thoughts.

She stayed there the rest of the day. Hiding under her blanket whenever she heard Casey or April at the front door Ignoring them no matter what they said, even putting a book shelf against the door when Casey threatened to bust down the door.

As the sun started to go down, her anxiety started to settle in again. She knew Leo would be coming over. It was only just a matter of when. Her window was all she had to keep him out, and that wouldn't stand a chance against him if he really wanted to get in. Y/N knew this wouldn't last long, tomorrow Leo would know. Whether she liked it or not. But if she could hold out on the confrontation until tomorrow, then she damn sure was going to waste every minute she could.

The second the sun was no longer visible in the sky, there was a tapping on her window.  This caused her heart rate to spike as she buried herself deeper into her blankets. Snuggling further into the couch. Trying to make herself as small as possible. She could faintly hear her name being called out.

'It's him....he's here...' Anxiety swelled into her stomach once more as she tried to ignore his constant tapping. After a while it suddenly stopped and it was quiet for about ten minutes. Hesitantly, she untangled herself from her blanket and slowly lifted herself off her couch. Tip toeing to her room and over to the window. Peaking outside, looking for any sign of her beloved turtle. After about five minutes, she let out a sigh of relief. Relaxing as she unlocked her window and opened it. Taking in a breath of fresh air. Crossing her arms as she leaned against the window seal and closed her eyes. Letting the night breeze calm her down further.

"...Y/N..."

Her eyes snapped open at the sound of her name, jumping back when she found Leo standing right in front of her. His face having been just inches from hers. Her breath picked up as she backed further into the room. Watching as he entered the room. His movements slow and gentle.

"Y/N wait...it's okay, I just want to know what's wrong." He spoke so softly, taking a step towards her.

She shook her head and took another step back. Looking down as she felt her back meet one of the walls in her room. Her heart racing.

Leo frowned as he watched her, taking careful steps towards her. He hated seeing her like this, and he didn't understand why. Why was she acting so afraid of him? "Y/N its okay, please down be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to know what's wrong.." He stopped once he was right in front of her, his body towering over her. Placing a gentle hand on her arm, frowning even more when she flinched under his touch. "Y/n please....its okay love...You can tell me, I'm not gonna be upset."

"B-but you are..." She choked out with a sob, tears flowing down her cheeks. "Y-You're g-g-gonna b-be so mad a-and hate m-me." She buried her face into her hands as she sobbed. Crying even harder when Leo pulled her into his arms.

"Love no, I could never ever be mad at you. Let alone hate you." He gently picked her up and carried her over to the bed. Sitting down and setting her on his lap as he comforted her. Gently rubbing her back as she cried into his plastron. Slowly getting her to calm down.

She sniffled as she stared at his neck, lightly tracing random shapes on his plastron. Unable to look him in the eye.

"Y/N....could you please tell me what this is all about.." He felt her tense up in his arms once again. "Its okay Y/N...I'm not going to be mad.." He gently kissed the apex of her head.

They both sat in silence for a few minutes before Y/N worked up the courage to speak. "I...I-I..." Leo didn't say anything, he just rubbed her back. Encouraging her to continue. "I went behind your back....a-and have been training with Master Splinter..."

Leo's eyes widened, most defiantly having not expected that. "What?"

Y/N whimpered and buried herself further into the turtle. "I-I k-know you said you d-didn't want me to start any serious training b-b-but..." Her voice closed off as tears started to well up in her eyes once again.

"But what love..?" He cooed softly in her ear. No trace of anger or betrayal was found in his voice. It gave her to courage to continue.

"B-but I c-couldn't just be satisfied with the basic training you taught me. It was all just simple techniques to be able to slip away and run...and...it wasn't enough." Y/N pulled away just enough to look up at him. "Yeah, those techniques worked whenever we were in a pinch but...having to leave you guys behind to fight the fight...." Her gaze dropped back down to his plastron, letting everything that she felt out. "Hopeless, worthless, and useless...the list can go on and on with how it made me feel. To know that I couldn't do anything more and that that's all you thought I would ever be capable of doing."

Leo's heart dropped as he looked down at her. How could he have done this, he had only meant to protect her from harm. But here he was, hurting her so much that she feared to tell him about something so small. He pulled her closer into his arms, nuzzling his face into her hair. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. I'm so, so sorry.  You are capable of so much more than that. I never meant to make you feel that way." He gently kissed the top of her head once more. "I just....was afraid that once your started to learn how to fight, then it meant you were now really apart of everything that I want to protect you from."

"But I'm already apart of it Leo," She said softly, wrapping her arms around his neck. "The moment I meet you guys, I became apart of your life. Whether I know how to fight or not."

He sighed softly, "I know....I just... "

Y/N nuzzled his cheek, "I know...."

They sat in silence for a while, just holding one another. Both lost in their own thoughts,

"If you'd like..." Leo said, breaking the silence.

"Hm?" She replied, pulling away enough to look up at him. Finally being able to meet his gaze without fear.

"I can help and train with you....I know how tough Master Splinter can be." He gave a gentle smile, resting his forehead on hers.

A smile pulled at her lips. "I'd really like that...and Leo?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you..."

His smile grew, " I love you too."

[etoilesdephan]

Be alright | Chapter One

Summary:

He never loved her anyway, so why was he so torn up about the break-up? And then there was this man who offered a listening ear and a free drink...

Read it on ao3!

A/N: It's been over a year since my last work, but look who's back!

This work started as a small fun thing that I used to get snippets of inspiration out. As I kept working on it, however, I realised that this was something that I wanted to do justice to. This story is a mixture of random inspiration and personal experiences, and I will update it slowly since I don't have that much free time these days. On top of that, I realised that the reason why I stopped posting was also because I pushed myself too hard with my last fic and I am learning from my mistakes to bring you a well-loved story this time around.

Enjoy!

=====

“I know you love her,” A voice that he barely paid any attention to said, ''But it's over, mate.'' There was a pat on his shoulder, bringing Dan back to reality and he brought his head up but his eyes were still staring at the depths of the drink that he was nursing. He nodded half-heartedly before swinging it back. The alcohol stung his throat and he could feel it soon settle in the pit of his stomach with a warmth that only strong liquor could bring.

“Yeah, I know,” He finally looked up properly, his brown eyes searching for his friend's greens only to find the other man eyeing a girl across the room who looked away shyly before whispering to her friends.

Any other time Dan would have hackled his friend, say - wasn't he there to console Dan? After all, it was him who was just broken up barely days ago. Instead, he motioned towards the girl, and laughed under his breath, ''Go get her, tiger.''

“Nah mate, I'm here for you,” Mike turned back to the counter, although his eyes lingered on the girl.

“I'll be fine,” Dan retorted though his voice didn't seem as convincing as he wanted it to be. “I'm serious. Go chat her up. I'll be right here,” He motioned towards the bar in front of himself that he had been sitting at for the past hour, an hour that made his ass hurt on the wooden stool, but he was getting a bit buzzed after a couple of drinks, so he couldn't really care less for it.

“If you're sure...” Mike seemed reluctant still, so Dan laughed again and nodded, ''You're shit at giving me advice anyways.''

Mike grinned at that, punching Dan's shoulder lightly, ''Asshole.''

“Right back at you, mate,” The insult was easily returned and Dan ushered his friend away. He briefly followed with his eyes as Mike approached the table and as soon as he waved at the girls, Dan turned back towards the bartender, ''Another one, on the rocks.”

“Put it on my tab,” A voice that Dan didn't recognise suddenly appeared as suddenly as the stranger who took Mike's seat. “And another one for me,” The strange man pushed what looked like a cocktail glass towards the bartender before turning to Dan. “I couldn't help but overhear,” The man smiled sheepishly and Dan tried to return the smile though he felt his face turn red; he didn't exactly enjoy being overheard over his sorrows, “Sorry about the breakup, but hey, you'll find your soulmate one day and it'll be alright, all the heartache will be worth it.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Dan mumbled and his fingers wrapped around the scotch glass, awkwardly pulling it closer to himself.

It was silent for a moment, until the other man's drink arrived, bright orange and red with a slice of orange sticking from the glass. “Cheers,” The stranger brought the drink up, smiling at Dan so brightly that his eyes formed crinkles and Dan could only wonder how long did this man spend smiling every day.

“Cheers,” He offered a small smile to the kind stranger, clinking his glass of dark amber against the sunrise in the stranger's glass.

As they sipped, the chatter of the bar surrounded them, the volume of it growing in Dan's ears until it was almost too much.

“I'm Phil, by the way,” The stranger who now had a name regarded Dan with another smile and there was something so open and friendly that without long hesitation, Dan found his lips forming the words in return, “I'm Dan, and I'm about to become an alcoholic.”

Catching the joking edge in the deadpan reply, Phil laughed, sticking his tongue out a little in the process before taking another sip. “I'd recommend that maybe for one night only.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Dan sighed into his glass before another sip of the scotch found its way to his lips, and he swallowed the fire willingly, trying to ignore the nagging memory of how she used to laugh at his jokes. How they had met during the last year of University, at a party while Dan was having a breather on the balcony, tired out by the neverending beat of the music and people enjoying life before the real adult life kicked in and grounded them. She was the picture perfect, with her blonde hair and warm grey eyes, smooth face that carried the most genuine smiles. The way her voice rang, pouring unfamiliar warmth into Dan's chest as she laughed at his joke about contemplating jumping the balcony and running away from real life to live as a forever university student. And how that laughter had subsided until Dan couldn't even recall when he had last heard her laugh anymore. How that warmth had turned cold, looking past Dan as if she lived in another universe. Far away from Dan.

How she began smoking, excusing it with the stress from her job, her kisses turning from sweet to ashen.

“Hey, it'll be alright, Dan,” He was drawn back to reality by a touch to his arm, and he looked up meeting Phil's eyes that were surprisingly soft for their cool colour. He swallowed, his throat painful with the hurt in his heart trying to spill, and nodded. “Nothing heals the past like time,” Phil murmured and only then did Dan realise that the other man had leaned in close and was speaking quietly, his breath ghosting over Dan's face just barely. But before Dan could react or realise, Phil had leaned away, letting his hand pull away. Instead he latched onto the slim body of his cocktail's glass, his demeanour asking for another sip soon.

“You know what's the worst part?” Dan asked, nursing his own drink in his hands, once he had managed to tear his eyes away from this unusual stranger. Dan found himself at ease, almost trusting, but it might have been the alcohol.

“Hm?” Phil hummed in question, his lips touching on the sunrise drink and rendering him speechless momentarily.

“This is stupid,” Dan laughed weakly, staring at the thin coating of the alcohol against the clear glass as he swirled his drink around. It looked oily though nothing about the drink felt so. On the contrary, all the dirt he felt in his soul felt sterilised and cleared away with it. “I'm not even entirely sure if I loved her.” With that he took a swig, the burning in is throat familiar, the way it settled in the pit of his stomach had become a norm already, his mind felt lifted and his lips a bit looser than he could remember them ever being whilst sober.

There was a moment of hesitation but it flew by Dan unnoticed, the tender buzz in his brain lifting his consciousness somewhere in near parallel with his existence on the bar stool. He didn't notice the way Phil opened his mouth as if to ask something only to press the glass against his mouth again, pouring a bit of slushy yellow and red down his throat.

“How come?” Finally Phil questioned after perhaps too long. To Dan it only sounded like a strange man who hadn't expected a true heart to heart from a heartbroken bloke he'd bought a clearly-needed drink for.

Instead of a reply however, Dan just shook his head, muttering something that even he didn't understand. Instead he finished his drink, letting the half-melted ice cube clank loudly against the edges before he set the glass down. “I need to take a leak,” He concluded unceremoniously and got up, trying his best not to show that he was getting quite tipsy and that apparently he had been sitting too long and all the blood rushed to his legs. His vision blurred and he grabbed onto the bar to hold himself upright as things got incredibly fuzzy for a moment before it began to clear again. Only when he came to it did he notice that he was supported by a pair of arms wrapped around him awkwardly and Phil's voice right by his ear mixing with that of Mike who had appeared next to the duo at some point unexpectedly.

“Dan? Are you okay?”

“Mate, geez, how much did you drink, I was gone only for a moment--”

“He had only one more and suddenly...”

Dan blinked hard and while regaining his full footing, accidentally leaned into Phil, who, he realised, was surprisingly as tall as Dan, which seemed to help with holding Dan upright. “I'm fine, I just got up too fast,” He tried to tell the two men off, only to feel Phil's grasp tightened around him momentarily before easing.

“I think it's about time we got you home,” Mike, seemingly having forgotten all about his earlier endeavours, piqued in. Dan wanted to protest, say - he really wasn't that drunk and it really was just the damn blood flow that didn't seem to work well with his height, but the two men around him seemed to have made up their minds already.

“I know it's not my place, but… Let me know when you get him home?” Phil sounded genuinely concerned, quickly scribbling his number on a napkin and extending it towards Mike who nodded and quickly pocketed it. Despite Dan's protest, his shorter but noticeably stronger friend began to pull him away.

Dan only managed to give a quick wave to Phil before he lost the sight of the man, who now looked completely lost at the bar.

=====

He hadn't drank that much, he was certain of it, but his head disagreed and his mouth felt like it hadn't known a single drop of water in years. Dan groaned, turning over, searching for his phone. Once he found it, he opened one eye, ready to squirm and shut it again when the phone light would go off, but it never did and instead a sad low battery symbol was all he was greeted with.

He dropped his phone on the bed and stiffly pushed himself to get out of bed, all of his joints complaining as if they had gotten exercise instead of several doses of poison.

His house looked empty. Granted, it was a small apartment while he was in between jobs and after breaking up, but there were still boxes littering the floor that he hadn’t bothered to unpack, and his fridge only had some premade meals in it because most of his kitchenware had been hers and he hadn’t gotten around to replacing the missing pieces yet. Nevertheless, it was his. Alone.

It took two painkillers and about a glass and a half before Dan found himself lounging on the living room sofa, one leg down on the floor with the other swung over the armrest, eyes closed as he tried to will the pain and spinning in his head away.

With his eyes closed, however, his thoughts played scenarios in his mind’s eye. At one point it was her again, the way she had hesitated when Dan had questioned about the cigarettes; as much as e hated them, he’d grown familiar with her purchases. Yet, that time was different, and as she set them on the kitchen counter, she didn’t even try to excuse herself with lies, as if this was all an elaborate setup for what she wanted to tell him.

Of course there was somebody else.

It was with a stir that Dan awoke next, blinking bleary at the world that finally was only a sleepy haze. His spine was stiff from the awkward position he’d dozed off in, and he could hear the series of pops when he stretched, only to hear the deep rumble in his stomach joining them soon after.

‘’Ugh,’’ His mouth felt gross, so he plugged his phone to charge and scoured the bathroom for some toothbrush and paste. Still brushing, he returned to his phone, turning it on to order some delivery food. Instead, as soon as the screen woke up, he was greeted with various notification buzzes and popups. Usually he would have ignored them if not for texts from an unknown number.

‘Hey, Mike gave me your number after he dropped you off’

‘I mean, I assume it was after that, since he texted me that you had made home safely’

‘Anyways, just wanted to check in with you that you’re doing fine’

‘Oh, this is Phil btw’

‘I think I have sent you too many messages already, sorry about that. No pressure to reply, I just didn’t get to say bye properly last night’

Dan stared at the messages and the picture of the stranger turned an odd acquaintance came back to him. Phil has been welcoming, not overly pushy, had felt trustworthy though Dan knew part of it was due to the alcohol in his system most likely. He had seemed like an alright bloke, full of smiles, even when he wasn’t smiling, and a good banter but also letting Dan to speak.

‘’Swhwith--’’ He jumped when he felt a bit of water and toothpaste dribble down his chin and quickly wiped it away with the back of his hand. A quick rinse in the bathroom and he was back at his phone, thumbs hovering above the reply text field, thinking before he began typing, trying hard not to drop his phone on his face in the process.

‘hey phil, this is dan. but you already knew that… anyways, thanks for yesterday, i needed an ear to vent to, clearly.’

‘and yeah i’m good, or as good as someone who drank a bit too much could feel. hope your night was as exciting as me nearly passing out.’

He paused for a moment, though they had been pretty good at understanding what was a joke in person, something bugged him about the blankness of the message.

‘that was a joke…. partially’

He barely locked his screen when his phone came back to life with another text.

‘Thanks for the clarification, I would have never known.’

Dan smiled, clearly catching the sarcastic vibe.

‘But hey, assuming that you don’t live 5h away from London, do you wanna meet for a coffee? I think both of us could use some right now.’

Dan pursed his lips in thought for a moment; he barely knew the guy, had spilled his sob story to him within an hour of meeting him, and yet the guy was still interested in talking to him.

It had taken barely a week after the breakup that Dan realised just how closely their lives had been tied together. Friends dropped off like flies, either ghosting him, or outright being cold. He hadn’t even realised that up until that point that after graduation all of his friends had been hers, befriending him by proxy. And just like that, with her gone, so were the others, and Dan was left with a work buddy turned friend, one to go to pubs with and drink sorrows away while Mike could find himself a new bird of his own.

‘sure’ He typed out and thought for a moment before adding ‘but you are paying, since i now have to leave the house’ Somehow he felt like he could be cheeky with this man.

‘I never intended it to be anything else.’

[multiphandomunnies]

Warm up||Sua

Requested: Uhh can I get a little scenario with either DC's SuA or Handong, "umm I can come back later if you want me to, I mean..." With the reader crushing really hard on them?

Admin: Heather

A/N: It took me WAY to long to fill this prompt, but here it is! (Pst.. I will do it also for Handong ❤)

"It will be fun!" Your friend assured, dragging you towards the gym. She kept talking about signing you up for a yoga class for two weeks now and you finally let her take you there.

"I guess." You mumbled unconvinced. "Since when are you so keen on exercising?"

She didn't answer immediately and a blush colored her cheeks. Interesting.

"There's this girl I met on a party..."

Of course it was about some hot girl. Your friend has been moping about being single and miserable for ages.

"She attends the class?" You asked.

"She is the instructor."

You turned to her with raised eyebrows. So you were just a lame third wheel that had to suffer extreme muscle stretching while your friend thirsted over the instructor. Typical.

"Oh come on, Y/N. Don't look at me like that!" She huffed defensively. You just rolled your eyes and kept walking. After a minute, you found the locker room and changed quickly into workout clothes. You didn't even want to think about the pain you will feel on the next day.

"Maybe you will find someone interesting here as well." Your friend tried to convince you and save the remains of her desperate dignity.

"Yeah, sweaty dudes in too tight shots. Amazing." You responded sarcastically.

You finally got to the training room and took a yoga mat. Your friend couldn't stop talking about the benefits yoga had for body and soul as if she didn't attend the class only because of a hot instructor. Zoning out, you planned an escape route when two girls entered the room and your breath stopped for a moment.

"She's beautiful, right?" Your friend whispered as a tall girl greeted everyone and introduced herself to the new participants.

"Hi everyone! I'm Minji, but you can call me Jiu. Thank you for coming today." Her smile was dazzling and you had to agree with your lovestruck friend. Jiu was crazy beautiful. However you couldn't take your eyes away from the other girl.

"You didn't tell me Bora worked here!" You whispered back. Your friend's eyes got wide when she realised that Jiu's companion was your longtime crush.

"I had no idea, Minji was our only instructor..." she quickly explained.

Jiu smiled warmly at everyone and motioned towards for her friend to come closer. Bora took a graceful step forward and bowed a little with a laugh.

"I'm Bora, but most people call me Sua. I will be your co-instructor today." She informed in a confident tone that seemed too big for her tiny frame.

"Sua usually teaches the fitness class, but she agreed to help me today. We have many new members, so we'll have to split into two groups." Jiu explained.

You stood there frozen as the instructor divided everyone. The newbies were told to follow Sua to a different room, while more experienced people stayed to train with Minji. Your friend was over the moon because of that.

"Have fun!" She shouted with a wink and you wanted to rub that smug smirk off her face. Now you had to exercise for who knows how long with your crush watching. Amazing.

The room was smaller as your group had less members than the advanced one. Sua put her own mat on the ground and stood in front of you all.

"As Jiu told you, I usually teach fitness. So I'm definitely not a pro." She informed with another giggle and everyone smiled with her. Her laugh was so contagious, you had to join in. "We'll learn together."

You shruddered a bit at her words. You could only dream about any "together" with Sua and now you were in the same room, exercising together.

She started with some simple breathing techniques and basic stretching. You tried to focus on your inner voice or something like that and stop looking at her beautiful features. Closing your eyes helped with that and you breathed in and out. You were almost there when two small hands appeared on your shoulders, making you tense.

"You are way to focused." Sua's low whisper rang in your ear. "Just relax, Y/N."

It was hard to relax when you could still feel her burning touch after said your name like that. And how did she know it in the first place?

The rest of the class passed on trying some basic positions and more stretching. You tried to get Bora out of your head and stay proffesional, but it was difficult when she was stretching on the mat in front of you. Who knew she was so darn flexible?

"Okay, we should end for today!" Sua finally stood up smoothly and looked at the group with a small smile. Everyone was tired and covered in sweat, but you had to admit the class was entertaining. Not only because of the pleasant view.

Everyone thanked Bora for guidance and she took another bow with a loud laugh. You reluctantly left the room, dazzled by her laugh. However your daydream was quickly interrupted by a body colliding with yours.

"How was it?!" Your friend squealed into your ear and grabbed your arm. You glared at her a bit, but couldn't make it intimidating when a soft smile lingered on your face. "Damn, Sua got you good."

You smacked her and she protested innocently, as if she wasn't teasing you seconds earlier. She was right unfortunately. You were attracted to Sua for almost a year now, ever since you borrowed notes from her for a Chemistry test and she told you that "Chemistry can mean a lot of things". Needless to say, you had no chance with a girl like her.

"Crap." Your friend suddenly stopped in her tracks. "I left my water bottle there."

You rolled your eyes at her as she looked at you with puppy eyes.

"Please, Y/N. Get it for me!" She asked. "I can't make an idiot out of myself in front of Jiu."

You agreed with a sigh and moved back towards the room she trained in before. Opening the door, you froze. Minji was nowhere in sight, but Bora stood in front of the mirror and stretched. You felt like a creep watching her like this, but you had to take that freaking bottle.

"Oh, Y/N. I didn't see you there." Sua said nonchalantly and continued pulling her tone leg up, head leaning on the mirror. "Jiu let me use her room. It's much bigger than mine."

You nodded dumbly and felt more awkward with every moment. Sua was stretching her leg impossibly and it was torture to keep your eyes away.

"I-I came here to get my friend's bottle. Umm, I can come back later if you want me to. I mean.. " you took a deep breath. "I don't want to interrupt."

Sua let out a low hum and put her leg down. She turned to you and sized you up with her piercing gaze. It left like the room got suddenly hotter.

"Maybe you can help me?" She suggested with a small smile. You looked at her cluelessly.

"Um, I can try? But.." Sua nodded and motioned you to come closer. You obeyed, because who were you to deny her anything.

"Just pull my leg up as much as you can." She requested simply and put her hand on the wall.

You almost tripped while standing. Guess she didn't consider it awkward, you two knew each other after all and Bora was never the one for shame.

Not wanting to keep her waiting, you carefully put your palm on her knee and put some pressure to bend it upwards. It was a struggle to keep your eyes away respectfully. Especially when Sua kept telling you to keep going.

"Good." She finally stated. "Hold it like this."

You did as she ordered and decided that avoiding looking at her would seem like you were ashamed to properly look at a girl. So you strategically moved your eyes to a safe area that wouldn't make you a pervert. Glancing at her arched back seemed like a safe bet. Just ignore how tight her outfit was.

"Did you like the class?" Sua took you by surprise with a question. You noticed she was staring right at your face in the mirror. Well, you were screwed. "I've never seen you here before."

It took you a minute to compose yourself.

"Yeah, yoga was never my thing. It was my first. Class! My first class." You blurted out like a disaster you were. Bora nodded a little.

"Well, lucky me to be your first. Teacher." You could swear she smirked at you as you blushed furiously and your hold on her leg weakened a bit.

In a blur she was standing on both legs, her face inches from yours. You stood there like a deer in headlights and almost not breathing.

"Maybe you are more of a fitness person." She wondered in a low tone. "It's more dynamic."

"M-maybe." You stuttered.

"So, we will see each other more often?" She inquired in the same tone, her gaze never leaving your eyes. You just nodded mechanically.

"Good." How could a simple word make you feel like that. "I can teach you much more in my class."

"Can't wait." You managed to say and something like approval shined in Sua's eyes. And then she turned around and walked towards the door. Your eyes followed her in awe, everything getting hazy.

"Y/N." Her voice make you snap back to reality. She stood in the door frame, her gaze much more playful. "Don't forget your water."

She winked and slid out to the corridor. You could finally let out a deep breath that you were holding. Sua was right. Yoga wasn't intense enough for you.

[sailor-cresselia]

The Great Ex-Aid Rewatch: Eps 07-08

...so I guess I’m liveblogging my notes now. This is a thing that’s happening.

Eh. It’ll let me keep easier access to them if I do this, so I might as well.

-

You wanna know something that’s driving me up a wall with regards to the early OP? Kiriya is entirely in white. Like, Emu is in his red pants and yellow shirt under his coat, and at least Hiiro and Taiga get to have their darker pants and shirts underneath their coats, but Kiriya is in just white. It’s super disconcerting.

...actually, Taiga’s ‘action’ shot of him twirling his gashat looks like it could have come from his episode zero special, since he’s clearly wearing dark purple scrubs under the white coat, and it’s in that same alley that they had him doing the simulation in. Huh.

But Kiriya. White leather jacket. White, normal length pants. Super disconcerting.

–––

I love how sometimes, like here on the beach against the two collabos bugsters and ‘the black ex-aid’, you can tell that those transformation cutscenes are actually happening!

Like, sometimes after a Brave level up sequence, you’ll see him stepping down and putting his arms down from his door-opening pose. And here we have Ex-Aid dropping down from mid-air, now wearing the Gekitotsu Robots armor. It’s a nice touch.

–

…okay, so. It’s not just an issue with Google Translate that keeps turning ‘bugster’ into ‘bug star’ when materials for Ex-Aid get auto-translated. Toei does it themselves. The English sub-heading on the report Kiriya reads to Jungo says ‘Grade confidential report of the bug star virus infection by Ministry of Health’. I’d thought it might be G.Translate having issues like it does with names, but apparently not. (How many ways can the auto-translate try to write gashat? Who knows? It’s about as many different ways as it can try to write Emu’s name.)

Speaking of this scene… Kiriya used to wear normal clothes!

Well, he used to wear non-floral buttonups, anyway. And intact pants, though they were still rolled up to a capri length, the same way his tattered jeans are. The shoes are the same, and he’s wearing a regular labcoat – and properly, he’s using the sleeves and everything!

–

So. Parad. As anyone who has seen my writing knows, I hecking LOVE Parad and all the potential he brings to the table.

In Episode 3, he showed up to tell Graphite to chill, and dared Taiga to collect all the gashats. He and Graphite teleported out – right after Graphite told Parad that he’s weird – and Emu showed up chasing the patient of the day.

Episode 7. The Lazer vs. Genm Black Ex-Aid fight. Kiriya launches a finisher, a veritable storm of arrows. KUROTO AIN’T DOING SO HOT. He’s getting hit by a lot of energy arrows, right up until Parad NYOOMS in behind the smokescreen of fire.

Like, literally zooms into frame – not even a teleport, there’s a motion blur that’s in the shape of his silhouette there.

He holds up ONE HAND and blocks the remainder of the arrows.

And he smirks. Didn’t seem to even really be bothered by the fire and energy hitting against the general area – because it wasn’t hitting him. It was all being blocked just before it made it to him.

He bought Kuroto enough time to get out of there before the smoke cleared, and Kuroto was already detransforming when Parad stepped in.

(…oh man, the attack was still ongoing at that point… If Parad hadn’t interfered, Kiriya might have accidentally killed the guy he was trying to expose a few years early.)

So. With that said…

Parad clearly has shielding abilities, and as far as I know, none of the other bugsters have that.

Graphite has his fire attacks, and Lovelica has his. Er. Mind control. (Because of course the otome game has mind control.) But Poppy gets free transformation between her bugster and human guises, and the other two seem to need a bugvisor to either stabilize or access their ‘monster’ forms, despite being the other two complete bugsters.

Parad, who is technically ‘incomplete’, never came directly after the Riders until he had his Gashat Gear Dual.

What could he have done if he had an offensive skill?!

And doesn’t it just make sense that, without a fully realized game of his own, Parad gets most of his makeup from Emu? Because whether you place him as originally being the bugster from Mighty Action C or from Emu’s original idea for Mighty Brothers… neither of those games were finished. They were a demo or hadn’t moved past the concept stage, respectively. He doesn’t have a defined source material to draw powers from.

So, the bugster that would eventually be known as Parad, whether we say he was really there like he claims, or if he’s just… using Emu’s memories as if they were his own, still gets most of his identity from an eight-year-old.

One who, not long after being infected, was hit by a car.

It makes sense that his imaginary friend would have the ability to stop that, doesn’t it?

Emu and Parad do share the drowning imagery, after all. We see it more with Parad, but… down the road, when Emu is describing how scared he was after being hit? They use that same drowning shot, but with eight-year-old Emu. After it was used for Parad.

–

Back on track to episode 7, there’s also how, at this point, Parad has just jointly ruined Kiriya’s credibility and protected Kuroto’s identity as The Dark Ex-Aid. Kiriya, Hiiro, and Emu have all seen him in the vicinity of/being not-Genm, and Taiga saw him with Graphite in episode 3.

So, after he teleports away here, all four of our main riders have seen him in association with the bugsters, and have seen him teleport. AKA, they all know he’s a bugster.

They just have no idea who he is yet.

–––

Episode 8

So, the first half or so of the episode is pretty much standard fare – patient, bugster, Taiga being a dick, etc.

When Emu asks if Taiga’s holding the patient hostage in order to get his and Hiiro’s gashats? Taiga doesn’t answer.

Because he’s not holding him hostage. Taiga fully intends to destroy the bugster whether or not they show up – but he’d prefer to get the gashats first. Two birds, one stone. This is a simpler way to get them all at once.

–

You know, I’m still not sure if Zero Day, when numerous people were lost, is the same day as when Saki died. What Hiiro says implies it was, but we never really get a good description of when it happened. It’s clearly around the same time, since in Episode Zero, Kuroto said that they would ‘stop propagating the virus for now,’ after it was already a forgone conclusion that Taiga wouldn’t be able to save Saki. But does that mean that there were numerous other people who died that same night? I’ve never been able to tell.

(At least ep 4 finally showed me the confirmation of when Kiriya blackmailed his way into getting a Driver – three years before the show, and thus two years after Zero Day. Jungo died on Zero day in an ‘accident,’ so Kiriya had been living with that guilt, and with knowing about the bugster virus, for two years before he first confronted Kuroto. Interesting.)

–

Parad: (To Kuroto) Okay, so, I know you designed the protogashats and all, and they’re super powerful, which is awesome. But why the hell are you still using that thing? You’re gonna kill yourself.

…Hm. When Parad starts off, saying how the protogashats are powerful, he’s looking at his game, and smiling. When he mentions that Kuroto’s using one, he starts to set his game aside. When he says that it’ll destroy him… he turns and looks directly at Kuroto. With an incredibly judgemental look.

Learn from Taiga and Kuroto’s examples, kids. Don’t use protogashats.

(For the record, Excite’s translation of the line is “you’ll end up destroying yourself”, and RTA’s is “it will ruin your body.” Those are… slightly different implications, guys.)

… Kuroto why is your phone ORANGE.

–

Taiga: Oh, good, you two showed up after all.

Emu: I’m just here to save the patient.

Hiiro: I’m here to kick your ass, Hanaya.

Taiga: The one to get all the gashats… will be me.

–

…hold on.

Hold on a minute.

Taiga wanted to be the only Kamen Rider so that nobody else would have to suffer the way he did. But there was – theoretically, anyway – only the one protogashat when he was first active. They only ‘recently’ were able to get ten – and Taiga’s been out of the loop for five years. We were told about the ‘collect all ten’ aspect by Poppy, who’s been allied with the MoH and ‘good’ Kuroto.

Taiga… was dared. By Parad, who was with Graphite.

Would Taiga be using this same method if it weren’t for Parad? Would he be trying to take all the gashats by force if it hadn’t been told to him by the guy who was with his arch-enemy?

Yes, he doesn’t want anyone else to be a Rider. But nobody else seems to care about the collect ‘em all aspect they’ve been told about – Kiriya went for Giri Giri Chambara because he needed LEGS, but it was also about 50% incidental. Hiiro is dead set on being the only rider because he doesn’t think anyone else is qualified. Not to say he’s wrong, since he is the only one of the four who’s supposed to be here, but he’s also being an ass about it. Emu would just very much prefer that nobody die, thanks.

Would Taiga be so concerned with getting all of the gashats to keep the others out if he hadn’t spoken to Parad?

–

Hiiro has a lot less… skill as a Rider than the other four, doesn’t he? If a tactic he’s trying doesn’t work, he doesn’t try something else – he just keeps trying the same one again. I know that’s probably a surgeon habit – do it the same each time, to minimize the chance of error. But these ‘operations’ are anything but standard. Each and every other one of the Riders is able to improvise. Hiiro picks up on it a little more, by the time we hit the 20’s, but never to the extent of the others.

Here in ep 8, he tries using a boosted attack with the Doremifa Beat turntable – scratching it once or twice, and trying to use the sword beam. Over and over. Taiga dodges each and every attack. Everyone else varies their techniques, even just a little. Taiga’s always made good use of the multiple modes of his assorted firearms. Genm has his assorted OP weaponry – currently, Shakariki Sports and the Bugvisor’s chainsaw mode. Once Kiriya gained actual limbs, he’s damned good with the scythe mode and the bow and arrow mode of the Gashacon Sparrow. And Emu. Well, Emu is Emu, and has made good use of the Gashacon Breaker’s sword and hammer modes since day one, as well as the energy items and general genre savvy with regards to who they’re fighting.

I think it’s a little telling that during fights where nobody is being particularly targeted, Hiiro is often the first to go down. Kiriya spent episode 6 unconscious in the hospital because Kuroto singled him out for a beat down in episode 5, and that’s the only reason he was the first out of the ep 5 fight. Then it was Hiiro, and then Taiga.

Either Hiiro withdraws first out of safety concerns, as in episode 3, or he goes down first, as seen here in episode 8 against Taiga.

–

And then here comes the curveball. Once Taiga’s beaten Emu and Hiiro, we get a mirror conversation both there, and with Kiriya and Kuroto on what it means to use a Gamer Driver.

Taiga throws Hiiro for a loop, one that’s not helped by Emu having exactly zero idea what he’s talking about.

Kuroto throws Kiriya a nice little distraction, to keep the heat off of himself.

–

Learn from Taiga and Kuroto’s examples, kids. Don’t use protogashats. And DEFINITELY don’t use them like Graphite!

[arcticmaggie]

Donut Shop (Pt. 2)

Y/N sees Harry and prays that he sees her as well.

Part 1

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Just like, a BUNCH of tension leading up to a cliffhanger?? Idk I’m cruel and won’t let Y/N get her fairy tale (not yet, at least) 

A/N: Okay listen this was tough to write because there’s a lot of time lapses and idk how to write the transitions for em so like BARE WITH ME. Also I rlly don’t know how to calm down with the italics and the run on sentences but I feel like it adds to the tension and the ongoing stroke Y/N is having. THERE WILL BE ANOTHER ONE, POSSIBLY THE LAST PART BUT IDK DEPENDS ON IF I WANT THE ENDING TO BE AMBIGUOUS OR KEEP IT GOING INTO AN ACTUAL FULL FANFIC AHHH

-

She's shaking. Her hand is legitimately shaking.

It's been 10 hours since Y/N had almost died from shock of meeting Harry and squabbling with him and she is still having a bit of trouble trying to calm down. Of course, this is now because of a different reason.

She's going to see Harry live in concert in 2 hours! She's going to pretend like as if she hadn't just interacted with him for more than 10 seconds that same morning! She's not going to pull it off!

But really, she knows she can't actually say anything because A) how would she explain to Abby that the man up on stage before them had already touched her in ways that Abby would never have dreamed of being touched (sounds intense, but seriously, how often is it that the man of your dreams touches your shoulder?) and B) Harry had clearly been trying to steer away from gaining attention, so it would kinda be a dick move to go ahead and tell everyone about it.

But Y/N knows herself, so she knows it's going to take everything in her not to blabber about having Harry Styles pay for her ham and cheesy.

Maybe Abby won't react that bad? I mean, she's known Y/N since Midnight Memories came out and they gushed over their mutual love for One Direction online (and they met two years later). And Abby has already interacted with Harry on Twitter, with a reply and a follow. So maybe talking to him in real life won't be much of a scandal to her and she'll understand.

So yeah, Y/N decides with a deep breath and a swipe of her contour brush against her face that she'll tell her best friend about it as soon as she arrives at her house. Which would be in an hour and a half, so Y/N had plenty of time to hyperventilate until the time came.

-

She takes about an hour to finish her makeup after the mini pep talk, even though she was already halfway done. But that was because she spent half that time glaring at her hand to stop shaking. Really, you would think she'd be okay by now. She's a 20 year old girl with a job and her own apartment; this is supposed to mean she's really good at handling stressful situations.

But once she sprays her finishing spray on her face and combs her fingers through her hair, she begins to panic. Surely, she would be able to calm down once more in the 30 minutes she had left, but after 10 of them, she receives a text and she absolutely loses it.

Girlie I got out of work early so I’ll be there in 5 !!! ((:

Jesus Christ she's going to vomit.

She feels like she's about to tell her mom about the time she gave their next door neighbor head during their Easter barbecue in the bathroom.

But it's just Abby, it's just her best friend, and she hears a car pull up and shut off and she gasps for breath.

She doesn't feel her feet dragging her towards the front door, she doesn't feel her hand yank her door open as Abby walks up the path with a small jolt in her step with the sudden sound, and she definitely doesn't feel her mouth open as soon as she lays eyes on her.

“Harry Styles thinks I'm a proper knob.”

Abby immediately furrows her eyebrows together but a smile peeks out from her lips as she lazily pushes Y/N to the side so she can walk in and head straight towards the bedroom.

“How are you this delusional, 2 hours before the show? I would have thought you would start talking funny once we reached the building.” She sets her backpack down on the makeup vanity along with her bag of Jimmy Johns (she always gets hungry when she's doing her makeup for some reason) before turning back around to a silent Y/N who had wordlessly followed behind her.  

Which is weird, Abby thinks, because Y/N really never learns how to shut up unless it's something very important holding her back. So she stares at her while Y/N stares back with a very anxious face and she realizes that whether it's true or not, Y/N meant what she said. And that worries Abby, so she huffs out a breath as she plops down on the vanity bench and pulls out her makeup while munching on a fry.

“Okay, you have the time I use doing my makeup and the car ride to the venue to tell me everything, so please think everything through before telling me.”

And Y/N takes it to heart. She recollects her words for a solid 15 minutes as she's spread out on her bed like an eagle and once she's finished she looks up. She sees Abby already done with her food and applying her highlighter, so she takes 5 more minutes to reorganize everything in her head again for a shortened version.

And so she begins. She spends about 10 minutes debriefing her horrible morning beforehand until Abby packs up her stuff and motions for her to follow her to the car to start their drive over to the Forum, where she spends the remaining half hour (which is more time than the actual minutes spent at the donut shop, ironically) gushing over Harry and his eyes and his lips and his hair and his cocky attitude and his touch and his money and everything that she couldn't process properly during that morning.

Abby stays quiet the entire time, only nodding along when Y/N pauses to see if she's understanding. And she even stays quiet as she parks the car in the designated parking lot and lets Y/N finish her rambling about the “absolutely dirty smirk he had on his face when he asked if it was a threat.”

So when Y/N finally stops and takes a well needed deep breath, she tries her hardest to piece together her conclusion of this situation.

“So, you're telling me, that there is a possibility that you will make eye contact with Harry tonight, and he will recognize you, and he will interact with you?”

And Y/N inhales so sharply because holy fuck, there actually is a chance of that. Their seats are so close to the B-stage and he'll walk up there and he will let his fans touch his hand and he will look at them and he might actually see her.

-

This thought brings the next hour into a blur.

She doesn’t remember standing in the merch line for 20 minutes for the yellow kiwi sweatshirt or walking through the metal detectors or scanning her ticket or buying a hotdog and eating it with extra mustard and relish or walking into the venue and sitting down in her seat with Abby right behind her. She doesn’t even pay attention to Kacey Musgraves and her set, which she didn’t do intentionally (she’s listened to entire repertoire specifically so she could jam out to her music before Harry comes out) but sitting here, 5 feet away from the B-stage has kept her out of touch from the entire world.

Doesn’t even hear the screams of everyone around her when Kacey leaves the stage and the lights turn back on for the 20 minute break in between sets.

It takes Abby giving her a really harsh nudge which Y/N cowers from and winces but she had it coming since she didn’t respond the first two times Abby tried to get her attention.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N, you’ve already met him yet you’re acting worse than me! I’ve never even come close to being in such proximity as him yet you’re the one ready to have a stroke!” Y/N pouts at the scolding but it brings her back into her own body. She knows Abby’s right, she’s already had more of relationship with Harry than most people in this building and she’s worrying about something that surely won’t happen. He’ll be caught up in his singing and talking to the rest of the crowd and he doesn’t even know she’ll be in that vicinity so it’s not like he’ll go out of his own way to look for her. He’s not going to notice her and it’s okay. She’s been fine with this mindset for years now, she can put up with it for many more.

And with this, she lets all her anxiety go. Even when the lights turn down and the Rubik’s cube pops up on screen and the monitor slides down to hide Harry’s entrance, she only screams with excitement and joy. Should we just search romantic comedies on Netflix and then see what we’ll find? is heard before the beginning of Only Angel and Y/N goes wild along with the entire venue as the monitor slides right back up and reveals him and he starts singing and it’s the best moment of her life and she completely forgets about everything before and focuses on now.

Well, until Harry wraps up on Meet Me in the Hallway and heads for the B-stage. All of a sudden, he’s climbing up the stairs with the rest of the band behind him and he uses the short seconds he has to accept the flowers fans are offering and thank them, making full eye contact with each and every one. It would be so easy for Y/N to shout his name, to shout out, “Harry it’s me! Ham and cheese girl!” It’d be so weird and he’s probably already forgotten about what happened and who she is because he’s a busy man and he has more important stuff to remember but she’d at least have a chance of catching his eye again.

But she sees his soft smile as he accepts the bouquet of roses the girl in front gives him and he turns around and sets it down, ushering in the rest of the gang as they all prepare to perform Sweet Creature. And he’s so beautiful, she can’t believe she’s able to be here and see him do what he loves doing and she feels the absolute joy he’s radiating. His eyebrows are furrowed as he tries to concentrate on this next song and he looks so determined to give a great show and she loves it, she loves him. So she shuts her mouth and she watches him with kind eyes as the rest of the fans around him quiet down as well.

And so he sings. First Sweet Creature, then If I Could Fly (Y/N begins to tear up), and then the lovely surprise of Girl Crush (that’s when she starts bawling). He’s always facing her direction throughout all three songs, and he looks up at some points into the crowd, surely only seeing a bunch of phones recording him. Abby was guilty of it as well but Y/N keeps hers in her pocket, relishing in the spotlight hitting only half of his and casting shadows on the other. His eyes always graze too quickly over where she’s seated and it irks her and makes her heart ache because yes she’s calmed down from her fantasy but he gets so close to setting eyes on her yet he doesn’t and it sucks.

She’s suddenly become so hurt by the idea of being unnoticed by him even after all these years of teaching herself not to be. She guesses that’s what happens when you get a small taste of something you can’t ever have.

Girl Crush ends, Harry finally leaves the B-stage to go back to the main stage and finish the rest of the show, and Y/N feels a tug on her heartstrings. She feels that her cheeks are wet and she begins to dab her tears away with the back of her hand, turning to Abby who was still recording Harry but with the turn of Y/N, she whips her phone around to record her instead. Y/N lets out a disgusting yet comical sniff through her nose and whimpers out, “I saw Harry’s sad excuse for a moustache with my own eyes and now I’m crying.”

Abby lets out a snort as she stops recording and turns back to Harry as he swings out his guitar and begins to play Anna, letting Y/N compose herself so she can continue jamming out. And of course, she does, for the next three songs, before he leaves the stage for a quick minute or two just to come back out and play the last three songs of the night (she can never understand why every artist has this in their setlist, and she laughs as Harry explains to the crowd that he doesn’t either).

From the Dining Table is beautiful and sad and The Chain is hardcore and exhilarating and then Harry plays Kiwi and Y/N is crying again because it’s the last song of the show and the last show of the tour and it’s heartbreaking.

And he has the audacity to play it again.

And the audacity to run down to B-stage once more.

He’s completely losing it and the crowd along with him but he’s so exhausted from the run and it’s so obvious that Y/N can’t help but laugh as he pants for breath. He turns towards her area as he brings the mic up to his mouth to continue the next few lines. He sees her.

He locks eyes with her and her amused eyes, raised eyebrows, and cackling laugh and he breaks into the biggest grin. He struggles to begin singing as he laughs along with her, joining in on his hilarious physical state and he adds in the line, “And I’m exhausted, I’m exhausted,” before finally turning away and running back to the mainstage.

Y/N had to take a huge swig of her water bottle and close her eyes for a good moment to make sure she didn’t legitimately pass out.

He finally noticed her. For a mere 4 seconds, he looked at her and he smiled at her and they laughed together. She was okay now. It wasn’t a conversation like she hoped it would be but he still acknowledged her presence and even though he didn’t explicitly say “I know you,” the way his face lit up when they made eye contact was enough for her to believe that he recognized her and she meant something to him.

He finishes off the song and fakes the crowd out as he eggs them on for another take and she hates herself. She hates that for a few minutes that morning she actually got angry with the way he teased her and decided that he was an asshole.

Sure, she can see him stick his tongue out and walk around with a shit eating grin as he hears the crowd go wild for a third rendition of Kiwi, but it doesn’t make him an asshole like she presumed. Just a cocky son of a bitch.

One who begins to sing Kiwi once again with the most tired posture a 24 year old man can have. Yet he continues to rock his body to the music and at one point drops down to his goddamn knees and rocks out on the floor. Yeah, Y/N concludes to herself, he’s hot and he’s fully aware of it.  

The concert ends and Abby is crying (well, everyone in the arena is full of tears), both watching CHASM bow for the final time before exiting the stage. And with that, the lights turn back on and it’s time to leave.

Y/N’s ears are ringing and the loud chatter of the audience comes out muffled to her hearing, and it makes her happy. Concerts have always been the best for her, whether it was the Jonas Brothers back in 2008 or Coldplay back in 2016; they’ve always found a place in her heart. And now she can add this to her list, along with the most memorable ham and cheesy run she’s ever had.

-

They arrive back home after about an hour of driving, though it only took them half of one earlier that day to get to the venue. But I mean, it’s LA traffic, even if it’s just a 20 mile distance. Besides, it gives their ears time to pop and gives them time to destress and let out all their emotions. And it gives Abby time to look through all the videos she took to post the best ones online.

One of them is the video of Y/N and her ugly crying and although Y/N absolutely cringes and begs her not to post it on Twitter, she does so anyway, with the caption “Why is Y/N the biggest mood of the night @username #HarryStylesForum” and Y/N’s annoyed but she’s just finished washing her face and changing into her PJ’s so she falls asleep before she could protest anymore.

-

She stays asleep with no disturbances for a good 7 hours. She was even having a lovely dream about Thanksgiving back at her parents’ home in San Diego and the roasted duck she was having was delicious. But she’s cut off from the mash potatoes and gravy when Abby’s phone goes off for the millionth time and continues to go off about 20 times in a row after she wakes up. She lets out a soft groan with her face smushed into her pillow and she swings her arm around to feel for Abby to wake her up so she has to deal with it as well. She stops once she hears her friend groan and shuffle through the bed sheets and Y/N tries to get comfortable again, already drifting back to sleep. And she’s almost there.

But then a very loud gasp is heard and a hand is slapping her shoulder hard and continuously and Y/N is far from going back to sleep.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. He replied to my tweet. Oh my god, Y/N, he replied to my tweet.” Okay, yeah, she’s fully awake now.

Y/N sits up in her bed with wide eyes as she peers over Abby’s shoulder to then squint at the bright screen of her phone, watching notifications flood in as accounts follow her, DM her, retweet her, and reply to her. Abby has her original tweet with the video of Y/N open for her to see before she slowly scrolls down a few centimeters to see Harry Styles’ reply, “I’m proud of this moustache, thank you very much.” And now Y/N is having flashbacks.

This is the second time around that he’s called her out in the last 24 hours and she’s felt her stomach drop for the second time as well. Except this time he’s plastered it all over Twitter for everyone to see. Oh, she can just imagine how many death threats she’s going to receive from the worst of fans that are going to take this banter seriously.

With the thought of it, she glances over to her phone that’s perched on her makeup vanity, that was switched to silent as soon as she set her phone down on it earlier that night. She could see the notification light flicker with a green tint (she has a Samsung, not an iPhone, which she is not ashamed of, by the way) above the phone screen, which means that she does, in fact, have Twitter notifications.

She drops her head back in exasperation and lets out another small groan as she wordlessly gets up to retrieve it, planning to block every single account that gives just a hint of negative attitude towards her choice of words. And she begins to do so, opening up the app and scrolling through the 14 DMs she’s already received in the last 5 minutes. Half of them were what she expected and she quickly blocked and reported them for wasting her time. But the other half were amused and were congratulating her on provoking him enough to defend himself, so she took her time to reply back with kind words and a thanks.

This takes her a while, so she climbs back in bed (she knows Abby won’t be able to sleep much after this so she might as well join her) and lays back down with her phone held up above her head (she lives life on the edge). She’s having a cute conversation with a nice girl named Lily when her phone buzzes once, announcing that she just received another DM. So she finishes up her reply and hopes that the next DM will be nice as well as she taps the back button and gazes to the top of the DM list.

Harry Styles. @Harry_Styles:

Ham and cheese girl :D

Holy mother fuck.