#but that doesn’t mean i can’t also take another half a year break before going back to finish this book 💖💖

[chocochipclaire]

I'm on the Lady Of The Lake book and I know it's gonna be even worse, but when they left Toussaint and Dandelion ran to say his goodbye.. "Go or I will cry" and "I want to hug Ciri." 😭 But your Hansa fanarts are the medicine for my aching heart after this and after what will happen later.

I’m so so happy to help because oh BOY does it get worse, when I tell you I got to the hansa all dying at stygga and then I just shut the book and haven’t looked at it again since 😭😭

[kyber-crystal]

scarlet ibis (songbird) || anakin skywalker

summary: they say the purest love takes the longest time, and your story is nothing short of that. there’s fragility within beauty and to him, you’re a mosaic of stained glass (alt title: 5 times you call anakin skywalker by his last name, and 1 time you finally call him by his first.)

words: ~3.2k

warnings: angst, mild violence, mentions of blood + death (but no major character death dw), two oblivious idiots in love

a/n: 2nd place fic from my mini poll! not my best work LOL, but i think this is one of my favorite fics i've written (so far). i've had this in drafts for about a year or so as well...

one

It was safe to say that even a nanosecond of interacting with Anakin Skywalker made your blood boil. 

He knew just how to push all your buttons and you hated it. How could one person exist for seemingly one purpose only—to piss you off—you didn’t understand it and weren’t sure if you ever would. “Loyal Jedi” my ass. 

If you were the first person to speak up during meetings, he was also the first to counter your points and shoot you down. If you were late to meals in the mess hall, he took the last roll of bread, so you’d have to wait an extra half hour for more to come out. If you were dueling together, he would always point out every microscopic flaw in your technique. You were sure that your head would explode at any moment by his existence alone.

This is so ridiculous—you’re ridiculous.

“You know I can hear you, right?” Anakin glanced at you in his peripheral vision. “Don’t be mad because my plan worked, and yours didn’t. There’s this thing called accepting defeat.”

“Just because I don’t do things the way you do doesn’t mean they’re wrong.”

“They’re not wrong, but they’re not safe. You can’t declare safety compromisation a success. There’s a clear difference between the two.”

You scoffed. “Since when did you, out of all people, account for safety?”

“I should be asking you the same thing.”

“You’re not answering my question.”

“And you’re not answering mine, either.” He reaches behind his ear and turns his comms on. “Now are we going to head home or what?” 

“Aye aye, General,” you responded sarcastically, rolling your eyes. “Let’s embark on the journey of a lifetime.” 

Awkward silence pierces the air like a dozen tiny needles, but you’ll take it over arguing with a wall any day. You knew what you were fighting for and why. You were confident in your actions and believed you always stood on the right side. 

Except, he didn’t. 

It was a quick two day recon and you got the job done in half the allotted time. In and out faster than you could blink. Of course, Anakin would find fault in that one way or another…and he did. You got caught as you were escaping…dragging the mission duration out by an extra day.

Granted, you were only delayed by a few hours, but it was enough to upset him. You couldn’t even feel the ropes digging into your wrists after hour two, anyway. But from the moment he broke in and saw the first speck of blood on you, a look of fury flashed across his eyes. I’d be surprised if he had even half a heart under all that thick skin, you grumbled to yourself. He’ll slice at anything that moves. 

“You know—” Anakin’s voice breaks through the tension-filled air. He wants to say something else, but the words get stuck in the back of his throat and his tongue goes numb.

“I don’t care.” You pick at your scabbing wounds, not caring that they’re starting to sting and peel all over again. Before he can catch you doing so, you tug your sleeves over them and grit your teeth. “We got the job done, Skywalker, that’s all that matters.”

two

Maybe it was time to stop trying to commit mass murder on the punching bags. They weren’t going to do anything except break after two minutes of merciless attacks. 

Hopefully…you wouldn’t get in trouble for the glass vase that happened to get in your path. Nobody ever bothered to wander to the west wing of the Temple often enough to notice, anyway.

As you clenched and unclenched your fists, the cracks in your knuckles slowly started to stretch out like thin, red spiderwebs. The dots of brilliant ruby seemed to glitter among the pristine flooring—almost like they were meant to be there from the start. 

With every shard you threw away, the cracks and fury dug themselves further into your skin, threatening to explode.

You didn’t even need to look up afterward to know his scalding gaze was on you again.  

“Are you trying to get an infection?”

“Fuck off.”

He ignored your biting reply and kneeled down to clean up the mess. Once he was done, he stood back up and grabbed you by the wrist, leading you down the hall to his quarters.

As soon as he sat you down at the edge of his bed, you shot him a death glare. “What in Force’s name is your problem?”

“My problem,” Anakin replied, “is that you’re about to bleed all over the place. Let me help.”

“I don’t need fixing, Skywalker,” you snapped. “It’s just a cut.”

Anakin raised a brow at you, then looked down at your hands. “Too bad, I think you do. Broken glass will buryinto places you don’t expect.”

“Then you’re severely underestimating what I’m capable of. So let me go,” you snapped, jerking your wrist out of his grip. You unfortunately did this too fast, and hissed in pain as a result. “I’m fine.”

Sighing, the young Jedi reaches for the bacta pads next to him and works carefully to patch you up. He pretends not to notice the tears welling up in the corners of your eyes. Or the way you pick at the skin by your thumb, or the way your left foot taps the floor in a nervous rhythm. He pretends not to notice everything you do, but you’re everywhere. It frustrates him because he can’t escape. 

“Why do I have a feeling that exterminating the centuries-old vase of magic and splendor wasn’t in your original plan?”

“I was,” your voice wavers, fingers twitching. He notices this, too. “Leave me be.”

Shadows of the late afternoon light dance across the bridge of your nose, and he lets himself stare for a bit longer than normal. And…being who you two are, neither of you realize the fact.  

“You can go now, if you want,” he finally says after the sun begins descending into the horizon. “But make sure not to overexert yourself again.”

You don’t move. You stay there; quietly sitting in the middle of his room with glistening cheeks. Anakin doesn’t bother asking you to leave a second time. 

A fallen angel trapped in an endless prison; a halo and fractured wings that rendered her unable to fly. And yet, amidst all that death and despair, nothing could mar her beauty.

He feels those same little spiderwebs running through his palms, and he feels them shorten. Just a little bit.

three

The halls of the Temple were eerily quiet early in the morning. You would expect more Jedi to be up before the sun rose, but today, all activity had seemed to stop. Gathering the ends of your cloak into your arms, you made a careful climb up onto the rooftops to watch the sunrise. 

It seemed like you weren’t the only one who had this in mind, though.

“The hell are you doing at this hour?” 

“I could ask you the same exact thing,” Anakin replied as he stood up and turned around to face you. “You’re going to fall.” 

“I’m fine, don’t—” You let out a small squeak as you lose your footing and slip. Luckily, though, he catches you in time by wrapping an arm around your waist and holding on tight. Fire shoots through your veins at the feeling of him pressed up against you. “Let go of me, Skywalker!”

Once he leads you to where you can get more stable footing, he lets you go. But even then, there’s a hand that hovers over the small of your back. 

Brilliant bursts of sunlight stream over the horizon and wash over the world in pale red and pink. It stops you from saying something snarky to Anakin because you’re speechless at the breathtaking sight above. 

“I have…something for you,” he clears his throat. “—And don’t hit me. I’m not trying to poison you.” 

“Okay…?”

He reaches into his cloak pocket and pulls out what appears to be jewelry of some kind. 

“How many innocent beings did you kill to get this? Please don’t tell me it was smuggled. Or that you robbed someone for it. I can’t keep something like that.” 

“Y/N.” 

“What?”

“Do you…like it?”

You paused and took one good look at the necklace in his hand. It had to be the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen in all twenty years of living, and even that was an understatement. A teardrop-shaped, deep vermillion stone encased by tiny, glittering jewels—it was as if he had captured the stormclouds himself. It was perfect—too perfect, almost. 

Your voice came out in a whisper. “It’s so pretty.”

He takes a careful step to stand behind you in response. His fingers brush against your neck as he puts the necklace on, and fireworks explode behind your eyes.

Without another word, you turn towards him and rest your chin on his shoulder. He pulls you closer, and your heart feels a little fuller than before. 

four

The warzone was an ugly place. 

If hell was a real thing, this had to be it. The sky is bleeding red and each burst of lightning splits it further apart, the smell of death swirling around with the debris. Battle droids push forward in a stampede and you try your best to ignore the sickening crunch of bone beneath their metal feet. You squeeze your eyes shut as you tighten your hold around your lightsaber and pray to every god out there in the universe because war was cruel and mean and you just wanted to go home and sleep forever because anything, absolutely anything, was better than the suffering you were having to endure now. 

When the shot originally meant for Anakin hits you in the side, you’re unable to fully comprehend the pain because your brain won’t let you. You force yourself to keep going. Pain was temporary…you’d deal with the aftermath later. You could afford to.

What feels like hours passes by and the gunfire doesn’t stop. The incessant ringing in your ears is something you’ve forced yourself to grow accustomed to. 

“Y/N!” Anakin’s voice manages to cut through the howling winds. “You need to—”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before a grenade detonates near you and throws you against the walls. A searing pain shoots through your body at the impact and the world tilts on its axis. Scarlet seeps into your tear-stained vision and suddenly, the whole world is drenched in blood.

This was it…

If you were going to die now, it would be as far from pretty as you could possibly get. 

It’s another slow few minutes before he finally finds you slumped against the stone. Somehow, you manage to shoot him a small smile before wincing. “Took you long enough to get here.” 

“You…”

“Oh, wow, I’ve been shot,” you let out a dry laugh, pressing a hand over your wound. The color immediately drained from his face as he saw blood seeping through your fingers. “That’s a whole lot of red.”

He crouches down next to you to assess your state, pressing the commlink in his ear as he does so. “Why is it that you’re always getting hurt?” 

“My middle name is Trouble, that’s why.” You cough, and more red drips down your lips. “Trouble follows me around wherever I go.”

“It’s not fair,” Anakin mumbled under his breath, applying pressure to your torso as you wince again. “I’m supposed to be jumping in front of bullets for you and getting close to being blown up, not the other way around.” 

“I decided that your massive ego needed a little break so I took the workload for you,” you snarked. “Happy now, Skywalker?”

For the first time ever, he doesn’t bite back with an equally sarcastic response. You don’t question it. “No. I’m not.”

The returning journey's dead silent, save for your labored breathing due to your cracked ribs. You try to sit up, but he places a firm hand on your shoulder to keep you from moving. 

“I told you I’m fine—”

“You need to rest,” he exhales, the distress and tiredness evident in his eyes. “Please.”

“Okay…”

Wordlessly, Anakin reaches over to cup his hands over yours and and brings them to his lips. A pleasant sense of warmth overtakes you and you can almost pretend like the ship’s heater isn't broken and you’re melting, little by little. And if you look closer, you can see clusters of galaxies and shooting stars behind his steel blue eyes. The thought alone comforts you and starts to lull you to sleep. 

His eyes shift to the necklace; the gemstone sits still against your sternum as your chest rises and falls. Beauty among chaos. He wonders every day how such stark differences can coexist in a peaceful manner. 

“For what it’s worth,” he murmurs long after you’ve drifted off, “I never really hated you.”

five

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You placed your hands on your hips as you observed the pitiful scene before you. The Jedi Order could host extravagant events and use expensive artillery and clones, but wouldn’t account for comfortable sleeping accommodations. Making a mental note to politely complain to Master Windu, you let out a long sigh. 

“If I stretch out, I’ll fall off,” Anakin pointed out as he too stared at the small queen bed (you were sure it was a twin, though). 

“I’d fall off, too.”

“You know what…I’ll take the floor. I don’t want to hear you complaining about back pain in the morning.” 

He was about to take his pillow and toss it to the floor before you grabbed his wrist. “Are you nuts? I can’t let you do that.”

“Then what do you want me to do?” 

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t know, share the bed without kicking me in the middle of the night?”

Both of you stopped and stared at each other at this. 

“The audacity you have to say that when you’re the kicker…” Anakin began. 

“I’m using the bathroom first.” You pushed past him to go wash up. “Don’t be a bed hog, Skywalker.”

Minutes later, you’re both settled in under the covers and have fallen into a comfortable silence. The only things you can hear are the crickets chirping outside and Anakin’s steady breathing. If you ignored the fact that you were on a mission and crammed into an incredibly tiny motel room, you could imagine that this was a peaceful weekend getaway to some tropical planet. 

You’re the first one to break the silence and speak up. “Do you wonder when the war will end? Or if it’ll end at all?”

“All the time.” He rolls over on his side to face you. “And what I’d do afterwards.”

“Where would you go?”

Anakin hums for a moment before responding. “I don’t know. You?”

“I’d go back to Naboo. To the lakes, where the water is so clear you can see your future, and the roses are redder than your face under the summer sun. Padme would take me there all the time when we were younger.” 

“I think I’d follow you, then.”

“But there’s sand, and lots of it,” you laughed. “Are you sure?”

“I’d be willing to bear its coarse, rough, and irritating qualities for you. Only once, though. I have my limits.”

Your heart warms at the mini confession. “I wish we could just end everything now. Call off the troops, sign a few treaties or something…end the war. I’m tired of the violence and bloodshed. I know everyone else is too.”

“I know.”

Anakin’s hand finds its way into yours, and the tension in your shoulders slowly unravels as your fingers lace with his. 

And all the cracked and bleeding crevices on your skin start healing the longer you lean into his touch. It’s like he has a needle and spool of thread in hand, and he’s slowly but surely stitching you back together. 

plus one

The giant metropolis of Coruscant had gone quiet under blankets of snow—it was a sight unlike any other. You hadn’t seen a speck of snow hit since you stepped foot onto the Jedi Temple as a child. 

You stood alone in the hangar bay with bated breath and reddened, frostbitten fingers. Like you’d dipped them in blood before letting them dry for a bit.. He had to be here any minute now; you didn’t want him to return and not have anyone to welcome him back. So despite the subzero temperatures and barely-healing knuckles, you remained in place. 

When his ship touches down and he hops out with a wide smile, you can feel a giant weight being lifted off your chest. He jogs toward you and brings you in for a crushing embrace, and for once, you finally feel at home. 

“It’s freezing. What are you doing here?” He’s sweating, even though he looks like he should be cold. “You should’ve headed inside.”

“I waited for you, what else would I be doing?”

Anakin grins again and hugs you even tighter. “I missed you. More than anything.” 

Your heart suddenly starts to ache at his admission and that’s when the realization kicks in. “I thought I lost you, Anakin. You could’ve died. I couldn’t sleep for three days after I lost your signal. And yet you’re standing here acting like it’s no big deal because at least you’re alive and in one piece.”

“Y/N…”

A chill runs down your spine and you know in that moment that it has nothing to do with the weather. You knew this wasn’t right; you weren’t supposed to be doing this, but it felt more natural than anything you’d ever done.

That’s when you find an Anakin-shaped shard of glass wedged deep in your heart and you don’t know how it found its way there, but you don’t even bother pulling it out. Glass splinters are supposed to be these jagged, disfigured things, but this one is beautiful and even shines amongst the rubble. It’ll bury its way into places you don’t expect. With the way he fits against your body, you can’t help but feel like he was meant to fill the gaping hole in your heart. So wholly, so perfectly without a single scratch or flaw. 

You look up at him and feel your breath get caught in your throat. Since when did he make you so nervous? 

He’s even closer now and so are you, so you press your mouth to his as if doing so would save you from falling apart. Your brain short-circuits, and as you sink into the sudden burst of warmth you realize you don’t want this to end.

“Took you long enough,” he mumbles against your skin as you pull apart. “I was starting to wonder when…”

“Shut up. Don’t ruin the moment,” you muttered before bringing your hand to his cheek and kissing him a second time. He doesn’t object and tightens his hold around you, and a fire spreads through you from head to toe. 

“I love you,” Anakin says after a while. “Even though you like sand, and I don’t.”

“I knew that already,” you joked with a smile and close your eyes, taking in a deep breath. “You’re not exactly the most subtle person ever.”

“Neither are you,” he chuckles.

“But I love you too.”

tags, including people who may be interested: @arkofblake @dameronology @fl0ating @voguesir @lady-elena-adeline @aliciaasky @katelynnwrites @freeshavocadoooo @buckysbeloved @kelieah @kaleidoscope1967eyes @lam-ila @unstablecaffeinatedmind @elenavampire21 @joyfullyswimmingface

add yourself to the general taglist/top gun specific taglist !

[dyeher]

Warnings: mentioned cheating, bestfriend! yuuji, bestfriend! megumi, mentioned violence, gojou satoru, this is fucking crack not angst.

Notes: *gets cheated on by male* *male gets beaten up by unstable besties* *besties get bailed by equally unstable guardian* unedited: read at your own risk.

“He didn’t!” Yuuji’s jaw is unhinged, giving you an unobstructed view of his half chewed fries.

You can feel Megumi’s eyes as they stare into the side of your head. You can feel their intensity. He hands you another tissue from the Kleenex box in the table between you. “Get it off your chest,” you sniffle, dabbing at your eyes with the tissue.“Go on, I know you have something to say.”

“We should kill him,” Megumi blurts. Yuuji’s jaw snaps shut so hard his teeth clack together. Your head whips toward Megumi.

Your ex had messed up, sure, but murder was- well murder was crazy. And he’d really messed up, I mean as far as cheating went, he definitely took the cake for asshole of the year. Not that you were the one actually being cheated on anyway, but still murder was a little much.

Yuuji blinks at Megumi’s stoic face, slowly bringing a fry to his mouth. You blink at Yuuji because it seems like he’s considering it.

Your eyes fill with tears again because as terrible as murder was they really would kill him for you. “Oh Megumi!” You throw yourself at him, your arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders as you sob.

Megumi sighs. “He’s not worth the severe dehydration,” he says, rubbing your back soothingly.

Yuuji’s drink is thrust in your face. “Here, drink this, that way you can cry as much as you want.”

Your sobs break into a wet giggle as you take the cup from Yuuji. “Thank you.”

Megumi pulls away enough to stand from his seat and drag you up with him. He doesn’t look at Yuuji as he guides you to the giant couch in their living room and helps you get comfortable curled up into his side.

“Fine,” he acquiesces. “Cry as much as you want today and tomorrow, but then Yuuji and I will fix this.”

You convince yourself, as Yuuji sinks down next to you and wraps his arm around your waist, that whatever ‘fix this’ means it will not entail violence.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” you sniffle. “Okay?”

“Sure,” Megumi shrugs.

“Okay,” Yuuji mumbles into your side.

They did something stupid. Maybe even something that entailed violence.

In fact, when Megumi had called from the police station in Tokyo and very casually asked you to find Gojou he’d also asked you not to come with him.

It was the wrong thing to say obviously. If those idiots got arrested defending your honour even though you didn’t ask them to, then you were going to be there to see them bailed.

Gojou glances at you over the top of his glasses. “Are you sure you want to be here for this?”

You narrow your eyes at Gojou. “Why aren’t you upset?”

Gojou blinks, his brows furrowing in confusion. “Why would I be upset?”

“They got arrested!” You splutter. “I- you’re acting like this is normal! Seriously? They were arrested,” you repeat.

Gojou’s lips twitch and you have to stop yourself from reaching across the center console and shaking the man violently. Clearly the gravity of the situation had only settled on your shoulders.

What if he wanted to press charges? Oh God, they’d have a police record! Your eyes water just thinking about the implications of their actions and they’d done it for you.

“Please don’t cry,” Gojou says, quickly. “I can’t do crying.”

You glare at him through your blurred vision. “But you can do arrests!?”

He purses his lips, before sighing. “It’s not the first time I’ve had to bail them out.”

You jerk away, bumping your elbow into the car door, your mouth falling open as he glances at you from the corner of his eye.

“It’s not- it’s not the first time?!” your pitch rises, incredulity coloring your tone.

Gojou smiles at you. Smiles. It’s almost as though he’s proud of the fact. Proud that he’s had to bail the boys he’s raised out of a jail cell before this. Maybe he doesn’t see the way that reflects on him.

By the time you pull into the parking lot of the precinct your heart is pounding.

“Don’t say anything,” Gojou warns you, and as you watch him straighten to his full height and square his shoulders you realize, yeah, it’ll be fine.

Fifteen minutes later, as Megumi collects his things and Yuuji grins widely at you, you finally release the breath you didn’t know you were holding.

You don’t speak even as Gojou guides you back into the car. The silence stretches until he pulls out of the parking lot.

Gojou breaks it with a faux serious question. And you know it’s faux because you can see his lips twitching.

“How bad is it?”

Yuuji laughs. “A broken nose.”

“Dislocated jaw,” Megumi adds.

“I think we fractured his ribs too,” Yuuji muses.

Your eyes bounce from one to the other and then Gojou hums.

“That’s not too bad,” he says.

You open your mouth to argue but Gojou chuckles and then Yuuji starts humming and Megumi turns to him with his narrows.

“What is that?” he asks. “Is that- is that Another One Bites the Dust?”

Gojou joins Yuuji’s humming.

You glance between all three when Megumi begins to sing the lyrics. You sit back heavily in your seat. Why bother? Why bother when Gojou talks to the commissioner like they’re old friends, and the officers at the precinct high-five Yuuji and nod solemnly at Megumi.

Why bother when Gojou clearly wasn’t bothered and your ex probably got what he deserved—not that anyone deserved to have their face bashed in—but…well, arguing with them about their actions would imply that you were protecting your ex. And you weren’t.

Yuuji has begun snapping his fingers and bobbing his head, Gojou’s fingers drum rhythmically on the steering wheel.

“Another one bites the dust,” sings Megumi.

“And another one gone, and another one gone,” you hum, joining them.

“Another one bites the dust.”

[strscrossed]

kiss of death — part i

and here i present the ballerina/mafioso au. it's a slow start but i always like having a setup. anyway, eren's a mafia underboss along with his brother zeke. grisha is the boss and women are kept out of the family business. thanks @likesunsetorange for reading this over and also enabling me! 💕

eremika. 2.5k. explicit.

~

“And what do you mean you won’t be joining us for dinner?”

Eren glances at his father for a little assistance. His mother’s voice is low, something dangerous stirring behind the calm. At this point, Eren would rather be in enemy territory, without a gun, than deal with Carla Jaeger. 

“It’s last minute but a business associate's daughter has a ballet recital and he’s treating us to dinner after. Sorry, mom. Can I take a raincheck? 

The key to a good lie is a half-truth. He does, in fact, have to attend a ballet tonight. Not with a business associate but his mother isn’t to know that under any circumstances. He worries for a moment because his mother is quiet. Too quiet, in fact. 

“Always with the rainchecks,” she mumbles, shaking her head. She glares at him for two seconds, narrowing her eyes before sighing, conceding defeat. 

When he was younger, he had a tell. His ears would turn red and his mother had a habit of pinching them whenever she would catch him in one. But adulthood has turned him into a seasoned liar. 

“And you couldn’t handle this because…?” Carla glares at her husband, who sits on the sofa cross-legged, reading a newspaper. Grisha Jaeger is afraid of no one. Except, maybe, his wife. 

“I’m close to retirement, dear. The boys are grown now, it’s time they got involved in matters of the family business. If I keep doing it, they’ll never learn anything. And I’m not getting any younger. 

Zeke, who stands a few feet away, snorts quietly. Grisha’s “fragile old man” shtick would be laughable to anyone but his wife. Carla shakes her head. Again, a sigh of defeat as her husband gives her those weary eyes. Eren has to bite his tongue to keep the laugh from escaping. 

“Eren’s hardly around anymore,” she says, shaking her head. “Can I at least have a meal with my boy once a week?” 

He can’t say no to her. 

“Of course, mom.” 

She sits back in her chair, teacup in hand. She mourns time lost with her son but unbeknownst to her, she is living comfortably because of all this. And to keep all this, he has to break yet another promise to his mother. 

“I need to head out now,” he tells everyone, with Grisha and Zeke nodding and Carla sighing. 

“Who is going with you?” 

“Armin and Floch,” he answers. At the mention of Floch’s name, he sees her face pinch a little. No, he’s not having this conversation again. She’s made her distaste for that young man abundantly clear. He doesn’t want to stick around to hear her ask his father, yet again, why he keeps him around. 

“Bye,” he says and he’s out the door before his mother can get another word in. 

➽───────────────────❥ ➽───────────────────❥

The fresh air fills his lungs as he closes the door behind him. His mother still doesn’t suspect a thing and that’s how he wants to keep it. It’s a dirty, grimy world that only the men of the family are privy to. If she really knew what the real family business was… 

He doesn’t want to even entertain that idea. These are the rules. They exist for a reason. And he stopped feeling bad about lying to her years ago. It’s a lesson that’s been beaten into him since he was sixteen years old. 

Eren slides into the front seat of the car. Floch is driving and Armin takes his place in the backseat. Neither man makes an effort to converse with each other and that’s fine. Their bickering is a source of Eren’s frayed nerves too often. 

“Ackerman soldiers were spotted frequenting the ballet, huh?” Eren asks. It’s a rhetorical question. 

“Quite a few of them actually,” Floch responds, his eyes glued to the road. 

“It’s because one of their own is this year’s prima ballerina,” Armin adds. “A large number of them are said to be in attendance this evening.” 

“Frequent the ballet, Arlert? How do you even know that?” Floch asks. 

Eren stays quiet as he glances at Armin’s unamused expression in the rearview mirror. Thankfully, he’s not the explosive type. 

“Well, if you must know, knowing about different things helps me navigate and infiltrate a number of different circles. You might want to culture yourself a little more, Floch.” 

Oh, here they go. 

“So, one of their own, huh? Old Kenny’s extorting ballet companies now?” Eren snorts. “His niece wanted to become a ballerina so good ole Uncle Kenny made it happen? Never took him to be such a fucking softie.” 

No, actually, if that is the case, it’ll be easier to get under the old fucker’s skin. 

“Actually, I hear Mikasa Ackerman is a once in a generation talent. And just in case, tonight’s performance is a ballet called Giselle. It’s about a young woman who falls in love with a nobleman and when they can’t be together she dies of heartbreak but that’s not where it ends—” 

“I don’t care, Armin,” Eren cuts him off. “I don’t care about ballet or the girl. We’re going there for one reason and one reason only — to watch the Ackerman’s every move. Everything else is worthless and irrelevant.” 

He hears Armin sink back into his seat, sighing. 

Eren does his best not to twist his face in annoyance. A ballet of all places. He never thought he’d be caught dead at one of those… 

➽───────────────────❥ ➽───────────────────❥

Kenny Ackerman is nowhere to be seen. Naturally, his old ass couldn’t be bothered to show up anywhere someone could see him. Levi Ackerman, however, is seated in the very front row. Armin manages to get them balcony seats so they can see everything. 

It’s the most boring observation ever because the Ackerman associates and soldiers are just seated there. 

This is why soldiers and lower level soldiers are sent to do this crap. Now he has to sit through a two hour long ballet and pretend to know what’s going on. 

Occasionally, the man to Levi’s right will lean over and whisper something to his ear. He simply nods, giving nothing away. 

“What are they saying?” Floch mutters to himself, squinting as if to read the lips. 

Armin, meanwhile, is observing their surroundings. It’s entirely possible that they’ve been spotted. 

“None here,” he assures Eren after a while. 

Before he can say anything, the theater lights dim. 

Eren knows jackshit about ballet. He doesn’t care to know what’s going on. The arts, the gentler things in life, were things he never cared to become acquainted with. So when the lights dim and the sound of violins fill the theater, he groans. He hears a lady gasp and jump behind him and he can’t help but scoff. It’s nothing compared to the sound of gunfire, bones breaking, or knives cutting through skin. 

The Ackerman party, however, stops talking. Their eyes are glued to the stage and, unwillingly, Eren turns his attention to the stage. The whole production is colorful. Too colorful. It’s an eyesore.

He has no idea what’s going on. There are several dancers on stage at the beginning and then it’s just two guys. No one’s talking, obviously, it’s a ballet not a play. Armin’s probably watching completely enthralled, but he’s not impressed. He leans back in his chair, bored out of his mind as he watches them prance around the stage. 

He’d never willingly show up to these things. But, when his father received word of a large gathering of Ackerman, of course he had to show up for it. 

If the Ackerman are here, he needs to keep an eye on all of their activities. They might be here for the girl, but that’s immaterial for Eren. 

He doesn’t care about ballet. 

He doesn’t care for the girl—

His thoughts come to a screeching halt when a young woman appears on the stage. She looks around, and prances around the stage. And just like that, Eren is drawn right into the performance. 

She’s graceful, her movements are so natural, so effortless. It’s like she belongs up there. Whatever she’s doing — whoever she’s playing — she embodies the role perfectly. 

If he knows nothing else about ballet, he knows this much. 

“That’s Mikasa Ackerman,” Armin leans in to whisper in his ear. “This year’s prima ballerina.” 

He doesn’t know what the hell is going on but it gets sad pretty quickly, he assumes. He hears sniffling behind and near him. Floch looks endlessly bored and Armin, as predicted, is really into the performance. 

Eren is focused on his dancer. 

If he could compare her face to anything, it would be the moon. It is the illuminated beauty in the dark of the night and even from here, her eyes light up like the millions of stars. Only hers are brighter. 

It goes on for two hours, which Eren decides is not long enough. He’ll watch her perform all day and night if that’s what it takes. 

When the curtains close and everyone stands up to clap, he cannot bring himself to do so. His beautiful dancer is no longer in front of him and he finds no reason to celebrate that. 

“Well, that was uneventful,” Floch mutters disappointingly. “I thought they might actually try something. I thought we might actually gain an advantage over them.” 

Oh, right, they had a job to do. 

“Floch, if you thought they were coming to a ballet, which by the way one of their own is performing at, to try and pull something you’ve set your expectations way too high.” 

“Yeah, well if you haven’t noticed, this is our territory—”

“—technically, no it’s not.” 

“What? Are you secretly on their side, Arlert? Because it sounds to me like you are.” 

“Would you two shut up?” Eren growls, prompting the two of them to shut their mouths. “Armin, is she set to be in any more shows?” 

“I can check but if she’s the prima ballerina, you can bet on it.” 

Well, he is a betting man. And he always wins. 

“Then we’ll keep coming back. Sooner or later, they’ll start conducting business around here. We should watch for that.” 

He receives no protest. He does his best to keep a poker face but as he exits the theater, the corners of his turn up slightly… 

➽───────────────────❥ ➽───────────────────❥

“So?” Grisha asks, closing the door behind him. Eren and Zeke stand side by side as Grisha walks back to his desk, settling down and making himself comfortable before Eren allows himself to answer. 

“Nothing special. The Ackerman girl is part of the ballet, so they were serving as glorified bodyguards. The three of us watched them the whole time and nothing happened.” 

Disappointing news to say the least. So much for this being a golden opportunity to strike against the Ackerman. As always, they manage to elude them by doing absolutely nothing. 

“Even so, continue to watch the ballet,” Grisha instructs. “One evening will tell us nothing. And if the girl is part of the ballet, well they’ll frequent that theater. Perhaps, old Kenny Ackerman might show up.” 

Fat chance. 

“And Zeke,” he turns to his eldest son. “Are the girls of any use?” 

“Nope,” his brother answers. “The men don’t frequent brothels. In fact, the girls haven’t heard of either of them.” 

“Damn it!” his father curses, pounding the table with his fists. The whole thing is a little over dramatic in Eren’s opinion. 

Weaker men cower before Grisha Jaeger. He is someone that you don’t want to piss off. In all fairness, the Jaegers in general are people you don’t want to piss off. The two brothers are the only ones immune to their father’s fear tactics. Though, he is certainly not just talk. He wouldn’t be in this position otherwise. 

“It is decided then,” Grisha mumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The Reiss and the Tyburs agree that this cannot continue.” 

There is a tenuous peace between the families. Initially, each family controlled a third of the island and conflicts broke out through the generations. Eren’s grandfather realized there were more benefits to keeping these families as allies than enemies. Though tenuous is the best way to describe whatever alliance they had going. 

“And what does that mean?” Zeke questions. 

Grisha responds with a small smile. 

“I won’t keep you as you two have more work to do. I have arranged it. Zeke, you are to marry Rod Reiss’ eldest daughter, Frieda. And Eren, you are to marry Willy Tybur’s younger sister, Lara. You are to meet with them, court them, and the official engagement will be two months from today. It is done. You two will honor it.” 

What century was this? 

“What the fuck, old man?” Eren growls and two pairs of eyes are on him.

“What was that?” his father asks, daring him to repeat it. 

“You just sold us to the Reiss and Tyburs? You just want us to go along with it? What the fuck?” 

Grisha’s not used to having his authority questioned. Sometimes Eren is going to whine but usually he doesn’t have an issue doing his father’s bidding. Extort the local jeweler? No problem. Take care of a guy and dispose of his corpse? Done. Spy on a couple of low level Ackerman associates? He can do that in his sleep. 

Marriage though? Fuck no. That was different. That is something sacred and just for him. 

“You don’t have a choice. You’re going to go through with this, Eren. I’ve given you way too much freedom. You’re marrying Lara Tybur. End of discussion. You have dinner reservations tomorrow night at 8 pm. Make sure you’re not late and I’ll know if you two fuck this up. Now get the hell out of my office.” 

As the door closes behind the two of them, Eren is prepared to stomp down the hall but Zeke’s hand on his shoulder stops him. 

“Careful, Eren,” he warns. “Step out of line and the old man isn’t going to hesitate to give you the kiss of death.” 

Eren scowls, “And when did you become the obedient son? ” 

“You didn’t seem to have an issue when he decided that you’d join the family business. You don’t have an issue doing his dirty work. But you draw the line at marriage. Interesting. Is there someone?” 

“Fuck off, Zeke! It’s entirely fucking different and you know it! Does there have to be someone? And you’re one to talk! Pieck Finger is it?” 

“Watch it, Eren,” Zeke warns him, all amusement vanishing from his face. 

“Hit a nerve? Does the old man already know? Is that why you’re so okay with going along with it?” 

Zeke narrows his eyes, “I suggest you keep your mouth shut and do as you’re told.” 

“Whatever. I’m tired.” 

He stomps off. Zeke might be okay with this, but he definitely isn’t. He’ll do anything for this family but this was too much! And without even consulting the two of them. Shouldn’t he have a say in who he marries? 

As he silently rages, images of Mikasa Ackerman moving gracefully around the stage flood his mind. And all the rage dissipates into thin air…

[lis-likes-fics]

Green Isn’t Your Color

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Reader Warnings: Swearing, smoking, angst, sexual insinuations, idk. A/N: This was supposed to be really fluffy, and then I decided I wanted to break my heart. So here we are. Enjoy 13k words of Eddie Munson and Reader being assholes to each other. Also, I fcking love the best friends to lovers trope with this guy. It’s so great.

“What would you think if I started hanging out with Chrissy Cunningham?”

The question is so sudden. With no preface or anything to call back to, you simply turn quickly to Eddie and blink. You offer somewhat of a nervous smile, pinching the half-smoked cigarette between your fingers and adjusting the red beanie on your head. “What?” you chuckle lightly.

He chuckles a little in return, seemingly nervous as he runs a large hand through his hair and shrugs his right shoulder. He repeats his question. “What would you think if I started hanging out with Chrissy Cunningham?”

You don’t know how to answer his question. Is he asking you if you like Chrissy? Is he wondering if he should go through with it? You can’t tell, his eyes don’t give you much to work with, nor do his words. You shake your head and take a long inhale from your smoke, allowing it to fester in your chest for a moment before you blow it out and pass it back to Eddie.

“I’d think you were being weird,” you say, picking at some peeling paint under your hands on the picnic table. You shrug your own shoulder next, trying to ignore the way your heart pounds especially hard in your chest at the prospect of Eddie laughing with the blonde leader of the cheer squad. “It’s Chrissy Cunningham. I mean, I thought cheerleaders weren’t your type.”

He leans back with his hands gripping the edge of the table, laughing a little as he flashes that Eddie-smile that almost has you melting. “My type?” he chuckles. “Who said anything about my type? I said ‘hang out’, not ‘go out’.”

Then your heart quickens in your slight panic to correct yourself. “Oh, well…still,” is your only save. Again, you shrug it off like it’s nothing, shaking your head lightly as you make a little face of furrowed brows and tightly pressed lips.

Eddie’s smile widens, ever-teasing as he licks his bottom lip. “What, are you jealous that we only ‘hang out’? Do you want to ‘go out’ with me, Red?” His joke hits too close to him. You feel the muscle in your chest hammer ruthlessly against your ribcage.

You are quick to respond, though, shaking your head and laughing over the throbbing heartbeat in your ears as he takes a drag from the cigarette and watches. “What? No, don’t be ridiculous!” you lick your lips, you can taste your red lipstick painted over chapstick.

“I don’t like you like that.” A lie. “I hardly like you at all!” A joke. “I mean, it’s just…” A pause. “It's Chrissy Cunningham. Why would you want to go- hang out with her?”

You have no quarrel with Chrissy, you know how kind she appears to be to everyone in the school. You have known of Eddie’s mentions of his liking toward her for years, but never bring any attention to it for fear of making it true.

Eddie shrugs again, “She’s nice.” It’s the only explanation he gives, a half-hearted attempt to convince you of her virtue — or it’s him leaving your answer open for rejection. But you don’t catch that second possibility. It flies right over your Eddie-gifted ruby red beanie that grants you your nickname-sake.

“Alright? And?” you inquiry, as if genuinely looking for another example. And part of you is, but the other part is hoping he’ll drop it all together and forget it ever happened so you can keep him all to yourself.

He doesn’t.

“I need another reason?” he questions, raising a brow and huffing out a half-hearted laugh.

“I mean, yeah,” you lick your lips again and feel your fingers flex toward your bag in an absent-minded search for your lipstick. “Kind of.”

“She caught my attention, alright?” He taps the butt of the Marlboro a couple of times and watches the ashes fall onto the picnic table, which he smears over the wood after a moment of hesitation for the heat.

When you take in that next breath, you feel as though you have not breathed in hours and are just remembering to. You unknowingly allow the breath to drag out and settle. Eddie waits for it before he does continue. “I dunno,” he hums, “maybe I am considering ‘going out’ with her?” He says it like a question, like he’s asking you if it is okay for him to go on a date with Chrissy Cunningham. “Would that piss you off?” You miss the hope in his voice, distracted by his once again teasing smile as he glances up at you through his unruly bangs.

You lean forward across the table and pluck the rolled up parchment from his fingers. “Why does it matter what I think?”

His shoulders fall from a shrug again, his body moving with the action like he’s just a sack of potatoes being dragged around and manipulated by a disembodied being. “You’re my freaky little friend,” he tells you. “I need your opinion.”

You blow out the smoke in your lungs and grab your black tube of red lipstick and black and gold case of a mirror from your purse. “I mean…” you trail off, revealing the small items and twisting the tube open so you can apply it to your lips. “If you want to, I don’t care.” You play it off well, you don’t let any of your true worry or sadness show at his decision to choose Chrissy.

You smear the stick expertly over your lips and pop them in the reflection, looking back at Eddie with the cig still propped between two fingers that also support the back of the hand-sized mirror in your palm. You snap it shut and set it down, re-adjusting the smoke.

“Long as she’s not, like…” you trail off with a “secret” laugh, “beating you up or something.” You go to bring the nearly finished Marlboro with one last good smoke left in it to your freshly painted lips, when Eddie seizes it from your fingers before you can take it.

“Beating me up?” he repeats, furrowing his brows and finishing off the last of it.

You nod and chuckle, “I think she could take you.”

Your next chuckle is more of a laugh as you imagine a tiny girl like Chrissy handing Eddie’s ass to him. He laughs too, even through his little comment back as he slaps his hand over his beating heart and increases his usual level of drama. “You wound me, Red,” he smirks.

“She might,” you nearly giggle.

Eddie shakes his head and rolls his eyes as sarcasm drips from his lips at your words. “Such a sweetheart,” he mumbles, flicking the finished cigarette to the forest floor and turning his body to step on it through the big toe of his shoe.

~

The next day, you see Eddie Munson tucked away in a darker section of the school's nooks and crannies talking with Chrissy Cunningham. You hate the way it threatens to tear your heart in two. You hate the way it threatens to make angry, hot tears spill down your cheeks as he grabs her hand and lets her fingers graze ticklishly over his palm.

He sees you and offers a smile, albeit a hesitant one. You just nod and force a smile of your own before you leave for class, ripping a path to your classroom to hide away until your next period with him.

And during that next period, you feel his eyes burning holes into your back like a brandishing iron through a cotton shirt. You ignore him, don't spare him a second glance. Perhaps you should have, just to throw him off your trail, but you didn't. You don't. You can't.

And during lunch, you avoid him again. Not in the sense that you don't show up at Hellfire's designated outsider table, but in the sense that you hardly spare him more than a few words, choosing to sit on the free side of Dustin at the end of the table, instead of at your usual spot at Eddie's right hand. It doesn't matter, either way, sitting at his right hand side. He isn't there. You had seen him walking toward the cover of trees where you knew your picnic table was hidden from the rest of the world. You had begun to walk over, to reclaim your spot by his side, but you saw the way Chrissy's eyes surveyed her surroundings in that shifty manner that only came with suspicious intent — her intent to join Eddie in the woods.

It does not stop then and there, nor does it stop the next day, or the day after that. For the next week, you are deprived of your Eddie-time. In his trailer, he either talks about Chrissy, or he isn't even there. At lunch, he either shares what he believes to be sneaky glances at Chrissy, or he isn't even there. And then, at the picnic table or at Skull Rock — for the sole purpose of completely escaping from the world — forget talking about Chrissy, he isn't even there. He was supposed to be there. You had an appointment, you always have an appointment on Friday afternoons to meet. So you go and you sit and you shake your box of cigarettes in your hand and you wait.

For five hours, you wait in the daylight.

For three hours after that, you wait alone under stars that have billions and billions of others to keep them company.

You give up with an unburnt Marlboro between your lips, your red beanie half-shoved in your back pocket, and your Eddie-gifted silver Zippo with a halo-topped demon engraved on the side held up to the end of your cig. You light it up and leave the hideout, climbing in your car back on your way home, where you will find yourself alone in the tiny house you live in with your night-working father.

You end your suffering before the next week begins, as Eddie had hardly spent any time with you over the weekend because of both work and the leader of the cheer squad.

Standing on Steve Harrington's doorstep, you flash him and smirk and lift two beers in your hand. "Wanna hang?" It's your only question with no explanation — well, half an explanation when he asks why you don't just pick your usual buddy — and he accepts. It is the only day out of the past week that isn't horribly terrible because of Eddie's absence.

The next day, you sit with Steve Harrington in the cafeteria and avoid sparing Eddie a single look, even as he continues to burn holes into the back of your head the whole time.

Eddie expresses his concerns as soon as he is able to steal you away long enough to get an answer from you. With the treatment he gave you all last week, it took him a couple of days to finally do it.

You hear his steps rustle through the leaves and twigs scattered all over the floor of the woods. You're neither at Skull Rock nor your picnic table, just some in-between place that separates you from both familiar and new.

"Steve Harrington? Really?"

You don't turn around, continuing your stroll as you shrug and raise a brow. "What?" you mumble in response, taking your beanie off and grasping your box of smokes from its hiding place.

"Steve Harrington," he repeats with a scoff.

You don't humor him and his antics. He just wants to get a rise at you, to make sure you know he's upset about you avoiding him. Good. That was the point. You just got lucky that Steve is actually a fun guy to hang out with. Otherwise, you'd be miserable.

"What about him, Eddie?" you ask, pulling your lighter from your pocket when you take a cigarette between your lips.

He does not let you have it. He takes a large step in front of you to stop you from moving, plucking the cig your mouth and snatching the box from your other hand. He lets you keep your Zippo.

You whine pathetically at his thievery but do not retaliate. "You're going out with him?" he accuses wrongly.

You scoff and shrug, using his own words to respond to him. "Who said anything about 'going out', Munson? We're just 'hanging out'."

"With Steve Harrington?" He continues to insist, despite the calm of your appearance that should have assured him that nothing is wrong. Part of you, a rather large part, is happy he's upset. He still cares.

But you're too petty to turn around and make a resolve. If he wants to hang out with Chrissy instead of you, then you'll hang out with Steve instead of him.

"Yeah," you nod. "Like you and Chrissy Cunningham." You use her full name, mimicking his use of Steve's. It throws it back in his face, but Eddie is quick to recover. Eddie's always quick-witted in his remarks.

Once again, he scoffs and raises a brow as you snatch your pack of smokes back and shove it in your beanie to put back on your head. "What, would you rather I 'go out' with you?"

The question comes out of nowhere for Eddie, and it catches him off guard. Even if you don't realize it. He almost stutters in his reply. His lashes slightly flutter as he tries to recover, you simply take it as confusion. You don't miss the way his face shifts at the notion of the both of you 'going out', like he's finding some sort of hopeful idea as the words leave your mouth. You do not miss it.

But you don't trust it either.

"What– No," he says quickly, crushing your hopes and your heart. "I don't like you like that." You nearly crumble under the weight of his words, but you don't. You keep yourself composed as you face off with him, frustration rising in you to block out his crushing confession.

"I just…" he trails off before he continues, "It's Steve Harrington. What do you even see in him?" There's a touch of jealousy in his voice. You want to laugh at him, but you can't find a laugh in your chest.

Your voice is smoother than you thought it would be, and you internally pride yourself on it. You shrug a shoulder and tilt your head, shifting your weight to your other side as you let out a breath of exhaustion from having to stand for so long. "What do you see in Chrissy?" you counter.

Again, he begins to stutter. It's a stupid blubbering that you recognize yourself in sometimes. He shrugs to cover himself, licking in his lips as his eyes trail off to look away from you, as if he needs to think about it, or like he’s been caught off guard by your question.

“Like I said,” he finally answers. “She’s nice.” It’s all he can give you, and it’s kind of disappointing. He hasn’t been hanging out with you because she’s nice? There has to be more. One of his favorite things about you is that you’re not nice or sweet, but you aren’t mean. Your sarcasm and your humor matches his, and you like the stuff he does.

Him spending a week with a cheerleader and away from his best friend has to have more justification than just “she’s nice”.

But you shrug it off nonetheless, biting back your insistent and unkind words in favor of continuing the conversation without ending with a screaming match. “And so is Steve. He’s nice, he’s a cool guy.”

Eddie laughs, a loud, fake laugh that makes his face split in a smile. He knows you’re not joking, but he’s dramatic. “Steve Harrington?” he questions, his shoulders bouncing with his laughter. “A nice guy?”

You don’t entertain his antics. You respond simply with a stern nod. “Yep.”

“He’s Steve Harrington.”

Your frustrated groan makes you roll your eyes. He watches you put your hand on his chest and uselessly attempt to shove him back, only to nearly stumble away in the process. “Oh my God! Can you stop saying his name like that?��� you complain.

He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. When he flexes his arms — which are not wrapped in any jacket, revealing his strong biceps to you — you can see the bats on his arm stretch and squeeze, like they're trying to fly off his arm and take flight. "Okay, so," he begins, "Harrington is… well, he's Harrington–"

His primary use of Steve's last name isn't much better, but it is a slight improvement from his full title.

"-and Chrissy is nice. She's sweet, and she's kind of funny and, well, she's Chrissy." His description makes your heart squeeze torturously in your chest. You hate the idea of him liking her so much, even if she is a very likable person.

Eddie continues, tilting his head and shifting to the side as he waves a hand in a dramatic roll. “And then there’s Steve.”

You don’t comment on his insult to Steve, not a lot of you really cares as much. You’re still caught on his description of Chrissy, how he practically gushed over her like a boy with a school crush. Well, technically he is a boy with a school crush

“You sound like you really like her…” you trail off, tasting the words in your mouth with a special kind of distaste.

He shrugs, always shrugging. He looks away, as if the trees around you are suddenly way more interesting than this conversation. “A little, I guess,” he mumbles, looking down at his feet and shuffling some dirt and twigs, stomping on some leaves that provide no crunch to satisfy his distraction.

You dip down to catch his line of sight again, willing him to look back up at you so you can talk to him correctly again. Part of you regrets catching his eyes. They don’t give you a look that makes you want to smile and laugh it off.

He looks at you with a type of spark you hate to see right now. A spark that you wish was meant for yourself, but most certainly was not. It was a spark Chrissy put in his eyes, a light that you wish he could recognize in yours and reciprocate for you.

The silence is unbearable for both of you, but especially Eddie as you stare at him and he stares back. You lick your lips and finally speak what he would not yet admit.

“You love her.”

His eyes widen and he shakes his head, “What– No, I…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, not yet. He examines your face, takes it all in with a consideration you could not find the meaning behind. “Well, I mean…” He sighs and nods slightly. “Possibly,” he admits. “Maybe.”

You want to smile, allow one big enough to fool him to spread over your lips and lighten the mood. To bring the conversation to a slow halt as you nod and tease. “Look at that. A cheerleader squirmed her way into Eddie Munson’s freakish little heart.”

You want to hear him laugh it off and shove it away with a playful hand. You want the conversation to end, to shut your mouth and just go to Skull Rock or something and hang out for the rest of the day.

But you don't. You don't stop your stupid mouth from running, you don't stop the venom in your words from spilling. You can't.

"If you love her so much, then why do you care if I spend some time with Steve?" It was supposed to be a harmless question, but your tone doesn't support it as such…and neither does your following question. "Won't you be a little too preoccupied?"

The insinuation behind your words begin to anger him, but confusion sets in first at your accusation. He leans back and gives you a look. You shake your head and push past him, shoving his shoulder on the way.

"What are you talking about, 'too preoccupied to care'?" His brows knit together in a rising anger. He turns to walk after you when you don't stop, gripping your arm tighter than he means to and spinning you around to face him.

You roll your eyes and shove your hands in the pocket of your jacket. You lick your lips, "I mean, between smoking with her in our spot and fucking her–" his brows shoot up and his eyes widen, his jaw drops unbelievably, "-you wouldn't really have time to hang out with me. So who cares if I spend a little bit of time with Steve Harrington, huh?"

You try to push past him to avoid having to look at him, but he doesn't let you leave, he doesn't let you escape.

"Woah, woah, woah. Back the fuck up," he responds, his voice raising and biting in his rage. "Who the fuck said anything about me fucking Chrissy?"

You don't know how any of this got here, it was a blur of heartbreak and anger at your feelings, which piles up like a dumpster fire that has gasoline being dumped all over it. "I did," you spit. "Because that's what you are, Eddie Munson. You're a little fucker." Your finger angrily digs into his shoulder and his chest, poking anything you can find with a harshness that hurts him more emotionally than physically. "You find something you like, you mess around with it, and you usually end up fucking it up — and if it's too hard, you run."

You try to shove him back with both hands against his chest. He hardly moves, despite your best efforts. His hands grip almost harshly around your wrists, stopping you so he can speak.

"Stop, Red, just stop!" he yells. He makes you look at him, and he scowls at the angry glare you give him. He has just about no idea why you're upset with him. He's entirely clueless to the whole situation.

"How did we get here?" He asks the question on both your minds. "What happened for you to suddenly turn on me like this? We were just talking."

Turn on him? So you're the traitor?

You try not to take it like this, but you can't help it. You grasp at whatever you can, whatever emotion you can find that's strong enough to distract you from the burning in your chest that comes with the unrequited love you hold for him.

You can't help it.

"And you got mad because I'm hanging out with Steve, like I'm your own personal little pet, like you're the only one who's allowed to spend my time." You yank your hands away, but don't even attempt to make a getaway. He'll just catch you again, you know he'll just catch you again.

Part of you thinks you let him.

"No," he shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. "I asked, 'Why Steve?'" he clarifies. He tries to continue, but you cut him off.

"And if it was Gareth or Jeff or Jason fucking Carver, you'd ask 'why him?'. What, are you jealous, Eddie Munson?"

His hands clench into fists at his sides. He shakes his head and chews his bottom lip, practically seething with his anger. "Stop saying my name like that, Red."

"Are you jealous?" Your anger is like a wildfire. It spreads and burns anything, any attempt to contain the situation and stop this before it goes too far… as if it hadn't already passed that threshold. You want to stop, to find something to cool you so you can just stop. You just want to stop.

But you can't.

The gasoline spills out, pouring like rain and feeding your anger with each little droplet.

"What do I have to be jealous of?" he asks, raising a brow.

Your response is quieter, afraid you may have revealed something during your raging spill of harsh truths and impulsive lies. "I don't know." It's almost a whisper.

"No, Red, what the fuck are you doing?" he insists. You don't respond this time, you look down at your feet and realize your breathing is way too quick and way too unsteady to be normal. You're almost hyperventilating.

Then he says your name. Not your nickname, not some random pet name he uses that makes you a little too giddy, your real name that you have not heard him speak in a very long time, if ever.

Your breathing takes a sudden halt. You can hear your heart shatter, feel it break into a million pieces that scrape and cut and slice at meat and bone. He means to say it as a plea, begging for you to truly communicate, but it doesn't come out that way. He says it with a bite, a snap of a word that has you in some form of anguish you can't wrap your head around.

For a moment, you wonder how he manages it, hurting you with your own name.

"What happened?" he asks. "What are you doing? Where did this come from?"

He's met with more silence. He doesn't let it linger.

"Answer me." His desperation finally seeps through his voice as he continues, practically begging you now for an answer. "What did I do?"

You shake your head and take a step back, Your voice is quiet, almost hoarse. "I can't do this right now, Eddie."

His anger returns. He turns around, walking away from you and circling his spot as he shakes his head. "No," he says, "No, you don't get to do that." He points angrily at you, "You don't get to call me a fuck up and then leave when I ask you to tell me why." His voice cracks a couple of times, just like his heart.

"Eddie–" he cuts you off. He can sense you don't mean to tell him, another attempt at shrugging it off, at escaping.

"No! Why can't you just tell me? Why does hanging out with Chrissy suddenly make me a traitor in your mind?"

Her name makes you explode. Whatever resolve you have left breaks, and your system floods with jealousy and rage. But when you scream at him, he doesn't hear your anger. He hears the tears that squeeze your throat and the pain that claws at your chest as you finally confess.

"Because you forgot about me!"

He steps back, surprised by the outburst, though he knows he shouldn't have been. Your face is flushed, your eyes are glossy, and your fists are clenched tightly. "What?" His voice is the way yours was now, quiet and weak.

"You forgot about me," you tell him. It's no longer a yell, but it's no whisper, and it's no steady sentence. Your voice trembles pathetically and your words are watery in your throat. You can't bring yourself to care.

"When was the last time you came to spend time with me? When was the last time we went to our bench and talked or smoked or, hell, just sat together? When was the last time you invited me over to listen to some music with you — or the last you were actually home when I barged in just to see you?"

He doesn't respond, no longer looking at you, but staring at the ground. He doesn't move, doesn't make a sound.

You lick your lips and join his gaze at the ground, examining your shoes that are covered in dirt. You huff. Your voice is weaker when you speak again.

"Chrissy's a great person," you say, voice soft and rough. "I don't have a problem with her. I just wish you wouldn't choose her over me every time." You look up at him, "You forgot about me, Eddie."

His eyes find your face again. Fat tears spill over your cheeks, tears he's convinced you don't yet know are pouring. His doe eyes are wet, and his throat feels tight.

When he still doesn't say anything, you get angry again. It's the only thing you can do right now. Get angry. So you do.

You clench your jaw and ball your fists, "So excuse me if I blew up because you got mad at me for finding someone else to spend time with me when you wouldn't."

He doesn't respond, licking his lips and considering your words. You huff out a humorless laugh and rip the beanie from your head. You remove your Marlboro box and throw the hat to the ground between the two of you.

You open your mouth to say something, but close it just as quickly with the shake of your head. You turn around and run.

Eddie screams your name, his name for you. You don't respond, you don't stop, and you sure as hell don't turn around. You keep running until you're completely out of his sight.

He's left standing by himself in the middle of the trees, entirely alone, just as you had been that Friday night when you waited for him all day long, knowing he wouldn't show.

He picks up your beanie, dusting off the dirt that stuck to it and grips it tightly with a frustrated yell into the lonely air.

~

You don't see Eddie outside of school for a couple of days after that. You avoid him like the plague, too scared to go near him and have to relive the events of the days before.

You and Eddie have fought before. No one can truly escape arguments. But this was something you have never had to experience with him yet. You hate every moment of it.

At the end of days, you find your feet carrying you in the direction of your bench in search of him. But you catch yourself, swallow your tears, and make a full turn right back to where you came from.

During lunch, neither of you sit at Hellfire. The guys keep bugging you about it, but you just tell them you have other things that are holding you. They don't believe you, but they don't push either. Instead they bother Eddie, who threatens each of them with exile from the party if they continue to question.

Steve is insistent on making you confront Eddie and fix things. Your mood has significantly changed, and he doesn't necessarily enjoy it. Whenever you hang out with Steve, you find yourself blabbing about Eddie — which isn't too far from the norm, but it's different banter as you dump Steve in your sorrows about your fight.

It doesn't help that Eddie still spends most of his time with Chrissy. The jealousy you refuse to admit to yourself continues to grow, and it only makes it harder to try to make up.

You're not entirely sure you can make up. And neither is Eddie.

But Steve and Chrissy seem to be pretty damn sure of it.

You don’t notice her as she walks over to your car. With headphones over your ears and music blasting through each side, you cannot hear her steps as she approaches, can’t see the mix of white and green and orange with your nose shoved in a book. It’s not until she reaches your car, stopping only a couple feet away, that you see her out of your peripheral vision.

She’s tentative as she waits for you to fully recognize that it’s you she’s standing in front of, and not simply wandered nearby to. You aren’t used to people just walking up to you, at least not people you don’t regularly hang out with who are not naturally loud enough to nearly always draw attention to themselves.

When you finally look up at her, wide-eyed and confused, you remove your headphones and look around yourself. “Uh, hi?” you mutter, taking in the shy smile on Chrissy’s face as she watches you.

She raises a hand slowly, opening it in a greeting as she slightly ducks her head. Her smile widens for a moment, a kindness residing in it that you find is rare in a lot of people. “Hey,” she greets bashfully. You must be very bad at pretending to be alright, because her next question is a question of your wellbeing. You don’t expect it to come at all, especially not from a person whose world is not within the same realm as yours.

“Are you okay?”

“Huh?” It catches you off-guard. You close your book and toss it through the open window of your car, resting your elbows nervously on the top of the hood. She’s about to repeat her question when you accidentally cut her off. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

She tilts her head slightly, caring eyes filled with a depth you don’t expect, but a depth you aren’t surprised to see. “Are you sure?” she wonders, her brows knitting together in concern.

“Yeah,” you nod quickly, knowing you aren’t fooling everything with your horrible lying skills. “Why do you ask?” You bite your bottom lip, looking around to see if there are any other nosey onlookers who are trying to figure out what the cheerleader-leader and the right-hand-freak could possibly be talking about.

Part of you is wondering if Eddie is nearby, watching the interaction, avoiding you. But you don’t see him.

She gives a gentle shrug, thinking for a moment to try and find the right words. “Dunno, you just seem a little…” she trails off, trying once again to find the right words. “…upset. Is it about me and Eddie?”

You dread hearing the name slipping past her lips. Having to think about him every time you think is already hard enough, but hearing her say his name to you seems to somehow make it worse.

You stumble over your words as you try to ignore the stab in your chest at the mention of him. It’s not like you haven’t heard his name a thousand times already since you last spoke to him, it’s no like you haven’t spoken his name a thousand times already since you last spoke. But it still hurts.

“No, not you.” You’re quick to assure her. After all, it’s not her you have a problem with. You feel like you’d have to be a pretty strange person — stranger, at least — not to like Chrissy Cunningham. You shake your head quickly, your eyes glancing back down to your car, watching where a beam of sunlight reflects off of the top of the freshly washed vehicle. “No… Eddie and I-” it’s hard to say his name to her at that moment. Your eyes close and you sigh gently, before returning to reality. “-Eddie and I are just… not cooperating right now.”

It’s the only word you can think of that doesn’t make it final, your separation from him.

She nods, still struggling to find the right words to say to you. She fidgets with the sleeve of her jacket, bites her bottom lip absent-mindedly, squints her eyes in thought. “He said something about it. He just said you got into a bad argument…” A smile forms over her lips again, this one isn’t as kind as it is guilty. Her eyes stare down at the ground on the other side of the car and she shakes her head. “I can’t help but feel like it’s my fault.” She says it with a humorless chuckle, one that’s filled with guilt and regret.

You extend a hand over the top of the car, reaching for her with no real intent on touching her. You feel like it would cross a boundary — a freak making physical contact with the school’s perfect star? There is no way it would end well for you.

Still, you’re quick to assure.

“No, I swear, it’s not you,” you tell her. “It’s just… Eddie and I… it’s just– we– he– I…” You can’t find any of the words. None of them come to you because they’re all rushing at the same time, fighting for the right to speak so that you may express to her why these things are happening. But you don’t even know why they’re happening, so you feel as though it is all in vain.

Her soft voice delivers over your blabbering to speak, offering another kind, reassuring smile for you. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” she says gently. You look into her eyes and you see just how much she actually cares, how much she wants to reassure, to amend. You almost hate how much good you actually see in her gaze.

A long silence fills the gap between the both of you as you tap your fingers against the car. After a moment, you just sigh and look down at your hands, palms lying flat against the hood. You lick your lips as you open the door on your side, motioning for Chrissy to do the same. She’s surprised at first, but doesn’t waste the opportunity as she climbs into the passenger’s seat and closes the door.

The more silence between you, one that’s far more comfortable than you would have expected. When you finally speak, it's with Chrissy’s kindness and patience greeting every word as she sits and listens.

You speak slowly. “We’ve been friends for years. Through all of them, we’ve always been together– in each other’s company.” You sigh. “When he started hanging out with you, he…” You stop short, shaking your head with a pained look as you think of your next words. You avoid them, licking your lips, “We had never been as separated as we were then…” You sigh again, closing your eyes as you finally allow yourself to repeat the truth you had screamed in his face days prior. “He forgot about me… he left me behind. And then he only turned his head when I looked at someone else.” You swallow thickly, opening your eyes again and shrugging. “I exploded, he exploded. I stormed out.”

It was a shit explanation, but Chrissy understood every word of it. She lets the silence linger, lets it fill the space once more with a strangely comfortable familiarity. When she speaks again, it’s just as quiet as before, just as free of judgment as before.

“Well… I don’t know much about Eddie Munson, especially not as much as you do,” she laughs gently, and you join her in it, “but I do know that he didn’t forget… about you.” She says the word like it’s poison in her mouth, like it just doesn’t belong in that sentence. It’s not in an untruthful way either — she says it like it’s unworthy of being in a sentence with you. “One of the only things he talks about is you.” She laughs again.

You look at her then, blinking a few times as your lips part. “Huh?”

She smiles, giggling slightly as she continues to speak. She gets giddy at the look in your eyes, the hope she sees beginning to spark in them, even if that spark is simply a flicker. “He always talks about you. He always brings up your thoughts on the music he shows me. When we talk about classes, he always talks about how your grades are perfect.”

You scrunch your nose at that, your grades are far from perfect, a string of B’s and C’s with the occasional A, if you get lucky with a test or two. Still, it makes you smile. Her laughter seems to be infectious.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard him say anything even remotely terrible about you.” Again, she giggles. “I was hoping he would formally introduce us or something,” she trails off for a moment, fiddling with a scrunchie on her wrist as she talks to you. “You sound really cool.”

You lick your lips as a smile manages to find its way onto your lips. “Really?” you wonder, a breathy chuckle escaping you as you mutter the word.

She nods almost excitedly. She smiles at your glimmers of hope, of happiness. “Yeah,” she breathes. Her smile falters only for a moment. “It sucks you guys aren’t talking, though. You make such a great pair.” She tilts her head at you and you take her in.

You don’t necessarily mean to do it, but you laugh. It feels good to do it, too, like your burdens are being lifted off your shoulders, ripped from your chest and released to allow you a moment to breathe.

Chrissy’s surprised smile spreads all the way across her face. It has her laughing with you as she questions your sudden outburst of emotion. “What?” she asks, cupping the sides of her neck in her hands as she watches you.

Your laughs subside just enough to get out a word. “Nothing, I just…” you huff out a hearty breath and sit back lazily against your seat. You feel like you’ve just lit up a joint after a very long and very day. “I think you might actually be the closest thing to perfect I’ve ever seen.”

You loll your head over to her and offer that jubilant smile you got from your relieving laugh. You run a hand through your hair and sigh at the absence of your beanie, ruffling your hair a moment before returning it to your lap. You deflate a little, but only slightly. Chrissy’s kind presence is enough to keep you feeling lighter than you have in a couple of days.

“He told me you were sweet… I knew you were sweet, but part of me was hoping you were really… mean and scary.” Your nose scrunches at the end as you beam at her.

It’s Chrissy’s turn to laugh, eyes widening in slight disbelief at your words. “Me?” she almost whispers. It’s adorable, the way she says it. Innocence drips from her lips and cleanses you of the despair you were feeling before she showed up — for the time being, at least — as she grins.

You nod, “Yeah, you. But you’re not… you’re really cool.” You repeat her own words to her, and it tints her cheeks as she accepts your compliment. As you take in her reaction, you feel a twinge of sadness. Her kind of loneliness is a special kind that can’t help but make you want to mourn her. She must not be used to people like you, those who give their kindness to those who deserve it, in a way that does not fake sincerity for the sake of those who cannot handle your harshness or sarcasm.

She knows that you’re being nice because you believe she’s worthy of being nice to. It makes her smile, it makes her laugh, it makes her feel light and airy. It makes her happy.

“Thanks,” she almost whispers. She looks down at her lap and chuckles, shaking her head. “Eddie actually said the same thing about me when we… re-met.”

You breathe a chuckle, “Well, great minds.”

Your little comment can’t help but make her laugh again. And, once again, you laugh with her. It fades off into another comfortable stretch of silence. It’s a silence you both welcome with peace and calm. Your smiles look like they could never be wiped off, even if the both of you know better than to believe such a thing.

“So…” Chrissy starts out slow and quiet, and she remains that way through the rest of her words. “He probably doesn’t want me to tell you this, but he’s a miserable little mess. I can nudge him, try to encourage him to speak, but you should probably talk to him.”

Your smile fades a little, forming into a ghost of what it had been only a mere second ago. You shrug and look at your hands in your lap, furrowing your brow and allowing them to knit together in thought as you shake your head slightly. “I don’t know if he wants to talk to me… I said some pretty messed up shit to him.”

There’s another pause of silence before Chrissy speaks again. She leans forward, looking at you like she’s waiting to catch your eye again before she speaks. “I don’t think that it matters as much as you might think.”

You look at her, “Why not?”

She offers you that smile again, one that begs happiness. “Call it a gut feeling?”

You admire her hope, her compassion, her care. It makes you smile. Through all of the shitty feelings that had made a home in your body, in your heart, she was making you smile and giving you the feelings to match it.

You shake your head, your lips spreading wider to reveal your teeth in your grin. “You’re alright, Chrissy Cunningham.”

She chuckles, almost silently. She nods, “You, too, Red.” She shifts to face you a little more, beginning to open her arms in a silent, hopeful invitation. You accept it, reaching over the central consul and joining her in a warm hug. She’s warmer than you expect, stronger as she wraps you in a firm hold that still remains gentle enough to allow you to let go with little to no effort at all.

You don’t want to let go, and she doesn’t want to let you go. She needs this hug just as much as you do. So you sit and you hug her for a few moments longer than you really need to before you pull away and offer her a warm smile.

~

Like Chrissy had found you, Steve finds Eddie with a question on the tip of his tongue. Eddie sees him approaching before he even gets close, and he contemplates turning the other way but doesn’t. He sighs and turns to face him, running a hand through his hair and placing his hands over on his waist with a lean to the side.

Steve catches up, patting Eddie on the shoulder with a chummy feeling that Eddie doesn’t necessarily reciprocate. He raises a brow, one that’s expectant and urges Steve to get to the point with a limited amount of small talk.

Under any other circumstance, Steve would be the one on the receiving side of Eddie’s efforts to annoy. But, in this case, Steve is the one holding the controls that has far too many buttons for one person to be able to have at one time.

He offers a smile, one that borders on teasing as he looks at Eddie. “So what exactly is up with you and Red?” he questions, skipping the small talk, per Eddie’s silent request.

Eddie licks his lips and turns to walk away, and Steve follows after he answers the question. “Yeah, we’re not really talking right now.” Already, a button has been pushed and Eddie hates how easy it is.

Steve shakes his head, “No, that’s not what I’m talking about. I mean, I know you’re friends, but are you like…” he trails off and smoothes his hands together as he finally finishes the question, “…together?” He intertwines his fingers, braiding them to illustrate his inquiry.

Eddie is taken aback by the question, eyes wide and mouth dropped slightly. His head shakes, almost circles around to find Steve’s face so he can see whether or not the question was a joke. As he takes in his expression, he finds no humor and can’t help but feel his face heat. “What?” he returns, turning his whole body to face him now. He’s standing unusually close, but Steve just knows it’s one of Eddie’s mannerisms and brushes it off as such.

“Are you together, or something?” he wonders, tilting his head as his brow furrows.

Eddie’s eyes look away, and then he turns his face to allow his body to follow as he starts walking away again, faster this time at the agitation setting in him. “Why would you think that?”

Steve shrugs like it’s obvious, glancing around like the answers are written on the walls around them. He counts each reason out on his fingers as he explains, “I mean, you’re always hanging out together. You’re arguing like a couple right now. You’re always looking at her from across the cafeteria — kinda creepy, by the way — like a lost puppy. I just assumed you were–”

Eddie cuts him off, shaking his head and almost flailing his hands around to match his frustration. He already spends too much time thinking about you, he doesn’t need Steve to come in and make accusations of your relationship that continue to make him think. “No, we’re not dating,” he says. “I don’t like her like that, I couldn’t. She’s my friend. Was my friend– look I don’t know.”

Regret settles in his chest and he just stares forward through his bangs as he continues to walk. Steve doesn’t stop. He pokes and prods, looking for answers, clues. He presses all the buttons he can find to make Eddie squirm, to make him spill.

“She’s just a friend?” he asks, his tone beginning to give away the teasing and the laugh he wanted to get out from the statement he believed with every bone in his body is false.

Eddie nods. He’s beginning to have trouble convincing himself. “Yeah.”

“You don’t have feelings for her?” Steve continues.

Eddie stops and turns toward him again. “No!” he exclaims, flicking Steve’s forehead as he tilts his own head to the side. “You got a thick skull, Harrington?”

Steve flinches back at the little tap to his skull, rolling his eyes slightly. He raises his hands defensively, allowing his tantalizing smirk to break through as he watches Eddie. “Hey, I’m just asking…” Eddie rolls his eyes and turns to walk away again when Steve’s voice enters his ears with a sentence he doesn’t want to hear. “So, if there’s nothing going on between the two of you, you don’t mind if I ask her out, do you?”

“What?”

The single word drips venom that Eddie did not anticipate.

Steve takes a small, barely noticeable step back, away from Eddie and his wrath as he takes in his face. It’s hard, glued in a stern look that makes Steve very lucky that looks cannot kill.

Steve repeats his question again, slower, more cautious as he tests the waters. “You don’t mind if I ask her out?” Of course he fucking minds.

Eddie narrows his eyes, “Why?”

Steve shrugs and speaks slowly, “That’s kind of what you do when you like someone.” His lips raise in a slight smirk as a challenging tone takes his voice, even if he knows that now is probably not the best time to be challenging Eddie Munson. “You don’t think I have a chance?”

The idea of Steve Harrington holding your hand, making you laugh, whispering secret things in your ear, kissing you… it makes Eddie’s blood boil. There’s a claim he feels he has on you that he knows he shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help it. He has no right to you, to keep you all to himself when all you are to him is a friend, maybe. But he’s possessive, and he feels a claim to you.

So he’d just have to crush Steve’s hopes.

“Knowing Red…” he trails off, allowing a smirk to take his own lips as he looks Steve up and down judgmentally. “Nuh-uh.” He turns to keep walking.

And it works.

Even if Steve’s goal is just to vex Eddie enough to make him do something about his relationship status with you, he can’t help but take the bait as the question of his general attractiveness is challenged. “‘Knowing Red’?” he stammers. “What do you mean ‘knowing Red’?”

Eddie’s mischievous grin is hidden well as he shrugs nonchalantly. “She doesn’t do… guys like you.”

Steve’s brows furrow and he pauses as Eddie continues to walk on, trying to contemplate that response. He catches up only a moment later, “‘Guys like you’? What does that mean? Guys like me?”

Eddie’s giddy as he toys with Harrington. He shrugs once again, licking his lips. “She doesn’t date Steve Harringtons, man. She wouldn’t like you like that. Friendship is all you’re getting.” And even your friendship is pushing it.

Steve gets a grip on himself before he can fall for Eddie’s antics. He shakes himself out of it and sighs, rolling his eyes at himself for being fooled by his tricks. “You’re probably right,” he admits, running his hand through his hair the best he can without messing it up. “To be honest, I think she likes you. Like, likes you, likes you.”

Eddie turns to him, halting to look at Steve. There’s a glimmer of hope in his eyes he tries not to show as he raises a brow. “Red? Likes me?” he repeats.

Steve nods, “Yeah. Talks about you all the time. Like, nonstop. It’s almost Dustin-level annoying.” He rolls his eyes at the last part, shaking his head with a chuckle. “But I can’t really say it’s not endearing. It’s kinda cute.”

Eddie allows the Dustin comment to slide, but just this once, as he wonders about his words. “Red talks about me?”

Steve nods again, shrugging his shoulders as he stands with his hands on his hips. It’s a look that always reminds Eddie of a mother, which only encourages his jokes and taunting about him and his relationship with Dustin and his friends (but mostly Dustin). “Like I said,” Steve speaks, “all the time.”

Eddie chuckles humorlessly, turning away as a pang of jealousy stabs his chest. “Well, she talked a lot about you when we last spoke.”

Steve laughs a little, earning a bit of a scowl from Eddie. “Sounds like she’s trying to make you jealous, dude,” he says.

Eddie gets defensive, suddenly standing taller as he turns his full body to Steve again. “Jealous? I am not jealous. Why would I be jealous? Are you fucking with me right now? Because she said the same thing.”

His ramble is enough to make Steve burst out laughing, but he contains himself. He raises his hands and holds back his laughter, but is unable to hold back the smile on his face as he jabs at his buttons. “I’m not doing anything, I swear.” When Eddie backs down a little bit, he continues. “It just sounds to me like she talks about me because she complains about how you always talk about Chrissy. She’s getting back at you.”

Eddie deflates slightly at the mention of Chrissy’s name. He hums quietly, turning away, “Oh, yeah. Chrissy…”

Steve can’t hold it anymore, he laughs. It’s one of those laughs that come with teary eyes and teasing points.

Eddie isn’t in the mood to complement the laughter with his own. He grumbles as he glares at Steve, ignoring the heat in his cheeks. “What now?”

It takes a while for Steve to stop, to calm down enough to be able to talk again. He wipes a tear from his eye and looks at Eddie, “You really don’t see it, do you?”

Eddie raises a brow, “What?”

He scoffs, “Come on, you’re totally in love with her.”

Eddie plays dumb, shrugging his shoulders, “So what? It’s Chrissy, you wouldn't like her?”

“I’m not talking about Chrissy,” Steve rolls his eyes. He presses his finger into Eddie’s shoulder, nudging him back. “I’m talking about Red.”

Eddie clears his throat. If he wasn’t blushing before, he definitely is now as he looks around and shakes his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, I’m not,” he urges. He stammers a little as he speaks, “We are just friends. Just friends.” The second time is more for Eddie’s benefit than it is for Steve’s.

Steve snickers again. “No, no, no. You're not friend-arguing. I’ve seen friend-arguing, that is not a friend thing you got going on.” He shakes his head and snorts again at the notion.

Eddie gets defensive again. He can’t help it. With a red face and a guarded heart, he shakes his head and his brows knit together. “What does it even matter to you? You’re gonna ask her out anyway.”

He raises his brows, amusement painted all over his face. “So you’re not denying it?”

Eddie shoves him back, pushing his hands against Steve’s chest as he wills him to leave his presence. “Fuck off, Harrington!” he yells with a huff.

Steve laughs as he stumbles back, raising his hands once again as he nods tauntingly. “Fine, I’m going! I’m going,” he guffaws. He goes to leave before he turns around for one last thing. “Hey– talk to her,” he says, pushing all of his amusement to the side as he faces Eddie. “If you like her at all, don’t screw it up by being a dick.”

Such elegant choice of words. Eddie just grunts and Steve leaves him alone. He’s given him a lot to think about. Eddie doesn’t like it, he has enough to think about.

~

Your shoulder brushes with Eddie’s on a Friday afternoon in the school hallways. Your eyes lock, but you quickly look away. He frowns, the air between the two of you still filled with a thick tension that he has yet to — and hopes he never has to — get used to.

It isn’t until a couple hours later, as the classes come to an end, that he realizes his lighter is missing. The silver Zippo that has a skull with DND dice for eyes engraved on the side is nowhere to be found in his jacket. The first chance he gets, he rips his van apart to try and find it somewhere in the mess, but he is not successful. He’s filled with a distress that makes his heart pound and his head spin. The lighter was a gift from you, one you’d given him in return for the one he’d given you.

He’s beginning to lose his head when he suddenly remembers your very brief encounter earlier that day when your shoulders brushed in the hall. It was no accident, and he knows it now.

The first place he thinks to look is your picnic table. Perhaps you’ll be found picking at the peeling paint, lighter in hand as you wait expectantly for him. But he doesn’t find you. It only takes one misdirect for him to realize that he’s an idiot.

It’s a Friday afternoon. Of course you’re not at the bench.

The walk to Skull Rock is a lot longer than he remembers. The eerily quiet woods makes his skin crawl. He’s not used to having to walk on his own, he’s always had you walking by his side. He almost gets lost on the way, and he scolds himself for it. He’s supposed to know these woods like the back of his hands, but now that you’re not at his side, he feels like he’s lost his compass.

The closer he gets to his destination, the more he can feel you getting closer. He’s happy about it. He hasn’t lost you yet.

When he breaks through the trees that reveal the rock structure to him, he isn’t surprised to see you there, waiting for him.

But he is happy to.

You’re sitting under the shade of the rock, leaning back against cool, smooth rock with a half-burnt cigarette between your lips. You look different without your red beanie, bare. He watches your hand, which holds his lighter as you click it open and closed with the flick of your wrist.

You don’t look at him, but he knows you know he’s there.

“Hi,” he says simply, glancing around at the trees surrounding you both. He stuffs his hands in his pockets as his eyes find you again, waiting for a response with a sigh. He allows you your space, but he doesn’t stand too far from the rock as he watches you.

Your head doesn’t shift when you finally look at him. Your eyes drag up and down his body and then stare back at the lighter. You pull the Marlboro from your lips and blow out a puff of smoke with a deep exhale. “Hi.”

After a couple more flicks of the Zippo, you finally toss it to him. He catches it with ease, flicking it himself to watch a flame ignite before replacing it in his pocket, where it belongs. He contemplates sitting for a moment, unsure of just how much you wanted his presence. He sucks it up and sits across from you at the other side of the shade.

It is silent for a long time as neither of you say anything. You feel as though speaking would disturb the peace — even if the peace isn’t as peaceful as you wished it was — but not speaking makes it difficult to sit together with the situation you were currently in.

You don’t look at him at first, staring at the cig between your fingers as you tap the burnt ashes off the end and onto the ground between your legs. Eddie’s question catches your attention. As usual, it comes out of nowhere and begs your response.

“So did you say yes to Steve?”

You tilt your head up, your eyes finding Eddie’s face as you furrow your brows. He’s not looking at you. Instead, he’s shuffling some dirt with his fingers, drawing patterns and swiping at it for a blank canvas. “What are you talking about?” you ask, raising a brow.

His eyes finally find yours, filled with a question and something else you could only identify as…jealousy? “Didn’t he ask you out?” he wonders.

You make a face, shaking your head as you near scowl at him for his inquiry. This is the first thing he says to you? After not speaking for a week, his first words after a stupid, pathetic little “hi” were to ask if you said yes to a date with Steve Harrington.

“No,” you say, your voice more stern than you mean it to be. You tone it down a little, sighing as you look back down at your lap. “Was he supposed to?” You place the cigarette back between your lips.

Eddie can’t help but feel like he heard a bit of hope in your voice. It brings his mood down a little more, as if he really needs it right now. He shrugs, but allows himself to feel a wave of relief at the fact that Steve had not asked you out. He still had time to… well, he doesn’t know what he’s going to do.

“I mean,” he begins, “he said he was going to after spouting some shit about how he thought we were dating.”

You would have laughed, had you felt like you had enough laughter in your body for it. Instead, you just raise a brow at him and lick your bottom lip. “Harrington thought we were dating?”

Eddie nods. “Yeah, asked me if you were taken so he knew if he could ask.”

You scoff and roll your head, looking away as you mumble your response. “Well, he didn’t ask me shit,” you take another long breath, and Eddie watches the end of your cigarette glow orange. He looks back down at his lap, watching his fingers play with his rings in a nervous tick as he thinks.

He shakes his head lightly, as if disappointed at himself for even thinking to ask the question he’s about to. “Do you wish he would?”

You huff and look at him, crushing the end of your Marlboro against the stone behind you. “What are you doing, Eddie?” you ask him, accusation of something you don’t even know in your voice.

He shrugs, as if it’s obvious. “Asking a question.”

You go silent for a moment. His response is not the one you wanted. It feel stupid, makes you want to yell and scream and rip your hair out… but it also just makes you want to cry. You hate this, not communicating with Eddie. You always talked, always told one another what was happening, what was wrong. You always understood one another.

But right now, you felt like a stranger.

You sigh and shake your head, looking down at your shoe to play with a lace as you pull it undone. “No, I don’t wish he would,” you answer.

Eddie clears his throat, a momentary swell of elation filling his chest. “Hoping for someone else?” He crushes his own heart with that question.

“Eddie…” you mutter. It’s almost a whisper as you shake your head and refuse to look at him.

“I wouldn’t choose Chrissy over you…”

You look up, eyes wide and breath still. It is such an unexpected sentence, one that surprises you, but it also makes your heart pound in your chest and a bile rise in your throat as you think about the meaning of his words.

He’s looking at you again, dark brown doe eyes staring you down and boring into your soul, stripping you of every wall and every resistance so he can just see you. “…if it came to it.” He’s finishing his sentence, the long pause between his words making it seem like an afterthought. He suddenly shakes his head, his mess of wild curls shaking in the process.

“There’s a part of me that thinks that’s what you think– I wouldn’t.” He’s trying to explain himself, trying to make you understand. It’s almost as though he’s forgotten how to talk to you.

You look at him with eyes that glisten slightly. You’re trying your damnedest to ensure they don’t water, don’t fill with tears that will spill over your cheeks and reveal just how vulnerable you are right now.

But it doesn’t seem like you need the tears’ help to show that. Your voice does it all.

“Why are you telling me this?” you ask, licking your lip again as you take in his face and he takes in yours.

He shrugs, almost lazily. “You’re my best friend.” The word feels so right and yet so wrong on his tongue as he says it, like it just doesn’t fit as well as it used to. “The day I choose some girl over you is the day you can shoot me between the eyes.”

He means it as a joke, like he insinuates that the only way it would happen is if he turns into some kind of beast, but the way he says it feels a little too firm. Your mouth opens, twitching a little as you take in his words. A slight chuckle escapes when you speak, “A little intense, don’t you think?”

He merely shrugs. It isn’t a real answer, but it’s something to fill the space in an answer’s absence. You lick your lips, replaying what he just said over and over in your mind. “So now Chrissy’s just ‘some girl’?”

A ghost of a smile appears on his lips. “Are you jealous?”

You’re a little too quick to respond, too defensive, just as Eddie was to Steve when they talked. “Why would I be jealous?”

“Steve thinks–”

You cut him off with a scoff, rolling your eyes and running a hand through your hair as you shake your head. “‘Steve thinks’.” You can’t help your petty laugh at this. When you fought a week ago, it was because you were hanging out with Steve and Eddie didn’t like it. Now, it seemed as though he and Steve were on wonderful talking terms now that he’s started the conversation and continued the conversation with his name. “When did you talk to Steve?”

He sighs with closed eyes, continuing his earlier thought that you cut off so he can finish. “Steve thinks you’re, like, in love with me or something.”

Your response is far too quick and far too panicked. “Did he say that? What did he say?” you straighten up, your hands on your knees as you stare at Eddie with wide, anxious eyes.

Eddie is surprised by your reaction. He shrugs slowly, “Why?”

“What did he say, Eddie?” Your tone is stern, trying to pry the answer from him so you know how to move forward. He doesn’t understand why you’re so worried all of a sudden. Did Steve say something?

Eddie hums as he recounts the conversation he had with Steve a couple days before. “He said you talk about me all the time. You complain about how I always talk about Chrissy. He said you were trying to make me jealous…”

Your response is much slower, much shyer this time as you glance down at your knuckles. “He said that?” It’s almost a whisper.

“Yeah,” he nods. His brows knit together, “Is it true?”

You swallow hard, gathering up the courage to look at Eddie as your face hardens again. It’s all a front, you need a front right now, a protection. “So what if it is?”

“Well, why?” he questions. He means it to be joking, trying to breach the line between your argument and your old-time teasing. He wants to fix things, but he doesn’t know how. Instead, his voice sounds more shy, nervous, than he means it to. “Do you actually want to… ‘go out’ instead of ‘hang out’?”

It’s the way he says those same words as before, the ones you used before the big fight, that makes you look at him again. You don’t say anything, you don’t dare respond and end up digging a bigger grave for yourself. You stare at him for a moment and then look back down.

He sighs, clenching his jaw and shaking his head as he looks away as well. “Or are you in love with Steve?”

Now you’re frustrated again. You want to yell and scream and rip your hair out. You let out a huff of a breath, “God– no! Stop talking about Steve.”

“Why?” It sounds like a challenge.

He doesn’t seem to care how clear your frustration is as he keeps pushing. You clench your jaw, “Because I’m not in love with Steve.”

“How come?”

You can’t hold it back anymore. You blurt it out without even realizing what you’re saying. It’s not until after you say it out loud for the first time that you realize just how true it really is. Not just some tormenting fantasy that makes you feel bad for loving him. “Because I’m in love with you, Eddie!”

You clasp your hand over your mouth, close your eyes tight in hopes of making the whole scene disappear so you just wake up from a bad dream instead. Your eyes water, you feel the tears prick at your eyes and it makes them come quicker.

They slip and spill over your cheek. It’s of no use to try and hide from anything now. As you open your eyes and find Eddie still sitting across from you, face written in shock, you want to disappear. It is silent for a long time before you speak again. Your voice trembles.

“For years, I’ve been in love with you, whether I realized it or not,” you speak slowly, quietly. Eddie watches. His face gives nothing away, he doesn’t say anything. It makes the tears fall faster. “When you abandoned me for Chrissy, I went to Steve because I knew you didn’t like him. You know– maybe I could grab your attention. And then I did, but it was too late because you fell for Chrissy.”

You sigh, refusing to look at him for any longer than a half a second. “I don’t blame you, she’s a nice girl, she was super nice to me. I just wish that maybe…” you trail off. You feel pathetic for crying in front of him, for proving to be so weak. You don’t want to keep crying, you don’t want to seem like a sad little girl.

So you get angry. It’s the only way to feel something other than the dread that settles in your chest. It’s your go-to, your make-it-better.

“But you don’t like me back,” you huff, “so it’s stupid. Just fucking forget it. This is so fucking stupid.” You move to stand, dusting off your knees and turning in the other direction. It seems you’re the one running away from your problems now. Then again, that might have been the case from the beginning.

He stands as well, brows knitted and eyes almost offended. “It’s stupid that you love me?” Those last three words make his heart flutter, but the first two make his heart ache.

You inhale sharply, breathing out the air with just as much force as you tremble. “Can you not say that?” you snap, wiping at your face harshly to rid you of the tears that are just replaced with new ones.

“Say what?”

“That I love you.”

“Why?”

You’re tired of his questions. “Because it hurts that you know. I didn’t want you to know.”

His questions don’t stop. “Why not?”

You explode once again, rushing toward him and pushing him back by his chest. “Because you don't love me back, Eddie! Are you even listening to me? I didn’t want you to know because unrequited love is bullshit, and it hurts, and it’s worse when the person knows you like them.”

You shove your face in your hands, shielding yourself from him. He takes your wrists in his hands, prying your hands away so he can see your face, a face he thinks is the most beautiful one he’s ever seen in his life, tears or not. “I only said I didn't like you like that because you said you didn’t like me like that.”

You snatch your hands from his grip, unable to look at him, to be touched by him, at the moment. You jab a finger into your chest, “I only said I didn’t like you like that because you’re literally in love with Chrissy!”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes a little, “I only said I was in love with Chrissy because I thought you didn’t want me!”

You look at him with red eyes and a quivering lip. “But Chrissy–”

“Can you stop talking about Chrissy?” he cuts you off, sighing heavily and shaking his head as he watches you, his hands on his hips as he speaks.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t love Chrissy, I love you!”

The words linger in the air, surrounded by silence as you watch each other. Eddie’s cheeks blush red and he shoves his hands in his pockets, fidgeting with his confession. He licks his bottom lip and sighs. He’s positive you can hear how loud his heart is pounding in his chest, mercilessly hammering against his ribcage.

When you speak again, your voice is nearly a squeak. You sniffle as you turn to face him, “It’s not unrequited bullshit?”

The smile he gives you is one that makes your heart flutter in your chest. He shakes his head, stepping closer to you. “No,” he says, retrieving your wrists again as he strokes his thumbs over them, “it’s cheesy best friends to lovers bullshit.”

His eyes are shining, deep pools of honey that make your chest swell. You feel like your heart is too big for your body then as you smile, your face splitting in a large grin that accompanies your elation at his confession.

You kiss him.

You couldn’t hold it back anymore, not with the way he looked at you like you were the most precious treasure in the world. His lips are soft, a little chapped. He tastes like cigarettes and animal crackers, which you know he has a stash of in his van. You separate after a moment, it’s a reluctant pull away as you look at him.

“Did you just kiss me?”

It’s all he asks, furrowing his brow as he tries to hold back his amused smile. His eyes are glittering with glee, and it betrays the surprised façade he tries to use. You chuckle and lick your lips, “You flat out just admitted that you have feelings for me. Of course I kissed you.” Your smile falters slightly as uncertainty begins to seep through your joy.

“Unless it was just some sick joke.”

He doesn’t let you consider that option for even a moment longer. Instead, he kisses you again.

You feel him smiling against your lips, the curve of his own feels nice against yours. He lets your hands go in favor of cradling your neck, his thumbs swiping against your skin as he kisses you. You thumb at his shirt, one that has holes near the hem that he made himself so he “looked more metal”. You smile and move closer so you can hold him as your hands press against his waist. You feel a millions times lighter than you had before. It’s a relief you hope never leaves you. You like being wrapped in Eddie’s affection.

When he pulls away, he offers you a big, Eddie-smile. His hands travel further up so cup your face as his thumbs stroke your cheeks. “I’m very funny,” he whispers, “so that would be a pretty shit joke for me, if it was.”

You laugh and bite your bottom lip, nodding gently, “Yeah, it would.”

He smiles down at you for another couple of moments, admiring every feature of your face, before he pulls back a little. The cool air that comes with the loss of his hold on you is uncomfortable, but it doesn’t last long. He lifts his jacket, reaching into one of the inside pockets that you had put in yourself, and reveals your red beanie.

You smile as he sets it on your head, adjusting it to fit snugly in its designated spot. “Thought you should have that back,” he mumbles, leaning in with his words as he rejoins you in your makeshift hug.

“So we’re good?” you ask, searching his face.

His response confuses you at first. “No,” he says, shaking his head as he smiles. But then you just realize it’s your Eddie being your Eddie. “Not until you kiss me again.”

So you do, and it feels so good to do it.

Eddie the Banished taglist: @sweetcoffeebearr​ @life-on-needs​ @hb8301​ Tag yourself here or send me a message to be added to the taglist.

[beaker1636]

Coming Home - Ricky Angst

AN: Here is the fic I teased you all with this morning! I have never written something like this, where there are multiple snippets of a whole story that weave together. The fic inspiration is one of my all time favorite songs, Coming Home by Cinderella. The Italics are the lyrics in the song as it progresses, I tried to base the scenes right after each set so that it relates to the song... which is also something I have never tried to do before. Hopefully my little experiment came out well and you all enjoy it! I may or may not have made myself cry at one point writing it. A link to the song will be below in case you want to listen to it!

Thank you @tearfallpixie for being my beta reader!

Taglist: @lacktoesandtoddlerants @dragon-chica @darkhallcorner

And now on to the story!

I took a walk down a it’s the road I’m meant to stay

I see the fire in your eyes but a man’s gotta make his way

“You have only been home for a couple fucking weeks, what do you mean you leave next week for tour again,” you say, glaring at your boyfriend who just dropped a huge bombshell on you.

“We’ve been together two years, you know what my life is like,” Rick glares at you, clearly pissed that you are so angry at him about going on another tour.

You are used to him being gone quite a bit, but this year in particular they are touring pretty much nonstop and it is hard to handle.  Usually you get a little time with him between tours before they’re rushing off to the next one but this year he is constantly on the road.  If it isn’t tours they have festivals to fly all over for.  You miss your boyfriend, feeling like you live different lives without each other anymore.  

Are you not important enough for him to fight to get time off with you?

When will you matter as much as his music?

Your head is full of so many doubts lately, and just when you were getting used to him being back home, to getting to spend time with him, he had to drop this bombshell on your shoulders.  

“You can still stand up and say you need a fucking break, that you are needed at home too,” you find yourself raising your  voice, frustration growing the longer you two are arguing about this.  Why can’t he understand how you are feeling?

“It’s my fucking job! All I ever wanted to do is make music and tour, and we are finally popular enough that I can do it. All I am great at is music.  This is how I provide for us, you sure seem to enjoy the benefits that come from the money that I make,” now you are pissed.  You are biting your tongue and trying so hard not to smack the cocky fuckers face.

“You think that all I fucking care about is the money? When have I ever asked you for any, I work my ass off every day of the week at my job.  You know what, fuck you. I am fucking done, I am not going to stay here with a man that things so lowly of me.  Jame was right, you are just a fucking dick, I never should have entered this relationship with someone who thinks this way about me,” You storm off, stomping your way upstairs to the bedroom, quickly closing and locking the door before he can follow you inside.  

You hear him hit the door with a groan. “Wait, y/n, I didn’t mean that.  I was just pissed and…” 

He gives up, taking a seat against the wall in the hallway outside the door praying that you will open the door, listen to what he has to say.  He realizes that isn’t going to happen when he hears your sobs through the wood door, his heart breaking on the spot.  Realizing that he had fucked up.

When you eventually step out of the room about a half hour later with a bag he glances up at you.  He doesn’t miss the tears in your eyes, that there are trails on your cheeks where they have fallen.  His own stray tears start to fall as he looks up at you.

“I- I need space to think through some shit,” you say softly, avoiding his eyes as you walk down the stairs.  

Rick lets you leave without a fight, knowing that if he dares follow you right now that he will just make things worse.  All he can do is hope the space does you good and you don’t wind up making a decision that will kill both of you inside.

So are you tough enough for my love?

Just close your eyes to the heaven above

I’m Coming Home

I’m Coming Home

Rick gives you space, just like you have asked for, despite the fact that you not being home is killing him inside.  He keeps looking at the ring he bought you, tears staining his cheeks when he realizes that tonight was the night he was going to ask and now he can't.  He thought he finally found the person that he was meant to spend his life with…. And he let you walk away like you meant nothing to him.

He honestly can’t blame you if you don’t come back to him.  How he treated you during your fight, how he has ignored how you are feeling, how selfish he has been, well, he deserves to lose you.

When you come home two days later you can’t believe how he looks, you feel like you mean nothing to him so why does he look so heartbroken that you are gone? When you step in the house he stands in the doorway looking at you.

He takes one look at you, noticing the dark circles under your eyes, how bloodshot they are from your tears, seeing how miserable you are makes the last part of his heart shatter in his chest.  He has never meant to hurt you, he has taken the fact that you are always home waiting for him for granted.

Both of you stand there and watch each other, trying to gain the strength and confidence to speak up.  Wanting nothing more than to pull each other close in a hug and apologize for the fight but not knowing if that would be the best choice without speaking things out first. 

“Baby, I’m sorry, so sorry.  I never meant for you to ever feel unwanted, unneeded, unloved by me. I- I think I finally get it. Having to stay here waiting at home for you the last two days has been hell, some of the hardest days I have had to face,” he says, stepping closer to where you stand in the entryway.

“And I wait here for you for weeks at a time, lately for months… I come home nightly to an empty house.  I have always dealt with it because I love you but it fucking sucks Rick.  And then when you get home you are busy editing videos, working on your new novel, or whatever your latest project is so I feel like the rare times you are home lately I still don’t have you.  But the hardest part is that no matter what I do I can’t make you stay.  I get it is your job, but I can’t promise that if your touring schedule stays as busy as it has this year that I can handle it for much longer.” You don’t realize you have started crying again until he moves in front of you, brushing your tears from your cheeks with his calloused fingers.

“I talked to management and Chris, I requested that we will get more time off after this tour is over at the end of October.  We are going to take the rest of the year off baby, I’ll be home for a couple months this time,” he says, gently pulling you into a hug hoping that you won’t pull away.

“Thank you, that is all that I ask is that you try.  Can I come home please Ricky?” you mumble into his neck, where your face is currently buried.

“You never have to ask me to come home y/n.  It isn’t home without you here,” he says softly.  

He lightly places a hand on your chin, making you look up at him.  When you do he places the softest kiss he has ever given you on your lips, both of you pouring all the love you have into the kiss as both of your tears mix on your cheeks.

I took a ride in the world I’ll be spinning for the rest of my life

I feel your heartbeat baby ooh sometimes it cuts like a knife

“I don’t want to go to sleep and lose a single second with you before you have to leave in the morning,” you say softly, playing with Ricky’s soft hair where it lays on your bare chest.

The two of you curled up, still not dressed, basking in the glow of your last opportunity to be intimate with each other before he leaves. Neither one of you wants to move in fear of the moment ending, dread over not getting to be together for almost two months.

“I don’t want to either, I love touring but this time something about leaving feels different,” he says, his fingers gently sliding over your soft skin.  Taking in every touch, kiss, and view that he can before he leaves.

“Do you ever wonder if our love for eachother is going to last? I worry all the time when you are gone that we are going to grow apart, or that you will find someone new, better than me,” you admit for the first time in your relationship with him.

“Sometimes I worry that you will want someone that can be home every night with you, because I can’t give you the time and attention you deserve,” he also admits, glancing at you.

The two of you haven’t usually been ones to be very vulnerable with each other, yeah you talk things out but never have you admitted your insecurities in your relationship. You both almost feel closer now getting those statements out into the open.

“That’s the problem Ricky, I don’t want just anyone home with me every night, I want it to be you.  I love you so much and can’t picture that with anyone else,” you feel the tears in your eyes starting to build up, threatening to fall.

“And I love you too baby, we have to trust in each other and believe in our love for one another to get through these times, not everything is going to be perfect.”

The two of you sit there silently for a few minutes, pondering over Rick’s words as you get closer to having to accept he is leaving again.  Both of you not ready to accept the fact that he has to.

He finally breaks the silence,” I hate to say it but I am getting picked up really early so we should probably go to sleep baby.”

You hesitantly agree, giving him one last passionate kiss before shifting so that you can turn the lamp off, curling up to Rick so that you two are as close as you can comfortably be.

“You better wake me up before you leave so I can say goodbye,” you whisper into his ear, trying to hold back your tears again.

“Of course baby.”

That night he lays with you, not getting much sleep because he is busy listening to your breathing, your heart beating, and admiring how peaceful you look when you are asleep.  Like nothing is bothering you.  He wants to take all these moments in before he isn’t able to have them for a while.  These moments make him not want to leave for tour, make him sometimes wonder if it is all worth it when he has to leave his family and life behind.

So are you tough enough for my love?

Close your eyes to the heaven above

I’m coming home

I’m coming home

You accept the facetime request from Rick the second your phone rings, not wanting to waste a precious second of your time together, it being so hard to find time that you can do this while he is on tour.

You are greeted with his smile, instantly relaxing you at your work desk… that’s right, the only time today that the two of you could make it work was if he video called you during your lunch break at work.  It absolutely sucks, but you will take what you can get and if that means you skip eating lunch for the day then so be it.  Just don’t tell Rick that, he will be upset with you if he knows you aren’t eating.

“Only 2 more weeks left baby, not much longer,” he says right away, his smile growing when he sees you on the screen.

“2 more weeks,” you sigh, leaning back in your chair.

“I know that seems like a long time but it really isn’t baby, we are getting so close.  I can’t wait to see you, this tour has been a lot harder on me.  I don’t know if it is because we didn’t really get much rest between the last one and now but it is a lot.  I just can’t wait to be home,” he exhales.  

Since he left the two of you have been trying to do better with your communication skills, trying to make sure to let the other know how you feel to avoid big fights like the one you had before he left.   But also because you don’t want to hold your emotions in, you are allowed to be sad, to miss him, and so is he.  You may not be around eachother but you still want to feel close to each other and that is a good way to do it.

“I took a week of vacation time for when you get home, that way I can spend the entire time with you.  I know you like to rest but we can be lazy together,” you tell him, hoping he will be happy and not think you are too clingy.

“I love that idea, we can shut our phones off and just hide in the house for the week.  I look forward to it,” he says, his smile growing when you tell him that.  Unable to hide that he is really happy you chose to do that to spend time with him.

The two of you continue to talk until you only have about 5 minutes left of your lunch break, you go silent, not wanting to say goodbye.

“Hey, it’ll be okay baby.  We will see eachother soon, don’t cry.  I will be home to you before you know it.   I love you, have a good rest of your day,” he says gently, trying to pretend that he doesn’t notice your tears.

“I love you too Ricky, be safe for me.”

You can’t help the tears that fall after you hang up, that hour wasn’t enough time to get to see him and who knows when you will get to see him next.  These moments are few and far between during tour, and while you text daily that isn’t the same as seeing him.  Your boss notices and gives you a few extra minutes of your break so that you can compose yourself before you get back to work.

A couple hours later you have flowers delivered to you at your desk, the card reading “Don’t cry for me, I will be home before you know it.”

I’m coming home where your love tonight can shine on me

I’m coming home where your loving arms can set me free

“We are on our way home now baby, a few more hours and I will get to see you! I can’t wait to get home!” Rick texts you, wanting you to know that they are almost back and he will see you soon,

“I am so excited, am I still picking you up at Chris’?” You respond back, still wondering why he is having you pick him up there but not asking questions.  There is surely a reason behind it, and you know that even if you ask your stubborn boyfriend won’t tell you.

“Please? I will see you at 6, love you baby!”

Unknown to you Rick is currently setting up a surprise.  He has decided to finally, hopefully, give you the ring he has been holding for about 6 months.  Chris came up with the idea of them setting up a dinner for all your close friends and family for the night they all get home, that way you can all be together when he asks you.

Which is why he is currently lying to you, they are already back in town, but they are all at Chris’ getting all the tables ready before the caterers arrive.  Decorating the place before everyone shows up so that it can be something special for you.  Wanting nothing more than to give you the proposal that you deserve.

He knows you hate surprises so he hopes that you won’t hate the proposal that he has planned.  You may hate surprises but he also knows that you miss your family and you are extremely close to them, you only moved away from them to be with him. So having them fly out so that they can be here for you will mean a lot.  His family also flew out to be here for the two of you.  Everyone you love is here to celebrate with you, when you hopefully say yes.

He looks over at the work that the boys are helping him do, pleasantly shocked that they are somehow staying on task and doing exactly what he wanted them to do.  Normally he has to fight the idiots to get things right.  

He greets your family and his own as they show up, bringing them to the big backyard where the tables are all set up.   The lighting sets the mood, everyone gathering in one place before you show up.  

The second that they see your car come down the street he gets everyone gathered in one spot, hoping you notice the sign saying to go back out and hoping for the best, praying that things work out.  Now hearing your car door he is panicking, will you hate that there are so many people around? Will you love that all of your family who you haven’t seen in almost a year are here?  Will you say no? He doesn’t have time to think before he is on his knee, waiting for you to walk around the side of the house.

Shit, there you are.  Now he has nowhere to hide, he can’t change his mind. This is it.

“Surprise!” 

I took a walk down the a road it's the road I’m meant to stay

I see the fire in your eyes but a man’s gotta make his way

Are you tough enough for my love?

Close your eyes to the heaven above

I’m coming home

I’m coming home

“Rick, what are you,” you freeze, unable to finish your words when you see him take a knee in front of the crowd of your friends and family.  The tears almost instant when you realize what he is going to ask.

“y/n, I have had a lot of time to think, especially after our last fight.  Things have been up and down, we have fought, we have made up, I have been gone a lot.  But the one thing that has never changed is my love for you.  You have been there with me every step of the way, even when I haven’t deserved it.  Your blind faith in me has helped push me to do some of the greatest things I have accomplished in my life these last 2 years.  You’re home, it doesn’t matter where we are as long as we are together.  I told you earlier I’m coming home, and now here I am.  Will you marry me?” He asks you, a couple times his voice cracking from the pure emotions that are running through him at this moment.

You try to speak, but can’t bring yourself to do so as your tears begin to fall down your cheeks.  Instead you nod your head before running to him, letting him pull you into the sweetest hug of your life as he spun you around, giggling at the action.

When he lets you go he moves to slip the ring on your finger, giving you a moment to look at it before he pulls you in for a kiss.  Both of you forget that everyone is around you for a moment until you hear all the cheers.

It was then that you noticed that your family was standing behind the two of you, making you cry all over again as everyone started pulling you into hugs, congratulating the two of you before dinner was served and you all got a chance to eat, celebrate and catch up.

You couldn’t ask for a better return home, you get your fiance back, your family is here and so is his.  Everything feels right for the first time in months, and to make matters better he is going to be home with you for a while. 

Now if you can just convince him when you get home to let you put the Christmas tree up now that it is November first… but that argument can wait until the morning. 

[klaprisun]

One Sunny Day

(Stardew Valley) (Haley x Female Farmer)

Chapter 10: Haley's POV

“What are you looking for, Haley?” Alex questions me.

“Hm? What do you mean?” I retorted back. We are standing in our usual ‘Egg Festival spots’ which is at the other end of the town square and in the grass.

“You keep looking over there,” Alex points to the pathway leading west from town square.

“No I'm not.”

“Yes you are. I literally see you looking right now.”

“I think you’re seeing things, Alex.” 

“But-”

I turn and give him a frown before he can even begin the rest of his sentence. Instead, he begins a different sentence that I let him finish, “Are you waiting for Farm Girl Danny?”

“No! And don’t call her that! She is more than just a farm girl, Alex. She is also more than a personal comedian,” I cross my arms and daze off for a second, not realizing I am staring right at the pathway I said I wasn’t.

“Um… okay? Not just a farm girl and not just a… personal comedian… Got it,” Alex gives me a confused thumbs up. Sometimes I think there is just air inside his head, but I tolerate him. He has gone through a lot in his life and needs someone there for him. His grandparents took him in when his mom passed and dad walked out. Evelyn and George are very kind people and did a great job taking care of him through his life. He is very kind to both of them in return, and does a lot for them since they’ve gotten older. I love visiting their house and eating Evelyn’s wonderful cooking. However, they make a lot of leek salad for George which I’ve never figured out. Every meal he has to have either just a leek or a leek salad!

Alex wraps his arm around my torso, and I lean my head against his side. We’ve been on and off a lot as a couple. A couple years now at least. Sometimes, I’ve caught him cheating on me when we take trips into Zuzu city but I can never actually see who it is he is with and if she looks like me or not. That’s always the question. OR! He moans a different name when we have sex. Whoever ‘Taylor’ is. Other times he is just plain rude. I don’t know why I stick around though. I think it’s just a small town and I feel trapped. Another reason is I really do feel for him and understand all he has gone through.

Finally, not that I’m looking or anything, I see Danny come into sight over at the west pathway. I immediately stand up straight and stop leaning on Alex. He notices my reaction and moves his arm away, half expecting me to bolt over to her.

She is wearing those overalls she wore like 4 times when she first got here. She has on a purple shirt underneath that looks like it has yellow flowers on it. Perfect for the Egg Festival. Her chestnut brown hair under her cowboy hat has been chopped off though! It’s about shoulder length and shaggy. She no longer has the long braid that I thought was pretty cute on her. 

I reach for my own hair that I braided this morning for the occasion and start fiddling with it anxiously, unsure of what to do next. 

Everyone is crowding Danny as she enters town square. All talking to her, introducing themselves to her if she hasn’t met them already, and Vincent and Jas are hugging her legs. I can’t seem to peel my eyes away from them all. I feel a pang of jealousy rising in me.

“Do you want to go over there, too? Say hi?” Alex snaps me out of my trance.

“No. Let’s just stay here.” I continue watching from a distance. There is no need to go over there. She seems busy with everyone else anyway. That is until she looks my way. She raises her hand in the air as a hello gesture. From here, I can still see her bright, big, charming smile.

The crowd is still swarmed around her, but she is only focused on me. She doesn’t break her gaze after gesturing hello, but she doesn’t walk over here either. Instead, she finally turns to Mayor Lewis and nods her head.

“Everyone participating in the annual egg hunt, get into your positions!” Mayor Lewis announces.

“Eat dust guys. You all know I win every year,” I hear Abigail brag. Vincent and Jas look visibly upset as she says that. Danny noticed their reactions and started smirking.

“We’ll see about that,” Danny says to Abigail who is staring daggers at her.

“On your marks… get set… GO!” Mayor Lewis chants.

Sam, Elliot, Vincent, Penny, Jas, Abigail, Maru, Leah, and Danny all take off around the town.  Alex had walked over to his grandparents to socialize with them which I don’t blame him for. I’d do the same thing. I’m left standing around a couple bushes that I've noticed earlier had an egg hiding in them.

Danny is now grouped up with Vincent and Jas, helping them find eggs. They are laughing and playing around searching every area imaginable. Danny points out the eggs for them and they run over and throw them into their baskets. Danny hasn’t put a single egg in her own basket. 

The three of them get closer to me and I decide to speak up. 

“Pssst,” I whisper to them.

6 pairs of eyes make direct eye contact with me. I tilt my head in the direction of the bush that has the egg in it. Danny gently taps Jas to go over and get the egg. In a fit of giggles, Jas runs over.

“Thank you ma'am,” Jas politely thanks me.

“Yeah, thank you ma’am,” Danny smirks and tips her hat slightly at me. I immediately feel my face get warm. The short hair really suits her.

Danny doesn’t even realize the two kids took off looking for more eggs. She is too busy standing all high and mighty with her arms crossed, staring at me. I notice her look me up and down a couple times, and I feel my stomach lurch. 

“Look at you,” she takes a step and takes my long, blonde braid gently in her hand, “you look like a princess.” 

My face gets even warmer and I can only manage to stutter, “I-... ye-... uh-...”

“That’s time folks! Bring your eggs to me so I can count them!” Mayor Lewis announces across the town.

“See you around, princess,” Danny mutters before catching up to Jas and Vincent.

“Abigail with 8 eggs!” Let’s see if anyone can out do that this year!” Mayor Lewis calls out.

Everyone who knew they didn’t have over 8 eggs shyly backed down. However, Jas and Vincent went running over to Mayor Lewis with their baskets. Danny is standing proudly a couple feet behind them.

“Would you look at that! Jas AND Vincent with 10 eggs each! We have the winners folks! Here is your prize… sorry…we only have one,” Lewis says shamefully.

The two of them run over to Danny with their prize. It was a straw hat. They hand it up to her but she just takes it and places it playfully onto Vincent's head, purposely covering his eyes with the brim. She looks behind her and notices a daffodil growing from the ground. She bends over, picks it from its place, and hands it to Jas. However, there is still another daffodil growing in the same area and she picks that one too. She starts walking over to me.

“For you. For helping with finding an egg,” she sings as she hands me the daffodil.

I do a small gasp. “For me? Thank you!” but before I can take it out of her hands, she tucks it behind my ear.

“Matches your outfit,” she points out. I had totally forgotten I threw on a yellow and green sundress today. 

“Oh…yeah…you’re right,” I mumble while smoothing out my dress.

“Did you enjoy the Egg Festival?” Danny asks.

“This festival is alright... but what I'm really looking forward to is the Flower Dance.” I reply as I raise my shoulders and tilt my head.

“Ahhh the flower dance. When is that exactly?” 

“It’s on the 24th. You’ll be able to see it on the calendar at Pierre’s,” I pointed over to the wall of the store where the bulletin board is. Part of me wants her to look at the calendar so she knows it’s my birthday tomorrow.

“I guess I’ll have to look at that before I go home today, eh?” 

“You could.”

We stand around in awkward silence, neither of us knowing what to say next.

“Well I better get back home and keep working. I have to rack up some more money so I can expand my house and actually get a kitchen and a bedroom,” Danny chuckles, “I have nowhere to put my groceries… or all those ladies you think are in love with me,” she sneers jokingly.

“You need to forget I ever said that! I mean look at you, I don’t know who would ever love a big mutt like you,” I say a little meaner than intended. Danny’s face drops. I didn’t mean to say it! She seems easy to love and she isn’t a mutt! I don’t know why I just said that.

“You just had to ruin it. I have to go Haley,” Danny storms off to the west path and disappears. I’m left standing alone, holding my hand up to my mouth and choking back tears.

[zoeysdamn]

Bark, Bite & Break Bones - Tyler Galpin x Van Helsing!reader | Part.7

Summary: The aftermath of the Rave’n takes your relationship with Tyler to another level – although in a rather unexpected and rocky way. Maybe a coffee date could help? You heard that coffee can irritate spirits, hopefully nothing wrong will happen. 

Warnings: angst, swearing, mention of blood and depiction of violence ; badly written action scenes lmao 

A/N: This chapter is rather short (but the previous is like 10 000 words so it’s even lol), there is an important scene but those last weeks had been hectic and really difficult for me on a personal and emotional level; I had to negotiate to start my new (first serious) job later to find an apartment, which is really complicated in the area I’m looking for blblblbl. Might not be my best chapter, I’m not overly proud of it, but I’m more optimistic about the next one!! 

Also I used some prompts of @dumplingsjinson​ from her list of “we just happen to love hate fucking each others” prompts because they’re aMAZING (can’t say which one, no spoilers eheh)

[Masterlist] [Prologue] [Part.1] [Part.2] [Part.3] [Part.4] [Part.5] [Part.6]

“So Tyler, how are you feeling these days?” 

Sitting across in his usual seat, Tyler smiled, “I’m doing great. Feeling more at ease in Nevermore every day recently.”

Caitriona Fern hummed with a smile of her own, glad to hear that. From your spot at the window, you couldn’t help a slight twitch of the corner of your mouth. Not that you would admit it openly in front of the therapist, but you were relieved too that Tyler felt good in the school. He had almost made it through half of the year after all, this was an accomplishment. 

The therapist's eyes flickered to you for a moment before refocusing on Tyler with an intrigued spark, “Does it have anything to do with…certain people you’re gotten close to?”  

The clear insinuation brought a blush on Tyler’s cheeks and made you scoff lightly. You wondered for how long the therapist had suspected something. Maybe she and Weems had a bet about it, you were pretty sure the principal knew or at least suspected something was going on. 

But before you could snicker anything sarcastic to deflect the topic, Tyler blurted, “Y/N and I are sleeping together.” 

“Tyler!” you hissed in mortification. 

It wasn’t that you were particularly shy about your sex life, but still, you’d rather talk about it yourself to strangers instead of being exposed that way. 

Dr.Fern raised her eyebrow in contained perplexity, not really fazed by the information that had just been revealed –her empathic abilities must’ve sensed the sexual tension and from miles away –, but more interested in both of your reactions. You, looking betrayed and angry at the unexpected outing, and Tyler looking…both relieved and hurt? 

“I see,” she hummed pensively, like she was completely impermeable to the heavy tension that had suddenly taken place in the room, “maybe that could be a new topic to explore through our sessions. Y/N, would you care to join us?”

“I will not,” you spat venomously, no matter how kind her offer was. 

“Y/N…,” said Tyler softly but you interrupted him with a harsh glare. 

“Those sessions are for you, just because you’re sticking your dick in me for stress relief every once in a while does not mean I have to participate in this fuckery.” 

The way you had spat the words to him seemed to hurt Tyler more than a slap on the face. It hurt him, deep and hard. 

“Couple therapy isn’t a bad thing Y/N,” pressed the therapist gently, “it could actually be beneficial for you bo–” 

“Oh my fucking god, we’re not together!” you snapped ragefully, throwing your hands in the air in frustration. “We just happen to fuck every now and then, it doesn’t mean anything!” 

Silence fell heavy in the room. Despite the rage that had risen up immediately at Dr.Fern’s poking at your feelings, you couldn’t help but feel the crushing weight of Tyler’s pained gaze on you. Slowly turning to face him, you felt your heart tighten at the sight of the betrayal painted all over his face, mouth hanging open in disbelief and eyes glossy with tears – of sadness or of rage? 

“Tyler…”

“Do you mean it?” he interrupted with a quiet voice, yet heavy with emotion. That broke your heart even more, and you licked your lips nervously, trying to find the words. 

“It didn’t…this isn’t what I meant,” you tried, but he cut you off again by getting up from his seat angrily. 

“And what did you mean, uh? Was it all a game for you all along? Getting a fucktoy for the year because you’re unable to feel anything?”

His words hurt you two, but you refused to let it show and the angry defense mode switched on instead. “Don’t you dare making everything about me,” you growled, pointing and accusatory finger at him, “nobody ever said something about commitment so calm the fuck down.” 

He scoffed, way more snarky than his usual self, “Yeah, ‘cause it’s me who is emotionally unavailable here, keep telling yourself that.”

“Fuck you Tyler,” you hissed. 

“Did that last night, doll,” he sassed back venomously, “or is this also too personal? Are you really that much of a cold-hearted bitch?”

The last comment stung you, and immediately after saying that Tyler realized he had gone too far and his expression turned into a sorry one. He tried to reach for you automatically, but the look of betrayal, deeper than before, stopped him in his tracks. 

A few seconds of silence passed with nobody moving; then an exhaled breath released somewhere else in the room painfully reminded you of the presence of Dr.Fern.

Before the fae therapist could say anything, Tyler grabbed your hand and tugged you behind me. 

“You. Me. Bathroom. Now.” 

There was no way you could protest and before you knew it you both ended up in the bathroom attached to the therapist’s office. Tyler locked the door behind and leaned against it; you on the other hand, sat awkwardly on the closed toilets, knees brushing against his legs just barely. 

“What do you want,” you muttered quietly, keeping your eyes on the ground. You just couldn’t look at him right now. 

Tyler exhaled loudly, trying to fight the urge to bring you into a hug – or screaming at you he really didn’t know at this point. “I want some fucking honesty here Y/N,” he finally let out, voice calmer than before but still wavering with hurt anger. “What am I to you?”

A feeble scoff escaped you and you lifted your face up to look at him, “Do you want the polite answer to this?”

“I want the real answer,” he gritted before his eyes became softer, “please. Please I just need to know where all of this is going because I can’t pretend it’s just a game of who’s gonna literally fuck up the other first.”

“I don’t know, okay dude?” you snapped, trying to keep yourself composed, but Tyler only let out a bitter laugh. 

“Hold up, hold up, you were sitting on my face last night you don’t get to call me ‘dude’ now, sweetheart.” 

Running a hand through your hair, you sighed deeply, “It was never meant to go this way, okay? It would’ve been easier if we kept hating each other, it’s not my fault if you can’t stick to it.”

Tyler scoffed, “You definitely don’t hold someone’s hand while you’re fucking if you hate them.”

Rolling your eyes at him, you still couldn’t pretend he wasn’t right. The two of you had fucked before; what you did the previous night…it had felt more. More than just fucking. Tyler was just being more realistic than you were. Sighing again in defeat, you buried your face in your hand. 

“I’m not very good at this, am I? Opening up and all that shit.” 

This immediately softened Tyler’s mood and he crouched slowly in front of you. 

“You’re the worst,” he said with a half grin and you chuckled a bit at that, looking up at him. His brown eyes were so warm and so kind, you felt guilty for snapping at him earlier. 

Observing him for a long second, you finally managed to articulate some words, “Where do you want this to go?” you asked in a small voice. “Because I have legit no idea of what you want, Tyler. You’re right, I’m a bit emotionally unavailable,” you sniffled and slowly, very slowly, reached for his fingers with your own. “You’ve got to help me with this if you want answers,” you whispered, looking at him tentatively.

He stared at you, then intertwined his fingers with yours; a weight felt like lifting from your heart at this simple gesture. “I like you,” he admitted softly, “probably more than like you, actually. I– maybe I got ideas too fast, I don’t know, but I’d really love to see where this can go.” 

Your eyes widened at his confession; but just as soon as they sinked in, you tried to tug your hand out of his, “You don’t love me,” you shook your head, “you’re in love with the version of me you get to fuck. It’s not love Tyler, it’s lust.” 

He grasped your hand firmly but gently, preventing you from slipping it out of his, “That’s not true,” he whispered, offended that you brushed away his feelings so quickly, “I know what I feel, and it’s not just lust. It hasn’t been just lust for a while now.”

Lips parted in surprise, you looked intently at him, trying to catch the slightest sign of lie; there was none. But no matter how sincere he was, the gut-wrenching fear was still here. 

“I don’t know how to do this,” you repeated in above a whisper, “I’m not someone who gets to be loved, not like you do.”

“Yes you do,” reassured Tyler, brushing his other hand on your cheek, “you’ve opened yourself so much already, you can do this. You deserve to be held, to be heard, to be loved, I know it.”  

Lower lips trembling, you feel that you were close to crying. He was right; no one but him had gotten you in such a fragile, vulnerable state for a long time. And for once, it didn’t feel as scary as it had before. Maybe there was really a chance? Maybe you could let him in, and let him heal you. 

“I won’t pressure you to do anything Y/N, never,” he whispered feverishly, boring his eyes deep into yours, “but if you’re not feeling something, anything for me, please tell me sweetheart. Tell me now, and I’ll walk away from us.”

The only thought of losing him made your heart squeeze. And that’s when you knew you were lost. You were already too deep into this, there was probably no way back. But would it be so bad? 

Leaning your cheek against his palm, you closed your eyes for a moment, relishing in his comforting touch. 

“I’m not sure of what I feel,” you admitted softly, “but there is something Tyler. I…I’m ready to try and figure it out, to try…more with us. But,” you exhaled shakily, opening your eyes to look at him again, “I can’t do that alone,” you finished, “and that scares me.”

The smile that took place on his face was the softest. “I’ll be there, doll. I’ll be there every step of the way you want me to.” 

“I don’t know how long it could take,” you said with a shiver of sadness; not for you, but for him. But Tyler only pressed a kiss on your forehead. 

“It’ll take all the time you’ll need. Don’t worry.” 

A fond smile stretched your lips. Lowering your defenses for Tyler Galpin had been a good idea. A risky one, but maybe it was what it takes to free yourself from everything from your past. 

It took the both of you a few more minutes before exiting the bathroom. Dr.Fern didn’t say a word, only observing the two of you gathering your jackets on your way out, a knowing smile on her lips. Just as you were about to get out, you turned to the fae. 

“Don’t ever make assumptions about me again,” you warned – in a surprisingly soft voice?, “you’ll never get me to talk to you, so drop it already.”

She nodded, a satisfied expression on her face, “Looks like someone’s already at it, it seems. Will you let him help you?” 

Glancing at Tyler walking down the stairs behind your shoulder, you nodded reluctantly, “Yeah, I might,” you muttered. 

She grinned, “Then I promise I won’t bother you again.”

With a last nod you left, joining Tyler on the sidewalk in front of the therapist’s office. 

“Coffee?” you suggested, a bit unsure of how to act after your talk in the bathroom. 

Tyler smirked, and just like that it seemed to brush all your worries away, “Coffee date? Classic move to hit on me, sweetheart.”

The return of his flirty behavior reassured you just like it made your heart soar just because you were willing to open this weird relationship to something more didn’t mean either of you had to change who liked to be around each other. So you grinned.

“Can coffee get you in my bed?” 

“Depends on how many you’re buying, doll,” he answered playfully as you climbed in a car and snorted lightly. 

“Come on then, my caramel macchiato bimbo.” 

After a short car trip you arrived at the Weathervane, and you were in a casual and comfortable chat as you pushed the coffee shop’s doors. Tyler had been hesitant to actually go inside during the first weeks. But after your encounter with the barista – when you had chewed her out with no mercy – it had lifted his spirits a little, and now he felt comfortable enough to go to the Weathervane again. As long as you went with him, he could ignore the glances and venomous whispers in his trail. 

Deep into a conversation about the last episode of a show you both watched, Tyler and you arrived close to the counter, just behind another customer. You were defending one of the character’s in the new episode and Tyler scoffed playfully at your argumentation, the heaviness of your intimate talk only a few minutes earlier long forgotten. The customer ahead took their drink and it finally was your turn, and you rolled your eyes at one of Tyler’s comments, before looking up at the list of drinks on the board. Just when you flicked your eyes up, you caught sight in the mirror of four black silhouettes entering the coffee shop, hooded; and armed. Blood froze in your veins; when the first man raised his weapon your body reacted on its own. Before anyone registered the first shot, you had tackled Tyler brutally, sending the two of you over the counter as bullets flew in the air. 

Screams erupted everywhere in the coffee shop, gunshot piercing your ears and your head bumped against the mirror before you landed on the floor tiles with a thud. Crashing next to you, Tyler grunted under the sudden shock, your arms that had tugged him still gripped on his shoulders. A groan escaped you despite the dizzy mind; the shock against the mirror must’ve been more violent than you thought. 

Immediately rolling on his side to face you, Tyler’s eyes immediately checked for any injuries. 

“You’re okay?” he asked breathlessly; you nodded with a wince. 

Next to you, a terrified barista was curled up on the ground, covering her ears and crying hysterically. The first couple of seconds had you confused; then your mind sped up and turned into full action mode, adrenaline spiking up in your veins. Shooting up your eyes to the broken mirror, you took a quick look of the room. Four armed men were shooting everywhere, screaming inaudible orders through the chaos. They didn’t look like they were after something, only terrorizing customers and barking nonsense. Automatically all the training from all those years resurfaced and your brain immediately switched on survival mode. The analysis drilled in your head at a crazy speed and you whipped your head to Tyler. 

“Is there a backdoor in there?” you asked in a hushed tone. 

He blinked before nodding, “Yeah, yeah next to the storage room.”

“When you get the shot, you take as many people as you can and you run. Get outside, and call your dad.” 

“What about you?” he frowned, and you checked for your gun. Realizing you hadn’t brought it with you, you swore. Of all days, it had to be the one to forget it in your room; your grandmother would have your head for that. 

At least your silver blade was still strapped on your ankle and you wasted no time unsheathing it. “I’m going to buy time,” you said quietly, checking in the mirror the mercenary slowly coming to the counter, “stay put.” 

Tyler protested immediately, “No I can help you, I–” 

Pointing a finger at him you send him a harsh glare. “Stay. put.” you said through gritted teeth. 

The last thing you needed was for Tyler to unleash the Hyde. If anything went wrong, you weren’t sure you could handle both him and the mercenaries. 

One of the mercenaries stepped around the corner; and everything went very quick. He started to shout something and you whipped around, your body acting on its own and you threw your knife. The blade landed right between his eyes and his body slumped on the ground like a ragdoll with a thud. Jumping on your feet you wasted no time grabbing his gun, and rolled on the ground from behind the counter. All hell broke loose again. 

One of the mercenaries turned to you, gun brandished and you opened fire immediately shooting him in the belly and chest. The critical thing was to not harm any of the customers curled on the floor, head hidden in their hands to cover themselves. One of the thugs groaned and fell on the floor and you rose up to speed up to the remaining two. But too entrapped into the adrenaline rush you failed to notice the one you shot raised his weapon again. Another detonation echoed, the sting on your shoulder burned a second later. 

A yelp escaped you and you fell on your knees with a groan. Crawling between a flipped table you tried to cover yourself from the bullet gusts as you gripped your bleeding shoulder. You lifted your bloody hand with a hiss, trying to get a look of how bad it was. You were slightly relieved to see that it was most likely a scratch, the bullet had only grazed you. It somehow angered you even more, a new rush of adrenaline flooding in your veins and you sprung from behind your hiding spot the very second you heard the click of their guns signaling empty chargers. Without thinking you started to shoot at them, trying to be as accurate as possible but the wound on your arm made you sloppy. Ducking to avoid a new wave of bullets, you tried to analyze the situation once again; but a roar interrupted everything, making the thugs and you turn to the sound. A bony, rabid, creature jumped over the counter claws out and mouth salivating with rage. The globulous, feral eyes burned his furious madness and if you hadn’t seen pictures of the Hyde before, you couldn’t have recognized Tyler. Because there was nothing much left of him now. Only the mindless, blood-thirsty creature remained, with his backbone popping under the gray skin.  

A whisper of his name left your lips but the way he jumped on the man laying on the floor and slashed him open with a single swing of his claws threw the reality in your face like a slap. A guttural roar tore itself from the creature’s throat as he lashed out on the mercenary. The horror made his partners freeze on their spot, long enough for you to regain your spirits and shoot again. Several bullets landed on their chests, hitting them full force and sending them flowing backwards, crashing on the tables. 

A sigh of relief left your lips and for a slip of second you foolishly thought it was over. A low, menacing growl erupted from behind and you whipped around, gun cocked. The face of the Hyde flashed in front of you, mouth foaming and teeth bared. You could even feel the warm, blood-filled breath against your face. The barrel of your gun was almost pressed against his forehead, the shot was easy, clear, just there. Everything in you screamed to press the trigger; your training, your family, survival instinct. But a handful seconds of hesitation, muscles still tensed yet unable to move; it was already a mistake, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. 

A whistle pierced the air and a red spot landed on the creature’s shoulder. He roared in pain, a menacing claw clutching the area before he started to sway groggily, round eyes fluttering under the weight of grounding sleep. He vacillated once, twice, and crashed on the floor loudly. A few seconds after, his body slowly morphed back into his human form, naked and bruised on the tiles. All of that under your helpless gaze, lowering your guns in slow motion. 

-POLICE, PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPON! 

The booming voice in the microphone snapped you out of your thoughts and you turned your head to the broken window. Six police cars surrounded the coffee shop, their teams all pointing their guns at you. Among them, you noticed one of the policemen holding a long-shot rifle. Glancing back to Tyler you understood that he had just been sedated. This should have been a relief; but as the terrified customers gradually looked up, whispering among themselves about what happened, and the police forces started to fill in, you realized something. Everyone had their eyes set on you. They all saw that; your hesitation had only lasted a second, maybe two, but they had seen you. They had witnessed you being unable to pull the trigger at a dangerous monster, unable to do your mission.

They had all seen you fail. 

The weight of the tension in the office was almost unbearable. On any other occasion you would have found it mildly uncomfortable and would have worn your sarcasm like a deflective armor, but now you were far too ashamed to play cocky. Instead you fiddled with the hem of your sleeve; shame you hadn’t worn your uniform, it would have been torn into shred and coated with blood instead of that shirt.

Just after the police showed up, they wasted no time cuffing you and putting you into a car; before Principal Weems stormed on the crime scene and hissed at the sheriff that it was some of her students and that your place was in Nevermore. Luckily for you, none of the police officers protested and as an ambulance carried an unconscious Tyler, you had gone back to the school with the furious headmistress. Strangely enough, some of the customers had grasped your hand and bid their thanks between nervous cries, even the rude barista you had roasted a few months ago. Guess saving them from an attack made you a better person in their eyes, or else you would already be in jail instead of Weems’ office. 

Principal Weems slammed the desk phone on its socle, furiously exhaling through her nostrils. 

“The Police have retrieved the bodies of the attackers but no identification so far,” she said bitterly. “Still no names of your victims Miss Van Helsing.”

“I defended myself,” you countered sharply, “and all the customers in the coffee shop. What did you expect me to do? Sit around and wait to be shot?” 

She pursed her lips, unamused by your response, “It wasn’t your place to take action, the police and the judge won’t be pleased.” 

“Yes it was,” you snapped, “what do you think would have happened if I hadn’t been here? You’d have a Hyde running free and more than four corpses out there. I killed those guys in self-defense because it was them or everyone else in that shop.” 

“Except you failed,” retorted Weems coldly, and her harsh tone made you flinch. “Didn’t you? Mr Galpin still turned into the Hyde, while your mission was precisely to prevent that and the corpse he slashed open.” 

Eyes darkening you looked away in shame. You knew that you had failed in your mission; you shouldn’t have hesitated a second and pulled the trigger on the spot at the Hyde appearance. Those hadn’t been silver bullets, it wouldn’t have harmed him, just make him dizzy enough to neutralize him with your blade. But in the face of danger, when all logic screamed at you to pull the trigger you didn’t do it. And you couldn’t explain why your mind had decided to freeze instead of doing your duty. Or better, yes you knew, a part of you suspected you did; but there was no way you’d admit it out loud, you didn’t owe Weems anything.  

The Principal narrowed her eyes at your ashamed unexpected reaction. “You didn’t honor your mission.” 

At her insistence you clicked your tongue in annoyance, “These weren’t silver bullets, it would have only angered the Hyde even more. It would have been risky and stupid.”

“It was your job,” she repeated, “and why didn’t you have your gun?” 

“Now you want me to have it?” you snickered bitterly, and Weems was quick to send you another glare. 

“Don’t play smart with me, Miss Van Helsing. You’re in serious trouble.”

That made you snap in anger, “Oh so I am in trouble for neutralizing four armed people who had taken hostages and shooted at civilians? Big fucking time! What were they even doing in Jericho in the first place?”

“This is not the matter!” screamed back the Principal, her final string of patience finally snapping. The way she had shouted at you surprised you so much you felt your anger immediately vanish. Seeing you backing off, Weems exhaled loudly, trying to keep a semblance of composure before carrying on, “An investigation will be led by the police,” she said more calmly but still on edge, “but you will return in juvie regardless of the outcomes. I’ll make sure of that.” 

You felt your jaw fall off, “What! Why?” 

A part of her could understand your reaction, but Principal Weems’ nerves had been on too much edge for the past hours she only pinched the bridge of her nose in annoyance, “Because you were a student under my responsibility and a dozen of normies saw you shooting at one of them, that’s why. No need to argue,” she cut you off before you could even open your mouth, “I’ve made my decision, I’ll call the school board tonight. You can start to pack your things right away.”

"This…this is unfair!" you protested despite the fatigue screaming in your limbs; you hadn't had time to properly dress your minor injuries or god forbid, take a rest. "Who are you protecting by doing this, uh?" 

"I'm protecting this school," she spat venomously, "and all the students in it. Normies will not let that slide, and I won't let them shut down Nevermore because I didn't take action." 

"And what will happen to Tyler?" you retorted, an underlying worry in your voice, "What will the normies think if you pushed away someone capable of keeping him in check?" 

To your surprise, Larissa Weems snorted, "Like you did today?" 

A fed up roll of eyes was your answer, "We were attacked. I asked him to stay put to avoid more damage and trust me those mercenaries wouldn't have been the only corpses if I hadn't been there to keep Tyler at a distance." 

The principal kept glaring at you but it was clear that your words had touched something. You could almost see the clogs in her head turning. Sighing heavily under the weight of exhaustion, you approached her desk slowly, hoping to show a more friendly behavior. All you wanted was to go to sleep, honestly. 

"Look, if normies or police thought I did something wrong, they would have asked for my head already ; and I have no doubt the school board would have gladly offered them on a silver platter. But," you sighed heavily, knowing you had Weems' full attention, "you can't put me back in juvie. Not when I did a good job so far at keeping your most sensitive student at bay. It wouldn't be a smart move." 

Weems seemed almost convinced, but something still bothered her, "I still can't let you walk away from this. None of you." 

"You can," you assured, looking at her dead in the eye, "and you will. If you've ever wished to protect the students of this school, you'll give me another chance." 

"And why would I do that?" 

"Because Tyler and I are still outcasts," you deadpanned firmly. "You had sworn to protect the people in that school; we're still your students, Principal Weems. Please. You have to trust me on this one." 

A long second passed. Then Weems sighed. 

“Can you really contain him? With therapy sessions and everything?”

You nodded slowly, “I promise today had been an accident, strictly triggered by the attack of those men. Ask other students, Ajax, Enid, hell even Xavier or Wednesday; Tyler’s not a menace on his own to the students, not when he’s with me. Please, let us stay in Nevermore.”

A slight amused smirk grew on Weems’ face, “I can’t say I’m not surprised by this sudden affection for this school…nor for Mister Galpin.” 

Turning away, you tried to hide the blush creeping on your cheeks, “We’re friends,” you mumbled. Weems arched an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Friends, uh?”.  The glare you sent was enough to move to drop the subject, but didn’t lose her amused smirk. “I must admit that you’re right, Miss Van Helsing. You are a student of Nevermore. And as the headmistress, it is indeed my job to protect outcasts. Fine,” she said after a few seconds of silence, “I won’t expel you. And I’ll defend you and Mister Galpin, should the police come after him.”

“Will they?” you asked with underlying concern. 

“Unlikely,” she assured, “I doubt Sheriff Galpin will arrest his son again. If the witnesses confirm what you did, with my word you two won’t be bothered by this accident.”

“What about the board?” 

Weems waved it off, “They need my voice to expel a student. It won’t happen.” 

“Thank you,” you muttered a bit perplexed, but more relieved than anything. 

“You reminded me of why I’m doing this job,” simply said the Principal, “we’re even Miss Van Helsing. Now if you’ll excuse me, this has been a long day for everyone and I’d like to sleep at least ten minutes before having another call from the police or the board.” 

Needless to say you didn’t protest and wasted no time rushing out of the office. As soon as you turned on the first corner, you let your back hit the wall and slumped against it. A deep breath escaped your lungs. All the adrenaline and tension the day had thrown at you finally sinked in, ragged breaths coming out from your lips. What a bloody mess this day had been. From the open hearted therapy session to the attack at the Weathervane and the tense meeting with Weems. This morning you were still a random student still tired from the party the night before, then without a warning you had shot down four men, and almost got yourself sent back to prison again. A goddamn drink, three whole days of sleep and the medal of patience, that’s what you needed. 

A sting on your arm reminded you of the injury from before. You glanced down to where the bullet had grazed you; it had felt numb ever since you had left Jericho and you had almost forgotten about it. There would probably be another wound where your head had bumped against the mirror and various cuts, maybe you should dress all of that no matter how minor it was. At this already late hour of the night, no one would be at the infirmary but you could handle this on your own. Going back on your tracks, you quickly took the way to the infirmary, only meeting silence in the hallways. 

As expected, the office was empty; maybe it was for the best. Just when you grabbed some disinfectant and fresh bandages you noticed a laying form on a bed and you stopped dead in your tracks. Those brown curls and scars-tainted freckles were unmistakable. Your legs carried you on their own, like pulled by an unknown force to the laying body of Tyler on the infirmary bed. On the pale sheets, he looked almost harmless; but the glint of silver cuffs around his wrists tying him on the bed told otherwise. It saddened you as much as it angered you. Not only they had shot him with some hell of a sedative – probably enough to put a whole pack of grown berserkers to sleep – but they handcuffed him to the bed like a rabid animal. Like he could do anything in his current state. After a quick look over him you sighed in relief when no apparent injuries were to be seen. Weems must have made him be repatriated in Nevermore at the same time as you. Sitting on the bed next to Tyler, you sighed heavily. 

“What a day uh, pretty boy?” you whispered, looking at him with a weak smile. Tyler couldn’t hear you, but it felt nice to talk to him anyway. “Guess we saved the day you and I, even if no one will ever admit it.” 

Getting another sight of the cuffs, you rolled your eyes and looked around for a key. Luckily, whoever had been here last had dropped it on a nearby bed table. 

“What were they thinking by cuffing you,” you sighed, unlocking the restrains one after the other, “what a dumb fucking idea.” 

A sudden groan rose from the bed and you whipped your head to Tyler’s face. Eyebrows knitting together, he winced slightly. “I s’cond tha’,” he rasped in a weak voice, a lazy grin awkwardly stretching his lips, “ ‘tis is a bad idea.” 

You choked on a sob through a bewildered smile, “Yeah, definitely.” 

Struggling to open his eyes, Tyler looked down groggily at his wrist and chuckled, “Bondage? Y’re gettin’ kinky, doll.”

You broke into a light laugh, tears pricking the corners of your eyes; you hadn’t realized it before, but you were so glad Tyler had woken up unharmed. He didn’t lose his sloppy grin, and you could see that his mind was still highly fogged by the anesthetic. 

“Wh’t happ’nd?” he slurred weakly. 

“Some jerks started to shoot,” you said softly, trying to be as soothing as you could. “ Someone shot you. They’re dead now.”

He nodded groggily, trying hard to pick pieces of what happened. “I transf’med didn’ I?” 

At first, you wondered if you should lie to him. Then you decided against it; it wouldn’t do him anything good. “Yeah,” you nodded, “but you didn’t hurt any civilians. You’re good, tiger.” 

His eyes trailed on your body and he frowned at your bandaged arm. When he slowly brought up numb fingers to reach it, you followed his gesture and gently grasped his hand. “It’s nothing,” you reassured him, “just a bullet graze.” 

He didn’t look less worried; but again, the anesthetic was still quite strong in his blood. “ ‘n then?” 

You swallowed hard, “It wasn’t pretty. Weems wanted to expel me on the spot for being unable to stop you from transforming. Turns out she has a soft heart, she won’t do anything.”

Again, Tyler frowned, “W’dyou mean?” 

His eyelids started to feel more heavy, and he could feel himself slip back into the depth of unconsciousness again. You felt your heart soar at the mere sight of him, alive and well in this bed. Nothing could compare to this; being with him, knowing he was unharmed, and that thanks to each other you had unknowingly saved yourselves. All the things you had said earlier came back into mind, and so did the dozens of questions that had run in your mind after the attack at the coffee. You had spent so much time, either with that gun in hand or after, ressassing every single moment to try to understand why you hadn’t pulled the trigger despite your own reason for existing. The reason you hadn’t killed that monster. Because you hadn’t seen a monster then; because you couldn’t see a monster then. Because even if you had said you didn’t know how to love Tyler, your heart already knew. And your heart had already made its choice. 

Cradling his cheek fondly, you gave him a weak smile. 

“Don’t worry pretty boy,” you whispered as he drifted back to sleep, “we’re okay. We’re both okay now.” 

[Part.8] 

A/N: I take a lot of inspiration for monster hunting and bestiary from my favorite universe ever aka the Witcher (which is already inspired by many actual myths). There I mentioned briefly berserkers, bestial warriors from norse mythology who can turn into beasts (usually bears of wolves). 

Thanks everyone for reading, I hope you enjoyed this part ♥

Hope you’re all doing okay, take care of you ♥

Taglist: 

@igotanidea​ @officerrrfriendly​ @beggingforxavierthorpe​ @aliciahlewis​ @stresseyzesty​ @katiemrty​ @leightonsteele @black-swan-blog27​ @mooniesthings​ @nightfurya​ @steadypoetrydinosaur​  @hellok1ttycupcake 

Usernames unfound by Tumblr: 

@spiceyhotsherbet  @hellokittysblog0

Plz tell me if I’ve forgotten you in the taglist (or if you wanna join!)

[uncaught-coolfish]

ok ok imo there was defo some planning to the bees becoming canon and to deny that is kinda silly to me. that doesn’t mean that planning and eventual execution was good.

•Yang losing her arm is apparently a “sign of her love for Blake” because of that line Adam had in V3? …I thought y’all despised his ass, when did we start believing a word that came out of his mouth??

•On that note, paralleling the two, when the latter was literally the abuser of the former’s current gf, is…..😬

•Also on that note, the objective infantilizing of Blake. All she really does now is whimper and be meek around Yang until another “bee moment” or until the plot remembers to use her for something. Yes, because turning this once feisty character into this shy nervous little meow meow who can’t even fight on her own anymore after she’s revealed to have been an abuse victim is totally not gross.

•Yang prioritizes her new GF over her little sister who is clearly in a horrible headspace, and when she finally breaks down, instead of attempting to calm her down or console her she steps in front of a COWERING BLAKE and just says “Hey!”. YOU TWO ARE BOTH OLDER THAN HER WHY ARE YOU ACTING LIKE THIS

•The scene in which they finally confess was literally forced out of them by a storm. I…I thought we learned to not do this? Guys? Um…

•The 10 year queerbaiting smugly disguised as “planned from the start uwu” that Voltron Legendary Fucking Defender wishes it could have achieved. Does that mean it was always planned that you’d write your hatesink character to have been a branded child slave? Does that mean it was always planned that you’d write the confession of these two’s love for each other to have been forced out of them? Does that mean it was always planned that you’d confirm your main queer couple two episodes before said couple did nothing to save their 17 year old leader from taking her own life on screen?

•Saying the quiet part out loud when an employee tweeted that “The bee kiss alone hopefully green lights V10.”

•Also, the immediate merchandising of it. Ugh.

Before I go on, no I do not believe the bees were “forced diversity”. No I do not believe Adam was killed to push it (he was killed because the writers wanted a quick way for people to forget how abhorrently racist this show fucking got anyways). No I do not believe this is a bad pairing, and if you accuse me of being an [insert hetero Blake/Yang ship here], I ship fucking Monochrome and Thundercats, dude. But what about the rest of this show’s LGBT representation? Is it any b

No.

•Our first on screen rep is in the form of Ilia. I really like Ilia, genuinely, she’s honestly one of my favorite characters. But why did they write their first lesbian character in the “psycho lesbian” trope? Also, why did their first indigenous character start out as a villain who had to be redeemed by learning violent protest bad all lives matter and ANYWAYS—

•Coco leers at women and her allusion is a fucking Nazi. She sucks. •The wives from V6 (Terracotta-Arcs??) are fine. Probably the most decent rep we’ve got, even if they were just a one off thing. They’re cute and I’m happy for em. Slay.

•We’ve got a single gay man in the entire cast (Scarlet) and he’s confirmed in a book. A single gay dude in a show infamous for its character bloat. Obviously we know why but man.

•3 non-binary characters. 1 is in a spin-off, 2 are animals. In this latest volume in which the last two are present, one is revealed to be a villain, and the other goes out Green Mile style. Yaaaaaaaaaaaaay….

•And lastly, May. I also do like May! However, her character is not the problem.

What is the problem with all of this, no mater what, is the people, company, making this show.

Rooster Teeth is not your friend. Rooster Teeth does not care about you, or putting that loving care into representation.

Why are half of the villains disabled? Why are half of the villains in universe minorities? Why are half of the villains POC? Why are half of the villains a combination of two or all three of those traits?

Why is the only freedom fighting, minority rights organization terrorists? Why does their WOC leader die the scene we meet her? And why is her killer revealed to have been in fucking slavery the same episode he dies on screen in? And why is this organization taken as a serious threat, while two openly racist antagonists are portrayed as goofy and comical?

Why are any and all plus-sized characters portrayed as jokes? Why does the disabled-coded girl get her disability ripped away from her so she can “truly be human”? Why does another disabled character have him losing an arm to mean he’s lost his humanity? Why does this show portray so many misandristic tropes? Why does this show portray so many misogynistic tropes?

Why was this show’s first LGBT character a villain? Why was the next based off a Nazi? Why are two out of their three non-binary characters animals, and why have those two either been “killed” or turned into villains? Why is there only one gay man in this huge cast?

And why is it so many just let it slide that, while before and during the production of the volumes featuring the show’s first transgender character, Rooster Teeth treated and abused that character’s VA like absolute garbage?

Are the lives of those real people less important than those sweet, sweet “bee moments”?

In conclusion, the bees were not forced. I am glad they are canon. But I am not glad that it has nearly managed to conceal all the deplorable shit the racist, homophobic and awful company behind it has done.

[purplemninja]

The Tragic Story of Six

We all know that a Little Nightmares protagonist never makes it past one game, that is except for Six, who has suffered alongside the other protagonist kids throughout the whole journey. And we’re going to be exploring the tragedy of her tale.

Some points I need to caveat before we dive in:

1- None of what I will say justifies Six’s bad deeds, but does explain why she did the bad things she’s done.

2- Six is only nine years old. So Six isn’t even in the double digits yet when she goes through everything in this post. And since we don’t know how much time has passed between LN2 and LN1, she could have been only eight years old in VLN or LN2 for all we know.

And 3- Even though most of the instalments are played by one of the other kids, the overall LN narrative is telling us Six’s story, since she is present throughout the whole series.

Here is some music that I believe is fitting for this subject so that you can play it as you read:

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The story of Six is a tragic one.

It begins with her entrapment at the Nest. We don’t know what happened to Six before this, how Six got there or how long she’s been there, but it’s safe to assume that it wasn’t pleasant for her because she hides in places where the monsters can’t get her and that she wanted to escape at the end. This is also Six at her most innocent.

During her escape, she encounters RCG and decides to team up with her but unfortunately gets betrayed by her. She finds another way to escape the Nest and is saved by RCG this time and tries to save her in return. But sadly her attempt to save RCG failed and all she could do was watch as RCG and the Pretender fall into the sea to their deaths. This moment left Six with survivor’s guilt.

Having developed survivor’s guilt, you can better understand why Six was hesitant to help Mono at the beginning of LN2 - she doesn’t want to help someone only to lose them again (that and him chopping down the door with an axe wasn’t exactly the best first impression). Over the course of LN2, Six learns to trust Mono and even actively puts her own life at risk to help him several times, as does he for her. And the ending of VLN makes the part where Six finds the raincoat hit differently.

Later, through Mono’s actions, she gets kidnapped by the Thin Man and taken to the tower where she tortured and later distorted (as evident by the part where Mono tries to pull her out of a TV, she doesn’t want to be there and is clearly in distress).

But, even when she’s been tortured and distorted in the Signal Tower, she still offers her music box which is her escapism and the fantasy that the tower has hypnotised her with, meaning that she wanted Mono to join her in the fantasy. The LN Twitter hinted twice that breaking the music box was why Six dropped Mono ‘Extracting someone from a fantasy can be deeply upsetting for everyone involved’. So now you may understand Six’s perspective of the situation, which Dave Mervik hinted at in an interview when asked why she did what she did. LN2 is shown through Mono’s perspective and doesn’t easily offer us Six’s perspective, so we can only interpret it.

Here’s how I interpret it:

‘I tried to save someone even after they betray me, but I failed to save them. I then met a boy with a bag on his head who offered me his hand, I didn’t want to take it at first because I didn’t want to lose someone else all over again, but circumstances forced me to accept his help. We gradually bonded and I tried even harder to ensure that my friend would make it out alive by putting myself at risk to help him. He did nothing when I was taken and practically torn in half (Shadow Six’s creation) but when he finally arrived, I offered him to join me in the fantasy I was in, I either didn’t know that my body was distorted or I didn’t mind it (after all, Six doesn’t really seem bothered by her monstrous form). However not only does he refuse my offer, but he forces me out of it. No matter how much I screamed from the pain and tried to stop him, he kept doing it (since Six screams and hunches over in pain whenever Mono hits the music box). I’m not given a minute to process what just happened when he destroys it because walls of flesh start chasing us immediately afterwards and I barely managed to get to the exit. I catch him but then I think:

Why? Why did he do that? I tried to save someone else but failed but this time I changed myself by putting my own life at risk to help him several times and offered him to join me in the fantasy that helped me heal from the pain caused by the man in the hat that he released even when I tried to stop it from happening. But not only does he refuse my offer but he forces me out of it against my will. No matter how much I screamed and tried to stop him, he wouldn’t stop hurting me. After everything I did for him, this is the thanks I get? I changed myself by putting my life at risk to help someone else, so why?’

And like the LN Twitter said: the more of us understand the pain that Mono caused Six than we realise.

With how the tower was collapsing as she held onto Mono, Six had to think fast. And well, we saw what happened (before people try to put words in my mouth, no, none of this justifies what happened to Mono, but makes it understandable). Afterwards when she comes out of the TV, we see her hugging herself, showing guilt or remorse before Shadow Six appears.

And finally in LN1 we see that Six doesn’t help any other kids anymore, either because she’s afraid that she’ll just lose them all over again or because what happened with Mono made her lose trust people, essentially shutting everyone out. It’s probably a bit of both. The only ones she’s shown to still trust are the Nomes, evident by how she hugs them and gives them a source of warmth/light by lighting a lantern when one is available and freeing some Nomes that got themselves trapped (such as the Nomes in the fridge and cage in the prison chapter and later in a jar in the kitchen chapter). Why does she trust the Nomes over the other kids? It could be that they remind her of the two friends she’s lost (RCG and Mono) or because she sees herself in them with how skittish they are like she is (and for good reason), or she doesn’t trust people anymore to show kindness to them but still has to the desire to be kind to something that is considered inferior to her or maybe a bit of each of these.

But unfortunately along the way she saw that the children on the Maw are turned into sausages, so when the hunger hits her, she is forced to choose between knowingly committing cannibalism or eating something that we know is also a kid but she doesn’t know, and she chose the latter option. And finally, after defeating the Lady, Six is forced to knowingly commit cannibalism to satisfy her hunger and she obtains the Lady’s powers in the process. The way she slowly turns towards the camera marks the end of what little innocence she had left, and now she exits the Maw and awaits rescue, killing any guests that try to eat her along the way.

What happens to her afterwards is yet to be seen, but with Six trying to save RCG even after being betrayed by her, to at first not trusting Mono but eventually trusting him and changing herself to risk her own life to help him several times but betraying him when a big misunderstanding occurs, to not even trying to save any of the other kids anymore, you can now notice Six’s mental deterioration.

Something to remember is that all of the monsters (except the flesh walls) are human, mostly adults. But they weren’t always adults; they were once children themselves. Whether the world went insane long ago - when they were children, or not that long ago - when they are now adults, either way they were once children too and now live to prey on the next generation of children. And as we saw and confirmed by David Mervik himself, the world has shaped Six to become one of them, now existing to prey on others to survive and all child-like innocence she had is gone.

Although the ending she got may not be as bad as Mono’s, RCG’s and RK’s, and until LN3 comes out (provided it’s actually a sequel this time) to prove otherwise, Six’s story and fate nonetheless remain a tragic one. And Six’s fate is one shared no doubt by many other children.

Thank you for reading if you’ve read all of this, I’ll see you in the next one.

[thedeluluverse]

Summary: While you have been working for BTS for a little over a year, you and your boyfriend Taehyung have only officially been together for two and a half months. Everything is going well until he starts tagging along to your shoots with your other clients, Stray Kids.  Are his suspicions correct or is he seeing things?

Pairing:  idol!Taehyung x multi-group-photographerGF!Nari a.k.a. “Burning Film” couple

Rating: PG13

Genre: idol!au, mutual pining, angst, fluff, early relationship, jealousy, coworker!au, work crushes

Word Count: 1, 965

Warnings: angst, fluff, feeling insecure, slight teasing, jealousy,

Author's Note: Here is the "Burning Film" couple again! I have created an oc basically for this storyline of Tae named Nari who represents y/n! It isn't necessary to read BF first but it would help you understand what they've bee through already plus I am proud of it so if you do, let me know what you think! Also, we stan SKZ and Felix in this house so no hate, this was just an idea I've had for awhile. Enjoy!! :)

P.S.- yes I am going to go back into Burning Film and replace y/n with Nari but another time. I have work in like 6 hours so going to catch some sleep hopefully XD

The last three months have been much deserved bliss with your new boyfriend Taehyung; not only do you finally have the man of your dreams, but your work has garnered a plethora of attention earning you the title of official photographer for the kpop group Stray Kids as well! Tae is supportive of your dream but is having a hard time adjusting to you being away from him more than usual. Noticing his demeanor change every time you say you’re going to “other work”, you make a decision as you are getting ready one day.

Nari: “BAAABBEEE!!” – you shout from the bathroom as you put the finishing touches on your outfit.

Tae: rushes to you out of breath “Yes jagiya? Is everything alright?”

Nari: giggles and turns towards him “Yes silly, I didn’t scream fire or anything. Still cute though.”

Tae: kisses the top of your head “Fair enough but I just had to make sure, and you’re the cute one baby. Anyway, why did you summon me?”

Nari: blushes slightly Wellllll, I was going to see if you wanted to accompany me to the Stray Kids photoshoot today. I know it’s been rough having less free time together lately. If not I totally get if it’d be boring for you so no pres-“

Tae: interrupts you by picking you up and spinning you around “Oh I’d love to y/n that’s such a great idea!!! I’ve always wished I could see the magic behind the camera so this is perfect! I’ll meet you by the car in 5 minutes, you’re the best!”

You can’t help but chuckle at how puppy-like he could be, but it was endearing that he wanted to understand what you did for a living. In true gentleman fashion, he opens your door when you get to the SKZ location, carries your equipment inside for you, and even brings you a water and an easy snack for while you work. Halfway through the shoot, you tell the guys to take a 10-minute break so you can assess what else you need and so they can grab a snack as well.

Tae has been waiting nearby during the shoot in case you need anything, so he takes this opportunity to use the restroom and refill his water. As he returns he sees you talking with Han, Bang Chan, and Felix, which was fine until he heard Felix exclaim, “Woah Gracie, I love you for that!”. He doesn’t say anything, but he is not thrilled about the fact that he of all people has a special nickname for you. Before today he had no issues with the guy, so what changed? You and Nari will find out soon enough don’t worry!

The shoot comes to an end about a half hour later and Tae can’t help you pack up and get out of there fast enough. I mean, you can’t really blame him since y’all have been there for close to 5 hours but it’s not like he hasn’t had longer shoots. Guess time is more of a drag when you aren’t an active participant. In any case, after picking up a quick bite y’all are home bound! As soon as he puts the car in park you can tell something is different. He uncharacteristically grabs his meal and goes inside before you can even open your door. Chalking it up to him being hangry and missing Yeontan, you give a tired exhale and head inside.

As you kick off your shoes and scan the house, you don’t see Tae anywhere; you peak into the living room and his room because he likes to eat in there sometimes but still no luck. Assuming he must have something to work on after hearing him in his studio, you resign yourself to eating at the kitchen island alone with Yeontan peacefully asleep at your feet.

After eating, you shuffle to his studio door looking for some company, but your knocks are met with silence then a “C’mon Nari, can’t you tell I am busy right now? I’ll be out when I’m done, go watch TV or something aish!”. Tears pricking behind your eyes, you give a quiet “oh, okay sorry I won’t bother you anymore love…” before you walk away and curl up on the couch listening to calming lo-fi music as you try to quiet your brain. You didn’t do anything to make him upset as far as you can recall so unless something gets brought to your attention, you decide to enjoy the rest of your afternoon doodling in your notebook.

The sun has long set, and you can’t remember when you passed out on the couch exactly before you got awoken abruptly by the loud opening of Tae’s studio door and him stomping to take Yeontan on a walk. You are less in a daze when he comes back and are just looking up pleadingly at him only for him to bark out a “what?!” and in return you croak out an unconvincing “nothing” just for him to scoff at you. “Yeah sure, you’ve looked pitiful since we fucking got home. What’s the problem huh? Miss your strays?”.

You blink wide-eyed “what the hell are you talking about? You’re the one who has been in a shitty mood since a random point in the shoot. You wanna tell me what’s going on?” He sits in the big armchair near you, running his hands through his hair then gets up and paces for a good 3 minutes before sitting back down with his elbows on his knees and hands clasped; deeply sighing, he finally reveals the truth.

You sniffle, heart pounding in anticipation trying to look strong even though you were terrified you had blinked wrong or something and were about to be single. He takes a long sip of water then glares up at you, “So you wanna know what’s going on huh? Well, I don’t ‘knaur’ Gracie, what is going on?” Confusion shadows your features as you meet his eyes, “Why did you ask like that and why on earth did you call me Gracie???” He darkly chuckles and says, “Oh, is that an issue?” Nari rolls her eyes and says “Why are you laughing first of all? And it isn’t an issue per say, it just shocked me because you have never called me that once since we’ve met.”

Tae leans back in his chair manspreading trying to affirm his authority and explains, “Well, here goes and don’t you fucking interrupt me. If you somehow have questions, be a patient little cheater and wait until I’m done okay?” You nod in anticipation trying to stay strong and not react to his accusation yet. “Well, whatever name you’re going by, you are right. I haven’t been in the best mood, and it wasn’t a ‘random point’, it was when you had called for a 10-minute break. I had returned from the bathroom and saw you had relocated from our spot to near the Aussies and Han.”

You raise your hand giving him the grandest power complex to which he only tilts his head towards you beckoning you to speak. “You know I’m friends with all of them so why did seeing that turn you into a dick?”. Poking his cheek with his tongue, he clarified, “It didn’t turn me into a dick darling. I just don’t like people trying to take what is mine.” “Nobody was trying to take me you dumbass.” “Then why the shit does Felix have a special nickname for you AND said he loves you??” he slightly yelled with tears in his eyes.

As he hid his face in his hands, taking deep breaths to avoid sobbing, you were trying to process the words that just came out of his mouth. After stuttering and trying to form sentences, you explain the situation as he comes to sit next to you. Turning towards him and covering his hands with yours, you take a deep breath and bring him up to speed; “So the name thing first. Well as you know he and Bang Chan are Australian. So, them trying to say my first name just winds up in a 10-minute loop of aggressive ‘nauring’ you know? So, I decided to tell them my middle name and Bang Chan immediately fell in love with calling me ‘Gracie’ so only the Aussies call me that, for that reason only okay?” He cracks a small smile, “I guess that does make sense….. but why did he say he loved you?” You choke on air, and you ask incredulously, “Ummm when the hell did he say that?!?!”

He glances at the floor sheepish worried he misheard something now and is starting to feel like the biggest asshole to ever exist. “I dunno, I just heard him tell you ‘Woah Gracie, I love you for that!’ and just after the unexplained name thing it sent me spiraling.” You give a small smile this time and go “calm down tiger, I had just shown him a photo I had edited of him and hella fixed the lighting, so he was grateful because it was an important photo of him. That’s it I promise okay? I swear on Tannie!!”

It was his turn to go big eyed because he knew when you swore on a pet, you meant business! “Okay I believe you Nari I really do.” You breath the deepest sigh of relief ever until he interrupts with “But I do have one more question…” “Oh?” you question, “what’s up Tae?”. “Okay now don’t get mad, but are you sure there’s nothing there? I mean it seemed like there was some flirting, at least from where I stood.” “I mean I doubt he was flirting with me; he knows I am with you plus I double doubt you started a trend of fine Korean men finding me attractive.” you chuckle.

Suddenly his countenance darkened again in an instant as he backed away, “fine Korean men????” you gulp, “I mean, I didn’t mean fine fine, I just meant that I am a photographer, so I appreciate aesthetically pleasing things and people.” You say as you start to get off the couch, but he stands and pulls your hair getting you to look him in the eyes “So you aren’t attracted to him AT ALL then??” Tears form once again in your eyes as you explain yourself, yet again…”Okay so he maybe was my first SKZ bias, and you aren’t the first person to point out that he flirts with me a lot. I won’t deny that before we were together it was very nice, but I love you not him okay?”

There’s a long pause until you both sit back down, and he looks like he has seen a ghost, “wait…love me???” You chuckle, “Yes you idiot, lovingly of course!” He has tears in his eyes then asks, “Are you sure??? I mean, it has only been a few months and I know I’m taller, but my voice can’t get near his and I was an ass earlier…” “Hun, I agree you could’ve handled everything earlier better and come to me sooner and been upfront. But it doesn’t mean that you are inherently an ass okay? I don’t care that your voice isn’t just like his, I love your voice and it’s been my peace for years now.”

“Well, good points all around and I just…. I really am sorry that I freaked out so much earlier, I just love you too, so it lit a fire in my soul. I’m sincerely sorry and I’ll do better okay? I can’t lose you…”. You are both sobbing at this point and then while you pull each other into the most intense embrace, you reassure him

“You won’t”.

[noodyl-blasstal]

Stars Again!

It's day 6 of @tazsapphicweek and time for the final bit of the Lady in the Lake. Part 1 | Part 2.

Breaking news: Idiot has a realisation; Istus gets to do her job! Read below or on AO3

---

“I’m an idiot.” Says Raven, announcing herself.

“You’ll have to be more specific, dear, whatever do you mean?” Istus replies, pushing enough love into the words to ensure Raven lets her get away with her big smug smile.

“Oh shush.” There’s no bite in her words. “So, what do I need to do?”

“Nothing. Here you go.” Istus holds the sword out. It’s different this time, less gaudy than usual. The hilt is burnished, but clearly well worn. It’s experienced, lined by age, and beautiful with it. Just like Raven. The pommel doesn’t drip with gems, just a simple embossed bird. It’s perfect, it’s right.

“Fuck off. You can’t just hand it over.” Raven doesn’t reach for it. They’re usually half in the water and grabbing for it by now.

“I thought you were ready?” Istus doesn’t understand, the prophecy said tonight was the night… she waited so long! She was so patient… Raven clearly, finally knows she’s the true king, so what’s the hold up? Why doesn’t she want it? If she’s not ready then, well Istus will give her time, Istus will give her anything she asks, but the necromancers will definitely not extend the same kindness…

“Shouldn’t there be a ceremony? Some kind of speech? You’re not even wearing the fancy gown, I know full well you put it on for Godrick and he was shit! I thought you loved me?” Raven looks so indignant that Istus manages to choke back her laughter.

“You want the whole shebang?” Istus asks as straight faced as she can manage, hopefully the corner of her mouth twitching won’t give her away.

“Yep. If anything, I want the fanciest she you’ve ever banged. Wait… Hang on, no that came out wrong.”

Istus breaks then, flopping backwards into the water cackling.

“No, come back! Istus! I want the bells! I want the whistles!”

It takes a heroic effort, but Istus flicks her tail and brings herself upright again, bobbing close enough to hold Istus’ hand. “Okay dear, I understand. I’ll make sure it’s worthy of you.” She lets go and swims back slightly, making sure she’s out of range for the next bit. “... afterall, you certainly are the fanciest she I know.” One of Raven’s crackers bonks off Istus’ head. “I think you dropped something there darling.” Raven reaches into her pocket to grab another, Istus isn’t going to give her another chance. “Hold tight, I’ll be back soon.”

She dives below the surface of the water, lets the cool silk of the lake wash across her. It was reasonable, of course, Raven was the king, it was only fair for her to expect some kind of honouring. Istus had known it since a few years after they met, she’d had years to get used to the idea, but this was all new to Raven. She deserved the pomp. She deserved the circumstance. She deserved the best.

– “Are you ready?” Istus shouts, peeking out from behind the rocks where Raven had evidently given up on standing. She spies her on the shore instead, lying on the pebbles.

“Raven?”

There’s no reply, well, none other than the low rumbling noise emanating from under Raven’s wide brimmed hat. Istus resists the impulse to huff, she knows Raven’s had a hard day. Hard months, to be honest, she seems more exhausted each time she visits. Raven leaves the lake and the world pulls another chunk out of her. She keeps going anyway, keeps fighting, keeps her faith in what’s right and true, just like a king should. Istus can forgive a nap, then. But, but she's also impatient, and there's only so long she can wear the dress before it gets fully saturated and feels terrible on her skin and scales.

"Psssst." She waits, nothing.

"Raven?"

"It's time to wake up, dear."

"I'm wearing the dress! It’s going a bit see through!”

“Raven, c'mon!"

The first pebble Istus throws pings off Raven's hat, the second one lands squarely on her chest, bounces, and skitters away. The third one grazes her cheek. Raven grumbles slightly and sleeps on.

Well fine, Raven wants the works? She can experience the full power of the lake.

The tendril of lake water gathers itself for a moment before splashing down across Raven's face.

"Wuh… huh? I wasn't sleeping! I'm awake." Raven snaps upright, glances guiltily around. Istus resists the urge to snort out a laugh. She's glad that she set up the waterproof camera Raven had brought her, she was going to isolate the frame of Raven’s panicky awakening and treasure it always.

Raven casts her eyes to the lake, clearly searching for Istus. She won't have to search for long. It's time to begin.

Istus concentrates hard on the tendrils of mist knitting them together so they thicken and blanket the surface of the water.

"Oooh, is this it? Is it starting?" Raven sounds delighted.

Istus' chest shakes with silent giggles as she fights to keep her concentration on the task at hand.

"It looks really cool! You're doing great!" Raven yells from the shore.

The algae begins to glow then, steady and bright in the moonlight. Istus doesn't have an in with the stars like she does with the lake or she'd make them glow brighter too.

"Wow!" Says Raven loudly. "I wonder what's happening here! This is all so mysterious! I wonder if anything important is going on!"

Fates, this woman was not an actor. Not to mention that at no point has Istus indicated any audience participation was required in this process until she is actually handing over the sword.

A plume of water shoots dramatically into the air and Raven gasps, hands flying to her face in delight. "That was genuine, love, I wasn't expecting that!"

While the water is still misting it's way back down to the lake surface Istus starts the whirlpool, lake water spinning and churning, then suddenly stilling to a circle of glassy smooth water, unaffected by the small waves around it. She swims hard, and, from that lake mirror, emerges Istus.

She crests slowly, tail weaving gently below her to keep her pace steady. The dress pools on the surface, white fabric billowing, dry as long as her spellwork holds.

"Fuck me, you're hot." Raven doesn’t shout as loudly as she did before, but Istus hears all the same and has to fight not to lean into it. This isn’t time for flirting, this is time for reverence.

"Traveller!" She booms.

Raven does the universal double look over the should, point to yourself, 'who, me?' pantomime. Istus works hard to resist rolling her eyes, she deserves a prize for it honestly. She'll tell Raven as much later.

"Your coming was foretold!" Istus regrets the phrasing the instant the words leave her mouth.

Istus can hear Raven thinking filthy thoughts as she bounces her eyebrows. Istus continues anyway, like the consummate professional she is.

"... and it is my job to bestow upon you a great gift, a great responsibility; the sword of fate."

Raven's rapt, thankfully. Istus doesn't know how much longer she can resist laughing at the heckling.

"...the sword is the sword of the true king, the instrument of divine power by which your reign will be declared, by which your rule will be cemented, to which your fate will be twined."

Raven's silent, eyes shining in the algae’s glow.

"... With this token, know that you are responsible for all citizens of this nation. With this token, know my favour lies with you."

Istus summons the sword then, pulls it from the depths with speed enough to fly free of the water. It hangs above her, glows bright, cuts through the layers of mist.

"... With this token, know that you, Raven of Neverwinter, are the one and true king.

The sword falls gently, Istus holds her hand out and waits for the grip to place itself in her palm. She doesn’t look at it, just waits for the familiar weight.

Raven gasps, involuntary and quiet. Istus hopes this lives up to her expectations… she’ll ask for feedback later.

She flips the sword in her hand, holding the green kelp woven sheath instead, handle pointed toward shore. "Raven of Neverwinter, will you accept my gift?"

Raven walks forward now, wades into the lake without the usual hopping to remove her shoes and socks. There's no laughter in her in this moment. The weight of responsibility is heavy on her shoulders but she still stands tall and proud and kingly.

Raven stops just short of the drop off where Istus floats, drops to a knee in the still shallow water. "Honourable friend, I gladly will." She takes the sword. There's no thunder clap or triumphant song, no indication that the world has changed, but Istus knows it to be true all the same.

"May the fates bless you, King Raven."

"Thank you." A quiet whisper.

There's a long beat of silence. Istus usually goes now, sinks back into the water unseen by the king who has already turned to leave.

"I love you." Raven says.

"I love you too, my king." And how Istus does. This perfect woman, the person she has thought of every day for 14 years, the love of her life. This is the king the people deserve. She's going to save the world, she's going to be amazing.

"... So, you said something about coming?"

[luxurybrownbarbie]

Hey Barbie,

I’ve been official with my boyfriend for nearly a year and we dated for a year before that. I spent last year studying in the US and he asked me out when I came home for Christmas. I said yes because I thought why not and he flew over to visit me in March too.

He comes from a very well-off family and has a year and a half left until he qualifies as a doctor. I’ve always worked my ass off to make money, but haven’t been able to get a job alongside my studies yet. I also come from a background where I can’t just ask for financial help or support.

My issue is just that before we were on the same page about so many things like tidiness, dates, career goals, and I’ve always been vocal about what I expect from a partner. But now that I’m back and we’re spending a lot of time together, he has just not been meeting my needs. Like before he would offer to get an Uber or buy me food and now he’ll look at me when we go shopping because he doesn’t want to pay the bill. I literally have to drag him to do it, and it’s giving me the biggest ick.

I don’t think these are big things either because I’ll take him on trips and pay for it (not food I refuse), but these small things mean everything to me because I rarely ask for big things. He is super sweet, has a photographic memory, and I know that he loves me but I feel so caged in. We also went on a break for a week last month, and I felt great for the time alone, but he literally barely left his apartment.

I decided to give it another try because he said he would work on the boundaries issues that led to the break. I’m just at this point where I’m 22, in my final year, and I just don’t know what to do. Do you have any advice?

Sorry for the super long ask, and thanks for reading lovely! ❤️

You are in bondage sister, omg! You are only 22 years old, you need to leave him!

You’re not imagining things, you’re not wrong. You’re feeling caged in because you are.

How is he super sweet? Nothing you’ve said gives me that inclination whatsoever.

He is actively making your life more difficult. If you are struggling for money, why are you spending it on trips for him? It’s about equity. You should not have to judge or force him to take care of bills on nights out or get you an Uber.

He’s not going to change.

He’s got a vibrant, smart, beautiful 22 year old he gets to suck the life and youth out of! Why would he ever change? You complain, but he knows he will eventually be able to get you to just accept his shortcomings as long as he promises to “work on them”.

He stopped trying after you were fully committed to him. (Not your fault, tale as old as time.) He’s moved into outright apathy. Ubers and food are literally the barest of bare minimums, this is just pure stinginess.

Don’t try to figure out why you should leave. You’ll gaslight yourself into thinking you’re overreacting. Figure out why you would want to stay.

Because from here, it reads like you're hoping he'll go back to being the person he was before (he won't!), or you're hoping that the love you have will see you through (it won’t).

You’re young. You should be having fun and enjoying dating, not dragging along a useless man who is actively making your life more difficult. It’s okay to leave. Don’t try to avoid the heartbreak just for the sake of it. Go start enjoying dating.

[fandomscraziness22]

aloe and candytuft for locklyle!

aloe (affection, also grief) — “i miss them so much.” candytuft (indifference) — “i said that i didn’t care, but i lied.”

Lockwood knows he should tell George and Lucy why dragging his body out of bed feels like the world’s largest hurdle he must jump over. Why today is a bad day, even though the sun is shining and they have a full day of research and scouting for a larger case planned and a smaller haunting to deal with tonight. Why Lockwood wakes with a pit in his stomach and his limbs immovable as if he’s been ghost-touched.

But he doesn’t. Because he’s Lockwood, and he needs to put on his most charming face for the guards at the mansion Lucy and him are to check out today, and it’s been so long, he should be over this by now. The grief will never leave him, he knows this, but it’s been years upon years since his parents died, and the day itself shouldn’t feel any different.

It does, and when Lockwood heaves himself out of bed, the heaviness sinks deep into his bones, into his soul. 

And then the day goes poorly, because Anthony bloody Lockwood can never catch a break.

They’re out of toast in the morning, so Lockwood has to deal with a smaller breakfast than normal. George is yammering away about what he hopes to find at the archives today, and his voice, normally a soothing background, grates at Lockwood’s nerves. Lucy sends him many concerned glances, but he waves her away.

Then the mansion is much bigger than either he or Lucy was prepared for, and they spend all day walking around and comparing notes. His feet hurt and he notices there are too many possible hiding spaces for a source, which means that when they come back to clear the ghost in a few days, they will be in for a long night.

They’re late to their case that night, by no fault of their own. George is already there (hopefully), but Lucy and Lockwood’s night taxi gets a flat tire, and it takes an extra half an hour for another one to come along and give them a ride.

Lockwood keeps shoving down his anger and his grief, which he knows is dangerous to take with him into this garden, where they have been contracted for a low-level type one shade. Lucy has already tried to ask three times what’s wrong with him, and he hates himself for his short tone, but he just can’t explain. There’s no time now, so when she attempts to ask before they enter the garden, Lockwood explodes. 

“Give it a rest, Lucy! We’re all running around busy as hell, I don’t need you mothering me.”

Her guard is up at once, though she’s never one to back down from a fight. “God, Lockwood, excuse me for caring! I just thought—”

But he cuts her off. “I don't care what you thought, Lucy. If I say I’m fine, then leave it at that and let me do my work.”

Lucy scoffs. “It’s our bloody work, Lockwood. I’m just as much a part of the agency as you are.”

“I know that,” Lockwood says as he rubs his tired eyes. “Look, can we please just go find George and finish the job?” 

She huffs by him without another word, and damn it, Lockwood is going to have to do some groveling tomorrow.

Of course it’s not a simple shade, but instead a whole cluster of shades and lurkers. Thankfully they make it out relatively unscathed, but all three Lockwood and Co. operatives return home tired and sore.

Lockwood just wants to go to bed, though he knows by the cold shoulder Lucy is giving him that he should go apologize. But he can’t summon up the courage or the strength to do so. He falls into bed and lets the black cloud of grief that’s been hovering all day finally smother him.

It’s three in the morning when Lockwood startles awake. Another nightmare; this time his parents and Jessica are ghosts intent on killing Lucy, and Lockwood can do nothing but stand and watch. He shakes his head to try and clear the dream, and gets up to make himself some tea.

Lockwood’s settled in the library when a creak on the stairs warns him of Lucy’s presence. She hesitantly enters and sits down next to him, her own cup of tea in her hands. Which means that she purposely alerted him that she was there. 

Lucy’s guarded once more, and while the grief is still present within himself, it’s hollow and dulled, back to a somewhat normal level. And Lockwood can never stand to have Lucy mad at him, so he begins slowly.

“You know when I said I didn’t care what you thought about me? That was a lie.”

“You don’t say,” Lucy muses. She’s never been one to give him the easy way out. It’s something he likes about her—she doesn’t take shit from anyone, including him and George.

So Lockwood takes a breath and whispers, “Yesterday was the anniversary of my parents’ death.”

Lucy’s demeanor changes instantly. “Lockwood,” she breathes, reaching over to hold his hand. 

“I know it doesn’t excuse my being a dick to you,” he says. “But it’s a hard day. I just miss them so much sometimes it’s like a punch to the gut every single second. I shouldn’t have taken my pain out on you. I’m sorry.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She’s rubbing her thumb along his hand now, the soothing gesture a familiar one.

He shakes his head. “I just normally try to grit my teeth and get through the day. No sense in dragging you down with me.”

Now she’s the one shaking her head. “Me and George could have handled that cluster, and our scouting today could have been pushed off a few days. You don’t need to suffer alone, Lockwood. You have us. You have me.”

Lockwood gives her a half smile as her words sink in. Sometimes he can be a bit thick, he knows, when it comes to letting his friends in. But Lucy seems insistent on staying, and she’s here now, when it counts. 

“Thanks, Luce.” Simple but effective; very different from the normal Lockwood flair, but he can’t help but enjoy the simplicity in this moment.

send me flower prompts!

[disorganizedkitten]

We'll Take Our World By Storm Chapter 4

Harry Potter | 2021 | 8,106 | Ao3 | Previous | Masterlist | Next

 I sincerely hope you’re happy now, because I’m going to take you North and back to the Department of Mysteries. I quite like it there, see, and the adults do matter in this story, so they have to get some screen time else I leave you terribly confused.

 So. Adrian Dunbar, Itzcalli Medina, and Isaac Devon spend three hours performing autopsies using both muggle and magical means, cross referencing with historic records and old case files, before Adrian and Itzcalli’s friend from the Veil pops her head in the room and glares at Isaac.

 He glares back. You’d never guess she terrifies him.

 “Calli.”

 “Hey Lyn,” Itzcalli says, looking up. She has ash smeared over one eyebrow and a spot of blood on her hair ribbon, but has otherwise managed to make it through without making a mess of herself. Her robes are a different story, but that can’t really be seen around their enchantments and color. Who knew grey hid stains so well? “Time to go?”

 “Yeah,” Lyn replies. “I figured we’d be late if I didn’t give you time to clean up.”

 Itzcalli snorts, but doesn’t deny it. Her response is the opposite. “Yeah, thanks.” Adrian looks at her sharply. Itzcalli catches the look and shrugs. She and Lyn have been friends since they were eleven, and they broke into two of the most secret rooms in Hogwarts together. If Itzcalli trusts anyone, it’s Lyn. There’s also the fact that Lyn has done many things throughout her life, and visit the faerie realm isn’t one of them, so though she has that mindset, she has nothing to back it up.

 “Shift isn’t over yet,” Isaac growls.

 The girls send him matching unimpressed looks. Adrian’s impressed by their sudden synchronization.

 Isaac rolls his eyes, but grudgingly allows it. “You’re dismissed too, Dunbar. I want you both back here at one-thirty.”

 Adrian doesn’t protest because it’s nearly an hour break, even taking out half an hour for travel, but he wants to just based on Isaac’s tone. Isaac may be good at his job - a whiz at chemical residues and potions, with steady hands and no squeamishness to be found - but Adrian grudgingly understands why Itzcalli and Lyn don’t like him.

 “Wanna walk with us?” Itzcalli offers before Adrian can shoot off a response.

 Adrian sends her a smile. “I’d love to.”

 They go back through the Death Chamber as Isaac vanishes into the Time Room. This time through, Adrian notices that the stone stadium isn’t as bare as he thought. “Is it safe to leave your research out like this?” he asks, stepping onto a bench to avoid a runic circle drawn in a mixture of dark red blood and glowing blue ink. Inside the circle is… something. It’s either a family tree or a map. Probably.

 Lyn shrugs, the motion hidden by her pulling the grey robe over her head. “I've been here for five years, and I'm the only one willing to spend extended amounts of time near the veil anymore." Her head comes back up, and her hair is even more of a mess. It writhes for a moment, before settling into staticy curls."Plus I've cursed most of the area. The last person who tried to steal my work is still a slug."

 “How long ago was that?” Adrian asks.

 Lyn hums, some high-pitched noise that manages to convey confusion without looking at him, as she’s dropping her robe on another bench. “I’m not sure? Before Pandora died, but not by much. Most of the curses were after Pan, cause no one was brave enough to try to kill me before that, but they did try to steal our work. So… a year and a half, give or take?” Lyn grimaces in Adrian’s general direction as she opens the door to the entryway. “Pan was my mentor, by the way.”

 Adrian follows her out of the Death Chamber, breathing deeply as the air is light again. “And it’s legal to leave them a slug that long?”

 Calli snorts. “Who’s gonna stop her? As far as most people are concerned, he probably did an experiment wrong and died in the middle. After all-” she opens another door, and steps out of the DoM for the first time in seven hours. She should sleep more. “-what happens in the Department of Mysteries stays in the Department of Mysteries.”

 “That doesn’t tell me if it’s legal,” Adrian says drily, following her out.

 Lyn stops just inside the door. “Yes, because we’re working on a counterspell and can’t turn him back until we make it. If we already had one we would need to turn him back within a month.”

 “Interesting.”

 Lyn steps over the threshold. “Yep. What about you? Any crazy things happening in the Muggle Departments?”

 “Generally, yeah.” Adrian admits. “But what was with the bodies older than all of us in there? Do they just- not get studied?”

 Itzcalli gasps, eyes glittering with excitement. “Oh my gosh! Say something specific!”

 “The spell we found dates back to the days of the Dark Lady Embla, who would steal biological components from her victims to commit identity, line, and general theft, along with trying to clone them after being inspired by the work of her cousin, Mary Shelley Nee Peverell?”

 Itzcalli’s eyes blew wide, and she cackled gleefully. “Whoa! You can talk about it!”

 “That is such a security breach,” Lyn says, wryly amused. She hits the button to call the lift.

 Adrian grins teasingly at her, leaning against the lift doors. “Imagine, having to keep classified information secret through self control.”

 “Such a challenge,” Lyn agrees delightedly, stepping back. “However do you do it?”

 He flicks his ponytail. “You know what they say- some people are just… magic.” They all break out laughing as the door opens, Adrian’s wonderful delivery overshadowed as he tips over and falls into the lift.

 Lyn offers a hand to help him up, still stifling laughter. “You okay?”

 Adrian grins, taking it. “I’ve taken worse tumbles down the stairs at home.” The group steps into the elevator. “So, you mentioned a mentor,” he points at Lyn, and then points to Calli instead. “Did you have a mentor?”

 “Yeah,” Itzcalli agrees. “Haven Rosier. He was head of my department for five years, two of which I was there for. He retired before my third year.”

 “Cool.”

 “Do muggles get cool mentors in their careers too?” Lyn asks.

 Adrian raises an eyebrow. “You’ve never been?” Black Family Eyes aside, she doesn't have the vibe of a pureblood, especially not the kind who treats everything nonmagical like the plague.

 “Not really. The muggle side of my family was dead before I was born, and Calli and I started here pretty much right out of school. There was no time." Lyn shrugs.

 "We don't even have a nonmagical liaison," Calli complains. "I sneak out and get supplies anyways, but keeping track of scientific developments is a chore.” She’s considering going to university, but seven years of magical-only schooling plus six just in the Department of Mysteries means she’s rather behind on most everything that would be on the college board test. Of course, once she starts studying again it won’t be so scary, but that’ll take a bit.

 “We do move rather fast.”

 Calli snorts. “Yeah, well, someone has to. You never answered, who was your mentor?”

 “I got to work with Kayla Mallard, during the last year of college, but I haven’t seen her since. She’s one of the best morticians in the world, it was wonderful.”

 “Mine was a blessing,” Lyn says with feeling. The lift door opens again and a redhead walks in. “Pandora Lovegood. She practically adopted me, probably saved my life. I started right out of Hogwarts, threw myself into work and forgot to go home a lot.”

 “Forgot. You just didn’t want to listen to Isiah talk.” Calli snorts, finger-quotes visible from her place leaning against the lift wall. There’s so much there to unpack, but we should have time later. “Hello, Weasley.”

 “Hello, Medina,” The newcomer says. "And who is this?"

 "Dunbar, Weasley, Weasley, Dunbar."

 “Yeah yeah,” Lyn rolls her eyes. “Morning, Weasley. Anyway, Pan guilted me into going home by staying until I left, taught me how to cook, and generally showed me what was what in the Department.”

 Adrian waved at Weasley, but kept talking to Lyn. “She sounds like my wife,” he said, amused. “A bit manipulative, but generally uses it to help our kids.”

 Lyn grins. “Yeah, they’d’ve gotten along.” Her eyes cut to something behind Adrian and she relaxes a bit more. “A lot, I’d say.”

 “Maybe in the next life,” Adrian offers.

 Lyn turns, her smile soft and knowing. “Yeah, probably.” She glances behind him again, to where Pandora is hanging out. Lyn is one of the few blessed to see… not the other side, per se, but the dead. Eventually she’ll learn how to show others, but that’s a little ways out.

 “Make sure he catches my full name,” Pandora says. She’s perched on the inner railing of the lift, and unlike ghosts (who also exist; has it been mentioned Death is really not all that much of an issue here? Well, I suppose it is, but not to anyone who matters) Pandora is not washed out into monochrome blue or white. No, her skin is the pale white over pink that comes from a caucasian without enough sunlight, her eyes are wide, blue, and uncommonly sharp, and her hair is a dirty blonde in some places and sun bleached in others. She stopped going outside as her end drew near.

 Lyn acknowledges her with a flicker of her eyes. “I still check in on her daughter sometimes.”

 “Is she Hogwarts age, yet?”

 “Not until next year,” Lyn says. “She’s a lot like her mum though, so I’m sure she’ll take them by storm.”

 “Little Luna Lovegood?” Weasley asks.

 “Yeah,” Lyn says, seeing her chance. “We’re talking about her mum, Pandora Peverell.”

 Adrian glances at her sharply, eyes wide. “Peverell?” He blinks, segwaying into another topic quickly. “Like the writer?”

 Pandora grins and winks. “And the Dark Lady. And- honestly, there’s been a lot of them,” Lyn agrees. “Generally end up doing something cool.”

 “Why did she keep her maiden name?”

 “It’s an inheritance thing,” Lyn shrugs. “Some families have magical gifts and only give their names to those who carry them. It’s a leftover from us nearly going extinct a couple centuries back; if two heirs marry and have seven kids, the children get the name of whichever parent’s gifts they carry.”

 “And if they don’t carry any?”

 Lyn shrugs. “I think back then they could pick, but nowadays so few families even have gifts, that they just keep whatever name they’d have without considering it.”

 “Interesting.” Adrian hums.

 “That’s all pureblood propaganda,” Weasley says huffily. “They use it as an excuse to marry off their kids to other purebloods. Look at the Gaunts! That family was so obsessed with keeping their talents of Parselspeak and seeing the dead that they inter-married cousins, and then siblings. The line died out a bit before I was born.”

 Lyn rolls her eyes. Behind them, Pandora does too.

 “If someone resurfaced from a squib line and had either of those talents, they could claim the name,” Itzcalli says, drawing the topic sideways a bit.

 “Oh? How do they prove it?”

 “Rituals,” Weasley says, looking sharply at the girls. “Which are illegal, may I remind you.”

 “Illegal outside of a controlled setting,” Lyn replies, not quite as sharp but close. “Which is generally either Gringotts or us.”

 “Lyn could claim the Black name, if she went through initiations and petitioned the Lord of the House.”

 “And that’s different ‘cause the house is alive?” The lift hits the Atrium.

 “Yes,” Calli answers Adrian. “Although it might be more complicated because the Lord of the House is in Azkaban. Uh, wizard prison.”

 “It’s a bad tradition,” Weasley says, shaking his head as the doors begin to open. “Be glad you don’t carry that name, Unspeakable.”

 Lyn rolls her eyes. Adrian feels offended as well. “I find the Black family to be rather good company,” he says cooly.

 “And your mum’s a Black, same as mine,” Lyn mutters as he walks away, glaring.

 “Sorry,” Calli says awkwardly. “Didn’t mean to get political.”

 Adrian shrugs, “It happens sometimes. We can talk more later?”

 “Sure.”

 Lyn hums amusedly. “I’m not claiming any magical bloodlines, but I do know a lot on the topic if you want to stop by after hours.”

 “I’d love that,” Adrian says honestly. “See you guys later.”

 “Bye,” Calli waves, pulling Lyn towards the floos. “I swear on your brother’s grave, if you stay any later than dinnertime I am going to riot.”

 “I’m not that bad,” Lyn whines, letting herself be dragged around.

 “Delphi Tamlyn,” Itzcalli drawls. “We both know you are.”

  Lyn sticks out her tongue.

 “How long are you here for?” Harry asks when he realizes the time. He needs to be getting home soon, but the idea of leaving Connor alone rankles.

 Connor turns, sand in his black hair and sticking to his clothes. He gets the feeling that this isn’t a question he wants to answer. “I- don’t know.” He can’t leave without Lily, and he doesn’t know how much longer she’s going to spend fighting Petunia.

 Harry makes a face. “I need to get Ian home,” he says softly.

 “Oh,” Connor says, getting what he means with a sharp ache.

 “Will you be okay?” Harry is concerned and he sounds it, reluctant to leave even as he murmurs to Ian to go find his shoes.

 “Yes,” Connor lies. This is more than he expected, and it hurts, this idea that it’ll end and tomorrow he could wake up to it having been a dream. “Mum has locator spells on everything.” Surprisingly, that’s something that makes Harry light up.

 “Lily came with you?” he asks with a lopsided little grin.

 “Yeah,” Connor agrees, brain happily catching on part of that sentence instead of the possibility of this not being real. Of course Harry knows their mother’s name, but it makes Connor’s stomach do something funny when he hears Harry call her by it. As a kid, that’s one of the oddest things a fellow child can do.

 “Oh.” Harry bends down when Ian returns, helping the kid put his shoes on. “..tell her hi, for me?” he asks, looking up at Connor unsurely.

 Connor nods quickly. “Absolutely. And-” he blinks, the thought returning again, despite hating it. He’s touched Harry a few times, and his skin wasn’t very warm. “You’re not dead, right?”

 “I’m not a ghost,” Harry says, as reassuring as he can be. Ian’s shoes are properly on, so he stands up again, holding Ian’s hand.

 Connor smiles. “Okay. Thank you.” For hanging out, for being alive, for being healthy. For talking with Connor. For coming over when he was crying.

 “Can I write you?” Harry asks, quick and impulsive. He needs to go home, Ian needs food and a nap but Harry doesn’t want to leave Connor, especially not when it’ll be a month until they see each other again. If it were just him, he’d text the adults and stay later, but Ian’s already worn himself out and Harry feels bad.

 Connor blinks at him. “Sure- yes! I’d love that,” He grins, a little sheepish but Harry thinks it mostly looks pleased.

 Harry smiles back. “And… I’ll see you at Hogwarts?”

 “Yes,” Connor agrees. “Absolutely. And maybe earlier? I could see about setting up a playdate?”

 “That would be great,” Harry says fervently.

 Harry still hasn’t left. “You need to go,” Connor reminds him.

 “I know,” Harry says. Ian whines, and Harry looks from one brother to the other. “Right.” He bends down and scoops Ian up, settling the toddler on his hip. “Er- happy early birthday?”

 “Yeah, thanks.” Connor nods. It hits him a second later- “You too! Happy eleventh!”

 Harry laughs, waving as he walks backwards. “Thank you.” He turns around, still laughing into Ian’s neck.

 The boys return home to domestic chaos. The living room is peaceful, Adrian and Caspian debating something to do with clothes around a game of inanimate chess; Adrian hugs Harry and transfers Ian into his own arms at the same time. After knocking into Cas affectionately, Harry moves down the short hallway into the kitchen and living room - that’s where the chaos is.

 Fay has tomato goop in her hair near her ear, today’s no-longer-curled bangs pinned up, and an orange-stained cutting board on the nearest counter, herbs piled overtop the tomato remains.

 Vivian and Regulus are at the bar counter, flour smattered up their three forearms and Vivian leading the process of kneading bread dough.

 “What’re you making?” Harry asks, ducking through to get to the pantry. Technically the cupboard under the stairs is also a pantry, but there are snacks in the one on the wall furthest inside the kitchen, and Harry avoids the cupboard whenever he can. He grabs a packet of fruit snacks and another of crackers.

 “Tomato soup and cheese rolls,” Vivian says. “How was the park?”

 “It was good,” Harry says, not wrong but purposefully not clear either. Vivian catches him on his way out of the kitchen, dragging him into a hug that rubs flour on his clothes. She’d been sad, if understanding, when he ducked out earlier. He leans in.

 “Bug him to pieces, Burbujita,” she hums into his hair.

 “I know,” Harry murmurs back. Vivian lets him go. “Do you want any help?” He asks, ducking out to give Ian a packet of crackers.

 Since you’ve obviously missed a little bit, let me give you a brief catchup. This morning Regulus returned, and Harry took Ian to the park because this poor child has too large a heart and a bit more imposter syndrome than he should; he left Cas and Fay with time and most of their parents to work through some stuff. That was… hours ago?

 I’m not paid to count seconds, moving on.

 “Wanna run the blender with me?” Fay asks brightly. “Mama and Dad are on roll duty.”

 “Sure,” He agrees.

 “So, anything interesting happen at the park?”

 Harry studiously did not look up, instead focusing on pushing the right buttons on the blender. “There were a few things. Met someone new. Who was the villain?”

 “They reaired Night Of The Boogey Biker,” Fay said. She leaned into his shoulder, watching the veggies splatter. “So it was Red Herring. You okay?”

 “Yeah. Just stuff for later.”

 Fay hums. “Mkay.”

 At the counter behind them, Regulus and Vivian have moved on to shaping the rolls. “This is violence against breadkind,” Regulus says, voice raising with mock-offense.

 “The yeast shall die,” is Vivian’s succinct response, ripping the raw rolls open with vigor.

 Regulus laughs at her, murmuring something about ‘should we have not put it in, then?’ as he balls up grated cheese against the counter. He’s not wearing his prosthetic, since he’s home and it’s been a week of wearing it near-nonstop.

 Fay waits until they’re eating, Vivian on Ian duty, to question Harry again. If it’s something for the whole family, he’ll answer now, and if not, it alerts her parents and ensures that someone will talk to Harry. “Anything fun happen at the park?”

 Harry looks up and scans the table. “Something interesting did.”

 Caspian and Regulus narrow in on him in moments. He hides his jump in nervousness by changing his focus to his bowl.

 “Interesting how?”

 “Connor and Lily Potter are in the area.”

 Fay’s spoon hits the side of her bowl.

 “Huh,” Regulus says, as if he didn’t notice half of his family jumping. “Do you know why?”

 Harry rolls the words around his mouth for a moment. “Apparently to pick me up.”

 That gets more reactions. Harry half-expects Cas to discorporate, but the older boy is having  a better day than that. Regulus goes blank in a way that still terrifies Harry for reasons he knows don’t apply. Fay goes still in a way she likes to pretend isn’t natural. Adrian raises his eyebrows, looking over the rest of the family.

 Vivian groans.  “That’s illegal,” she says petulantly.

 Adrian snorts. “Did you run into them?” he asks, trying to make it clear he’s laughing at his wife and not his kid.

 “Yeah,” Harry says, peeking up through his glasses.

 Regulus finishes processing and comes back into action with a blink. “Thanks for letting us know, Harry. Did they try to remove you forcefully?”

 “No. I didn’t see Lily this time either.” He looks back at his plate. “Connor was nice though.”

 “Okay. What are you thinking?”

 Harry shrugs. “I don’t think you need to do anything, it was just weird. Nice, but weird. Petunia told them I was dead.”

 Everyone but Ian flinches. Ian is playing with his soup and the ruins of a roll.

 “We might have to deal with that,” Regulus says. “I’ll keep an eye out. Did I miss anything else?”

 “Harry’s reading ninth-grade books again,” Cas reports like a tattletale.

  Harry rolls his eyes, and the entire group takes the subject change with ease. “They’re not hard. Just grab a dictionary and a blanket.”

 Regulus grins. “So I need a copy and we can start bookclub up again?”

 “Yes!”

 “What book did you find?”

 “To Kill A Mockingbird,” Harry says proudly. “I’m at chapter seven.”

 I’m sure you can guess most of what else happens. Adrian goes back to the Department Of Mysteries, Vivian chews on paperwork, Regulus spends the day with his kids.

 On the other side, however?

 Well, Lily Potter is having a spectacularly bad day. By now she’s finished with Petunia and is instead in the park where Connor was supposed to be, which is conspicuously free of children. She pulls her wand out, trying not to let herself catastrophize. It’s harder than she would like. “Guide me hatchling,” she snarls in parseltongue. You’ll notice later, once you’re seeing more magic in action, that spells are often cast in Latin or derivatives thereof. This isn’t a requirement, so you’ll find clever and desperate wixen often use their own; we’ll leave it at that so we don’t get knee-deep in magical theory again. There’ll be time later.

 A light glows at the top of her wand, not quite as big as her fingertip, and breaks off to float west. Lily sheaths her wand and follows it. The artificial will-o-wisp keeps pace with her instead of the other way around.

 She’s shaking. It’s been too long. She should’ve taken Connor home and come back to Privet Drive, not sent him outside. Muggle area or not, she had no proof this neighborhood was safe. And after that horrifying conversation, Lily needs her son to be safe. One of them, please.

 She already made the mistake of thinking this town was safe for her child once, she can’t believe she did so again. Who’s to say this isn’t another conspiracy?

 The wisp leads her to Wisteria Way, and much like Harry and Fay yesterday, Lily crosses down the middle. Unlike those two, she doesn’t walk straight to Number Ten. Her chest twinges as she passes it, but she doesn’t stop to think about what that means.

 Two turns further into Magnolia Crescent, Lily finally finds a park. Connor’s there, racing another kid up and down the stairs and slides. Another is swinging, and two more are throwing sand at each other. Something in Lily’s chest unblocks, and she sits down on the edge of the sandpit and watches quietly.

 She has to think. Petunia said- well, Petunia said a lot of things, most of which were about as useful as a fly’s thigh. Gosh, Lily is such an idiot. She and James talked about it, discussed it for weeks, but the facts were that Harry’s magical core was damaged, and if a Fideleus Charm - and a Secret Keeper who wasn’t even in the country - wasn’t enough to keep them safe, how could she ensure Harry wouldn’t get injured again? Worse? What if the next time he doesn’t wake up?

 She puts her head on her knees and breathes.

 He woke up.

 Petunia said some wizard came and took him years ago. Years ago. Lily has been at Petunia’s house to check on a boy who wasn’t there. Lily has stood in that house, believing Harry was upstairs asleep, and he wasn’t even in the house.

 Checking Hadrian’s core had been a rare occurrence on its own, since the spell was new and classified. It still is, taught only to Unspeakables and select wixen in the medical field. Charlus had suggested it, and confirmed that both boys’ cores were damaged. They said Connor looked to be recovering, but Harry’s was… Lily hadn’t used the spell herself, but Charlus looked horrified.

 Honestly, if that spell weren’t restricted it would either end with a lot of children being safely rehomed, or a jump in infantcide statistics. Humankind, you know?

 There’s a reason for the section of magical laws concerning manslaughter in search of accidental magic. It turns out babies enjoy being in the air. And often don’t realize they won’t be caught until too late, magic or not.

 Maybe they should’ve kept Harry anyway. So many things during and after the attack were unprecedented, she must’ve missed something.

 A lot of things, considering the many times she’d visited her sister. 

 “Mum?”

 Lily looks up. “Hey, Connor. How are you?”

 “I’m okay,” Connor says, leaning over the playground railing. “How was the talk?”

 “Terrible.”

 “Um,” Connor says, tapping his fingers against each other. “Harry’s not dead, by the way.”

 Lily laughs desperately. Of course, he knew too. “Yeah, I know. What tipped you off?”

 “Well he lives here,” says a new, caustic voice. A blonde girl leans over the rail beside Connor. “That’s generally an indication of not being dead.”

 “Freya,” Connor hisses, eyes wide. “Be nice.”

 “He lives here?” Lily’s voice is faint, but her mind is too far away to care. Petunia had said- but Lily hadn’t- how did- Huh.

 “He also says hello.”

 Oh. Oh. Lily would like to get off this emotional rollercoaster right now. “He knows me?”

 “I didn’t ask how.”

 Freya sucks on her lips, suddenly feeling much more awkward. This is absolutely the sort of thing that happens with the Dunbar-Black house, and the reason she learned to excuse herself from uncomfortable situations. Mr. Black sat down and taught her when she was eight. Nineteen-Eighty-Seven was a bad year.

 She stands up, stepping back to let the others talk. Well, it’s time to think very, very loudly.

 “You met him?”

 “Yeah. He looked… pretty good.”

 “What was he like?”

 “A kid,” Connor says softly. “He’s nice. Smart.”

 Lily covers her mouth, starting to cry. She doesn’t know what Harry knows about her, (if he’s basing it off Petunia’s information, it can’t be anything good) but he’s okay. She has an eyewitness account at last. Two, apparently.

 He knows about her.

 Lily hopes he doesn’t hate her, but if he does she can’t blame him.

 She’s been in that house. And she missed him.

 How did she miss him?

 “When are we going home?” Connor asks, the exhaustion appearing again. The best thing about kids is how easily distractable they are. Freya showed up not long after Harry left, trailing three siblings, and pulled Connor away from dark thoughts. Now that Lily’s back and Freya has let them talk, all the dark thoughts are returning and Connor really, really wants a nap.

 Lily wipes her eyes. “As soon as you’re done here, sweetheart.”

 Connor turns to Freya. “It was nice meeting you.”

 “You too,” Freya says with a smile. She offers her hand to shake, and Connor accepts it. “She is actually your guardian, right?”

 “Yeah, why wouldn’t she be?”

 “We’ve had… incidents. Never hurts to check.”

 “If she were untrustworthy, what would you do?”

 “I’d get one of my siblings to get my dad and then we’d take you home and call the police.”

 Connor pauses. That sounds practiced; a lot like the abduction and raid drills he’d grown up using. “Smart. She’s my mum though, so I’m fine.”

 “Alright,” Freya shrugs. “Be safe. If you ever visit again, we have a kiddie pool.”

 Connor snorts. “Thanks. See you later.” He takes a slide to the ground, and walks over to his mum. It’s been long enough he’s gotten most of the sand out of his clothes, but not all. It’s still itchy. “I’m ready.”

 Lily takes his hand and stands up. “Alright. C’mon, the apparition point is this way.”

 “Mum,” Connor begins, brow furrowing. “We’re in a muggle neighborhood. Why is there an apparition point?”

 Lily opens her mouth as they leave the park grounds. She closes it. “I… don’t know. I guess I’ve always just gone to the spot I know best. I guess I’ll apparate us once we’re in the clear.” She laughs again, but this time it’s genuine. Of course there wouldn’t be an actual apparition point in a muggle town.

 Well, as far as she knows, anyway.

 They turn onto a road with no one visible, and Lily apparates before checking any closer.

 It’s been a long day, Readers, and we still have hours to go.

 They reappear in the middle of the kitchen, breakfast still half-eaten on the table. “What time is it?” Lily asks, looking around the empty room. She waves her hand, casting a wandless and wordless time charm. One o’clock in the afternoon.

 Lily rubs a hand over her face and sighs. “What do you want for lunch, sweetheart?”

 “Caprese?”

 “And chicken, sure,” Lily hums. Thankfully, it’s easy to make. Lily ties her hair up while she cooks, letting Connor run up to his room.

 The first thing he does is, adorably enough, find his library card. Then he anxiously packs a bag full of mostly sealed ink bottles, an old roll of parchment, and partially crumpled quills. Quills, because Connor lives in a magical household and pens are rarely used. Then he lays on his bed and stares at the ceiling.

 Archimedes, another owl whom you have not met yet, (I sincerely hope you’re good with names, because otherwise this may turn into a headache), lands on his chest. There’s no law specifically against the harming of owls, but there should be. Emotional Support Animals are incredibly important.

 Archimedes coos.

 “Hi Archimedes,” Connor says, staring at his ceiling. He reaches up to pet him, enjoying the feel of feathers. Archimedes is new, they brought him home yesterday alongside Connor’s school supplies. Archimedes hops a little bit, before sitting down on Connor’s chest like a roosting mother. Connor keeps petting him, gnawing on chaotic thoughts.

 He’s really happy his parents agreed to get him an owl. Walnut is his father’s owl, and spends a lot of time roosting around James Potter. Archimedes is still getting used to his new owlet, but he’s noticed Connor’s unusually high heartbeat.

 In humans, that either means something very good, or very bad.

 Archimedes stays there until Lily calls Connor down for food, when he hops onto Connor’s shoulder. Con swings his bag onto his shoulder and hops down the stairs, getting a wing in the eye for his troubles. Archimedes is not ready for an owlet. He’s going to take care of this one anyway.

 Lily ignores the owl on Connor’s shoulder as she hands him a plate. “I need to check with Mrs. Weasley about you coming over, will you be okay?”

 “Yeah, of course.”

 Connor is a much better liar than an eleven-year-old should be. Ugh, he needs a hug. The good news is, he’s on his way to get one.

 “Okay. Weasleys?”

 “Yeah.”

 Another time, Connor may push to be left home alone. He’s eleven, not a baby! But right now he wants comfort, and it’s not like Lily would agree anyway. Connor can’t fight, and he’s a person of interest to a lot of unsavory characters.

 Have I mentioned that yet? …oh, I don’t think I have. Whoops. Connor’s famous, by the way; he survived an assassination attempt when he was one, and now a decent amount of people want to finish the job.

 Are you beginning to see why James and Lily thought leaving Harry with Petunia was a good idea?

 Once they’re done eating, Lily sits down and sticks her head in the kitchen fireplace. Her fireplace is also a floo fireplace, so this isn’t something unsafe. She activates it with floo powder, a secondary compound that activates the enchantments on domestic floos. It would be rather annoying if every wizarding household had to invest in two fireplaces - one for proper fires, and one for transportation.

 The connection lets her poke her head out of the other side, into a warmly colored kitchen. Welcome to the Burrow, readers. You’ll become familiar with the place quickly.

 The downside of Floo calls (aside from how uncomfortable it is to kneel with your head in a magic fire) is that they rarely come with ringtones. Thankfully, it doesn’t take long for a redheaded child to run through the kitchen. He stops a little past the door, and comes back. “Hi Mrs. Potter!” He calls brightly.

 Lily forces a smile. “Hello George.”

 “I’m Fred,” he says, sending her a very serious pout. In the two years since you saw him last, he’s gotten a buzzcut and a load of new bracelets, courtesy of his friends.

 That’s enough to make her laugh; it is such a relief to be doing something other than panic. “No you’re not,” she says, shaking her head as she looks up at the thirteen-year old. “Fred never wears the green bracelet.”

 George grins, crouching in front of the floo. “Sharp as ever, Mrs. Potter. How can I help you?”

 “I need to go into the Ministry for a while, would your mother mind watching Connor?”

 “Mum! Can Connor come over?”

 Lily can’t hear the response, but George keeps grinning so she knows it’s good. “She says yes.” He looks a little closer, brow furrowing. “Is everything okay?”

 “It will be,” Lily says. “I’ll send him through.”

 Normally, George would go back to what he was doing, maybe shout at Ron that Connor would be here soon, but there’s a prickling in his gut that says this isn’t something he can brush off. George taps his bracelet, wishing his brother was down here. They work better as a team, and this seems like the sort of thing they’ll need all hands on deck for.

 The floo flares, a green fire shooting up from nothing. George prepares himself to ignore his instincts and just chivvy the younger boy to Ron.

 Connor comes through looking like he’s had a meltdown and a half.

 Yeah, no.

 “What happened?” George asks, moving closer.

 “Is it really that obvious?” Connor asks mulishly, holding his bag close to his chest. “You’re the fourth person to ask me that.”

 George raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, apparently. Hot cocoa?”

 Connor takes a breath, ready to say no, but that sounds wonderful, actually. “Can you make enough for Ron too?”

 “Yeah.” George heads to the stove, letting Connor sit at the kitchen table. He’s not allowed to use magic over the summers, (unsupervised, but neither of his parents want to supervise) so it takes the usual amount of time. Which is to say, a while. “Can I run something up to Fred?”

 “I don’t need babysitting.”

 George rolls his eyes with the patience that grows from having two younger siblings. “I know.” He vanishes upstairs, worried.

 Connor sits there, tapping on the table. He likes the Weasleys' house - it’s bright, mostly gold and red, with fifty percent of the place warmly patchworked. There’s always something to look at, something to think about. Connor takes the distraction, watching the enchanted Kitchen Clock. Instead of telling time, it has a hand for each member of this family branch, and a circle of statuses. Fredric, George, Ronald, Ginevra, and Molly are all at Home, William, Charles, and Aurthur are at Work. Other places include School, Mortal Peril, Prison, Lost, Hospital, Travelling, and Friend’s. Connor likes the clock. Growing up, he and Ron would spend hours making up adventures for the other members of his family.

 Charlie’s hand flicks to Mortal Peril. Connor’s mood drops again.

 Would having a clock like this helped Harry? Mortal Peril came before death.

 Ugh.

 Connor needs to stop thinking about this. He lays his head on the table, wishing he could regulate his thoughts.

 Something in the room flutters. Connor assumes it’s George back to mess with the Hot Cocoa, so he doesn’t move. His chest feels watery, like pneumonia and sadness.

 “Hey Connor.”

 He shrieks, sitting up so sharply he nearly falls off the chair.

 Ah, it’s finally time to introduce you to another of my beloved cast. Meet Ginevra Weasley, Readers, a nine-year-old menace who brings me great joy.

 [She’s the type I’d proudly adopt.]

 I can’t believe I’m agreeing with you, Timothy.

 [Aw, I guess great minds really do think alike.]

 Moving on. Ginny has armpit-length red hair, not quite as many freckles as Susan Bones, and brown eyes that match the broomsticks she loves to ride. She enjoys sneaking up on people and trying to steal… whatever she can get her hands on, really. Sometimes she manages to get Connor’s glasses, occasionally she manages a bracelet from her brothers, or a book, sometimes Percy’s pens, and, naturally, wands.

 She holds Connor’s wand out to him. “It looks awesome,” she says with a touch of envy. “What’s the specs?”

 “Do you even know what that word means?”

 “Nope but it’s said when they wanna know what something is made of, so I figure I’m using it right,” she collapses into the chair beside Connor. “Why do you look like Achilles got hit by a flying carpet?”

 Connor snorts. “I love your metaphors.”

 “I get bored a lot,” Ginny says. “I cannot wait to go to Hogwarts next year. Think you and Ron can smuggle me spells?”

 “Haven’t you had every one of your brothers smuggle you spells?”

 “DADA teacher changes every year. That means new spells.”

 “You are so lucky that you’re the youngest.”

 Ginny grins, ducking her head a little as Connor finally takes the wand.

 Connor sticks it in his hair for lack of having a better place to put it. “Your brothers are good brothers, right?”

 Ginny squints at him. “Now you’re acting suspicious. Is your mom pregnant?” That startles a laugh out of Connor. Ginny grins back proudly. “But seriously, having a sorting crisis?”

 “I wasn’t until you said something!” Connor shrieks. He takes a breath, and shakes his head. “Anyway. Um. How have things been on your end?”

 “Fred and George have been blowing things up and trying to convince mum to adopt their friends, Percy’s plotting to be Prefect this year, and Mum’s still on withdrawl without Charlie. Really though, what’s going on?”

 “I think Mum’s trying to overthrow the government. Or kill her sister. Or possibly kidnap someone? Can you kidnap your own kid?”

 Ginny blinks once. Twice. “We’re going upstairs.” She grabbed his arm and dragged him up. Connor lets her drag him out of the kitchen and up the Burrow’s rickety staircase, where they pass George.

 “What’re you doing?”

 “Emotional support!” Ginny calls back. She stops at the seventh landing. “Ron!”

 A head with red hair appears at the top of the staircase. “Ginny?” Ronald Weasley’s room is at the top of the Weasley’s tower-like house, just under the haunted attic. “What’s up?”

 “Your friend’s having a crisis.” Ginny says. It’s her room too, actually.

 Ron crawls down his ladder, twisting. “Connor?” Connor groans and moves to flop on his friend. Ron holds him up easily. “Are your parents okay?”

 Connor hums a yes.

 George hits the landing next, followed by Fred. “Can we help?”

 Connor groans. “Do you want to spend two hours watching me have a heart attack?”

 Ron pats his head. “C’mon. I got him.”

 “I’ll bring up your cocoa,” George says, chivving the other kids back downstairs.

 “Thanks,” Ron says. Connor straightens up to climb the ladder, and Ron follows him. “So, what’s the deal?”

 Connor faceplants on Ron’s bed and doesn’t move. Ron goes back to the maze he’s building for Percy’s pet rat, Scabbers. The rat is old and missing a toe, but he’s sprightly and keeps getting lost at Hogwarts. So far he’s always come back, but Percy wants a better solution than switching between a pocket charmed to not let Scabbers out and a rat cage the size of a cat carrier. Ron heard him bemoan it at the start of the summer and has been trying to find a solution. This maze is going to be two levels, and about the length of Percy’s school trunk. Ron’s a little less than a quarter way done with building it.

 The boys don’t talk for a little while, sitting and listening to the rhythmic tapping of Connor’s legs as he kicks the bright orange bedspread. Ron’s side of the room is covered in as much Quidditch memorabilia as he could get his hands on, specifically for a team known as the Chudley Cannons, whose colors are red and an orange more violent than the Weasley’s carrot top heads. Ginny’s is more varied, but still has a majority of green and gold, for the Holyhead Harpies. It’s an… interesting dichotomy.

 Eventually, Connor rolls over and stares at the enchanted posters on the ceiling. The poster shows the team playing an actual game, so Connor watches it until he settles.

 That’s when Ron finally puts the glue (muggle glue, brought home by his father who adores muggle technology) and wood scraps down. "Alright," he announces, flopping down beside Connor on his bed. "You're being way too quiet.” He crosses his legs and leans over Connor’s head. “Spill."

 Connor looks at him, and ridiculously feels like crying. He's already cried so much today.

 "Wait, don't cry!" Ron says, sounding panicked, which is how Connor knows he still has tears left. "Breathe?" Ron is not the best at this. He's eleven, since his birthday was in March. Adults can be terrible at comforting people, so of course children will have their moments too. "What happened?" Ron leans back and watches one of his own posters.

 "Did you know I have a little brother?"

 Ron sort of... stops. "Since when?" He’s trying to remember, because that seems like something he’d be told, but he doesn’t remember anything recently, and he’d have met them by now if they aren’t a newborn. Right?

 The comment spurs Connor into laughter, which is enough, Ron thinks. Laughter's supposed to be healing. He's heard that from his big brothers, of which he has five. "Forever, I guess."

 Ron sighs and lays down too. "You are terrible at explaining."

 Connor snorts. That's their running joke- they're not sure what it is, whether curse side effects or just bad blood, but Connor has trouble with focusing and letters move for Ron. It's really mental disorders, but despite the changes in the wizarding world, they're still very behind on Mental Health, and as such no one has recognized it yet. "He's my twin," Connor says. "He's my twin and I met him for the first time today and he's great, but he's so different. I don't know anything about him! And I want to!" Connor throws his hands out. "I want to, so badly. I want to know him as well as Fred knows George."

 Ron watches as Connor's words go soft and wistful. "Yeah?"

 "Yeah."

"So, when am I meeting him?"

 Connor laughs again, short and loud, and rolls over to hug Ron. "As soon as possible, obviously."

 "Good," Ron says lightly, patting Connor’s head. "Because someone has to warn him about Ginny. Does he know much about the Chudley Cannons?"

 Connor slowly pulls away to give Ron a look that's not quite guilty. "I forgot to talk about Quidditch."

 "Connor!" Ron shrieks with a laugh. "The betrayal- what if he doesn't? Oh the tragedy!"

 "How much time have you spent with the twins?" Connor asks then, laughing. Ron's amped up the drama to three.

 "Plenty," Ron says. "We finally went to Diagon last week, actually, and met up with those friends of theirs." He leans in, as if sharing a secret. "Lestrange is nice!"

 Connor hums. "Haven't they been saying that?"

 "Well yeah." Ron rolls his eyes. "But it's different to see her in person. No wonder Mum makes her a sweater."

 Connor grins. "Of course she does. Your mum would add in a thousand bedrooms and raise every kid out there if given the chance."

 Ron laughs. "She'd try," it's a little bitter, but not too bad. His brothers were there too, whenever she wasn’t. And then he looks at Connor and puts on his game face. "Brother. Details. C'mon Connor I'm dying here!"

 "Okay, okay," Connor waves away Ron's focus. "Brother. His name is Hadrian. They call him Harry. He wants to write, and he looks like me."

 "That's it?" Ron asks.

 "He's a parselmouth too?" Connor offers nervously. His shoulders slump. "We really didn't have that much time to talk. I mean we did, but we weren't exchanging life stories." He looks over at Ron, brown on blue, and feels the joy slip away like rainwater. "I don't know anything, Ron. And what I do know is bad. He was nice enough to talk to today, but what if I mess up and he hates me?"

 "He's your brother," Ron says mock sagely. "Even after Charlie and Percy had that big fight, they still worked together to make sure us younger kids were safe and warm."

 "But you guys were raised together! We weren't. What if it's too different? What if he thinks magic is dumb? Or maybe he'll be a muggle-baiter! Or if he's- I don't know! What if he's hurt? What if he's missing limbs?"

 "Did he look like he was missing limbs?" Ron asks bemusedly.

 "No," Connor admits. "And he didn't limp or anything while we were playing tag, so I guess there's a point there." He's still not reassured though. "What if he doesn't know enough about the magical world and he falls into a trap set by a Death Eater? What if someone tries to attack him to get to me?"

 "That won't happen." Ron waves his hand dismissively. "Probably. Besides, actual muggleborns do it all the time, and they catch up easily enough. He'll be fine."

 "What if-"

 Ron sighs and shuts Connor up by laying on top of him. It's a tried and true technique. "Am I this bad about Ginny?"

 "You're worse," Connor says lightly. Ron laughs.

 Someone knocks on the trapdoor. Connor and Ron both look over. “You know,” Connor says suddenly, not even moving. “Harry and I had a talk about nicknames, and he offered Con as one.”

 “Yeah?”

 “It rhymes with Ron.”

 Ron laughed. “Hope he doesn’t mind being triplets then. Come in!”

 Fred pops his head through the trapdoor, wearing a blue sweater with only one sleeve properly on. The rest is bunched around his neck. “We have hot cocoa and optional emotional support.”

 Connor waves, but doesn’t push Ron off. He likes the weight.

 Ron waves in the familiar configuration. Bill - William Weasley - taught it to them the first time the younger kids were caught in a Death Eater attack. He learned it from Dorcas Meadows during the height of the First Blood War, and the Weasleys never gave it up. “Welcome to my office, I’d offer you chocolate frogs but I think the gnomes stole them,” he says magnanimously.

 George bows. “Ah, yes, why thank you for your time, Mr. Weasley. Do remind me, are you a famous teacher, auror, or Quidditch player?”

 “Obviously he tames Hippogriffs,” Ginny snarks, taking over Ron’s desk chair. “Look at those muscles.”

 “I don’t know,” Fred says. “He kinda looks like a human wrangler to me.”

 “Excuse you, I am obviously a statue brought to life,” Connor says, pointing at Fred. “You’re in the presence of the greatest museum curator in seven centuries.”

 “Ah.”

 Ron laughs, rolling off Connor and sitting up. Connor follows suit, missing the weight. “Oh, no autographs today I’m afraid, the mummies stole all my pens.”

[keeloves]

Ginny is allowed to be a bratty teenager.

Virgina *Ginny* Miller from Ginny and Georgia gets a lot of hate. Yes, some of it is warranted however she is a 16-year-old girl. I am tired of seeing her be hated on for her reactions to things that most people would not react well to at all. Let's take a look at things from her point of view for a moment. Ginny was born under unfortunate circumstances, she was born to a homeless 15-year-old teen mom living in poverty, she had the chance to have a decent childhood as in she would live with her grandparents and grow up in a stable home but nope Georgia had to pack up her things and take her daughter with her. Her mom would pack up and leave anytime things got hard where Ginny never was able to stay in one place long enough to make a friend. This happened until she moved to Wellsbury Massachusetts. Life is going pretty well until Ginny finds out some hard truths about her mom now grant it Ginny is reacting to what she found out without knowing the whole story which isn't abnormal. What she found out about her mom, she is a murderer, a thief, and Georgia took out credit cards in Ginny and Austin's name. Yes, Georgia had good reasons for all of the things she did, she murdered first two husbands because they sexually harassed/abused her and her daughter, she became a thief to survive, and she took out credit cards and framed Gil who was already embezzling money one to get rid of him for being abusive and two so she could buy them a place to live. However, in the process she basically ruined Ginny's credit before she is even old enough to get a credit card. However, Ginny not having the full story is struggling to deal with this. The other thing Ginny struggles with is confiding in her mother with anything Georgia will have these extreme reactions, like when a little boy pushed Ginny off her bike, all Ginny wanted was a hug and the boy to receive proper consequences for his actions and what did Georgia do, she went and cut the breaks on his bike. She told Georgia about her microagressive racist teacher. Most parents would call the school and discuss the situation, but nope not Georgia she goes to the school and puts alcohol in his desk. There are more examples of Georgia having extreme reactions to things, but I can't remember them all at the moment. These extreme reactions to things are why Ginny felt safe enough to tell Zion her father that she struggles with self-harm. Zion's reaction, is to cry and comfort his daughter, tell Georgia to figure out a way to help Ginny but he doesn't because she begs him not to. He however decides to put Ginny in therapy and not only that he finds her a biracial therapist. This is another reason that the relationship between Ginny and Georgia is complicated. Ginny is a biracial with a white mom. Yes, Georgia is a great mom and will go through extreme lengths to protect her daughter but as a white woman she has blind spots. For example, she dressed as Scarlett O'Hara a very racist figure. In Georgia's mind she was just a woman who dressed pretty and probably did it because she is proud to be from down south. Too Ginny she saw her mom dress up as a racist figure. Race issues are hard for Georgia to understand as a privileged white woman. Now before people jump down my throat for me calling Georgia a privileged white woman, I don't mean she didn't struggle because trust me she had plenty of struggles, but I just mean is that her none of her struggle came because she was white. She also doesn't grasp that her half black would not be able to get away with half of the crimes she committed. Another reason that Ginny didn't feel comfortable telling her mom about therapy or self-harm is because Georgia is constantly, violating her daughter’s boundaries. Georgia smokes with her daughter’s boyfriends, reads Ginny’s therapy journal without permission, takes a credit card out in her name basically ruining Ginny’s chances of getting a credit card for herself when she is older, and she basically tackled Ginny when she found about her burning herself. On top of that she doesn’t even ask Ginny to if she can sit in on a therapy session she just barges right in and basically makes the session about herself. I am in no means trying to justify Ginny’s actions, but her reactions aren’t unreasonable or unrealistic. All of these things I mentioned are why Ginny needs therapy. Given what Georgia has been through she needs therapy as well. As Ginny matures, she will understand her mom and be less judgmental towards her mom. She truly appreciates her mom but as she put, she is allowed to feel hurt and be upset about stuff that was hard for her.