#and all are very meaningful to how open or repressed her heart is over the years IDK

[lavampira]

what if. what if I make a post of some rambles about d’alia’s romantic history soon.

[aspoonofsugar]

Ironwood and Cinder: The Final Word

Cinder: And that’s… checkmate.

The Final Word of the volume is Cinder’s and it is meaningful she says it to Ironwood.

As a matter of fact Ironwood and Cinder are two sides of the same coin on many levels. This is conveyed also structurally.

Volume 7 is mostly about Ironwood’s tragic spiral. We are shown him struggle with his flaw throughout the whole volume, but in the end he loses to it and becomes just as dangerous as Salem:

Oscar: Then you're as dangerous as she is, James.

Not only does volume 8 close with Cinder instead, but it also opens with her:

And it even gives us her backstory:

Why does it happen? And why is Cinder’s final line so important when it comes to her foiling with Ironwood?

GRAVITY

It is not by chance that Watts calls both Ironwood and Cinder out before the climax of respectively volume 7 (Ironwood) and volume 8 (Cinder). This is because, as stated above, volume 7 is Ironwood’s volume, while volume 8 is Cinder’s. So they both are confronted with a truth about themselves and their reaction to it influences their stories in the Atlas arc.

In a sense, even if Watts is the one dangerously hanging over an abyss... it is actually Ironwood and Cinder who are on the brink. They are deciding Watts’s survival, but they are also deciding their own destiny.

They are choosing if to fall because of gravity or if to fly in the sky victorious.

At the same time, the two scenes with Watts show how Cinder and Ironwood are both similar and opposites.

AS ABOVE, SO BELOW

Ironwood and Cinder are nothing, but two products of Atlas’s society.

Ironwood was born at the very top:

Watts: You just stood atop it and called yourself a giant!

Cinder existed at the very bottom:

Watts: You think you're entitled to everything just because you've suffered, but suffering isn't enough! You can't just be strong, you have to be smart! You can't just be deserving, you have to be worthy! But all you have ever been, is a BLOODY MIGRAINE!

Watts is in the middle and he represents the worst traits of both.

He wants everything, just like Cinder:

Ironwood: I gave you everything you could have wanted!

But differently from Cinder it was no true he had nothing. He was successful, had food, clothes and respect. Still, he was never satisfied and ended up disgracing himself in the search of something more.

He also disregards feelings in favor of rationality, just like Ironwood:

Watts: Our tin soldier’s heart has cost him his mind.

And he sees people under him as inherently inferior:

Watts: Yes, yes, please keep your posse in check.

This is why his death is fitting:

Cinder: I merely added more flames to the fires of Atlas.

He burns with Atlas aka the city he wants to destroy, but also a symbol of who he is deep down.

What is more, his death happens specifically because he blindly follows his wishes:

Watts: Oh, believe me, this is everything I've ever wanted.

And because he is outsmarted and manipulated by Cinder:

Cinder: You deserve this, Arthur. We'll be back.

He is proud of his genius and rationality, but in the end he dies because of his feelings of pettiness.

In short, Watts, Cinder and Ironwood represent three social classes of Atlas and how the system corrupts people at every level. In general, all three want to be at the very top, but disreguard and mistreat the ones below.

-This is why Ironwood seeks control even in situations where he is not in charge, like the Vytal Festival. He also challenges Ozpin’s authority and leadership because he is not used not to be the one deciding. At the same time, he is shown ready to discard Mantle in multiple occasions.

-This is why Watts can call out Ironwood’s arrogance without seeing he is exactly the same as him.

-Finally, this is why Cinder lashes out at people she sees as Atlas elites (the Schnees, Ironwood, Watts), but treats those below her just like she was treated:

Emerald: We don't need him! Everything was going fine! (a slap is heard, and she cries out in pain)

Cinder: Do not mistake your place.

Mercury: Oh yeah? Tell that to--

Cinder: Quiet.

THE ENEMIES OF TRUST

Both Ironwood and Cinder’s left arms are artificial. Ironwood’s is mechanical, while Cinder’s is Grimm.

Their respective arms convey opposite approaches to things.

On a more general level, they are respectively linked to Creation (Ironwood’s mechanical arm) and to Destruction (Cinder’s Grimm arm). As a matter of fact a robotic arm is a human creation, while Grimms are nothing, but the symbol of destruction.

On a personal level, their arms hint at the two characters’ opposite personalities.

Ironwood’s arm can’t feel pain.

Cinder’s is instead linked to pain and feelings in different ways:

Raven: Aura can't protect your arm, it's Grimm.

Salem: You chose to disobey my specific instructions just to fail again.

Cinder: She’s back…

Cinder feels great pain whenever her Shadow Hand is cut because she can’t protect it with aura. At the same time, it is used by Salem to torture her. Finally, it links her to Salem to the point that she knows when her Master is back.

In other words, Cinder’s arm lets her feel more, while Ironwood’s lets him feel less.

This difference is mirrored by both the ways Ironwood and Cinder respectively attack Watts and by their semblances:

Ironwood’s Mettle lets Ironwood suppress his own feelings, so that he can pursue any objective, no matter how cruel or immoral it is. It makes him “superhuman”, but in a very negative sense.

Cinder’s Scorching Caress represents Cinder’s explosive emotions. It is a form of self-expression, which is both destructive and self-destructive.

Ironwood’s semblance is about repression, while Cinder’s is about lashing out.

Similarly, Ironwood goes after Watts at the cost of his arm and he ignores the pain he feels:

Watts: I wouldn't do that if I were you. I mean, unless you're hoping to add more metal to that body of yours.

Cinder instead goes after Watts to vent her anger:

Cinder: What do you mean, she'll destroy herself? How am I supposed to take her power if she's dead?!

Both are extremes and both are wrong, as Winter explains:

Winter: But yes Penny, we must still acknowledge our personal feelings, wrestle with them. It ensures us that we’re on the right path. It’s what makes us human.

Ironwood and Cinder should aknowledge their own feelings not to be consumed by them.  It is also the only way for them to truly be humans, not machines or monsters, but simply people.

Both characters almost succeed just before the climax of their respective volumes.

Ironwood tries to open up to others:

And Cinder shows vulnerability:

However, none of them is able to capitalize on this chance for development. This is ironically because of each other:

Cinder messes with Ironwood’s insecurities, while Ironwood’s ultimatum gives Cinder the perfect chance to ignore hers.

The result is that Ironwood goes back to control, while Cinder goes back to manipulation. Both do so because they are unable to trust.

Interestingly, they take after their respective mentors in this.

Ironwood takes after Ozpin:

Ironwood: Did you really think you were the only one who got to work on a new plan after Beacon? WIth Ozpin gone, I needed my own team of people I could trust.

Oscar: General? Earlier, you asked for my advice.

Ironwood: I wanted Ozpin's advice.

Oscar: And his advice probably would've been to keep your secrets.

Cinder takes after Salem:

Salem: When I chose you as my vessel for the Maidens, I put my trust in you. So, I trust that you wouldn’t possibly return to me empty-handed.

Ironwood’s whole struggle in volume 7 is his search for a “new approach”. He wants to be like Ozpin, but better. This is why he founds his own group, but wants to trust the world with the truth about Salem. However, he confuses trust with control.

Cinder instead wants to become just like Salem and suffers when she sees she is not. This is why she collects assets, just like her master. This is also why she does not trust anyone, but manipulates others.

That said, what is the difference between Ironwood’s control and Cinder’s manipulation? It has once again to do with feelings.

Ironwood’s attempt to manipulate others is about suppressing feelings. He uses Atlas’s military hierarchy and social structures to ask for his subordinates’ blind loyalty.

Cinder’s method to control people lies instead in making use of others’ feelings. She uses both wishes and fears to her advantage.

In short, control and manipulation are nothing, but the same inability to trust declined in opposite ways. They are both “enemies of trust”.

This is why both Ironwood and Cinder find a strong enemy and a foil in the character, who embodies friendship in these volumes:

Deep down, Ironwood and Cinder not trusting others is because they fear betrayal:

Cinder: I won’t have to run now.

Rhodes: That’s all you’ll ever do.

Ironwood: I've chased a lot of shadows over the years, always expecting betrayal. But never once did I think it would ever come from you.

However, Penny too is betrayed and mistreated by others:

Penny: I do not like it when friends fight.

Ruby: I know. Yang and I may not agree on how best to save Mantle but-

Penny: No. I mean Winter. The general. They were our friends. But then the Ace Ops attacked you. And the general, he said people were going to die, because of me.

 However, she does not give up on the ideal of a genuine bond:

Attached but not By strings

Still, if Penny is a positive foil to both Ironwood and Cinder, why does she die?

RISK

Weiss: Trust is a risk.  

Yang: Ruby, they’re not called sure things, they’re called risks.

These two lines taken together are why at the end of volume 8 Penny dies, our heroes fall and the manipulative Cinder wins.

It happens to show the main theme of the two Atlas volumes. Trust is not a “sure thing”. It is a risk and it does not always work. Still, it is necessary to trust as it is necessary to take risks:

Yang: You were being optimistic. Look, blind optimism isn’t great, but no optimism means we already lost. We need hope. We need to take risks.

Giving up on trust and risks means giving up on hope. It means to give in to fear.

Still, this does not mean your trust will always be paid back. And it does not mean that the risks you take will always work, even if you come up with a wonderful plan:

Cinder: I knew your plan would be bold, but I never could have predicted all of this...

Sometimes people will betray you:

Sometimes your risk will end up in a fall:

However, it is still worth to trust, even when you have no guarantee it will work:

And sometimes It is even worth to risk the fall because it may lead to people being saved:

This same idea is conveyed also through Penny’s final choice:

Penny: Trust me.

Winter: Thank you for trusting me with this.

Penny dies tragically, but she still manages to pass the Maiden’s power to a person she trusts.

This is especially meaningful because the Winter Maiden power, just like Penny herself, has been subjected to both control and manipulation.

Ironwood does all he can to make sure the power ends up to Winter. At the same time, he is the one most responsible for Penny feeling as nothing, but a robot:

Ironwood: As the official report stated, that footage was doctored. Penny is completely under my control.

Cinder tries to steal the power three times. She also manipulates Penny’s feelings towards her friends:

Cinder: I was hoping your friends would be here. But it looks like they left you to do all the work. You’re just a tool to be used!

In the end, Ironwood treating Penny as a machine (control) and Cinder using Penny’s love for her friends against her (manipulation) are among the psychological factors that lead Penny to be mortally wounded by Cinder.

Still, while dying Penny negates both Ironwood and Cinder and frees the power and herself from both control and manipulation.

The fact she chooses Winter works well to illustrate this.

Winter is the person Ironwood wants as the next Maiden. However, Winter becomes a Maiden not because of Ironwood’s control, but because of Penny’s trust:

Ironwood: So… the destiny I chose for you has arrived.

Winter: You chose nothing. This...was a gift.

Winter is a Schnee, so she represents both what Cinder hates and what she herself wants to be:

Cinder to Winter: You Atlas elites are all the same! You think hoarding power means you’ll have it forever, but it just makes the rest of us hungrier.

Winter is a symbol of Atlas and so she is a reminder to Cinder that Atlas is not really destroyed:

Robyn: What do you think a kingdom is? The people, or just the chunk of land they live on?

Just like Cinder’s past isn’t.

WORTHY

Cinder wants to be worthy. Ironwood wants to be a hero.

Deep down, Ironwood and Cinder want the same thing. They want to be above others. They want to be more than humans.

However, they go at it in opposite ways:

Ironwood: I have sacrificed everything!

Cinder: I want it all...

Ironwood thinks that victory lies in sacrificing everything, while Cinder sees it as taking it all.

These opposite viewpoints mirror their respective social stances.

Ironwood can say he wants to sacrifice everything because he has everything.

Cinder thinks happiness lies in everything because she has nothing:

Cinder: You’re right. Without you I am nothing. But because of you, I am everything.

In the end, Ironwood and Cinder are each other’s true enemies, but they fail to see it and lash out against the wrong people:

Ironwood and Cinder’s respective fight against Winter and Weiss is exactly this.

Ironwood fights a Maiden he sees as an enemy of Atlas, while another Maiden is attacking the people he swore to protect.

Cinder lashes out at Weiss because of her origins, while Weiss has decided to leave her status and money behind to make the right thing.

Still, Ironwood and Cinder are too hypocritical to see the truth. This is why they attack people, who could have helped them, if they were given the chance.

This is also why they receive a warning:

Winter: No, you have sacrificed everyone else!

Winter: You… are going to pay… for everything you’ve done!

Ironwood claims he is ready to sacrifice everything. However, he never sacrifices himself:

In the end, he is unable to sacrifice his life to fight Salem.

Let’s highlight he has nothing to lose by this point. He is falling with Atlas anyway. In his final moments, he is given the chance to prove true to his words:

I would die Without regret, I’d offer up my life With zero reservations I would fly Into the sun If that would keep our dream alive

Instead, he gives up. He has been shooting his allies until the very end, but freezes in front of his enemy.

Cinder thinks she is closer to her final victory, but in the end she has accomplished nothing of what she truly wants.

She wants to kill RWBY, but they are alive. She wants the Maiden powers, but she fails.

At the same time, Cinder is still far away from what she truly needs:

Cinder: You have everything you need?

Watts: Oh, believe me, this is everything I've ever wanted.

She is given a perfect mirror of herself in Watts. Still, instead of seeing it, Cinder uses his flaw, which is her same flaw, to kill him. Watts’ wants lead to his death and the same thing might happen to Cinder if she does not stop herself in time.

Finally, there is this:

Salem: This game is not yours to win, Cinder, it’s mine. Just because you’re more valuable to me than a pawn, does not make you a player. Everything is already in motion. All you need concern yourself with is your ability to act when I tell you to.

Ironwood and Cinder share a chess motif.

Ironwood thinks of himself as a player and specifically as Salem’s opponent.

Cinder is instead told she is no player.

However, in the end, Ironwood becomes a mere pawn to the point that all Watts has to do is to open his cell to be sure he is going to unwillingly aid in Cinder’s plan.

What is more, he is so fixated on Salem that he fails to aknowledge the people below him. This is why his true opponent is a slave that Atlas exploited.

Cinder frames herself as a player instead. She is the one who truly makes the first move against Ironwood and ultimately she is the one who defeats both him and our protagonists. Finally, she is the one who calls checkmate.

Still, is she really playing her own game?

In the end, the one who gets what she wants is not Cinder, but Salem:

And all she has to do to obtain it is one small move:

Salem: And I’ve realized, it’s all my fault. You’ve fought your whole life unwaveringly for what you want and here I am holding you back instead of lifting you up.

While Cinder is once again letting her talent be exploited by those above her. She is choosing to be Salem’s Queen instead than a player of her own life.

She is the Black Queen defeating the White King, but nothing more.

[ambiguousdisorderken]

in your expert opinion what are some of the most destiel-heavy episodes of spn? i stopped watching around season 7 and have no interest in engaging w the plot of the show at all but i’m in the mood for some gay yearning ykwim

Hi anon! Thank you for reaching out to me about this, I’m, no-joke, very flattered. I’d seen a couple posts on this same question, very thorough and detailed lists on Destiel-centric episodes, but at the moment I cannot find any of them, that would’ve answered your request much faster. So, in advance, sorry, my reply is probably coming in extremely late, but I did write this from scratch, so yeah.

Even though storylines in SPN can be very shitty and hollow, I do feel that to get the full Destiel experience -that long-drawn yearning- one would have to watch the entirety of the show, even if Cas isn’t in the episode or if there’s no explicit mention of their relationship/bond because it gives you a better understanding of them as characters and of how their relationship affects the narrative.

Now, you mentioned you stopped around S7, which is completely understandable and justified given the Dick plot game was very weak and, in my opinion, annoying (so little Cas!). I’m going to start listing from S7 in case you want to refresh your SPN before jumping straight into unseen episodes. Also, since you mentioned no interest in the plot and are specifically craving those sweet crumbs of gay yearning, I’ll skip most one-sided / too subtle episodes and cut to the chase.

Lastly, I hate spoiling things, but you’ve probably seen it all on Tumblr. I tried to keep the episodes’ descriptions short, as it might come in useful. Stuck to key words, quotes and/or little comments.

 Season 7

7x01 – Meet the New Boss: Godstiel, sincere apology. Cas: “I'm gonna find some way to redeem myself to you.”

7x02 – Hello, Cruel World: Mourning. Trench coat melancholy. The heart-wrenching eulogy: “Dumb son of a bitch.”

7x17 – The Born-Again Identity: Emmanuel!Cas, reunion, longing, hurt.

7x21 – Reading is Fundamental: Honey!Cas, hug, hurt, reunion, that painful SORRY (board game) scene.

7x23 – Survival of the Fittest: Honey!Cas, forgiveness, adorable, wified Cas. Dean hits us with: “Nobody cares that you're broken, Cas!" but also “I'd rather have you, cursed or not.”

Season 8 (this season is so good and Destiel is the driving motor of it, I swear. If you can, watch it complete.)

8x01 – We Need to Talk About Kevin: Dean in Purgatory looking for the angel.  Cas is referred to as “your [Dean’s] angel.”

8x02 – What’s Up, Tiger Mommy?: HUG!!!, Purgatory reunion, face touch, very romantic. Monster: “ You'll find your angel there.” //  Dean: “Let me bottom-line it for you. I'm not leaving here without you.”

8x05 – Blood Brother: Cas vs. Benny cat fight lol. Dean: “Cas... we're gonna shove your ass back through the eye of that needle if it kills all three of us.”

8x07 – A Little Slice of Kevin: Cas comes back from Purgatory, but before that Dean starts seeing him in places. Very tragic; hallucinating your dead significant other trope. Has That boner scene. Dean: “I did everything I could to get you out! EVERYTHING!” Cas helps Dean see what truly happened in Purgatory and not his self-altered memories. PACKED!

8x08 – Hunteri Heroici: Hilarious, romantic, intimate. Dean and Cas have an heart to heart. They actually communicate. Cas “I’ll watch over you.”

8x10 Torn and Frayed: They work a case together, and when I say heart eyes…

8x17 – Goodbye Stranger: THIS. EPISODE. Dean “I need you.”

8x19 – Taxi Driver: Separation. Naomi to Dean: "You're hoping Castiel will return to you. I admire your loyalty; I only wish he felt the same way."

8x22 – Clip Show: Lack of trust, hurt, tense interactions. Romantic too (basically, Cas gets Dean an apology basket).

8x23 – Sacrifice: Meaningful conversation and a gay couple hit by Cupid parallel. Dean “So this is it? E.T goes home?"

 Season 9

9x01 – I think I’m Gonna Like it Here: Dean prays to Cas IN.A.CHAPEL. Worry, longing, separation. Dean “Please, man, I need you here.”

9x03 – I’m No Angel: Human!Cas and jealous!Dean.

9x06 – Heaven Can’t Wait: Human!Cas TEXT-BOOK LONGING. GAY AS FUCK. Gazing, touching, they even TALK (for real).

9x09 – Holy Terror: Adorable Cas, flirty vibes, happyish, funny. Cas: “Cas is back in town!”

9x10 – Road Trip: Cas comforts Dean, Cas and Crowley bitching at each other, overall protective!Cas.

9x18 – Metafiction. Cas finds out about the Mark of Cain.

9x21 – King of the Damned: Hug, strong boyfriends vibes.

9x22 – Stairway to Heaven: Cas gives up an entire army, for Dean. Metatron about Cas “He's in love………………………. with humanity.”

9x23  – Do You Believe in Miracles?: At this point, it’s canon stated that Cas will do anything and lose everything if that means saving Dean. Metatron to Cas “You draped yourself in the flag of heaven, but ultimately, it was all about saving one human, right?”

 Season 10

10x01 – Black: Demon!Dean and sick/brokenhearted Cas in a slutty robe missing his man.

10x03 – Soul Survivor: ICONIC. Angel on Demon action! Cas turns down Hannah because he’s too gay and in love. Intimate Deancas talk.

10x05 – Fan Fiction: No Cas, but Destiel references. 

10x09 – The Things We Left Behind: That.Lunch.Date. Deancas introduction to co-parenting.

10x14 – The Executioner’s Song: We get Daddy Murder aka Cain. This is a Pivotal episode to understand Dean’s character development. Plus, it has Deancas interactions.

10x16 – Paint It Black: No Cas, but Dean opens up in confessionary; repressed BISEXUAL AS FUCK.

10x18 – Book of the Damned: Charlie meets Cas. Gay energies everywhere. Cute domestic little scene.

10x20 – Angel Heart: PARENTING! Essential to understand Cas from this point forward.

10x22 – The Prisoner: Just… just watch it. One of THEE Destiel episodes.

10x23 – Brother’s Keeper: No Deancas interactions but it’s the finale, and I recommend watching it because next season takes off literally right from here. No time jumps.

 Season 11

11x02 – Form and Void: Could skip to the very end which is when Cas comes back.

11x03 – The Bad Seed: Cursed!Cas. Dean takes care of him, even wraps him in a blanket. He also cradles his face. Extreme Hurt/Comfort. Jacting joices rejoice.

11x10 – The Devil in the Details: Could skip but has Casifer in it. Interesting to see his dynamic with Dean.

11x18 – Hell’s Angel: Casifer. Dean "It? It's not an it, Sam, it's Cas!"

11x23 – Alpha and Omega: Huggg! Cas willing to go on a guaranteed suicide mission with Dean. Very tender and sad.

 Season 12

12x02 – Keep Calm and Carry On: ANOTHER HUG! Dean presents his boyfriend to his mom<3 Soft and romantic.

12x09 – First Blood: Reunion hug<3, Cas pining… as in he counts his every minute without Dean.

12x10 – Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets: Direct parallel with canon couple. Crystal-clear mutual affection. One of the best. Angel Ishim to Cas about Dean “I'm gonna help you. I'm gonna cure you of your human weakness same way I cured my own… by cutting it out.”

12x12 – Stuck in the Middle with You: A dying Cas confesses his love. “I love you. I love all of you.”

12x19 – The Future: We find out Dean gave Cas a MIXTAPE!!! Very romantic and full of yearning, also worry and what could be seen as a betrayal (ish…).

12x23 – All Along the Watch Tower: Hands down, one of the most distressing Destiel episodes. Cas dies.

 Season 13

13x01 – Lost and Found: This is the worst because you have Dean trying to assimilate Cas’ death. Core of Dean’s widow’s arc. Jack introduction, that’s their new kid.

13x02 – The Rising Son: Widow’s arc (you could skip it, but why would you?).

13x03 – Patience: Widow’s arc (you could skip it, but why would you?). Dean to Sam “He manipulated him, he made him promises, said, ‘paradise on earth’ and Cas bought it and you know what that got him? It got him dead! Now you might be able to forget about that, but I can’t!”

13x04 – The Big Empty: Continuation of widow’s arc and Cas wakes up in the Empty. The Empty to Cas: "I know who you love. There's nothing for you back there." // Dean to Sam “I need you to keep the faith, for both of us. ‘Cause right now, I… Right now, I don’t believe in a damn thing.”

13x05 – Advanced Thanatology: Suicidal and hopeless Dean gets his win. Cas comes back. Gives me the chills.

13x06 – Tombstone: COWBOY BOYFRIENDS!

13x14 – Good Intentions: Happy and fun Destiel scene. So Very Married.

13x23 – Let The Good Times Roll: Season finale, Dean talks about retiring (plans include Cas of course) and just very nice to see them interact.

Season 14

14x03 – The Scar: Reunion.

14x08 – Byzantium: Deanand Cas dealing with their child’s death, then bringing him back by Cas making a deal with the Empty. IMPORTANT EPISODE.

14x09 – The Spear: Cas uses the royal We – married behavior.

14x10 – Nihilism: Dean is stuck in his own mind, and Cas and Sam try to bring him back. Cas “Please, you have to -- you have to try to remember, because the people in your life -- in your real life, out there -- we need you to come back.”

14x12 – Prophet and Loss: Dean gets his very own Dr. Sexy, aka Dr. Cas.

14x14 – Ouroboros: Basically another date (their kid tags along) and They TALK. Very intimate and established marriage vibes.

14x18 – Absence: Shits starts to go south. [ Dean: “Who cares what Jack said? We don't know what happened! But I swear, if he did something to her, if she is -- (points to Castiel) Then you're dead to me. (Castiel looks crushed after Dean says that).]

14x20 – Moriah: Tense and very upsetting. Relationship very damaged.

 Season 15 (I would advise watching the entire season because it relies heavily on Destiel. They’re the heart and the emotional motor leading the plot onwards.)

15x01 – Back and To The Future: Deancas’ in the aftermath of their kid’s death. Tension gets worse.

15x02 – Raising Hell: Tension rises, this is very intense. Cas “Dean. You asked, "What about all of this is real?" We are.”

15x03 – The Rupture: Breaking point ends in divorce.

15x06 – Golden Time: Painful phone call which speaks volumes about the current state of their relationship at the time. Also, good to see where they’re standing and how they’re coping.

15x08 – Our Father Who Aren’t in Heaven: Strained relationship so obvious they’re offered couples’ therapy.

15x09 – The Trap: MASTERPIECE. Back to Purgatory. Can (and is) taken as Dean’s love confession (because it is). 

15x12 – Galaxy Brain: So married. Little domestic date, you can see LOVE written in their faces.

15x13 – Destiny’s Child: AU!Dean and Sam. Not a yearning episode per se, but AU!Dean? SO GAY.

15x17 – Unity: God reveals that the only act of free will in any universe he ever created has been Cas choosing Dean.

15x18 – Despair: Cas confesses his love to Dean.

[k-s-morgan]

Will’s vs. Hannibal’s Ways of Expressing Love

The fact that Hannibal loves Will and is in love with him is openly stated in the show several times. Will’s feelings, on the other hand, are more ambiguous, which is why some viewers often doubt whether Hannibal’s love is reciprocated. I think that exploring the ways these two men experience and react to love can explain the varying degrees of their openness about it.

I’ll put TLDR right here: Hannibal is more open about himself and his feelings, including love, hence he doesn’t have many challenges with admitting it. Will is closed off, stiff, and emotionally repressed, so he expresses his feelings in a much more subtle way.

Let’s start with Hannibal. Details about his past are scarce, but we know that he admits to loving two people throughout his life, his sister and Will.

E3 of S3.

*Bedelia: What your sister made you feel was beyond your conscious ability to control or predict … I would suggest what Will Graham makes you feel is not dissimilar. A force of mind and circumstance.*    

*Hannibal: Love.*

Undoubtedly, Hannibal’s love for Mischa was traumatic and unhealthy. He loved her so much that he ate a part of her body after she was killed, devastated by this loss. But it was still love that made him feel all the related emotions, so Hannibal has some experience with it. From what we know of him, he has a very broad mind. He despises limitations and overcomes them, and he is not ashamed of who he is. He isn’t embarrassed to cry in the opera or to be the first to stand up and applaud; he delights in stereotypically ‘feminine’ hobbies like cooking and clothes selection; he draws fan-art and openly expresses his admiration when it’s due. For this reason, Hannibal doesn’t have many problems with expressing love either.  

Upon meeting Will, he is immediately drawn to him. He sees him as his potential partner and decides he wants to try and build a family with him as early as E2 of S1. That’s when he starts planting the idea of Abigail being their shared daughter in Will’s mind. He does the same to Abigail, urging her to see him and Will as her parents, even giving her shrooms to evoke the desired associations (unsuccessfully since Will doesn’t come to dinner). So, Hannibal acknowledged his pull/infatuation with Will from the very start, and he acted on it right away.

It’s not 100% love at this point, but Hannibal still easily follows his emotions. He doesn’t stop to consider how strange it is to want a family with a man he just met; he doesn’t agonize over the idea of how his life has more risks now that he allows another human being to know him. When these feelings progress at the end of S1/start of S2, Hannibal is finally taken aback. While he never planned to leave Will in prison and it was a part of his plan, he still didn’t expect to miss him so much — he admits it to Bedelia, looking forlorn, in E1 of S2. He repeatedly pines for Will by sitting in front of his chair at the time of his supposed appointment, glancing at the clock despite knowing Will is not going to come. This is a shift to an actual love, but Hannibal still doesn’t fight it. On the contrary, he embraces it, and he spends the entire S2 doing repeatedly romantic gestures for Will. Namely:

1) Protects Abigail to reunite Will with her later.

2) Shares a part of himself he doesn’t seem to have ever shared with anyone else. He talks to Will about Mischa, reveals his views on murder and God, acknowledges he cared about Abigail, and shows vulnerability. He shares his teacup ritual with him, which is something precious and deeply personal.

3) He digs up fake Freddie’s corpse and decorates it as a way of courting Will (as directly said by Alana).  

4) He draws a fan-art of himself and Will as Achilles and Patroclus.

5) He is ready to abandon his well-established life in Baltimore and reputation to run away with Will. In Hannibal’s view, no one truly suspects him and there is no evidence against him, but Will is in danger. So he’s willing to discard everything he’s been building for 20 years for him.

Finally, he calls Will a loved one more or less directly in E13 of S2 (in fact, he implies that they both love each other).

*Hannibal: Do you know what an imago is, Will? … An imago is an image of a loved one buried in the unconscious, carried with us all our lives.*

*Will: An ideal.*

*Hannibal: The concept of an ideal... I have a concept of you, just as you have a concept of me.*

Will hurts him with his betrayal, and Hannibal still finds himself unable to kill him. He is openly crying in the finale, admitting how Will hurt him, breaks his (and his own) heart by killing Abigail, and flees to Europe to start a new life. But things don’t go as he hoped they would. Bedelia is not a worthy substitute, and Hannibal is increasingly slipping into a self-destructive state because of his love for Will. He kills Anthony, who was an improved copy of Will, and turns him into a Valentine heart for him. Again, this is a very explicit and open emotional action. Hannibal doesn’t hide his feelings. He’s an emotional wreck with Bedelia in E3, and as they are talking about Will, he admits he’s in love with him.

*Hannibal: You cannot control with respect to whom you fall in love.*

Bedelia points out his self-destructiveness.

*Bedelia: You're going to get caught. It's already been set into motion … I know exactly how I will be navigating my way out of whatever it is I’ve gotten myself into. Do you?*

After Hannibal keeps spiraling and kills Sogliato, she adds: *You're drawing them to you, aren't you? All of them.*  

Hannibal gets so self-destructive over Will that he lets Jack beat himself almost to death, not even attempting to fight him. The first words he says to Will after they reunite in E6 are:

*Hannibal: If I saw you every day forever, Will, I would remember this time.*

He’s a romantic. The courtship, the Valentine heart, the romance — Hannibal did have some struggles, but overall, he accepts these feelings and isn’t afraid to act on them.

When Will pulls a knife in E6, Hannibal classifies it as another betrayal. This is where he decides to kill and eat him in the hope to put an end to this misery (which is what he and Bedelia discussed back in E3). However, even blinded by another heartbreak, Hannibal tries to save Will at the same time. He knows the police are coming and he puts off the moment of sawing for as long as he can, first fussing over Will and his wound, then waiting for Jack, then doing everything slowly as hell.

Everything changes in E7, when Hannibal faces the real risk of losing Will and comes to terms with the fact that a hope of life with him is better than life without him. So Hannibal carries Will home bridal-style, takes care of him, waits for him to wake up and writes formulas to reverse time. He directly tells Will that Will won, and that he, Hannibal, is at Will’s mercy.

*Hannibal: Your memory palace is building. It's full of new things. It shares some rooms with my own. I've discovered you there. Victorious.*

He gives himself up, sacrificing the freedom he’s been fighting for back in E2 finale, in the hope that one day, Will is going to come back to him. After this, Hannibal is all about Will, with all his heart. Throughout the second half of S3, he says things like, *“I gave you a child. You are family, Will. Was it good to see me?”*, etc. He agrees to risk his life by agreeing to Will’s plan, knowing he’s planning something but not knowing what and if he’d die in the process. In E13, Hannibal says:

*Hannibal: "No greater love hath man than to lay down his life for a friend"* and shields Will from the bullet. Later, he allows Will to push them both down, and he stays with him afterward.

Conclusion: Hannibal is very accepting of himself, so he doesn’t undergo severe challenges on the path to acknowledging what he feels for Will. He knows what love feels like because he felt it for Mischa before, so he embraces loving Will pretty quickly, even though he doesn’t know how to best approach it at times. That’s why we get direct and explicit confirmation of his feelings several times.

Now, on to Will.

Unlike with Hannibal, there is no evidence that Will has ever experienced love before (at least love for people). We know he had a father and was lonely as a child.

E4 of S1.

*Will: We were poor. I followed my father from the boat yards in Biloxi and Greenville to lake boats on Erie.*

*Hannibal: Always the new boy at school? Always the stranger?*

*Will: Always.*

His choice of words indicates that his relationship with his father wasn’t all that good (for instance, *I followed my father* instead of *My father and I had to…*). So, it doesn’t look like Will ever had meaningful connections. More than that, he says:

*Will: There’s something so foreign about family. Like an ill-fitting suit. Never connected to the concept.*

We can suggest that he doesn’t know what love is or how it feels like. From E1, we know he isolates himself because he hates himself for who he is: he understands he’s different, that there is darkness in him, but he desperately tries to subdue it and deny this fact. He’s rude, twitchy, and unhappy, but like Hannibal, he understands the extent of his loneliness only upon meeting him. That’s when he tries forming relationships with others.

Will’s relationships with Alana and Abigail are a good indication of his problems with love. He wants to be with Alana because he needs to feel normal. In 99% of cases, he remembers about her only when she comes to seek him out first. He kisses her for the first time at the moment of particular vulnerability, fearing that he’s finally losing his mind (in E8). When Hannibal calls him out on it, Will doesn’t deny it and semi-nods. He actually had to agree with it verbally according to the script.

*Will: I feel unstable.*

*Hannibal: That’s why you kissed her. A clutch for balance.*

*Will: Because I’m losing mine.*

So, it’s not that Will feels romantic love for Alana — he uses her because he desperately needs to feel like everyone else. Alana is a pretty, smart, normal woman who fits this goal perfectly. He doesn’t allow himself to be genuine with her unlike he does with Hannibal, to whom he opens up.

Will confesses to Hannibal that he loved killing Hobbs in E2, which got him down and made him panic. Hannibal supports him, and Will keeps coming back to him. He talks about everything important with Hannibal, opening parts of himself that he guards from everyone else. Will asks Hannibal to look after his dogs as early as E4 — he doesn’t have other friends, and he’s already focused on Hannibal. He buys into an idea of having a family with him and Abigail, which is amazing for Will, who has just said he could never relate to the concept of family.

When Will buys a gift for Abigail in the same E4 and freaks out, Hannibal asks him:

*Hannibal: Feeling paternal, Will?*

Will’s reaction is instant and defensive:

*Will: Aren’t you?*

Hannibal easily says “yes”, which disarms Will. This is a great contrast between them: Hannibal isn’t afraid to talk and acknowledge his feelings while Will is embarrassed of them and shies away from them. In fact, this is a repeat of their conversation in E2.

*Hannibal: You saved Abigail Hobbs' life. You also orphaned her. It comes with certain emotional obligations.*

*Will: You were there. You saved her life, too. Do you feel obligated?*

Again, Will deflects. He’s wary of emotions, especially of admitting them out loud.

Will shows a hint of romantic interest in Hannibal in E7. He brings him a bottle of wine out of blue, but unfortunately, he stumbles upon the party Hannibal is preparing. Hannibal invites him to stay, but Will says he won’t be good company. He’s shy and awkward, smiling nervously and dropping his gaze in embarrassment. Then we have this lovely line:

*Will: I’ve got a date with the Chesapeake Ripper.*

So, in S1, Will makes considerable emotional progress. He realizes he wants a family after all, and while he makes several half-hearted attempts to court Alana, he’s mostly focused on Hannibal and Abigail. He opens himself up to Hannibal, receives official guardianship over Abigail with him, arguably flirts with Hannibal (like in the wine scene above), and covers up murder to protect their family. But then Hannibal betrays him. Will doesn’t know his reasons yet, but this betrayal plunged him into darkness, bitterness, and new stage of emotional repression. It’s worth mentioning another point of Abigail here: in the end, Will doesn’t know her. He spoke to her only several times, and even fewer times were genuine. He loves the idea of her, and this idea was introduced by Hannibal, not by Abigail’s presence. It’s Hannibal who forced Will to confront his need to love and be loved.  

In S2, Will is incredibly conflicted. He acknowledges to Hannibal that he hurt him, tries to kill him via Matthew, but when he recognizes that Hannibal wants him as a friend (as spoken in E7), his attitude changes. Will doesn’t plan to forgive him, he’s still angry at Hannibal for killing Abigail (which is his biggest conflict, as evident from his talks with Hannibal himself and Freddie), but now, he can’t bring himself to harm or betray Hannibal.

He gets his first chance in E7, after being released from prison. He threatens Hannibal with a gun and has a perfect chance to make him pay, but he doesn’t. Instead, he conspires with Jack and decides to cultivate co-dependency, creating an environment where only he “and the fish exist” (E8). What does Will do to start? He makes himself physically attractive, grooming and dressing prettily. It’s a seduction on all levels, and Will plans to use emotions to hurt Hannibal back. At the same time, Will admits to being confused over what he feels for Hannibal.

E8 of S2.

*Will: I envy you your hate. Makes it much easier when you know how to feel.*

E9 of S2 (talking about trying to kill Hannibal with Margot).

*Margot: Did he have it coming?*

*Will: What do you think?*

*Margot: I can't say that I know.*

*Will: Neither can I.*

He spends the rest of the season lying to both Hannibal and Jack, unsure whose side to choose, too lost in his own feelings to make sense of them. At the same time, he has a dream where Hannibal calls him beloved in E9. It shows that Will contemplates the idea of love in relation to Hannibal. In E10, Will tries to fantasize about Alana as he’s having sex with Margot. However, he sees the image of Wendigo near the fireplace, Wendigo who he’s used to associating with Hannibal. Two interesting things (copied from my other meta): first, Will actually sees Hannibal’s room and consequently, he sees himself in it (or he sees their rooms united). Second, he sees the Wendigo near Hannibal’s fireplace. Fireplace has many meanings, including passion, sexuality, home, family, and resurrection. It emphasizes the sexual and romantic subtext of this uniquely shot scene, where people destined to be together have sex with the wrong partners. Will’s vision begins to contract, focusing on Wendigo: he is having an orgasm at this very moment, imagining the Wendigo’s face very close, approaching him. Still through the misty eyes, he tries to focus on Alana again, but his gaze moves up to Wendigo above her, as if he can’t help himself. He and Hannibal reach orgasm first, with Alana and Margot following them. So, Will dragged Hannibal into his sex fantasy. It’s both symbolic and physical: he tried to imagine Alana just like he tried to have a relationship with her before, in S1, out of his desire to be normal. But his attention is inevitably drawn to Hannibal, who’s his “real deal”.

Based on this scene, it’s underlined once again how Will struggles with emotions. Even in the safety of his own mind, in his own fantasy, he tries to think of Alana but still ends up with Hannibal. Will is always fighting himself and who he is. He refuses to accept his darkness just as he refuses to admit he loves Hannibal. It’s the essence of who he is, denial is his second name.

Among the important moments, there are Will’s words to Hannibal:

*Will: You are right. We are just alike. You are as alone as I am. And we are both alone without each other.*

So, Will accepts the bond with Hannibal, and at this stage, he even has the courage to voice some of his emotional thoughts. His progress is slow, but it’s there.

In E11, Will has a nightmare. He sees a burning corpse of ‘Freddie’ in a wheelchair, a symbol of his betrayal of Hannibal, and he hears his own increasing screaming. It’s easy to interpret, knowing the context: Will feels guilty for lying to Hannibal.

When Margot loses her child, Will feels renewed anger at Hannibal. He fantasizes about killing him and gets to realize his fantasy with Mason’s help in E12. But at the last moment, Will changes his mind and chooses Hannibal. He does the same thing in E13 by calling him. When he sees him, he doesn’t even try to point a gun at him: he asks why he didn’t leave as he was supposed to, and he even leans forward to accept the knife, accept the punishment for betrayal.

So, Will chooses Hannibal over Abigail, for whom he wanted justice; over his and Margot’s child, for whom he wanted revenge; over Jack and Alana, who were his only semblance of friends; over his own confusion and desire to be normal. For someone as emotionally stunted as Will, it’s huge. It proves that he loves Hannibal and is willing to compromise all other relationships he has formed as well his own beliefs for him (while Will is dark, he tries to fight it because he doesn’t think people like them are normal). Is it romantic? Will’s dream with the word “beloved” and his sex fantasy, as well as his acceptance of the idea that he and Hannibal were Abigail’s fathers (which makes them partners) imply that yes, romantic feeling is a part of it.

Hannibal’s romantic feelings became explicit in S3, and so did Will’s. But since Hannibal is more open and self-accepting, his were discussed out loud while Will’s were mostly portrayed silently, implied, and alluded to.

Will builds a boat to sail and find Hannibal, which is pretty romantic by itself. He spends his time in Hannibal’s house, in the kitchen where their bloody break-up happened, imagining Abigail near him. When Alana comes to find him, he asks her to leave. He’s cold and indifferent toward her — she’s not what he wants, and he’s not interested in even friendship with her. All he wants is to mourn his lost family with Hannibal and Abigail. Again, Hannibal is Will’s priority.

Will imagines his perfect world as the one where he and Hannibal killed Jack together. This scene is intercut with his Mizumono memories, namely, with Hannibal's face that emerges every time he moves yet another part of the engine. This is a vivid demonstration of Will trying to repair what is now broken. When Jack asks him why he called him, Will is indifferent and genuine:

*Will: I wasn't decided when I called him. I just called him. I deliberated while the phone rang. I decided when I heard his voice … I told him to leave. I wanted him to run … Because he was my friend. And because I wanted to run away with him.*

That’s a big admission for Will. This is the first time he openly acknowledges Hannibal as his friend in front of another person. Chilton calls Will and Hannibal’s interactions a “flirtation” in this episode, which once again points us in the romantic direction.

The entire E2 of S3 is dedicated to Will’s love for Hannibal, where he argues about it with himself in the form of imaginary Abigail. This is another proof of Will’s problem with emotions in general and emotions for Hannibal in particular. He can’t just think to himself as normal people do — no, he can’t admit how much he loves Hannibal this. Instead, he imagines Abigail and talks to himself through her to make it easier. He berates himself for lying.

*Will/Abigail: We were all supposed to leave together. He made a place for us. Why did you lie to him? He gave you a chance to take it all back, and you just kept lying.*

Will is reverent about Hannibal; he keeps talking about him over and over again.

*Will: This isn't Hannibal, it's just where he begins. Beyond this, far and complex, light and dark, is the vast structure of his mind. A thousand rooms, miles of corridors. Everything he remembers, wonderfully and fearfully reconstructed.*

Will goes as far as lies at the place where Hannibal’s Valentine heart for him was, reconstructing this image and trying to feel close to him. The heart comes to life the moment Will touches it, which is romantic. Will says:

*Will: A valentine written on a broken man … I do feel closer to Hannibal here. God only knows where I would be without him … He left us his broken heart … He misses us.*

He looks on the verge of tears, so Hannibal’s gift touched him. Will is overcome by emotions. At this very moment, his more frightened side suggests that Hannibal is also playing with him.

*Will: Hannibal follows several trains of thought at once without distraction from any, and one of the trains is always for his own amusement.*

We know it’s not the case, especially here, but Will has trust issues and a low self-esteem. He’s worried that Hannibal’s feelings for him aren’t as strong as he thinks they are, which is why he’s not sure how to react himself. He asks himself, *“You still want to go with him?”* and replies, *“Yes.” He wonders about what life they’d have if they left.

*Will: What if no one died? What if we all left together? Like we were supposed to. After he served the lamb. Where would we have gone? … In some other world.*

Pazzi comes and tells Will that he hopes they’ll catch Hannibal together.

*Will: What makes you think I want to catch him?*

Later, Pazzi says:

*Pazzi: He let you know him. He sent you his heart.*

E2 ends with Will scaring Pazzi and telling him, *“You don’t know whose side I’m on.* Then he tells Hannibal he forgives him, which is also a huge step in his direction.

This entire episode proves that yes, Will loves Hannibal. Considering how he isn’t awkward from receiving a Valentine or hearing that Hannibal gave him his heart, Will shares the romantic aspect of Hannibal’s feelings for him. He regrets not running away with him and their daughter, he places himself on the floor where the heart was to feel closer to him — this is such a rich romantic subtext that it’s practically text. Especially for Will, who remains so conflicted and emotionally restrained all the time.

Will’s attitude changes after seeing Chiyoh. He becomes more bitter. Considering how dark he is in these scenes and how he constantly compares himself and Chiyoh, he likely sees her as someone Hannibal was supposed to love but easily abandoned. It makes Will draw the parallels between them, and he starts to doubt that Hannibal loves him, that his “broken heart” has any authentic meaning. That’s where he starts thinking about killing Hannibal again. He still says:

*Will: I’ve never known myself as well as I know myself when I’m with him.*

This line also speaks volumes. Hannibal gave Will a precious gift of understanding himself; he showed that he could accept him, and Will is drawn to it. Will admits the depth of their connection to yet another person. Then he makes a firefly from Chiyoh’s prisoner, a tribute that is clearly done with Hannibal in his mind, considering the style and the central topic.

Chiyoh sees right through Will’s emotional constipation. She implies that he should “kiss” Hannibal rather than keep being “violent”:

*Chiyoh: I told you, there are means of influence other than violence.*

She kisses Will then, thus showing him what others means exist. He doesn’t get it, though, since he responds to her kiss despite not feeling anything for her, and she pushes him off the train, likely admitting he’s a hopeless case.

Meeting Jack, Will tells him that a part of him will always want to leave with Hannibal. This is yet another declaration from him. Will isn’t scared of the consequences — he speaks of his feelings openly now. It’s a great development of his character.

But the feeling of doubt about Hannibal likely resurfaces further after Will sees that Hannibal replaced him and Abigail with Bedelia in E6 (hence his hatred for her since that moment). He mocks her alibi and then leaves to reunite with Hannibal. The following moment was deleted, but it still discloses some of Will’s romantic feelings:

*Will: I looked up at the night sky there. Orion above the horizon and, near it, Jupiter. I wondered if you could see it, too. I wondered if our stars were the same.*

From the words that did get into the episode:

*Will: You and I have begun to blur ... We're conjoined. Curious if either of us can survive separation.*

Will doesn’t just admit the bond between them, he elevates it the level of soulmates, implying they are one and the same. It’s also a declaration of love in his language. But love doesn’t stop Will from being vindictive, hurt, and angry, so after meetings with Chiyoh and Bedelia that affected his perception, he pulls out a knife as he and Hannibal are walking together.

There is a brain-sawing disaster after this and E7, where Will looks done and tired from the madness and his constant attempts to figure Hannibal out. He does bite Cordell before looking at Hannibal, seeking his approval; he uses “we” pronouns when speaking about Hannibal with Alana. One example:

*Will: You helped Mason Verger find us.*

So, he still sees himself and Hannibal as a team, but he’s still tired and bitter, so after everything is over, he hurts Hannibal by saying he doesn’t share his appetite and by attacking him emotionally.

*Will: I miss my dogs. I'm not going to miss you. I'm not going to find you. I'm not going to look for you. I don't want to know where you are or what you do. I don't want to think about you anymore.*

This is all personal and emotional. It sounds like a break-up, which is exactly how Bryan Fuller and others referred to it. When Hannibal leaves and Jacks arrives, Will puts on his glasses, an indication that he’s hiding again.

Fast-forward 3 years. Will is married now, but from the very start, we see that this marriage isn’t all people usually expect it to be. The first scene shows the family apart. Molly and Walter have gone fishing, which is something Will loves. He had dreams about teaching Abigail how to fish, but he doesn’t go to do that with his family, preferring to stay alone instead. It’s the first hint that his heart isn’t in this relationship, that he’s too hung up on the past to move forward and make new happy memories.

Jack came to drag him to Dragon’s case, and Will makes it look like he’s reluctant. At the same time, he doesn’t send Jack away, even though we know from the past that he has no qualms being frank when he wants to. More than that, he asks him not to show pics to Molly, but when they have dinner, Will deliberately leaves the house with Walter, leaving Jack and Molly together. At night, when Molly’s asleep, he crawls out of bed and goes to read Hannibal’s letter. He doesn’t tell the truth to Molly about himself and his dark urges, about everything he has done – Molly clearly has no idea who he truly is, considering how she jokes about his ‘criminal mind’ in later episodes and how Will immediately closes himself off from her. He never initiates physical touches with her; he doesn’t return her “I love you”, which is an even bigger indication of his lack of commitment. Will is emotionally stiff with Molly for the most part, and the only times he laughs with her or shows any emotion is when they are talking about superficial stuff in the former case and when he’s furious after Francis’ attack in the latter one. Other than that, there is no closeness or honesty.

Another point of Will’s inability to express or even give his love to someone is in his scene with Walter in E11. This child, his step-son, has just been attacked by a serial killer with his mother. His mother was hurt and they barely escaped. Will doesn’t hug him or offer him paternal emotional comfort; he’s very awkward. All he says is, “You're both safe here,” which is something an officer might say but not a father. Will was much more emotional in his fantasies about Abigail.

This is what Will says about Walter’s reaction to Jack:

*Will: He read about me in a Freddie Lounds article. I had to justify myself to an eleven year old.*

He’s resentful and not emotional. He doesn’t say, “I had to justify myself to my son!” – he distances himself from him. Will is cold. He has expressed his feelings for Hannibal at this point in rather poetic ways, but he can’t be bothered to do this for his wife and his son.

He treats Hannibal in a very reserved fashion too, in comparison to how he acted 3 years ago. However: first, there is the fact that he came to visit him in the first place. Will didn’t need his help, we saw very clearly how he managed to easily reconstruct the crime scene the night before. It proved that his mindset is in a good shape, so he didn’t need Hannibal’s assistance. But it’s Hannibal he requested to see right away.

Will distances himself from him by calling him “Doctor Lecter” and insisting that he’s more comfortable the less personal they are. His eyes glisten, though, and he can’t look away from Hannibal. The impersonal approach doesn’t last very long, too, and soon, they are talking like they always did. Hannibal accuses Will of marrying for false reasons.

*Hannibal: How did you choose yours? Readymade wife and child to serve your needs. A stepson or daughter. A stepson absolves you of any biological blame. You know better than to breed. Can't pass on those terrible traits you fear the most.*

Will doesn’t bother to deny it, though any man would have been offended, particularly if he truly loved his family. In Will’s case, from the experience and all the precedents, silence = agreement.

In E10, Will seeks Bedelia out. He acts catty and jealous, targeting her personal connection with Hannibal.

*Will: You didn't lose yourself, Bedelia, you just crawled so far up his ass you couldn't be bothered.* - personal, targeted against Bedelia's attachment to Hannibal.

*Will: You hitched your star to a man commonly known as a monster. You're the Bride of Frankenstein.* - personal, attack with romantic connotation. Bedelia catches up on it and mocks him:

*Bedelia: We've both been his bride. Have you been to see him?*

*Will: Yes.*

*Bedelia: Haven't learned anything, have you? Or did you just miss him that much?*

*Will: Have you been to see him?* - personal again. Will wants to know if Bedelia is keeping contact with Hannibal.

*Bedelia: I've seen enough of him. I was with him behind the veil. You were always on the other side.*

*Will: Something we should talk about.* - again, personal. It's all personal, which is why Bryan and Hugh called them Hannibal's jealous bitchy exes. Will is palpably jealous and he shows his resentment to Bedelia openly.

Later, we have some more romantic references.

*Bedelia: My relationship with Hannibal is not as passionate as yours. You are here visiting old flame. Is your wife aware of how intimately you and Hannibal know each other? … Your experience of Hannibal’s attention is so profoundly harmful yet so irresistible, it undermines your ability to think rationally.*

So, there is romantic text, parallels between Hannibal and Will’s wife, and Will doesn’t deny any of this again. He keeps coming to Bedelia because she’s the only person he can talk about Hannibal to without being watched.

After Hannibal sends Francis after Molly and Walter, Will spends about a minute being angry with him. Then he accuses Hannibal of staging a competition between him and Francis. It is startling: Will spent months, years mourning the loss of Abigail who he didn’t even really know personally, yet he forgets the gravity of what happened to his wife and won very quickly. He leaves Molly and Walter and tells Bedelia that they are finished. One traumatic event, and Will left. It coincides with something very important that happened here: after this, Will finally figures out Hannibal is truly in love with him. So he goes to Bedelia to discuss it with her.

*Will: Is Hannibal in love with me?*

*Bedelia: Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for you, and find nourishment at the very sight of you? Yes. But do you ache for him?*

Will is predictably silent. Obviously, if the answer was no, he would have said no. But he struggles because like we established, he has issues with expressing emotions. He only managed to start referring to Hannibal as his friend openly in this season, opening up about some of his feelings, but he’s not ready to go this far. It would be absolutely out of character for Will to say, “Yes, you know, I’m in love with him! Thanks for helping me see it.” Every confession Will makes is preceded by struggles and heartbreak. But he’s going to reply to Bedelia’s question, only not explicitly-verbally.

Will sets up Chilton and then comes to allegedly say good-bye to Hannibal. He lies several times in their conversation (about Chilton and Molly with Walter), so all his words are automatically suspicious. Regardless, he destroys Hannibal emotionally and walks away. Personally, I believe he was already planning to break him out, so he was playing it up for cameras and also taking a chance to hurt Hannibal for everything again. But whatever his plan was, what happens next is that Will conspires with Francis against Jack, Alana, and the FBI. They agree to break Hannibal out together. Will lies to Jack and then gets to ask Hannibal for help. He’s being flirty and manipulative in this scene.

*Will: I need you, Hannibal … You're our best shot, Hannibal. Please.*

He’s smirking, he leans close to Hannibal, he sends him a flirty look from under his eyelashes. Will is thoroughly enjoying himself, and he does it best when he has some excuse to hide behind.

Later, he lies to Jack and Alana again, leaks info to Francis (who nearly killed his wife and son), and gets many officers killed by proxy. He tells Bedelia the truth that he doesn’t “intend Hannibal to be caught a second time.” He also implies that he’s going to let him go free, which is why Bedelia should pack her bags.

*Bedelia: Can't live with him. Can't live without him. Is that what this is?*

This time, Will agrees, although in his way.

*Will: I guess this is my Becoming.*

For Will, Becoming was always connected to his feelings for Hannibal because accepting himself and his darkness meant being free to escape with Hannibal.

*Bedelia: You found religion. Nothing more dangerous than that.*

In E3, it was stated that love is a God (you can find more here https://www.reddit.com/r/HannibalTV/comments/7w54dg/lovegodreligion_s3_parallels/), so it’s possible to say that religion = love in this context. It certainly makes sense. Will is accepting himself and his emotions, and the trigger was establishing for sure that Hannibal is in love with him.

Will and Hannibal drive to the cliff house. When Hannibal asks Will if he intends to save himself by killing them both (Hannibal and Francis), Will replies:

*Will: I don't know if I can save myself. And maybe that's just fine.*

This is the first time he confesses that he might be incapable of killing Hannibal. Predictably, when Francis comes, Will can’t handle seeing Hannibal killed, so he reaches for his gun.

Will and Hannibal work as a unit and protect each other. Hannibal is shot, nearly strangled, thrown onto the ground, and he is still weakly holding on Francis' leg to prevent him from going after Will, even though it leaves him in an open and vulnerable position — Francis does kick him in the face with his other leg. There is fierce determination on Will's face as he stands up despite the pain and runs to save Hannibal. They act in synch, consummating their relationship.

Then, Will admires how blood looks on his hand and repeats Hannibal’s words:

*Will: It really does look black in the moonlight.*

He remembers the words Hannibal said to him weeks ago in one of their endless interactions. A bit earlier, he perfectly recalled the words Hannibal told him *years* ago, back in the middle of S2.

*Will: I understand that “blood and breath are only elements undergoing change to fuel your Radiance." Hannibal said those words. To me.*

So, Will remembers everything Hannibal told him. He stores these memories. It’s a small but still important proof how important Hannibal is for him.

At the cliff, Will finally accepts the truth.

*Hannibal: See. This is all I ever wanted for you, Will. For both of us.*

We know what Hannibal wanted: a Murder Husband. What does Will say to this?

*Will: It’s beautiful.*

This is a loud “yes” to Bedelia’s question about his feelings. Will acknowledges, accepts, and admires them. He doesn’t feel awkward, as he would if he knew Hannibal is in love with him but didn’t feel the same. No, he reaches forward to embrace him, and such physical contact from Will is mind-blowing because he almost never does it. He clings to Hannibal, puts his head on his shoulder, touches him as if he wants to melt with him. Then he gives the fate a chance to stop both of them or to set them free. They fall into the ocean under the Love Crime song, another romantic element.

Water symbolizes reborn, and post-credits scene indicates that Will and Hannibal have paid a visit to Bedelia and are in the process of eating her while she’s hiding the fork to stab one of them as he approaches. The deleted epilogue to the series shows that they are in perfect harmony now.

**Conclusion**: Will has passed through a long, painful journey. He went from hiding from emotions and deflecting to not denying and carefully acknowledging them. We don’t hear words “love” or “in love” from him in relation to Hannibal because Will is not that kind of person. He doesn’t use these words freely, and for him, every small emotional step is a struggle. He tried to deceive himself and other numerous times; he tied to deny the truth and manipulate his own mind, but with each season, his feelings for Hannibal became more and more explicit. Will reaching out for physical contact, Will saying “It’s beautiful” are his way of saying, “I ached for you. I love you.”

This is a story of mutual love and obsession, about soulmates, about unique type of connection that few people share. It’s not about Hannibal falling in love and Will not feeling the same. Their feelings are equally strong, but they express them differently, particularly as Will’s are tied to the acceptance of his own darkness.

[jadepetals]

so this is part 3 of the fics that i've read and have stayed with me for a looong time. hope you feel the same way.

we should get jerseys / 12147 words

Harry is a hockey player, and Louis is his slightly melodramatic boyfriend.

tell it like an old song / 26675 words

Harry is a bit lost (just like his memories), his best friend is hiding something, the love of his life is gone and love... love is like flowers.

Maybe You’re Saving Me / 31236 words

Harry is a swimmer who can't sleep, while Louis plays football and has been waiting for a boy who understands him.

Until / 38204 words

Rural Eagle County, Colorado wasn’t the type of place to find a famous musician or actor. At least not until songwriter Louis Tomlinson showed up with pop star Niall Horan to visit his uncle’s horse ranch, and they just happened to find themselves next door to a reclusive former movie star.

I’ve Been Hoping You’d Be Somewhere Better Than This / 39980 words

The one where Louis is up for a promotion, he just has one tiny, little problem standing in his way.

Soaked In The Blood Of Angels / 40867 words

The boy looks drugged, caught between a man who’s almost twice his size and a girl who looks like she wouldn’t even break a sweat snapping him in half despite her small stature, eyes closed and mouth open as he pants, arching up between them almost as if he’s trying to escape.

Normally, Harry would ignore it and continue on his search for someone to drink from, someone who wouldn’t mind his sharp teeth and rough hands. He’s seen plenty of boys like this one, ones who picked the wrong playmates, and if he stopped to rescue every single one of them he would have died from thirst a long time ago.

This one, though. There’s something about this one, the sheen of his bright blue eyes as he blinks slowly, looks around as though he doesn’t know where he is, the weakness of his hands as he tries to push the girl off of him and make his escape.

Ever Fixed / 41152 words

Three years ago, Harry was happily married, successfully heading the largest technology company in the world, and raising his young daughter. After he loses nearly everything in the aftermath of his daughter’s lost battle with a rare brain tumor, it may take three strange and yet very familiar visitors – and a man from the therapy group Harry keeps refusing to go to – to get him back on track.

The Sidelines / 47078 words

Harry and Louis play hockey for Penn state and can't stand one another, since they can't keep their hatred off the ice their coach and team do what they can to keep their hard earned spot in the playoffs and their two star players from killing each other.

Now That This Old World Is Ending / 49184 words

Needing a good distraction from his broken heart, Louis Tomlinson goes on a camping trip with his friends to Northern England. However, a different kind of distraction arises when his friends disappear from their camp. Hellbent on finding them, Louis soon discovers that the area has been taken over by a cult and teams up with a resentful archer with fire in his eyes and blood on his hands.

So Much We Didn’t Say / 53584 words

Harry’s near fatal accident exposed the cracks in his and Louis’ eleven year marriage. A serious error in judgement by Louis shattered it completely.

Sweet Creature / 66753 words

It’s not that Harry expected high school to be easy. He heard all the stories from his sister and he knew that he was in for four years of hell. However, he didn’t exactly expect that hell to also be populated by Angels.

Waiting On You / 76584 words

“Vampires,” Louis says with disgust, glaring over at the vampire who is noisily slurping from the woman’s neck nearby.

Zayn gives the neat fang marks on Louis’ neck a meaningful look.

“Can’t live with them, can’t live without them,” Louis finishes, ignoring Zayn when he rolls his eyes.

Louis takes a long sip of his milkshake, presses his fingers against the marks on his neck, and definitely doesn’t think about the vampire who left them there.

Young Gods / 77739 words

Louis is a model and Harry's supposed to be a normal guy... Until he isn't.

Perfect Storm / 80230 words

What do you do when your best friend asks you and your (now) ex to be the best men at his destination wedding? You can either tell him the truth, tell him you’re not together anymore, and deal with the consequences, or you can pretend you’re still together and roll with it, just pray you don’t spiral. Fake it ‘til you make it. You know, for the sake of the wedding.

Harry and Louis choose the latter.

stars are guiding me back / 80655 words

BACHELOR AU where Louis directs his ex-boyfriend Harry in his season as America's first bi bachelor.

Speaking of Marvels / 100585 words

Louis is a nanny in suburban New Jersey, and the neighbors' son is home from college for the summer. It was supposed to be a fling.

cupid’s defence / 116879 words

In which Harry is Cupid, Louis and Liam own a law firm, and they're all getting sued.

Tainted Saints And Velvet Vices / 126082 words

Louis is new to seventh year and Harry is the resident devil-may-care Slytherin set to make his entire experience a living misery. Due to less than favourable circumstances they're forced to forge an unwilling, tentative relationship for their own survival. Repressed emotions, decidedly unromantic ballroom dancing, Triwizard Tournament tasks, creative jinxes and twilight flying above the Forbidden Forest ensue.

Fading / 202393 words

Louis knows about beauty; the combination of qualities that pleases the aesthetic senses. He creates that combination every day in the garments he designs while studying fashion at uni. The cut of the design, the color of the fabric, the intricacy of the stitching; it all comes together to create something beautiful. When the science student with the long legs and dimpled smile agrees to model for him, Louis decides he’s found beauty personified. Harry just thinks Louis needs someone to show him how beautiful he is.

Cocaine for Breakfast / 309627 words

Louis Tomlinson is a drug addict, sent away from his beloved party-scene to recover. There, he discovers that small towns have just as much access to drugs as London did, plus something even better that he just can't get enough of. That something is a boy with green eyes and bouncy curls named Harry Styles

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

[mason-knight]

Ethan cracks one eye open just in time to see Mason pulling on his clothes.

“Where are you going at this ungodly hour?”

He reaches out, planning to swipe his hand over a curve of bare flesh before it disappears behind a tight black workout suit but Mason steps too nimbly out of his reach.

“It’s three in the afternoon. We’ve been asleep most of the day.”

“Wasn’t that much sleeping, as I recall.”

Mason pauses to throw a meaningful glance over his shoulder. “No, that much is true.”

He watches Mason dress, the other man’s movements confident and comfortable in a way they haven’t been for a long time. Muscles ripple across his back as he pulls on the top part of the suit and Ethan refuses to acknowledge the newly formed scars that paint puckered red lines across Mason’s reinforced skin. He has already spent hours mapping them with his fingers and mouth and in spite of them, Mason looks strong. Confident and comfortable and a far cry from the tired, battered shell dragged halfway across the galaxy following his escape from Omega.

Perhaps, Ethan considers grudgingly – very grudgingly - those alliance scientists weren’t entirely useless after all.

He inches his palm over the sheets towards Mason, contemplating how he’d much prefer to peel the suit back away from Mason’s skin than see him leave. Mason had been warm and responsive under Ethan’s hands earlier, and Ethan wants to do it all over again.

He props himself up on one elbow. “You should come back to bed.”

Mason’s hands pause for a moment then he shakes his head. “Can’t. Marie’s waiting.” Mason pulls on his shoes. “We’re going to go for a run and I need to shake off the cobwebs.”

“There are better ways.”

Mason looks over. “You could come with us, you know.”

Ethan wrinkles his nose delicately. A run seems pointless to him. Where were they running to anyway, on a space station in the middle of space? Ridiculous. Besides, there was no love lost between the commander and himself. He’d sooner spend his time with a chatty volus. At least they might have something useful to offer him.

“This skin wasn’t made to sweat.”

“Says the phoenix,” Mason laughs then and it transforms his face into something beautiful. “Alright, suit yourself.”

“I always do,” Ethan murmurs as Mason finishes dressing. He’s on his way to the door before he stops and turns back, crawling across the mattress briefly to lean down to press a parting kiss to Ethan’s mouth that tastes faintly of mint. Mason draws back and his throat bobs in a rough swallow, as though he’s embarrassed at his domestic show of affection and he’s about to pull away before Ethan captures him, curling his fingers around the back of Mason’s neck to hold him in place as he kisses him back.

Ethan doesn’t stop to dwell on why.

--

Mason finds Marie waiting for him under a tree by in the Presidium commons.

“Hey, phoenix,” she grins as she leans up to give him a hug. He returns it easily.

“Hey yourself, alliance.”

She taps her wrist and raises her eyebrow. “You kept me waiting long enough.”

Mason clears his throat roughly as he glances away. He doesn’t let himself think about why he was late. “Sorry, we’re a bit looser on schedules than what you’re used to. Afternoon run, though? Still can’t get yourself out of bed before midday, huh?”

“Nope,” she grins apologetically and throws her arms up in a stretch above her head. Her cropped top rides up, baring the smooth skin of her midriff. Even after all these years, Marie is as fit and as gorgeous as ever. Time has been good to her. “So, are you ready for this?”

He grins and bounces lightly on the balls of his feet. He’s warmed up already and ready to put Marie through her paces. “Yep. We’ll start up here in the presidium and make our way to the wards.”

“That’s a long way,” she frowns.

“What’s the matter, Miller,” he taunts lightly. “Don’t think you can handle it?”

“Please,” she scoffs and hip checks him with a roll of her eyes and all of a sudden, they’re fifteen again with the sunlight streaming over their shoulders on the school track. “I’m more concerned about you. All those Cerberus parts rattling around. Wouldn’t want anything to come loose after we just got you all fixed up.”

Mason snickers at that. “Let’s go.”

--

It feels like they run for days but eventually Mason has to remind himself that Marie doesn’t have the same augmentations he does and he cuts it somewhere near Apollo’s Cafe. Marie has kept pace with him admirably but after a few laps of the Presidium tracks, he can see she’s started to tire.

It felt good though. It felt good to run and fall into the rhythm of his feet against the paths under the Citadel’s artificial sky. It wasn’t the same as Sol’s sunlight and they had to dodge and weave through the population milling about, but it was still pretty damn good.

Not for the first time, Mason finds himself grateful for Marie’s tenacity in pulling together a team to help him. Him, and whatever was left of Project Phoenix that were still human.

“Zeus isn’t going to get pissy at me for monopolizing your time, is he?” Mason asks later, long after they’ve slowed to a walk and grabbed something to drink. It’s been a few hours now and the night tones of the artificial sky were starting to leak through, creating a twilight that had them sitting together at the edge of the lake to watch the changes.  

Marie rolls her eyes. “Of course not.”

“Are you sure? You know how he gets. He knows I’ve seen you naked, right?”

Marie blinks then lets out a peel of laughter. She tries to slap his shoulder but he leans out of her reach. “But the question is, do you even remember?”

Mason taps the side of his head. “Better now,” he grins but the smile slips after a moment. “I have you to thank for that, Rie. If you hadn’t brought together that lab…”

Surprisingly, Marie flushes slightly and glances away. “I’d do anything for you boys,” she says softly. “Well, almost anything. But you are looking better. Better than when I first found you, anyway. I never asked… Does this mean… your memories? Do you have them back?”

“Clearer, although there’s still parts missing. Ethan says I should be grateful, there’s three years of hell there that’s better off staying repressed.”

“But you remember everything else?”

“Most of it. I think.”

“So you remember telling my Nonna to kiss your ass?”

“I what?”

“Yes. That first night I brought you home after we started dating.”

He cycles back through his memories but it comes up blank. “No…. wait, are you testing me? That didn’t happen.”

“Mmmhm, it did.”

“Nope. I don’t believe it. I would never say that.”

“You did,” she insists. “You looked her right in the eye and said bacia il mio culo peloso, Nonna.”

“I did? Wow, what an asshole.”

She laughs, leaning in against him. “Michael pranked you. You thought you were thanking her for the food.”

Mason’s heart pangs roughly in his chest as he tries to remember. Michael, Marie’s younger brother, had been cheeky and bright and while Mason doesn’t remember much but a wide smile and the same brown eyes that he shared with Marie, he remembers the warmth and affection he had for him.

“I’m sorry, you know. About what happened. I don’t think I ever said that before. I might not remember everything, but I remember I loved him.”

Marie doesn’t really answer but she loops her arm through his and tucks in against him. She’s warm as the sky dims and the breeze licks away their sweat but their silence is comfortable. He thinks he might even catch the scent of apples in the air.  

“We have to make this a regular thing,” she says after a few long moments. “Workout, run, eat… debrief about who’s boyfriend is hotter? Definitely mine by the way.”

Mason wrinkles his nose at that. Nico was passable, if you liked the bulky, broody sort with bad attitudes. “In your dreams, Miller.”

She pounces at that. “Ha! So you admit it! He is your boyfriend! Mads was right!”

“Ajax?” Mason scoffs. “Ah, no. It’s not-“

“Bullshit, Mase. God, the way Maddy tells it, you two have been married for years.”

“No… It’s not… It’s not like that.”

“You need to lock that down.”

Mason lifts an eyebrow. “The fastest way to guarantee Sabre never looks twice at me again would be to-“ Mason wiggles his fingers as air quotes, “’lock that down’… So no, not doing that. What the hell are you listening to Ajax for anyway?”

Marie gives him a look like it should be obvious and he’s a few tools short of a tool shed. “Uh, best friend.”

Mason places a hand on his heart, wounded. “I thought I was your best friend?”

She smiles sweetly and pats his cheek. “Mase, you are my oldest friend.”

“Yeah,” he grins. “So suck on that, Maddy.”

She laughs again and bumps him with her shoulder. “Seriously though, Mase. Do us all a favor and lock that down with Sinclair. Or not.”

“We are not talking about this.”

“You could do better you know. Maybe I should introduce you to someone new. Maybe Harris has a friend-“

“I will pull you down by your hair, Miller,” he threatens.

“Please, I could run rings around you,” and she shoves at him for good measure only this time, his body doesn’t budge. She rolls her eyes and he snickers smugly.

“Damn phoenix.”

“Come on, Commander. Let’s go try this fancy coffee equivalent you’re been harping on about before Zeus shows up and yells at me for stealing his girlfriend.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” but Marie’s expression turns playfully unsure. “I think. He probably would enjoy the chance to yell at you though.”

Mason pulls a face as he climbs to his feet. He sticks a hand out to help her up but she slaps it away with a laugh. “I don’t need your help.”

“Sure you don’t. So where are we going?”

“There’s this amazing place down in the wards Maddy found…”

--

Mason is eying the brightly colored concoction that Marie swears black and blue is maple flavored ice cream coffee suspiciously as they’re strolling through the market area of the wards when the fight breaks out.

Marie stops dead in her tracks, eyes wide.

“….Isaac?!”

[verobatto]

Destiel Chronicles

Vol. CXII

It was a love story from the very beginning.

The Righteous Father

(14x05/15x06)

Hello my beloveds! Another meta from Healing!Dean season 14. This is a summary from my original metas from season 14, so I hope I can convey all the concepts for you.

I will talk mostly about Dean's daddy issues and how he will be able to break free about it as he accepts his love for Castiel.

You can check the metas from these two episode following these links: X, X, X, X, X.

Sharing Daddy Issues

"And this episode Logic Nightmares, was about fears... Did you see the woman trying to open the basement door... Darker than night, to see what was in there... In that dark and tenebrous place, and then she was scared him by that "vampire"? And she fell of fear... Well very symbolic bc... imagine Dean trying to open his most darkest room... His lost repressed feeling... But when he tries... He's attacked by his own fears... And he fails Everytime..."

I wrote this in one of my metas. That episode had Dean Winchester saying "Let it go... Like Elsa." It's related to MOVE ON. A topic that will be explored in season 15 with Dean and Castiel after their break up.

'Logic Nightmares' was about fears but also about daddy issues.

The fact that Sasha went to a dark room and found a monster hidden there, is a foreshadow for AUMichael hidden inside of Dean after 14x10 and also, AUMichael spying them though Dean Winchester's eyes. (That's why the reaction of the d'jin in this episode.)

The dialogue between Sasha and Dean in which Sasha were mirroring Dean was very meaningful:

SASHA: My dad wasn't the best person. He was gone all the time working. For us, he said (...)

DEAN: I'm sorry.

SASHA: Mm. That's what everyone says. Except him. Never said it. You want to know what the most ridiculous part is? I worshipped him when I was a kid.

This is Dean talking my friends from the very beginning. His view about hai dad, a man that tried to do his best, but even so, filled with trauma to his son's. And deep inside he was waiting for an apology from John.

And also...

Gif set credit @itsokaysammy

Dean's baggage is full of GUILT, REGRETS and TRAUMA. And the only one person we saw getting inside that baggage/backpack was Castiel in episode 13x20.

Also, the topic of MOVE ON, will be explored in season 15 after Dean and Castiel's break up.

This episode was full of recalling to John Winchester. It worked as a foreshadow of his next appearence in episode 14x13. The episode in which Sam and Dean will be able to forgive their father and heal.

We saw statues of Saint Mary and Saint Joseph in the crypt representing Mary and John Winchester.

And a blatant John Winchester mirror in Bobby...

Okay, let's jump now to episode 14x06... And how it was foreshadowing Dean's choice in episode 14x13.

Dean will choose Castiel

Harper was a Dean mirror, not just because the whole visual elements you can find in the colors of her outfits (she starts wearing red: toxic Dean and ends up wearing green: healing!Dean). But because her relationship with the place where she lived and her toxic bond with the zombie boyfriend.

I realized this episode had a lot of fables references on the wall. That's because we are seeing Dean learning the lesson of his life. Episode 14x04 was about fighting against fears and 14x05 about daddy issues. This episode is about making the right decision and choose your true love.

This was very important to understand episode 14x13 in which Dean decides between his Father, his past and his present family and Castiel. Of course he picked up Cas.

But, then the monster/toxic masculinity boyfriend came back...

"Once in the library what happened was symbolic too, bc Harper OPENED THE DOOR TO HIS TOXIC PAST AND THIS ZOMBIE GAVE HER THE BOOK AGAIN! I MEAN!! This is Dean coming back all over again to this big issue, embracing him, not letting go. This toxic idea of what a man should be, this toxic idea about NOT TALKING OF THE L WORD AND NOT FEELING IT FOR A MAN!"

Another important book was this one...

That book talking about laces (bond, profound Bond) and lances (Dean stabbing Castiel in the barn, love at first stab).

The symbolism here is huge and talks about Dean's inner fight.

From this episode I elqboretaed what I thought was THE MOVES and THE TALK. Because Jack was the innocent one here trying to understand about love.

The moves were related with Dean and CAS being glued and the talk is the one we were waiting for, it came as Dean's prayer in Purgatory 2.0 and Castiel's love confession (as a response to that prayer) in episode 15x18.

First of all, remember the place where Dean and Jack arrived for info. There was full of cocks (second meaning). Also two cocks facing each other to both side of Dean's head (AUMichael against Castiel fighting for Dean 🤣).

And do you remember that funny dialogue between the waitress and Dean and Jack.

JACK - What's courting?

DEAN - Hey, it's what you do before you start dating.

JACK - and that's the thing you do before the sex. (Dean and waitress both look at him oddly)

WAITRESS - Sometimes you just have the sex. (and grins)

DEAN - Okay, that's...Who is Harper Sayles?

That's very cute from Dean and Jack. Because both of them are innocent. Innocent love. Because Dean is not the man that hooks up with any waitress anymore. He even turned away the Cock's tail. Like he rejecting the idea. He is so in love with CAS. Jack and Dean's talk will continue when Jack asks him about Harper being in love with the nougat boy, and googly eyes. (Related to Dean and Cas almost continued eye fucking.) And then the last scene....

Gif credit @mishalocked

This scene was a blatant DEAN IS TALKING ABOUT CAS. DEAN SPEAKS WITH AUTHORITY ABOUT LOVE AND HE EVEN USES THE L WORD HERE. Dean is accepting his romantic love for the angel.

Harper's room was showing a little of Dean's innocent idea about love too. With all the stuffed animals in his room and the big green word AMORE live in Italian.

Another important foreshadow was Harper (this time dressed in green) writing a live letter to Jack, his true love while a love song was playing.

In retrospective, even when I. The letter Harper was chosing Jack over her toxicity, the song playing was a foreshadow of 15x18. I wrote this...

Sobbing, I think I was right...

To Conclude:

These two episode talked about daddy issues and Dean's inner fight that will end with Dean chosing Castiel and his present life against his toxicity and past.

It was full of foreshafows from season 15.

I hope you liked this summaries. If you wanna read more about these two episodes, please check the links at the beginning of this meta.

Tagging @magnificent-winged-beast @emblue-sparks @weirddorkylittlediana @michyribeiro @whyjm @legendary-destiel @a-bit-of-influence @thatwitchydestielfan @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @lykanyouko @evvvissticante @savannadarkbaby @dea-stiel @poorreputation @bre95611 @thewolfathedoor @charlottemanchmal @neii3n @deathswaywardson @followyourenergy @dean-is-bi-till-i-die @hekatelilith-blog @avidbkwrm @anarchiana @dickpuncher365 @vampyrosa @authorsararayne @mybonsai1976 @love-neve-dies @dustythewind @wayward-winchester67 @angelwithashotgunandtrenchcoat @trashblackrainbow @deeutdutdutdoh @destiel-shipper-11 @larrem88 @charmedbycastiel @ran-savant @little-crazy-misha-minion @samoosetheshipper

@shadows-and-padlocked-hearts @mishtho @dancingtuesdaymorning @nerditoutwithbooks @mikennacac73 @justmeand-myinsight @idontwantpeopletoknowmyname @teddybeardoctor @pepevons @helevetica @dizzypinwheel @horsez2 @qanelyytha

@destielle @spnsmile @shippsblog @robot-feels @superlock-in-the-tardis @superduckbatrebel @belacoded @madronasky @anon-non2 @cea1996 @lisafu02 @asphodelesauvage @deancasgirl777

If you wanna be added or removed from this list just let me know.

If you wanna read the previous metas from season 14 here you have the links...

Vol. CIX, CX, CXI.

Buenos Aires, May 9th 2021 2:46 PM

[bloodys44]

Silence and Cigarette Smoke

Original story and bonus content found here! ↓↓↓↓

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13289933/1/Silence-and-Cigarette-Smoke

Chapter 8 was just posted on ff.net if ya wanna read ahead :) Enjoy!

Chapter 5: The Smoke That Smells of Grief

788

The wind was vicious that morning, tearing through the gnarled streets of Stella without mercy. Lucy was sure the raw skin of her cheeks would soon crack from the terrifying force and the wicked chill. She had never liked the wind, it was annoying and wild to say the very least. But today, she stood without complaint. Mother Nature was lashing out, heartbroken by the death of her daughter, a sky goddess. She had a right to be mad, and her anger was excused. And Lucy decided that her opinion on what she hated and what she loved was very askew, if not evidence enough by the cigarette perched on her lip. She had stolen a few from Natsu's extra pack, the one tucked discreetly at the bottom of his bag. Hidden, because he told Lucy he didn't smoke as much as he really did. It was probably so she didn't worry, which she definitely did, so maybe he was right to do so. Hopefully, he wouldn't be too upset about parting with three.

Natsu's cigarettes were nice. He rolled them himself, with extreme care, and chard a symbol of a flame on every filter. He said it was so he could tell them apart from Grey's, back when they were forced to share a room after bursting pipes flooded the guild. Yet even now, years after parting with his roommate, he still took the time to do it. They reminded her of the ones her father used to smoke, so maybe he just wanted to smoke something that felt luxurious. Regardless, the warm burn she felt in her chest on every inhale was arguably the only thing keeping her grounded to reality. It told her that yes, she was breathing. And yes, she was alive.

They had decided to spend the night in a forgotten and long-abandoned apartment building near the edge of town. Natsu said they looked far too skittish and ragged to waltz into a public inn. He was right of course, the whole townscape was alive and rabid after all the excitement the previous evening. The building wasn't so bad either, lack the smell of rotted wood and soaked cement. They had lucked out, finding a room with neglected furniture and a somewhat working bathroom sink and, much to Natsu's excitement, a sealed jar of moonshine. The apartment was small and rather bizarrely laid out. A hall winding around the abandoned rooms like an ominous mazed shell. The drain located in the kitchen sink smelled of bloated decomposing and the bathroom was a ghastly shade of green that Lucy was sure, shouldn't exist. But, it was somewhat warm and out of the evening rain, so really, she couldn't complain. The 'bedroom' had a weird octagonal shape and held nothing but a singular partly disintegrated mattress shoved against the far wall. The grungy bathroom with the working sink was linked with a doorless frame to the left of the one leading into the bedroom. To the right was a door-styled window that opened to a small rust ridden deck. That's where Lucy was now, shivering against the malicious wind and pretending she wasn't cold. Puffing away on a cigarette that looked so out of place in her hand while she tried not to cry. The more she tried to wrap her head around last night's awful adventure, the more it felt like some sick hallucinated joke over anything real. With a final exaggerated exhale Lucy flicked the defeated roll of tobacco over the terrace railing, leaning heavily on it and losing herself in the cryptic groan the metal gave while she watched it fall. She didn't know what to do, her usually organized mind was spinning in her skull and her thoughts came out of order in relentless spurts. The image of Lissana's blood soaking into the dirt packed earth did nothing but jar repressed memories of her mother. Memories of the day she hadn't listened to her warning and glanced back while running through the crowd. Memories of that disgustingly prominent guillotine blade slicing her head clean off and soaking the earth with her blood just the same. It even sounded the same, the tearing of human flesh. The thought churned her stomach roughly and forced a violent gag. The burning laceration at the side of her throat pulling in a very dreadful way, which in turn did very little to help sway her thoughts from where they were currently stationed.

She had been drowning in her own brain from the moment they arrived at their camp late last night, and she was sure she wouldn't be free to stop anytime soon. Replaying all her actions, trying to see what she could have done better. The answer to that was a whole hell of a lot, starting at the beginning when she ignored Natsu's rightly nervous warnings. He was always right about these things, she should have listened. This, though, also caused agitation, because how could somebody that had practical cabbage for brains always be right. She prided herself on her intellect, but her street skills were becoming a chronically flunked elective. And there Natsu would be to prove her wrong, standing strong and ready to save the day. Only this time, he didn't. And everything was mixed and upside down.

Her throat burned, and Lucy had to stagger herself to withhold the childish whine. Natsu's stitches were a downright hack job, pulling at her skin in gruesome ways. She now understood why Mira got so pent up when he tried to mend himself. To be fair, he had practically begged her not to force his hand. His eyes had been so dark, almost black when she told him that he had too. She couldn't do it herself, vision already wavering from either head trauma or the obvious blood loss. "I can't do this to you." He had protested. Sitting there looking like a beaten child with a thick, blunt and rather dull sewing needle gripped between his two fingers. He had scavenged it from the mouldy kitchen, along with a long thread he had torn from the moth ridden couch. The jar of moonshine popped open to drench his fingers and tools. Her small first aid pouch lost somewhere in the mine. "I'm going to bleed out." She had retorted bluntly. To which, he said. "It's going to hurt." While taking a jarring swig of the moonshine pot, and managing to keep his expressive features schooled from the taste. She figured dying of blood loss would be far worse and sat herself on the green and white checkered floor beside him. Crawling between his somewhat spread legs(as far as the cramped bathroom would allow) and resting so her back was on his chest. The first stitch was brutal, the needle getting caught on her skin in all the wrong ways. She bit down on his bicep to keep from screaming, just like he had instructed. Her mouth tasted of iron, her teeth piercing his skin, but he didn't complain so she didn't either. Natsu sometimes grunted disapprovingly from behind her. His trembling hands trying to soothe her with circles on her back. It didn't get any easier, by the fifth stitch she was a teary mess, and she could have sworn she felt the shudder of Natsu's chest while he choked back his own sobs.

They hadn't spoken much since then. The night was silent, Lucy curled up alone on the mattress and Natsu hunched over on the terrace. Keeping watch, he had told her while wrapping her up in his favourite travelling blanket. One Mira had knitted him after hearing he had arrived at the guild with nothing. The yarn was well worn, and matted in places. Three (clearly sewn on by Natsu) patches were situated on the lower half. But it was clean and smelt like him. Volcanic ash and spiced cinnamon, clashing with rain-forest mist and sap drizzled bark. Only on the exhale could you taste the mint, and not once did the sensation lack in its delivery of peace. He didn't sleep at all that night, she knew because she didn't either. Nor did he do much watching, instead he spent the dark hours studying his boots, the ones he had traded his mud-caked sandals for. He didn't look up once and she knew it was because the night sky was ruined for him. His glorious moon had fallen and now the sky held only black.

When the sun's rays had barely scraped over the landscape Natsu stood, stretched briefly before darting inside. Lucy pushed herself up upon his arrival, hoping he was coming to help talk her through what her mind couldn't digest. That wasn't his goal though, as he informed her he was heading out to meet the client. He owes us a reward, he informed. She pleaded with him not to go, that it wasn't worth it and the job was a lost cause. He looked about ready to explode and said "The gang is gone. We did what he asked. And I'm getting that fucking book." Short and to the point, then he was out the door, nearly slipping on the edge of his cloak in hurry. That was four hours ago and the cold had already numbed her skin to the pain and lost its distracting effect. Lucy was worried, and if he didn't show up soon she was sure to do something rash. She lit the last of her three cigarettes, relishing in the spin it gifted her head and the sour taste that burned her throat.

Several minutes passed before his cloaked frame rounded the street corner and Lucy inhaled deeply again, trying to let her heart palpitations slow. He stopped just before the front doors, staring at her from his spot on the cobble path two stories lower. His eye's fixated on the cigarette in her fingers. He gave his head a meaningful shake before heading in, it was only seconds before she heard his boots thunking across the hall's floorboards. She crept back through the bedroom window, meeting him as he emerged through the door.

"That's a pretty nasty habit you've picked up?"

His almost cheerful sounding remark caught her off guard, not that his constantly changing emotions didn't always. She raised her brow at him, sealing the windowed entrance behind her to cut off the colds connection. He looked worse than when he left, covered in mud and sporting a new gash on his brow with a matching set on his lower lip. She always hated when it was his face that got beaten.

"How did it go?" She chose to bat, ignoring his observation. She knew he noticed the way she was eyeing his new injuries, he chose to ignore that too.

"Fine. I got the book." Her eye's widened a fraction but she didn't ask to see it. The very idea of it seemed distasteful for the moment, the words too heavy for her tongue. "Are you feeling alright? Your flushed." His quick flip of the subject had again taken her off guard. She wasn't sure if it was because of the cold or because she really didn't feel that well, the irking feeling her throat was infected constantly pestering her. Or maybe it was the way his deep orbs lingered a little too long on her face, all concern and no lust that caused her to redden more. It was fact that no other man in her entire life had ever looked at her with such respect. She might have told him so, if not for the tremendously awful situation they were trapped in. He stepped towards her, placing the back of his hand to her forehead and retracting it quickly. "Jesus Lucy you're freezing!" Yeah, maybe it was just the temperature that caused her cherry colouring. "How long were you outside?"

"How did you get those?" She bounced back, gesturing to his newly sported lacerations. Natsu grunted in frustration and shook his head, taking hold of her shoulders and guiding her to sit on the mattress. He sat behind her, wrapping his sculpted arms around her frame and warming his skin until Lucy felt she was being held down by a radiator. She could tell he wanted to leave, getting home was at the very top of his priority list. But she knew he wouldn't push until he deemed her warm and well enough for travel.

"It's chaotic out there, got into a bit of a scuff. S'fine." He partly explained.

"Did anybody die?"

"No. Wasn't that bad."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

They were quiet for a minute, listening only to one another's breathing. She missed when Natsu was younger, like when she had just met him. He couldn't keep a secret, and he most certainly wouldn't be vague like this. Wanting to spill the story so he wasn't alone in dealing with it, that it was in someone else's head too. More recently he seemed to internalize everything, and this was no exception.

"I was only outside for a bit." One shabby answer for another.

"Bullshit, you're freezing."

"It's summer."

"It's freezing."

"Yeah."

Silence for another beat.

"You shouldn't do that, you could get frostbite."

Lucy ignored him then, swivelling herself so she was facing him. Their noses were practically touching, she could feel his warm breath and spy every freckle that danced over the slope of his nose. A sigh escaped her as she scrounged up the courage to ask what they were both thinkings. "What do we do when we're home?"

"I don't know."

"Okay."

His expression then reminded her of the time she had caught him and Lissana sneaking off together after Elfman's birthday. It was the same expression he wore when she tried to kiss him out behind the greenhouses. The scene had been romantic if she recalled properly. Low sunsets and blossom petals scattering over the FairyTail grounds like a soothing aura. He had been drinking, Lucy could tell from her spot behind the farthest gardening shed. Maybe he had simply been too tipsy to notice her approach with that hound nose, or maybe he just didn't care. His eyes were blown wide like her family's holiday dinner plates, watching as a bashful Lissana perched on the tips of her toes, snagging her fingers on his signature scarf and pulling him down to meet her lips. His eye's closed only momentarily before he shifted back some, gently staggering to put some space between their lips. "What are you doing?" She had asked him. And there, that was the same face he was wearing now, as if the brain behind his onyx eyes had melted away. An empty skull playing an act. "I don't know." He said just the same.

And they sat in that silence for a while, until Natsu decided she looked alive enough to go, or that she looked too bad to stay any longer. Her throat was definitely infected, and she felt like a man clawing through withdrawal. But she knew her dragon would get her home safely and she closed her eyes and let him gather their things. She must have walked with him to the station, but the rest of their travel was mostly a blur from there.

Their treck home from magnolia station very much reminded Lucy of her first encounter with Natsu, strung up across his chest, incased in his rigid arms while he carried her with ease. Her conscious state somewhat unreliable. Though back then, his expression hadn't been so grim and his shoulders hadn't been so tense. The tear in his brow had re-opened slightly over their walk, a line of red slowly drawing down the edge of his face. She had watched it drip patiently, over the edge of his cheekbones and down his cheek until it dipped under his jaw and she had to turn away. Seeing his blood always pained something in her she'd rather ignore. She wished he would whisper calming words against her cheek like he had last time. She still couldn't remember the words he spoke, but the feeling of calm had stayed with her all these years. But he didn't, not even a glance her way. And Lucy decided that if this was a new beginning like it was back then, she didn't like it at all. She closed her eyes and hoped her swaying brain would help her forget it.

Their arrival back home didn't pan to be something she wanted to remember either. Apparently Lissana had been very vocal about going on a job with Natsu, and their guild-mates had been quick to notice her absence in their return. They all poured out questions of her whereabouts, and why they looked so sick and beaten. But Natsu didn't answer, so Lucy didn't either. He kept his line of sight true as he marched her up to the infirmary, where thankfully it was only Porlyusica on shift. She didn't ask too many questions, only made comment to tell them moonshine is an awful disinfectant and these stitches are horrendous but they probably saved her life. Lucy was just thankful Mira wasn't back yet and working today, she just wasn't sure if she'd be able to look at her yet. Natsu stayed with her just long enough for Porlyusica to say she would be fine in a few days with the proper medication and rest. Almost as soon as she finished speaking he was out the door mumbling that he was going off to tell the headmaster the mission report. Lucy begged with him to wait, that she would go with him, but he wouldn't. And for hours after, the castle's walls rang with the cries of their substitute father.

Lucy was put on bed rest for no less than a week. She was cleaned thoroughly and re-stiched with skilled hands. Natsu had been completely resistful about his own medical care and had waited in the hall for Porlyusica to finish with her tasks. After that though, he perched himself at the foot of her bed and didn't leave until she was permitted to do so as well. Sneaking in cigarettes to smoke when the nurses changed shift. And for every night following her release, he did the same, sleeping against her wall at the foot of her dorm bed. It was like he was watching her, scared that if he looked away she would disappear too. His whole personality had been turned down about twelve notches, his internal fire seemed so smothered. She was never alone anymore, constantly coddled by him. And though she appreciated his constant presence and care, it grinded her a little that he wouldn't even spare her a walk alone through the grounds. Silently following her just out of range.

Another week and a half passed before Mira, Elfman, and Laxus returned from their job. Lucy had woken to Natsu pacing her room rather frantic. His hair spiked from stressful finger snags and his scarf strained over his shoulders while he pulled. "Are you okay?" She mumbled, her throat raspy with sleep. Her voice seemed to startle him, causing him to turn slightly and whip his head around to face her. Eye's wide and shoulder's flexed. This in itself was strange, for Natsu, with his uncanny scenes, wasn't one to be caught off guard. He shook his head slightly, running his hands through his hair once more before taking a seat atop her desk.

"Mira and Elfman got back this morning." He mumbled, scuffing his sandal on the floor.

"Oh." His announcement turned her stomach, metaphorically mangling her insides and shrinking her ribcage until the air felt thin.

She nodded towards him slightly, pulling a pack from her bedside table. He practically ripped it from her hand, mumbling that it "Wasn't good for her." before lighting one for himself. He then kicked the edge of her dresser to his front, swearing loudly and moving to fidget with his hair again. Lucy let out a stifled exhale and curled in on herself, tucking her legs against her chest and wrapping them with her arms. Natsu never acted like this, like a child having a tantrum. This is the Natsu that frightened her the most, when he was careless and frantic. He was already impulsive on a good day, and it regularly got him in trouble. So this was only a time bomb in the making. Once his dark eye's met hers again they softened almost instantly. "I'm sorry, just kinda stressed out I think."

Lucy was careful in her approach, sliding across the bed to stand next to him. She slipped her arms under his, around his chest and pulled him close in a loose hug. She rested her chin on his shoulder and laced her fingers at the nape of his neck, twisting his pink locks around his finger. "Do they know yet?" She whispered, keeping up her ministrations when he stiffened significantly.

"No, they're in Gramp's office waiting on me now."

"Oh..." She spewed again. She pulled away from him slightly, resting her forehead on his for a moment. "Just let me get dressed, I'll come down with you."

She turned away from him in the direction of her closet, but he grabbed her wrist, holding her in place. "I don't know how to do this again." His words barely slipped out under his breath. A simply broken statement from a broken man.

It was true this wasn't the first time he had reported such awful news to the Strauss siblings. He had told Lucy once before that when he was younger, Lissana had begged him to take her out on a job. He asked Mira for her permission, but she evidently had said no, that she wasn't ready to go off on a job with a kid that always got into trouble and constantly snuck out on jobs that were far too high in ranking for his skill level. Natsu being the stubborn child he was though, stole a job request with a senior rank and took little Lissana along. As expected, the enemy was far superior and bested them quickly. Natsu lost Lissana in the commotion, and after days of desperate searching, he had to give in. Thankfully Laxus found her almost half a year later while travelling home.

"When they heard the news Elfman cried for days, I thought it would never end, it was awful." The dragon slayer shook his head again, finally offering her a hit of his cigarette with an apologetic look for his earlier reaction. "Mira though, I'll never forget it. It's like I could see her heart shatter through her eyes. I wanted her to yell and scream, to get mad or something, I felt so guilty but she didn't." He tossed Lucy a look filled with such pain and anguish, one that should never have melted over his structured face. "She just held me for hours, kept telling me it wasn't my fault and that everything would be okay, she even smiled at me. And for months after, she had these awful nightmares where she would cry out for Lissana, and god the sound, I swear I can still hear it sometimes."

"Natsu..." The blonde tried to console, "You were just a child, it was an accident." She tried to squeeze his hand in comfort but he pulled away, sliding from the edge of her desk to stretch freely in the of the small room.

"I'm not a child anymore Lucy. This is worse than back then. Laxus cant find her this time." He was done talking now, she could tell with the way he held his posture. Natsu wasn't one to open up and maul things over with another person. This being a rare occurrence for him, she didn't want to push him farther, in fear he would spin out in his own thoughts and make a rash decision. He was so complex, Lucy found she always struggled with trying to support him the way he deserved. He hated feeling pitied or coddled, the wrong response could push him to months of emotional silence. And she knew for a fact that this morning report was going to do just that.

The meeting went just as awful as Natsu had described. Elfman cried howls that rivalled hungry dogs, a shaking mess that contradicted his overly pressed masculinity while Laxus stood stoic behind him, a firm hand on his brother-in-law's shoulder. Mira acted just the same, a warm smile pressed to her lips while she gathered a broken Natsu in her arms. Whispering gentle words against his neck while she toyed with his wild hair. Lucy watched her partner deplete at her side, the lights dulling from his onyx orbs with every word that left Mira's subtle pout. This time though, the silver-haired woman couldn't wait for her nightmares to control her grief, and as soon as the grand oak doors closed her away from the office the cry that split the hall rattled Lucy's bones. A sound that knew no happiness and danced only with the dark.

Again, check here to read ahead and find bonus content :) ↓↓↓↓

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13289933/1/Silence-and-Cigarette-Smoke

[ofwolvesandbutterflies]

not when i’m with you

executive order | ii

Pairing: Jung Jaehyun x Reader ft. Johnny Seo

Genre: mature angst

Tags: arrangedmarriage!au, ceo!johnjae, bestboi!jaehyun

Warnings: infidelity, language, toxic relationships, mature content, mentions of abuse

day 24 of 30 days with NCT

Synopsis: in which you’re unhappy with one man, infatuated with another... and the one you’ve made peace with isn’t the one you should have. 

// this right here is the part where imma make you change your mind // (x)

--

[00:08]

“Let’s get you hom-” 

“No,” you interrupted, voice quivering with all the raw, suppressed emotion you had hidden away from Johnny, your parents, the entire world for so, so long. You knew Jaehyun meant well, but not a single molecule in your body wanted to be near anything even remotely related to your fiancé. “I don’t- I don’t want to go back there.” 

The word ‘home’ didn’t even cross your mind as thoughts of your sad, lonely apartment flashed through your head. At this point, you didn’t even have an emotionally stable relationship or feeling in which you could consider a ‘home’, much less a physical abode. Queasy were you, resting heavily against the cool metal of the bar counter and you all but whispered, “I… don’t want to be alone while he fucks another nameless bitch. Not again.”

Tears streamed shamelessly down your made-up cheeks and part of you knew you should have been embarrassed. You had never before considered yourself an emotional drunk. Then again, you had only ever gotten drunk by yourself. The shrill voice of your mother entered your brain. Emotion in public? Disgusting. You are my offspring, you are above that, and I don’t ever want to see that from you, understand?  

...

Never before had the young CEO of Jung Resources seen you so sad, so broken. Granted, it didn’t say much because though the two of you had been raised in the same circle of spoiled children, you always had some sort of cold facade up around others that hardly faltered unless you had ingested copious amounts of alcohol. In all honesty, had your father not arranged an agreement with Seo Enterprises, part of Jaehyun had grown up expecting to spend his whole life with you. And deep down, it hurt him to see you like this. 

So he stooped down until he was only mere centimetres from the tip of your reddened nose. With a few fingers, he brushed the tear-dampened hair from out of your face and behind your ear. Dejected, wide eyes gazed up at him through unshed tears. A faint smile graced his lips at your miserable state, a complete opposite from the raging inferno that burned in the pit of his stomach. Cupping your chin in his hands, he lifted your face, pressing a meaningful kiss to the tip of your nose. In that moment, nothing burned brighter than his hatred for your shitbag of a fiancé. You didn’t deserve this pain. Jaehyun pulled away. “Who said you were going to be alone tonight, sweetheart?”

...

Who said you were going to be alone tonight, sweetheart? Anything said in complete confidence could cut through your hazy mind. But, the moment your mind processed the simple question, his lips covered yours just as they fell open. 

You should have felt guilty. You should have felt terrible. Here you were, so goddamn close to cheating on your fiancé in a cheap bar on the outskirts of town… and yet you felt more alive than you had in years and all you could think was that Jaehyun tasted heavenly. Like a combination of the spearmint gum he always kept in stock and a Lindt 70% cocoa dark chocolate bar. You doubted you tasted any good with the aftertaste of beer in your mouth, but he didn’t seem to mind. He tugged you closer to his body, tilting his head to gain better access to your tongue. After a moment, he pulled away, deep dark eyes searching you… almost for permission?

For a split second, you thought critically about your options. You could… refuse the man so very willing to give you his everything, even when you were at your lowest point and go back to the penthouse unhappy, intoxicated, and alone… or you could give in to your starved desires and reduce yourself to the animalistic urges running wild, scrambling your brain just like they did your fiancé. One look at Jaehyun, the boy you had known since diapers, the man who would never mistreat you like Johnny, and your mind was made up. You crushed your lips to his with an aggressiveness you didn’t realize was housed within you, immediately feeling the smile work its way up to his lips. 

Within moments, Jaehyun slapped a ridiculously large bill on the counter of the ball, told the bartender to ‘keep the change’ and scooped you up into his arms, heart racing faster than his Tesla could accelerate. 

All you remembered from the car ride was a flurry of drunken touches and more than a few repressed moans filling the back of the limo. The two of you stumbled out of the car, one of your companion’s arms wrapped around your waist, holding your body secure against his. For once, you were glad the apartment was empty as Jaehyun wasted no time in stumbling blindly towards your vacant bedroom. 

You fell back into the plush comforters, his hands scaling up and down you body before carefully stripping you of the pretty dress you had carelessly thrown on. It wasn’t then that you heard the front door open. Rather, the squeal of the door sounded oh so conveniently the moment Jaehyun propped himself above you on his hands and knees, lowering himself down to eliminate the gap between you. 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Jaehyun?” You didn’t think you had ever heard Johnny’s voice go so deep, so ominous, so dangerous before. Breathless, hot, and embarrassed, you knew you should have pushed yourself away from your fiancé’s rival… But all you could do was cower under Jaehyun’s shirtless body, swallowing the moans threatening to spill from your lips as he slowly, teasingly eased his fingers out of you. 

“What does it look like, Johnny boy?” Jaehyun sat back on his haunches, carding a careless hand through his tousled hair as he narrowed his eyes at the shocked figure standing in the doorway of your bedroom. A condescending, shit-eating grin spread over his lips and he pushed himself casually off the bed. You pulled the sheets up to cover your scantily clad body, despite the fact both of the men had now seen you with far less on. “I was keeping your fiancée company while you were out - how did she say it? Oh, right - fucking some other bitch.” 

Johnny sneered at the man standing between the two of you. “That right there-” he paused, shifting an accusatory finger from you to Jaehyun and back to you. “Whatever’s going on between me and Y/N… that’s none of your business, pretty boy. So, I’d love it if you would kindly get the fuck outta my apartment before I beat you into next week…” Johnny trailed off, tossing his shoes to the floor with more emotion you had ever seen from him. 

Jaehyun released a deep chuckle, not intimidated in the slightest. “Wow, I didn’t realize you knew her name, Mr. Seo.” 

--

to be continued... maybe

[paganchristian]

Well, I like this picture of my cat, with his tongue curled, so that’s why I’m posting it.  Coincidentally I just noticed that there’s some bucket with a picture of it looks like the three wise men, in the corner behind him.  I don’t have a ready interpretation of that as having any significance, but maybe it would if I tried, to find it.  Or just found meaning whether it was “meant to be”, regardless.  And when I am analyzing things for possible signs, I look at all kinds of random details.  That is just one potential one that pops out at me.  Sometimes I will analyze or go into meditative states and see what signs seem to pop out at me from whatever and wherever, or from particular things, that seem to be more fluid and abundant in the signs and feelings that they give to me.  Like, pictures, personal photographs of ours, that is one thing.  Anyway, ..

The tongue-curling, well, I call it that but maybe it’s something else, not quite a curling tongue, but it’s cute.  Curling your tongue, it reminds me of childhood as my sister could curl her tongue but I could only partially curl mine and it seemed as if she was happy that she could do that better than me, if I recall correctly.  Lol 

Anyway the silliness of making faces, and again here we are at childhood themed stuff, a recurrent theme for me.  

I am thinking of that because to me, it needs to be reminded of again and again and again because I keep on veering into the zone of worrying and thinking too Much!  I can worry again, what of my salvation or Hell, I can worry, what about my family and loved ones and my daughter’s salvation or Hell, and I can worry about all of the things that I think that these Christians in these groups I’m drawn to might think.. I can worry how they might condemn or argue or debate over this or that with me, if they were to tell me how they saw my life, my thoughts, my feelings and my experiences, my interpretations and so on.  I can think of all of the taboos I break that might send me to Hell in their eyes.  I can think about all of the criticisms I would make that might make me a big problem to them, an outsider, intruding, stirring up conflict.  But I can think of how I seem to need to express my problems I have with the things they do, because if I don’t’ do that then I feel repressed, self-destructive.  I need to talk about the harm that these things are causing my heart and mind and soul, so that I can think it out.  In the secluded, sequestered cloister of my own soul and my heart and my prayers to God, there is not enough conscious articulate  awareness.  I am trapped when I keep things there.  

But even these people say you need a spiritual guide, to tell all to, when you have conflict and confusion.  So they admit the need to talk things out.  But I will not do that, that is, have such a one-on-one spiritual guide as they say you need, for one, because I’m not even a member of any kind of church, where you would find your guide, nor do I feel I should be a member of the church either, because I don’t agree with all of the rules or beliefs that they require, and nor follow the rules they demand enough to belong there.  And I also don’t need a spiritual guide because I feel like it is very confining, and repressive, suffocating and controlling, the role it puts you in, if you have to depend on one person for all that, and if that person doesn’t really understand you and respect you and care about you and have compassion for you, if your situation goes way beyond what they can comprehend and know how to deal with, then you are likely to be judged, given wrong advice, given simplistic answers.  I don’t need that yet again, as my weird situation has over and over again been the source of great pain when I tried to seek others’ input, and they wrongly judged and wrongly advised me, and if you place all of that pressure and expectation upon one solitary person, it’s way too much build-up and commitment to someone who you’re just assuming will understand and be able to care for you in the way you need, and not actually harm you instead, as everyone else has done.  Some helped me, but mostly everyone has harmed me as much as they helped or harmed me way more than they helped me. 

Anyway, I just want to forget all this feeling that I need to think and worry about that, any of that.  Can’t I just think about practical obvious real world grounded life?  Of course, and I think that is really what God wants me to do right now.  I have health problems and my family does too, and I can address them to the best of my ability.  I can try to think of how to connect to family members so that neither one of us is as lonely and isolated, and so that I will hopefully take small steps to learn, bit by bit, how to be more social, so that I can also have that skill for whenever I might need it in my life in the future, and I’m not completely isolated from every person who is not in my immediate family.  I can teach my daughter the social habits and mannerisms and views and skills I gain.  So that she will learn how to make the most of these things and not just be one more isolated, self-absorbed, lonely person who cannot find any way to connect to others.  Who can find what to appreciate and find what there is in common that is truly relatable and worthwhile.  Not that awkward feeling of forced and painful seeking solace and validation in others, when it’s not authentic and not true.  Not that because that leads to a worse kind of loneliness that just being alone, oftentimes.  But in spite of all the differences and the lack of ability to relate, still being able to find something that makes interacting worthwhile and meaningful and rewarding so we’re not so totally alone in this world, and so we have more than just our immediate family, who after all might not always be there one day.

What is it that makes me feel like I need to settle all these debates and these crises and dramas and threats regarding religion and spirituality?  I think it’s only the voices of echoed memories of things I’ve read and heard and been told, that others have said, don’t do this, you can’t do this, you must do this, or you will be lost, you are wrong, you will go to Hell, etc, etc.  And I should know that I have to live my actual life and I can’t get lost in these never-ending debates while my life goes astray or  gets stuck in degenerating cycles, where I can’t get anywhere because there is no one to talk to, no clear answer, no honest straightforward discussion of my points, not the time and emotional and mental energy to think it all through, anyway.  

I just have to remember how to let it all go.  But excessive prayer and spiritual reading do  not help me with that, at all.  I seem to need to deeply distract myself from the majority of religious stuff, and only keep a bare minimum of practices.

Every day is so full of miracles, signs, coincidences, and special, unique moments.  Rare things happen all of the time, every day, to everyone.  But each rare thing only happens rarely, just like the many wildflowers blooming and so on, each blooming only a short time.  But because we realize they’re ordinary, because they’re not totally unheard of, we shove them aside, as if they’re not very important and yet that is where I find all of my inspiration, all my signs, usually.  In things that appear so ordinary even though they’re not as ordinary as they seem, at all, if you look at all the connecting coincidences, associations and synchronicities going on, all the different events that happen in a short time, in my mind, my dreams, my feelings and thoughts and ideas and little things that happen in my life and they all start to connect, in so many ways.  Ways that are easy for someone to deny because they could just be coincidence but when you accept that coincidence can be meaningful even if it seems likely and not that rare, then you at  that point, you have opened the door to a great world of wonder and joy and amazement, ideas, and insights that can change everything in your existence.  

So why can’t I just let God talk to me like that?  Why can’t I just let God talk to me through the feelings, the dreams, the visions and psychic impressions, and let that be his gift and guidance, in addition to my constant prayer, without going more formally into all the practices and beliefs they say I have to follow?  

And the only reason shy I couldn’t do that would be is if I agreed to go along with what they say.  What humans have made into traditions over time, and rules and so forth.  And though they say it’s all God’s rules, and God’s demands he put on us, well, how can I assume such?  When following those very rules is trapping me into a feeling of dissociated anxiety that prevents me doing real things that are good for clear, important actions of love and caring?  When escapism and playfulness and daydreaming are healing me way more than prayers and religious practices would?  Then what?  I guess that is up for me to decide, because it is my life and I am the only one who can decide what I’ll believe about what I should do, and how, and why, and when.  

What I can do, or can’t do, can believe or can’t believe. Even when I’ve asked God to help me believe and help me do these practices and it’s not working very well and he instead seems to be telling me to go do my escapist things, to just have fun.  And I pray all the while I’m doing these fun and escapist things, so it’s not like I’m leaving God behind.  God is in the fun and escapism and daydreaming.  

It will have to be ok, for now, because I think I will drive myself crazy and waste a horrifying amount of time if I try to worry about all the ways I’m supposedly wrong and must follow rules according to certain Christians, but can’t follow them.  No I just can’t let my life fall apart while I worry about such things.  

I feel like maybe the reason that religious rules are so rigid is that people are creatures of habit.  They are easily distressed if their rules and patterns are disrupted and so they create rules to represent their habits they want or choose to follow.  It doesn’t need to make total sense or work all the time, it just needs to be a consistent habit for them.  And then, the reason they get so upset  when they see others doing differently or when they hear others arguing against their rules is because it makes them start to feel doubt over their habits.  They really want to cling to those habits and they can’t stand doubt to be cast on them.  People are so fragile, so easily upset in their sense of self-image and personal sense of purpose and validity, thinking they have a right to be the way they are, or thinking they are good enough, as so on.  When someone starts to do things differently, they are so fragile, they start to think that if that person is doing things differently, maybe my way isn’t good and theirs is the better or the only good way.  But when people have developed rigid habits, and they prop up their religious and moral identity on them, they are very fragile if they feel that someone’s different way of doing things might be better and might show that their way is wrong.  I think that this also might account for the rampant conformity and judgmental attitudes and us vs. them mentalities that are so prevalent in human societies, even over things that absolutely don’t make any sense at all.  So you have people getting all uptight over the way others’ dress and it’s not a matter of say, indecency or offensiveness, or anything, or you have people who are judgmental about all kinds of trivial things and get very cruel and divisive over these things.

Then funny thing is that I see this behavior in my daughter, or rather, I see the insecurity that she has, when we do things differently or ask her to do something differently or ask shy she did something a certain way, and it’s not even like we are at all judgmental or harsh.  We are extremely respectful, open minded, understanding, positive, supportive parents and have always been and she is not around another negative input in that way.  We are both weird, too, and not conformists in our ways of acting so she’s not learning that from us either, and we aren’t around anyone else who would affect her in that way. 

I think it’s an instinct, to be overreactive to these things and insecure.  I have been noticing behaviors like this among others too, and how people oftentimes seem to easily upset and disrupted in their beliefs, their feelings, and their attitudes, and the least little thing from others makes them feel insecure or offended or hurt or confused, and so that might explain why religions sometimes are so controlling and fixated on every little detail of peoples’ lives even when those rules don’t always make sense or work and aren’t even possible.  And why some of these religious groups try to stamp out dissent and threaten you if you dare criticize anyone.   Because they are scared the sense of unity and harmony and confidence will be disrupted and people will lose their fragile sense of confidence in the religions.  

It’s repressive, but so are people’s mindsets and they can’t handle the least rocking the boat, and I on the other hand feel like I’m living in a stormy sea and my boat can’t not rock, but I don’t fit in with those who have to have all these rules.  I have to make my own rules or guidelines.  Maybe I do recall times in my life when I had a greater need for that kind of conformity and unity of identity and behavior with the others in my group, because I was so lost and confused but that was signal to me of what to do, what to think, what to believe and what to feel, when I was totally at a loss otherwise.  But now I can’t do it anymore.  My life demands a much more individualistic, outside the rules and lines approach.  I would become extremely mentally ill or even lose my mind, and make myself miserable if I even tried to be so silent and conforming and so approving and positive to the things that cause m great harm and need to be spoken openly about, even if only in the privacy of a blog that is still not completely private, so I feel like I'm not suffocated into total submission and repression, as if my human life and reality did not need and deserve to be cared about or noticed and given a voice, among other humans. 

[prettyboysdontlookatexplosions]

totally stealing @honeybabydichotomy‘s meme-adaptation concept re: i have a handful of things that could be described WIPs and nearly all of them i already can’t shut my mouth about, but here is a trip through the GOOGLE DOCS GRAVEYARD of abandoned fandoms past (mcu, trc, something too embarrassing to list above the cut so you’ll just have to CLICK and find out)

first up, the last fic i never actually wrote for, lmao, american idol season 8 RPF fandom, back in 2010... this was going to be a bigbang fic but in keeping with my terrible track record re: challenges etc. i did not finish it, although in my defense that had at least something to do with spilling coffee all over my laptop right around the time i started a very hours-intensive job with a huge commute. when i look at this now i’m like, this sure was me writing ten years ago, but i still love the emotional architecture of any story in which one deliberately shut-off and long-repressed individual is uncomfortably thawed by the miracle of someone else’s open-hearted joie de vivre; it’s the oldest story here but arguably the closest to an actual WIP in that the ghost of that idea is the seed for the divorced quentin AU i harbor hopes of one day writing; you can definitely see the Relevant Vibes in this exchange, i think, although i feel the need to clarify that adam lambert enjoying twilight is a thing he said on national television, i wouldn’t do that to someone on my own:

Veselka is crowded, but despite the bitter February cold, Kris doesn't mind waiting outside for twenty minutes, leaning against the glass display case of the expensive toy store next door, separated from Adam by little more than an inch. "So - okay, this is kind of terrible. Like, worse than the Twilight thing. But I feel like you should know who you're dealing with, so."

"It can't be that bad."

Adam just smiles knowingly. "Oh, can't it?"

"Hit me with your best shot," Kris says. Something twitches in his stomach as Adam raises his eyebrow to that.

Adam leans down to whisper in Kris's ear, sending inexplicable sparks down Kris's neck. "Sometimes, when I'm standing in the street or on the subway or something, I like to watch people go by and try to guess what they're like in bed."

Kris blushes. "Very mature," he says with a nervous laugh, embarrassed about his own embarrassment.

Adam holds up his hands in a gesture of innocence. "Hey. We're all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars," he intones. "Oscar Wilde."

"Do you think that's true?"

"I think it is. At least - " Adam tilts his chin up, a mischievous glint in his eyes " - I identify with it."

Kris searches for something to say that won't make him seem hopelessly square. "What's the view like from down there?"

Adam gazes at the night sky, where Manhattan's perpetual glow blots out all but the brightest lights. "I like it. You see more of them this way."

Kris thinks he's spent six years priding himself himself on keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead, avoiding the pull of the horizon or the distraction of the sun. "So. Mr. Gutter." He points to a thirty-something man getting out of a parked Ford across the street. "What's he like?"

next up: an unpublished MCU snippet! this was a peggy character study set at howard’s funeral, also an excuse for me to have feelings about tony stark; idiotically, i actually have a complete draft of this, and got a really brilliant beta job from @nimmieamee, but then never went back and revised it and also could not bring myself to post it when despite being passable as done i could tell in my bones it was simply Not Working, even though parts of it i really liked:

Howard had not taken to aging with grace. It, too, offended him: the body betraying the dream of perfectibility. Dodging it had taken up an increasing percentage of his time. He took up jogging, early among the public, too late in his life: a few months in and a busted knee earned him doctor's orders to abandon that pursuit. His bones were already too brittle to benefit. Howard himself had become brittle long ago. You could blame the war; but that was what happened to people with no give to them. They were like the driest branches waiting for a storm, only unlike branches they recognized on some level the precariousness of their structure, and consequently dedicated themselves to forgetting it.

Howard was undeterred. (Being deterred also went against his every principle.) He had swimming pools installed, outdoors in Los Angeles, adorned with artificial rocks arranged just so to give the impression of a hot spring, and indoors in West Hampton, heated, lit underwater with a yellow-green glow throwing tendrils of light on smooth white walls. Fitness gurus and nutrition consultants were put on retainer, a bicoastal platoon to prevent malfunctions; physical therapists were brought in to recalibrate around malfunctions. They quit with increasing frequency, as his temper frayed along with his body. He gave up, in sequence, smoking, alcohol, red meat, all meat, alcohol, sugar, processed grains, alcohol, salt, and direct sunlight--although by the time of this last pronouncement, it produced little noticeable effect.

Lately he had become obsessed with the idea of cryogenic freezing: the fantasy of going to sleep and waking up in a time when his intellectual heirs had figured out how to repair and replace his rusted pieces. Skin firmed and thickened; knees stitched back to mint condition; a whole new heart, perhaps, grown in a jar or assembled from compounds yet to be constructed. "Wouldn't you take the chance, if you had it?" he had murmured, eyes going dreamy as they did when he talked of his latest missiles.

Peggy pictured Steve in the Arctic, his hyperactive cells stilled by the indifferent cold. She shivered, like a child hearing a ghost story, and said no, she wouldn't.

finally, two stories from a fandom i actually never published any stories with, or engaged with in any meaningful way: the fuckin raven cycle. the dumbest books on god’s green earth. the first was a ronan story where gansey actually dies and stays the fuck dead, and ronan handles it by being a huge asshole, and then, unlike in these hideous godforsaken books, actually decides on purpose to be a better person.... i’m realizing revisiting this now that some of the itch of this story i’ve finally gotten out of my system via damage control, but the GENIUS IDEA of ronan giving matthew an actual soul by giving up the dream power and thus becoming an actual human, sadly, does not really transfer, even though it’s the best concept i’ve ever thought of in my life. anyway, whatever, i have a type:

He opened the door. Adam and Blue were looking at him with expressions he couldn't decipher. Noah was looking at the floor.

"Are you—" Adam started. Ronan watched the word okay die of its own irrelevance in Adam's mouth.

"None of you were invited," Ronan said.

Blue started, "We just—"

"Sorry," he said, loud enough to drown her out. "But this is a very exclusive party. That means no rednecks"—he pointed at Adam—"no bitches"—Blue—"and no pussies"—Noah. "So I'm going to need you all to leave."

He focused his eyes on Blue. She looked like she wanted to slap him. This was familiar. He wanted to go back to the time when his only interactions with Blue Sergeant involved saying something and watching her look at him like she wanted to slap him. Things had gotten complicated after that. Then Gansey had died. Ronan couldn't articulate the connection, but he felt strongly that it was there.

"Maybe I wasn't clear," he said. "What I mean is: get the fuck out of my house."

and last but not least, another TRC story, motivated initially by dreaminess and then sporadically continued after TRK came out (seriously like ever 18 months i dig this one out and write another 500 words and give up again) out of spite - a story where, because fuck stief, adam parrish gets a cell phone, ronan lynch gets a job, and no one assumes that finally having sex means you’re basically married forever without even talking about if you’re boyfriends. this one is like, so close to being “done” in that it almost goes beginning to end and has a lot of individual lines i actually like, but has always been very difficult to pull together because of the reality that maggie stiefvater wrote a series such that ronan lynch acting like a decent boyfriend or experiencing character growth or talking about his emotions is literally out of character, which makes it hard to write a dreamy summer hook-up story; i was actually thinking earlier this year of picking it back up YET AGAIN, but then damage control ate my brain... one day, perhaps, for the satisfaction of having finished... or i might just listen to “cruel summer” by taylor swift while meditating on it for a couple million more hours:

“Did you call me over just to give me the fucking silent treatment in person?” Ronan said. It sounded less vicious than it should have. Like he had been aiming for a growl and somehow landed on a mumble.

I didn’t call you over, Adam wanted to say, but it wasn’t actually true. He had. That seemed wrong, though. Ronan Lynch wasn’t someone to be called over. He was too wild and spiteful for that. Even Gansey couldn’t manage it. The rest of Ronan’s world had given up trying long ago.

But when Adam had called, Ronan had come.

He felt like he might throw up.

“I’m not giving you the silent treatment,” he said instead. “I’m just—“ But he didn’t know what he was doing. So he switched tacks. “You just—“ But he didn’t know that, either. And asking Ronan what the fuck are you doing had never yielded helpful results.

So Adam stuck to the truest thing, what he had worked his whole life to make true. “I’m leaving in three months.”

“What the fuck does that have to do with anything,” Ronan spat. This time he was closer to the expected intensity, but there was still something strange under his voice. Maybe not. Maybe Adam was just having a nervous breakdown.

[vminity21]

Harvest Moon | ksj, kth [Sneak Peek]

Pairing: VeggieFarmer!Seokjin x Farmer!Reader, Florist!Taehyung x Farmer!Reader, farmer!au 

Word Count: 2.5k (currently)

Genre: romance/angst/fluff/potential smut

Warning(s): language, mention of death, potential smut

Summary: When your father’s death leads to you taking over his farm, you never dreamed of returning to the place you once called home. With doubts lingering on if you can accomplish such a goal of replenishing his farm, your best friend Kim Seokjin begs to differ, encouraging you with the reminder of how you helped mold and shape the island of happiness where he resides. Upon arrival of the town, you meet a mysterious florist who beckons your heart with every flower petal blooming across your heart amongst many other available, yet dashing bachelors. Alas, your heart is deeply conflicted for you still hold love for the man you left behind. Whomever will you choose?

Trampled grounds provide sporadic patches of grass along the land where numerous trees keep their distance on either side of the widened path. Brown dust springs underneath trotting hoof beats; the creaky carriage follows behind the pale, white coat of your horse who keeps his gaze ahead while your grip tightens nervously on the reigns. Your father left you his farm- one that has not been effectively used since he was moved into a hospital that is days away from the destination you are currently heading. It was hard enough to accept the day of his passing, but the locket panging against your chest leaves the reminder that he will always be with you no matter where you are.

The farm was just a placeholder until you could venture elsewhere, raising your horse, Prancer, that was gifted to you as a colt by your best friend, Kim Seokjin. He stayed behind in the small island that you helped revive, tending to his crops while he traveled for his job, and knowing your love for animals, he brought home Prancer in hopes of lifting your spirits to take your mind off your father who was battling a sickness that ultimately took his life. Seokjin was also aware of the ponders involving your mother whom you never knew, yet the wonderment on whether she still exists upon the earth or within the heavens swarms you every day. Father never seemed to talk about her very much, and whenever you pressed him, he would shut the subject down leaving you just as confused as you were prior. Eventually, you dropped the topic and focused on the relationship with your father which brought the pair of you closer, and you could not have been more grateful for that.

A random sign off the open trail floods your vision to show you are going the right direction. Slightly crinkled letters are pinned by the bottom of your thigh to prevent them from flying in the wind- one written as a farewell from Seokjin, the other the final letter your father ever wrote to you. Tears blur your sight sparking a mild burn to your nose- your heart is heavy because you miss them, and the doubt of bringing your father’s farm back to life terrifies you, yet you want to honor him- make him just as proud of you as he was when he was alive.

“Are you sure about this?” Seokjin’s voice etched into your memory, him hooking the cart to Prancer’s saddle before patting the horse’s shoulder where the animal reacts with the panniculus shiver of its skin. Flies buzzed in the glee of the warm weather, you swatted one away from your face, trying to suppress the budding anxiety formed beneath your chest.

“I think so,” you murmured, fighting the urge to cry before folding your arms across your chest. A dull floral handkerchief is tied into your hair, matching the orange-tinged plaid splayed upon the material of your dress where red stockings parade your legs that complement the musty, brown of your laced boots. A red vest tied in with a belt strapped around your waist put a finishing touch on the outfit- an outfit you threw together with the intention of putting on a good impression for the townspeople you would be re-introducing yourself to after all this time.

“Hey,” the tenderness of your best friend’s voice echoed, and you met his eyes with evident doubt on whether you were making the right decision. “You’re going to be great.”

“How do you know?”

He rested his hands on your shoulders, gently squeezing while he never broke eye contact, “The people here will never forget the hard work you put in to bring it all back to what it used to be. I will never forget. If you can revive an entire island, design a bridge as well as countless boats to be able to travel to the countryside, raise a horse, tend to my crops, and God knows what else you can do; then, I know you can replenish your father’s farm.”

Seokjin was right despite your disbelief, but when you have a goal, you were trained to accomplish it. “I’m scared,” you confessed, Seokjin sighing understandably as he pulled you to his chest. The feel of his arms encompassing your frame brought a comfort you know you will wish for while being away; you buried your tears into his flannel, the tip of his chin rested on the side of your forehead as he swallowed the lump in his throat, sadness brimming his eyes that he squeezed shut. Seokjin took you in when you had nowhere else to go; in the desperation of moving six years ago when you were eighteen, he discovered you exhaustingly fighting your fluttered eyelids within a café you chose to rest after engulfing a bowl of spaghetti. The conversation led to a prominent connection that developed into a friendship you had always dreamed of. With how hard you worked growing up on your father’s farm which felt like a lifetime ago, you only had known the townspeople enough to help provide for the land more so than building friendships, but maybe for once, this could be a change? And, maybe the same people aren’t there anymore? Maybe it will be a difference in scenery compared to when you were younger? Maybe the nostalgia would be good for you?

There are repressed feelings you may have had for Seokjin that you never put into words, but when he held you, you knew you wanted a goodbye that was more meaningful to both of you. Or, what you hoped would be for him just as much as you. His arms loosened just a mere fraction, your hands gracefully moving to the collar of his shirt, though you were paused with ajar lips as your breathing slowed. His eyes enlarged when he realized there was some form of contemplation hidden in your expression, and when he noticed how close you were, he bowed his head enough, timidly wondering if you both were on the same page. You hadn’t taken your eyes off him, absorbing anything and everything of him as much as you could with the fear of not knowing when you would get to see him again depending on what would be demanded of his job.

“Jin,” you whispered, your eyes flitted to his lips, feeling your heart ramming along your ribcage. If he rejected this then you knew it was not meant for you to express your heart the way you longed to for six years; you had not wanted this yearning to be considered as something that was too late, but something that could be reminisced upon as something good. Something that defined the love the two of you had for each other even if it was not seen as more than a friendship. “I don’t- I don’t want to lose you-”

“You’re not,” he panicked, bringing your gaze back to his, “You’re not. I will write to you as often as I can. I promise you; this will not be the last time we see each other; if I have to borrow a boat, or a horse, or both, you bet I’m going to visit.”

The rise of a small smile filled your mouth at his words because you knew he meant them. “I’ll miss you,” you breathed, your forehead leaning into the crook of his neck.

“I’ll miss you more,” the pair of you remained embraced with the seeping reality that tomorrow would never be the same, and stepping into this new normal meant being apart which neither of you was honestly ready for, but you knew your duty was to create a new life in what your father left for you, and deep down you knew Seokjin wanted you to do the right thing. Bravery painted its part on your soul sparking the subtle gesture of you pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He hardly pulled away- only enough to read your eyes that glimmered with prominent adoration which mirrored the exact way he felt about you. 

And, that was the answer you needed when his palm cupped your cheek instantaneously to the way his soft kiss covered yours almost urgently. You knew you were in love with him, and that you always will be, but timing may not have been on your side as you so pleaded. Seokjin tasted the salt from the tears that dripped upon your cheeks, tearing his heart in every direction for if he could take the pain away from all that you had been through, he would. He remembered the day you first were read the will, and there you were two years later, finally making the decision that Seokjin knows will change your life for the better. If only, he could find a way to live that dream with you, he would go to the ends of the earth.

His hands glided to your waist, fingers tightened piningly for you to stay, but he did not voice it because he refused to put himself before you. The kiss slowed in a loving pace where your mind soared beyond the clouds, not wanting to find the will to stop. The moment was real. And, it was beautiful. Your hands remained on his chest, dazed eyes connected when you inched away, hearts pounded in unison, and neither of you spoke, just stared in blatant awe. That was when he pulled a folded sheet of paper from his back pocket, a letter you have not read yet, but intend to do when finally settled into your soon-to-be home. The cool air had brushed your face reminding of the dried trails left behind from when you cried, and at the splash of a tear hitting Seokjin’s cheek, you dried it, your thumb remained, steadily reaching to place one more lingering kiss, “It’s always been you, Jin.”

You broke down when you found your place on the carriage, commanding Prancer to march, repudiating to look back because if you would have seen a man almost brought to his knees in the heavy brink of heartbreak, you would have never left. Mind spinning with the feel of Seokjin’s kiss, there has been one too many times that you almost turned the cart around to rush back into his arms and forget about the farm waiting beyond the horizon, but the remembrance of your father must live on, and rebuilding what he once created may bring you the extent of peace that you need.

The moon dims into a shade of darkened orange prompting the start of finding a vacant area of rest off the side of the dirt road. Your father taught you all you needed to know which ignites a tiny giggle at the memories of unintentionally impressing Seokjin with the skills you happened to already know. A break in a patch of trees enters your vision and you click your tongue multiple times to signal Prancer to ease his steps, and with the reigns, you direct him into the space. Owls hoot in the distance mingled with the chirps of crickets and the ribbiting of frogs, and body aching, you stiffly stand before hopping down, gathering the letters and gripping them between your fingers. If only you thought to sew pockets into this dress.

The mayor’s wife who used to babysit you from time to time when your father traveled happened to teach you to sew, and when it became what you argued to be a healthy addiction, you eventually filled your closet with new designs until you grew out of them- inspiring you to create more and more as time flew by. Opening the carriage, you lay the letters upon the comfy seat of where you originally plan to sleep, but you move to unhook Prancer from the cart, scanning the grounds for any sticks or debris. The crackle of a mini bonfire is an idea that forms, and once you collect the materials needed, you fester a fire, waving your hands near the smoke while Prancer lazily gapes from a distance.

It is comforting. Nature encircling the atmosphere with a serenity that sweeps your heart, and the stars glowing above in the vast shade of darkness remind you to count them, helping you slip into slumber before the random snap of twig perks your eardrums prompting your eyes to fly open.

‘Shh you idiot, you can’t let her see you yet!’ ‘Oh! Calm your horses, Guppy, I’m pretty sure she didn’t hear me now shut up-’ ‘Guys, seriously, we need to make our presence known without scaring the daylights out of her, now where’s Taze?’ ‘Probably out looking for Harvest Goddess, who else?’

Heart increasing in pace, you swallow the dry taste in your mouth while the squeaky voices rumble in rustling bushes, nowhere to be seen. Tempting to speak, your fingers dig into the ground, wondering when the steps of the intruders will end, but they continue their bickering. Furrowed eyebrows, you raise slowly to your feet; you never imagined ever needing a weapon, but laying nestled in your carriage is nothing other than a pocket knife that you now want to kick yourself for not keeping with you. Carefully, you press your booted feet along the grass as lightly as you can without causing the sound of a crunch, and with gritted teeth, you determined to discover what lies beyond the brush, your hands bundle into the skirt of your dress in a tense cling.

‘Oh no! She’s coming- Look what you did!’ “Me!? I didn’t do anything!’ ‘Oh yes you did, you shouldn’t have worn those new shoes LenLen, I told you they were too loud!’ ‘Just because they have sparkles on them does not make them loud! AH-’

Frozen, your eyes panic when the rattling leaves of the bush upsurges to gush out a miniature being who stumbles uncontrollably trying to gather its bearings. Gasping, you stare in awe at the tiny frame clothed in purple where dark strands braided into pigtails poke past elf-like ears from a hat embellishing her small head. Tilting in confusion, you have never seen anything like this before, and the sight leaves you speechless as her dizzy countenance and frantic eyes finally calm to where multiple of you becomes one.

“AH!” She screams, throwing her arms in front of her face, rigid in apparent fear. “Please don’t hurt me for waking you up! I- I didn’t mean to!”

Fingers untightening from the hold you have on your dress, you cautiously crouch to more of the being’s level, tainted nerves still evident in your expression, you are, rather, relieved that this little girl is the definition of harmless. “I’m not going to hurt you,” you promise, reaching tender fingers to tug her arms from her rosy face, “My name is [Y/N], by the way.” Eyeing you, the, what you assume is an elf, relaxes- looking at you fully while her lips scrunch shyly.

“I’m- I’m LenLen. I’m one of the Harvest Sprites assigned to watch over you.”

Harvest Sprite.

The sharp leap of your heart halts you in your tracts. Harvest Sprite? You have heard of the stories involving Harvest Sprites when you were a kid, yet you always associated them with nothing more than a

myth. 

“You’re real?”

[theimpossiblescheme]

The Last of the Fires

I didn’t think it was possible for me to be dragged even farther into Cyrano de Bergerac hell, but by God @nonchalantdanger found a way.  This alternate universe we’ve come up has already yielded some great results (I was already pretty proud of the first fic I wrote for it, and then reading the add-on... chills), so I thought I would take another whack at it.  This takes place a few hours after that add-on--the truth has come out, Cyrano and Roxanne have more than reconciled, and now Christian has to figure out his new place in the world... enjoy!

Another greasy campfire had been lit in the camp of the Gascony cadets, but this time they finally had something to cook over it.  Miraculously, Ragueneau was still pulling legs of lamb and whole partridges from his and Roxanne’s coach, which the soldiers accepted and devoured gleefully. Strains of old victory songs rang through the air, and at long last a few men could be heard to laugh.  Even de Guiche, sitting with a barely nibbled-at turkey breast by the fire, was smiling more than any of them had known him to smile. The relief of triumph over the Spanish was palpable, and it had touched everyone present, young and old.

Christian wished he could feel that relief so keenly.  Instead, sharp jabs of anxiety kept intruding, making it impossible for him to eat. He hadn’t seen Roxanne since he left her in the surgeon’s tent.  No doubt she’d talked to Cyrano… he couldn’t imagine what they might have said to each other, though.  Knowing Cyrano, he would deny everything—that he’d ever loved her, that he’d ever written a single letter, that he’d ever given Christian the smallest word to say—but Roxanne was in such a holy fury that Christian doubted very much that she would leave it at that.  Perhaps they’d spent the whole time arguing—that might explain her long absence, but it was hardly a comforting though.  Christian had seen both of them angry, and that was terrifying enough, but for them to be angry at each other… he’d never forgive himself for causing it.  Maybe he should have… no.  No, he was glad he’d said what he’d said.  It had hurt tremendously, but a greater hurt would be to stand in the way of their happiness.  The two people he cared for more than anyone else in the world.

Where that left him… he wasn’t sure yet.  But he supposed he’d find out in time.

The fire sputtered a bit, and Christian leaned forward to stir it back to life.  Through the flames, he could see a figure limping toward the camp, leaning heavily on an old walking stick.  Only when the figure turned in profile did Christian recognize him and smile in spite of himself.  Le Bret, though limping himself on his injured leg, turned away from one of the old supply wagons and raced toward him, pulling him into a fierce embrace.  After pulling apart, the two exchanged a few brief words, and Le Bret patted him on the shoulder before returning to his duties.  As he watched the figure grow closer, Christian felt his palms starting to sweat, the way they always did around… around her.  What would he say now?  What would he do?

Looking up, de Guiche’s lips curled in a small smirk, though this time it came without his usual contempt. “So you managed to survive after all, have you?”

Cyrano merely flashed him that dangerous grin before carefully lowering himself to sit nearby. “I had thought you would sound more disappointed.”

“Not necessarily.  Surprised, perhaps, given your endless barrage of gasconades just earlier today. You sounded quite content—excited, even—to die in battle.”

“Perhaps… but Providence has given me another task to complete.  I could hardly die leaving that great will so unsatisfied.”  Cyrano gave Christian a meaningful sideways look, and Christian felt a new chill run through him.  

“Mm.”  Peeling the skins away from the eaten parts of his turkey breast, de Guiche returned the rest of it to a nearby basket and stood, swiping a delicate hand over his ribbons.  “I must attend to what remains of our supplies.  See that this one stays out of trouble, Nuevillette.”  And he left the two men alone by the fire.

So.  “You have… spoken to Roxanne?” Christian ventured, balling his hands into fists and kneading them fitfully against his thighs.

“I have, yes.”

“And she said…?”

The slightest little disbelieving laugh huffed out of Cyrano as he struggled to repress a smile.  There was a look of… what could almost be described as peace in his eyes, a look Christian had never seen before.  “More than I could have dared to hope.”

“She loves you?”

“… Against all wisdom, against all possible odds… I would never have thought it possible unless I were to hear it from her lips.”  His expression changed as he looked back up at Christian.  “Though I fear she was rather uncharitable to you, my friend.”

“Why—what did she say?”

For what felt like far too long, Cyrano hesitated, gathering all his finely spun words into precisely the right web for the present moment.  “There was never a doubt in my mind,” he began, deliberately looking away and gazing toward the fire, “that your love for her, even in my borrowed declarations of the same, was sincere.  You were willing to give her up entirely, as I was, for her own happiness.  You say that I am your soul, but your own needs no embellishment of fine words and glib turns of phrase.  I decorate mine with small glories, but yours rings golden. And yet… she insisted, for my sake or for hers I cannot tell, that your marriage can be annulled.  That her love for you has cooled.  And I cannot help but think that rather unfair, after all you have done for her.”

Christian felt his hands twisting tighter.  He’d already cried once today, he couldn’t risk it again—not in front of Cyrano.  It was true, that same thought had crossed his mind. There were no witnesses to the marriage; it was unrecorded, uncelebrated, and unconsummated.  Throughout the siege, he’d entertained many a dream of returning home to Roxanne and curling up beside her under one blanket, finding her warm and willing… but no.  She would be making love to a shadow, and he would have to convince himself that she truly saw him every night, not some other man with a different voice.  Christian remembered that night under her balcony, her rapt silence as Cyrano practically sang to her in such words… he would never have thought of them himself, God knew, but they all rang so true.  “Your name is a golden bell hung in my heart.”  Perhaps he was a little in love with Cyrano’s words that night, too. He could feel that same bell pealing in his chest, crying the name of the woman he’d adored.

The woman he might never see again.

He forced a smile.  “Perhaps I should take a leaf out of your book. Learn to love from afar.”

“No.”  Cyrano’s voice was firm.  “I have endured that torture for as long as I can remember, even when we were children together.  There is no greater lingering pain than to love one who neglects or even refuses your very existence.  I would not wish that pain upon you.”

“I don’t want to stand in the way of your happiness, Cyrano.”

“And I have spent enough time hampering your own--”

“Stop.”  Christian ran a hand over his hair, fitfully pushing some of it back into his braid.  “I wanted to say this before, when the fighting first broke out... I don’t wish to be my own rival anymore.  And you have already given up so much for her.  You talk about being unfair to me, but neither of us have been fair to you.  She... she’s made her views perfectly clear, and if I--if I ever cared for her, I have to honor them.”  Roxanne was no prize for either of them to claim.  She had made her decision.  Both of them wanted her to be happy... it was as simple as that.

“But is this truly what you wish, Christian?”

“Yes.”  And he was surprised to find how much he meant it.  After everything the three of them had been through, somehow this felt inevitable.  Inevitable and only right.  This was as graceful an exit he could make on behalf of two people he loved in his own fashion.  “You... you have been my friend even when I have not treated you like one in return.  And I can’t lie to Roxanne any more than I already have.  Besides, she can’t marry two men.”

“Perhaps in a just world she might.”  It was Cyrano’s half-hearted attempt to lighten the mood, but his expression softened into something gentler as he clasped Christian’s shoulder.  “But in this one now, I promise you will love again.  You shall find someone who loves all that you are and not merely what you pretend to be.  Someone you will not feel the need to impress so constantly… you were placed in an unfair position from the very beginning, and I am sorry for it.  The love you deserve is safer and kinder than what you were granted.”

“Oh, I don’t regret any of it for a second,” Christian replied, shaking his head.  It occurred to him that neither of them had been so honest with each other before today, and it was almost embarrassing... and yet oddly freeing.  “This is--this is going to sound ridiculous, I know, and I’m sorry… but I don’t think I will ever be out of love with Roxanne.”

“No need to apologize.  In truth, I would never expect that. She is very easy to love, I’ve found.” A smile flickered back onto Cyrano’s face.  “Carry that torch if you must, my friend, but a day will come when you find it too heavy to bear, and you must set it down for another to bask in its glow.  And you will know that day that it no longer truly burns for her alone, and you shall be happy again.”

“...Do you really think that?”

“I do, or may I live another hundred years and never fight again.”

Christian considered his words.  Ever since that night in the theater, it seemed that Roxanne was the only woman in the world, but now... now the world had opened back up again.  And in so many words, Cyrano was urging him not to be afraid.  “I dearly hope you’re right…”  The idea of there being someone else out there in the world… as lovely as Roxanne, as brilliant, as spirited, but not quite as… well, intimidating.  Someone who could listen to Christian’s damned fool clumsy words and not turn him away… someone with whom he could be more than just a pretty face and a slow tongue… it seemed so inconceivable, a far-flung fantasy.  Yet Cyrano had said it with so much certainty.  And he’d feared almost the same thing, hadn’t he—that he was too ugly for any woman to love?  If he could be proven wrong… why not?  Yes, why not…?  “I should still like to speak to her before we leave.  If she will allow it, that is.”

“You shall have that chance, I promise you that as well. In the meantime…”  Planting his stick in the dirt before him and veering gently out of Christian’s reach, Cyrano rose slowly to his feet again.  “I promised Le Bret I would help organize our return to Paris.  You get some rest, and for pity’s sake eat something.”

“I will.  Thank you.”  Before he could stop himself, Christian’s hand shot out to catch Cyrano’s arm as he turned to go.  “I mean that… thank you.”  For understanding, for being there for so long, for giving him another chance... he could go on and on if only he could find the words.  Thankfully, Cyrano seemed to understand, nodding and giving Christian’s arm a brief squeeze of his own before limping off. Even on unsteady feet with shrapnel in his shoulder, the white plume of freedom floated above him, unspotted and ethereal.

Eventually the last of the campfire had guttered and stopped, and de Guiche had addressed his men one last time in the dark, detailing plans for their return to civilization and offering rather backhanded congratulations for their unlikely victory. Christian barely heard him—after the day he’d had, there was such a weariness in his bones that he could sleep for the next six years.  As everyone slumped back to their bedrolls and tents, Christian followed suit, unravelling his threadbare blanket from the cocoon he’d twisted it into the night before and pulling up his rucksack to use as a pillow.  But there was something laying over it: a note, folded three times. He unfolded it and read the familiar flowing script—obviously memorized and written down for posterity, and not for the first time.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds 

Admit impediments. Love is not love 

Which alters when it alteration finds, 

Or bends with the remover to remove. 

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark 

That looks on tempests and is never shaken; 

It is the star to every wand'ring bark, 

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. 

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks 

Within his bending sickle's compass come; 

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, 

But bears it out even to the edge of doom. 

If this be error and upon me prov'd, 

I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd.

Christian couldn’t help but smile.  Leave it to his friend to find the right words, even if they weren’t his own. Folding the note back up again and tucking it away for safekeeping, he curled up under his blanket and finally let himself relax.

[dontxlook]

hey look, it's IVY JOHNSON! she’s a TWENTY-FIVE year old originally from PORTLAND. i heard she’s pretty DEFENSIVE, but i think she’s so AMICABLE at the same time. while she’s terrified of being harmed, she’s perhaps more afraid of people finding out WHEN SHE WAS SIXTEEN SHE SNUCK HER BOYFRIEND INTO HER HOUSE AND HER DAD ACCIDENTALLY KILLED HIM THINKING HE WAS BREAKING / ENTERING. she had no idea what she was getting herself into when she moved to wrenbury.  ➸ phoebe tonkin, bisexual, female + she/her PENNED BY MJ

ivy johnson intro –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

full name: ivy jane johnson

nicknames: ives, ivybelle

dob: july 5th, 1995

place of birth: portland, or

occupation: ex-coffee shop employee

sexual orientation: bisexual

appearance; standing at 5′8, 120 pounds, ivy finds herself feeling more frail nowadays than she does strong. though she has no reason to not workout, eat whatever she wants, just generally indulge, a piece of her does not allow her to delve into the happier sides of herself, thus leaving her more on the thin side. her style is big hoodies, big jeans, converse or vans. ivy doesn’t wear jewelry except for a ring that was shaped into a moon (a gift from her previous boyfriend). 

personality; (+) amicable, virtuous, empathetic, resourceful (-) defensive, withdrawn, outcasted, pessimistic

aesthetics; tear soaked pillows, under eye bags, restless nights, apologetic, broken glass, oversized sweaters, messy buns, band-aids, heartache, meaningful tattoos

bedside table; cellphone charger, ibuprofen

biography: murder tw* depression tw* When Jared and Lisa Johnson found out that their daughter was going to be born the day after the fourth of July, they thought she would be just as much a firecracker as the celebrations the day before had predicted. They couldn’t have imagined just how much of a handful the young girl would turn out to be. The wildness within her ran from her untamed locks to her dirty bare feet. It couldn’t be helped, she was a wild child raining down loud laughs and intense hugs. She was loved beyond belief. 

Though there was a little Johnson that came after Ivy, it didn’t matter to her where the attention went, in fact, she thought that the more attention that was on her little sister, the more she could get lost in the world, find her own way around. Though her parents were more on the side of free love and hippy music, they allowed her to roam free and discover parts of herself that might not have otherwise come to the surface. They thought that all little girls should make their own marks on the world. 

School was a struggle for Ivy. The more she wanted to rebel, the more she was repressed down into herself. She was given red lights, her sticks were moved, and her apple had fallen far from its tree more than she could count. Jared and Lisa were brought in multiple times and told they needed to have her tested, needed to settle her down, needed to do all these regimes with her to get her in order. If they didn’t she wouldn’t get out of Kindergarten. So the free love parents that praised her willful attitude before, now squashed every free feeling she had for the foreseeable future. 

Rebelling against her parents proved to be worthless as Ivy grew older, she began to find her place among stacks and stacks of books. In the pages of dystopian novels, she could disappear and escape to places she could only dream of. Ivy would spend hours upon hours in the library just curling up to read her favorite authors. That was where she had met Jack. In her freshman year of high school, she had found the person her soul had wanted to be with. How many teens could say that? It started with sideways glances and notes pushed over to the other, but the relationship grew to sneaking kisses in between the stacks and hand holding through school. 

Her parents, now strictly a khaki and button up family, enjoyed Jack’s company at the dinner table, but advised their daughter that she was not to seriously date until she was a junior. The rebellion in Ivy’s throat grew day-by-day the more her parents told her she couldn’t see Jack, couldn’t go to the movies with Jack, couldn’t do anything with Jack. One night, Ivy had had enough. Because Jack lived decently close to her, she texted him to come to her house and she would sneak him in. That night Ivy told Jack she loved him and kissed him until 3 am, when eyes were prickly with sleepiness. Just as Jack was exiting through a side window, Jared Johnson heard a noise, gathered his newly purchased firearm, and fired at the perceived burglar. 

Ivy’s father was charged, but was not convicted. The guilt, shame, and sadness that hung over the Johnson household was palpable from streets across town. Ivy began taking classes online instead of going to school, and her parents removed the door to her room after a counselor suggested she may be depressed. 

As her life slowly shifted, Ivy began to develop nasty habits of snapping at anyone who would dare enter her room or disturb her peace. It wasn’t fair that she had to live this life without Jack in it? Time went on, wounds grew scabs, and eventually Ivy graduated high school and joined the workforce. As she took a few online classes through the local community college, Ivy began to feel as if her life was finally getting back on track. 

Between saving her money from living at home and working nonstop to get away from her family, Ivy had saved enough money to leave Portland and not look back, at least not for awhile. With a newly minted Bachelor’s Degree in English, Ivy began her new life with a trip to North Carolina...

wanted connections; friends; my girl needs someone! anyone! to befriend her. though she may be a tad prickly on the outside, her heart is truly gold. the person who gets her out of her shell; whether it’s talking weird and random facts (things that calm her down when she gets too in her head) or just the constant prodding, this person gets ivy to open up. a love interest?; homegirl has had one boyfriend and that didn’t go so well. though she is bisexual, i think it would be interesting to see what sort of relationship could form after the tragedy of her last one.  an enemy; someone who doesn’t get ivy and who she is? maybe rubs ivy the wrong way from their actions?  open; i’m very open to any and every plot! this little sad bean needs a hug pls!

[inkstaineddove]

Aria for a Fool

Ships: AusHun; implied PruHun

Characters: Austria, Hungary; mentioned Prussia

Summary: After their marriage in 1867, Austria begins treating Hungary with more kindness and respect, realizing how close he came to losing her. Against all odds and expectations, feelings begin developing and he finds it near impossible to contain them any longer. 

Vienna, 1893.

Roderich's home was his piano. It was sweet release, his break from all reality. In some ways, his music had become a well-tended addiction, often the only thing capable of providing him respite. He was turning to it more often these days. The world was changing fast and it troubled Austria. He found his thoughts more preoccupied by the shifting power balances among Europe and the rest of the world along with the clamoring for independence by the various ethnic groups under his control. But he refused to think about that now. His fingers glided over the keys, opting to compose their own melody this time instead of going through the stacks of sheet music in his head to find the right piece. What his heart was playing was heavy with melancholy, but with a glimmer of hope.

When he finished, he was plenty surprised to hear a polite clap. Roderich turned around and met Erzsébet's eyes. "I wasn't doing anything and your playing is so beautiful. I hope you don't mind." Her smile was polite, yet warm.

"Not at all. I appreciate having a captive audience." He gestured to one of the couches nearby. "Sit, there's no need to stand in the doorway."

She complied. Erzsébet pulled her legs up besides her and sighed. "It's beautiful, really. Whenever you play, it makes you feel almost approachable."

In the past, this type of statement would've annoyed him. But, since their official marriage in 1867 and the elevation of Hungary's status with it, he'd been doing his best to be kinder. Whatever their feelings were, he was afraid to lose her and knew he'd come too close. "Am I not normally this way?" He imagined himself as a big, hulking monster. The picture bemused him.

"No, you're normally much more..." She tried to find the word. He watched her trying to grab it in her head and the sudden euphoria when she found it. "Unobtainable."

"That's applicable to you as well." A statement that could've easily been used as a weapon, but came across more as gentle teasing.

"Hush, that's different. You're usually so far beyond. You weren't like this before. Empire changes people." Hungary looked away, not wanting to meet his eyes as she spoke for fear of how he'd react. "It brings out the worst traits in all of us."

Incredulous, he pressed her. "How so?" He swiveled in his seat, turning himself so he was fully facing her instead of his instrument.

She teased her nails with her teeth, a habit she'd long had since childhood. She understood the importance of getting her words right when it came to this topic, for his understanding and for her own sentiments to be properly conveyed. "What's that saying? Absolute power corrupts absolutely? If it's true for man, then it's true for us. You become the center of the world, shaping it as you see fit. There's very few who are capable of stopping you, your worst impulses as a nation and individual are hardly checked. How could you not fall into excess?" Hungary ventured to look into Austria's eyes now. "It's not a moral failing, please don't take it as such."

An interesting concept. Certainly seemed to be bound in the basis of reality. Still, he knew if it was true then he would be condemned as well. Austria's doubts nagged at him, he wanted her to be proved wrong but not to claim that victory for himself. "Can you give me any specific corruption?"

"Arthur's taste for vengeance turned into cruelty towards those deserving and undeserving. Francis' desire for control led to him successfully taking over a large portion of the world with an iron fist. And you," she paused. He nodded at her, giving her permission to go on. "And your need to be seen above all other's strips you of basic empathy and compassion for those weaker than yourself."

Austria considered that over for a second. He agreed with her on Britain and France. That was easy, accepting the flaws and downfalls of others. How loathe he was to self-reflect that deeply. He longed for counter-examples and wracked his long memory for one. His treatment of Bohemia for wanting to pick a non-Austrian ruler, his browbeating of the Protestant Germans, his repression of any who dissented too forcefully against his authority. He winced. The only recent example he had of benevolence was when Hungary threatened to stage a rebellion he knew she would win. "I suppose I see your point." No longer wanting the spotlight on him, he turned it on her. "Are you worried this will change you like it has the rest of us?"

Hungary chuckled. "No, not in the slightest. I've certainly been elevated, but this is all still yours. My only focus remains on the best interests of myself and my people." She waved a hand dismissively, suppressing a giggle. "I'll let you deal with the Balkans."

He rolled his eyes. How mighty big of her, letting him handle the most quarrelsome aspect of his, of their, lands. "Then why's this been on your mind?" She opened her mouth to protest, but Austria shot her a look. "Don't lie to me. You wouldn't have mentioned this out of nowhere if it wasn't troubling you." He forced his expression to soften. "You've got me interested now."

Erzsébet wrung the skirt of her dress in her hands. She focused intently on the way they messed with the fabric. "I'm worried about him, that's all." She felt the heat of Roderich's irritation rolling off him. She wished to stop herself, but couldn't once the words were out. "An earnest quest for empire, can you believe it? I've already seen it in his eyes. I fear he'll soon be returning to the blood lust he had in the Knights if he continues making war with impunity."

A familiar stab of annoyance hit him in the gut. Strangely, it was mixed with a tang of jealousy over what he didn't have. He bit his tongue until the end, his curiosity piqued. "Are you saying you want him to be put down?" Normally Austria would jump at the opportunity to be the one to do the crushing. His ego stung too much after losing to Prussia in less than two months. With France out of the picture, he had to hope Russia would get brazen.

"Put down is so strong. Beating Denmark was fine. I was displeased by his victory against us, I don't take joy in my men losing their lives and the war, but that was the normal cycle of things." She cleared her throat. "Successfully capturing Paris is another matter."

Austria nodded. This certainly was one of the many things recently troubling him. It was also one of the one's he did not care to discuss. The Prussian was an Icarus, he'd fly too close to the sun soon enough. And Erzsébet would be there to put him back together again when he fell, his insecurities taunted him. "It is, but it doesn't concern our state. He's made this bed and he'll lie in it. Alone."

Erzsébet's expression grew sheepish. "I shouldn't have brought this up, I'm sorry." Talking about this with him was a mistake. She should've confided in Feliks instead.

"Don't be, I asked. It only makes sense you would feel this way." A painful silence lay between them. Austria's fingers itched. A ridiculous part of him longed to impress her. He knew he was being childish, unable to deal with whatever feelings of inadequacy that whole conversation arose. He found himself unable to resist though. "May I play something for you? It always helps take my mind off things."

She shook her head. "Not right now. There's some paperwork I have to get to before the end of the night, you understand. Perhaps if I get finished with it early." Hungary rose and began exiting the room.

Desperation. He hated himself for it. "One second, Erzsi," he hesitated on her nickname. To his relief, she turned around without a hint of discomfort. His eyes focused on her despite how much he wanted to look away. "You're in love with him, still, aren't you?" The question was beyond that though. They both knew Roderich was asking if this - their marriage of equals, his forced kindness turning into genuine tenderness - had changed anything.

Hungary stared out the window. "Ah, that's certainly a question." If he studied her intently, he could notice the slightest of tremors. "My heart belongs to myself." She'd said those words before to a different man. They were as unconvincing then as they were the first time.

"You don't have to lie to me." More plead than request. Austria hated his own weakness.

"It's not you I'm lying to." Her hands returned to fidgeting with her dress. The habit made her look quite girlish. "Once acknowledged, the truth can be quite a dangerous thing. I need you to understand that."

"And if I don't?" His insolence surprised him. He cleared his throat. "What I mean is, it's better to deal with the truth now than to keep kicking it down the line. It only brings forth more pain." Roderich bid himself to be less honest. He didn't care if it made him a hypocrite, he just needed to stop making himself feel so much.

Erzsébet smiled sadly. "Unfortunately, you're not wrong." She met his gaze, steady and strong. "You're quite observant, Roderich. I believe you know the truth. It's not necessary for me to tell you."

He couldn't bear it anymore. Roderich stood and, within a few strides, was before her. He kissed her tenderly, his hands on her hips and softly pulling her towards him. It was futile, but it felt meaningful to him as all last-ditch efforts do. Their whole marriage felt futile, at the point where it was now fraying irreparably, despite their best efforts to change its course. Still, he found himself hoping and wishing to transport that feeling to her.

They parted. Her eyes carried such cruel pity. "You're becoming such a good man, Roderich. I missed this part of you." Her words cut him like a knife. Erzsébet didn't have to add that it was too late. She didn't have to remind him. She kissed him quick.

"I love you." The words game out fast. The first time he'd said them where it felt true. Giddy on the revelation, he offered it in Hungarian. Anything, anything to get the pity out of her eyes. "Please, Erzsi. You used to say it so often."

Erzsébet stepped back. "I did, didn't I?" She bit her lip. Her breath caught in her throat and her heart wouldn't quit aching for him. "I'm sorry, Roderich. You responded too late. It should've been different for us." She watched his heart break before her eyes. She wanted to offer a platitude, offer him something to console him. She'd never seen him this distraught before. She took his hand.

He laughed bitterly. The action was directed at himself, but she still appeared hurt. "How ridiculous. In the beginning, I knew how devoted you were and I didn't care. It irritated me, the goodness in your heart. I rejected you because I saw no benefit to loving you. Now, when you've understandably closed off to this careless monster - please don't disagree, we both know its true - you've been trapped with for all these years, well now I'm able to recognize how extraordinary you are." He smiled, if only to prevent himself from breaking down. "I resented any attempt you made to find the smallest joy in this hell. My deepest desire is now only to see you happy. I'm an idiot." Roderich paused, his voice becoming a whisper. "He makes you happy, doesn't he?"

She listened. Tears welled in her own eyes. The truth of it all hurt, but it needed to be said. She wished she could turn off her feelings, she wished it would be so easy to welcome him back unconditionally into her good graces. Erzsébet had become so used to how things were, she couldn't believe that this new loving behavior wasn't only temporary before things returned to their past resentment. She wanted to avoid his question, but knew she couldn't. She sighed. "He does."

The truth, the bitter truth. He knew it and, yet, he still needed to hear it. "Can't I make you happy instead?"

Erzsébet kissed him, sweet and slow. Roderich found himself still leaning in when there was no longer anyone there. "That would take longer than we have."

"But we have eternity." Begging, begging for her not to do what he knew was coming. She had just so recently entered his world, really entered it. He couldn't imagine being without her now.

"You know what I mean." Eyes downcast. "I don't know how much longer we can stay. But until then, you can try." She stroked his cheek. "I do appreciate the effort." She stepped back and it felt to Roderich like a world was between them. "Please, I need to do my work."

This time he didn't prevent her from leaving. She shut the door behind her and Roderich crumpled to the floor. He cursed himself, he cursed his pride and his disregard for what he'd had for so long. He cursed himself that he would never be able to keep her and that he would never stop performing the Sisyphean task of fighting for her. He'd go down a fool, but maybe now he could take pride in himself for having tried, for giving her a few years where she felt respected and valued. His tears fell and he let them. No, maybe he wouldn’t feel happiness, but to give it to her would be just the same.

[miryel89]

We Are Connected

[ Parkner/Keenker - After End Game - Slash ]

Chapter I. Talk About You

If there is one thing that Harley has understood, it is that asking Peter how he feels, it will always imply the same, same answer.

"I'm fine."

But Peter isn't fine; not all the times, at least. Harley knows perfectly what his constant thought is - incessant, in those moments where he's sad and, although he may be suffering less, he can understand it in part. He would like to give him a hand. Help him win that grief that he just can't get out of his soul, his heart and his fingers. Those same ones that tremble, every time he sees him squeeze them around their knees, when they are at the Stark house and keep Morgan company, sitting on that same sofa, every holy Wednesday, every week, every month, from that day. Harley looks at him smiling at that little woman, who is carrying too many things that  Tony Stark was, and every time he tries to open his mouth to ask Peter what's wrong, he blocks that intent in the bud, because after all he already knows the answer. Because Peter is off. Grey. Empty .

Harley loved Tony. He respected him, admired him, loved him, but not in the same way - nor with the same intensity, with which Peter Parker did it - and with which he is probably still doing it. No one told him how things really went between them, but it is not difficult to understand that, for Tony, Peter was much more than a pupil or an adopted son. Peter was a lover and Harley, in some ways, is less surprised than he would have expected, of that fact. In those five years that the boy disappeared, Tony told him about him, and he always did it giving him the impression that he needed it urgently. Something he could not repress, and though Harley initially felt replaced, that feeling immediately disappeared when he realized there had been more, among them and had respected that feeling without unraveling a single comment from the mouth. Without judging; and he hadn't even done it in his own head. He hadn't been able to.

"Are you staying for dinner?" Asks Pepper, with a hopeful smile that vibrates on her face. Harley knows that she needs company, that loneliness crushes her and reminds her how much that house has lost a big chunk of herself since her husband died. Harley smiles and opens his mouth, but Peter is faster and beats him on time.

"No, I'm not ... I have to go. Tomorrow I have a exam and I would like to be able to go over something, at least before going to sleep. Thank you for the invitation, however, Miss Potts," he says and the dark halo that surrounds him, seems more overwhelming than usual. Since Tony died, the emptiness left - difficult to fill, is enormous, gigantic, mammoth; yet every day things seem to go better; yet everyone seems, slowly, to accept that lack - or better, to get used to the fact that Tony will never return and that we will have to have a damn thing very soonreason. Everyone is trying, everyone is succeeding, except Peter. Peter goes backwards. The more Harley has the opportunity to meet him, the more he sees it livid with a profound and incalculable sadness and apathy. The more he looks at his face, the more he sees him die inside. He does not recognize in his eyes that light that Tony showed him in some pictures of him. He does not have the same carefree smile that he saw in those shots, kept with love, in simple wooden frames that they know at home. Harley met Peter the moment Peter stopped living and his biggest curiosity was that he could one day meet the person Tony introduced him to in his stories and not a mere shadow of himself.

Pepper smiles her grim smile; alone. "I see. The school always comes first, but Sunday is the commemoration lunch. You can't miss it, Peter!" She exclaims, and waits hopefully for a yes, which simply comes with a nod, then Peter stands up and sighs. He wants to leave, and body language proves it for him. Harley knows that, if he were to ask him now, at this moment, how he is, Peter would answer - lying in front of those obvious signs of discomfort - that he's okay. Never been better. I 'm very good. A fairy tale.

Harley gets up. He sighs too and Morgan looks at them. He puts down a stuffed horse she was playing with and pouts. She hates to see them leave - she told them once - and, although he would seriously like to stay, Harley knows he needs to talk to Peter and ask him to be transparent, because he wants to hear him admit that no, he's not good. Not at all .

"Are you leaving?" Asks Morgan and, mechanically, both Harley and Peter lower their heads to meet her eyes and leave her a tender smile as an excuse for that escape.

"They can't stay here all day, Maguna. People also have commitments to respect,” rebuts Pepper and Morgan snorts and rolls her eyes. The best representation of Tony that Harley has ever seen in his life. He laughs over it, while Peter darkens.

"We'll be back soon," he promises and nods to sound more convincing, while the other imitates him and then hurries to retrieve his jacket and backpack from above the sofa. Peter always seems claustrophobic, when he's in there, and maybe he really is. Perhaps he has all the reasons.

"Miss Potts, I ..."

"I know, Peter. I know ... and don't worry. You already do so much for us and I admit that I would like to have you here every minute of my time, I cannot hold you by force. Rather, don't worry about me, you two. Send me the usual message, when you will be at home,” she smiles, and indicates both with her index, motherly. Harley winks at her and, together with Peter, reaches the exit door. As soon as it opens it finds the darkness that welcomes them. Winter has shortened the days and, despite being just six in the afternoon, it seems as if the night is one step away from them. It is terribly cold; Harley closes in the coat and scarf and, shivering, joins an absorbed Peter, who as always does not break the peace but enriches it with a chaos made of silence and solitude. Something that belong to both of them. The one that just can't let them find a meeting point. What Harley has been looking for for some time and that Peter doesn't allow him to find. Too closed in his world and open to the universe of some unreal fantasy. Perhaps where Tony Stark is still alive and gives him the love he seeks, which he has had and which he will never be able to get back. It must be terrible. It must be painful. It must be incalculable, and Harley cannot understand a bit of what he feels even if he would like.

"So. You have an exam, tomorrow", try to be confident. Peter nods and gives him only a side glance, which for a moment is stained by an awareness that immediately abandons him.

"Yup."

"Important? Staggering stuff? "

"Physics and chemistry."  

"Aren't you the one who excels fearfully in all scientific subjects? It should be a walk, isn't it? "

"Who told you that?"

Harley shrugs, and only halfway through the sentence does he realize the indecent mistake he's making. "Tony," he says and if he hit him with a gun shot, he would have certainly hurt him less. "I'm sorry," try to fix it, lapidary, but Peter is already elsewhere. He stopped, he closed his eyes, and stared at him as if he were a heartless monster; throws him all the impatience he has inside, then closes his eyes with pain and starts walking again, clutching the backpack straps between his fingers. He's running away. He escapes from his ghosts, even when they are just named. He escapes from reality, from fiction and from the past but, above all, Peter escapes from life because he doesn't want it to come back to give him something to believe in. He read all this in a single fleeting glance, full of terror and anger but also of an infinite one, depressing and unjust apathy. He tried something for a moment, then nothing again. Tony Stark died and took away even Peter's soul and heart. Or rather, Peter let him do it, burying his entire consciousness with him and nullifying himself.

"Peter! Here we go! Wait!" He runs after him and Peter accelerates his walk. They've already addressed that topic and don't want to go back, Harley knows. Peter can't bear that, in those five years, Tony has talked about him to other people, eager to hug him and get him back, and then die in front of him soon after, without giving him the chance to tell him anything. Nothing at all. Not even a stupid but meaningful thank you. He didn't tell him all these things, but to Harley it was enough to identify himself with a second in a boy in love who loses the love of his life under his nose, without being able to do anything to save him.

"It's not your fault. You know ... you don't ... you're not the problem," Peter tells him and doesn't stop. Again he is justifying the actions of others; again he takes on weights he should not bear, which are not his. Peter feels responsible for the loss of Tony and the consequences it has brought. Peter feels the world against, because if he only found a way to stop Thanos - to defend that glove, Tony would still be there with them. With all of them, and instead the world is safe, but without its best guardian. The best man.

Harley knows, because it's Pepper who told him.

"It's nobody's fault, neither mine, nor yours. It was not intentional and I did not believe that the subject was still taboo. His name had not been released for months. "

"Okay so, really. It will pass me ”, he tries to reassure him and makes him angry that Harley never believed he could ever try, in his life. He would like to punch him and make him react, but it hurts so bad to see him so poised between life and death, that the only thing he can do is try to stop him by taking his arm, without any success.

"Peter, please, stop!" He says, frustrated. He snorts, annoyed, overcome by that intolerance that the other is throwing at him with a charge so crushing, that it is almost difficult to bear on his shoulders. "You need help, and it's obvious! I'm just trying to be useful for something. "

Peter then stops. He gives him his back for a few seconds; a time that in Harley seems a mix between eternity and an instant. When he turns around, he gives him the coldest expression in the world. So devoid of positive feelings, that is almost scary. It's almost more sad. "Useful?" Peter begins, then looks away, "Who are you, to claim to be able to help me?"

"I am nobody and I have no claim. Mine is an attempt to give you a hand. "

Peter tightens his jaw and still doesn't look at him, then opens his mouth, closes it again and opens it again. "I'm not holding any weight. I'm trying to assimilate what happened, like all of you. Why do you all think I'm not succeeding? "

"Because that's it, Peter! You're not succeeding! And pretending to make us - to make me believe that it is so, is ridiculous." The truth slams on him; he takes a step toward him and points a finger at him. Peter takes a step back and swallows air, exposed. Unmasked. Harley feels something press between his heart and lungs.

"You don't know me. You can't know. You know nothing. You don't know anything, Harley," Peter replies, with an almost unreal calm that tries to conceal unfounded accusations and Harley would like to laugh, in front of that sentence.

It lets out a bitter smile. "As if I needed to know you, to know how you feel. You are an open book. Your eyes speak for you. They did it from the first moment we met that day at the funeral! "

"Why? Why the more I don't want to talk about him, the more you expect me to do it? I just want you not to talk about it, to avoid the topic! Why is it so difficult to understand?" Says Peter, his eyes narrowed to hold back the pain and the desire to run away far away but that, his boundless sense of justice, does not allow him to do.

"It's not difficult to understand, but to accept! It's not the way to deal with it, what you're adopting. You're delaying something you should fight, don't bury it under layers, on layers of sand! ”Silence falls, after that rumble of words that Harley let slip with a deep and inadmissible arrogance. He doesn't know who Peter is; not the real one, at least. Not the one Tony talked about so much about, when their meetings became more frequent, after the disappearances had left a gap too big to fill. Peter, Peter, Peter, yes, he always spoke only of him. Sometimes it was almost frustrating.

"I know. I know what I'm doing, I know it's deleterious, I know I'm not fighting the pain but I can't and neither you or anyone else can change that. I'm not even trying, because I don't want to try. I don't want to get over it. I don't want to get better. I just want to be left in peace and I would like you to respect my will, avoiding talking about what happened and what is better for me. You do not know. You don't know it, and you can't know it. I am sorry to disappoint you, but it is so", Peter replies, closes his mouth and seems not to have said everything, but does not continue. He sighs, and waits. He waits for something that Harley won't tell him, because in all sincerity, he doesn't know what to say. Or rather, he knows that everything, every attempt to get closer, will inexorably take him even further.

Harley doesn't know why he took Peter's emotional state to heart. He doesn't know him so well, and it's true, but maybe it was Tony's stories that distorted reality and put that worm in his head. He has in front of him a person too corroded by pain, that he has lost his way, and perhaps Harley is only disappointed because he did not face those who thought he was, even if he doubts that this is the real reason.

"All right." Try condescending. He nods and then sighs, running a hand through his hair, then closes himself in his coat. "Yes, okay. You're right ", he continues and Peter raises an eyebrow, perhaps because he didn't expect that. Perhaps because, part of his heart, he hoped that Harley could fight more, that battle against his demons. "I leave you alone, I promise."

"Harley ..."

"I'm serious, Peter. I can't know what you're going through. It's not the same for me. And, if you really needed help, you certainly wouldn't want it from someone you barely know. I'm guilty of arrogance, and that's not what I want, so I'm sorry," he says. He leaves him a smile of circumstance and then surpasses him, convinced that supporting him is an infinitely dangerous double-edged sword, but it is the only one he has. The only one that comes to mind to use. He starts off on his own, towards the bus stop. Peter is still motionless behind him. He feels his eyes on him. Something has broken or perhaps it has healed. Harley hopes so with all of himself. He does not turn around, he continues to walk, hoping to go home and find a message of his, of any kind, that tells him that he needs help and that he would like it from him. He is a visionary, if he thinks of such a thing, but wants to cling to something, to a hope, although he doesn't know yet why Peter is so dear to him. Maybe it's just empathy, or maybe he just wants to help him react, because he knows that's what Tony would like.

"Harley," Peter repeats, and joins him.

"What's up? I'm leaving you in peace! ”, He replies, but he can't hold back a smile that lights up his heart, when Peter gives him an awkward one, but he immediately loses himself in the dark shadow of Tony Stark. The one that weighs on him.

Peter shrugs his shoulders. "I know, but let's take the same bus, what's the point of dividing?", It justifies itself, and it seems as if something has moved; that something has overturned for a moment that delicate situation, ready to break with just a damn fake misstep. And yet that shadow is always there, weighing on them. Like a wall that divides them, inexorably, strengthening each time they manage to take a step, towards each other. It's Tony; it's his memory, Harley knows. Because, in spite of everything, to think of Peter as the boy whose Iron-Man spoke to him, always made him believe that something could unite them and that, for some reason, he was convinced that, in that boy, he would surely find a friend . Instead, Tony brought them together and he always he is doing everything to divide them and this Harley is almost unable to forgive him. The paradoxical thing is that he doesn't even know why.

They end up being silent, on that bus, while the journey home is too long, accompanied by that silence. Yet something has changed, and Harley does not know if he has inexorably broken something or has begun to heal it, in that dry heart that Peter Parker carries in his chest and that, with a little hope, has never really stopped beating.