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just-jordie-things · 5 years

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What Happened 27 Years Later - Richie Tozier

word count: 18k warnings: swearing, mentions of sex, gore summary: 27 years after the horrid summer of ‘89, (y/n) gets a call that the Losers Club need her to come back to Derry to put an end to It once and for all. But she’s got quite a history with Richie Tozier, and she’s not sure how great of an idea seeing him again is. (a/n): after IT Chapter 2 I got the inspiration to write for the fandom again, not sure if I'll stick with it or not but enjoy this super long fic anyways lolol

___

When Mike Hanlon called on that fate damning day, (y/n) had almost forgotten that it had been twenty some odd years since she’d seen her childhood friends. Or even heard from them. And despite the wave of nostalgia she felt when she heard his voice, a part of her still wanted to make up a reason as to why she couldn’t go back to Maine. Any excuse would have worked, she was an excellent liar.

“(y/n), you have to come back,” Mike had pleaded into the line. “IT’s back, (y/n). We promised”

Her heart sank to her gut, and it was as though her insides were digesting themselves. All rational thought told her to decline, to go back on her promise, to tell Mike she would never step foot in Derry again. But instead, what came out of her mouth was-

“Of course. I’ll get the first flight out tomorrow”

It was like her instincts kicked in and spoke for her, knowing that she was going to do everything in her power to avoid going back to that hellhole of a town. For years she’d rebuilt her life, pushed down her trauma, lost the memories of the horrors that occured when she was just a child. And not even just that fucking clown.

“See you soon, (y/n/n). RIchie will be glad to know you’re coming”

He hung up before she could catch her breath, not having heard either of those names in… well, twenty seven years. ___

“(y/n/n)! Richie! Get the hell over here before we fuckin’ leave without you!” Eddie screamed from outside, where him and the rest of the Losers Club were waiting with their bikes to head to the quarry.

“We’ll just meet you there!” Richie called back through (y/n’s) open window. She was preoccupied with packing up her backpack with adventure necessities.

“No we won’t!” (y/n) added in a holler, shaking her head at Richie. “Come on, let’s go now” She said, throwing her backpack on her shoulders.

“No,” Richie whined as he dragged his feet after her. “Can’t we go on our own in a few minutes?

“Why?” (y/n) laughed, grabbing a can of rootbeer from the fridge on her way out the door. “That desperate for some alone time?” She added in an overly theatrical sultry tone, laughing at her own funny voice.

Being Richie’s best friend had definitely rubbed off on her.

“Well, yeah” Richie chuckled, hoping he could just laugh over the awkwardness.

(y/n) spun on her heel, the corner of her lip tugging upwards even though she bit her cheek to keep from grinning. It was kinda hard not to smile at him when he gave her that dorky look.

“Come on,” She giggled softly, tugging on his wrist with the hand that wasn’t holding a rootbeer, and pressing a quick and chaste kiss to his cheek. “Our friends are waiting”

With that, he groaned, but nevertheless followed her out the door.

He’d follow her anywhere. ___

They were going to meet at a chinese restaurant. Well, the chinese restaurant, the only one in the small town of Derry. The one that they went to after getting plastered prom night, the one they went to to pick up dumplings to sneak into the Aladdin. It had so many hazy memories surrounding it. The more (y/n) tried to remember, the less she could actually recall.

It almost felt like they were made up. Instead of being precious childhood memories, they felt like dreams she’d had years ago and could only vaguely remember. They were real, though, right?

It was strange, second guessing herself when it came to some of her memories of growing up in Derry. Especially the ones with-

“(y/n),” A voice announced behind her, like they’d forgotten her name until the moment they saw her standing outside the restaurant. She spun around, staring wide eyed at Big Bill Denbrough. “Hey” He breathed out, and once again her instincts kicked in, making her feet move until she was in his arms, hugging him tightly, and burying her face in his coat.

“I can’t believe… I can’t believe you’re here. That I’m here even” She chuckled bittersweetly as she pulled away, eyes flickering over Bill’s features. He’d aged well, all things considered.

“Yeah, me neither, to be honest,” He gave a half assed laugh, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Well look at you, what are you up to these days?”

“I uh… I’m living in New York now…” She started, nodding her head slowly. “Trying to be a journalist but… it’s hard these days, you know?”

“Oh really? I’m writing too… got a few things published but I’m in a bit of a stump right now”

(y/n) gave him a small smile, and nodded her head. She had dealt with her fair share of writer’s block.

Mike was the next to show up, and again they played catch up, and he told them that he’d started working at the library, and had never left Derry. This confused both Bill and (y/n) but neither criticized him for it.

Then came Beverly, whose presence was enough to make things easier, and conversation seemed less forced. It must be her wit and charm. They were all grateful that she didn’t grow out of it.

Eddie arrived not too long after, jittery and awkward as usual, but it was endearing.

Ben gave them all a surprise, he’d grown up real well, and seemed to finally have some confidence in himself as well. (y/n) started to wonder if everyone really was doing as great as they were saying. If they were all doing better than her.

Or maybe it was because she wasn’t around.

The more the others started to catch up and get into a more natural conversation, the quieter she became, observing them, seeing how happy they all were together. She debated whether they would notice if she left right now, if she turned and walked down the alley, and then flagged down a cab to take her straight back to the airport.

“Well look at all you motherfuckers standing around outside in the cold!”

Suddenly she was drawn right back into reality, perking up to see Richie Tozier getting out of a cab, rubbing his hands together and then stuffing them into his coat pockets. He was grinning from ear to ear, that same, dorky, adorable grin. That grin made (y/n) certain that she was remembering Derry correctly, that it wasn’t all made up in her head.

His smile went soft when his gaze landed on her, while Bill was greeting him with a hug, and Eddie was making fun of how he must’ve never cut his hair, which hung in messy curls just past his ears.

“Hey,” He said, after what felt like a lifetime passed. Bill let go of him and he wandered up to (y/n), a disbelieved scoff of a laugh escaping his lips. “Wow, look at you, toots,” His hands wrapped around her shoulders, squeezing them gently as he smiled at her up and down. “Sure grew up to be a Maxim model huh?”

Finally, she made a sound, laughing and punching his shoulder before he tugged her against him for a hug.

“Well c’mere rascal,” He said as he wrapped his arms around her tight, and it felt natural to rest her cheek against his chest. “Missed ya”

“Missed you too, Rich,” She mumbled against his coat. Even though she hadn’t missed him until she saw him again, just now. “But- uh- what about you?” She asked, pulling away far too quickly for Richie’s liking, and wrapping her arms around herself. It was to keep warm, but Richie knew it was a defense mechanism.

“Oh, you know, LA, radioshow, adult life and all that bullshit” He rolled his eyes, and (y/n’s) lips parted as though to convince him otherwise, but she quickly shut it and nodded her head awkwardly.

“Right” She mumbled, and everyone filed into the restaurant. ___

“Alright, my turn. What’s your dream job?” (y/n) asked curiously while she unrolled a fruit roll up.

“My dream job?” Richie scoffed at the question. “We’re paying a game where you can ask anything you want, and I have to answer honestly. And you still haven’t asked how big my-”

“Beep beep!” (y/n) screeched before giggling. “Jesus Rich, it’s my turn, and that’s my question”

“Alright alright…” Richie trailed off, staring up at the sky while he thought.

They’d been laying on her roof for a few hours now. Originally they’d just come outside because the sun was setting, and (y/n) thought it would be neat to watch. But the sun had long set, and the stars were twinkling in the inky sky now. They’d gone back inside, only to get a blanket to rest on, and snacks to keep them energized through their game.

“What do you think I’d even be good at?” He finally asked. “I mean, really, besides flipping burgers at Burger King, what is there for me?”

“What?” (y/n) hummed, looking over at him and furrowing her brows. “Richie, you’re good at everything. You could be… a professional dancer-”

“What the fuck!?”

“Or a doctor-”

“Opposite sides of the spectrum toots-”

“Maybe a love doctor then,” She giggled, and then looked over to see Richie furrowing his brows and shaking his head at her ridiculousness. “What? You’re flirty, you’ve got moves. But if not that then-”

“Why do you believe in me so fucking much?” He cut her off again, this time quietly, and his eyes stared into hers seriously, trying to figure her out.

“What do you mean?” She replied. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Of course, he could give her his endless list of reasons why she shouldn’t. But she’d spoken so confusedly, like the very idea of not believing in him never once crossed her mind. Something about it was so sweet, so innocent, so loving, that he forgot all about his hidden insecurities, and instead was overcome with adoration for this girl.

He realized he must’ve been thinking and staring at her for too long, because her brows drew together like she was worried about him.

“Richie? Are you alright?”

He nodded, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips, and his hand reached out to take hers, the one that wasn’t holding a fruit roll up. Despite blushing at the action while he intertwined their fingers, she was still confused by the action.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ marry you one day” He announced, and (y/n) let out a laugh, surprised by the comment.

“Why?” She asked through her giggles, eyeing their connected hands.

It wasn’t like it was the first time Richie held her hand. He did it all the time, the boy craved physical attention. But something about laying on the roof, stargazing, and his hand in hers, was different.

“No one in this goddamn town’s good enough for you anyways. Your other options are a group of psychopaths, or the vapid dick-twitches from school-”

“Alright, alright,” (y/n) squeezed his hand, getting him to stop running his mouth. “So you’re my ideal husband then, huh?”

“Sure am toots,” Richie grinned at her, and she couldn’t help but smile back at him. “What do you say, when we do it, we move the fuck outta Maine”

“When we do it?” (y/n) repeated, and moved to lay on her side to give him her full attention. Their hands still clasped together between them. “You’re serious? You actually want to-”

“Hell yeah,” He answered sincerely, but the dopey smile on his face made (y/n) curious if he was being serious or not. “Why not?”

She let out a huff, eyes wide, somehow still surprised by Richie and his antics. After all these years, he still managed to sweep her off her feet with surprise.

“Because we’re seventeen!” She exclaimed. “I don’t even know where I want to go to college yet- or even what to major in and-and you want to get married?”

“Hm,” Richie hummed, as he contemplated it for a moment. “How about this then, when we’re, say, thirty? If you’re not married yet, I’ll marry you”

“Uh huh, and if we lose touch? You just gonna show up out of nowhere with a ring?” (y/n) teased, and Richie faked a glare towards her.

“You think we’re gonna lose touch? Us? No way. Not in a million years”

She nodded her head side to side in agreement. There wasn’t a chance the two of them could lose touch. They were best friends, if not just a little bit closer, and dangerously sitting on the line of something more.

“Okay then, a marriage pact it is,” (y/n) chuckled. “Shouldn’t there be like… rules?”

“Nope,” Richie said, popping his lips dramatically, and making her furrow her brows in silent question. “Because then you’ll make a rule against me killin’ all your boyfriends so I can marry ya”

She scoffed out a laugh, before going instantly silent as she saw the serious look on his face. She stared at him for a minute, trying to read his complex expression. Richie was fairly good at hiding his emotions, but she had a way of getting under his skin and getting him to confess to whatever it was he was hiding.

Tonight all she had to do was raise her eyebrows, and the trashmouth caved.

“Or we can say fuck the pact, and just get married next year” He told her. And the girl’s eyes nearly popped out of her head.

“What?” She mumbled.

“We’ll be eighteen,” Richie shrugged. “And then we can move outta this awful fuckin’ town together. I’ll follow you, to whatever school you choose, I’ll go with you. I probably won’t get in but that’s alright, I’ll work, and help make rent, it’ll be fun. Adult life shit”

(y/n) laughed breathlessly, her eyes full of wonder at how he’d thought up all of this in that eccentric mind of his.

“You want to marry me that bad, huh?” She asked softly, and Richie just grinned back at her. “And you want to live with me? Damn Tozier… I thought you were a commitment-phobe?”

“Toots, I’ve been hanging around you for… ten whole years now,” He told her, and his thumb began to stroke over the back of hers. “I don’t think I’m scared of committing to you. Do you?”

Her breath caught in her throat, and suddenly this was less fun and light hearted, and more sincere, and heavy. And his seriousness was starting to make her heart beat a little harder in her chest. And gravity was weighing down on her, pinning her body to the blanket and shingles underneath her. Tears welled in her eyes from the pressure of the situation she’d found herself in.

Richie’s thumb still caressed hers.

After a long moment, she finally shook her head, unable to find her voice.

“You alright?” He asked, “You look like you’re gonna cry”

(y/n) chuckled sadly, wiping at her eyes with her free hand.

“Sorry, you just… you’ve got me thinking about the future now” She told him, and the corner of his lip tugged into a smile.

“Gotta think about it at some point toots,” He said. “Can’t stay here forever, seventeen, in Derry. That’s a nightmare. This place is a nightmare”

“Yeah, it is,” She agreed quietly, eyes wandering back up to the sky for a moment. “Not all of it though” She added, eyes wandering towards Richie’s again, only to find his gaze fixed on her still.

He gave her that big dorky grin that she loved so much, and then laughed and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer to him. Her smaller frame fit perfectly against his, and she let out a sign, content. Perfectly content.

“Alright then, Tozier,” She hummed, shutting her eyes as she used his arm as a pillow. “When do you want to start this adult life?” ___

Everyone was full from the abundant amount of food they’d ordered, and were relaxing together. The awkward tension had fizzled out as Bill tried not to brag about his novels, Ben hopelessly flirted with Beverly, and Eddie complained about the smoking habit most everyone had. No one could deny the hole in the conversation where Stanley was supposed to be, but they tried their best to remember him how he was, and honor his life.

And then came the hard part. The part where Mike told them about the disappearances, about the numerous children that have gone missing. Just like they had twenty seven years ago.

“It’s back,” Mike said solemnly, and suddenly the laughter died, and the seven of them went silent. “It has to be Pennywise. How else could fifteen children go missing in a week in Derry?”

(y/n) stared down at her hands in her lap, her fingers wringing together anxiously.

She wasn’t sure she could go through this again. Her trauma had just gotten under control, as the years passed she remembered less and less of what happened, and that helped, but it could only do so much when every other thought she had tonight was a horrible memory of her life here. It had taken so many kids when she was growing up, and once the Losers Club had figured out what was going on, she went to bed every night afraid It would take her too. And that fear lasted for years, until she was finally old enough to strike out on her own.

It seemed the further away she’d gotten from Derry, the more distant the memories were too.

Finally, when it was too late to stick around and the owners were silently begging the group to leave, they started saying their goodbyes, and headed to the door to call cabs.

“Hey, toots, wait up,” Richie called while (y/n) was putting her coat on and making a bee-line for the door. She paused, reluctantly, and then turned to look at him. “You stayin’ at the hotel up the street?”

“It’s the only one in Derry… so… yeah” She answered, quiet, and sheepish.

“Wanna split a cab?” He asked, and she didn’t know how to politely decline his offer, so she nodded silently, and he followed her outside.

November in Derry was relentlessly cold, and even in her coat, with her hands stuffed deep into it’s pockets, (y/n) was shivering, and bouncing on her feet in hopes of producing enough energy to keep warm. While Richie was calling for a cab, she was watching her exhales visibly blow out in front of her.

“Alright, should just be a few more minutes” He told her as he stuck his phone back in his pocket.

“Hopefully sooner” (y/n) mumbled back, bringing her hands to her mouth, and cupping them together so she could blow warm air into them.

“So you’re still always cold huh?” Richie half joked. “Nothing’s really changed then”

She looked up at him for a moment, but bashfully diverted her gaze when she saw him looking back at her, and decided instead to study her boots.

“Everything’s changed” She said quietly, shamefully.

She felt embarrassed that she’d done little to nothing to keep in touch with her friends. Especially Richie. But it felt even worse to realize that she’d just about forgotten them, replaced them, and created a new life in order to further stomp away the few good memories she did have in Derry.

“Yeah, I’ll bet it has” Richie replied soberly.

“And I know it has, because I have no clue what to say to you” (y/n) spoke in a whisper, her eyes round and full of sadness as she blatantly didn’t look at him. But Richie wasn’t afraid of staring her down.

“Yeah,” He agreed. “Me neither”

She finally met his eyes for more than two seconds, a sad sort of smile tugging on her lips. He returned it, letting out a huff of a laugh.

“It’s really strange seeing you again, toots,” He told her, the old nickname never died, but it did sound more depressing than it once did. “I uh… I can’t believe I almost…”

“Forgot about me?” (y/n) finished wistfully, eyebrows drawing upwards in a knowing manner.

Richie only nodded his head, and he was the one to stare down at his shoes now.

“Yeah…” (y/n) sighed, wrapping her arms around herself as she felt the coldness spread further throughout her body now. “I mean, we were…”

“Who would’ve guessed it, huh?” He spoke sarcastically, kicking at the pavement of the sidewalk they were waiting at.

She looked at him again, at a loss of words. It broke her heart to look at him now, to see how handsomely he’d grown up, knowing he had a whole life of his own now, without her. And they’d once planned their life together.

“Cab’s here” Richie announced when a taxi rounded the corner.

They fell back into silence as it pulled up, and Richie got the door for her to get in first. Always a gentleman, (y/n) thought to herself, before remembering the day he’d gotten into a mud fight with Beverly over something she couldn’t quite remember. Well, always a gentleman with me.

She sighed contently as she relaxed in the back of the tobacco smelling cab, enjoying the hot air blowing, and rubbing her numb palms together to heat up quicker.

Richie hastily gave the driver the address, and again, it was silent.

When he let out a heavy breath, (y/n) looked over to see him fogging up the glass, and then drawing a smiley face. She let out a laugh at the childishness, and he looked over at her with an amused smile.

Maybe not that much had changed.

When they got to the hotel, they split the pay, and Richie paid the tip, even though (y/n) argued to split that too.

They walked inside together, but stalled awkwardly in the hall by the elevators.

“I’m- uh, on the fourth floor” (y/n) said, though she wasn’t sure why. He hadn’t asked, and she wasn’t trying to invite him to her room by any means.

“I’m on the second” Richie replied, bopping his head in a nod. She felt relieved that he’d even responded, since she’d said something so weird.

(y/n) was mentally kicking herself, begging the elevator to get to the first floor faster, so she could go to her room and be alone sooner. Probably to cry. She guessed when she shut the door and was in privacy, the stress would overcome her and she’d have a mini breakdown.

“You want to go to the hotel bar for a couple drinks?” Richie spoke suddenly, just as the elevator doors opened.

It would be so easy to jump inside and press the fourth floor button and get the hell out of this situation that made her palms clammy and her knees weak.

“I’d love that” She said instead, a smile spreading across her lips that took away some of the nervous tension that blanketed the two of them. He grinned back at her, and they abandoned the elevator to head back to the lobby. ___

After they each had a drink, it became easier to talk to one another. And slowly the tension went away, and they could catch up about their lives. (y/n) was eager to hear about Richie’s radio show, giggling when she realized that it probably had been his dream job.

“I should’ve known that you would find a job where you could keep all your voices,” She giggled, swirling the ice in her drink around with her straw. “Probably talked more in them than in your usual voice”

“I’m not sure if I should be offended,” Richie declared in a british accent that he’d definitely gotten better at. “But I’ll let it slide, since it’s you” He finished in his normal voice.

“Alright then,” She giggled softly before taking a drink. “So, besides work, what else is new? What’s Los Angeles like?”

“Loud, full of angry people. I love it. You would’ve liked it-” Richie stopped himself with an awkward cough. “At-at one time anyways, you would’ve liked it. But you’re probably shacked up somewhere real nice in New York, huh? Big city?”

“It’s alright,” She shrugged a shoulder. “I live in an overpriced studio apartment that I can’t afford, and can’t afford to lose” She told him, making him chuckle.

“A journalist in New York City,” Richie mused as he looked at her.

She looked so goddamn pretty, as always. Her hair falling in messy waves around her shoulders, wearing a simple sweater and jeans, the coat she’d been wearing hanging off the back of her chair. She’d angled the seat to be facing him rather the counter, giving him her undivided attention. Well, him and the near empty drink in her hand. She was smiling, that cute smile that he hadn’t realized he’d been missing for all these years.

“Told ya you were destined for something great-”

“Rich” (y/n) laughed, shaking her head shyly.

“What? That’s amazing!” Richie said proudly, and then in a softer and more sincere tone, “You’re amazing”

Her cheeks were pink, and she stared down at her drink so that he wouldn’t see her blushing, but he saw anyways.

“So, now’s the big question” Richie said, and she grinned back at him curiously, finishing her drink and flagging won the bartender for another.

“Shoot” She said, propping her elbow on the counter, and leaning her head in her hand while she studied him.

“What’s the boyfriend situation?” He asked boldly, and while the question made him nervous, her certainly didn’t show it. He kept a straight but questioning face, raising a brow at the girl after she hesitated for a few moments too long.

“Uh.. no, actually,” She answered, and happily took the new drink from the bartender, just glad to have something to hold onto. “You?”

“No boyfriends here” Richie grinned, and (y/n) chuckled but gave him a pointed look. “Nah, you know me. Dating isn’t my scene” He said, setting his beer bottle on the counter and watching her look skeptically at him.

“Dating isn’t your scene?” She repeated in a monotone of disbelief. RIchie shrugged and nodded, but the smile on his face said that he knew otherwise. “You tried to marry me, Rich” She reminded with a small laugh.

“Well, that was different,” He answered simply, but the girl’s brows furrowed and her lips parted in surprise as she shook her head. “You were… you,” He clarified. “But, I suppose you know that” He finished in a near mumble. However, it did not clear up her confusion.

“Rich…”

“You don’t remember, do you?” He asked, and she shook her head, waiting for him to explain himself. “That night I told you I wanted to marry you?” He suggested, hoping that she’d be able to remember.

He knew as well as the others that recalling memories of their childhood in Derry was the damn hardest thing to do. But he was desperate for her to recall this one specific night.

After a few sips of her drink, and a troubled silence while she racked her brain, her eyes widened, and her head shot up to look at him, and he knew. She remembered. ___

“Alright then Tozier,” (y/n) mumbled as she nuzzled her head on Richie’s arm.

The small affectionate action alone nearly made his heart burst out of his chest. He figured she could hear it, or feel it even. Her chest was pressed against his, she had to feel his wild heart beating against hers. But if she did, she didn’t mention it.

“When do you want to start this adult life?” She finished, sleepy eyes meeting his. The faint smile on her lips made them look so kissable.

“As soon as fucking possible toots,” He answered with his usual dorky grin. “Whenever you’re ready to get outta here” He added in a more sincere tone. I’ll just… follow you”

“You’re really gonna follow me wherever I go to school, and marry me?” (y/n) asked, swallowing the nervous laugh in her throat.

It was quiet for a moment, which was very unusual for Richie, but then again, everything about his friendship with (y/n) was unusual for him.

“Of course,” He told her, not an ounce of sarcasm in his voice. “Anywhere you wanna go, as long as you’ll take me”

“Of course” She mimicked him, voice quiet, barely a whisper, but he still caught what she said.

“Well then, next year” Richie grinned, and (y/n) nodded in agreement.

“Next year” She repeated.

Richie smiled at her, eyes flickering over her features, admiring how pretty she was in the moonlight. She was pretty in any lighting though. His free hand, the one that wasn’t trapped from her lying on his arm, reached up to tentatively trace over her cheekbone, before pushing her hair back behind her ear. He didn’t miss the way her cheeks turned rosey pink from the gentle action, but he knew full well that he had that effect on her.

“You trying to make me fall in love with you tonight?” She asked, in that soft sleepy voice that made his heart soar. She practically whispered it against his lips, the words filling the short inch between them.

He wasn’t sure what it was exactly that brought him to do it, but the moment was there and he just couldn’t not kiss her. Not with her looking at him like that, not with her laying so close. He was just dying to do it.

So he did, he closed the space between them, and with the hand he still had on her cheek, guided her lips to meet his in a soft and sweet kiss. So sweet, (y/n) couldn’t quite believe it was Richie Tozier kissing her. She wasn’t sure he’d ever been this gentle, even with her.

They parted slowly, and her eyes fluttered open to see Richie smiling back at her.

“Don’t have to make you do anything toots,” He murmured, finally answering her question. His thumb caressed over her cheekbone. “You did that all on your own”

She let out a huff of a laugh, eyes flickering between his, trying to figure out if he’d meant that, or if it was just another one of his grand romantic gestures. She didn’t find even a sliver of deception.

His tongue swiped over his bottom lip, and he chuckled a bit, making her brows knit confusedly.

Confusion seemed to be the theme of the night.

“You taste like fruit roll up” He told her, and they both burst out laughing.

“Shut up” (y/n) scolded between giggles, swatting at his chest affectionately.

“Mhm, make me” He said teasingly, leaning back in again, this time letting her be the one to initiate the kiss. She’d wasted no time in doing so. ___

“Oh my god…” (y/n) murmured, staring at Richie with wide eyes, and he chuckled at the reaction.

“That forgettable, huh?” He joked, and she rolled her eyes. “No… I know it’s this place that made you forget. We all forgot stuff, you know”

“But that… I can’t believe… I mean-”

She cut herself off, shaking her head, a rush of embarrassment flooding over her.

“I know,” Richie told her, hoping she wouldn’t feel guilty about it. He’d forgotten too, for a while anyways. “But, we’re here now?” He suggested, in an attempt to lift her spirits. “I’m staying here the rest of the week”

“Me too,” (y/n) said, a smile pulling on her lips before hastily finishing off her drink. Richie watched with a startled expression as she drank the rest of her liquor, and set it back on the counter. “Wanna go do something stupid?”

“I love a woman that’s forward” Richie laughed, and followed her out of the bar without question. ___

“You know. When you suggested we do something stupid, this isn’t exactly what I thought you had mind” Richie said.

“What’d you think I meant?” She replied innocently, peering up at him from under her lashes.

“It’s just… so cold”

She giggled, poking his bare chest, and then turning back to face the pool in front of them.

The artificial blue waters reflected off the plain white walls and the slick tiles of the room, the only light there being the spotlights from outside that barely seeped in through the windows, and the moonlight reflecting off the waters.

It was probably one in the morning by now, and the pool had long been closed. And they were standing at the edge of it, chilly in their underwear.

As she looked down at the seven foot deep end of the pool, (y/n) was reminded of standing on a cliffside, and peering down at waters a hundred feet below her.

“I dare you to jump first” She told him, too nervous that the water would be even colder than the air in here.

“What? No, I dare you to jump first” He responded, and all the drinks in his system started to show.

She giggled at him, shaking her head and then staring down at the water again. She was starting to think that this wasn’t her best drunk idea. If they got caught, they’d definitely get kicked out of the hotel, and there was no way she was going to stay at her parents’ house while she was in town. She hadn’t even told them she was in Derry this week.

“Okay, maybe this was a bad idea” She muttered as her tipsy brain began to overthink the consequences of skinny dipping in a hotel pool in the middle of the night.

“Oh come on I didn’t raise you to be a pussy” Richie said, and before she could process what he was doing, grabbed her wrist and pulled her with him as he leapt off the edge of the pool and cannonballed into the deep end.

She barely even had time to let out a screech before she was submerged in the freezing water. She thrashed her legs around quickly to resurface, letting out a surprised gasp. Richie came up moments after her, pushing his wet hair back off his forehead and laughing almost maniacally.

(y/n) playfully scowled, shoving her hands in the water at him, and splashing a big wave of water into his face.

“You’re the fucking worst!” She shouted at him, her voice and the sloshing water echoing loudly in the high ceilinged room. Despite her scolding, she was laughing, and unable to contain the grin on her face.

Maybe it was the three drinks, maybe it was the joy of the risk they were taking just by being here. But she was overcome with excitement and laughter as they got into a splash war. The first one to be a baby and whine about the chlorine in their eyes loses.

“Ow!” Richie cried out.

He lost.

His fists were rubbing his eyes, and (y/n) stopped splashing him, trying to stifle her giggles as she swam closer to him while he rubbed his irritated eyes.

“You’re a baby,” She teased. “Come on, I splashed you like- twice-!”

She was cut off by a screech when Richie suddenly splashed a huge wave of icy water, directly at her face, before grabbing her shoulders and shoving her under the water.

“You tricked me!” (y/n) gasped when she came above the water again, teeth chattering while Richie just laughed at how funny she looked with her hair stuck all over her face.

“You look like a fucking newborn” He gagged in between laughter, pushing her hair back behind her head.

“Fuck off” She chastised, a breathless laugh escaping her lips.

They were treading water pretty close to one another, and his hands were still cradled around her head. Twenty seven or so years ago, he would’ve kissed her right now. He probably wouldn’t have been able to help himself either, just like every other time he’d ever kissed her.

“Truce?” (y/n) asked, and he laughed, nodding his head, and taking his hands off her in order to shake her outstretched hand.

“Truce” He agreed.

They swam around a bit, every once in a while surprising each other by chasing the other. At one point, while (y/n) was swimming away from Richie, he’d grabbed her by the ankle, taking the risk of getting kicked in the face, and tugged her back towards him.

She was drunkenly laughing at the action as his arms wrapped around her torso to trap her, proudly grinning that he’d won this round. Her hands were pressed against his chest as she giggled up at him. Her eyes twinkled the same way they used to when she laughed, whether sober or drunk, they always lit up.

“Humor me for a minute?” He asked, and she looked at him peculiarly before nodding her head.

“Alright”

“What do you remember?” He asked, and she blew a raspberry as she raked her mind for the memories that felt vivid enough to be real.

“I remember… the Barrens…” She said slowly, and drifted out of his arms. “I remember jumping off the cliff in our underwear, and… and we found a turtle”

“That’s the most important thing you remember?” Richie scoffed, and she rolled her eyes at him.

“Shut up I’m thinking. Can’t think when you run your mouth”

“Alright alright, continue” The trashmouth waved his hand dramatically for her to go on, and watched her smile as another memory came to mind.

“I remember Prom night,” She added, and he smacked his hand over his eyes, groaning with embarrassment, and making her giggle. “Dancing with… uh… Eli? Eli Hopkins?”

“Fuck you” He muttered, but she continued.

“And you scared the shit out of him. You were too chicken shit to ask me to Prom yourself, but had no problem making the poor boy terrified to tears over dancing with me!” She teased him while laughing loudly.

“Eli Hopkins was a- he was a fuckin’ prick! I saved you” He tried to be convincing, but (y/n) didn’t buy it.

“Uh huh,” She said with a scoff of a laugh. “And I remember throwing our own after party, getting wasted and then… well we went to that chinese restaurant we were at earlier”

Richie nodded, recalling the memory perfectly. It was the first time he’d witnessed (y/n) drunk off her ass, and as hilarious as it was, by the end of the night, he’d been genuinely scared for her. That was when it dawned on him that maybe he didn’t just have a little crush.

“Oh! And I remember Street Fighter,” She said, a playful smile on her face. “You were going to-”

“-train, yes, and I did! I was great” Richie finished for her in a serious tone that made her giggle.

“Yeah, and I’d just sit there and drink slushies until you were ready to leave to do something fun,” She reminded him. “Who was I kidding, it was very entertaining to watch you play,” She added more lovingly then she had been. “I remember the night on my roof,” She continued softly, and Richie could already tell she was going to bring up their more intimate memories. “I remember you kissing me, for the first time,” She said, impossibly quieter. Her voice wasn’t echoing anymore.

Richie swallowed thickly as she swam back closer to him so that she didn’t have to raise her voice to share these specific memories.

“And the second time,” She added with a breathless laugh. “At the arcade, after you beat your high score,” Richie smiled back at her as she went on. “And the third time, at… at…”

(y/n) trailed off, brows furrowing together as she tried to remember where they had been, the night that Richie ran up to her, took her in his arms, and kissed her as passionately as she’d seen in the movies.

“After graduation,” Richie told her. “That night, after the ceremony and everything”

Today was the first day of the rest of their lives. Their real lives, the ones they were going to start outside of Derry, and no one was more eager than (y/n) was. She’d bragged for weeks about getting into a college in New York City. Not because of the prestige of the school, or the flashy city, but because it was far enough away from Derry, and the boy-slowly-turning-man was going to come with her.

She hoped.

She hoped he remembered his promise, to follow her wherever she so chooses. But it had been a year since he’d made that promise, and she wasn’t sure that being with her was what he still wanted.

It was no secret that the future was a scary thing to Richie Tozier. He didn’t handle the unknown well, or the part of growing up that required him to be an adult and make adult decisions.

She went home alone after the ceremony. After taking a picture with the rest of the Losers to commemorate their big day, they’d said their goodbyes and parted ways. Surprisingly, Richie left on his own without another word. Which was very out of character for him, everyone had just assumed he’d leave with (y/n). Including (y/n).

So as she began listing out all the things she still needed to pack for New York, she tried her best to push away the troublesome thoughts.

What if Richie didn’t want to be with her anymore? No, they weren’t anything official, and he’d only kissed her twice, which they never really talked about, but it had to count for something. They certainly weren’t platonic kisses. Not to (y/n), at least.

And she hadn’t thought they were platonic coming from him, but maybe… maybe he just didn’t feel the same way she did. They way she thought he did.

When her mother yelled up the stairs for her, she had completely stopped writing in her notebook. After only writing ‘clothes’ and ‘buy laptop’.

“Someone’s outside for you!” Her mother yelled again, and (y/n) set her things aside to head downstairs to see which one of the Loser’s were surprise visiting her.

After how awkwardly they had parted at graduation, she didn’t expect to see Richie standing at the door.

“Hey,” She greeted, forcing a smile on her face. “What’re you doing here?” The words weren’t malicious, more curious, but there was definitely and undertone of hurt in them as she crossed her arms.

“Wanted to… uh…” Richie brought a hand to the behind of his neck, nervously tangling his fingers in his hair, before rubbing the nape of his neck. “See you” He finished lamely.

(y/n) let out a giggle that couldn’t have been contained if she tried, and leaned against the doorframe casually.

“Well, here I am,” She told him. “So why are you really here? You’re a shit liar you know”

Actually, he was a great liar. She just knew him so well now that she could read his body language like an open book. And there was something he was anxious to tell her.

“I should apologize, about today, leaving without….” He wasn’t sure what to say. He’d told her goodbye, what else would he have said or done? “For leaving” He finished.

His eyes squeezed shut before he hung his head, mentally beating himself up for how bad he was at this.

“We all left, why are you sorry for leaving?” (y/n) asked, ducking her head so she could be a bit more under him, since his head was hanging, now she could meet his eyes. She gave him a gentle smile, that soothed him enough to lift his head back up and look at her normally again.

“I just am, alright? I feel like shit about it” He said defensively. (y/n) shook her head at him, brows furrowing.

“Richie, you’re acting weird,” She told him. “Even for you”

“Fuck it, I don’t even know what I’m fuckin’ doing right now” He muttered, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jean jacket and spinning on his heel to get off her porch. “I’ll see you later”

(y/n) let out a silent scoff as he started to walk away, off her porch and down the driveway. Her and Richie rarely had awkward interactions. They always clicked, they were always comfortable. Whatever he wasn’t telling her, was really driving a wedge between them that she didn’t know how to un-wedge.

“Rich, wait!” She called, shutting the front door and heading down the few steps off her porch. “What’s going on?”

He turned back to look at her, standing on the sidewalk now, while she was planted in front of the steps. He threw his arms out in a helpless fashion, before letting out a heavy sign.

“I want to go with you!” He declared in a reluctant confession. “Everywhere. Anywhere, really, I just want to fucking go and- and be there with you”

(y/n) stared at him in shock. Richie wasn’t the loud professions kind of guy, but here he was, yelling what excited and scared him the most in her front yard.

“You do?” She asked breathlessly, like she was scared he was going to take it back and leave. “You’ll come with me? To New York?” Tears welled up in her eyes from relief and nervousness.

“I- Jesus fuck” Richie muttered, before heading back up to her through the dewey grass, practically breaking into a run as he got closer to her.

His hands seized outwards, cupping her face and pulling her against him as he slammed his lips down against hers, kissing her fully, and passionately.

This wasn’t like their other kisses. This wasn’t a gentle kiss in the moonlight, or an excited thoughtless kiss. This was purposeful, and conveyed everything they’d both been harboring for years now.

Her arms lazily reached up to rest her elbows on his shoulders, fingers toying with his hair as their lips met repeatedly and in sync with one another, sharing ardent kisses in between quick breaths.

“Of course I want to go with you,” He mumbled, lips brushing over hers, and then kissing her once more before pulling away to look at her. “I fucking love you”

The tears in her eyes spilled over, streaming down her cheeks and running against Richie’s fingers and palms. A barely audible breathless laugh left her lips.

“I fucking love you too” She whispered back, pushing his glasses up his nose for him before tightly wrapping her arms around him, pressing her lips against his, and then burying her face in his neck.

She remembered standing there for a long time, just crying and embracing as tightly as they had after they’d defeated Pennywise. It would’ve been impossible to break them apart.

(y/n) stared at Richie for a long moment, blinking away the mist in her eyes. He could tell she remembered, because she had that same look on her face that she did at the bar when she’d remembered their first kiss.

“The only thing that would’ve made that better would’ve been if it were pouring rain,” Richie said in a half assed joke. They both laughed weakly. “That’a been some real… real sappy shit”

“It was plenty sappy” (y/n) murmured, swimming just a little bit closer to him. Close enough to tell he was squinting just a little bit without his glasses on, and for a moment she wondered just how blurry she was to him.

“Yeah, well,” Richie coughed, trying to break up the tension. “You brought out the romantic part of me that I didn’t fuckin’ know existed” He laughed, but she smiled softly at him.

“I know,” She whispered. “I… I bought tickets, bus tickets”

Richie stared down at the waters, watching his legs kick back and forth to keep him afloat. This part of the memory ate him up inside, made him sick with nerves, and guilt.

“Two of them. For New York”

He still wouldn’t look at her.

“I waited for you, at the station, begged the driver to wait a few more minutes, so many times”

As (y/n) continued talking, the memory kept coming back to her. Until today, she’d had it in mind that she left Derry without looking back. But she had looked back. She’d looked all over the bus station for Richie that night.

“You never showed” She finished weakly.

Richie sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head at her.

“I…” He couldn’t even find the right words to say. An apology seemed too small. “I couldn’t… be there,” He said, only to shake his head again and try to find a better way to put it. “With you. In your dream. You- you had a whole life ahead of you, waiting for you in New York, and that proved to be true”

“Richie…” (y/n) murmured sadly, knowing what he was going to say next.

“I didn’t want to get in the way of that. I didn’t realize when I made you that promise that… I was imposing on your dream, while trying to live out mine”

She moved even closer to him, grabbing his hands under the water, squeezing them both securely. Her lips quirked into half a smile as her eyes flickered between his. He had to see her clearly now, seeing she was a mere few inches away from him.

“That was our dream,” She told him softly, sincerely. “I would’ve given anything if you’d come to the station that day”

“Yeah,” Richie mumbled, looking down at the distorted water where she held his hands. “And I’d give anything to go back and fucking run to the bus”

She giggled, and it was a sad sound, but it was still music to his ears.

“I fucked up” He said, and she nodded, unable to deny that.

“Yeah, you did,” She agreed, in a tone too sweet for the occasion. “But… you also brought back memories I can’t believe I lost, so I’ll forgive you”

He grinned at her, and his hands grasped hers more securely to draw her in closer.

“It’s really great to see you again” He told her softly, and (y/n’s) legs slowed in their kicking to keep her afloat, making her lower a bit in the water until her chin rested at the surface.

“Great to see you too” She mumbled, eyes flickering back and forth between his repeatedly. She could still read him as easily as she had when they were kids. She knew he wanted to kiss her. Hell, he probably knew she wanted to kiss him too.

“And you’re not married…” He added, one of his hands releasing hers to wander further down in the water, before settling on her hip and drawing her body against his completely.

“I’m not…” She said, brows crinkling in confusion at his comment.

“And neither am I,” He added, and she nodded, clearly not following. “And I do believe we had a deal, toots”

She giggled, rolling her eyes at the idea of the marriage pact they’d foolishly, drunkenly-in-love made when they were seventeen.

“I see you for the first time in twenty seven years, and you still want to marry me?” She asked, only half teasing, as her hand settled on his shoulder, holding herself against him. She didn’t want him to let go anytime soon.

“You’re the one that taught me to commit, sweetheart,” Richie reminded her, and his nose bumped into hers as he leaned down towards her a bit. “Pretty sure I would’ve waited a hundred and seven years to marry you”

“You’re a fucking idiot, Tozier” (y/n) replied in a murmur, shutting her eyes as she nudged his nose to the side with hers, blindly searching for his lips.

They met with ease, the kiss so electric both were surprised the water didn’t fucking electrocute them to death. Both of Richie’s hands gripped her hips while (y/n’s) hands played with the curly wet strands of his hair. And as soon as that kiss ended, a second began, and all either of them could hear was their erratically beating hearts in their chests and the echo of the waters sloshing around, spilling over the edge of the pool and making the tile floors even slipperier. With each connection of their lips, they became more desperate for more.

Perhaps to make up for time lost, or maybe just because they’d forgotten how good it felt. And good was an understatement.

She whimpered a bit as she wrapped her legs around his hips, trusting him to keep them afloat while his hands roamed over her back, before tangling up in her hair.

When it got a bit too… steamy… to stay treading water in the deep end while making out, they parted just long enough to swim over to the wall, and (y/n) giggled as Richie pulled on her arm to bring her back to him, pressing her up against the edge of the pool, and caging her in with his hands on either side of her, holding onto the lip where the flooring jut out just a bit over the water.

“Much better” He mumbled, making her smile as he leaned down to kiss her again, fully, passionately, it was like their lips still molded perfectly against one another.

She let out a long sign through her nose as she loosely wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his body to be flush against hers under the water.

“This is my new favorite kiss” He told her, and she giggled against his lips, tilting her head back to look up at him.

“What was your favorite before?” She questioned.

“What was yours?” He shot back.

“I didn’t have one,” She laughed, “I personally ranked them all equally”

“Well, mine was the one on your roof” He answered, and she giggled again.

“Which one? There were like- fifteen that night-” She teased.

“Wow (y/n/n),” He replied, tone thick with sarcasm. “You must really get around, huh?” He quirked an eyebrow at him, and she bit her lip to keep from grinning like too much of an idiot.

“No… no, I’m just a bit of a slut for you” She joked, and pathetically splashed water at his chest. Richie laughed, shaking his head at her.

“Don’t say that,” He told her. “God, that sounds awful, what’re you trying to make me out to be?” She continued to laugh, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck.

There was nothing but adoration in her eyes, and as usual, Richie couldn’t help himself when he leaned down to kiss the tip of her nose, and then leave a peck on her lips as well.

“Coulda been kissin’ you for like thirty years,” He mused. “I really am an idiot”

“Shut up, you’re gonna ruin the moment” (y/n) ordered, drawing his head down close to hers again.

“We’re having a moment?” He replied like a dumbass, and (y/n) just rolled her eyes before pressing her open mouth against his, which did the trick in shutting him up.

“Not if you keep running your mouth” She hummed, as she caught her breath, before sensually kissing him again.

“Hey! You two!”

The pair broke apart, but put no distance between them, even as a flashlight shone in their faces, effectively sobering them up the rest of the way.

“Pool’s closed, horny freaks,” The security guard muttered and shook his head. “Get the hell outta here and back to your rooms before I go report you to my manager”

Richie cussed under his breath, but pulled himself out of the pool anyways, and turned to help (y/n) out as well. The guard waited impatiently as they grabbed their clothes and towels, and scurried out of the room.

The corridors of the hotel were even colder than the water, and as they took the elevator to their floors, both of their teeth were chattering from the unforgiving air conditioning.

“Well that fucking sucked,” Richie grumbled. “Guy totally ruined our moment”

(y/n) scoffed before giggling and swatting an arm at his chest.

The doors opened when they got to the third floor, and Richie dropped a kiss to her hair before stepping out.

“Goodnight, toots” He told her with a half-smirk half-smile that made her heart flutter, just like it used to.

“Night Richie” She murmured back with pink cheeks.

The doors began to close, and he began to head down the hall to his room.

However, before they could shut, and before the elevator could take her one floor higher towards her own room, (y/n) shot her arm out, triggering the sensor that made the door open again, and raced out onto the third floor hallway.

Richie turned around, a grin already growing on his face to see her standing there, looking surprised by her own actions.

“Can- can I stay-”

“Come on, toots,” Richie cut off her stammering, reaching his arm out for her to tuck herself under, and he kept his arm around her the whole walk down the hall. “Let’s go” ___

As the sun seeped in through the cheap thin curtains, (y/n) stirred in her sleep, letting out a whine as she stretched her legs, inadvertently kicking another pair of legs under the covers. Which earned her a playful groan and a chuckle from Richie Tozier, who she realized now had his strong arms wrapped securely around her middle.

“You awake, toots?” He muttered, lips brushing lovingly over her forehead as he spoke. “Better be, ‘cause if you kick in your sleep you’re sleeping on the floor tonight”

The girl leaned her head back, peering up at him with half lidded sleepy eyes. But the sun hit them just right, illuminating the (y/e/c) hues, and for a moment Richie was reminded of the stars.

“You’re that certain I’m staying here tonight?” She teased, fingers toying with the messy locks of hair that fell over his ears.

“Well, seeing as I checked you out of your room this morning…”

“You what?” (y/n) gaped at him, a surprised and tired laugh escaping her throat. Richie shrugged guiltily, but the proud smile on his lips told her that he didn’t regret it one bit.

“Yeah, this morning,” He informed her. “Took a lot of effort to get you fuckin’ off of me though. You still death cuddle in your sleep”

“Shut up” She mumbled, wacking the side of his head lovingly before going back to playing with his hair.

“You know your entire body was on top of me?” He asked, and she rolled her eyes, not even sure she believed him. “It’s like after you were done last night you just passed out-”

“Beep beep, Richie” She hummed with a pointed glare. Although her cheeks flushed pink as she remembered the events of last night, after she’d followed Richie off the elevator, and into his room.

“I can’t believe I didn’t suffocate,” He went on dramatically. “You coulda killed me woman!”

“And yet, you checked me out of my room so I’d stay here the rest of the week” She teased, and bumped the tip of her nose against his affectionately.

Richie smiled down at her, leaning in closer, but before connecting their lips he just had to run his mouth first.

“By the way, you have to get your stuff packed and outta there before noon”

(y/n) leaned backwards so he couldn’t have his satisfactory good morning kiss, brows furrowing.

“And what time is it?” She asked, watching him grumble before looking over his shoulder at the clock on the bedside table.

“Uh, 11:30”

(y/n) rolled her eyes, and shuffled out of bed. Only then realizing she was only clad she in his mustard colored button down.

“Richie,” She sighed, gesturing downwards at the barely-covering-her-ass shirt and bare legs. “Where are my pants?”

“What pants?” Richie played dumb, and she gave him a bored glare. “The only thing I remember about pants was ripping them off-”

“Beep beep!” She squealed, already rushing about the hotel room in search of something that covered just a little more skin. She found his tee shirt, which she threw at him, and her own shirt, which she just held on to.

What? She was already wearing a shirt.

“Did you hide them?” (y/n) asked, hands on her hips as she stared Richie down, where he still laid comfortably in bed. Too comfortably.

“I told ya toots,” He grinned. “Haven’t seen ‘em since I took em off ya”

Her brows furrowed as her eyes narrowed skeptically.

“Who knows?” Richie pretended to ponder it. “Maybe I threw them out the window. Legs like those shouldn’t be covered-”

“Alright. So what you want right now, is for me to run out of here, pants-less, go up to my floor, pack my things and come back here to stay for the rest of the week, right?” She asked, done with the playful bullshit.

“That’s exactly what I want. Yes” He agreed with a sly grin as he folded his hands over his stomach, watching her curiously to see what’d she’d do next.

“Fine” (y/n) huffed, and headed for the door.

“Well- wait- hold on toots,” Richie called, and she turned to look at him, hoping he’d just give in and get her the pair of jeans so that she didn’t have to do the walk of shame across the hotel.

(Not that there was anything shameful about what happened last night)

“You’re gonna leave without kissin’ me goodbye?” He asked, puckering his lips playfully.

(y/n) rolled her eyes, and action that Richie had grown quite fond of, seeing that it was almost always directed towards him, before tugging open the door and racing down the hall to the elevator.

The less people to see her in just a weirdly colored button-up, the better.

She made it into the elevator without any complications, and sighed in relief as it took her up the one floor to get to her room. All she had to do now was run to her room, slam the door shut, and pull on a pair of jeans. How many people could be up and about in the hallways anyways? It’s not like Derry was a destination overflowing with people-

“(y/n)?”

The doors opened on the fourth floor, revealing Eddie Kaspbrak and Ben Hanscom waiting outside of it, jaws dropped open and eyes wide with realization as they looked at the girl.

“Holy fuck you slept with Richie!” Eddie screeched, his joyous laughter echoing down the halls, before he suddenly cringed and groaned in a disgusted manner at the girl. “Why?”

“Because they’re still in love” Ben cooed adorably.

(y/n) shook her head at the both of them, realizing just how much they hadn’t changed.

“Excuse me” She managed a mumble as she pushed past them, cheeks pink as she speed walked towards her room.

“Those two are still fucking digusting” She heard Eddie tell Ben before she got into her room and was finally able to shut the door and have some privacy.

And despite the teasing, it made her smile, because what Eddie thought was disgusting, (y/n) and Richie had waited a lifetime for. This was their fate, finally coming true. ___

After packing up her things, putting on a pair of pants, and moving her bags into Richie’s room, the old gang headed into Derry with Mike, awaiting further instruction on how to defeat It. For real, this time.

Much to everyone’s dismay, he’d told them to split up, to search for the artifacts they’d each left behind when they left Derry.

“Woah woah woah,” Richie spoke up, shaking his head almost comically fast. “That’s probably the worst thing we could do right now!”

(y/n’s) hand grabbed his wrist calmly, and her thumb stroked over the soft skin to settle him down.

“For once, he’s fucking right. Splitting up is how we die” Eddie agreed.

“You have to find it on your own,” Mike said. “That’s how this works, it has to solely be yours”

Richie frowned deeply, but didn’t argue again. Mike had spent the last twenty-seven years plotting, studying, trying to find a way to stop IT through hours, years, of research. If he said this was the only way to do it, then it must be.

“Once you have them, meet back at the library, okay?”

Everyone nodded, and began to head off in search of their artifacts.

Richie however, tugged (y/n) back, and gave her a look she could only describe as lost.

“It’ll be fine,” She told him with a reassuring smile, her hand settling against his cheek. “I’ll be fine,” She clarified. “And you will too. It’ll only be a few hours, and I’ll see you at the library, alright?”

“I hate this” He muttered, and she giggled softly. Richie took her hand from his face, holding it delicately in his.

He gazed at the matching scars in the palms of their hands before looking back at her again.

“Be safe?” He spoke in the form of a question, and she nodded.

“And you don’t be stupid. I mean it this time”

“This time?”

“Could never stop you from doing stupid shit before” She teased, and pulled her hand out of his as she turned to leave the woods. “See ya in a bit-”

“Hey! No goodbye kiss? Again?” He complained, and she grinned back at him.

“You can have it after your special mission,” She mocked. “I’ll see you at the library, Tozier” She added before finally heading off in the direction of town.

She had a pretty good idea of what her artifact would be. She just wasn’t totally sure how to get to it. ___

The (y/l/n) household looked the same as it had twenty seven years ago, if not a little more run down.

As she stood in front of her childhood home, (y/n) couldn’t hide the grimace on her face. Countless memories of the suffering she’d gone through growing up in that house. From her neglecting parents, to the nights she’d spent crying herself to sleep after being plagued with nightmares, her house was her least favorite part of Derry. And it was supposed to be a safe haven.

She could have walked up to the door, greeted her parents, and then went up to her room to retrieve the artifact, sure. It would have been relatively easy.

But she didn’t want to see her parents. She wasn’t ready, and somehow, it seemed easier to scale up the side of the house to her bedroom window, and sneak in as quietly as she could, rather than have to face the people who raised her.

As she struggled to force open the window, she wondered how Richie had managed to creep in all those years ago. He’d done so every night, how the hell did he get himself all the way up to the second floor?

Finally, the plane cracked as the worn wood gave out, and (y/n) was able to the window upwards and open. She cheered silently to herself as she crept inside her bedroom.

She left a considerable amount of things behind. Her bed was still against the same wall, and her desk and dresser on the opposite side. There were a few boxes of things that she’d left behind to be donated, but it appeared her parents had never taken them to the donation center.

Actually, the more she looked around, she wondered if her parents ever even came into her room. It looked untouched, dusty, and not a single thing had been moved since the last time she’d been here.

She curiously looked over the photos she and Richie had taped onto one of the walls, a collage of the Loser’s Club. Polaroids of the gang at the quarry, in their Halloween costumes, at school dances, regular ones from sleepovers.

But in the center of them all, she’d plastered one right overtop of a picture of Bill on his bike, with Bev holding onto him from behind. She’d covered it with a picture from Richie.

The photo was a blurry one of the two of them, (y/n) sitting on his lap, on Eddie’s couch, she thought. Her hands were on his cheeks, shoving them together adorably and making his lips pucker. She was grinning down at him, and despite his mouth being forced into looking like a fish, she could tell just by looking at the picture that he was smiling back. Ben had taken the picture, she remembered. And she remembered Richie giving it to her.

She carefully pulled the polaroid off the wall, fingers stroking over the delicate image, before flipping it over.

It was still there. The note.

In his typical messy handwriting, he’d written her a little note on the back of it before thrusting the picture towards her for her to take.

Stay adorable, sunshine.

And a little heart scribbled underneath it.

(y/n) found herself giggling as she looked at it, the same giggle she’d let out the day Richie had given it to her.

This was her artifact, she knew it, she could feel it.

She carefully tucked the precious photograph in her pocket, eager to get back to the library to show the others.

Just as she was halfway out her window, a voice whispered to her.

“(y/n)? Sweetheart, is that you?”

A shiver ran down her spine. Her mother’s voice hadn’t aged a day.

She was frozen in the windowsill, staring with wide eyes at the closed door. There were footsteps on the stairs, and she could see a shadow walking beneath the crack of the door. If she didn’t move now, she’d be caught.

“My little girl?” The voice called again, but this time it was distant, and distorted. “Is it really you?”

Her heart pounded in her ears, absolute fear in her bloodstream as all she could do was watch as the door suddenly swung open, revealing her mother.

Except, it wasn’t her.

It was her body, with torn, yellowing skin. Once dull (y/e/c) eyes glazed over with a milky film. Saliva dripping past rotting teeth, and over pale lips.

“My child,” The thing that wasn’t quite her mother called, and (y/n) let out a guttural scream as It raced right towards her. “You’ve come home! Back to mama!”

“No- No!” She screamed, and It took a few taunting steps towards her. Close enough that the stench of rotting flesh wafted into her nose.

And as quickly as It had stepped towards her, it’s limbs bending and snapping unnaturally, as It took a different shape. A new shape, that was also vaguely familiar.

Her father.

“It’s about time you came home…” He drooled all over her carpet, and if she wasn’t so overcome by fear, she probably would’ve thrown up. “It’s been so long, your mother just about died. But now you’re here. To stay”

Her breath caught in her throat, swallowing a scream and in turn letting out a whimper.

“No-! No you’re not- this isn’t- you’re not real!” She squealed, and forced her legs to swing out the window.

“Not real enough for you?” The gnarled voice of her supposed father asked, and slowly, the parts of him that were torn, the glossy eyes, and the drooling lip, disappeared. And just like that, it looked just like her father, the one she’d known as a child.

She wasn’t sure if this was worse than the zombified version.

“Stay!” He surged forward, snatching (y/n) by her wrist. “Stay and float”

At that, she found her voice and screamed again, yanking with as much force she could to get her arm out of it’s dirty grasp.

“Stay and float! Stay and float! Stay and float!”

As it continued to screech it’s mantra, his voice became more and more deeper, louder, monstrous. And she was afraid she’d have to risk getting her arm ripped off just to get out of it’s hold.

He threw his head back, a disgusting shriek escaping it’s throat as it’s jaw unhinged, and the body took on a new form.

“Come on toots,” An all too familiar voice took over. “Stay and float”

It took all of her fear and willpower to get away in order for (y/n) to muster up the courage to swing her leg in through the open window, kicking not-Richie’s jaw with a loud and unpleasant crack against her boot.

It stumbled backwards, finally releasing her arm as it did, and collapsed inside the bedroom.

Because of the force of her kick, and because of It letting go of her hand, she stumbled onto the roof, and rolled backwards off of the slope of shingles. Landing back down flat on the dewey ground with a thud and a groan.

She whined as she just laid there for a moment, processing (as best as she could with the wind knocked out of her) what had just happened. From It attacking her, to falling off the roof.

Richie was gonna love to hear about the latter. He’d fallen off her roof countless times when they were kids, in failed attempts to sneak out of her room.

With a wheeze she pushed herself to sit up, wiping off the grass and wetness from the sleeves of the ugly button up she still wore. After getting used to being in an upright position, she forced herself to stand, huffing and puffing and mumbling profanities.

Her hand subconsciously hovered over her back pocket, pulling out the photograph and panted out a ‘thank fuck’ seeing that it wasn’t too damaged from the encounter. Just a little bent at the edges.

A rush of adrenaline surged through her, and for the first time since coming back to Derry, she truly believed they could defeat It. The Losers could win this. ___

“Hello?” She called out into the library, eagerly running in and searching for the others.

She held the polaroid in her hands firmly, glancing around the aisles of books, but judging by the lack of response, she figured that no one was back yet.

She had known right away what her artifact would be, so perhaps the others were still on the search for theirs.

She began to wander amongst the shelves, curiously admiring the very old looking books on them. But in a small town like Derry, it wasn’t too surprising that they hadn’t gotten anything new in the last thirty years. Or by the looks of it, one hundred and thirty years.

Just as she was about to actually pick out a book to pass the time, she heard a muffled noise, which sounded all too much like someone struggling to just be the old building settling.

Her instincts told her to call out to see if anyone was there, but her history with terror told her to keep quiet, and follow the noise to see what was going on.

She crept on the tips of her toes down the aisle, and again, a definite ‘hmph!’ could be heard. She surely wasn’t alone in the library.

Peeking her head around a shelf, she was certain that this was where the intruder was.

Her heartbeat spiked, seeing him there. He had aged horribly, as expected, but something about him still had that terrifying ‘Henry Bowers’ vibe.

It was probably because he held Eddie in a prison-like grasp, a hand clamped over the hypochondriac’s mouth, and his other hand pressing a knife dangerously close to his neck.

(y/n) could see there was already a stab wound on his cheek, covered by a small square of gauze.

“(y/n)? Is that really you sweetheart?” Bowers asked, tongue licking over the front of his yellowing teeth in a sultry manner that made her shiver and grimace at once.

“Let him go, Henry,” She muttered, and tucked her photograph in the back pocket of her jeans. “You can still walk away from this. Walk away”

“Whatcha got there?” He asked, ignoring her completely. “Somethin’ sentimental? Hm? Somethin’ that’s gonna save your sad little lives? Aww…” He mocked, and shoved Eddie forward with him as he stepped closer to the girl. “Give it to me and I won’t fuckin’ slit his throat”

Eddie let out a whimper, muffled against Henry’s clammy palm.

“Not a goddamn chance” She said, voice clear, hands curling into tight fists.

There was a time that Henry Bowers could’ve threatened her into doing anything, but that was a lifetime ago, and she wasn’t afraid of his pathetic ass any more.

“Now let him fucking go”

“So pitiful. Always so naive, bitch” Henry said, and took his hand off of Eddie’s mouth to grab him by the back of his shirt, still holding a knife to his neck.

“You alright?” (y/n) murmured to Eddie while he sucked in deep breaths.

“He smells so fucking bad” He muttered back, and (y/n) chuckled, and gave him a certain nod. A nod that told him that he needed to make a move to distract Henry, and get that knife away from his neck.

The idea of fighting against a crazed man with a knife petrified Eddie, but he trusted (y/n), and right now, he trusted her with his life.

So before he could chicken out, he kicked his foot backwards, effectively swinging his foot right between Bowers’ legs. This distracted him just long enough that Eddie could run away, and (y/n) grabbed his arm to pull him with her faster, towards the library doors.

“He’s still fucking alive?” She screeched as they ran, and Eddie fumbled for his inhaler in his pocket.

“Yeah, and he’s still a fucking psycho!” He replied, taking two puffs of proventil.

The doors were just in sight, they were just a few quick strides from the exit.

But out of seemingly nowhere, (y/n) was ripped away from Eddie, and thrown against the ground. She groaned aloud as her head slammed into the floor, leaving a bruise where a bump would later rise.

“I’m tired of you fucking running away!” Henry screamed down into her face, making her wince and shut her eyes, shuffling as much as she could to get away from his knife that was threateningly pointed at her. “I’m gonna fucking kill you this time” He muttered, raising his arm with the knife, and (y/n) held her arm over her face to brace for the sharp impact.

However, she barely felt the swipe across her cheekbone, before there was nothing.

She dared herself to open her eyes, lowering her arm just as the weight of Henry Bowers fell off of her, a metal beam shoved into the back of his skull. She let out a squeak of disgust at the gruesome sight.

Just as quickly as she felt sick to the stomach, she was flooded with relief to see Richie standing over her, panting heavily and staring wide eyed from Henry’s corpse, then down to her.

“Holy shit,” He muttered, mostly to himself, and took (y/n’s) hand to help her off the floor. “Are you alright?”

She could only manage a shaky nod, her hands grasping his wrists, and her hold tightening on him the longer she held him, the reality of the situation settling in. She could’ve died.

“I killed him?” Richie half asked her, and she nodded again, glancing for half a second at the body on the ground. “I fucking killed him” He breathed out, both surprised, and a little proud.

He was beginning to smile, before he abruptly ripped himself away from (y/n) and threw up the contents of his stomach on the floor. Apparently reality had just settled in with him too.

“Oh my-” (y/n) gasped at Richie’s violent puking. She turned her head away, but patted a comforting hand on his back.

Mike, Ben, and Beverly came into the library a few moments later, all groaning and shrieking at the sight of Henry Bowers’ body on the floor, a pole through his skull.

The day had just started, and there was so much to catch up on, and so much left to do.

But for now, they had to go get Bill before he stupidly walked into Neibolt alone. ___

Richie’s hand had never held (y/n’s) so tightly. His heart dropped to his stomach as soon as they’d stepped foot into the (definitely haunted) house, and his hand had instantly shot out and grabbed hers.

For her or himself, he wasn’t sure. But they were both grateful for it in the moment.

“It’s just like last time” (y/n) mumbled, shining her flashlight all over the floor in front of her.

“If you thought that was romantic, it wasn’t” Richie replied, giving her a small smile, that she weakly returned.

If her heart wasn’t about to beat out of her chest right now, she might’ve even laughed.

After a horrible encounter with a creature designed from Stan’s corpse head, and having to swim through greywater to get to the tunnel, her heart only beat harder, and louder. Fear and adrenaline mixing together in a toxic concoction that made her swear she could feel her blood pumping.

She peered down the tunnel, afraid to even trust the rocky walls of it to climb down, much less what was on the other side.

Mike had already hoisted himself down, and Ben followed shortly after. (y/n) was the next closest to the opening, so she knew it was her turn.

“You’re alright,” Richie told her as she tied her flashlight around her wrist. She nodded, wanting to believe him, but her eyes were full of tears, and her bottom lip quivered a bit. “I’ll be right behind you, okay? It’s gonna be fine”

With a kiss on the cheek, she believed him a little more, nodding again, and then slowly lowering herself into the well.

Her hands shook as she grabbed the jutted out rocks, but she didn’t slip up the whole way down. And when she finally landed on her feet, in a cave beneath the town of Derry.

Richie dropped down a few short minutes after her, and wrapped his arm around her waist, tugging her against his side almost comfortingly as they waited for the others to come down.

“What’d I tell ya?” He said with a dopey grin down at her. She let out a small laugh, and for a moment, leaned her head against his chest.

Her cheek had stopped bleeding, and while the cut that Henry Bowers had made wasn’t deep, it looked awful. Dried blood smeared over her pretty skin, dirtying it. Richie made a mental note to help her clean that up later.

“Yeah yeah, you’re always right,” She muttered, looking up at him again. “Thanks for saving my life earlier”

“Yeah, I’m a real hero, huh?” He said with a heavy sign, and she swatted at his chest with the back of her hand, and then wandering a little further into the cave, exploring the path they’d have to take to get to their final destination.

The journey continued as Eddie was the last to come down the well.

And after what felt like hours of walking, it was obvious when they reached the place they were looking for.

“Alright, quickly now!” Mike called, running up to the large rocky structure in the vast open space. Rocks jutted out from the ground, almost forming a crown in the cave.

The others followed behind him, and watched as he placed the pyramid on the ground, filled it with lighter fluid, and set it on fire.

“Okay, now place your artifacts inside” He instructed.

Bill was the first to pull his out, a paper boat, with neat handwriting on it’s side that read S.S Georgie.

Then Beverly, a taped-together postcard that she didn’t really share about before adding it to the fire.

Next was Eddie, who threw in his old inhaler, but not before taking a puff from it first, making everyone cringe.

Richie threw in an arcade token without a word. And when Eddie called him out for having an artifact that would take forever to burn, he snapped back at him. No one asked any questions about it.

Ben added a piece of paper to the fire, which he admitted was a page from his yearbook, and the only signature on it was Beverly’s.

(y/n) was next, and she reluctantly pulled the polaroid out of her pocket, gazing down at it lovingly, and smoothing her thumb over the bent corners.

“Is that…?” Ben peered over, grinning to see that the picture he’d taken all those years ago, as a joke about how much (y/n) and Richie cuddle, was still in near perfect shape.

“Wow,” Richie mumbled, reaching out to hold one side of the polaroid, as (y/n) held the other. “Look at that”

He turned it over, curious to see if his message had faded away. But there, in black sharpie ink, written in his handwriting, Stay adorable, sunshine. A sloppy heart scribbled underneath.

She grinned bashfully up at him, before a sadness settled on her features as she looked at the fire. Richie squeezed her hand, as if to tell her it was okay, she could throw it in.

“It’s uh…” She cleared her throat, hand a bit shaky as she held the picture over the fire. ��“It’s the one thing I should have brought with me but… didn’t”

With that, she dropped the photo into the fire, and watched edges curl up and turn black, before the flames ate it up.

Mike held up a rock, painted with what had to be blood.

“Do you remember this, Bev?” He asked, a knowing smile on his face, and her own features lit up as the memory replayed in her head. “It’s the rock that hit Bowers” He said, looking at it, and admiring what it had done for him all those years ago. It had saved his life.

He tossed in the rock, and the flames erupted even larger, brighter.

And above them, a portal, of sorts opened up. (y/n) got a glimpse of bright orange streams of light before Mike hollered for everyone to look away from the deadlights.

She had more trust in him than she had curiosity in the lights, and was quick to look downwards, pressing her hand over her eyes for safe measure.

Richie’s hand grabbed her free one, pulling her closer, and even closer when the power of the deadlights going into the pyramid was blowing harsh winds all around them.

The ground began to shake as the orbs were completely submerged inside the pyramid, and (y/n) pressed her face completely against Richie’s chest, holding him tightly and fearfully. She wasn’t sure what was happening, or when it was safe to look.

But things settled down, the winds stopped, the ground stilled, and slowly, everyone cautiously peeked their eyes open.

Mike was quick to slam the lid over the pyramid, trapping the deadlights inside.

“We did it?” Bill breathed out, unsurely.

“It’s gone?” Richie asked. “Just like that?”

“We did it,” Mike said, a tired grin tugging on his lips. “We did it, we trapped the lights”

Everyone seemed to smile, and let out sighs of relief.

(y/n) pulled away from Richie only to reach up and eagerly press her lips against his, hands splaying across his cheeks, and grinning even wider as she pulled away. He took her in his arms, lifting her off the ground as he hugged her enthusiastically.

“We fucking did it!” He cheered, even spinning the girl around before setting her back down.

Their moment was short lived, as they were soon joined by Pennywise, who mocked their efforts at defeating him, and released the deadlights from the pyramid. And if that wasn’t enough to make their fear settle in their bones again, he grew about a hundred feet, taking on the leg form of a monstrous spider, and chased them amongst the rocks with crazed laughter.

Richie haphazardly reached out for (y/n), and pulled her with him behind a tall rock that should keep them out of It’s view for a few moments, which was all he needed.

“Listen to me, are you listening to me? Listen,” Richie instructed hastily. “We dont- we don’t have much time-”

“What?” (y/n) said, urging him to hurry up before Pennywise rounded the corner and was able to see them.

“First chance you get, you run the fuck out of here-”

“Richie no-!”

“Promise me, fucking- swear to me, that if you get the chance you fucking book it, okay?” He pleaded, but she shook her head back and forth, tears welling in her eyes as Richie continued to beg her. “Swear to me- do it (y/n) swear”

“I- I can’t” She whimpered.

“You can, please, please. If you stil love me just- just fucking promise me you’ll get the hell out of here, and get safe,” She cried harder, a small gasp departing her lips as her throat burned with tears. “I need you to be safe, okay?”

He peered around the rock, seeing Pennywise nearing where they were hiding, and then turned quickly back to (y/n).

“Richie I can’t leave- I’m not leaving you again,” She wept, tears flowing down her cheeks. “Please don’t make me-”

“I’ll be there with you as soon as I can,” He promised, cupping her cheeks in his hands. “I swear it, alright? I just need you to swear to me you’ll get out of here”

“Rich” She cried, squeezing her eyes shut tight, and for a mere second relished in the feeling of the pads of his thumbs swiping away her tears.

“Do you understand me?” He spoke after a moment, and she nodded, albeit reluctantly.

Her sad eyes met his, and they alone told him everything that she needed him to know. He gave her a bittersweet smile, before drawing her face in close for him to press his lips in the space between her eyes.

“I love you,” He murmured before pulling away. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, Richie could see that It was even closer, and he pushed her away from him. “Now go!”

She let out a cry as she was forced out of his hold, and the tears started up again as she made a bee-line towards the entrance of the cave they’d come in through.

She made it through the passing just before It was able to spot her, and hid under the rock as she watched It pass, and Richie ran from his hiding spot to another.

Her hands had been shaking, and she couldn’t get herself to move, even though at this point, she probably would get away. But looking at the Losers, her friends, all running about the cave and trying to hide before It could grab them and terrorize them, she couldn’t go through with it.

Her eyes caught Richie’s, who began to shake his head, already knowing what she was thinking. She gave him a sad smile, and realized she wasn’t shaking anymore.

She wasn’t afraid.

Richie shook his head again, waving his arms around in an ‘x’ sort of motion, desperate for her to listen to him. To turn around and start running.

‘I’m sorry’ she mouthed, and wiggled out of the crevice.

“(y/n)! No!” The scream Richie let out echoed over the sounds of Pennywise’s snapping jaws and clattering crab-like legs.

She wasn’t afraid, but he certainly was.

She scaled up to a cliffside that was jutted out from the cave’s wall, collecting as many rocks as she could and beginning to throw them with all the force she could muster.

And if their lives weren’t at stake, he would be proud and cheering her on as she began to launch rocks at It. But instead, his heart was beating erratically with fear as he watched her do something so reckless.

Nevertheless, he ran up to her, and joined her in pelting the monster with the largest rocks they could lift.

“You’re stupid! You’re insane!” He yelled at her, but she just gave him a wide grin, and shrugged her shoulders, before heaving up a rather large rock, swinging low so she could throw it as high as she could. It landed with a loud ‘thunk’ ‘crack’ against Pennywise’s skull, and he screeched as the area began to crack, blood pooling upwards.

“Well where do you think I picked it up from?” (y/n) asked teasingly, hands dropping to her knees as she bent over and heaved.

She only had a moment to catch her breath before Pennywise whirled around, and the small moment of victory was gone in an instant.

It’s large crooked leg knocked her off the cliffside she stood on, and sent her tumbling down to the ground below. Richie shrieked, scurrying to get down to her, but in his haste his eyes went upwards, landing on the blue circling orbs, and he was trapped in the deadlights.

(y/n) pushed herself up on shaky arms, spitting out blood and wiping haphazardly at her mouth to get the excess blood off her lips. As she got up, her eyes caught Richie, floating above her, staring with dull eyes at whatever Mike had told them not to look at.

“Richie!” She screamed, and despite her legs feeling like jelly, she shoved herself upwards and ran towards him, hoping if she jumped high enough, she could grab his leg and pull him down to her. “Richie! Come on!” She pleaded, eyes welling with tears as she tried, and failed, over and over again to grab onto him.

“(y/n)! Look out!” Eddie blared, just in time, as It came running towards her, reaching greedy hands down towards her body.

“Come on toots,” It’s voice was deranged and she hated the way her special nickname sounded coming out of it’s clown painted mouth. “Don’t you wanna float with your lover?”

She scrambled away as quickly as she could, but It was so close behind her, she was bound to be snatched right up.

“Help!” She screamed, begging her legs to move faster, but sure enough, a large hand wrapped around her torso and picked her up like she was a doll.

She screamed, throwing her fists against the back of Pennywise’s gloved hand, as though it could cause any damage anyways. The higher he pulled her upwards to his face, the more she realized she didn’t actually want him to let go of her. A fall at this height was bound to kill her. So eventually, she stopped hitting his hand, and instead clutched onto the silk glove to keep her secure.

“You’ve caused quite some trouble” It spoke angrily, leaning in close so she could see it’s bright orange eyes.

“There are other ways to make him feel small!” Mike shouted. “You have to make It feel small!”

Her eyes darted from the man on the ground, back up to the large figure that held her captive in it’s hand.

“I’m not afraid of you,” She declared, voice clear, and candid. For a moment, she swore It’s face twitched with a wince. “You’re just a clown. You’re not fucking scary. And I’m not scared of you!”

It snarled, baring it’s endless rows of razor sharp teeth as it roared right at her face. She screamed, suddenly very afraid that this was how she died, that she’d be just another one of it’s snack-turned-victims.

But just as she thought she was going to be thrown into It’s mouth like a potato chip, the roaring ceased, as a long metal spear had been thrown into it’s exposed throat, ripping through to the otherside.

Her eyes widened at the gruesome sight, and It stumbled backwards, dropping her body in the process. She screamed as she fell, but was silenced as soon as she hit the ground.

“Oh my- fuck! (y/n)!” Eddie ran over to her, helping her sit up and make sure she hadn’t hit her head too hard. “Did you see that!? Did you see what I just fucking did!?” He cheered for himself, but his voice was merely a distant echo in (y/n’s) ears.

“Wh- what about Richie?” She mumbled, rubbing her head as she looked over to see him falling from where he was floating. “Is he- oh my god”

Her legs shook, so much so that she kept on tripping and falling as she made her way over to where Richie laid, and eventually her knees completely gave out, and she collapsed at his side.

“R-Richie?” She shook him, afraid to see his eyes shut as he laid there, almost lifelessly. “Richie!?” She yelled now, grasping the material of his shirt in her hands as tears built up and burned her eyes.

He gasped, head shooting up for a moment before falling back down against the rock. He took in deep breaths and stared at her with wide eyes, not sure what had just happened that had knocked him out.

“You’re okay, you’re okay?” She repeated herself, hands moving rather quickly over his face, both comforting him and inspecting for any blood or injuries.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” He wheezed, and (y/n) took his face in her hands, a cry of relief coming from her throat. She was smiling, but still crying. “You gotta stop crying today toots, I don’t have the time to kiss all those tears away” He teased, and pushed himself to sit up on shaky arms.

“Shut the fuck up” She whimpered happily, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him to sit up the rest of the way so she could hug him as tightly as possible.

Her hands grasping at his hair, and then his shoulders, and then the back of his shirt, anything she could hold. Richie buried his face in the crook of her neck, arms encircling her torso and squeezing her tight against him.

“God, Rich,” She mumbled, pulling away from him to look at his face. His glasses were a bit cracked, and there was a nasty bruise along his cheek, a little bit of blood trickling down his forehead from his hairline. “You look like shit” She giggled, carefully wiping away the blood with her thumb.

“Yeah yeah, real hot coming from you” Richie said, silently counting the cuts and bruises littered over (y/n’s) face. The cut from Bowers, a bruise at her temple, a slightly blackening eye, bloody nose, split lip, she was a mess.

It hurt to smile, but she couldn’t help it. One of her hands shakily racing to place her palm against his cheek. The expression on her face something that made Richie want to both cry and hold her in his arms for as long as possible.

“Richie…” She mumbled. “I-”

The world stuttered in it’s timeline, it had to have, because what happened next, Richie was certain it was in slow motion.

A large claw protruded through (y/n’s) chest, making her words stutter to a stop, and slowly, she bowed her head down to see that it was, in fact, It’s razor sharp leg. Impaled clean through her back.

“(y/n)!” Richie’s scream was blood curling, but all she could hear in that moment was white noise, eyes trained on the wound in her chest. She was frozen in fear, and the realization that she was going to die here hit her like a truck on the highway.

Her chest suddenly felt very warm, and as It retracted the claw that had pierced through her whole body, she realized it was because of the fresh blood streaming out of her body, dampening her clothes in a soggy red.

Richie’s hands were fumbling over the wound as Pennywise’s claw was retracted, and the other Loser’s were screaming insults at it to finish the job. Meanwhile, Richie carefully laid (y/n) down over his lap so she’d be more comfortable.

“(y/n), no… no no no, sweetheart, hey,” Richie cooed quietly, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over. “Hey it’s alright, you’re alright, we’ll get you out of here real soon-”

“Richie,” She whimpered, taking his bloody hand away from her face, and intertwining his fingers with hers. “Listen to me”

Her voice was small, but she needed him to stop his rambling so he could hear her.

“Listen- listen,” She mumbled, gathering what little strength she had to squeeze his hand. “It’s okay”

“No-! No, no it isn’t it’s not fucking okay-”

“Richie,” She cried, one tear rolling down her bloody cheek. “I’m okay, I’m gonna be okay,” She was lying through her teeth, just trying to calm him down even if it was just for a moment. “You’ll be okay”

He shook his head, tears falling freely now, but he didn’t cut her off.

Thi couldn’t be happening, not now, not after he just got her back. He just got her back, last night. And they’d had a wonderful time together, they clicked just like they had back then. He’d gotten to kiss her again, hold her again, love her again, how could this happen? How could she be ripped away from him so soon? This wasn’t fair this wasn’t fair this wasn’t-

“I love you,” She whimpered quietly, sad to even say it, given the circumstances, but she knew she had to. For both of their sakes. “Okay? I love you, I always did, okay?”

I told you to run, why didn’t you run away? Why didn’t you listen?

It wasn’t fair. But there was no changing it, there was no way for him to fix it, and that’s what broke him the most.

There was no saving her.

“Okay,” Richie mumbled back. The finality of their situation could be heard in the one word he spoke. It was a goodbye. Holding her hand tightly in his, and his free hand stroking her hair out of her face to keep it from getting stained with blood, he nodded his head a bit down at her. “Okay. I know, toots”

It was quiet for a minute as she tried to hold back her tears, for him. SHe could feel her heart slowing, and most of her body had gone numb in shock. All she could really feel was Richie’s hand tightly holding hers. She hoped that when the time came, he’d let go. Begged whoever was up there to help him let go.

“Hey,” Richie called softly, hastily wiping at his wet eyes with the back of his hand. “(y/n) (y/l/n)”

“Richie Tozier?” She replied weakly, confused.

“Will you marry me?”

The question was so soft, she almost didn’t catch it.

A cry left her lips as she nodded, unable to hide her tears from him any longer.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” She mumbled. “Yeah, I’ll marry you”

Her whimpers broke his heart, but he smiled gently down at her nonetheless.

“Alright then toots,” He whispered, and stroked her hair back again so he could lean down to her, and kiss her forehead with a featherlight touch.

She closed her eyes at the action, and they both missed Pennywise being shrunken down into dust. Too wrapped up in one another to even realize he was gone.

“Rest easy, baby” Richie said quietly, his nose pressed into the crown of her head, and his eyes squeezing shut tightly, too afraid to look at her as she took her last breath. “I love you so fucking much”

When he finally pulled away, he knew her eyes wouldn’t open again.

The Losers were quiet as they gathered together, all staring at (y/n’s) boneless body in Richie’s arms. He was holding her against his chest, rocking slightly as he cried into his shirt that she still wore. If they’d stepped closer, they would have heard him cursing straight at God. But no one dared to take another step forward, letting Richie have this moment to mourn. ___

“She saved my life,” Eddie declared, while everyone was floating in the quarry, rinsing off the blood and gore that stained most everyone’s clothes and skin. “At the library. If she hadn’t come in, Bowers would’a killed me”

The others nodded solemnly as Eddie spoke.

“She genuinely cared about me,” Ben said next, remembering the first time he’d met her. She was the one that offered to let him ride on her bike after his run-in with the Bowers Gang. She’d demanded that they helped clean him up. “I guess… she saved my life too”

“Mine too,” Beverly agreed, smiling bittersweetly. “Beat up Greta Keene in the seventh grade. She was half her size, and she lost terribly but… she did it anyways”

“Me too,” Mike added. “Told my grandpa she was a vegetarian so when she came over we didn’t have to slaughter anything,” He chuckled a bit. “We always starved but… she knew I was always too chicken shit to do it”

“She used to help me with my s-” Bill cut himself off before he could chop up the word. “She’d help me pronounce things b-better,” He looked down at the water with a frown. “She always just wanted to help”

Everyone was looking at Richie now, while he was holding his glasses in his hands, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I have too much to say” He finally spoke through his tears.

Beverly swam over and held onto his arm, leaning her head against his elbow to comfort him.

“You always do,” Eddie said, but the teasing words came out in a gentle whisper, as he floated to Richie’s other side, and wrapped his arm around him. “And somehow, she loved that about you”

Richie laughed humorlessly, and for a moment wondered how she’d put up with him all through their adolescent years.

“I abandoned her,” He told them. “We were supposed to go to New York together, but I left her” He frowned deeply, but the corner of his lips twitched up in a small smile. “But when she came back… when we all came back she…”

It was like his voice broke at that point, and he shoved his glasses back onto his nose.

“She still loved me anyways” He finished in a hushed voice.

“Of course she did,” Beverely cooed. “No one’s ever loved anything as much as (y/n) loved you” She told him sincerely.

“Back then and now,” Ben added. “Just so you know. It was always obvious to the rest of us”

Richie’s lips pulled into a small smile at everyone’s kind words, but they didn’t stop the tears from falling down his cheeks.

Everyone gathered around him to embrace tightly, all mourning the loss of their friend, and admiring her for saving all of them in her own little ways.

“I just miss her so much,” Richie whimpered, leaning his head down onto Eddie’s shoulder as he cried. “I don’t know how to go about the rest of my life now without her”

“Day by day,” Bill said softly. “We’ll get a gravesite for her, alright? So we can visit?”

Richie nodded, wiping at his face.

“Yeah, that’d be nice” He mumbled out. (y/n) wouldn’t have wanted to be buried and forgotten in the place Neibolt once stood. She’d want a real memorial, and Richie wanted it for her.

He was going to do for her what she deserved, for the rest of his damned life, he swore it.

It would’ve been in his vows, anyways.

___

taglist: @hippeyhaley (i'd had my taglist for IT closed bc i didn’t think i'd be writing for it again, but i'll re-open in the case that i do continue writing for it, hmu if you want to be added)

don’t worry, here’s the alternate ending. i knew y’all would cry about it.

xoxo ~ jordie

#IT #IT fanfiction #Richie Tozier #Richie Tozier x reader #Richie tozier fanfiction #richie tozier scenario #richie tozier imagine #finn wollfhard x reader #bill hader x reader

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ufonaut · 3 years

Note

I hope this isn’t annoying, but what’s your take on how dragon king and the wizard viewed jordan and henry’s weird power relationship and differing views on project New America? Like how henry allowed jordan to be in charge before hank died, and how jordan’s ideas didn’t seem to translate to henry’s endgame in the finale? It sucks that we missed henry’s speech later in the season because I would have loved to see the other ISA’s reaction to henry’s new (well more like stepped-into) power. Like dragon king seemed invested in jordan’s dream and the wizard probably believed more in what jordan would have wanted instead of what henry enacted, you know? Also sorry if this sounds like an essay prompt- the ISA relationship, especially jordan and henry makes me feral 😅

absolutely no worries, this isn’t annoying at all! might be the film student in me talking but analysing my favourite media is my no 1 hobby & passion so there’s nothing more validating than anyone being interested in my thoughts, genuinely thank you for reaching out to me!!! sorry it took me a hot minute to get back to you, i wanted to make sure i’d have the time to get into it because i really do genuinely love this

OKAY. LET’S DO THIS. ONE BY ONE.

first off, i think it’s important to note that the project: new america is actually the world’s most high stakes game of telephone. not a single person in the isa has the same vision for the endgame here nor for the means to achieve it

that being said, dr ito fundamentally couldn’t have been invested in jordan’s dream. out of every character in stargirl, he’s the one who’s changed the least and who has remained the most comic book-y level of one-dimensional evil (disclaimer: not a bad thing! sometimes rule of cool is well-earned, particularly in the case of lizard men). let’s recap what we actually know for a fact about dr shiro ito:

so we’ve got the following conclusions: ‘controversial’ scientist specifically means scientist for the axis powers in wwii. while in real life the creators of the bacilli bombs weren’t prosecuted as war criminals despite japan frequently using chemical weapons, dr ito’s so-called execution takes place well within the timeline of the real life IMTFE/the tokyo war crimes tribunal and it’s very likely that he was less executed and more declared dead after secretly fleeing the country (hence his current residence being blue valley’s sewers). while in the comics his ultimate goal is to became the emperor of japan and subsequently take over the world, the facts of the case haven’t changed when they’ve been adapted for stargirl

that’s one of the reasons i tend to be pretty baffled when i see any fandom affection or “”soft””” headcanons directed at dr ito considering surely it’d be obvious how outright stupid that is if he’d been outright called, say, a nazi scientist. that’s another discussion though! what i mean by all this is that dr ito isn’t in any way, shape or form a man who believes or is invested in jordan’s dream. as a matter of fact, i think it’s pretty clear he’s got his own power play within the isa

he’s not well-liked (for the obvious reasons above and the lizard-ness) within the gang and it’s obvious that he spends the majority of his time doing his own experiments in the basement with the drones/zombies/whatever you wanna call them. i think his plan for the machine was a genuine mind-control thing that he needed henry for and his own endgame isn’t remotely similar to the rest of the isa’s. that being said, he clearly holds henry in some regard (fellow evil doctor?) going by the letter he sent him about hank & the fact that he doesn’t address him as anything other than “dr king”. my personal headcanon is that he actually talked his way into the isa by offering a palpable method (the machine) of achieving the so-called “dream” and his goals are much more aligned with henry’s. it’s equally likely that it’s henry who insisted on dr ito joining up in a rare show of leadership, especially if jordan & co aren’t actually aware of his history

dr ito, like everyone else, doesn’t appear to respect jordan as much as he simply keeps him at arm’s length -- as he does with everyone else who isn’t henry, at any rate. jordan falters on the stairs in episode 4 when he sees dr ito in the meeting room! he’s distinctly and visibly tense! it feels less like a talk between teammates and more like begrudging allies, with an implied possibility of backstabbing at every turn (”i won’t betray you, like the shade”, “i won’t fail, like the wizard” etc etc. are suspiciously specific denials!). sure, dr ito says he believes in the injustice society but i think the emphasis there is on injustice and his goals that have changed very little since the war. if nothing else, he simply believes in an exceedingly long con

AS FOR THE WIZARD. i think he & jordan were actually friendly and somewhat united in their goals. we’ve got the following neil interview:

where he calls william jordan’s friend, despite also saying in the stargirl after hours podcast that jordan has “zero friends” (and which i assume to mean that there’s no one left after wizard). they’ve clearly got a somewhat close relationship considering jordan left william in charge in his absence (a possible reference to wizard being the leader of the original comics isa but no doubt a testament to their similar povs as well), he doesn’t shy away from calling him literally four times in a row and william does sincerely seem to be the only person in the world to respect jordan to some degree. he’s certainly the opposite of dr ito in that he’s aligned with jordan’s general idea of helping people rather than what the plan turns into after henry takes over. the problem, however, is that jordan very evidently lost his trust in william somewhere along the line

now, i’ve seen a couple posts around here claiming that jordan could’ve just gone into politics (which shows a fundamental misunderstanding of his character and, again, a different discussion for another day) but we know for a fact that he distrusts and dislikes politicians. that’s precisely the rift between him and william! jordan is fighting for real actual change, for a genuine & humanising way to help people and that’s near impossible to be done through politics. regardless of how much william would’ve been able to do through his job, the fact of the matter is that there would always be compromises & corruption. despite william believing in jordan’s plan, it’s jordan (for once!) who can’t reconcile his dreams with william’s actions

beyond that, promises are everything to jordan because he’s spent the past decade tied to the promise he made christine and he’d never even dream of breaking that. the perceived betrayal of an unkept promise (to take care of the isa? of henry?) is unbearable to him. no matter how much he might like william, the measures he takes seem necessary in the moment precisely because of all this

so, ultimately, i think the isa are well aware of the dynamics between henry & jordan and they’ve more or less split between them in accordance with their personal goals. i really do wish we could’ve seen henry’s cut speech too though!

EXCUSE THE ESSAY BUT I HOPE IT ANSWERED A COUPLE QUESTIONS & PLEASE LET ME KNOW UR THOUGHTS!!! THANK U AGAIN!!!!!

#stargirl #isa #injustice society of america #dragon king #dr ito #wizard #william zarick #jordan mahkent #icicle #henry king sr #brainwave #meta #stargirl meta #anon #ask

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spoon-writes · 4 years

Text

Ends of the Earth | Chapter 2

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Pairing: Mando x OC

Read on FFN or AO3

Summary: When Sinead's husband is ripped from her, she escapes the Hutt Empire and goes on a quest to find him. Since being a runaway slave in the Outer Rim isn't exactly easy, she makes the Mandalorian an offer he can't refuse and soon they travel across the galaxy, looking for her missing husband.

Chapter index

Chapter 2 - The Deal

“There we were, cruising over Utapau, waiting for orders from those kriffin’ bastards. The boys were gettin’ restless, but I say to them, I say, you lads have been beggin’ me for a break for months, and now you turn tetchy for a little downtime? I told ‘em just kick back ‘n relax, n’ rake in the creds while the client figured out what to do ‘bout us.”

Sinead rested her elbows on the bar top, watching the Zabrak slam back the remainder of her mug, slamming it on the table. “And did you?”

“Kiff no. Those rhukis tried to stiff us until we caught ‘em, that is. They went on sayin’ that on account of ‘em not needing us after all, they shouldn’t ‘ave to pay us.”

“Can’t imagine that went over well with the boys.”

The Zabrak barked out a laugh and slammed her fist on the bar between them hard enough to make the crockery rattle. “The lads don’t like it much when clients don’t keep their promises. As I see it, we was just getting some justice.”

“Balance in the galaxy, and all that,” Sinead said, filling up the Zabrak’s mug with a frothy green concoction.

“Knew you’d get it.” The Zabrak grinned, flashing a row of yellowing teeth filed to a point.

It was late at night, or as late as it could be on a space station that used artificial light all hours of the day. The star it orbited hung almost dead in the vacuum, a white dwarf, gone before the first sentients even started dreaming about space travel. Its cold light did nothing to warm up the planets left circling it.

Sinead had been on the space station for almost a month. Not long after gaining her freedom, she’d discovered that while convictions were all well and good, it wouldn’t keep her from starving, and she’d found herself working in one of the two cantinas aboard the station. This one was less frequented, which suited Sinead just fine. Sometimes, when a big starship docked, the place would flood with spacers, but curiously they rarely came back.

“What’s next for you and your boys?”

“Eh, some rich fella from the Core wants us to lug his cargo halfway ‘cross the galaxy. All perfectly legal, of course.”

“Of course. I’m sure all your other stories were perfectly legal too, right?”

“That’s right.” The Zabrak tapped her nose. “You’re a smart one.”

Sinead winked at the captain, before cleaning up the bar and discarding the empty bowls in the kitchen.

When she came back, the Zabrak got up and tossed a couple of credits on the table. “Thanks for listening to an old spacer’s stories,” she said. “Really warms a girl’s hearts.”

“My pleasure. You’re quite the storyteller, you know that?”

The Zabrak barked out a laugh and reached over to slap Sinead on the shoulder. “Always knew I picked the wrong line of work.” She grabbed the rifle that leaned against the bar. “See ya around, kid.”

The Zabrak left, her long coat swinging behind her, and Sinead was left to her own devices. Two Niktos were the only patrons left in the bar and they sat together at a small table, heads bent low over their meals, and only muttering a few words between bites.

The station was originally a scientific vessel, orbiting the very star it was surveying. Sometimes before the fall of the Empire, the scientists left and not soon after enterprising spacers moved in, turning the station into a decent halfway point between nowhere and nothing.

Once Sinead grew adequately bored staring into thin air, she grabbed a broom from a cupboard and started sweeping. The maintenance droid was down something that happened surprisingly often in a place frequented by mechanics and pilots.

Five years she’d been free. Five years and every clue, every lead on Kyen fizzed out before she had the chance to grab it. The last one in a long line of disappointments ended with her nearly getting caught by a band of privateers, and now it hovered just out of reach.

She wondered if she had made a mistake breaking away from the rebels. Their attack on the Imps saved her life, but fear of retaliation made her split as fast as she could, although a few months later, that wasn’t a concern anymore; the Empire shattered, and whatever was left was too preoccupied picking up the pieces. That left the Hutts, but as far as she knew, they thought she was dead, and she wanted to keep it that way. Now she just hovered in place, waiting for a new opportunity to-

The door swished open, and a cold blast of air hit her. She turned around to face the new patron.

His armor glinted in the harsh light.

Bounty hunter.

Mandalorian.

Her body reacted without input from her brain. She swung the broom at his head.

The Mandalorian ducked, and the broom sailed over his head; as it came around again, he grabbed it and wrenched it out of Sinead's hands, and it clattered on the ground.

The Niktos jumped up so quickly that their chairs fell backward, blasters pointed at the Mandalorian, with his own blaster trained at them.

Reason clawed its way through the fog of fear. "Are you a bounty hunter?" Her voice sounded loud in the tense room.

The Mandalorian cocked his head to the side and looked from Sinead to the Niktos. "Not right now." His voice was hoarse and sounded exhausted, but that could just be the voice modulator.

Sinead took a step back and sent a look over her shoulder at the Niktos, begging them to stand down. They shared a look, yellow teeth bared but lowered their blasters slowly.

She looked back at the Mandalorian, his blaster aimed directly at her. "I'm sorry about that," she said, giving him a weak smile. "We've had some problems with bounty hunters."

The Mandalorian kept staring at her, or rather, she assumed he kept staring at her, as his helmet gave absolutely no indication. Eventually, he lowered his blaster, but kept it at hand, presumably in case she started swinging the broom again.

He looked like he was about to leave when the bundle tucked safely into the crook of his arm started moving, and a small green hand appeared from between two folds.

Sinead watched in wonder as some fabric was pushed to the side, and two big, dark eyes looked out at the world.

The Mandalorian sighed and finally returned his blaster to its holster. "You got any food?"

Sinead tore her eyes away from the little creature. "Uh, yes. There’s yvum soup on the boiler."

"One bowl then." He sat down at the table nearest the door, keeping his back against the wall where he could see the entire room.

The Niktos sat back down, but their food remained untouched as they looked warily at the Mandalorian, whispering among themselves.

Sparing one last look at the little creature, Sinead went into the tiny kitchen attached to the cantina and filled a bowl with yvum soup, a gelatinous substance made from boiling the hell out of whatever meat was available. Thick and brown, it looked like mud and smelled like it too, but the few people brave enough to frequent the cantina weren’t the kind to complain.

When Sinead returned to the Mandalorian, he had removed the little creature from its cocoon and placed it on his lap so its little green head could see over the table.

Sinead left the bowl in the middle of the table, and the Mandalorian pulled it toward him. It didn’t take long for the child to start slurping down soup.

"Thank you," the Mandalorian grunted and tossed a couple of credits on the table.

That surprised her a bit as most cantina patrons didn't seem to know basic manners if it hit them with a broom.

Sinead was putting the credits away in a strongbox beneath the counter when she heard the kid coo softly. Looking over the rim of the counter, she saw it sit up in the Mandalorian’s lap. It looked like nothing she'd ever seen before, so small and soft in the Mandalorian's arms. Its floppy ears lifted curiously whenever the old station made a sound.

Grabbing the broom from the floor, Sinead started sweeping again as an excuse to get a better look at the odd pair. The little one's eyes followed her movements around the room as it slurped the remaining soup. It looked young and old at the same time; its head was covered in fine white hair.

The Niktos left, staring at the Mandalorian as they walked out, and he looked right back, his body shifting slightly, ready to spring into action.

When it became clear that Sinead couldn't continue sweeping a clean floor, she moved to the counter and grabbed the lockbox to count out the credits for her shift.

The kid slowed down eating and was looking around the room with curious eyes. Sinead burned to ask what species it was, but it was clear that its guardian wasn't in a talkative mood.

He said he wasn't a bounty hunter right now. Could he become one again for the right price? She’d met a Mandalorian once, a long time ago, and it was clear they were capable warriors. Plus, she had an ace up her sleeve.

Besides, she was curious about the little green guy.

Sinead's shift ended just as the Mandalorian was about to leave. She watched as he swaddled the child and left the cantina, moving surprisingly quiet for a guy in heavy armor. She waited until he was out of sight before hurrying after him, keeping close to the wall.

The space station was as dead as it was going to get with only a few ships docked. The Niktos were sitting around what looked like an unholy fusion between a Y-wing and a B-73. Sinead's steps sounded loud in the relative quiet.

The Mandalorian disappeared through the door leading to the docking bay.

She slipped through the door and almost collided with the Mandalorian, who stood tall and intimidating, the lighting behind him making him look like a shadow.

"Why are you following me?"

It took Sinead a second to find her voice. "You said you were a bounty hunter, right?"

His voice modulator rustled when he sighed. "I'm not after anyone in the station if that's what you're worried about."

"I'm not," Sinead said. "I want to hire you."

"What?"

"I want to hire you."

The Mandalorian paused, then shook his head and started walking. "Not interested."

Sinead hurried to keep up with him. "I can pay you."

"I'm not with the Guild."

"Wonderful, I'm not asking the Guild, I'm asking you."

"And my answer is no. Stop following me."

They were close to what Sinead assumed was the Mandalorian’s ship. She didn’t recognize the model, but it looked old. It had definitely seen better days.

Sinead bit her lower lip and jumped in front of the Mandalorian, forcing him to stop.

"Move." The command came out harsh and uncompromising.

She moved, and the Mandalorian passed her, his cloak fluttering behind him. She watched as he neared the ship, and she rubbed her jaw as thoughts fell over themselves to get to the forefront of her mind.

She took a chance.

"Does the Nau'orar mean anything to you?"

He stopped in his tracks, his shoulders tensing as the seconds passed by.

"How do you know about that?" He turned to look at her.

"Maybe we should take this somewhere more private."

... ... ... ... ...

Since there were no proper seats in the ship, except for the bunk, which seemed like a bad choice for prefect strangers, Sinead was left standing awkwardly near the bay door.

The Mandalorian stood by a small cot that looked so out of place on the ship. He'd put the child down to sleep, but the little guy evidently knew something was happening because he stayed wide awake, looking from one human to the other.

"Speak."

Sinead resisted running a hand through her hair. The Mandalorian stood unmoving, watching her.

"I need you to find a man who-"

"How do you know about the Nau'orar?"

Straight to the point, then.

Sinead paused and gave the Mandalorian a searching look. Maybe this was a huge mistake.

With a sigh, she produced a small holoprojector from her pocket and threw it to him.

He caught it and turned it on. A blurred hologram of the whip appeared above it, turning slowly on its axis. Even with a cheap holoprojector, the whip looked beautiful.

"I acquired it some years ago-"

"How did you get it?"

Sinead’s jaw clenched, and it took everything in her not to snap at him. Still, she figured that the truth might speed things along. The Mandalorians and the Empire were hardly friends.

"I stole it from the Empire five years ago. The details aren't important, what is, is that I have it in my possession, in a safe place. It's yours if you help me find someone."

"It belongs to the Mandalorians."

Sinead shrugged. "Look, I agree with you, and I would've given it back to its rightful owners if it didn't happen to be an excellent bargaining chip." She gave him a small smile, hoping that he wasn't about to throw her off the ship.

On the bunk, the kid cooed softly, and Sinead smiled at it.

The Mandalorian looked at the hologram for a long moment, his hands clenching and releasing. At last, he sighed deeply. "Who do I need to find?"

"His name is Kyen Beck. He was a slave on Sriluur until they moved him off-world, possibly to a facility on Siskeen.”

The Mandalorian cocked his head to the side. "It's a long way to go for a maybe."

Sinead ignored him. "This isn't a Guild job. I have no puck or fob, or whatever it is they use, but if you do this, the whip is yours."

The Mandalorian still didn't seem convinced. "He's a runaway slave?"

For one dizzying moment, Sinead’s chest felt too tight to breathe.

"He's my husband."

The Mandalorian stiffened and looked away, down at the child who watched their conversation in fascinated silence. He sighed deeply. "I'll look for him, but I can't make any promises."

Sinead let out a deep breath, her knees going weak with relief. Finally, she was doing something.

"Where was his last known location?"

Sinead wet her lips and swallowed. "I talked with someone who escaped from Sriluur two years ago, told me that he'd been shipped to Siskeen with some other slaves, but she doesn’t know exactly what happened."

"And you trust this information?"

"More or less."

The Mandalorian fell silent for some time. "You said she escaped two years ago. Why didn't you just go by yourself?"

"I'm not exactly welcome in Hutt space at the moment." She smiled bitterly. "I tried other bounty hunters, but they didn't really ... work out."¨

He was going to ask her if she used to be a slave. Would he take her back to the Hutt’s instead, taking the easy payment? While her bounty was void, she was sure whoever inherited Slezza’s throne would be glad to see her.

The Mandalorian, to Sinead’s surprise, nodded curtly and moved to the side, effectively ending the conversation. Sinead wasn't done, though.

"When do we leave?"

The Mandalorian froze. "When do we-"

"We leave? I'm coming with you."

"No, you're not. I work alone." He crossed his arms across his chest.

"Not this time. He's my husband."

"You can't-"

"I can read star charts, I can fly, I know how to fight-"

"A broom doesn't count."

Sinead huffed and narrowed her eyes. "There isn't much to go on. I know my husband, I know what he'd do, I know how he looks. Sooner or later, you're going to need me."

"No. Deal's off."

Shaking her head, Sinead took a deep breath and grit her teeth. "Fine." She started toward the door. "You're making a mistake. The Nau'orar does belong with the Mandalorians, but I can't force you."

The kid made a whining sound as the door opened, and its big floppy ears drooped down.

She had made it down the ramp when the Mandalorian appeared in the doorway.

"The ship leaves at 0700." He sounded unsure even as he said it.

Warmth radiated through Sinead's body and she felt weak in the knees. "0700. I'll be there."

The Mandalorian nodded curtly and started to raise the ramp.

"My name is Sinead, by the way," she yelled, just as the ramp closed.

Finally, after 5 years, she was doing something. She had a good feeling about this.

<- Previous chapter - Next chapter ->

#the mandalorian #din djarin #the mandalorian x oc #mando x oc #din x oc #din djarin x oc #fanfiction #ends of the earth #oc: sinead

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rallamajoop · 4 years

Text

Inception: A Fannish Retrospective

For a while now I’ve found myself craving a fic of a particular hard-to-define quality – something with a bit of grit and maturity – not graphic or grim, but perhaps the kind of seedy underworld setting you might find in the better parts of Tarantino or Guy Richie’s oeuvre. The kind of fic that lets me believe that if the author toned down the slash and published it as a mainstream crime or espionage thriller, I’d still be enthused about reading it. Cord Smithee’s work is a particularly good example, for the UNCLE fans out there, but you can only reread those fics so many times, and fic of that quality has been especially sparse in the last few fandoms I’ve drifted through, and so the craving lingered.

Then it hit me: hey, you know what fandom used to be really good for that kind of fic? Inception.

And after all this time in Venom fandom, it was hardly a big jump to more Tom Hardy, so.

Maybe the bigger wonder is that nearly ten years on, most of the fic is still just as good as I remember it being. Mirabella’s Towards Zero remains one of the most satisfying things I’ve ever read in any fandom, and delires’ chav!Eames AU is better than any idea that cracked has any goddamn right to be, and (at least as long as you’re into the juggernaut ship that is Arthur/Eames) you are spoilt for choice for more.

But revisiting a fandom this much later and binging this much fic, you notice things. We’ll start with…

The Film

Still holds up on rewatching today. It will never be nearly as smart a film as I’ve seen some claim: totems, for one, make no fucking sense (they’re objects with details known only to you, but if Cobb can unintentionally bring a carbon copy of his wife into a dream, why not a top that falls over when spun? And why does it keep spinning indefinitely in dreams, anyway?), and for all the exposition on ‘kicks’, why the kicks need to be synchronised to work under sedation is woefully under-explained, to the point I’m always by distracted trying to make sense of it in the middle of the third act. (Do not even get me started on the ‘it’s actually about filmmaking!’ theory – the mental gymnastics required to explain how Yusuf or Mal fits in or why we’re so fixated on the importance of the set designer, of all roles, is laughable. Some of the parallels are moderately entertaining, but don’t try to tell me you’ve unlocked the secret meaning of the film – Inception is not a movie that makes you work that hard to find its main themes.)

But the film works despite its plotholes because it’s not, ultimately, a story driven by its mechanics: the endlessly spinning top may make no sense, but film is a visual medium, and it’s such a good visual gimmick it’s gets a pass. The practical stunts are still as impressive ever, but what really lifts Inception so far beyond your typical action/heist film – for me, at least – are the characters, and the huge emotional payoffs at the end. Fischer’s reconciliation with his father is no less moving for its falseness, “We did grow old together” has gotten a sniffle out of me time and again, and the final “We’ll be young men together” scene is wonderful in so many ways I could only dream there was the Cobb/Saito fic to live up to. It’s not for nothing I’ve got Inception mentally filed in my very short list of humanist action movies along with Mad Max: Fury Road, Terminator II, and precious few others.

And then there’s…

The Fandom

Film fandoms are always an interesting beast, peaking as they do when the film is still in theatres, when most folks writing fic are working off imperfect memories of having seen an hour or two’s worth of canon maybe once or twice at most. Fanon can go feral in far less conducive environments, is my point here – inevitably, there’ll be the details that get analysed to death or flanderised to the point of parody, and the details that get altogether forgotten. Here’s just one example that hit me on a rewatch: I have lately read god knows how many different theories on just what it means that Arthur knew Eames was in Mombasa – none of them the least bothered by how everything in Cobb’s behaviour in that scene suggests he already knows exactly where he’s going, and may even be right now leaving to catch his flight. We could talk about the artefacts of clunky exposition being shoehorned into the dialogue, or the actual intent of that exchange, but shipper-goggles give you some powerful tunnel-vision (and I say this as someone who ships it like burning).

Binge as much fic as fast as I have in the last few months, and you begin to notice trends. Common themes and popular fanon that have ascended to gospel, and facets of the original film I’d love to see explored that fandom seems to have collectively missed altogether (and the sad lack of decent Cobb/Saito is only one). Below, in no particular order, are some of those observations.

Since most of these come across as critical, I want to emphasise that I have had a ball revisiting the fic in this fandom, and there are probably multiple fics guilty of everything I touch on below which I have loved to bits. It’s only the repetition that really starts to make you sit up and notice.

1. The Cobb-bashing, oh my god the Cobb-bashing! I had forgotten just how much this fandom hates Cobb. In the film, Cobb’s plan is the only reason Arthur and Eames ever end up in the same room at all – yet in fanfic, Cobb has been recast as the only thing keeping them apart. I’m not kidding there – fic with that exact premise is almost its own genre. In Inception fanon, Cobb is crazy and cares only about himself, and Arthur has wasted years of misplaced loyalty keeping him alive. Fanon!Eames hates Cobb for monopolising Arthur’s attention (in the film, Eames seems underwhelmed to learn Cobb is still working with Arthur at all). Fanon!Eames only works with Cobb at all because it’s an excuse to work with Arthur (in the film, they’re barely capable of having a civil conversation). Fanon!Eames never forgives Cobb for concealing the level of sedation they were under Inception job, and nor does Arthur (in the film, no-one even mentions Cobb’s deception after they leave the first level, and Eames’ main disappointment at the end is that he won’t get to see the Fischers’ big reconciliation, but why let that douse a good hateboner?) Meanwhile, Yusuf’s corresponding betrayal and Arthur’s equally-disastrous research-fail are rarely referenced. It’s not every fic, but the base level of Cobb-hate around these parts is pretty astounding. There’s nothing new about fans bashing the main character for having the gall to take screentime away from their OTP, and I’d be the last to play down Cobb’s real failings. But when one finds oneself tempted to leave enthusiastic comments on decade-old fic, praising the author for giving Cobb a minor scene or two where he gets to be a total bro to Arthur for a change… I promise you, it’s not me, it’s this fandom.

2. For all that Eames is basically the single biggest reason I’m reading in this fandom, his fanon characterisation leaves something to be desired. I do get the appeal of flirty!Eames or pining!Eames – it’s just that once in a while, you find yourself longing for fic about the guy who was actually in the movie – y’know, the one who’s first response to Arthur’s name was, “Arthur? Are you still working with that stick-in-the-mud?” I am totally down with the idea he was feigning indifference– maybe for Cobb’s benefit, maybe he’s actively in denial himself, whatevs. But fanon!Eames characterisation typically ranges from “hopelessly in love with Arthur from the moment they met” to “a walking sexual harassment lawsuit in action,” and neither of those guys could convincingly feign indifference to save their lives. It’s also a shame we don’t see more of the side of Eames that got so genuinely, unashamedly invested in what they were doing for Fischer – quite beyond the money and the prestige, Eames loves that they get to fix Fischer’s relationship with his father and reveal Browning as the rat that he is, and it’s a wonderfully humanising side to such a shady character. There should be so much scope in there to cast Eames was a guy with a real idealistic streak, or more conscience than he’d usually admit to, or just an abiding love for melodrama – the possibilities go on and on (and if you can’t think of a dozen ways to tie any of those in as fuel for his rivalry with Arthur for bonus shippy fodder, you aren’t even trying). But that part of Eames never does seem to have found a place in the fandom’s collective headcanon, because hell if I can find any exploration of it in fic, le sigh. (Cynically, I have to wonder if it’s because it clashes with the fanon where Eames spent the Inception job furiously hating Cobb and focused on Arthur, but even that seems somewhat lacking as an answer. Who even knows?)

3. As a corollary to the above, remarkably few fics make any attempt to deal with the fact that Arthur and Eames a) basically hate each other, b) for reasons that do not entirely revolve around how Arthur won’t put out. Obviously, this is a ‘hate’ that covers a much deeper well of underlying respect, but these are two guys who only stop taking potshots at each other when they’re being shot at for real, and to me that is 95% of the fun of the pairing – why does no-one even seem to try to recreate that dynamic in fic? Even 99% of Eames’ infamous ‘flirting’ would be better described as him pulling Arthur’s pigtails. Yet virtually no-one seems to want to tackle their antipathy head-on – even fic that acknowledges it as a past phase of their relationship isn’t set during that phase. I’m all for seeing them eventually end up friendlier, but you’ve got to show me how they get there first – that’s the good bit! Why does everyone skip over it? :((((

4. This fandom has SUCH a thing for underage!Arthur. Fics will go on and on about how young he looks, or theorise that he was actually underaged when he first got into dreamshare, or at least looked it. Seriously, the idea of Eames having mistaken Arthur for a teen when they first met is, like, the accepted pan-fandom headcanon as to why they don’t get on (unless we’re in military-backstory land, in which case it’s that Arthur had to deal with Eames hitting on him during the time of DADT). Then there are the many (MANY) AUs where Arthur really is a teen, hitting on the much-older Eames – there’s that one semi-parody where even twenty-something!Arthur gets cockblocked by his own looks, and there’s even at least one that flips things so that Eames the one who was underage when they met, just for variety.

It’s a real Thing, and I only wish I understood where it comes from, since (to me) Arthur has always looked like the 29yo man JGL legitimately was back when Inception hit screens – I don’t think he’d even passed as a Hollywood!teen for a solid half a decade at that point. So… are there really that many people who thought JGL looked that young when the film came out, or is this just one of those fannish meme things? I may never know.

5. No-one (by which I mean almost no-one) gets how limbo works. Fic after fic treats it as basically just a garden-variety coma, and colleagues can spend days or months moving the victim, gathering a team and planning a complex rescue. Rarely is it ever remembered the whole point of limbo is that you can age and die trapped in your own mind in no more than hours in the real world. When Eames talks about being ‘trapped in limbo until our brains turn to scrambled egg’, I think it’s safe to assume he’s being pretty literal. Basically, if you’re not treating limbo as the temporal equivalent of the Total Perspective Vortex, you’re probably doing it wrong.

6. No-one does anything interesting with Ariadne. This, I have some sympathy for: it’s hard to know where to go with someone who ends the film where she does – her push-pull relationship with the world of illegal dreamshare is not a contradiction that can be easily resolved in a subplot, if at all. But the Ariadne who so quickly had Cobb picked as a loose canon never seems to appear in fic either, and nor does the Ariadne with the guts to sneak into his dream to find answers, or the prodigy whose last-minute moment of inspiration saved the whole job. No, Inception fic is more likely to give you an Ariadne who giggles and drags her teammates out partying than any of that, which is absurd to the point of being genuinely offensive. Seriously, that is some A-grade “all we remembered about her is that she’s female”-bullshit. Even when she’s not saddled with OOC giggle fits, fic!Ariadne also remains frustrating static: years after the film, she’ll still be doing extractions with the Inception team, despite seeming no more at home in their world. Where’s the Ariadne who embraces the underworld wholeheartedly and reaches Arthur or Cobb levels of badassery? The Ariadne whose natural gifts and overconfidence get her into Cobb-levels of trouble? Who takes the Inception job as inspiration to go into therapeutic uses of dreams? Who finds legitimate dream-related work through Miles or Saito, but still lets the old team drag her back into extractions every once in a while (because she’s easily one of the most reliable architects in the whole shady business, and there’s a part of her that still kind of loves it)? WHERE?

The obvious rejoinder to all this is that it’s hardly surprising Ariadne doesn’t get much play when you’re mostly reading Arthur/Eames fic. So (because the land of fic is still terrible at cataloguing character-specific gen) I had a dig through some Arthur/Ariadne fic for comparison – only to run into much the same frustrations all over again. No-one takes her character anywhere very interesting.

So you can imagine my surprised delight when I tried a couple of Arthur/Ariadne/Eames fics on a whim, and almost immediately found not one but two different stories willing to dive headfirst into the questions surrounding Ariadne’s future in the world of illegal dreamshare (plus multiple stories which made a very convincing case that Ariadne should absolutely celebrate their successful Inception by having a threesome with her colleagues, I mean, damn).

I have absolutely no idea what it says about fandom that I had to go looking at threesome fic to find real character development, but at this point, I’ll take it.

7. So, I get why everyone reads Eames as queer (duh), but having discovered two quite excellent straight!Eames fic (which is to say, fic which utterly sells the idea that Eames considers himself straight or had no experience with men until long after meeting Arthur), the fact no equivalent seems to exist for Arthur baffles me. Sure, there’s one or two stories where one smile from Eames is about all it takes to make him change his mind, and one great kink meme fill that might have been just what I was looking for if it had ever been finished. But otherwise, the idea that Arthur (a guy who snogs Ariadne and is given no other obvious sexuality) -- the same Arthur whom every other fic portrays as seriously emotionally repressed – the idea this guy might not be experienced and comfortable dating men just… doesn’t seem to have occurred to anyone. Which is so weird.

Is there not enough RL evidence that Tom Hardy can and does make straight guys reconsider their preferences? Is the idea of an Arthur who’s repressed that side of his own sexuality not a juicy enough explanation for the tension between them? How on earth did we wind up with a fandom where Eames is more likely to be the designated “straight” one at the start of the story than Arthur? The mind boggles.

Holy shit, you’re still reading? Damn! Have some more recs as thanks for listening to me ramble at so much length.

Recs!

Here’s those two from the top again, because I really do love them that much

We Can Do This Until We Pass Out by delires Disturbing London, baby, we about to branch out. (The one where Eames is a chav)

Towards Zero by Mirabella Five levels down, and five to dig yourself back out. Arthur met Eames' projection long before he met Eames.

Where the Dead Live also by Mirabella There's a monster in Arthur's basement. Maybe he shouldn't have invited it in. It’s the vampire!Apocalypse, and this one is intense. Utterly brilliant, but equally unapologetic about the implications of its premise. So, for a somewhat-lighter take on monster!Eames, I will also throw in:

Cthonical’s demon!Eames verse Unfinished -- arguably never even properly started, just a series of ficlets from a ‘verse that never quite got written, but they are scorching hot and still well worth a look.

That’s a lot of darker fic though, probably time to lighten the mood a little.

Anal [Inception] aka Not Now Cobb We're Doing BGs also by cthonical Arthur and Eames both play WoW. They kick ass at Warsong Gulch, and when they team up they’re nigh on unstoppable.They don’t know they’re playing with each other.

Champion Sound by pyrimidine Prompt: Arthur is a DJ, Eames is a bartender.

London Bridge by sorrynotsorry Arthur loves whiskey, and maybe strippers.

My two favourite Arthur/Eames/Ariadne fics

How to Cure Insomnia by wonderfulwrites When she called Arthur for advice on how to deal with the unexpected insomnia - okay, fine, on the pretense of asking for advice – she hadn’t expected to have to wade through a sea of bodies to see him. But then, she also hadn’t expected Eames’s cheerful but surprising, Just come, Ariadne. You can sleep when you’re dead. Or Eames, at all, really. The Wind on the Mountain by Starlingthefool Something in her rebels against this casual, passive seduction. God knows why, but she’s sitting up in the water, taking her foot back from Eames and dislodging Arthur’s hands from her back. She stands, wet underwear clinging ridiculously to her, and says to Arthur, “All right. Your turn.”

Aaand let’s have a few more straight Arthur/Eames to round it out.

Untitled and Untitled, redux by Helenish -- two variants on a theme, and do not let the lack of proper titles put you off, they’re both great.

Unexpected Plot Twist by ethrosdemon Post-Inception -- long and (as promised) twisty, and a very solid read.

Four Corners by Mithrigil In Eames’ line of work, a first impression means nearly everything. It’s always a pity when he doesn’t get off on the right foot.

Kiss With A Fist by cmonkatiekatie Because apparently, to find real Arthur/Eames antagonism, I have to go looking for hate sex. (Not complaining, this is some amazing hate sex.)

And also basically Everything by Wiltling There’s a darker vibe to their work, but it rarely gets oppressive -- just generally a lot of great fic.

#Inception #meta #fic recs

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crue-sixx · 5 years

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Save the Girl

Title: Save the Girl

Author: tiddly-winx

Fandom: The Dirt (Motley Crue)

Summary: The reader is getting married to her fiancee Jerry and Tommy has feelings for her, but thinks that she's happy with Jerry so he doesn't say anything. Looks can be deceiving though.

Warning: Domestic abuse mention, swearing, fluff. If any of these makes you uncomfortable please don't read.

Things were all ready for the wedding, just a few weeks away. You were happy to be marrying Jerry, the love of your life. He had his moments, but he was only human. We all have our faults, like you couldn't cook for shit or do housework correctly. Of course, you'd never even thought of doing housework when you were going to university for finance. You were the top of your class, graduating valedictorian will a full ride to the best business school in the country. Then you met Jerry and everything changed.

He told you of all the things he'd do for you when your first got together- get a job so you'd never have to work, stay home and take care of the house and eventual children. That seemed like a beautiful dream, then he started doing things to hinder your chances at being your own person. Like hiding your acceptance letter from business school and the accompanying forms for you to fill out. He only mentioned it after you asked about it, which of course was after you called the school to see what was taking so long. By that time, the acceptance date had passed.

You got into a screaming match with him, and in the middle of a sentence, that was the first time he hit you. The both of you were stunned into silence, before you left the apartment you shared with him and went to your mother's house. There, you got yet another shock when she said "It's your fault he hit you. You should give up on your silly dream and settle down" you mother had always been the traditional housewife and all you saw was a miserable shell of what she used to be. You then left her house and went to a hotel for a few days.

Then you made the biggest mistake of your life-you went crawling back to Jerry begging for forgiveness. He took you in and said "Now don't make me hit you again, Y/N" you looked to the ground in shame. He let you apply to the school again, but he had to know all the names of your teachers, classmates, when you had class and when you'd be home. If you were even a few minutes late, you'd be in one of your lover's quarrels again.

In time, you got a job in an accounting firm as a financial advisor to one Mick Mars, the guitarist from the notorious rock band Motley Crue. He seemed cool at first but when you saw notes in his financial record for $10,000 loans under the tag "snacks" you knew you were dealing with a substance abuser. You looked up at him during one of your weekly meetings and said "Mr. Mars, if you keep taking out loans for 'snacks' you will be bankrupt in four months" you didn't care about what he did, but if he didn't have enough money to pay you to keep his checkbook balanced then you'd have to drop one of your most notable clients-an event that would have ended your career.

"Okay Miss L/N" he sighed, getting up with a grunt. He had disclosed his medical condition to you, and you felt for him. You would make sure that he'd have enough money for medications and treatment, even if it meant that you'd secretly put some of your own money in his account. He remained quiet a moment then asked "Would you like a drink with me when you get off?"

You were taken aback by this offer, but it had been a long time since you had a drink with another person. Jerry never let you go anywhere without him-even to your mother's house on holidays. He'd even call you at work multiple times a day to see what you were doing, and if you didn't answer he'd interrogate you when you got home, accuse you of cheating on him and he'd hit you again. "Just a quick drink wouldn't hurt" you smiled at Mick, since you'd be off the clock in a few minutes anyway.

When you drank with him, you found him much more interesting than you originally thought. He was only a year or two older than you and you'd been his financial advisor for over a year now. You felt a real connection with him and he was a perfect gentleman. You started talking about Jerry, how he never lets you do anything and you always had to be on call for him. Mick looked at you with utter shock. "If he's such an asshole to you, then why are you with him?"

"I don't know" you answered truthfully, playing with your engagement ring "he's the only one who talked to me when I was in school, the only man to show interest in a nerd like me..."

"That's not a reason to marry someone" he told you "Hell, even dating him sounds like a nightmare!" he laughed, but you just shuddered. You became very uncomfortable at that point and excused yourself, saying you'd see him at next weeks client meeting.

After you'd left, Mick scolded himself. "I'm such a goddamned idiot..." he had liked you from the first client meeting. You were intelligent, courteous and explained everything in layman's terms so he'd understand what you were doing for him. He was quite impressed at the delicate way you told him to stop with the "snack" runs. The last few financial advisors he'd hired cursed him out and dropped him as a client after a month. He sat at the bar and sighed, taking a swig of vodka.

Jerry was waiting for you when you came in "Who was that old dude you were just with at the bar?" in the calmest tone he could muster. The pit of your stomach fell through, knowing that tone meant a beating.

"Just one of my clients" you choked out "we had a weekly meeting today and he invited me for a drink afterward..."

"Is that so?" Jerry got up and grabbed your wrist tightly "are you fucking him too?"

"Jerry, let go" you winced "You're hurting me..."

"ARE YOU FUCKING HIM LIKE THE LITTLE SLUT YOU ARE?!" this was the last thing you remember before he hit you again.

The next morning, you surveyed the damage to your face-a black eye and a busted lip. Your eyes started tearing up as you put on make-up to cover the injuries. The looks you got at the office were a mixture of sadness, horror and pity. This you expected after a beating, but what you didn't expect was Mick Mars coming in to apologize for saying what he did last night. He took a good look at your face "What the fuck happened?!"

"It's nothing..." you assured him.

"A black eye and split lip isn't nothing! Who did that to you?!"

It was then your best friend Lily walked by and answered "Her good for nothing, woman beatin' fiancee!"

"Lily!" you scolded "I told you that in confidence!"

"Yeah!" Lily shot back "I am confident that man'll kill you if you don't leave his sorry ass! Hell, you can come stay with me a while! Me and Johnny love havin' you around!" Johnny being her husband.

Mick looked like he was about to explode in rage "Or me! I wouldn't mind having you in Mars Mountain with me!" that being the name he'd chosen for his residence, as he bought a whole mountain for himself. Lily looked Mick up and down in a playful, quizzical manner. He grew annoyed and said "What?"

She smiled and said "Nothin'" she shuffled some papers on the desk "Just that I've been seein' the glances you been eye'n Y/N with ever since she took you on as a client" her tone had changed from serious to flirty.

He blushed a little and said "I have no idea what you're talking about..."

"Don't play dumb! You've wanted to hold her in your arms for a long, long time!"

You too were blushing, you having the same thought from time to time. Just the other night, you dreamed that you were getting married to him instead of Jerry, and you were happy. You cleared your throat and said "Mr. Mars, if you have no other business today, please leave..."

He bit his lip and showed himself out, after he left you chewed out Lily for bringing your personal business to a client. "Girl, when are you gonna see that man isn't fit to be your pool boy much less your husband! Does he have to put you in the hospital for you to leave him?!"

"Jerry loves me! He just gets rough sometimes!" you defended him.

Lily stared at you like you had seven heads. "That isn't what love is, Y/N! He loves the control you let him have over you! That man you just put out" she motioned to the door "that man loves you!"

"How do you know that?" you asked sarcastically.

"Because he looks at you the same way my husband still looks at me after ten years of marriage!" she slammed her hands on the desk "he even offered his home to you, you stupid bitch!"

That was all you could take for today, so you informed your supervisor that you'd be taking the rest of the day off and to cancel all your appointments. This was a rare thing for you so you'd been granted the off time right away. You went back to the apartment and went to sleep. When you woke up, Jerry had come home and asked "What are you doing home?" in the calm, dangerous voice.

"I had a bad day at work, so I came home to chill out" you wiped your eyes.

"Were you waiting for your other boyfriend? The old guy from the bar?" he asked.

"No!" you got up to defend yourself "Yes, he came by the office but that was to apologize for something he said yesterday!" you then felt his hands around your neck and squeeze. You were gasping for air, hearing the words "slut", "tramp" and "I'll kill you" before the world began to shrink and spin, until there was only black.

The next week, Mick went to his meeting with Miss L/N as usual, but he was greeted by Lily, who had taken all of Y/N appointments for her. In her most professional voice, she said "I'm very sorry Mr. Mars, but Miss L/N is indisposed for a few days" she was writing something on a note card and slide it over to him "If you'd like to reschedule for when she comes back, I'd be more than happy to set that up for you!"

"No, that's okay" he read the card, putting it in his coat pocket "Please let her know that I stopped by" he shook Lily's hand.

"Go save that woman from that devil, ya hear me?" he nodded and walked to a payphone, where he dialed three numbers and asked for the same favor from all three recipients. They all know it had to be serious-Mick Mars never asked for favors.

The note card read "L.A. General Hospital. Room 342" he knew from experience that the third floor of L.A. General was the intensive care floor, so you HAD to be in a bad way. He was met by Vince, Tommy and Nikki at the door and they all made their way to 342. He wasn't ready to see you in a comatose state with a tube breathing for you. He was expecting Jerry to be there, but he was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey Doc" Mick pulled the doctor inside the room "What the fuck happened?"

The doctor looked over the chart and said "From what her fiancee told us, she tried to hang herself with a leather belt" he was skeptical and added "but those bruises look an awful lot like hand prints, wouldn't you agree?"

The four of them nodded their agreement when Tommy asked "Where is her fiancee now?"

"Jail" the doctor said "we didn't believe his story one bit and the police investigated the scene, found no belt in the apartment at all and questioned some of her coworkers" Mick gulped and his eyes began to water.

"How long's she been like this?" he nervously asked, his band mates putting their arms around him to comfort him.

"Six days" the doctor answered "she does show signs of improvement, brain activity and such. The bastard crushed her windpipe..." the doctor had gotten angry.

"So there's a chance she'll wake up?" Vince asked, Mick too distraught to continue.

The doctor smiled "She's stronger than she gives herself credit for. She was dead when they bought her in. She gets better everyday."

Mick had composed himself and asked "Has she said anything since..." he couldn't finish the sentence.

"She keeps saying 'Mick' from time to time. Who Mick is, we don't know" Mick smiled a weak grin, but he went to sit next to you and held your hand. The doctor had a spark of realization and he excused himself, explaining that if they had any more questions, just ask him.

"So what do you want us to do now, Mick?" Nikki asked him.

"Go to her apartment, pack her stuff and take it to Mars Mountain" he interlocked his fingers with yours "Go to Underhill Financial Advisors, ask for Lily Collins. Explain who you are and what's happened. She'll give you everything you need" they did as they were asked and Lily did help them, her and her husband Johnny helping move your things to Mick's house.

A few days later, your eye fluttered open. The tube having been removed from your throat seeing as it wasn't needed any longer. The day Mick came to you and held your hand like a lover for the first time, you began breathing on your own. You looked around gathering your surroundings. Mick felt you stir and he looked down at you "Y/N?"

"Mick? Where am I?" you said in a hoarse voice, you flinching at the pain it caused you to talk.

"The hospital" he answered "Jerry choked you into a coma about a week and a half ago" you bolted upright at the mention of Jerry's name. Not out of concern, but out of fear he'd come back to finish you.

"Is he here?!" you looked like a scared meerkat, scanning the area for danger.

"No, honey he's in jail" he stroked your hair lovingly "he can't hurt you any more..."

You cried silent tears of relief as he comforted you, thoughts of what that man put you through the last three years melting off you like wax. "What about the apartment?" you asked him, looking up with your big E/C doe eyes.

"My friends, Lily and Johnny moved all your stuff into my place" he said, kissing your hand "if you'll have me that is."

"Mind if we take it slow?" you asked.

"Of course, honey" he then kissed your forehead "We have all the time in the world."

#motley crue #mötley crüe #mick mars #motley crue imagine #mötley crüe imagine #mick mars imagine #motley crue fanfiction #mötley crüe fanfiction #mick mars fanfiction #submitted #not mine #submission

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mrchalamet-mrstyles · 5 years

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2018 Fic Year in Review

@perpetuallyvex kindly tagged me in this. Thank you, Vex. I love and miss you and can’t wait to see you in a couple of months xoxo

1. Number of stories (including drabbles) posted to AO3:

I can’t believe it, but in 2018 I posted 13 stories to AO3. It’s the most I’ve ever written and why I am so grateful to have discovered CMBYN. It inspired me to rediscover my love of writing and for that I will always be grateful.

2. Word count posted for the year:

Looking up this number blew my mind because I had no idea it was that much, but I apparently have posted 187,055 words in 2018- what??? That is the most I’ve ever posted, even during my Sherlock fic writing years.

3. List of works published this year (in order of posting):

the feeling still deep down This was the first fic I wrote back in January 2018. Timmy/Armie RPF. It was prompted by discussions in a group chat and became the first installment in my Futile Devices series which is my take on bts vignettes between Timmy’s birthday in 2017 and PSIFF 2018.

eyes like sky Continuation of the feeling still deep down, from Armie’s pov

Buttons an angsty porny one-off about that sweater. You know the one.

save a prayer It was a prompt I couldn’t resist. Rentboy!Timmy and Armie the actor. But it turned out to be so much more than I bargained for. Still a WIP but will be completed because I owe it to these characters for everything they have given me.

Between the Lines co-written with @694699 this fic took on a life of its own. Following the manic success of CMBYN, the boys’ careers are at an all time high.Timmy’s in London, filming The King. Armie’s in New York for his run in Straight White Men. Their friendship as strong as it ever was, they are still being lauded for their work in Italy, directors are fighting over themselves to work with them, they should be on top of the world.So why aren’t they?A peek into their world via all forms of communication.

white ferrari part 3 in the Futile Devices series. Timmy returns to New York but is in a really bad place. Armie continues to struggle.

la muvi star A slice of life, bit of bts from my fic Save a Prayer.

delicate It's 'technically' a college AU. Armie is the star quarterback, Timmy the kicker. But none of that is really important or even needed to know in order to read this. It was just an excuse to write these two getting it on. Finally. And, Armie is only a couple of years older than Timmy.

once bitten A coffeeshop AU of sorts.

pink+white part 4 in the Futile Devices series

special delivery an excuse to write some porn with a twist?

flicker This time last year, there would have been someone keeping an eye on it for him, taking the glass from his hand, waving off the waiter with a firm blue stare to keep him from overindulging. This year was… different. He was a real boy now. Grown up and on his own. It was fun, just not the same. My first foray into Stylamet territory (Timothée Chalamet and Harry Styles)

collaboration Inspired by Tim and Harry’s interview in i-D Vice mag.

4. Fandoms I wrote for:

I guess CMBYN is ‘technically’ the fandom, and Harry Styles fandom?

5. Pairings:

Timmy/Armie and Timmy/Harry

6. Story with the most hits:

Between the Lines with an astonishing 34.864 hits!

7. Story with the most kudos:

I am so proud to say that save a prayer received the most with a staggering 1347 kudos!

8. Story with the most comments:

Between the Lines has 2693 comments, but 6 and I both tried to respond to everything in the beginning, so the numbers may be skewed a bit due to that.

save a prayer received 1665 comments which I think is nothing to sneeze at for a solo act.

9. Work I’m most proud of (and why):

I am definitely most proud of save a prayer. I started that fic with the idea to make it a sexy, cute romp but somewhere along the way, those boys decided they really had some issues to work out. It’s not been an easy ride, but it’s helped me in ways I never saw coming. It was the first Timmy/Armie AU in this fandom, and I’ll always be proud of that.

I’m also really proud of the Futile Devices series. There’s something very pure and ‘true’ about this series.

10. Work I’m least proud of (and why):

It’s not that I’m not proud of them all, but I know there are some that could definitely be better, given more time, but I’ll leave that up to readers to decide.

11. A favorite excerpt of your writing:

“Really? Then tell me, Armie Hammer , these real friends, how many of them know you can’t sleep at night? How many of them know you are scared fucking shitless about this film coming out?” Timmy steps up close, lifting his chin, close enough they are nearly chest to chest. Armie holds his breath. “How many of them know you want to fuck a rentboy while you have him tied up and defenseless? No wonder you’re divorced. Does your ex know what a fucking pervert you are?”

Armie shoves him before he knows what he’s done and Timmy stumbles back, somehow managing to stay upright, his face a study in shock.

Armie is shaking, fighting the urge to hit something. He’s so much bigger, stronger, than Timmy; knows it would take nothing to really hurt him. He doesn’t want Timmy to become his target— a victim in yet another instance of his life— so Armie moves away, shoving his hands in the pockets of his track pants.

He has no idea what to say. There is no response, not an honest one. Everything Timmy said, he knows is somehow the truth. No one knows him. Not really. And he hates it. Armie never meant for it to be this way, unclear exactly how it had— isolated and lonely.

“You’re right. No one knows. I don’t even know how you know.”

Floor to ceiling windows flank the fireplace of Armie’s living room. He makes his way over to stand, looking past his own shallow reflection to the ocean beyond, black and endless.

Armie isn’t sure how long he’s stood there and knows he probably could have stood there forever if Timmy hadn’t spoken up.

“Sorry,” his voice barely loud enough to hear from where Armie stands.

Armie shrugs and looks at Timmy’s reflection behind him in the glass. Their eyes meet before Armie lifts his hand, pressing it against the cool, smooth surface— the only safe way he knows how to touch Timmy.

12. Share or describe a favorite review you received:

Man, they’re all like my children, I can’t pick just one. I do have to say that I’ve never before experienced the kind of feedback and heartfelt messages that I’ve garnered from a lot of my fic. To have people tell me that I’ve inspired them? That they re-read my fics. It’s what every writer dreams of hearing.

13. A time when writing was really, really hard:

The last half of 2018 was hard for me. Health issues, personal issues, fandom issues. It was a tsunami of funk that left me reeling and without the desire to get words on the page. I waffled on the daily on whether to delete everything entirely, whether it was worth the trouble to try and post anything for this fandom anymore. I think I’ve started to turn a page and have listened to friends and supporters, starting now to remember and understand I have to write for myself first. It’s all for the love of whatever I decide to write. That’s what matters most.

14. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you:

Timmy in save a prayer surprised me most. He’s helped me in ways I never imagined.

15. How did you grow as a writer this year:

This is a hard question. I think I’ve learned the value in less is more. Streamlining words for maximum impact. Realising I value substance over flash. I need a story and not just sexy times or that sex isn’t the most integral part of a really well told story. I think, moreso in this fandom than any other I’ve ever been in, that that’s become the case and it’s just not something I’m interested in.

16. How do you hope to grow next year:

I definitely plan on finishing things in 2019. Working on original fic and branching out into other fandoms, maybe. I want to get back to writing for the love of a story. That is a feeling like no other and I miss it.

17. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc):

Hands down that would have to be @iknowthebattle. Her unwavering support and guidance and friendship has seen me through some really hard times. But her writing inspires me beyond anything else and I strive with every word I put down to somehow try to live up to her standards. (I never will because, jesus, she’s the real deal)

And of course, I have to steal Vex’s answer here too and say, the READERS. Every last one of you that have messaged me with love and heartfelt support, to keep going, the comments and all the lovely praise, it doesn’t go unread or unnoticed and definitely makes me want to keep writing. Thank you all so very much. <3

18. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year:

Surprisingly, yes. And I didn’t see it coming when I started it, but save a prayer and Timmy’s struggle became my own as I worked through issues I thought I’d long put behind me.

19. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

Cheesy as it sounds- just do it. Who cares if it’s been done before, if it’s a trope we’ve seen a million times? No one has done it the way you will do it. It is true, the more you write, the better you get. Just keep at it. Let life inspire you. Fill the world with your words and love.

20. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year:

I have a couple of ideas and half-formed fics in my drafts that I hope will see the light of day this year. I know I want to finish save a prayer and try to publish it at some point as original fic. But there’s not rush. I’m not sure where I go from here. Timmy/Armie RPF may not be something I write anymore once these fics are finished, so the world is mine for the picking I guess.

21. Tag some writers whose answers you’d like to read:

I’ll tag a couple of fandom writers that really inspire me- @iknowthebattle @etal-later @dreamofhorses42 @cumpeachx

And, @cristinasea, I know you don’t write, but you are such a prolific reader and just the bestest pal, we need to come up with one of these for readers, to get your perspective. Maybe we can chat about it ;)

Thanks again, @perpetuallyvex for the tag. This turned out like a walk down memory lane. <3

#2018 fic year in review

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wellhellotragic · 6 years

Text

Dreaming of a Pink Christmas

Summary: Emma Swan despises the pink christmas tree currently living in her apartment. It's nothing short of an abomination. But when Emma decides to replace it with a freshly chopped tree of her own, Her bug gets stuck in a storm, and she'd forced to call the last person she ever wanted to see again. The man that broke her heart. Also on AO3.

Rating: Mature (there’s smut)

A/N: Imagine signing up for the CSSecretSanta and waiting patiently for a name to be assigned you, and when it finally come you're just like crap. Not because you've been assigned a person you don't care for, but you've been given someone who is just leaps and bounds above the cut in fiction writing. Someone whose work everyone in the fandom loves an adores. And then you realize that you have to write a fic for them. Ya, no pressure there.

So with that said, this is my CSSS gift for the lovely @alexandralyman. (Surprise!) She asked for angst and I hope I've delivered. There's a bit of humor tossed in too. I wasn't able to fit in forced bed sharing like you'd mention, but there is force cohabitation and definite bed sharing. I hope you like it Alex, and Merry Christmas!

I was mostly joking when I told people that this was going to be 10K, but apparently I have no self-control and it just kept growing and growing.

(P.S. If you've never seen Sandra Lee's Kawanzaa cake, you might want to check it out on youtube before reading this fic!)

Another A/N: I also want to thank @best-left-hook-jones first and foremost for kindly helping me polish this bad boy over. I had this vague idea of Emma hating on MM's princess themed tree that was inspired by a conversation we had on different types of Christmas trees. There were pink ones, white ones, upside down ones. There are even ones that look like dresses on mannequins. Then after talking to Alex, everything seemed to fall into place. 10K later, Best-left saved this fic from being tossed in the garbage.

I'd also like to thank @optomisticgirl and @distant-rose for helping me brainstorm. I've never been to a tree farm or to a tree chopping so I had no clue what I was talking about. Boston isn't exactly the prime spot for me to have set this story, as there aren't any actually forests with evergreen trees near by, but if A&E can throw logic out the window, so can I!

Have a Merry Christmas everyone (or whatever holiday you celebrate!)

Word Count: 10K+

Dreaming of a Pink Christmas

Emma lay in bed, waiting until the she heard the roaring of David’s engine fading down the street. As much as she loved her roommate, and even her roommate’s boyfriend, there was only so much of the sickeningly sweet couple she could take. On a normal day, Mary Margaret was someone who Emma felt completely comfortable around, but the holidays brought out the monstrously sappy side in her best friend, and with it an overly motherly quality.

Emma, I have this friend who would be perfect for you.

Emma, I can’t just let you spend the holidays alone.

Emma, there’s somebody out there for you. I just know it!

So when David invited Mary Margaret to come home with him to meet his mother, and Mary Margaret systematically invited Emma to tag along, Emma quickly came up with an excuse to remain in Boston. Family had never really been her thing - not that she’d ever had enough experience with them to really know. Her knowledge base came from watching her friends. The sentimentality of missing them in complete conflict with the reality of being trapped in a house for a week, tense dinners, arguing. None of it was her.

No. Instead she told Mary Margaret that she’d picked up some extra shifts at the stations so that a few of her colleagues could spend time with their families. Technically speaking, she’d offered, but her captain had told her that she had enough man power. Still, Emma had insisted on them leaving her on the oncall list if something came up.

And that’s how Emma Swan found herself hiding out in her room Christmas Eve morning like a coward. Once she was sure that not only were they gone, but also far enough out of town to not pop back in for something forgotten, she forced herself out of bed.

What greeted her downstairs was an abomination. There was no other term fitting for the montorous pink christmas tree Mary Margaret had purchased for their apartment that year. There had been mention of how it reminded her of a tree fit for a princess. Emma just thought it looked like someone had soaked it in pepto bismol. Standing at seven feet tall, it dwarfed the room, and no matter where she stood, it seemed to taunt her from it’s spot near the door.

She hated it. Plain and simple. Four more days. She just need to ignore it for four more days and then Mary Margaret would be home again dismantling the atrocity and preparing for the next holiday. Originally, Mary Margaret had wanted to keep it up through the New Years, but Emma had been adamant that it shouldn’t be there at all. As a compromise, David had promised that he would make sure it was down before their New Year’s party. For Emma’s part, she just had to let it stay in the apartment.

Frustrated, Emma marched into the kitchen, digging out a bowl and spoon for her morning cereal. She sat at the bar, facing away from the tree. If she couldn’t see it, it didn’t exist. But as she sat there, eating her second bowl of lucky charms, her disdain for the tree grew.

Screw it.

She’d promised to let the tree stay in the apartment, not that she’d let it stay in the living room. It was a wonder that the bowl didn’t break when she tossed it into the sink. Pausing in front of the tree, hands on her hips, Emma took a moment to ready herself. It was a big tree and was going to take a lot of effort to move.

Her roommate had already strung lights and ornaments in the tree, so taking the tree apart and moving it in sections was out of the question. Instead, she walked to the backside of the pink monstrosity and began pushing it towards Mary Margaret’s room. It was heavier than she’d expected, and the stupid tree base may or may not have made a gouge in the old wooden floors. She’d have to remember to cover that up with a rug before anyone saw it.

She took a break halfway through to regain her breath. Her arms were scratched from the fake leaves, which only reignited her fury towards the beast. Refocused, she pushed it to the threshold of Mary Margaret’s room, where it quickly became stuck in the door jam. Try as hard as she might, she couldn’t get the whole thing across the metal lip, and after an intense battle, she conceded defeat. The pink tree would remain in sight, but Emma was content with it being much less prominent.

Unfortunately, she hadn’t realized just how accustomed she had become to the imposing pink presence, and the gap left behind was just a bit unsettling. It was another reminder of a holiday she had never been able to have as a child. Growing up in foster homes and group homes normally meant that Emma was shuffled around a lot. There was something about the holidays that made people want to spend time with their families - just their families - and she’d get shipped back before any presents could be wrapped with her name on them. There was never a tree, never a stocking, and never a santa. Just a sad lonely little girl.

Damn it.

She was almost thirty years old, and while there may not be some mystical grey haired man bringing her presents at midnight, she at least deserved to have a tree. A normal green freshly cut tree.

She quickly got bundled up in her warmest outfit and headed to her bug. It gave a groan of protest as she started it up, the engine sputtering loudly. It was only a matter of time before the damn thing gave up on her completely, but she wasn’t ready to part with it just yet. Once the dial on the dashboard had finally moved up enough to signal that the engine was warm enough to drive around without dying she set off for the hardware store.

The first one was a small mom-and-pop type store three blocks from her place. It was only after she’d parked and walked up to the door to find the shop locked down with all of the lights out that she remembered it was Christmas Eve and nearly every store was going to be closed. She ran back to the bug, willing the heater to work, and pulled up a search for ‘hardware stores’ on her phone. Luck was on her side; one of the larger chains was staying open until six for last minute shoppers, and it was on the way to the tree farm she’d read about at work the other day.

The hardware store was packed. She’d largely underestimated the number of people buying toolboxes, new appliances, and whatever else significant others gave each other to say ‘I love you’. It took her twenty minutes of rummaging around the store to find the saw, rope, and tree stand she needed, and another thirty minutes of standing in line before she was able to check out. The day was slowly slipping away. Not that she minded. She didn’t exactly have a schedule to keep.

According to the flier pinned up to the corkboard in the police station break room, the ‘Happily Evergreen After’ tree farm, was just ten miles from her place. With any luck she’d be home in less than an hour.

But, of course, Emma Swan wasn’t exactly a beacon for luck, and what the flier hadn’t advertised was that people had to pay $65 to chop down their own trees.

“You can’t be serious,” she exclaimed, staring at the sign posted at the lot entrance. “I’m the one doing all the work!”

The owner of the farm, a man dressed like a medieval Robin Hood, hadn’t taken kindly to Emma’s ranting, and as Emma got in her care to make a show of leaving, she’d mumbled under her breath that they should be arrested for highway robbery.

Totally vexed by the con that were tree farms, Emma found herself on auto pilot out of the city. If she were going to do all of the work of cutting down the tree and tying it up to her bug, she wasn’t going to pay some astronomical amount.

It wasn’t until almost an hour later that Emma found herself coming to a stop on the side of the road. Off to the right was a forest, the perfect place to find the perfect tree - especially one that didn’t cost a bloody $65 to cut down. She parked her bug in the grassy area, as close as possible so she wouldn’t need to drag her tree too far.

As she wandered through the wooded area, she couldn’t help but think that this wasn’t what it was supposed to be like, at least, that’s what it was like in the movies. Instead, she found her boots sinking into deep pockets of snow, and she was sure she was spending more time struggling to stay upright than actually walking.

When she stumbled on the six foot evergreen, she knew it was perfect. It was taller than her, but not so wide that it would get stuck coming through the door. She may not have any experience with Christmas trees, but she was no Clark Griswold. Setting down the rope, she gripped the small saw she had purchased as started working on the base of the tree. Another thing she hadn’t anticipated; tree bases were not easy to cut through. The saw kept getting stuck and her hands were freezing cold. By the time the tree was finished, the temperature had started to drop and the sun was much lower than it had been when she set out.

It didn’t help that she’d made more than a few turns while searching for the tree and getting back to the bug wasn’t exactly a straight path. Not to mention the fact that the tree was deceptively heavy, and it was only due to the combination of ropes and police training that she managed to drag the tree along at all.

By the time she’d managed to get the tree up on top of her bug, the sun had begun to set dangerously low on the horizon. The snow fall had begun to pick up as well, and she knew that time was running out if she wanted to get home before the storm hit. She tied the tree down using the entire length of the rope, fastening it to the roof of the car in a way that prevented her from rolling the windows up all the way. She knew getting home with it was going to be miserable, but she’d been through worse.The bug groaned as it came to life, and once again she waited for it to warm up before she tried to pull back out onto the road.

Mother nature had other ideas though.

As her tires spun out she realized that it had been just warm enough during the day to melt some of the snow, but as the day drew to an end, ice had form in its wake, and she was stuck.She gunned the engine one more time, but the bug only slid around. Emma started to worry. There was no way she was going to make it home in the bug, and she didn’t have enough gas to keep the heater running all night.

Her options were limited, given that most of her friends had left town to visit family. In fact, she didn’t actually know if anyone was still in Massachussetts, let alone close enough to Boston to help her.

Pulling out her phone, she found Mary Margaret’s number and hit dial.

“Hey Emma.”

Her friend’s chirpy, optimistic side was the last thing she wanted to deal with in her frustration.

“Hey, I’m in a hurry, but do you know anyone who might still be in Boston right now?”

There was a pause, her friend obviously contemplating the answer.

“Honestly, I’m not sure. I know Ruby is but she’s working the night shift right now. Have you tried Liam? I think he said he and Elsa weren’t heading out to Anna’s until tomorrow.”

Liam. Not her first pick, but there were certainly people further down the list.

“Okay, thanks. I’ll try him.”

Emma hit end on the phone before her roommate could ask what was wrong - or worse yet, suggest calling a different Jones.

Looking through her phone, she realised she didn’t have Liam’s number. Odd, since they’d been friends - or at least acquaintances - for years now. She did, however, have his fiancee’s number.

“Hello,” came a male voice. “Elsa’s phone.” Damn, she was really hoping her friend would answer instead.

“Hey Liam.” She hesitated. Clearly she needed help, but she had never been very good at asking for it. “Are you in town by any chance?”

There was a sigh.

“Sorry, lass, but we left early this morning. Elsa was worried about the storm blocking our path to Anna’s house. Why?”

“Um, it’s nothing really. Do you know of anyone else who might be staying local this weekend?”

Please don’t let it be him. Please God.

“You’re not going to like it,” No. “but the only one I know of is Killian. He was supposed to come with us but something came up at work and he had to stay behind.”

Killian Jones. The man that had broken her heart one year ago. The man she had vowed never to speak to again.

“And there’s no one else?”

“Afraid not.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

She’d deleted his number from her phone in hopes of avoiding any drunken temptations to call him, but there was still one text message she couldn’t ever bring herself to delete, and with it, seven digits burned into her phone, unassigned.

One ring. Two rings.

“Swan?”

He sounded worried.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No, I just- you never call. I figured it was an emergency or something.”

True. She hadn’t dialed that number in over a year, having cut off all communication with him.

“Ya, well. Um- Are you still in Boston?”

She explained the situation and, without any of his usual teasing, he asked her to send him her GPS location and informed her that he’d be there as soon as he could.

As she sat in the bug, her traitorous thoughts drifted to him and that night. The night when everything had gone wrong. Killian and Emma had become close since he’d moved to Boston two years earlier. He’d finished up his degree in mechanical engineering at Stanford before taking a position at a local maritime company that designed boats. When a position had become available in Boston, he’d jumped at the opportunity to live near his brother.

Quickly, Killian had become a fixture in their group of misfits, and had become Emma’s best friend. The problem was that she’d fallen for him almost immediately, a fact that only grew more depressing as it slowly became clear that her feelings would not be returned. With his inky black hair and piercing blue eyes, he was beyond attractive. Women flocked to him in droves at the bar, and he was never lacking for companionship options. Emma would always make an excuse to leave before she had to watch him leave arm and arm with the newest flavor of the week, but judging from the way Victor Whale spoke, Killian had bedded half of Boston in their first year.

He was a flirt, she’d known that from the beginning, but after a while, she started to hope that maybe there was a chance that they could be more, that he’d see her as more. His eyes would linger on hers just a little bit longer each time the saw each other. He’d always wrap his arm around her waist as they’d wait for their turn at the pool table. And the night before the previous Christmas party, they’d nearly kissed. Ruby had interrupted them, and though neither had ever acknowledged what had almost happened, it had been enough to give Emma hope.

He was quicker than she’d expected, which could have only meant that he’d driven faster than what would have been deemed safe given the weather. He probably had other plans to get back to, someone else to get back to. That idea was enough to make her stomach twist.

As they worked silently in tandem removing the rope from Emma’s bug, she became hyper aware of his presence, of every accidental touch of hands and brush of shoulders. Together, they shifted the tree into the back of his truck and he re-tied it down in the bed while she grabbed the tree stand out of her back seat.

“I’m afraid the bug may be a lost cause tonight, but we can try to come back for it tomorrow if you’d like. Or I’m sure Ruby could bring you out if you’d prefer.”

It was the only thing he said as they both crawled into the cab of his truck. He started it up and shifted the truck into four wheel drive mode, easily moving back onto the street towards Boston. A few minutes later, Emma began to feel warmer than she had all night, only just noticing that he had turned her seat warmer on for him. They remained quiet the rest of the way back to her apartment as she replayed that night in her head.

Emma Swan was not a baker. She could cook enough to get by, but anything that required more than four ingredients was generally considered a lost cause on her end. So when she had come across a festive cake recipe online that was labeled as “semi-homemade” she’d jumped at the opportunity to try it. If she played her cards right, she might even be able to impress everyone at their annual Friendsmas party. Sure, the cake was considered a harvest cake, but it seemed festive and easy enough.

Killian had showed up early, halfway through her working on her cake. She’d paused the demonstration video just past the instructions on how to mix the icing. Killian had joined her in the kitchen and had narrowed his eyes as he’d watched her place the tan colored icing in and around the angel food cake.

It wasn’t until she had been opening a can of pie filling that Killian had seemed to take more interest in the cake, asking her what it was. She’d explained that she’d found it online and that it had over six thousand ‘thumbs ups’.

“Swan, are you sure about this?”

“Of course. Look at it. There’s almost two million hits on this thing. It’s like ‘the thing to make’ this season or something.”

She’d heard him mumble ‘or something’, but kept going, adding the acorns and pumpkin seeds, although her acorns looked different from the video, but she’d just chalked that up to using a different brand.

She had been just adding the last candle to the top of her cake when the doorbell had rung. She’d called out for Mary Margaret to answer it, but her friend had still been in the shower.

“Killian, can you grab the cake and move it onto the dessert table while I get the door?”

She hadn’t waited for his answer as she’d run to the door to greet Ruby. But when she’d heard the clatter of tin hitting hardwood, she’d come back to find the cake she’d been so proud of all over the floor. Her eyes had glanced up to Killian to see an apology on the tip of his tongue. But it hadn’t been real. He had been lying when he’d said it had been an accident.

“I’m sorry Swan. The candles set the balance off and I couldn’t catch it in time.”

He’d held his fake hand out as evidence, but Emma was unconvinced. She’d seen him do plenty with his prosthetic, and knew that he was more than capable with or without it. No, he’d done it on purpose. That much she was sure of. She just didn’t know why.

It didn’t matter, though. The damage had been done and her best friend had just lied to her face.

There had been an argument, words had been said, and in a tantrum, Emma had left the apartment, making sure not to return until she had been certain he’d left. It was the last time she spoken to him, the last time she’d heard his voice.

It was completely dark out as they returned to her apartment. The street lights in front of Emma’s apartment were out, just as they had been for the last three weeks - Boston wasn’t exactly know for keeping up with public works during the winter time - so Killian insisted on leaving his truck lights on so they could see where they were going. Together they hauled the tree inside the loft style building. Emma and Mary Margaret's apartment was mostly situated on the third floor of the building, but Emma’s room ran up to the fourth floor, and as with many older buildings, their wasn’t an elevator.

“Where did you want it?”

He’d taken the heavier end of the tree, and was clearly a bit tired from trying to finagle up to her floor.

“Hold on.”

Emma pulled the tree stand out of her bag and set it on the floor, moving it just slightly in every direction until she felt it was perfectly centered on the wall.

“There.”

While she’d been playing with the tree stand, he’d removed his coat, revealing his favorite red t-shirt over a green long sleeved henley. The shirt had come from his alma-mater - a graduation gift from Liam - and Killian always wore it proudly, especially at Christmas time. Stanford’s mascot was a worse for the wear tree of some sort that he said looked festive. She’d loved him in that shirt.

He lifted the tree and placed it in the stand, asking her to hold it steady as he screwed the trunk in place. She couldn’t help but notice the way his back muscles flexed as he worked, and she mentally chastised herself for noticing. There was no point in going down that road, not anymore.

“Okay, well you should be all set now.”

She should have thanked him, offered him something to drink. That’s what polite company would have done, but Emma was a mess. Memories had turned her into an emotional wreck and she just needed him out of her apartment as soon as possible.

“So I guess I’ll just get going.”

She simply nodded and when he left she locked the door behind him, hoping her longing for him would follow. The snow had picked up, not quite yet a blizzard, but she knew he’d have a hard time seeing more than three foot in front of him. The eighteen blocks to his apartment would probably take an hour. She’d text him and make sure he got home later. It was the polite thing to do she told herself, ignoring the part of her that wasn’t quite as ready to let him go again as she had wished.

She was startled from her thoughts a few minutes later when a knock came from the door. Karma. That’s the only word she could come up with with the man stood before her once more.

“I’m sorry to put you out like this lo- lass, but my truck battery seems to be dead. Is there any way I could crash in Mary Margaret’s room. I’ll be out of your hair first thing in the morning and you won’t even notice I’m here.”

Yup. Karma. All of that no good deed goes unpunished crap. She just wasn't’ sure if it was hers or his karma at work. As much as she didn’t want him to stay, as much as she worried what she’d do if she was around him for too long, she knew she couldn’t send him back out to freeze to death.

She opened the door wider and ushered him in.

“Mary Margaret’s room is just down the hallway.”

Idiot. Of course he knew where her room was. He’d been there countless times. She was just at a complete loss as to what to say.

He nodded back and headed down the hallway to keep his word of hiding away. But that damn pink tree had struck again.

“Uh, Swan. This tree seems to be stuck. As in, stuck stuck. It’s really wedged in there.”

She’d forgotten about that. Damn.

“Oh right. Sorry. I guess you’ll have to take the couch. I’ll go grab you some sheets.”

He thanked her and she bolted up the stairs to her room, needing a few minutes to pull herself back together. She couldn’t avoid him forever though, not this time, and with all of the courage she could muster, she made her way back down stairs, handing a spare set of sheets. His hand grazed her slightly as he took them from her and sparks blazed across her fingers where their skin had touched.

He set to making up the pullout couch while Emma started wrapping lights around her newly acquired tree. Even if the situation had changed slightly, Emma was determined to wake up to a decorated Christmas tree. The lights she’d found had been a few extra strand in years passed. Some of the bulbs were burnt out, and only half of them twinkled anymore but it would have to do as all of the other lights were trapped in Mary Margaret’s doorway.

Killian was quiet, but she could feel him behind her, feel his eyes on her. When she’d finished stringing the lights she plugged them in and stood back, taking stock of her tree.

“It’s lovely.”

She hummed to herself in response.

It was awkward. Being around Killian, but not speaking to him. No playful banter. It left her unsettled.

“It’s still early. Would you like to find a movie to watch?”

A tiny grin flitted across his face but disappeared just as quickly. They both understood the offer for what is was. A temporary truce forced on the from circumstance.

“Sure thing.”

She left him with the remote to find something on netflix as she went to the kitchen to grab some snacks. She had a bottle of his favorite rum stashed away above the fridge, the christmas gift she’d never given him, but even now, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. It would have been too much like them, and they were them, not any more.

She grabbed two beers from David’s stash instead and made some popcorn. When she joined Killian again he had the tv paused on the title screen for Die Hard. An old inside joke at Liam’s expense. It was too much. “Um, can we watch something else instead?

“As you wish.”

He handed her the remote and she scrolled through the Christmas section until she landed on Love Actually. Everything else reminded her of him, of sitting on that couch together watching Christmas Movie marathons. She needed something they’d never seen together before.

The credits played and they both settled in to opposite ends of the now bedlike couch. They drank their beers, pausing midway for new ones. Once or twice they both reached for the popcorn at the same time, Killian always insisting that she go first. If it had been a year ago, she would have thought it perfect.

As the movie progressed, and scene with the necklace played, Emma’s thoughts returned to that fight.

She’d been an idiot. She knew that. She’d completely overreacted. Sometimes she forgot that she wasn’t in the system anymore, that not everyone was out to get her. It was just her stubborn pride that had kept her out so late. She couldn’t apologize to him in front of everyone. Not when she had made such a big scene.

So she waited. She waited for him to leave. She waited until she woke up. And then she waited as she stood in line as the coffee shop picking up his beverage of choice and his beloved healthy bagels as an apology.

And then she waited some more for him to answer the door, but he never did. It was Tink who greeted her, Tink who was wearing his blue button up from the night before. A shirt Emma had purchased for his birthday.

“Emma?”

“Hi. Uh- Is Killian here?”

Tink looked behind her for a second before shutting the door a bit more.

“He’s in the shower right now. I was about to-”

She didn’t finished, but Emma didn’t need her to. Tink was about to join him. Because they’d slept together.

He’d lied to her, broken her trust, and shattered her heart. And she’d let it happen. Let herself believe that she was somehow special to him. But she didn’t. She was just like every other girl. Just another notch on the bedpost.

“No, um. It’s fine. It’s nothing. You don’t even need to bother telling him I stopped by.”

Tink closed the door and Emma threw the coffee and breakfast out into the nearest trash can. It had been a miracle that she’d kept it together long enough to drive back to her apartment. But once she was safely behind the closed door of her bedroom, she let it all out. She wept for her stupidity, she wept for the friend she’d lost, and she wept for the loss of hope.

She ignored his texts and calls for three days. When he didn’t get the hint, she sent him back one last message.

Go to hell.

“Swan?”

“Hmm?”

“I asked if you’d like another beer?”

She must have zoned out for longer than she had realized.

“No, that’s okay.”

She was worried that if she drank to much she do something stupid, like tell him that even after all that time she was still in love with him.

He nodded and stayed in his seat, toying with the label of his empty beer bottle.

“Careful, love. If you tune out like that again I might get ideas of what your daydreaming about over there.”

Her eyes snapped up to him, caught off guard by his brazenness. That was the old Killian. That was before.

“And what would that be?”

“Well, you did choose the movie. A slightly romantic one.”

She wasn’t sure where it had come from, but wanted to wipe the smug grin off of his face.

“Oh, that. I just thought you could relate to Alan Rickman’s character.”

She looked over just in time to see his jaw clench and a haze cloudy over his face. His eyes never left the floor, and in that instant she realized she’d gone too far. A small smile tugged at his lips, but Emma recognized it for what is was.

Defeat.

In the past, she’d always believed it to be some sort of smug smirk. Something that told the world to fuck off because he was better than everyone else. But thinking back, it had been a defense mechanism. The same look he got when Liam was chastising him for something, the look he got when he spoke of Milah, and the look he got when she’d told him to go to hell that night.

It was the look of a man who’d lost all hope.

And she was the one that put it there.

He was off the couch and grabbing his coat before she could even swallow the lump that had formed in her throat.

“It looks like it’s died down a bit,” he started, gesturing towards the window.

The snow fall had died down but there was atleast a solid two foot of snow littering the sidewalks.

“I think I should be able to get home now so I won’t keep you any longer.”

“Killian-” She had to cut off her own words as she nearly stumbled trying to remove her legs from the tangle of blankets.

“Really, Swan. It’s getting late and I’m sure you have more important things to do than to entertain me.”

He was halfway out of the loft before she was able to catch him, wrapping her hand around his blunted wrist. He stilled, the muscles in his arm tensing beneath her touch.

“Killian, I didn’t mean you had to leave-”

“It’s not that far. I’ll be fine.”

God. How had this all turned around in her. Five minutes earlier she was seething over the memory of seeing him with Tink. Five minutes ago she was just hoping to get through the night without any more awkwardness.

“Is that really how you see me?”

Her brow furrowed in confusion.

“What?”

“Is that how you see me? As an adulterous letch who only cares about himself?”

Milah.

How could she had been so stupid. When she made the off hand remark about Killian relating to Alan Rickman’s character she’d been referring to Tink, and how she thought that she and Killian had something, but all along he had his eyes set on someone else. She was bitter and spoke without thinking, and as inadvertent as it was, she’d knocked him over with a low blow.

Milah had always been a sore spot for him, but she’d just assumed it was because she chose to go back to her husband, that she hadn’t picked him. A bullet to his ego. But maybe there was more to it.

“Killian, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how do you see me, Swan? Because a year ago I thought things between us were great and then you suddenly just cut me out of your life.”

Her stomach sunk and the pleading in his voice.

“It’s complicated.”

“Emma,” he never called her by her first name. “Please, just tell me what I did to make you hate me.”

She wanted to run, but her hand was frozen in place, still gripping fiercely to his wrist, just above where the brace for his prosthetic hand rested.

“It’s not- I can’t-”

“Just tell me, please.”

“The cake.”

Yes, it was a complete cop out, but it was safer than the truth. A half truth that wouldn’t mean exposing her heart to him. Not again.

“The cake. This whole time it’s been about that bloody cake?”

His voice had risen and she’d never heard him speak with such anger, at least not directed towards her. She released his arm and took a step back. She could feel her own rage building inside her. He had no right to be mad at her. She was the one that had her heart broken by him. She was the one who felt like a fool.

“You did it on purpose and then didn’t even have to decency to feel bad about it!”

“I apologized multiple times that night. And how was I to know those candles would throw the balance off so badly?”

“You apologized? You know I can tell when people are lying to me and their wasn’t an ounce of sincerity in a single one of those apologies.”

It was the truth. He told her sorry over and over when it happened, but not once did he look truley regretful. His words were nothing more than a way to placate her, like a child trying to get out of being grounded.

“What’s with you and this bloody cake? Swan, did you even look at the comments on that blasted video you were playing?”

He had the audacity to look affronted, and from somewhere deep inside the fire rose, and Emma refused to back down.

“I told you Killian, it had over a million hits and six thousand thumbs up. People loved it. You know I’m not much of a cook, and I was proud of myself, but for some reason you saw fit to destroy it.” She had to stop herself before she added on just like everything else.

From her battle stance, with both arms crossed over her chest, she watched as Killian brought up his one good hand and pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling loudly. It was what he did when he was trying to calm himself, trying not to let his anger get the best of him. She wasn’t ready to give up the fight though.

He didn’t say anything. Not at first. He simple reached down and pulled his phone out of his pocket, tapping away with his thumb until he found whatever her was searching for. Then he held it out, facing her.

“Will you please just read what people said?”

It was a genuine request, his voice calm and steady as he asked.

Emma jerked the device out of his hand and started scanning the comment section, noting for the first time what Killian had meant.

Guilmon4703: Mmmmmm, a cake that looks like someone took a big shit on your plate.

FijiUnited: Clearly the decades of alcohol consumption have rendered her tastebuds withered and useless.

Maria Kazakopi: I...I...am...dumbfounded by this culinary blasphemy. It must've been during one of her 'Cocktail Times' that she came up with this shitty cake. This is really HORRIBLE!

G Hayes: I'm usually pretty open minded when I see cooking shows. There's a lot of people who like a lot of different foods across the world. But this cake looks so awful I want to barf. Angel food cake? Fine. Everything else is a magnificently disgusting combination. When she stuck those huuuuuge candles in the cake I thought I was going to pee I laughed so hard. Poor Sandra. She never stood a chance with this one.

Fuck.

When Emma turned back to look at Killian, she finally saw the sincerity in his eyes that she had been looking for that night, and a part of her walls started to crumble.

“Swan, I couldn’t let you present that cake to people.” He took a step closer. “I care about you too much to let you be humiliated in front of our friends, especially not when I knew that your heart was in the right place. I thought it would be easier if you were just mad at me for a little while, and that it would spare your feelings.”

There was something there, something in the way that he looked at her, just a glimmer that gave her hope of more. Hope that maybe he cared about her as more than just a friend. But she was just being stupid.

Damn him.

She could feel tears starting to well in her eyes, but she could let him see her cry. She couldn’t let him see how much he affected her, so she slammed her walls back up just as high as ever.

“If you cared about me so much, then how did you just move on? How did our falling out not have any affect on you?”

“Where’d you get that foolish idea? This last year has been hell for me!”

“Obviously.”

She hadn’t meant for him to hear that part as she mumbled it under her breath.

“Swan?”

She turned and started to walk away, not ready to have that particular conversation. Not now, not ever. But this time it was his turn to stop her.

“You know what. You’re right, the snow has let up. You should be fine getting home now.”

She saw him waiver briefly, debating what to do. He made his way back the door, and although it was exactly what she had wanted him to do, it wasn’t really. Not when the sight of him walking away from her caused her heart to constrict. Unable to breath, she was helpless to do anything but watch the door close behind him.

There. She’d really done it that time. She ruined their relationship, or whatever was left of it at that point, beyond any point of salvation. Finally, she allowed the tears to begin falling. God. She was an idiot.

“No.” She hadn’t even noticed the door open again through the curtain blurring her vision.

“You don’t get to do that again. You don’t get to just decided everything and not even give me the courtesy of knowing why!”

He was shouting and she couldn’t even bring herself to care, couldn’t force her walls up any higher, because he’d come back. He’d always come back, and it didn’t make any sense. Nothing about them made any sense to her anymore.

“You really want me to leave?”

She couldn’t answer. Couldn’t even move her head to nod yes or no.

“Then tell me. Tell me why you really just brushed me off and told me to go to hell, because there’s no way this about a stupid cake. Emma, what did I do to you that was so terrible that you assigned me the role of villain in this little story of yours?”

Against her will, the word slipped past her lips.

“Tink.”

“What?” His head tilted to the side, but he didn’t try to come any closer, didn’t try to bridge the gap that had formed between them.

“You want to know what you did? You did her!”

Her voice was nearly broken and she hated herself for it.

“Swan, I didn’t-”

“Stop. I saw her.” She swiped her hand under her eyes, trying to erase all of the evidence of how much she’d let him affect her. “Killian, I saw her there in your apartment, wearing your shirt.”

“I don’t-”

No. It wasn’t his turn to speak. He didn’t get to try and turn it all around on her. He’d broken her heart, and if he really wanted to know why she was so upset, she’d make damn sure he knew.

“You almost kissed me, and then we had that stupid fight over the cake. I came by the next morning and she was there, in your shirt and nothing else. You kissed me and then slept with her. God, Killian. I felt so stupid. I thought-”

She let the words die off. She’d already said too much. Revealed too much. Now he knew, and there was no taking it back. There was no going back to the friendship she’d so desperately missed over the last year.

“Swan.”

“Killian, please just go.”

She turned away again, walking to the window, waiting to hear the door click behind him. But it never did.

“Emma, I don’t know what you saw, or what you think you saw, but nothing happened.”

She snickered. Like hell it hadn't. Later that month Tink had practically been living with him.

“That’s crap and you know it. You guys were living together!”

“Swan-”

“No. I don’t want to hear it.”

Something snapped in him. She saw a storm brewing deep in his ocean blue eyes. A storm so fierce it was reflected in the window pane.

“And if we had slept together? What would it have been to you? You made it perfectly clear where we stood the last time we spoke.”

She tried to run, to hide in her room waiting for him to give up, but he was faster, using his body to block the stairway.

“Ah no you don’t. Why did it matter what I did or who I was with?”

His voice was eerily calm and it terrified her. Even more so than when she’d seen Tink after their fight, more than when Neal had abandoned her, more than any foster home she’d ever been in.

She was broken, and with it, her walls started crumbling around her.

“You almost kissed me, and I thought-” Her voice cracked. “And then Tink was there and I realized that I’d built this whole thing up in my head. That I was no different than all of the other girls who fawned over you.”

“Oh, Emma.”

He was standing so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body.

“And I couldn’t stand seeing you and her, or you and anyone. I couldn't get over my own pride, and I know it’s my problem, but-”

He cut her off, taking one more step in her direction, their chests almost touching. His right hand came up to cup her cheek as his thumb swiped away the tears that were still falling.”

“Swan, I have no idea what I ever did to make you think you were ever just another anything to me. You’ve never been “just” anything to me.”

“But Tink.”

God. She hated how pathetic she sounded.

“Aye, Tink was there, but not as anything more than a friend. That night, after our fight I attempted to drown my sorrows in the bottom of Dave’s bottom of rum. Tink took me home and stayed over to make sure I didn’t choke on my own sick. Some of which unfortunately got on her so she borrowed a shirt from me.”

Realization hit like a punch to the gut. She’d misunderstood it all.

“And then I pushed you away and right into her arms.”

Her heart fell.

If she’d just talked to him, answered any of his text messages, returned any of his voicemails, she wouldn’t have just lost the last year with him.

“Yes and no. I’ll not lie. You avoiding me hurt, but I didn’t find solace by shacking up with anyone.”

But they were living together. She saw the boxes.

It had been about two months since their fight. She still hadn’t spoken to him, and while he messaged her occasional, the messages had become few and far inbetween. In fact, it had been three weeks since his last one and she’d nearly given up hope that he was still trying. Silly as it was, given she’d been the one to shut him out, it hurt to know he’d finally given up on her.

It was for the best though. She couldn’t go through it anymore. Allowing herself to be strung along by a man who would never want her as anything beyond a bed mate, not that he’d even wanted that much.

It was getting easier not to think of him anyway. She’d buried herself in work, taking on extra cases. Anything to avoid going home to Mary Margaret and her constant questions. Anything to avoid their group gatherings where he’d likely be in attendance. It was easy to not return people’s phone calls when she was on a stake out.

But it wasn’t that easy, because his phone number was still sitting in her phone taunting her. More than once she’d had to give her phone to Graham while they were out drinking after a hard case. She new that if she’d held on to it, she’d call him somewhere around drink number four.

Graham was sweet enough, listening to her drunk ramblings about Killian and her broken heart. He tried to give her advice about moving on, and a few times she saw something in his eyes that suggested he wanted to be the one she moved on with. She always ignored it though. Even if she had felt something for him, which she didn’t, she refused to put herself out there again. She’d been wrong before, and wouldn’t let her heart fool her again.

Eventually August Booth, the newest detective, started joining them at the bar. It helped Emma feel less like she was on a date, and the guy was damn good at his job. And he didn’t beat around the bush the way Graham had.

“You know there’s an easier fix than giving us your phone every night right?”

Before she could process what he’d said, he was handing her phone back to her, with one less contact, and one less text thread. Her last link to Killian had been severed and she thought maybe she was free.

Three more weeks passed. Three uneventful weeks, and the pain was starting to fade. But then, as she drifted off to sleep she heard her phone chirp. She checked it to make sure it wasn’t work related, and seven little number stared at her. Seven numbers she’d once new by heart, but not anymore.

I miss you.

She tossed and turned that night, unable to get him off her mind.

The next day, she decided to stop by his place after work, if nothing else than just to hear him out, but when she got there her heart was ripped apart. Killian was helping Tink move boxes into his apartment. Boxes labeled sheets, pictures, clothes.

She’d let him break her again.

Sensing her confusion he continued.

“The lady Belle and Will Scarlett had just started dating, and new love and all can be quite loud when you have paper thin walls. Tink asked if she could crash in my guest room while she looked for a new place. She wanted to give them space, and keep some sanity in the process.”

“But.”

“But what?”

“But when I talked to her, she implied that you were together.”

“Ah, that. Yes, I gathered that she had a slight crush on me when she tried to kiss me. I told her that I didn’t share her feelings and suggested that perhaps it was time for her to find a new living arrangement. Needless to say she wasn’t happy about it.”

It made sense. Whatever had happened between them had been messy, with Tink saying some less than pleasant things about him, and while at the time she thought his lack of response was due to guilt, she now knew that he was just too much of a gentleman to say anything.

“Emma. Did you ever see us do anything affectionate like holding hands or kissing? Have you ever seen me that way with anyone?”

Admittedly she hadn’t. Her brain had told her that he was just smart enough to keep his affairs private. She shook her head no.

“I haven’t been with anyone since I moved to Boston. I haven’t been with anyone since the moment I met you, because it’s only ever been you, Emma. It’s always been you.”

There was no hesitation that time. No pulling back. When her hands found the lapels of his coat she yanked hard, pulling his body flush with hers. And when their lips finally met, it was as if the world had finally righted itself. After twenty nine years of giving her nothing but pain and suffering, it was finally giving her hope.

Everything happened so fast after that. The kiss deepened and on instinct, Emma felt herself pulling him up the stairs with her, never parting her lips from his. Once in her room, clothes began to litter the floor as they both hurried to explore each other.

She felt him gently press her to the bed, his chest hair tickling the tips of her breasts. His weight settled into her further as he nibbled at her pulse point. Something he’d quickly picked up drove her mad with want. His body shifted, lips moving down her torso, his tongue following the curve of her breast. Instinctively her back arched.

“Killian.” She whined, trying to implore him to hurry.

A year was long enough. Tired of waiting, she reached down, wrapping her hand around him, gently squeezing it as she twisted her hand.

“Love, all in good time.”

He had the audacity to chuckle at her. Moving even lower he peppered her stomach with kisses. Finally he slid from the foot of the bed, kneeling before her.

“Killian, I need-”

“Shhh, now. It’s come to my attention that in the past I’ve not succeeded in showing you just how much I want you, and only you. I’ll be damned if you leave this bed without me recifiying such an egregious error.”

His lilt left her a quivering mess, and if she hadn’t been so enraptured by the lust in his eyes, she might have let herself feel nervous at how exposed she was before him.

Then something changed. A shy smile replaced the smug smirk.

“Is this okay, Emma?”

There it was again. He’d said her name more times in the last ten minutes than in the entire time they’d known each other, and she understood what it meant. No more dancing around each other or playing hard to get. The time for games was over. He wanted her to know, to feel how much she meant to him. She’d been such a fool that past year.

Unable to say anything, she nodded her head, and it was all he needed. His prosthetic hand splayed out over her stomach, trying to keep her still as his lips and fingers toyed with her, bringing her to the verge of her release, but never letting her fall.

“So perfect. So bloody perfect.”

It was a whisper punctuated with kiss to her thigh.

When his thumb finally brushed circles of the place she needed him most, the one that finally gave her the release she’d so desperately needed, it was like time stood still. The explosion of light behind her eyes seemed to last for an eternity, stealing her breath away.

Eventually, she came back to herself, feeling Killian’s lips tracing their way back up to the hollow of her throat. Her hands cupped the sides of his face and pulled him to her. She tasted herself on his tongue, not minding when his tongue twisted just so.

“Killian. I need you inside me.”

She expected him to lunge, to push her legs wider apart, to do anything really. What she hadn’t expected was for his face to fall. Had she misread everything?

“Swan, I- Uh-”

“What?” She asked cautiously. There was nowhere to run.

“I wasn’t exactly expecting this turn of events when you called me this afternoon. I didn’t really come prepared for such an occasion.”

I’m always a gentleman.

Of course.

“Table drawer.”

She lifted her chin and nodded towards the nightstand to her left. He reached out, shifting his body so that it laid almost parallel next to hers. Her teeth found his earlobe and she gently gave it a tugged, hoping he’d feel as impatient as she did, but instead he pulled away a little. Her eyes followed his line of site, the the very full drawer.

It should have been simple. He just needed to grab a packet and rip it open. He’d been so eager before, so why was he suddenly apprehensive?

“Hey,” She started. “What’s wrong?”

He gave her a small smile, one that didn’t meet his eyes.

“It’s nothing, Swan. Really.”

“Don’t do that. Please, Killian.” She hoped her used of his first name would have the same impact on him that it had her. “What is it.”

“I-” He paused. “I’ll sound like a fool.”

She let the back of her fingers caress his face.

“Never.”

He tried to smile again, but his eyes wouldn’t meet hers.

“I just- I know that we weren’t on speaking terms, and I have no right to feel this way, but seeing that drawer only reminds me of all that I missed. It reminds me that you’ve probably not been devoid of company in this bed of the past year. I told you, love. I sound like a bloody git.”

Her eyes fell back to the drawer and it all clicked. He’d been jealous of her using them with other men. He hadn’t known that she’d been just as gone for him as he was her, even during their fight.

“Killian, I-” He still wasn’t looking at her so she grabbed his chin, tilting it so that he couldn’t not face her. “I bought those last year, the morning of the Christmas party. We’d almost kissed the day before, and I thought that if I could just muster the damn courage to tell you how I felt, that maybe we’d get some use out of them.”

His face fell again, obviously upset at himself for allowing the misunderstanding. She was horrible at this.

“But if you were to count them, you’d find that they are all still there.” Well, except for the one Mary Margaret had pilfered the week before when she and David had run out. “I haven’t used any of them.”

His mouth came down over hers with such an intense force that she shrieked in surprise.

They’d ended up using three of the foil packets that night before they passed out from sheer exhaustion. He was warm curled up next to her, and had it not been from the rustling noise downstairs, she’d have been content to stay in their little cocoon forever. Unfortunately, the noise from downstairs continued, and as the groggy haze faded she realized that there were people in her apartment. Uninvited people. Her gun and badge had been left in her bug. Rookie mistake, she chastised herself.

As quietly as possible, she extracted herself from the covers, and Killian’s embrace, but it wasn’t quiet enough to not wake him.

“Swan?”

“Shh, I think someone is downstairs.” She whispered as she grabbed his shirt to cover whatever bit of modesty she could. Tackling a burglar while naked wasn’t high on her list of ways to spend Christmas morning. “Just stay here.”

Of course her words fell across deaf ears. He muddled around searching for his boxers, which had somehow landed on the window sill. Slowly they creeped down the stairs, Emma clutching a curtain rod and Killian holding plunger from the bathroom. Emma was really going to need to rethink apartment safety when this was all over. Just before they came to the exposed part of the stairs they heard hushed whispers. There were at least two of them and suddenly Emma was grateful that Killian had ignored her command to stay upstairs.

She moved down two more steps trying to get a look around the corner at the intruders when she heard a crash.

“What the hell is the tree doing in here?”

David?

Emma flipped the hallway switch that controlled the living room, illuminating a very confused and weary looking roommate.

“Emma? Did we wake you?”

“What the hell guys? I thought you were burglars! What are you doing back so soon?”

Emma relaxed, setting the curtain rod down in a corner, stepping fully into the large open space.

“We tried to call you but you didn’t answer. About thirty minutes after I talked to you the small snow storm turned into a full on blizzard. We got stuck in bumper to bumper traffic until the snow plows could clear the road enough for us to move. Ruth said that the roads leading into Storybrooke were all closed so we had to turn back.”

“Oh.” Emma flushed, looking around for her phone. It was still on the coffee table where she had left it.

“Emma?” David tilted his head. “What are you wearing?”

Shit. “Oh, this? I- Uh-”

She turned back to find Killian still hidden from her friends on the stairs, waiting for her lead.

Before she could decide either way she heard Mary Margaret gasp.

“That shirt! I can only think of one person who went to Stanford...”

David smiled, something closely resembling Ruby’s wolfish grin that signified he had something up his sleeve.

“Oh, honey. Do share with the class.”

“Guys.” Emma grumbled out, clearly embarrassed.

“Killian?” Mary Margaret called out.

Finally he slinked down the stairs, finger scratching just behind his ear. “Guilty.”

Mary Margaret just hummed in response.

“Well guys. It’s been a long day and we’re exhausted.” David looked like he was about to argue the opposite but the pint sized pixie elbowed him in the side. “I think we’re going to hit the sack now. David, remind me to tell Liam he owes me twenty dollars when he comes over later today.”

“Wait. Later today? Liam’s out of town.”

“Pardon?”

“Um, I may have called and told him to tell you that so you’d be forced to call Killian.”

“He bet Mary Margaret that you’d chicken out again and not tell Emma how you felt.” David added for Killian’s benefit.

Emma glanced over at him to find his face beat red.

“Oh and Emma.” Emma snapped her head back to her roommate. “Tomorrow you’re going to have to explain to me why there’s a scratch in the floor.”

Quickly Mary Margaret grabbed David’s arm and dragged him into her room, shutting the door behind him. The tree no longer in view. David must have been able to push it the rest of the way into the room.

“Swan?” He was holding a hand out to her. “If you’ll follow me, it’s officially Christmas Morning, and I believe there’s another present upstairs that needs unwrapping.”

His brows rose and he gave her a salacious grin. As she raced him up the steps she couldn’t help but think about that damned pink tree, and how maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.

#cssecretsanta #Alex's Secret Santa #Dreaming of a Pink Christmas #wellhellotragic #cs ff

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thebastardofgloucester · 6 years

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all the posts collating reactions to The Empire Strikes Back or writing mock Rotten Tomatoes reviews to imply that the criticisms of this film aren’t worth paying attention to are just…so missing the point

exactly two works that said what ‘Star Wars’ was existed at the time of Empire’s release in 1980: Star Wars (not yet renamed ‘A New Hope’) and Alan Dean Foster’s 'Splinter of the Mind’s Eye’ (a sequel written in case Star Wars was a flop that could be filmed on a shoestring budget and without Harrison Ford. It’s Wild and puts the lie to the idea that Lucas had any idea where the Skywalker story was going; highly recommend)

in the year of our Lord 2017, The Last Jedi was released as the third film in a revival of a six film, single creative vision franchise, with the added baggage of over two decades of novels, comics, video games, and other media (the only thing ever fully expelled from canon was the infamous holiday special, which, honestly, had greater creative merit than some of the stuff that got to stay)

what’s the point? Expectations. No, not people who didn’t want anything to change and are Mad About It or whatever facile narrative the authors of those blog posts and reviews are using to explain why this film is probably more divisive than the goddamn prequels. The problem is that not only does The Last Jedi clash with decades of fandom, it is even at loggerheads with its sister films in this particular revival. and it doesn’t get the same benefit of the doubt that ESB got because that’s not how franchises and fandoms actually work. you don’t get to ignore everything that came before to tell your own story. they have to work together.

Sure, not everybody read the EU (and trust me some of them are better off for it). But almost everybody saw The Force Awakens, most of them saw Rogue One, and a fair number of them, old and young fans alike, eagerly consumed the New EU content that offered glimpses into how the events of The Force Awakens came about and what mysteries were set up in what was effectively a reboot rather than a sequel. Generally, you know, regardless of how much you hate 'puzzleboxes,’ it is reasonable to expect that what one film sets up will have a payoff in the next, particularly when the first film takes such care to be sensitive to what the fans want (as JJ and Kasden did with TFA) - because while this is a money faucet for Disney, sure, there’s no point in bringing this franchise back without those fans (and of course, their kids) - and what they got from Rian and the Lucasfilm story team was…a confirmation that they had been wasting their time. It’s all well and good to pull the rug out from under the audience (as this film does incessantly) but it’s cynical bullshit to basically bait them with promo material and the preceding canon and then to deliver on basically nothing and expect everyone to just be okay with it. This film effectively penalizes the people who cared the most and spent the most time engaging with The Force Awakens and rewards people who may not have really been here for what Lucas was selling to begin with. As one review put it, it ‘does not care what you think about Star Wars’.

But when you set expectations as deliberately as Kennedy and the Lucasfilm Story Group did in JJ and Kasden’s TFA, it’s not great writing to blow them to pieces mid-narrative. It’s just lazy. the idea that Rey has no connection to the Skywalker line? a good idea, potentially, but clumsily executed, as it is played out less as an important revelation and more an excuse to not actually give any kind of answer to how Rey came to be Ben’s equal on the Light (or why she even is ‘Light’ honestly; I love Angry Rey but there’s seemingly no danger in her temptation) or where she got a skill set rivaled in this franchise only by literal Space Jesus Anakin Skywalker. Snoke is a one-noted villain; having him be betrayed by Kylo in the midst of his own villain arc? a very good idea. it belongs as the climax of the film, not the end of act 2 so there is no time for anything to breathe, just more never-ending crises and hardship.

Like, spare me the 'force visions are unreliable’ (Rey’s was unlike anything we had seen before, it wasn’t Anakin’s nightmare or Luke on Dagobah) bs; the film didn’t say that what Rey saw was wrong for x reason, it just pretended that it never happened and Rey didn’t say anything about it); spare me ‘our heroes have to fail and sometimes all the plans don’t work out’ we know that, we live in the real world of 2017 but while making your clever point you have wasted the presence of three extremely talented actors of color, and let down the audiences waiting for a chance to see people who look like them be the heroes for once. instead it turns out they didn’t actually matter all that much, but maybe next film!

It’s not clever. It’s not visionary. It’s cheap, it’s cowardly, and it isn’t actually that original because the film leaves us exactly where we expected. Poe is the leader and Leia’s heir to command, Finn is a newly-committed Rebel brimming with unrealized potential, Rey is a Jedi character (amorphously defined) who we know exactly as much about as we started, Luke is gone, even if he went out in pretty spectacular fashion, Carrie’s death means that Leia will be leaving us soon, and Kyle Ben has become the big bad. That’s the only real development - Snoke’s death and Ben’s rejection of his redemption - and it’s buried under Rey, our erstwhile heroine, being a vehicle for the villain’s character development. The only character this film particularly cares about is a white fascist who gets every chance to be redeemed and rejects them while the film expects us to keep caring.

So, yeah. People are mad. Not because of the same ‘the series is changed forever now’ shit that the haters of ESB were on about. Because the real changes? Ben being the real villain, the smallfolk of the galaxy being the source of light and conduits of the Force? I don’t see anyone complaining all that hard about them.

the complaints are about the damage done to beloved characters for…not all that much of a payoff. the misuse and marginalization of the characters of color. the disdain with which the script treats the nostalgia of the Force Awakens. the unrelenting pace of the film that just grinds the Resistance (and the audience) down and just tells them to trust us, even as more and more and more is taken away. Rey’s parentage isn’t the only thing cast aside - promises of developments in Finn’s story - his identity, his potential to cause a revolt in the First Order, even his force sensitivity (you want a force user from nothing? how about a child soldier from a nameless family who as we are continually reminded used to be on sanitation crew) - are broken. Rey has her dream of family taken away…and replaced with…well the film doesn’t really bother to say because she’s a plot device for most of act 3. We don’t get to see her reject Ren and leave him. Because this isn’t her story; it’s his. Kylo is unconscious, so the scene is over. Tell me how that is a satisfying arc for our erstwhile protagonist? Poe’s character is completely uprooted from what we’ve seen before to make him an obnoxious hotheaded menace whose emotions threaten the survival of the Resistance if two old white women aren’t able to keep him in check. Rose says a lot and gets to do almost nothing. Luke…Luke is torn down to justify the fall of Ben Solo, never given the chance to establish a meaningful bond with his erstwhile successor, and is only given the chance to atone by acting as a diversion to give the others time to escape. he dies alone, a failure, even if he is at peace with how things turned out.

last year we were shown a movie in the wake of one of the more traumatic political events in the life of the people on this website where a diverse and sympathetic cast fight hard and are entirely wiped out. But their deaths come in a spectacular and charged finale that carries the desperation and grief and pathos through into the beginning of the story we know and love. it all feels worth something. Rogue One has its flaws as a film but it comes together in a way that The Last Jedi does not. In the end, what Jyn and Cassian and the others do is just enough to get the plans away, to start the sequence of events that will lead to the Empire’s destruction.

Here?

there’s just not enough left. not enough of the Resistance, not enough story, not enough hope.

to have that hope repeatedly stripped away and cynically exploited through a narrative that drags the characters from crisis to crisis without bothering to justify itself or its role in the story (while retreading the highlights of Episodes V and VI without the emotional depth to back them up), and in so doing wears down the audience as much as the characters is not why I have devoted so much of my life and emotional energy to this series about space wizards and their galaxy-destroying family squabbles and eventual chance for redemption. for all his many, many faults, George Lucas understood that.

you can’t just talk about hope. sooner or later you have to see it. You have to feel that what you are suffering will be worth it. The text needs to tell you as much. it’s clumsy and cliched and it is necessary. In the Empire Strikes Back, after Han is captured and Luke is beaten, the turning point is Lando. Lando changes the course of the movie, rescuing Leia and Chewie, who rescue Luke. They live to fight another day, and at the end they are wounded but among friends.

the moment in The Last Jedi where that could have happened was when Leia’s signal went out. How terrific would it have been if after being betrayed by a scoundrel the original scoundrel with a heart of gold, Lando Calrissian, arrives at the head of a fleet made up of all the alien races so inexplicably missing from the sequel trilogy so far, fending off the First Order long enough for the Resistance to escape with most of the survivors on Crait?

But Rian had to have one last twist of the knife. so nobody came. only Luke, and only as a distraction to buy time that ultimately cost him his life and reduced his legacy to giving everything to atone for his past sins. there is no Lando moment. there is no turning point, no moment where a larger victory is hinted at. and no, a single stable boy far, far away from the war is not the same thing. It makes an interesting point about the force and the metanarrative of Star Wars. It is not what this film needed after everything it put its characters and audience through.

and so at the end I’m not hopeful. I’m just tired. So, very tired. And I miss what made me fall in love with this series about space wizards and the Skywalker family in the first place

#martinus watches the last jedi #the last jedi spoilers #tlj spoilers #tlj negativity #rian does not love star wars like I love star wars #I'm just so. tired.#I need to watch Rebels or ROTJ and remember Star Wars can be like fun

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dornishsphinx · 6 years

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@verecunda tagged me in this a while back, and it completely slipped my mind until I saw it half-done in my notes, oops—sorry it took so long! Also, this got wordier than intended, probably because that always happens when I’m avoiding doing actual work. Oh well.

If any of you feel like ranting about your fave female characters, here’s an excuse to do so--though no pressure, of course. Tagging @zonesthesia, @bioticplaneswalker, @joyseeker6, @moonhairedgirl, @yousef-the-uber-driver, @northernpansy, @tresjoly, @xxchimericalxx, @arthoure, @mrmissmrsrandom, @gascon-en-exil, @amorremanet and anyone else reading this who feels like it!

Rules: Rules: Write your ten favourite female characters from ten different fandoms and tag ten different people.

1. Fire Emblem—Sonya

This ended up being a close tie between Sonya and Jill, but I gave this one to Sonya since I’ve actually finished her game. Sonya is amazing. A non-lord character with a connection to the villains always brings them up a notch in my estimation and it’s a damn shame she never got more than one boss conversation with her father—and none with her sisters! Her ending was initially aggravating, but I like to go with the common theory that since Duma is no longer around, talk of her becoming a witch was just hearsay. Her support with Genny is brilliant. She manages to be confident and alluring without turning into a caricature, unlike certain other unfortunate characters throughout the—mostly recent—games. And since she’s from a less popular game, she’s hardly as likely to get completely flanderised in spinoffs. Why on Earth would you ever pick Deen?

Honourable mentions: Celica (FE2/15), Lyn (FE7), Jill Fizzart (FE9/10). This isn’t counting games I’ve not actively played, though there are certain FE4 and FE10 characters who might have ended up in the mentions if I had, given what I know about them.

2. Persona—Yukino Mayuzumi

I actually wasn’t expecting to put Yukino here when I was first trying to figure out who my favourite female character from Persona was. I knew it would likely be a P2 character, since that is my favourite game in the series thus far, but then I realised how much I’ve been missing Yukino in particular while playing Eternal Punishment. The Empress arcana really does fit her: she’s a combination of tough-as-nails and motherly, and a cool older figure for the team to look up to. I especially love how she transfers the chance Saeko gave her to reform during her yankī days to Anna, years later. And that’s not even going into the revelations from her Shadow: she’s torn between two career paths, not feeling good enough to achieve either. And she gives up her Persona for Jun! That takes some serious selflessness.

Honourable mentions: Maki Sonomura (P1/2), Maya Amano (P2), Naoto Shirogane (P4), Labrys (Arena)

3. Ace Attorney—Ema Skye

This came closer than any other entry on the list, both Mia and Franziska initially taking this spot before I eventually settled on Ema. She was an interesting enough character as a kid, her peppiness and the science-obsession gimmick quickly giving way to a more complex characterisation, especially once her full involvement in SL-9 was revealed. However, the science-gimmick paid off wonderfully in AJ:AA when we see how she’s transformed into a jaded, bitter detective, her dreams of becoming a scientist crushed because she didn’t pass the exams she needed to get a career in forensics. When SOJ rolled around and she’d actually managed to get into the field, it felt earned, way more than if we’d met her SOJ self in AJ:AA.

Honourable mentions: Franziska von Karma, Mia Fey

4. Zero Escape—Lotus

Of all the characters who didn’t make it into the sequels which followed on from the original game, Lotus—along with Santa, who I’ll admit has more story-based reasons to return—is the one I miss most. She loves her daughters, fiercely enough to relentlessly investigate their kidnapping by herself for years when the police were of no use, and on top of all that, she’s a genius programmer. The moment I actively started loving Lotus was when she, clearly scared but putting on a brave face, volunteered to go in the electric chair in the torture chamber. It made you realise she genuinely is utilitarian, rather than just being out for her own survival; she’s clearly self-interested, but not completely selfish. I’m just gonna quote Uchikoshi himself: “She may seem selfish and cold, but she’s actually the most rational and sensible out of all of them. She has the intellectual ability to make very logical decisions.” She’s just the best.

Honourable mentions: Akane Kurashiki, Diana

5. Avatar—Azula

I know there are people who follow me still watching Avatar, so I’ll try and keep this as spoiler-free as I can in case they end up skimming some of this accidentally. (Though I’d definitely not recommend anyone who wants to remain completely unspoiled reads this entry on the list.)

But anyway—“Do the tides command this ship?”

The Fire Nation royal family just provides all the best characters in the series. Zuko is definitely my male fave, while his sister takes the female spot. Source of both the vast majority of best lines in the show, as well as the most Machiavellian of villainy, Azula is just awesome to watch in action, whether it be in the political, martial or personal sphere. The odd dynamic she has with Zuko is my favourite in the series, managing to be outright antagonistic, while at some moments offering the glimmer of a genuine, if warped almost beyond recognition, sibling bond. There are even more poignant moments where we’re reminded of her actual age and how her family circumstances have shaped her into what she is. She’s a complex villain, one of the best this, or any other series, has to offer.

Honourable mentions: Kuvira, Katara, Toph Beifong

6. A Song of Ice and Fire—Sarella Sand

Okay, if we’re doing a female character list, I kinda have to give the original Dornish Sphinx herself a spot on the list. Not much page space has been devoted to her as of the current date, considering our only consistent POV character in Oldtown just arrived. I’m looking forward to what she and Archmaester Marwyn get up to once GRRM finishes TWOW. The least war-hungry of the Sand Snakes, she’s not even been introduced on page as herself yet. Instead, we know her as “Alleras”, a pleasant young Dornishman of sharp intellect studying at the Citadel.

Honourable mentions: Asha Greyjoy, Sansa Stark, Arianne Martell

7. DCU—Selina Kyle

Is there any Bat-work, canon or fanon, that isn’t instantly made a dozen times better by Selina swooping in? (Okay, there are a couple of duds, but usually she’s a delightful presence.) One of DC’s best anti-hero/anti-villains.

Honourable mentions: Renée Montoya, Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown

8. Danganronpa—Kyōko Kirigiri

The original Ultimate Detective herself. Cool, poised and collected, she certainly makes for a more convincing detective character than certain other later characters from the series, though Shuichi does try his best.

Honourable mentions: Kaede Akamatsu, Junko Enoshima, Chiaki Nanami

9. Doctor Who—Martha Jones

I’m scraping the barrel a little for fandoms, considering I don’t even watch the show anymore, but Martha is my favourite of all companions. I never wanted her to get with the Doctor, of course, but I appreciated how her unrequited feelings for him didn’t swallow up her entire character. She’s courageous, smart and leaves the TARDIS on her own accord, which is refreshing.

10. Arthuriana—Morgan le Fay

This is a tricky one, since Arthuriana is more a literary tradition than a fandom per se. The characters which belong to it don’t technically ever stick to one characterisation, personality or role—everyone has their own interpretation, or even several different ones. That said—yes, my favourite is Morgan, how original of me, I know. Viviane runs her competition, but since she’s all over the place—quite literally, becoming or amalgamating several different characters at once—Morgan wins. There’s a reason she’s overused in modern adaptions, though, and it’s because she’s amazing. I mean, she even got a geographical phenomenon named after her and in some traditions, she lives in a goddamn volcano. She’s at her best as Queen of Rheged, though, casually trying to murder her husband, or Guinevere, or teaching a lesson to whichever knight of the week volunteers for her obvious trap. Just never mention that modern book she’s most known for around me unless you want me to angry-cry. Also, she’s not Morgause. Let Morgause be her own character, modern media, please.

Honourable mentions: Viviane, Lynette, Ragnell

#ask meme #long post #now that i reread the rules i think i only had to put down their names oops #oh well

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ryodan · 7 years

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Every team 7 ship VS NaruHina

To the clique that argued with me in the saltiest of ways, I dedicate to you my first ever anti nh post. I hope you think twice about telling people to kill themselves over your self insert and stop being a pimple on society’s ass.

Let’s start with the one that gets on your tits the most

Naruhina VS Narusaku (The Heaven and The Earth), alternatively titled : stop being angry he liked the hot chick and stop pretending Sakura isnt kushinas parallel

Whenever you feel the need to drag Sakura remember your origin story, @Lunaneko14. Don’t forget your years of defending SS to ride on it’s back lest ns happens

Your ship was here, while the ns fandom had this..no amount of sakura bitterness will change that, @mythicalheartbeat

Ya boy that she was gorgeous from before team 7’s creation

Before you call Sakura selfish while gratifying Hintata, @fallingforkonoha, remember your void eyed princess entered a fight Tsunade knew not to interfere in knowing she can’t do anything to confess her feelings (at the perfect timing too, really) saying this about herself

A sentiment that continued until her almost final appearance in the manga she took up less than 1% of, as she took a moment to appreciate Narutos, big capable hands in front of her dead cousin . hand holding in front of lavish scenery is so sweet

VS Sakura, the selfish monster who went in knowing she might get hurt, for him, because she cared greatly about his physical and emotional safety

Remember all those times Hinata just cared so much about his dreams, all those times she was there when he needed her

I love how she always believed in him, unlike Sakura. What a bitch, remember that comment she made in chapter 3 out of 700? Awful.

This QUEEN vs this BITCH, amirite @blackotaku97?

You know whats better than stealing someones ninja way, walmart naruto with a nuclear mushroom cloud of a head? Supporting your precious peoples ninja ways and finding your own.

A common argument that gets thrown around : Hinata was ALWAYS there for him

Sorry, I must have missed her in Narutos speech of the people who saved him from his loneliness and pain

I really like how she sees him miserable and doesn’t help him it’s the epitome of always there

Most of all, you nasty trash can excuse of a human being, I want you to get your head out of your asshole for just 3 seconds and accept that this happened

You can’t change what’s been set in stone

No amount of yapping with a filler movie can change the past. But you know what? Bitches bark and yap, that’s no surprise

No amount of yapping about the twin lions fist, a head branch hyuga jutsu being hinatas own changes facts, @commanderkurama

My fav part of the pain arc was when Naruto never asked Hinata about her confession, or her safety. I also particularly like Narutos first ever hug that someone else initiated

Drag Sakura all you want but remember when you were here after 2013

Narusakus had this before 2007

Remember that while your self insert was fainting and going on suicide missions

Sakura and Naruto had already built a relationship based on mutual support, respect, love and equal footing (weather platonic or romantic, love is love). A relationship where they both believed in each other, supported each other, had each others back, laughed with each other, cried with each other, had actual chemistry with each other. Remember that the next time you whine about people loving this ship instead of your talked about the weather and clothes ship in an entire movie dedicated to them couple.

Sakura supports your faves so much that no wonder you want to debunk her heroine status and reduce her to a side supporting character that matches your background fav

Hiding her tears so she doesn’t hurt him!11! reminds me of that time she fake confessed to keep him, kakashi and the rest of the world safe even if at the cost of killing her beloved one to save him from falling into deeper darkness. Sakura is so selfish, no wonder everyone in Japan hates NS

Know your place, Linda. Keep your scumbag-kun and the girl 2ch calls Hinabuta (quick Japanese crash course, that means hinapig), I like my Naruto and Sakura-chan just fine.

SasuSaku (The Hawk and The Cherry Blossom), alternatively titled: You rode on my back for years because your ship wouldn’t have had a hope in high hell if it were not for these two

Lunaneko, I think someone told me you said we try to compete with your shit ship.

It’s hard hearing you over making ship history

While Naruto was busy ignoring Hinatas general existence because she has the presence of the trash can in the sasusaku confession scene Sasuke (a boy who’s been thirsted after fresh from mikotos womb was already flustered and blushing towards sakura

You know what development is? Starting off with an irritable boy with 6 years worth of survivor guilt and manipulation weighing on his shoulders, saying something incredibly ignorant that rightfully pisses him the fuck off but still having him worry enough about you to stay with you to ensure your safety even at the risk of elimination

Aside from giving naruto his first hug, she gave sasuke his in years. Apparently Linkin park was so affected by human touch that he opened up to her about something he’s been repressing and isolating himself over for years. Going so far as stating ‘At that time, I was crying’ and even explaining his entire stance in the story ‘I am avenger’

Development is going from this look

To this look

From this

To this

And that wink too. There’s more chemistry in that wink than the entire NH movie

Remember that time Sakura helped Sasuke develop from a boy who had a childhood trauma based fear of stronger opponents with blood lust to a boy who fought Orochimaru bravely and grew 10x times in a single scene? All while she developed herself? And grew from an agreeable sasuke fangirl to a respected team mate? Y’all wanna compare the war hand hold scene to this? The war scene could have had potential if it ended better lmao

Why was he fighting?

Protecting her seems like an odd concept to you? Sasuke can’t relate :/ Naruto aint even wanna walk hinata home what joke is this

Remember that time Sasuke almost killed a guy in the forest of death? No, not broke Zakus arm

Sasuke was willing to kill for Sakura and I hope you know sasuke’s stance on killing. Where’s Naruto having this much care for hinata I don’t see it my competition is really lagging in this ‘race’

Remember that irritable boy? This boy crawling to her for comfort is a boy who grew alongside her, naruhina who?

You know what she did? She stayed up all night tending to her team mates, falling for konoha. Theres a fine line between cheating your crush at the risk of your team and staying up all night in a place titled the forest of death tending to their wounds at a mere bud age of 12

Wait no, bud who? She bloomed, all thanks to being inspired by the holy trinity (whos front and center? Louder for the people in the back, this is inspiration not just wanting to be with someone) and her own determination to protect her loved ones

Mutual development? Fuck me up. Here is an emotional maturation moment for BOTH of them

I love all of these mutual nh moments in the manga, all 0.0005 of them

She gave rise to a gentle protective side of him, so much so that he has used polite Japanese speaking to her before. The databook even states he saw her as someone he needed to protect. people ship ships for that special spark.The only spark hinata ever got was her wet dream from holding narutos hand, which she awoke from when she tripped on rock-kun

Naruto can’t tell apart true love from ramen? Canon Naruto can’t relate

I love that panel of jealous Naruto it’s great, oh wait its not him

Compete with Nh over what, blackotaku? Where is your naruto @ hinata speech I must need new glasses

Your bitch ass tried using you’re annoying as an argument and it’s so funny because imagine thinking he’s coming from a place of hate after he was willing to consciously give up his revenge for her safety and him saying what he said in their first encounter with a smile after pretending he didn’t remember their first meeting

Followed by this, the moment Japanese fans hailed the most emotional of part 1

You wish you were ss lmao, you wish you made it to 44 volumes out of 72

Compete with nh? On what? Getting stronger for your loved ones?

Chemistry?

Mutual support?

Their feelings are connected, their kid is the physical manifestation of their love not the screw that keeps them together..Her husband is travelling through space and time to keep them and the entire world safe. Naruto is 2 meters away, out there with a limitless bay of chakra unable to get clones to do his work for him.. anti-sakura-pro-hinata, at least when sasuke came home after 6 years of much harder work..he had dinner with his family. Maybe it’s because his daughter was raised well and it was pleasant being around someone who isn’t a brat.

Being intuitive to each other?

Oh lmao remember how Sakura was the only person who against all odds knew sasuke would leave the village?

Angst to keep it interesting?

Call me when Gaiden isn’t one of Kishimotos best selling works. Call me when your ship actually wants to spend time with each other.

Where Narutos ultimate expression of love at? Is is sleeping on the couch? Boruto novel states sasusaku is having so much sex that sakuras skin is glossing, meanwhile naruto has erectile dysfunction and a shriveled dick by age 32

Sit down, there is not much competition. We keep the SS Japanese penguins, the Jump Fiesta sign attraction, the popularity, the ambitious kid and the moments, the canon selfless love only for the purpose of saving your lover and you keep the canon selfish love for the purpose of a confession and the banana who wishes its father dies and the mom who just cried.

But remember who made you

SasuNaru (Yin and Yang), alternatively titled: having black hair isn’t enough to make naruto obsessed.

The garbage can @anti-sakura-pro-hinata blog that attempted to call Sasuke trash because her fictional boyfriend was obsessed with him seems to forget Sasuke didn’t ask for it. Naruto needed a pep talk from fillermaru and fillerkura to chase after hinata yet chased after sasuke, even begged authorities to not kill him purely because he is his ‘friend’ for 3 years. He trained with him in mind, a fact so obvious that Kakashi pointed out Sasuke is the driving force behind Narutos training. Sasuke, and the image he had of team 7 in his mind. An image so important to him that the thought of it being tarnished by Sasukes absence made him have a panic attack.

He went after sasuke to save his best friend and for them all to be happy and smiling together, im sorry he didn’t include Hinata in his fantasies but Team 7 is kind of booked..we only have room for neo sanins, vip people and connected hearts here. If youre jealous your self insert doesn’t matter,, I don’t know, make up fanfiction where she appears in more than 38 pages of the manga

#parallels

Hinata is canonically narutos most important person!11!! where? Must be on fight on top of the moon land. Be happy Naruto went rampant when his seal was weak, Konoha was destroyed, Jirayah was murdered, Kakashi was killed, Tsunade was hurt and then Hinatas ass decided to risk him chakra depletion, death and losing himself. But remember who made him go rampant with a strong seal at the slight mention of a name

The boy he wanted the acknowledgement of the most because he admired him so much that being like him was his goal

Yet when he got it was still like ‘later, emo asshole. Just get your shit together first.’

Why? Because he loved his friend so much that understanding him and fighting (literally fighting) the fated hatred in his heart mattered more to him than the ego he wanted stroked since age 7

What does that mean? I don’t know man. They trained together, laughed together, rivaled each other, were petty to each other and before they knew it they were inseparable. Back then and always

@remedialaction, come after sasuke because your self insert isn’t noticing the shy girl hes friendzoned later. A huge part of Narutos development was heavily tied to Sasuke, lets not ignore the fact that sasuke being a good team mate who put the 3 man cell idea into his head before Kakashi even told them about team work is the reason why they even became ninjas

Remove and erase Sasukes victim status, his entire arc, motivations, fate and position in the story because he is in the way of a ship when he isn’t the only reason Narutos dick was alive for Hinata

But no Sasuke is a bad person, no matter what the narrative and facts are because nardo is obsessed with him

Praise hinata for her naruto-kun became my goal speech when you acknowledge

‘I knew you were always alone. I felt better knowing there was someone like me..i wanted to hang out with you. It just made me happy! But I couldn’t..i was jealous of how skilled you were, so I turned you into a rival. I wanted to be just like you. I started with nothing but I finally made a connection. We went on missions as team 7, and I kept chasing you, wanting to be just as strong, just as cool. Im really glad I met you!’

Bring sasuke down and praise hakuna hintatas for saying the same thing. ‘Naruto kun saved me’ vs ‘Thanks to you I found salvation’

And weep over how sad your ship looks like next to two arms connected by love (platonic or not love is love), fate, tears and literal blood.

But no, what is yin and yang, light and shadows, love and hate, 2 lonely people watching over each other because ‘finally someone understands my solitude’ as a dynamic in comparison to meek girl and loud guy who could have voiced his attraction eons ago?! It’s funny, even with the canon context of SNS being indra and ashuras chakra incarnate and a brotherly bond, it still works better and is a hella lot more interesting than NH

The scenes showing Naruto and Sasukes iconic team work have more chemistry than naruhinas entire manga time, movie time, filler time and hell even fan art and fan fiction time. I know you're jealous because sasuke is well loved, but show some respect to Borutos mother.

Kakasaku (Hot and hotter), alternatively titled: Get your head out of your ass

Kakasaku is pedophilia!!

It’s bad!11! because my subjective opinion said so!11!

Not as bad as nh

People ship adult Kakasaku for a whole lot more meaningful stuff than a self insert ship

Kakashi never looked down on her since shippuuden. He acknowledged her strength and how far shes come from being the whiny 12 year old he used to teach. He always knew by part two that she’d be great and he respected her a lot. He saw her kind heart and praised her for it and for her selfless love. They grew to become fellow comrades in the war who had equal respect for each other. What can y’all say about NH? This is a joke.

I want to stay in my lane, but the lanes converge when you make ugly personal attacks at people and insult ships and characters to elevate your own shit show. Drag Team 7 into your ugliness again and I expose your insecure ass.

Y’all can’t touch this aesthetic. Come at these kids when Naruto doesn’t remember them when he’s eating a bento (Something special made by someone you love-sarada) made by his wife.

Special thanks to @uzumakura for tht good ns wank, @sakuraharunos for that good sns wank, @chiwawha for her opinion on ks and me for my patience

#narusaku #sasusaku #kakasaku #sasunarusasu #pro team 7 #sasuke uchiha #sakura haruno #naruto uzumaki #kakashi hatake #anti hinata #anti naruhina #anti anti sasusaku #anti anti narusaku #anti anti sasunaru #they all have me blocked #lmao

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cowboy-crimez · 7 years

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Kim Namjoon | Rap Monster/Kim Seokjin | Jin Characters: Kim Namjoon | Rap Monster, Kim Seokjin | Jin, Min Yoongi | Suga, Brief Jeon Jungkook Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, In The Flesh AU, Established Relationship, Angst with a Happy Ending, i guess??? maybe, maybe on the angst not the happy ended Summary:

So many things about him ruin the careful crafted illusion that he and Seokjin work so hard to maintain. But just because it's hard, doesn't mean that Namjoon will stop trying.

ur boy is back w/ the maybe kinda sorta angst again !

you can read it on tumblr under the read more !

His hands shake as he pulls down his bottom lid to slip his contact in. He heard that parents - those who survived - had been asked to send in pictures from Before in order for the doctors to match the colour with their original eye.

Namjoon blinks for a second, puts his hands on the counter and sighs. He doesn’t like looking at his skin; it’s taken an unnatural, grey undertone. It looks washed out, ugly. There’s a picture taped to the mirror of him lounging on the beach, skin a golden glow in the sun. He’s smiling. His hair is damp looking, but healthy. His eyes are a soft, dark brown. With only swim trunks on, most of his skin is viewable, while it couldn’t be said that the picture shows a body of a model or weight lifter, it was healthy and toned. Most importantly, it wasn’t missing the chunk of flesh that Namjoon’s current stomach did.

Namjoon sighs. He looks away from the picture and to his own face. His lips are chapped, pale, and his hair has seen better days. Namjoon looks at his eyes; sees one the beautiful brown that they had been in a previous life, and one, well. One is an ugly, pale white. Red and blue veins stretching all the way to the too big pupil like spider webs, iris turned a pale grey.

Namjoon grips the counter and feels sick. He quickly picks up the other contact, slips it in as fast as he can - he always hated touching his eye - and then lets out a sigh of relief when his own brown eyes look back at him in the mirror.

It isn’t much, but seeing his own eyes makes him feel more alive, less undead. It doesn’t matter if they itch, because without them Namjoon could do everything else - put on makeup, cover his scars, hell, he could try and eat actual food, but without his contacts in, it doesn’t matter. Everyone will know.

Seokjin will know.

He can hear Seokjin going about his day outside the washroom, making breakfast - still for two - folding his clothes, listening to the radio in the kitchen. Namjoon twists open the makeup contain and grabs a small sponge, starts apply the foundation to his face. The prominent veins disappear, so does his ghastly parlor. He applies it thickly over scars and the small divot in his cheek from where some teenager tried hit him with a crowbar. He doesn't think about how that kid didn’t live longer than two minutes after that.

Namjoon takes one last look at his face, moving his head around to see if he missed any spots. He stopped trying to put foundation on his hands when Seokjin complained about the stains on everything he touched, so now he just wears long sleeves. It’s not like he can feel the heat or sweat anyways.

Satisfied with how he looks, Namjoon takes a deep, and unnecessary breath, and smiles. His lips crack a bit, but that has always been normal, and his teeth are fine. Namjoon is always worried one day he’ll open his mouth and there’ll be a chunk of flesh hanging out of it, a tendril of muscle caught between his teeth, blood running down his chin. He saw the pictures of himself before treatment. Afterwards, he scrubbed his face so hard that for a few seconds he thought he could feel pain again.

Namjoon leaves the washroom, tugs his sleeves over his hands, and walks to the kitchen. He kisses Seokjin on the cheek, careful not to transfer any makeup. So long as Namjoon is careful, they can both pretend like everything is still normal.

Seokjin smiles. “Good morning, mister. You sure took your sweet time getting out of bed.”

“The suspense of not seeing you makes it so much more exciting when I finally do.” Namjoon says, pressing another kiss into Seokjin’s neck. Namjoon feels him tense for a second, so he pulls away quickly, sitting down at the breakfast table, whilst Seokjin finishes buttering toast.

When Seokjin sits down at the table himself, he places a plate in front of Namjoon. Some mornings Seokjin doesn’t, and Namjoon is more grateful for those mornings than he likes to admit. But he won’t push the plate away. He nods as Seokjin chatters away, slowly picking up the piece of toast and bringing it to his mouth.

He can still taste, so that aspect isn’t unpleasant, but as he swallows he can already feel his shut down digestive system protesting. He takes a few more slow bites, waits until Seokjin is finished as well, then excuses himself to the washroom. As soon as the kitchen is out of view, Namjoon nearly sprints to the bathroom, kneeling in front of the toilet and immediately vomiting the toast out. He coughs, pure instinct, and gags again. He hopes that Seokjin can’t hear him.

So many things about him ruin the careful crafted illusion that he and Seokjin work so hard to maintain.

He flushes the toilet, brushes his teeth again, and applies makeup to the corners of his mouth. Just because the illusion is hard to maintain doesn’t mean he’ll stop trying.

Seokjin is waiting with Namjoon at the doctor’s office, clearly uncomfortable sitting with him in the Partially Deceased Syndrome waiting room. Namjoon doesn’t blame him. Some of the undead, including the one sitting on the otherside of Seokjin, don’t bother with the contacts and makeup, and Namjoon knows that Seokjin doesn’t like their eyes.

He tries not to think about why. After a few minutes of nervous fidgeting, Namjoon grabs his hand. Seokjin jumps in surprise from the cold temperature.

“Babe, why don’t you go grab a coffee or something? From a store, not the shitty cafeteria coffee.” Namjoon smiles at him, trying his best not to sound strained.

“Are you sure?” Seokjin asks, even though Namjoon knows he’s just being polite. He nods, and Seokjin is noticeably more relieved. “Want me to get you one?”

Namjoon bites his lip, and ignores the looks a few other patients give him. “No thanks, I’m good.”

Seokjin gives one last grin then walks off hurriedly. Namjoon is left to wait for his appointment, alone. He’s a little disappointed, he had wanted to introduce Seokjin to his doctor, thought maybe he could recommend someone that Seokjin could talk to about… all this. But it’s progress; at first Seokjin wouldn’t even walk into this part of the clinic, much less sit down for more than ten minutes.

“He stills offers to buy you coffee?” Asks the guy that was sitting next to Seokjin. He looks young, barely out of his teen years. The veins in his face are bright greens and reds, and one of the pupils in his eyes has broken, leaving globs of black speckled across the grey canvas. Probably why he isn’t wearing contacts, Namjoon thinks.

“Yeah.” Namjoon replies, a little terse.

“Why? Clearly you’re sitting here for a reason.” His words are a bit rude, but his tone is genuine.

“He… We like to pretend that I’m just here for a check up, and nothing else.” For a second Namjoon is surprised by his honesty. Talking about the lengths they both go to shatter the fiction that they try to maintain effortlessly. They don’t talk about how Seokjin goes to sleep at least an hour early than Namjoon now, so that he’s fast asleep by the time Namjoon washes his makeup off for the night. Or how Namjoon sets his alarm twenty minutes before Seokjin so that he can put his face on. Sometimes he’ll put his makeup on then go back and lay down, pretend to be waking up at the same time as Seokjin. The heat from the blanket warms up Namjoon’s body, so it’s the only chance Seokjin gets to hug his bare skin.

“Why, though?” The kid asks.

“Because we want to.” Namjoon snaps. The kid takes no notice.

“Seems like a pain,” he says, “To pretend. I mean, it’s not like either of you can change what’s happened.”

“Yeah, well, the fact that we can’t change is half the reason why we pretend.” The kid is about to say something else, when the receptionist calls out, “Jeon Jeongguk. Jeon Jeongguk. Room sixteen, please.”

The kid grins, and pushes himself up from the chair. Namjoon can see where his skin pulls at scar tissue when he grins. “Well, good luck with whatever you and him have going on.” and then he walks away.

Namjoon crosses his arms, and pretends like the kid’s words don’t affect him. He gets called into the doctor’s office a few minutes later, gets his bi weekly injections, and declines when the doctor offers him a pamphlet for a support group.

He texts Seokjin saying that his appointment was done, and where should I meet you? Seokin texts him back telling him he’s at the nearest starbuck, and hey, how was the checkup?

Namjoon doesn’t reply.

Seokjin’s birthday is still a few months away but Namjoon can’t stop thinking about it. He knows what he’s going to get him, so it isn’t stress that keeps it on his mind.

Namjoon wonder if they should sit down and have a real conversation about the elephant in the room, shatter the illusion just for a while to talk about the obvious.

The obvious being that they will no longer grow old together. They will no longer get the dream life they’ve been envisioning since college. The one where Seokjin retires first, then Namjoon, then they move more into the suburbs with some pet dogs, visiting the kids they were going to adopt in their thirties every few weeks. Seokjin would take up knitting and Namjoon would try his hand at cross stitching or carving. Once they got even older they would move to a more rural area where they can spend the rest of their days relaxing on a porch, holding hands as they watch the sun set. Rooms upstairs all done up so that their grandkids could stay with them in the summer.

There’s a few things wrong with that plan now, the main one being that Namjoon can’t age. Stuck forever slathering makeup on his twenty four year old face, as Seokjin’s birthdays pass. At first it probably won’t be noticeable, but over time it’ll become more and more obvious that Namjoon’s age is cemented forever. The second issue is that Namjoon can’t adopt kids now. Even if he could, he doesn’t know if he would. Laws prohibiting him and other Partially Deceased, aside, the thought that maybe one day an injection won’t work, or maybe he’ll forget to go in because of a soccer game or recital, a stuffy nose keeping his kid at home. The thought of him losing feeling in his arms and legs again, them moving on their own accord as his jaw goes slack, his hands lose dexterity but body making up for it in pure will and unknown strength. Of him being filled with a hunger that he hasn’t felt in years. It’s too much for Namjoon to bare to think about.

The third and least pressing issue is that Namjoon can’t hold Seokjin’s hand without running it under hot water first. His skin is always ice cold otherwise, and Seokjin hates that.

Weeks pass and Namjoon doesn’t bring it up. He buys hand warmers and mittens, though. It isn’t much, but he when he holds Seokjin’s hand he feels just a little bit closer to that dream life they were planning before.

Namjoon finally bites the bullet and goes to an Undead Support Group. He meets Min Yoongi, the group leader and trained therapist there. Namjoon doesn’t know why but he feels at ease with him, his sharp words mixed with his lazy smile and kind eyes making Namjoon feel at home. Yoongi is still fully alive, but his husband, Hoseok is very much Undead.

Hoseok is nice, he wears makeup and contacts in public, but he says at home he usually doesn’t.

“Wow, I don’t know if I could ever do that.” Namjoon says, when he finds out. Yoongi looks at him.

“Why?”

“Because the last time my boyfriend saw me without makeup on, I was up covered in blood and trying to rip his throat out.” There’s a brief uncomfortable silence between the three of them.

“What about when you were getting treatment, didn’t he see you then?” Yoongi asks. Namjoon shakes his head.

“He refused to visit me until I was released. Even then, he didn’t come until the doctors told him they issued me makeup.” Namjoon laughs a bit at the thought of his boyfriend’s antics, remembers how every phone call started with him asking Please come see me and Seokjin replying Once you look like you, sweetheart.

“So your boyfriend, at no point, has seen you normally without makeup on?” Yoongi clarifies.

“Nope!” Namjoon answers, a little bit proud. They’ve had some close calls, but Namjoon has always managed to cover his face with something - his shirt, hands, or a towel - just in time.

Yoongi frowns and Hoseok looks at him a little bit sadly.

“I think maybe you and your boyfriend should see a therapist about that.” Yoongi says, honestly.

Namjoon is in the middle of towel drying his hair when he hears a crash from the kitchen. He hears Seokjin swear then there’s anothing bang. It’s loud enough that Namjoon knows it isn’t just a mug, so he rushes out of the bathroom to see what’s wrong.

“Babe, are you okay?” He asks immediately. He sees a shattered ceramic dish and a few pans on the floor. Seokjin looks up from the mess, a soft smile on his face as he’s about to assure his boyfriend that he’s fine. As soon as he sees Namjoon his smile drops, eyes widen, and he starts to shake.

“Jin, are you okay?” Namjoon asks, stepping towards him. Seokjin quickly takes a step back, crying out in pain when a piece of ceramic impales his foot.

“Seokjin, baby, what’s wrong?” Namjoon asks again, concern and fear growing by the second.

Seokjin’s entire body is shaking, and he starts letting out small gasping sobs. Namjoon tries to step towards him again, but this is when Seokjin breaks out of his frozen state. Despite his bleeding foot, he jerks away from Namjoon, sprinting down the hallway past him and into their bedroom. Namjoon hears the door slam shut, lock, and then all he hears is Seokjin crying. Namjoon stands in shock for a second before jogging to the bedroom door, and knocking.

Seokjin lets out a choked sob, “G-go away!”

“Seokjin, babe, please, let me in.” he hears more sobs, “Seokjin, please, you’re hurt!” More sobs.

“Love, what’s wrong?” Namjoon is about to ask again, when he hears Seokjin gasp and say,

“P-put your f-f-face on!” And even without a pulse, Namjoon can feel his heart breaking. Of course. He ran out of the washroom without his contacts in or makeup on. He’s shirtless too, so all the scars on his torso are in plain sight.

“Okay,” Namjoon says softly through the door, “I’ll put everything on, and the next time I knock I’ll look like myself.” He hears sniffling through the door.

Namjoon quickly puts on his shirt and contacts, but makes sure not to miss any spots with makeup in his haste.

He knocks on the bedroom door again, and he can hear Seokjin whimper through the wood. “Baby, I look normal now, I promise. Please, open up, we need to fix your foot.”

There’s silence for a few seconds then, “Promise you look normal?”

“I swear, sweetheart.” For a moment there’s nothing, then Namjoon here’s the click! of the door unlocking, and waits as it slowly opens. Seokjin stands in front of him, face red and covered in tear tracks, putting his weight only on one foot, and looking at Namjoon with a mix of apology and fear.

Namjoon says nothing as he picks Seokjin up like a baby to carry him back to the kitchen, where the first aid kit is. They’re both silent, aside from Seokjin’s occasional whimpers in pain and small sniffs, as Namjoon patches his foot up.

After he’s sure the bandage is on properly, and Seokjin is no longer making any noises, he says, “I think we should see a therapist.”

Seokjin just lets out a whimper in response.

Appointments with Yoongi are different then when they just hang out. There’s a defined shift in power that isn’t usually there. It’s tense, with Yoongi looking at them analytically.

“So,” he starts, “who should we start with?”

It’s painful, to say the least. He asks Namjoon to talk about how it makes him feel to have to dress up just to have a conversation with his boyfriend. He asks Seokjin to talk about his underlying fear of Namjoon.

“You’d know I’d never hurt you, right?” Namjoon asks, voice cracking. Seokjin shrugs.

“I know you wouldn’t but…” He trails off, and Namjoon knows what he means.

“Seokjin, in your view, what’s the difference between Namjoon now and Namjoon without makeup?”

“Well,” Seokjin starts, looking at Namjoon’s face, “Right now he looks healthy, alive. He looks warm. He looks… like he did before.”

Namjoon smiles at him, and pats his leg. There isn’t anything to warm his hand up, so he can’t squeeze Seokjin’s hand.

“And without, he looks, well, he looks dead. And, scary.” Seokjin looks away.

Yoongi nods, “I understand. When I first saw my husband after treatment, it was before he got his makeup. I also thought he looked scary. But Seokjin, you have to understand that Namjoon isn’t like he was before. He’s undead now. That may not change anything else about him, but you need to understand that in order for us to move past this.”

Both Seokjin and Namjoon frown. “But the whole point of this is so that we can go back to how we were before.” Namjoon says.

Yoongi sighs, “Namjoon, I’m sorry to say, that will never happen.”

They don’t talk during the car ride back home.

It takes a few more appointments before Yoongi convinces them to allow Namjoon to wear less makeup at home. Not no makeup, they both protested as soon as that was suggested. Just, less. Enough that it covered the greyness, but not enough that the veins and scars were invisible. It puts Seokjin on edge for a few days, but after a while he grows used to it, allows Namjoon to give him kisses and kisses him in return.

Then it’s hand holding. Without hot water bottles or mittens, Yoongi says. Namjoon is hesitant, because he remembers what it felt like back when Seokjin was the one with cold hands, know it isn’t pleasant. They go a movie, one that they actually want to see, and try to hold hands throughout it. Aside from grabbing a few handfuls of popcorn here and there, they manage to do it without a hitch. Once they got used to it, it was as nice as they remember. Seokjin still makes Namjoon wear socks in bed, but now he allows him to press up against him as they sleep.

They work up to contacts. Over time Namjoon wears less and less makeup, until he walks around the house without a speck of it on. Seokjin doesn’t even bat an eyelash. Instead of turning away in fear or disgust, he’ll cuddle against Namjoon on the couch while watching TV. Maybe press a kiss against his lips just because.

It takes almost a year, but one norming Namjoon wakes up at the same time as Seokjin. He can feel him moving around in bed, feels him press a kiss to his nose as he whispers, “good morning, sleepyhead.”

Slowly, Namjoon opens his eyes. Seokjin stills for a moment, gazing into the grey eyes of his boyfriend. For a tense second they’re silent. Then Namjoon says, “Good morning, love.”

Seokjin smiles, and gives him another kiss.

Namjoon plays with the hem of his shirt nervously. He can tell it’s warm out even though he can’t really feel it. He looks at Seokjin, wearing a big hat and sunglasses as he lounges in his beach chair, reading a book. Namjoon kicks his feet in the sand for a minute.

He looks around. There’s a few other partially deceased on the beach, in various stages of dressed. No one is paying them much attention, no one is even looking at him. He takes a deep breath, and quickly pulls his shirt off.

Seokjin looks over, and wolf whistles.

“Shut up.” Namjoon says, and if he could blush he would.

He doesn’t know if he can get a sunburn, or if he can tan. Seokjin smiles, “What? I’m allowed to enjoy the view. After all, you are drop dead gorgeous.”

Namjoon groans at the pun, but he still leans over to give Seokjin a kiss.

---

It’s a sunny day outside, so Seokjin and Namjoon decide to go out for a walk. They’re both tired of the beach, since they’ve spent the last couple of days there. Namjoon holds Seokjin’s hand, but keeps having to let go every few minutes to swipe away sweat. Seokjin scrunches his nose up but says nothing.

Namjoon leans over and gives Seokjin a kiss on his lips, enjoying this small moment with him. When he pulls away, he sees a kid, probably no more than thirteen, in the middle of the street. Cars slow down and drive around him, looking confused at the lethargic and slumping walk.

“Seokjin, sweetie, look.” Namjoon points, and Seokjin frowns when he sees the kid. He’s almost at the sidewalk, but the oncoming traffic doesn’t seem to evoke any reaction.

“Should we call someone?” Seokjin asks. Namjoon shrugs,

“Maybe we should ask if he’s okay?” he lets go of Seokjin’s hand and slowly starts to walk towards the boy.

“Hey, kid,” Namjoon says. The boy seems to react, turning his body towards the sound, but his head is still hanging down. He finally steps up onto the sidewalk.

“Namjoon, be careful.” Seokjin calls from a few feet back.

“Are you okay?” Namjoon asks, close enough that he could touch the boy if he reached out.

Finally the kid’s head snaps up, revealing white eyes and grey skin. There’s a tuff of something vaguely skin like that hangs from his mouth.

“What the fuck.” Namjoon says, taking a step back, eyes wide.

Suddenly the kid lunges forward towards his chest, with an unexpected strength he knocks Namjoon to the ground. The wind is knocked out of him and he can hear Seokjin gasp and yell, “Namjoon!” but he’s too busy trying to push the kid off of him. He has a death grip on Namjoon’s chest, fingers digging into his skin.

The kid raises his head, and opens his mouth, the strange thing in his mouth falls out, and when it lands on Namjoon’s shirt it leaves a red stain. Namjoon is still trying to get the kid off, when he brings his head down with speed towards Namjoon’s stomach. Namjoon screams as he feels teeth puncture his skin. The kid closes his mouth and locks his jaw. He tugs and tugs until Namjoon can feel his flesh ripping. There’s tears running down his face. He can hear Seokjin shrieking behind him.

The kid takes no notice to Namjoon or Seokjin’s screams or to the cars slowing down next to them to call an ambulance, the police, someone. The kid swallows, blood dripping down his chin. He opens his mouth again, and takes another bite.

#bts fanfic #lgbtqbangtan.net #namjin fanfic #its gay lads !#rambles #uhh idk pls give SOME sign if u read/like it pls

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curseofpersephone · 6 years

Text

Trouble

Chapter 4: Green Eyed Monster

Words: 4K

Not Gif is not mine and from the generator, so credit goes to the linked info :)

Warnings: Set post Infinity War, so Spoilers! Loki is a well Loki. Alcohol and jealousy.

Pairing: Loki x Original Female Character

Summary: Loki did his best to avenge Asgard to save his brother. He remembered his last words, but this certainly didn’t look like an after life. Where the hell has he been dragged to now, and why does it feel like he is still dying?

“He is nothing but trouble. Saving him may not be worth my time”, the old woman sounded like gravel against mud.

“Lola! Don’t talk that way”, a softer voice cut in.

“You will not like this, but if you are to survive you must trust me.” Her voice was quiet and sure.

Master List

Disclaimer: Loki, Thor, The Avengers and all related characters belong to Marvel and their incredible creators. I make no monetary profit from this work it is only for entertainment.

Spoiler Warning: This does occur immediately after the events of Infinity War! So be advised that spoilers are littered throughout even the first chapter.

Author’s Note: It has been a hot minute since I have dabbled in a new fandom. Oddly enough I have always thought the Tom Hiddleston embodiment of Loki was pure gold, but I never dared dabble in the complex Marvel fandom. However, after the amazing character development that Loki went through to be crushed in the first moments of Infinity War- I felt stung. Not just by a plot bunny on how to avenge this wronging of a character who had been so painstakingly crafted, but over how all of Asgard’s refugees seemed to meet a similar fate with the exception of Thor… and then like some of my ideas it wouldn’t leave me alone.

She wore her hopes like a crown,

An outspoken soliloquy of dreams.

~ Ariana

Chapter 4: Green Eyed Monster

The dark haired trickster found that in the short weeks he had been on Sabal he already read all the books he could find in the farm house. While the property was large and its creatures ancient he bored of it quickly. Boredom, something he had not known since childhood when his mother would punish him with it. She would withhold her attention, her knowledge, and reduce him to chores for his temper or foul tricks. The thought of Frigga brought about an ache he could never settle back properly into hiding, and always stirred him to action in order to distance himself from it.

Occasionally, he would use his seidr to aid in the work on the fields and it earned him a proud smile from the little priestess. That too unsettled him. The little priestess in general was an enigma to him. She took him in and asked for nothing but his effort. She did not demand he be “good” or “right”, always just asking him to be better. Somehow those words that were meant to hold less demand were turned into an invisible yoke about his shoulders.

He found himself working and toiling about for this farm with his magic and his returning strength. It was something he found odd and revolting each time he went about the task, but it seemed a debt he needed to pay. He was alive. He was fed. He was laid to rest each night as tenderly as any of the priestesses other beasts. What was left of his conscience his mother once worked so hard to cultivate sought some balance, even if it was mostly to ensure she did not come to collect on it later.

Yet, even when he misbehaved she exposed herself further to him. Each time he bit with venom she reached out with kindness and he felt that unspoken debt grow and weigh even heavier on his shoulders. She never asked him for anything personal, only menial tasks. “Will you help with this? Will you go with me here?” Her warm little hand would touch his as she said please and that invisible yoke bore down on his shoulders.

When she smiled though it all seemed to fade away. When she pressed close on their walks or rides to town he felt stronger than in all his years. His cruel common sense hissed at him to ignore the dalliance. She was young, soft and lovely, but she would never understand. None ever did. Yet, her chastity gave it all the feel of a certain dance. A pattern to his days and a boundary he could count on in their little games to keep them safe from one another.

That was until the the land grew colder, autumn leaning toward a harsh winter. It brought a visitor he cared little for, a young man by the name of Keno. He was the son of the orchard owner and suddenly began making regular trips with bushels of apples and fruits for trade and sometimes gifts. He was tall, broad shouldered and sported long blonde hair he braided down his back. He proudly wore a new beard which was neatly trimmed and cropped to his jaw.

Keno had one mission and it didn’t have a damn thing to do with apples. All the strapping young orchard heir wanted was an excuse to talk to the apprentice priestess, sometimes making up ailments just to get her to look over his chest if he could summon some wheezing. The apple boy’s blue eyes followed the priestess’ every move, and he did his best to shower her in compliments.

He would babble on about how her hair was long and such a beautiful shade of brown, like fertile earth. Her eyes were golden like the fires of the hearth and skin like fresh cream. The boy needed work, but he was trying. Loki almost felt bad for him, especially since Serena was always one to keep busy. She often found some reason to wander away from her admirer, or to find something to clean. Sometimes she began to deal with the loads of fruit he brought, which often meant his attempts at poetic words were missed as her focus was elsewhere.

Lola often laughed outright at the boy, but he was not deterred or shaken. Loki’s pity and mild entertainment shifted on his second visit when the boy began to touch the little priestess, his massive hand tentatively gripping her waist or arm before he spoke. This got her attention, but Loki burned when his little priestess agreed to go with the little whelp on some walk. He had not felt jealousy lick at him so since his childhood where he was always pitted against Thor.

When the pair left he found his boots urging him in the opposite direction. Far from those feelings; though it would be so easy to follow and get rid of the apple boy all together. He felt the dark sand shift under his steps and the roar of the sea before him. He seated himself on a rock away from the spray of the sea, his mind trying to untie the knot it had formed.

It had been nearly two months, and he had grown attached to his little priestess. She was lovely and of a certain age, so suitors were only natural. Frankly, with how bold and sweet a prize he had seen her to be it now seemed odd that there was only one. She was petite next to his frame, but not tiny. She was curvy and lush in all the right places with a spark of wild that drew the eyes of men when she moved through town. Her voice was soft and her words clever, though cuttingly honest.

Her dark hair and golden eyes made her look all the more wild. Her gentle humming escaped from full lips and lovely cheekbones gave way to flush when flirted with properly. Were the other men of these lands so easily frightened off by the beasts she sang to sleep? Fools.

“Loki!” A harsh voice barked over the crashing of the waves.

Fisk approached in his ambling fashion, and the trickster rolled his eyes. The older farm hand smirked at him as he got closer, forcing the tattoos around his eyes into a strange shape, and muttered. “You look like you could use company.”

“I think not”, Loki barked and stood to leave.

Fisk raised a bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other. “I have brought an offering”, the man grinned devilishly.

Something in his crazed smile irked the prince, so he relented. Fisk plopped down in the sand and poured the strong smelling liquor into the glasses. The man tossed his own back and merrily poured himself another before repeating the process. Loki sipped at the fuel like substance while Fisk seemed set to get hammered rather quickly. However, as he tossed back his fourth he eyed Loki with oddly focused dark brown eyes.

“You should know we see the way you look at Serena”, Fisk grinned at him devilishly.

Loki only arched a brow and finished his first drink. Fisk happly refilled their glasses. His speech was now smooth and even, “You are not as clumsy as the Orchard Heir, but you are both the same.”

Loki again, chose to watch the drunk taunt him. He could kill him later. After he finished telling him whatever he came to say.

Fisk grinned up at him, “But you don’t know what he knows, and I like a fair fight. I am sure you wouldn’t understand, but I will tell you all the same.”

“You will tell me what?” Loki smirked, ignoring the small slight. How did people simply fall into his clutches?

“Serena is 22 summers, but I met her when she fresh and new to this world. Her father was Lola’s nephew, and while Lola is old and happy to sit back and let her apprentice do her work now she was a force to be reckoned with in her day. Her nephew was much the same, but unlike Lola he had no common sense. His parents raised him in the city and while he was clever, he just was too easily taken in by the wilds of our world.” Fisk smirked

Loki watch the man press his palm into the cool sand, seeming to search for the memory before continuing on, motioning to the cove beyond. “A siren was spotted in the bay. Such dangerous creatures are rare, so we take notice when they come prowling close. Serena’s father noticed the damn thing seemed injured, and despite all our orders he took a small boat out to her. We watched her drag him beneath the waves in horror, and searched for hours to find nothing.”

A softer smile came to Fisk’s face though and he closed his eyes. A haunting combination due to his markings, “Winter gave way to spring and one day the damn man walked into town. He smiled and embraced us. He was no ghost, and he told us how the siren had not drowned him. She had dragged him away to an underwater cave. He had healed her, and taken her as his wife. Each night he walked into the sea, and some days he would come bumbling in like any normal visiting relative. He was happy, and it wasn’t long before one day he brought along a little bundle that we now call Serena.”

“She was as happy and chubby as infants come. She inherited her mother’s eyes apparently, and a few gifts, yet she was as mortal as any other child. I would sit here and watch her play with her mother in the waves. Even as a small babe she was a strong swimmer, and her mother would sing her to sleep with that voice all thought could only be used as a weapon.” Fisk ran his finger around the rim of his glass in thought.

His brown eyes grew dark, and his posture sank. “One day the visits stopped. There were no more lullabies on the evening tide. We searched, but only found a few belongings that washed ashore. Lola could sense something terrible had happened to her kin in her very bones. Then, word came that a siren had washed ashore on a shore in the West. I rode for two days to see the truth. Her beautiful and terrifying mother was dead, and she had died fighting.”

“So, that is why Serena made her first shift?” Loki murmured.

“Yes, and while she knows her parentage we don’t try to push for such a terrible memory to surface. You could imagine our happiness when she returned though! Covered in mud and half starved with a dragon hatchling in her arms, though it took us three nights of hearing her little song to find her. Lola could not believe it, and raised her as her own.” Fisk grinned sharply at him, “And you might have notice how Hagen favors her. Her father was a friend of his. The first to be kind to the brute when he first arrived.”

“Indeed, now you say you could hear her song?” Loki felt the word prick at his memory.

“She was singing her little dragon to sleep”, Fisk frowned at how low the bottle was getting.

“I see, and you tell me all of this because?” Loki leaned back against the rock.

“I believe in a fair fight! You must pay more attention to Lola. She may look blind, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t know what happens in her house. Their bloodline is revered among the blessed for a reason. You are foolish to dismiss her for the appearance she intends to give off.” Fisk chuckled.

“Just what will Lola do?” Loki rolled his eyes pouring himself another drink.

“She will get in the way of your plans. She favors the Orchard Heir.” Fisk smirked wickedly.

“And what are my plans?” Loki let his tone drop for a taste of menace.

“Hell if I know”, Fisk grumped. “You seem to be lazy and self centered, but I see the way you look at Serena, our blessed little half breed of the ancients. She has the heart of a man eater, but chooses to use her song to encourage those she heals to rise rather than sink. Prey literally falls into her lap on a regular basis by trade and she has never batted an eye. She hums to the wounded and sings lullabies to the mighty beasts of old. She deserves a suitor just as strong of body and mind, though you also need some sense by the looks of it.”

“Just why would you help me in such an endeavor?” Loki eyed the man so blatant and coarse before him.

Fisk grinned impishly, “I see the way you look at Serena. Like a wolf after a lamb. It is only fair you should know what mighty teeth and claw are beyond that pristine disguise.”

“So, you don’t want to see me eaten? Here I thought you would want a good show”, Loki hissed sarcastically.

“I believe in a fair fight”, Fisk stood on wobbly legs and began to wander away, “And I see the way she smiles at you.”

Loki frowned watching him go before downing his drink, “So the little priestess is a siren.”

Darkness crawled closer and the rolling of the waves soothed him. He relaxed against the rock at his back, and felt the cool sand beneath his palm. The alcohol proved potent and made his body hum. This was an odd place. So full of questions and so full of unprovoked answers. Footsteps drew near and his head lulled to find his little priestess moving towards him in the dusk light.

“Was I not invited?” she cooed settling next to him.

“Did you have a nice walk?” Loki snickered and enjoyed the frown that drew her lips down.

She mustered a shrug, and looked over the empty bottle. “Keno is sweet, but he doesn’t get a hint.”

Loki chuckled darkly sitting up to lean towards her, “Not man enough for you?”

A deep blush ran over her cheeks and leeched down to her collar, but she managed to glare at him, “You would put it that way.”

Loki only leaned closer, enjoying the spark of anger in her golden eyes, “What then? He falls at your feet it seems.”

Serena gave a sigh, but didn’t pull away. Her eyes grew too sad for his taste before she closed them. “Keno is kind and handsome, but my life has responsibilities that would break his shoulders if he tried to take them on. I need someone who can take on my son.”

He held his hands up in surrender leaning back, “You and your son make for a mighty home. It takes a strong suitor to reach such a mantle… but you seem to know what you want.”

She threw her hands in the air in some effort to release her anger, “I know I could be a tender consort to someone like Keno, but he would have me some delicate maiden fawning over all the wealth he very well could provide. Men like Keno have been raised to see themselves as the knight riding in to save the girl from the dragon, and frankly I don’t need to be whisked away. I am the damn dragon.”

Her ranting was clearly some release for her and she panted like a warrior pleased to sheathe their weapon. That must have not been a nice walk at all, the trickster mused. Her cheeks were still a soft pink, and her golden energy pooled around her like honey to his knowing eyes. She chewed her lip as she looked at him in such a deliciously disheveled state.

Then, his priestess sighed and looked at him with that unflinching honesty. “I want someone strong enough to take the helm once in a while. Someone to provide a sense of security and partnership that will make myself and my son stronger, safer. I will take nothing less.”

A broad smile curled his lips back into a proud grin, “That’s good. Know your worth. Besides you would eat him alive.”

His priestess shook her head at him and informed him he must be drunk. While she was in fact correct it did not make his words any less true. He rose and she helped to dust the sand from him with care. He might have wobbled a bit for show, so that she would be so sweetly tucked to his side should he need aid in balance. He draped an arm around her and enjoyed how neatly she slotted into his side.

It was a marvel as she put him to bed. Now, he no longer received any wraps or salves, but she would often check to make certain he was settled. It had been several nights since she had lingered though, and the sweet sound of her humming soothed the anger that had stirred in him. She was all too correct in her assumption about making a good wife.

His little priestess quietly fussed over him in his drunken state, even if it was mostly a facade. She helped remove his boots and set them neatly together with quick fingers, then drew a warm cloth of sweet smelling water over his face and hands. This was no chore to her. There was no demand or order given. Something pulled at him that she would likely not allow him the same favor in her rooms. He hauled off his thick shirt, and smirked at her sudden need to do anything in another direction. To his shock though that seemed to be the door, so he called out.

“Why don’t you sing to me like all your other beasts?” Loki grinned, motioning her closer.

She perched on his bed with a scowl and pressed a warm little hand to his chest. He allowed her to press him into the bed. His hopes were dashed for more when she rolled her eyes and moved to take it back. He snatched it, and held it with care under his chin.

A sigh heaved past her lips, “Go to sleep Trouble.”

“Sing me a lullaby”, he purred, nuzzling the silky flesh on the back of her hand.

Something clicked into place in her mind. He watched her eyes widen, and then she drew near. Her hand in his hold cupped his cheek while she curled over his chest. She pressed a tender kiss to his temple, and tucked her cheek to his so that her soft lips bushed the shell of his ear.

Her voice was a tender whisper, “I wish I could.”

Oh the things he could do, his mind muttered. However, he remained still other than to tip his cheek against hers, enjoying its velvety texture. He longed to roll them over. Ravish her and make her sing. Let her eat him alive if that was the cost. This sweetness, this pure and freely given beauty deserved to be fed however it was meant to be. As his mind spun she rose, and tugged at her hand with a sad smile.

He pressed a kiss to her palm enjoying the way her fingers fanned out over his cheek even after he let go of her wrist, “Goodnight little priestess.”

“Goodnight Trouble”, she whispered as she slipped away.

For the God of Mischief there was no rest though. He curled an arm behind his head and inhaled the lingering scent of bergamot on his skin. His little priestess was powerful in her own way, though her own words told him she longed for a protector. It was not a role he had seen himself in often, at least not by choice. She had said lovers were allowed for the blessed, but she coyly sidestepped any of her own. She wanted what she wanted. The question then became, was she what he wanted?

He trusted her more than most, and she had yet to miss a step in his eyes. Yet, she was so very young, and painfully so when compared to his many years. She was a mortal, and while the creatures of Sabal seemed stronger than those of Midgard, they died all too quickly. There were ways around that though if he truly took her as his wife. Her heritage could also be helpful in that endeavor frankly.

She was also beautiful and sweet. No friend or lover had ever cared for him as she did, and she knew some of his great crimes even as she did so. A stern little ally, eager to step into his storm. Her son strangely set him at ease. He was not eager to be a parent, but Jinx was bridging adulthood. The dragon was clever and a clear product of his mother’s gentle touch and quick wit.

He was back to his old self, and certainly capable of courting the maiden. Did he want this life though? A farm in a rebellious hidden realm to call home? It didn’t set quite right in his thoughts, but... Serena. The thought of her seemed to open a door he probably should have left closed.

He had always had lovers. He had always admired those with sharp minds, powerful gifts and beautiful bodies that crossed his path. His own clever words and charm had always given him an easy path to them and their beds. A wife though, or mate? Whatever the term would be on this realm, that form of joining had never crossed his mind.

Yet, the idea of the little priestess slid open such a door, and the marched in as a conquering force in his dreams. These dreams were not of a wedding or the delights of deflowering her. No, they were of shared evenings like the one that had just passed where she would join him in bed. He could pass the warm cloth over her face and delicate fingers, run his hands through her unbound hair, and pull her bare to his skin where she could sing softly to him from her place tucked under his chin.

“How does one seduce a priestess?” Loki mused in the darkness of his room.

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Author's note-

So, first thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it, and I will update it soon.

Again, this is my first adventure ever into writing for the Marvel Universe, so please feel free to give me opinions. I am incredibly nervous about capturing a tone correctly for the characters, Loki chief among them. Also, let me know what you think! Thank you so much!!!

This has now been put through its paces by my darling Dragon!

Reviews are incredibly important to me because they are my only real way to gauge the audience. I welcome all feedback, so please let me know how I did! Thank you so much for reading!

Love,

Persephone

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