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yeojaa · 4 years

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TO THE MOON AND BACK - ft. ???

You feel winded and you're not sure why. Like you'd been walking on cloud nine and were now falling through the atmosphere, plummeting toward the ground at incredible speeds. When you speak, it doesn't really sound like you. "Yes." Because he was exactly right - you were a hopeless romantic. Always had been. It was hard not to be when your parents were childhood sweethearts and love was the thing you'd been chasing your whole life.

alt summary. You use your one brain cell for love. It doesn’t always end well.

pairing. who knows, honestly. the obvious ones are kim taehyung and jeon jungkook, though.

tags. blind date, strangers, strangers to friends, strangers to lovers, getting to know each other, alternate universe, alternate universe - modern setting, romantic comedy.

rating. general (for now?)

word count. ~3750

chapter 4.

Time passes as it always does, swirling around you in the form of hungry patrons and waning sunlight.

Occasionally, it crawls and the words don't come, weighed by an anchor you can't quite lift. It feels heavy in your hands, a door that won't open no matter how much you fidget, graphite leaving dots across pristine white paper. It taunts you and tricks you every time you hazard a glance at your phone.

Other times, it's gone in the blink of an eye, the glowing numbers on your screen a reminder of its perpetual movement.

The only consistent is Jeon Jungkook.

You appreciate his presence, the familiarity it brings as he sits quietly, every so often chuckling to himself when he scrolls past something funny on his phone. A snap of his friend's face superimposed over a pig (don't ask); a meme off the front page of Reddit. You're grateful for the fact that he keeps otherwise quiet and doesn't try to share his finds, taking extra care not to disturb whatever creative process you're in. He knows as well as you - you take inspiration where you can get it.

Still, it's hard not to notice him.

There'd always been something about him that drew your attention, like he was a planet and you were caught in his gravitational pull. You couldn't avoid him if you tried.

Looking at him now - sneaking glances when you know he's miles down his Instagram feed and won't catch you - he's everything you remembered and so much that you hadn't. It makes your heart ache a little, just as it had in the first few months of radio silence. You'd honestly thought you'd gotten used to it - draped a cloth over the Jungkook-shaped hole in your life - but sitting there with him, you realize you definitely hadn't. It's like a cold draft that won't go away, curling around his gaping silhouette and rousing memories you don't mean to dwell on.

Maybe it was your fault. Maybe your refusal to explore the how's and why's had festered the wound and kept it from healing. But if you were to blame, then so was he. After all, you'd never meant for it to happen.

Isn't that how it always happened?

Things had been fine, for a while. Better than fine, in fact. You'd found a kindred spirit in the boy that'd taken up root beside you, discovering fragments of your dreams in his film vignettes and buried between the layers of his watercolour.

You'd gone through the motions of getting to know each other before casual conversations in the lecture hall had transitioned to harried 3 a.m. texts about whether you'd completed the assignment or not. (He always had; you, not so much.) The Friday editing sessions had even turned to weekend day trips in search of inspiration, not realizing - or not acknowledging - you'd found it in each other. Of course, you never addressed it, finding too much comfort in each other to dare turn the spotlight on it. You'd thought that maybe, if you acted like it wasn't happening, everything would be okay.

You thought whatever you were would be safe, hidden among the moon and stars.

After all, it was inevitable, like the changing of seasons. Spending so much time with someone else tended to open you up to them in ways you'd never expected.

Still, it had hit you like a freight train colliding with a pipe bomb when you'd drunkenly invited him back to your dorm and he'd agreed, enthusiastic and intoxicated. You'd been celebrating the completion of your thesises (or theses, as Jungkook had so sagely reminded you when you were four bottles of soju in and slurring your words).

Never in your wildest dreams - and oh, how you'd dreamt - had you thought it would happen.

You should've known it was a bad idea when your adoration had nearly swallowed you whole, the familiar desire to stick your tongue out at him replaced by one to use that muscle in a very different way. But everything had happened so quickly that night, intensity engulfing every single one of your sensibilities and igniting it in flames. He'd felt so good - so right - like he'd been created just for you, all of his sinew and bone a testament to a higher power that had deemed you worthy enough.

If you were a recovering addict, he was the 40 year old malt that sent you right back into inebriation.

You hadn't cared then, drunk off something other than liquor. All you'd wanted was him and that beautiful smile for a little while longer.

You'd even told yourself you could get past whatever repercussions arose. That was the strength of your friendship. And yet, you'd been wrong. You'd hardly been able to look at him the next morning, fleeing to the library with a note left on your pillow. You'd been the one to run away, leaving him to wake up to an empty bed.

It was the right thing to do, you'd told yourself. Better to avoid an awkward morning after.

Except that silence had stretched on and by the time you'd realized your mistake, it was too late. You weren't sure who was ignoring who and you were too afraid to ask.

"Do I have something on my face?" Your companion is swiping across his mouth, alarmed by the intensity with which you've been ogling him. God - how long had you been staring at him?

Heat spills over your neck and you can feel it rising into your hairline, sweeping across your ears and drowning them in red-hot embarrassment. "No. Sorry. I zoned out." You're stumbling over your words, a choked half-laugh crossing the threshold of enamel.

Jungkook looks at you like he could unravel your excuses with but a word but says nothing. His capacity for silence always surprised you.

"Should we get going?" He finally offers. Your saving grace.

"Oh, sure." A cursory glance at your phone has you near bolting out of your seat. "It's almost two?!" You're immediately shoving everything back into your tote with manic energy, nearly stabbing your pencil through the fleshy underside of your palm when you miss its rightful pocket. You'd never been good with time management.

"You'll be fine - the studio's close by." He's not wrong but his reassurance has you halting, strap of your bag looped around the hook of your elbow. For a second, you're confused. He can see it in your eyes.

He debates saying something, waiting for the cogs in your head to click into place.

They finally do and you finish your motion, hiking your tote comfortably onto your shoulder. Your over-ear headphones are tucked neatly into the pocket in the front and zipped in for security before a single AirPod replaces the quiet left behind by their departure. Habit. You always need music.

He knows them too, you remind yourself.

(You don't know how it hasn't come up yet. Maybe because it's been eight excruciating months of the Great Depression, as you tended to call it.)

You're about to bid him farewell, the words primed, when you catch his expression. It might just be your own emotions projected across the chiselled curvature, but he looks almost wistful. Like he's not quite ready to say goodbye.

You decide you aren't, either. "Do you want to walk with me?"

You know he doesn't take longer than a moment to consider the offer, though he plays at mulling it over, a decidedly artificial look of deliberation spreading.

"Fine, your loss," you state with an exaggerated roll of your eyes.

When you move toward the door, he's right there with you, and when you head into the early afternoon light, he's at your side. You try not to think about how close he is, how you're not sure whether the heat is from the sun or his body or the emotion that boils beneath your skin. It's hard.

"How long have you been interning?" He's sweetly curious, the picture of friendly attention.

"Since September."

"Do you like it?"

"I love it." He hears the animation that threatens to drag your words into overdrive, throwing ending syllables into one another. A quirk of yours - like your heart couldn't catch up with your mouth. "It's been a really incredible experience and I have so much respect for the people that put their entire lives into it. Namjoon and Yoongi - they've been so great. A little rough around the edges," Jungkook's hum is wrapped in understanding because he intimately knows what you mean, "but so, so good to me." You seem to realize you've taken off like a rocket and slow, allowing yourself to readjust as you plummet back to Earth. "It's like everything I'm feeling finally has a home, you know?"

"I get it." Something tender lingers in his gaze as your eyes meet. Your heart skips a beat. Then he's still, forcing you to do the same. You realize you're at your destination, imposing building rising high above your heads. "I guess this is goodbye."

You hate the sound of that more than you should. You offer a little wave as you begin backwards, shoulder meeting the glass door. You can't look away. "How about see you later instead?"

He looks like he's just won the lottery when you disappear inside.

They're two figures huddled together when you slip into the studio, your Dr. Martens replaced with soft Ryan slippers that stand in stark contrast to your neon green socks. You think they must not hear you by the lack of acknowledgment and take your time in setting your bag down, extracting your items one by one.

Phone, notebook, headphones. Your water bottle. Pencils and pens in every pastel shade you could find. If only you were this organized in school.

"So, you and Taehyung, huh?" Yoongi's low drawl has you whipping around but he hasn't even turned, instead still preoccupied with the melody that filters through his studio headphones, one side trapped against his head by the flat of his palm. You see more than hear the silent laughter that catches his shoulders, rolling over his lithe frame.

"Hello to you too, Min seonsangnim," you chirp, ignoring the question in favour of settling down behind them. It's your usual spot beside the electric piano, comprised of a sleek Herman Miller lounge chair and simple black table that you neatly arrange your belongings onto. You unfold your notebook and drag it into your lap, legs crossed in your seat, as you wait for them to finish whatever they're working on.

Namjoon hums to himself, fingers tracking with practiced precision as he lays a certain beat differently, dragging a note to the forefront. You watch, ever curious, as his deft movements transform the sounds that reach his ears, bringing an appreciative nod from the man beside him.

What you wouldn't give to hear what they were working on.

Instead, you focus on the litany of lyrics scrawled across the pages of your notebook. You drag them over and over in your head, letting them curve across different melodies in hopes one will stick. You know it's backwards - tune first, Namjoon always said - but you're stuck on these goddamn lines. You want them to make sense so badly.

You must look as frustrated as you feel, because you register a soft laugh and your name right as you're about to slash out another two lines.

"You're going to regret it." You know he's right. You huff, all but slamming your pencil down on the table as you meet the expectant stares of your mentors. It feels a little different today, as if you've crossed some invisible line you hadn't known existed. It's not an unwelcome feeling.

"Just another thing to add to the list," you answer, dryly.

"Woah now." There are tendrils of concern wrapping the words, something unspoken in the way Namjoon looks at you rather than the words he speaks. His chin cants, mouth pursed in that distinct way of his, and you can't help but feel a little childish, like a student caught red-handed by their principal. How fitting that that's what he was to you. "Is everything okay?"

The smile you offer is genuine, steeped heavily in appreciation. You're fine - you know you are. The past few days have just gotten weirder and weirder and it's a little hard to wrap your head around it. You're not sure how to explain that.

"Is it because you're pining over Tae?" It doesn't seem like he's going to let it go any time soon so you level Yoongi with a stare that would make him proud, reeking of barely concealed dissatisfaction. It's a complete facade, meant only to act as an apathetic mask. He knows that. You know that. He snickers, arms folding across his chest as he maintains that look of anticipation.

"I'm not pining over him," you retort. And really, you're not. You're just pleasantly intrigued.

"But you do like him." Now it's Namjoon locking you with the implications of his question, the words acting as proverbial blinders. You can't look anywhere but his eyes.

"I mean, I hardly know him." You know your answer isn't enough by the silence that meets it. You blow a steady stream of air through your nose, trying to find patience among the fluttering in your chest. "Fine, I like him. I'm interested." It feels strange talking to them about this. They've never involved themselves in your personal life. Not even when you'd asked them to help you with your songs, begged to pour your heartbreak into something material.

All things considered, you can't blame them.

"Good. Because he's a good guy." You don't doubt it but it's still nice to hear, especially from those whose opinions you hold in such high esteem. It lightens your burden a little, stripping worry away from your heart like daisy petals.

You like him, you like him not, you like him.

With a languid roll of your eyes, you edge closer, sock sliding back into your slippers. Your notebook is set down, forgotten temporarily, as you rock to your feet and cross to join them in front of the various monitors. "Can we focus on something other than my love life now?"

The sun is but a flicker of burnt orange over the horizon when you exit the building, drifting low behind buildings and casting faded warmth over everything it touches. It's colder than you'd anticipated, the soft knit of your cardigan doing little to rebuff the evening air. It's invigorating, if not a little unwelcome.

You slot your earphones into place before you begin walking, enamoured with the strike of ivory keys and unfiltered lyricism. A quick swipe through your messages, nothing immediately catching your eye. Good. You're ready to go home and dive into a bowl of ramyeon.

Or, at least, you were - before you're colliding with a solid mass.

You blink once, twice, trying to make sense of what's happened. You know this area like the back of your hand, have walked it both sober and drunk, in the afternoon and hours past midnight. There's certainly not supposed to be an obstruction in the middle of the street.

"I'm so sorry." The voice registers as desirable, heavy in its timbre, a sound you'd gladly tumble headlong into. It's also familiar, though that recognition comes more slowly, in bits and pieces that form a haphazard picture in your mind. It's fuzzy around the edges because you're not intimately familiar with it but oh, how you could be.

"Kim Taehyung?" You're not sure how many times you've uttered those same few words but it falls again, framed in surprise and perhaps a little hope.

"Hi." He breathes the greeting like it's a secret, his big boxy grin stopped short only by the way he catches his bottom lip between his teeth. There's a flash of pink as his tongue follows suit not long after, laving at the indents he's left behind. A tic of his, you notice. One that stirs butterflies in your chest and tension in your stomach. You mimic the action without realizing and it's his turn to inhale sharply, his attempts at suffocating the excitement with a lungful of air feeble. "Surprise?"

It's an understatement if you've ever heard one.

"What're you doing here?"

The reminder that this isn't normal - that your meeting isn't planned nor somehow caused by some sort of cosmic interference - seems to bring him to his senses. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, hand rising to scratch at the nape of his neck. He's tonguing his lip again, the tell-tale flash of pink distracting you momentarily. In the open, like this, he's even more handsome than you remembered and you admire him with little hesitation.

"Namjoon-hyung mentioned they'd have a late night."

That certainly doesn't answer your question. "But what does that have to do with me?"

"He said he and Yoongi-hyung would be here all night but... that you were leaving soon." By the way he speaks, it almost as if he's ready for a reprimand or rejection. He won't even look at you fully, his gaze bouncing from your eyes to your mouth to some indeterminate spot behind your left ear. He looks like he's about burst when he finally meets your stare. "I thought you might want to get dinner. "

You can't deny how charming it is, how giddy it makes you feel. You're beaming as bright as the sun. "I'd love to."

The breath he'd been holding escapes as one giant laugh that reverberates his shoulders and crashes out of his mouth in unadulterated mirth. He tries to hide it behind his hands, palm pressed to his lips as his face contorts into a makeshift cage. He's a kid on Christmas morning and his excitement is infectious.

"I guess this is our first date then." There's that aching sweetness again, blanketing his words in promise as he extends his hand. Maybe it's a little too forward, a little too much - you can see the uncertainty buried deep in his irises - but you take it nonetheless, slotting your digits with his as if its the most natural thing in the world. You like the way he feels, the weight of his hand in yours. You're gladdened by the fact that you still feel sparks where your skin connects, a live wire linking the two of you together.

It hadn't just been all in your head.

"Where should we go?"

"Anywhere." You don't mean to sound the way you do, a girl on her first date. It causes a revolt against your cheeks, pretty pink painting the apples. "I'm not picky." A poor attempt at sounding somewhat blasé. Why you try, you're not sure, because Taehyung looks just as enamoured as you. It's both powerful and terrifying. "You choose."

So he does - and you like that, too, allowing him to lead the two of you to a nearby shop that specializes in jokbal. He won't stop talking about it the entire way, regaling you with stories of late night munchies with his hyungs and making you laugh so hard you shake.

He never drops your hand, not even when he's opening the door for you with his other.

You find your seats quickly, settling across from each other at the small table. It's reminiscent of the first time you'd met and you can't help but smile, mouth pursing so as to stave off the expression. It catches his attention, though you're uncertain it'd been anywhere else. "What?"

"I feel like we should be answering questions again."

There's playfulness curling his lips, stretching his cheeks and rounding them into his characteristic smile. "Do you want to?"

You're surprised. Why not? "Sure. It'll be like old times."

Now, he snickers, once again hidden behind the slope of his fingers. "What percentage did you put at the end?" It's like a flipped switch how quickly he goes from cherubic aegyo to serious, effortlessly handsome in his sudden gravity.

"I'm not telling you that!" You gasp as if affronted, voice warbling like an old widow asked about her dearly departed.

"Come on!" He comes back, just as quick. A hand cradles his heart now - lays right over where it lies beneath the soft cotton of his plain black shirt - and tenses. Some sort of very fake sob comes out, hushed in consideration of the other diners, and he levels you with a look that makes you want to kiss him. "You're breaking my heart, Cho Jiyeon."

A part of you wants to drag this on, keep that all-encompassing smile in place for as long as you can, but he's already shifting. He's leaning across the table and you can count each individual eyelash and every mole. You're once again left breathless by the sheer beauty of him.

"I put 100." The admission comes so easily from him that you almost feel bad for holding out. Almost.

You think you might if you weren't completely over the moon and lost to the stars above. "Me too."

He's never looked better than when he hears that and you try to memorize the way his eyes squint, the start of his smile when his mouth pulls subtly to the left, the deep lines that run the length of his chiselled cheeks. Like a painting by the old masters, it speaks volumes.

"You're not just saying that?"

The juxtaposition is laughable when he finally speaks. Here he is, devilishly handsome and brimming with euphoria, and yet his words sound like they've taken everything out of him. It makes your heart squeeze in a downright lovesick way. "One hundred," a pause that's meant to be cute, "percent serious."

Your bad joke has him laughing, sweeping you up in the sound. "You won't regret it."

You tell yourself you believe him because you're hopeless and you don't know better. But when he focuses on you like this, you can't help it. He's like every wish you've ever made, a shooting star across a spotless night sky, illuminating everything in its path. He makes you see in full spectrum colour, setting your vision to ultra HD. You don't want to go back to shades to grey.

notes. just when kook was getting some face time, in comes taehyung. whoops!

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helenarasmussen87 · 4 years

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Writing Asks

This the post where I know no one is going to ask me anyway.

1. Describe your comfort zone—a typical you-fic.

Something that is like a “Oh hey, what happens if we do THIS!” and go from there. Usually ends up having loads of emotions, comfort, angst, introspection, loads of kitchen sink dialogues, not too much action. Families, happy endings.

2. Is there a trope you’ve yet to try your hand at, but really want to?

Fluffy stuff and humourous stuff. I am a little too serious for either one and my humour is drier than the desert and very odd. So no.

3. Is there a trope you wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole?

Teacher and Student relationships. Necrophilia, abuse of all sorts, underage. Just not my thing. I’ve gotten unable to stomach a lot of grimdark and super dark stuff as I get older so I won’t write it. But go ahead if that’s your thing.

4. How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Care to share one of them?

Two, since I can’t have more than two on the burner. Learned THAT early on and they’re Terror AU’s One is a fixit, but with health complications and angst. The other is a Modern Day AU which has two professors falling in love after one gets injured and the other worked as an EMT and helps to take care of him and they fall in love.

5. Share one of your strengths.

I can offer insights on what flows and what doesn’t. I can also happily shred my own drafts if they don’t work.

6. Share one of your weaknesses.

Action. I work at it, but it’s not my favourite. Or war writing.

7. Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

“Danny had to turn his head away to hide his smile, because he knew that it was a legitimate concern for Jose. Most of the time, he had jumped into bed with his partners first and then did the mating dance.

Although extremely smart in other aspects, dating and social interactions were always a bit skewed, because he was always second-guessing himself and nervous as hell.

“That’s actually how things work out in these situations. At least it did for me and my ex and for me and Claude.” Danny explained calmly, making Jose nod and take another pull of his slurpee.

“So what do I do? Like is there a time when I bring up the possibility of us sleeping together?” Jose asked, the words slightly mumbled as he chewed on the straw.

“You don’t bring it up. You’ll just know when the time is right for it to happen. Sex isn’t what a relationship should be built on. Yes, it’s nice and it’s part of it, but it’s not the end all to be all. Trust me on this. It will happen if it’s meant to happen.” Danny explained, hoping that he had put it all in the plainest and simplest terms he could for his friend.

I am proud of this because it was majorly borrowing from life and I can see the difference from earlier writing.

8. Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

“Sergio laughed shortly. “I’ve already done enough of that, and look at where it’s gotten you. Yeah, legally I hold claim over you. I could make the club buy out your contract and sit at home all day, having litter after litter.”

Iker’s blood froze at that and he turned to look at Sergio to see if he really meant it, but Sergio’s face gave nothing away.

“Or I could sign your rights to the club and let them sell you wherever or to whomever. Take you out of Spain, or sell you to Getafe or Malaga. All of these things I could do. The club actually did bring it up at that meeting you didn’t show up for.”

Iker blinked, his hands going numb as Sergio’s wickedly honed words hit home.

“I’m not telling you this to hurt you. Or make you feel indebted. I’m telling this to you because you’re this close to losing your spot and that’s the last thing I want for you. But there’s only so much I can do for you.”

He sighed and looked at Iker dead in the eyes.

“I miss him too, Iker. I miss Antonio every fucking day. And I miss you.”

Iker swallowed hard as Sergio abruptly turned and left, slamming the front door and freeing him from the command so suddenly that Iker fell onto the couch and curled up in it.

He had no energy to do anything else. Not when he was all too aware he’d fucked up and fucked up big and needed to fix it.

Borrowed from life again and it was more of a dialogue that needed to be had when you finally realize how much you fucked up and how much you need to stop coasting and make it right.

9. Which fic has been the hardest to write?

ALL OF THEM! Kidding. I want to say the one I’m working on right now. I was lucky enough I got a ton of help fleshing it out. I can see the end of the 1st chapter and I am having a hell of a time writing Goodsir’s chunk. He’s turned out more emo and romantic than I was expecting.

10. Which fic has been the easiest to write?

The QuiObi prompts for the prompt week. Took me like two hours to knock them off and post.

11. Is writing your passion or just a fun hobby?

Its a passion and a hobby. It helped me through a lot of rough patches and keeps me sane.

12. Is there an episode above all others that inspires you just a little bit more?

Mostly music or a change in life. I tend to write when everything is in flux with me.

13. What’s the best writing advice you’ve ever come across?

Just write. Worry about editing later. Once you have something on the paper, fixing it up becomes easier.

14. What’s the worst writing advice you’ve ever come across?

Edit as you write. You don’t get anything done.

15. If you could choose one of your fics to be filmed, which would you choose?

Oooh. I think it’s a toss up between my Qui-Gon/Jango fic in a pastoral setting where they have put their pasts behind and are farmers on Concord Dawn. Or the Werewolf fic I wrote during my RPF phase.

16. If you only could write one pairing for the rest of your life, which pairing would it be?

Bloody hard. I would have to say Fitzier (Commander Fitzjames/Captain Crozier)

17. Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order?

Depends. Sometimes I go straight from beginning to end and sometimes I end up writing the middle and not figuring it out until later.

18. Do you use any tools, like worksheets or outlines?

Outlines. I have notebooks I jot down point form notes about the characters and the plot.

18. Stephen King once said that his muse is a man who lives in the basement. Do you have a muse?

Mine is a librarian or an alchemist trying to figure out answers and how things fit in.

19. Describe your perfect writing conditions.

A good playlist. Alone, in my room.

20. How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting?

I revise it along the way when I sit down to write. Then before I post, I give it a once over to make sure it flows and makes sense.

21. Choose a passage from one of your earlier fics and edit it into your current writing style. (Person sending the ask is free to make suggestions).

All my old fics are honestly gone so I’m skipping this one.

22. If you were to revise one of your older fics from start to finish, which would it be and why?

Honestly? The Duo and Heero one I wrote about them being in an abusive relationship where they split up, then got back together again. I was again writing from life, and I have seen couples who did overcome it, but looking back, I think I should have written it that they separated and went their own ways.

Keep in mind I was very young when I wrote this, and I was in an abusive relationship myself and didn’t realise it at the time. He hit me once, apologised and never did it again. But he did end up manipulating me, gaslighting me, and emotionally abusing me until I finally had enough and left.

23. Have you ever deleted one of your published fics?

Yes. Loads of them due to me not wanting to finish them. Or the hosting sites going under.

24. What do you look for in a beta?

Someone who is honest, someone who knows the way I write, and has suggestions to fix those said things. But someone who is themselves is the best. Because they know what they want. Same here.

25. Do you beta yourself? If so, what kind of beta are you?

I do, simply due to lack of steady betas. Flow and story telling, but I also look for syntax and formatting as well as grammar. I will miss typos, so I run spell-check too. I mostly use a mental rubric. Teacher training.

26. How do you feel about collaborations?

I haven’t had a successful one due to the second person always deciding that they can’t follow through or up and disappearing. So I don’t do them.

27. Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much.

Oh my God! I read so much and so many different people that I can’t pinpoint three. I usually end up reading a fic or two, so I can’t say why I read the author.

28. If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose?

I haven’t done that. I do admit to having inspired by fics. I wouldn’t ever presume to do that. It just feels like a snub.

29. Do you accept prompts?

Not really. I can’t tailor write stuff consistently.

30. Do you take liberties with canon or are you very strict about your fic being canon compliant?

Oh always! I end up liking the characters that somehow never make it until the end. And in the Terror, unless you want to write angst all the time, you HAVE to ignore canon. And I mean BOTH the book and the show, since the book is nasty. The show is amazing, but oh my god is it depressing.

31. How do you feel about smut?

Yes damned please!

32. How do you feel about crack?

Depends on how well it’s done. Sometimes it is needed. Sometimes it’s like “Why?”

33. What are your thoughts on non-con and dub-con?

A bit tricky. I don’t mind non-con, but it has to be handled well. Dub-con, especially in A/B/O happens within context and it is usually dealt with. So I can tolerate that more than the first. Outright abuse, no.

34. Would you ever kill off a canon character?

Yes. Not often thought. But yes. I usually try and keep as many alive as I can though.

35. Which is your favorite site to post fic?

AO3, its a wild place and I love it for that reason.

36. Talk about your current wips.

It’s an AU where two professors that live in the same building and work in different faculties get thrown together and start to get to know each other. Due to circumstance, one gets injured and the other kind of volunteers to help take care of him, where they fall in love. The others in the vicinity do also. There’s Canadian shenanigans and baking.

37. Talk about a review that made your day.

That they really liked how I wrote Frank Randall and would like to see more with his son, an OC I created for the story.

38. Do you ever get rude reviews and how do you deal with them?

I either delete, or give a generic reply and leave it. I’ve got stuff to do.

40. Write an alternative ending to [insert fic title] (or just the summary of one).

Nope. It just doesn’t work for me.

*somewhere I fucked up on the number but here you are*

Whoever wants to do this.

#about the author #asks #memes

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out-of-this-dimension · 4 years

Note

Hey you've been quiet for awhile, everything okay?

So I had this huge thing typed up then Tumblr deleted it in typical Tumblr fashion. I’m gonna be posting a bit of a brief version of what the OG draft said under the cut. I wanna be up front about this because I think it’s something that everyone in fandom spaces encounters at some point:

I am absolutely going to preface this by saying that I’m not upset at anyone and no one really caused this except me. I have some issues I gotta work out so I’m doing my best to work them out.

I’ve been a bit distant on all social media for two reasons. I guess you could say I’ve been feeling a bit weird about Star Fox, though more specifically my own contributions to the fandom. I’ve been feeling a bit disappointed in my SF-related works (fics, theories, headcanons-- although the fics have been the biggest thing lately) and a bit in myself as well. I started to feel probably around January that my works were starting to get a bit... stale. Like maybe I was being a bit redundant in my writing, maybe my headcanons weren’t as interesting as other people’s, etc. I do write mostly for myself and for my own satisfaction-- don’t get me wrong, I didn’t come up with these headcanons and stories for the purposes of getting “attention” or anything like that. I wrote them because I wanted to. But I started... slipping into a bad mindset about it. A toxic mindset. I started comparing views/comments/likes on my stuff to other people’s works on sites like AO3 and FF.net. And there were times when I’d read these fics that had huge followings and I’d be upset. And what’s stupid is I’d read them knowing I’d probably get upset because I’d read them and I’d feel like I’d put more effort into my stuff than this other random person put into their stuff. Talk about yikes, right?

And I don’t like to think of myself as a bad person but what I was doing was very bad. And very toxic. And I realized it was turning me into a person that was irritable and judgmental.

I also started getting worried that I was being too pushy with my ideas in fandom spaces. I am aware that there are Discord servers out there that I’m not a part of that have talked about my theories and headcanons... and that level of “fame” (I mean is anyone in this fandom really famous LOL) had me worried that maybe people were taking everything I said and like... treating me like a Lore Authority, which I’m definitely not! I may research stuff but tbh, I’ve gotten stuff wrong before-- it happens. And that fear kind of made me think that maybe I was being pushy, in a sense. When people talk about their headcanons regarding a character, sometimes I wanna talk about mine too because they inspire me... I felt like maybe I was being a bad listener. And I was getting worried that people were looking at my headcanon posts and just assuming that because I’m passionate, I was trying to be that Lore Authority figure that I definitely am not. I’m so scared of coming across that way because I don’t want to stifle other people’s creativity and make them think that if they’re “around me”, then they have to adopt a certain set of ideas for the series-- I’ve been around people like that, trust me, it’s awful. That’s why I made that post ehhhh a month or so ago about it being okay if an idea doesn’t vibe with you. I never want people to feel that they have to agree with me every time. I like invoking conversation, not dominating it and I got scared I was dominating.

So overall, both of those things kinda left me feeling a bit bad regarding the fandom and I thought it would be best to pull away from social media for a bit. I’m steadily getting over this funk I’ve been in. I just need to figure myself out before I engaged with other people because I want to make sure I’m in a healthy mindset.

So uh here’s the tl;dr for that segment -- I was worried I was being pushy and I was feeling inadequate and maybe boring and I was doing a bad thing by comparing myself to other people. I feel like just about everyone who creates content goes through this in some way shape or form... so I just wanted to be candid about it.

The second reason I’ve been gone is less depressing and less of me being a dumbass. I’ve been working on an original novel since mid-February. The idea literally hit me at 3am one night and I started writing. It’s... pretty much consumed most of my focus, I won’t lie. If I write, it’s usually on this novel and I spend probably minimum 3hrs a day on it. It’s sitting at 70k words atm with two chapters left before the first draft is concluded and editing begins. And after that? Probably will start looking for a literary agent!

I... can’t even verbalize how excited I am about this project. I’ve had lots of characters I’ve created that I’ve felt very attached to but this particular cast feels like it has something special. They’re near and dear to my heart and so is the story. I’ve been enjoying the realization that every headcanon I make about these characters is canon because I’m the creator. Oh the power.

Anyways, I do apologize for being gone but I figured it’d be better that I kind of go quiet than me being in such a bad mindset and engaging with people. I think a break has been very good for me. I certainly feel a bit more in-tuned with myself. I’ll make a triumphant return when I feel like the time is right-- hopefully much wiser than I was before my break.

#non-star fox #from the blog owner #ramblings #littlebluewraith

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seb-owns-these-tatas · 4 years

Text

“Winter’s Gem” (Sneakpeak) (Bucky Barnes AU SERIES)

Summary: Bucky Barnes has been scouted by your boss in Felicity Night, you were just a mere young, cleaner in Felicity night and have been living in the basement of the club for all your life. He's the most wanted Gigolo in the city, and taking him away from eager, thirsty women seemed to be impossible especially if he chose to be a Gigolo as his way of living.

Warning: There are NSFW parts in this AU, Kinda angsty, Parent to child type of physical abuse, 10-15 years of age gap but not entirely the type of age gaps that can be considered creepy, kinda slow burn. As of the moment, this chapter has curse words and mentions of sex.

Words: 2,681

A/N: This plot wasn't really exactly for Bucky to be honest. This has been in my drafts in Wattpad and I decided to just make it a Bucky Barnes AU instead. Let me know what y'all think, Tater tots! THIS IS A SERIES.

Disclaimer: PNG's used in edits aren't mine. Only the edits and the entire AU of course. 😊

Dedicated to: @anxiousamandapanda - Yo, buddy! I dedicate this to ya’ because you have been my first friend in here! Love ya!

It was evening where the sun finally sets whereas criminality most likely happens every time it reaches dawn. In a positive addition to that was the beautiful time of the day where sexy, ripped men began swaying their glorious and perfectly built topless, sweaty and greasy bodies accompanied with the slow music echoing around the area that comes with their performance.

Groups of aging women were sitting at a wooden round table, eyeing different gorgeous races of strippers like they were their preys while throwing a bunch of cash on stage. They were having at least some fun before their adulterated single-nights end. Their spouses were probably sleeping like a dead man at home or maybe even doing the same thing behind their backs.

The scene where older, depressed, needy, hungry ladies..and even men who were women at heart were pinning their dollars down on a man's underwear. It looked excruciating to some person who isn't used to seeing that. Hungry women were even using their paper bills as a towel, wiping their bills off the stripper's rock hard muscles before slipping it in the waistbands of their underwear. You've been immune to cringing, Not because the stripper named Drax was teasing the ladies that he was about to take his black underwear off, accompanied with his gray waterproof body paint sticking on his skin. The scene in front of you was normal in your daily life and you were totally used to it. You were used to Drax's set anyways.

The sexy bald headed Drax appeared to be enticing a 40 year old dark haired woman who slipped stacks of bills on his waistband. He gave her a slow body wave, taking her hand as he gave her the permission to touch, directing her hand on his very prominent pectorals before gradually sliding them down.

Woman with a dark hair couldn't control the felicity she felt, her facial features telling her group of friends how she was lucky enough to get a touch of his sweaty torso...Once her hand was close to his lower abdomen, Drax still holding on to his indescribable, cold features..He quickly backed away from the woman and continued stripping his way towards the pole.

Every woman squealed when Drax took his underwear off. You thought it would only be a tease, turns out he went all the way tonight.

You sighed, ignoring the women disrespectfully walking from where you were just mopping, you continued cleaning the tiled floor. Dipped your mop in the dirty yellow bucket of floating germs. Everybody's footwear were squeaking as they passed by your wet floor that hasn't been dried up yet. These women don't bother reading the warning sign that was blocking their way and you tutted to yourself before you continued to work.

"Oi! You dirty scum! Mop this barf, Will ya'?!" A middle aged woman wearing a displeasing floral and sparkly dress pointed at the splattered barf that was disgustingly laying in front of her foot. She hollered, rudely demanding you to clean the mess that her friend did. The woman even whistled for you to come over like you were a dog that she owned.

You hid a scorn beneath the scowl of your lips. Deliberately walking towards her and rigidly mopping the vomit off the floor. Some barf residues accidentally flew towards her expensive and newly designed looking sandals. 'Oh no.' Before you could even apologize to the woman, her veiny and calloused hand struck your face with a hard, rough slap.

The slap was quite similar to your mother's hand, even though it wasn't actually your mother's.

Your left ribs stung painfully as it suddenly hit an empty table from the strong impact, but you were used to this. You should be. You were used to all the violence that every human can take and give.

"You idiot! You had only one job but what the hell happened?! My Chanel shoes is now ruined! You stupid bitch! You're a worthless cunt!"

You stood up like nothing happened, ignoring the stingy slap that was now lingering your right cheek. You still sent her an apology, but you didn't bother cleaning her shoes. She could get that cleaned up on her own or if she's really a Germophobe then she could just buy another new one.

Rich, arrogant people could have every thing in the world in just a snap of their fingers. You weren't an idiot who would beg on your knees just for her to forgive you. She wasn't worth an apology, a wholehearted apology. It was just an accident, and by the looks of her face? She was far more intoxicated from swaying around like a drunkard and you didn't want to earn another hit even though you were used to the pain of being beaten.

You were quick to carry the pail of dirty water and your mop before going to the bathroom with a stingy red hand print on your face. You didn't mind it at all as you passed by a mirror, completely blocking out those continuous moaning from one of the women's cubicle. Play it cool, Y/N. Play it cool.

The thought of calling Bucky was distracting your mind while you were pouring the pail of gross vomit and dirt in one of the sinks. If you call him, Will he stop whatever he's doing for you? Or who ever he's doing? He told you to call him whenever you needed him or whenever you're lonely, depressed or hurt. You're physically hurt right now. Does it count?

You both only have each other. There's a reason why you were being dependent towards him. Your mother didn't have an ounce of care towards you plus your father was probably dead anyways. You found the warmth that you wanted and needed from him. Only him, only from Bucky.

You brought the mop back to its proper place, at the farthest end of the bathroom before dialing your speed call. He told you to do it, so you could call him urgently when you're in danger and you quickly did since you always do listen to what he says.

"Oh my God!" You heard a voice of a woman who was moaning in pleasure. Your face contorted in discomfort, resulting to a cringe that probably looked hilarious on another person's point of view. The moans you've heard that was coming from that certain woman in one of the cubicles finally came to halt, was she pleasuring herself? you couldn't hear any moans besides hers.

You were planning on barging in and singing 'Gorilla' on her face since she was being too noisy for her own good. Oh, The man that she's with got himself an old screamer, if there was even a man with her, you were lost in your train of thoughts.

She was loudly pounding the locked up door while she was being fucked, and you were fighting off a loud laugh as to how this woman was reacting to sex. It was like she had the greatest 'fondue' for her entire life..or it's maybe because the sex was too good for her to handle?

You quietly chuckled it off, shaking your head in disbelief as you brought your phone to your ear, the phone rang and you were eager and excited to hear his voice. You're tapping your finger on the marbled sink, your reflection distracting you from your reverie. Your lips turned into a frown, loud insults of yourself kept on barging inside of your head. All you can see was a flawed, hideous ugly woman dressed in plain blue jeans with a plain black shirt that wasn't fitted for you. Obviously, It wasn't your size and the shirt was definitely not yours because it was from Bucky.

Those scars that were evident on your face were the proofs from your tough battles. Those are the memories from your horrible past that you overcame, and you were proud to have it since Bucky told you that it simply shows how strong of a woman you are in life. Every scar was a downfall. But, Those downfalls were brought to the top by him. Only him. To make it short, he was simply the strength to your weaknesses.

It rang for the fifth time and you were cringing at the thought that maybe he's 'busy' with his latest customer. You were about to end the call, until the man that you were dying to hear from finally answered.

"You okay, Doll?" He rasped quietly, voice laced with worry and care.

Bucky was always quick to ask that question every time he answers the phone. Your heart flattered as you could hear how worried he is, and you couldn't help but truthfully answer him back with a smile on your face.

"No. I miss you..Can you be with me right now?"

"Of course. I'll be there in a jiffy, Doll. Just give me a second,"

A grin formed on your face and it couldn't help but make your heart flutter in the most extreme. Your index finger traveled up the mirror as you touched it, noting how dirty it already was. You reminded yourself that you needed to clean the bathroom when the club closes.

You smiled alone, daydreaming about Bucky..Whenever you needed someone, he has always been there to save you. Always.

"Do you even know where I am, Bucky?"

"That's why I was asking you, Y/N. Tell me where you are and I'll be there quick--you're going? That fast? That was just a quickie!"

You heard the love of your life spoke as a woman's voice piped in from the other line of the call before it ended in a echo, you couldn't help but feel the familiar pain inside your heart as you knew that you were sharing him with other married, divorced, horny, and needy women that were obviously older and richer than you.

Your mind does always question your heart if you could still handle the pain? Can you? Are you strong enough to handle the pain when you're still fragile enough to break in just one touch?

He's your everything. He's the reason you stay alive.

You're wholly his, His heart is yours. But, his body..his body wasn't only for yourself.

Mind, Heart, Body and Soul. Those four constituents were partners in crime with love. You have his mind and heart, yet his body isn't yours. You share it with other hungry hunters that ought to have a taste. Now, you understood how lions and tigers were fast in hunting their preys since it would be unsatisfying if their prey was to be snatched by another.

And his soul? His soul was signed by the devil.

But, you didn't care. You always tell yourself that you didn't care. Bucky was still yours to love.

You heard the creak of a cubicle door as your eyes lit up from staring at the sink. Seeing a woman in her 40's came out with a disheveled hair, an obvious tight Botox that outdid her face and a tight, red dress that was up to her thighs as it was hung a little. The woman didn't look like she was in her 40's. She looked ten years younger. You were too good at realizing her age in just one look of her tight pretty, rich face.

She was grinning and smiling, looking like she was in her own precious little bubble. The smile was showing how she loved every bit of what happened and you couldn't help but shake your head in disappointment. You remembered that this woman had a husband since you saw her in a mall the other day, walking arm in arm together with her bald, big belly of a husband that looked rich as hell.

Her smile faded into a frown as a sudden realization hit her.

"I payed for you! For a night! The whole night! Not just for a quick fuck in the bathroom!"

"Well, Ma'am.. Your payment is not enough to have my whole night. You know I cost higher than any other gigolos out here! Why don't you just come back some other time,"

The woman's eyes sparkled in joy and you finally turned your back to see her face to face. You were a noticeable eavesdropper at the moment. Your eyebrows were furrowed, you knew that voice. The man she was having some intense and intimate moment had his broad, ripped back at you. You had a feeling it was Steve or Sam But, deep inside..you knew you're trying to act oblivious and stupid as a painful sight before you was beginning to unfold.

"Will you be here tomorrow?"

"No. Find another available fucker. I don't spend the night on another woman's bed.." He shook his head in disdain, appearing to fumble with the zipper of his slacks. "Not anymore,"

"But, I only want you!"

"I don't care who you want, need, or anything your lust says, Mrs. Williams. I'm not available, nor will you have the chance to have me again. Do I make myself clear?" The man in a black crisp suit snapped and surly sneered. He spun around, deciding to leave the aging, absent-minded woman alone. But he stopped and stared. The dazzling blue eyes that you've manage to love waking up to every morning lost its hostility, quickly changing to a loving but stupefied look.

"Sugar?"

You were lying to yourself. You knew it wasn't Steve nor Sam or any other gigolo. That man's voice only belonged to the man you gave your heart, mind, body and soul.

It was your Bucky.

The man who owns you. But, sold his body to women who wanted him.

You wanted to be selfish, but you can't. You couldn't. It was his way of living and you have no choice but to accept that.

You didn't even know if you could still handle the love of your life in being the most requested Gigolo in this club that both you and your mother works in. You were no sugar mama, so you couldn't help him pay what he needed and wanted in life. You were only a mere janitor living in the basements of the club you were in.

What you've tasted, these hungry pussies have already tasted it too. What you touch, hug, kiss and adore..

Well, you bet they already did everything with him too.

Nevertheless, you weren't one who won't be putting up a fight to let them know who he rightfully belongs to because you would and you will.

He was yours and yours alone. You already had that scribbled upon your grave.

This is just a sneakpeak or like an introduction to the series. IF YA WANNA BE INCLUDED IN THE TAGLIST, SEND ME AN ASK. Or just turn on the notification button for my blog so y’all will see every update I post. This can be quite a rollercoaster ride, alright? Hehehe!

XOXO, TATA

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lambourngb · 4 years

Text

Behind the Scenes- Last Year’s Wishes

@zuluoscarecho - ““Oh man you have been busy! I’m glad the writing Has been going well for you. I would love to hear about your process when you get a chance if you’re keen. Like whether you plotted it out, whether the whole fic came to you (more or less) or how hard you had to work to fill in the gaps to get you where you wanted to go, whether you’re a “push through” kinda writer and just sit down and do it or whether you scribble stuff down all day and then type it up at the end or whatever. Many questions I have”

Oh boy, these are great questions- my approach to writing has changed from how I started “Last Years Wishes” and how I’m finishing it. First of all, I was out of practice. The last long story I tackled and finished on my own was in 2002-2003 on ff.net (for a moment I thought it was 2012-2013 but I just looked it up and still can’t believe it was that long ago, hahah) Then I wrote a follow up with a co-writer that ended …poorly due to stuff outside of writing with that person. I hit a very bad depressive cycle and didn’t write again until 2019 and RNM.

The idea came after I watched some true crime story in August- I think it was “Murder Comes to Town” - which is all small town population less than 10,000 gets hit with a salacious murder. I immediately thought about Michael, and first I thought he could be blamed for Max’s disappearance, but then I remembered how visible Noah was to the town, and I was off plotting. Carina said on twitter- oh lord what a loaded sentence that is - that we don’t know when Alex was at the Airstream or what he had to say- which fine, but that made me think about juggling the time a bit, letting the police show up first, then Alex go to the wild pony, THEN MAX, and yeah boom! Conflict! Alex knows Michael wants to be with someone else, but he just gave him an alibi. They are stuck! Fuck Alex’s whole life, amirite? That part of the idea came all at once.

I wrote the first draft of the scene for Tumblr - August 8th - started it before work when I like to write- kept writing once I got to work (bad employee!) posted it and as the comments and likes rolled in, I kept writing. First day was like 6,000 words.

Then I didn’t really touch it for 2 weeks. I kept adding stuff here and there, using WIP Wednesday to motivate me to share a bit. In one month though, the story was at 10,000 words by September 12. Mainly because I just wrote as it came to me, and let my brain just fuck off on Tumblr or reading other fics. I wasn’t really serious about it. Six weeks later it was 15,000 words by the end of October. This time I thought the reason I didn’t have more progress on it was because I didn’t have the practice of finishing a story- so I attempted at the very beginning of October to do Whumptober. I managed to write 2 stories - truth (to the people we love) and If You Regret (What You Know).

So two stories finished, I went back to Last Year’s Wishes and used everyone working on NaNo for November to buckled down. I wrote out a rough outline of future scenes. I made a point to write, if I could, every day something. I do try and write in a linear fashion, but if I couldn’t move forward in the story, I would go back to previous stuff to add in descriptions, put in some introspection- sometimes a whole scene needed to be inserted, then I could push forward again.

The story grew from 15,000 words on Nov 1 to 28,000 words by Dec 1. Nearly double in size. And the more I put my ass in the chair to write, the easier it became to focus. It will never be easy to focus for me- I really like scrolling on my phone, chatting with other people, etc. But I had to build a muscle in my brain from the ground up with no real belief that I would succeed because I thought depression and anti-depressants had broken my brain. But Malex kept me interested.

By the time December rolled around, I made a goal of finishing it by New Years, but then my outline kept growing. I kept thinking about the underlying plot, I kept thinking about how big the communication divide was- I couldn’t just say “they talked, they fucked HEA!”. As December came to a close, I realized I had written 32,000 words in the month of December but I was only half done with the story. So while I was disappointed I hadn’t hit my goal of being done, I was very pleased at the progress. The story was around 60,000 words by the end of the year.

January- I increased my goal of 1,000 words a day, to 2,000 words a day. I really believed I could finish it in one sustained push. I wrote nearly 40,000 words in the month of January- bringing it to just under 99,000 words but…it still wasn’t done. My assistant quit. I got sick. Progress stuttered. But I felt like the end was in site- so I contacted betas, two of which came through- tasyfa and Maura - and kept writing. I thought it was just 20,000 words to go, and since I just wrote 40,000 in one month, I could easily write 20,000 2-1/2 weeks, right????

February- beta comments were great, I started releasing it publically in chapters, and then the feedback started rolling in- and instead of motivating me forward, I started obsessing over the next thing people would read- I wanted it to be perfect. I started inserting new scenes, fleshing out other areas- driving my betas crazy I think- because I kept poking at it. I wrote those 20,000 words easily as the story was getting posted, but they were all in the existing frame of the plot. New stuff … that didn’t really start happening until March.

Another thing that I realized was my outline needed to be supportive but flexible. Originally (which remind me once it’s complete) but I had some different ideas for how the last few chapters were going to go, and I had to let those narratives go because it no longer felt natural to me with the narrative I had established.

Even now I have 5 scenes outlined for chapter 22, but as I started writing it this morning, I am leaning toward blending it into 4 or 3 scenes. Oh- my scene should have a standalone point to accomplish, and if that point isn’t clear or can be accomplished in another way, then it gets moved or blended. I don’t really jot things down on paper- but I have two documents- the writing doc, and the story doc. Writing doc has the outline, I always write with my outline heading just below my cursor so I can keep looking down at my goals and construct the scene from there. The story doc is where I cut and paste it into the whole thing. Sometimes as I scroll to find where I am in the doc, I will add something or edit something, before putting in the next bit at the end.

This is what chapter 18-19-20 looked like on Feb 9th in my outline : [1.. After their pathetic attempts to decorate Alex‘s leg was starting to bother him. Michael took one look at him and advised that he remove the prosthetic. Alex protested mildly about being seen that way. Michael reassured him that Isabell not only knew but didn’t care.

1a. - Isobel and Kyle arrive- she found him in the grocery store attempting to leave with the last baked ham - Mom working a double, Rosa was going to midnight mass with Arturo and Liz- 1b. Isabell and Michael have a quiet talk that Alex overhears while he changes and removes his leg for the night-. He discusses talking to Maria and reframing some of what Alex had said. 1c- walks past them to the kitchen with Kyle]

[2. Isobel and Kyle show up to the cabin for Christmas Eve- Isobel sleeps over. Michael offers the spare, Kyle takes the couch, Alex objects to Michael sleeping in the airstream. ]

[ 3. Alex wakes up to an alert on the day after Christmas Day that gets an alert about someone at the cave. Finds Michael staring at Jesse and not Max.. Why did you think you were like him- that night that Noah died. What did that mean. It means he was ruthless about his agenda and so am I. I’ll do anything to protect you. Michael is silent and closed off, but follows him back to the cabin - knowledge from the ship piece ]

ONE MONTH LATER on March 10 the notes looked like this based on how the story looked: [2. Isobel and Kyle stay in the face of the weather- Isobel sleeps over. Michael offers the spare, Kyle takes the Airstream ,Michael volunteers himself to sleep with Alex - Michael quietly explains he isn’t going to have a conversation with anyone afterward, Christmas gift exchange- Michael gives him the handprint- remnant from the console and his mother, sharing the intensity - they have sex ]

[ 3. Alex wakes up to intense sorrow by Michael via the handprint n the day after Christmas Day that gets an alert about someone at the cave. Finds Michael staring at Jesse and not Max.. Why did you think you were like him- that night that Noah died. What did that mean. They discuss Alex’s family and the future- do you think you would ever forgive them? I’ve been mad at Max, but if he came back today I would take him back, What about Flint and what he did ? Do you think he’s sorry? knowledge from the ship piece- soul mates, forever tied together ]

Err— I’m long winded, so did I answer your questions? Feel free to ask more!!

#fake dating your ex because of the feds #wip whine #the writing process #behind the scenes with my disaster brain

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maikatc · 4 years

Text

Black Sun Tale | A Mother

honestly i feel like i don’t appreciate this chapter enough, but this is where the storm dies down a lil

remember that this is a first draft with only minor edits and enjoy! comments and reception are heavily appreciated

Leaves being damp didn’t help when Oliver tried breaking those in his path.

The scent of those around him weakened as he paced his way back home. The day started to dim with the sunset. The rays hitting against the tall buildings once the rain clouds began to disappear.

Oliver bit his healed lip, gnawing at it with his own frustration.

Ayu’s final reaction would happen sooner or later. And the ideas of what could come made Oliver’s head spin. His attempts to draw attention elsewhere were futile.

“It’s not like they’ll kill me, right?” He questioned himself under his breath. Yeah, yeah, no kid would do that to a human-like thing.

The future was unsettled for Oliver then. It twisted up more than he expected in the matter of a single two hours.

He groaned. I’m gonna have to get close with him now, don’t I? He face-palmed himself. “I didn’t even realize that he’s actually almost in the exact same boat as me… Fuck… Fuck.”

He eyed down to his bloody hands. The scent wasn’t all as strong as before, started drying out and got messed up by dirt already. However, it was still enough for him to take a small lick.

His memories of when he became unconscious grew on him as he cleaned off some of his mess –he figured whatever magic there was would keep him covered-. Though, after reading through the foggy visions, he only took a breath.

“I’m gonna have more things to deal with.”

***

“… Just what was that?”

Oliver threw a ball up and down from one hand as a replacement of destroying his apartment furniture. On his other hand was a squeezed-up stress ball.

He dabbled around Ayu’s initial reaction, studying what he could from memory. Overall, the black-haired boy was reasonable. Though Oliver admitted to himself that if it weren’t for Ayu chasing after him, he would’ve cut ties immediately after running.

However, one image stuck with him. Despite it being so recent, the memory was disappearing as he tried deciphering. Perhaps it was because he was in such a shock, but Oliver doubted that idea. If fear could make his recollection worse, he wouldn’t have remembered anything from his first ever meal.

The vision itself wasn’t so terrible, simply questionable in Oliver’s eyes. Ayu’s appearance has always been strange to him, from his nimble structure to his dry skin and alien eyes. However, it was a first to see both of his eyes glow a vibrant vermillion.

Oliver clenched on the ball he threw. “He’s never mentioned that before to me, hasn’t he?” Then again, there isn’t much I know about him either.

“How’re you doing after all that?”

Oliver cocked his head to the corner of the living room, finding Vittorino standing right then and there. “You saw all of it, didn’t you?”

Vittorino nodded with a grin. “You panic way too much.”

Oliver’s eyes narrowed, dumbfounded from his comment. “…Really?”

“It was entertaining to watch at least,” he shrugged.

Oliver took a moment to process just how ignorant Vittorino really was. He only scoffed at the end, “You’re more of an ass than I expected.”

After Vittorino’s short chuckling, Oliver remembered he needed something of confirmation. “This is probably obvious,” he started, “but before that, you already knew, right?”

“Of course, I did,” Vittorino rose a hand. “Almost every- I already knew for a while.”

Every- body? The slip-up was there but Oliver pushed it aside. “Did Faustus know too, then?”

“What makes you think that?” Oliver noted Vittorino’s eyes drifted off at the question.

“He left right before my seventh birthday, it’s been leaving me suspicious for four years. Anybody would.”

Vittorino didn’t reply immediately. Oliver waited but only for a satisfying answer.

“Well, I’m not exactly allowed to say.”

What the hell. “But why? Why would he leave before all of it?” He squeezed up the stress ball with all he had. “Why is this even happening in the first place? Why- … Who’s Alice?”

“Oh,” Vittorino leaned towards the wall behind him, “So you’ve met her already.”

“Who is she?”

“First off, what did she tell you?”

“She-.” He won’t answer until I do first. He sighed, “She was crying, hugged me out of nowhere and just kept saying she was sorry, for ‘all of this’. I asked and she just told me she was my mom… It didn’t make any sense so I kept asking. But I woke up before she could answer.”

“Ah, well she tried as much as she could for the time being.” Vittorino moved over to a seat.

Oliver’s brows furrowed. “Of course, you know her…”

Vittorino shrugged, “She’s high up in reputation, and second in charge. I always saw her as depressing though, boring for the most part.” He leaned over his chair, keeping his elbows on his knees.

“But what does she mean that she’s my mom?”

“Simple enough,” he answered, “she’s your mother.”

Oliver took a gulp, doubt ridden in his head.

Vittorino added, “I hadn’t heard much about what went down. That was like, what, three centuries ago?”

“Three centuries ago?”

“Oh yeah- we never mentioned that,” he blinked. “I’m older than you’d expect, Oliver.”

“Just how old?” Oliver asked in disbelief.

Vittorino hummed, “About three centuries, yeah. Alice’s about four-hundred more or less but that doesn’t really matter right now.”

“But… how-”

“Alice is your mother, that’s a fact.” He crossed his arms, resting his back upon the chair cushions. “From what I can tell, you’ll have to figure the rest out by yourself.”

Oliver groaned. He threw both of the balls he held across the room, making loud thuds. “That’s helpful, isn’t it?”

He dragged his steps back to his room. His exhaustion didn’t come from his lack of a meal for once. Instead, pure stress and vex loomed over him as he prayed for a day where he could just clear his mind.

He passed through the narrow hallway between each room. Above his head laid arrays of framed photos staggering from throughout his life. He dawned upon them, each carried photos of him and his mother together. They all held bright smiles from both of them. His face went blank once the newer pictures came around. His eyes were dull and tired in each one, while his mother stayed the same as ever.

She was the only mother he knew, even if they weren’t related by blood. Oliver himself had no recollection of an original family or parent, no real father to teach him how to be a man, or whatever they showed on television. Though, someone like Alice wouldn’t be his guess on who his birth mother would be.

Her peachy skin and neat, blonde hair was nothing near his light brown and burgundy. Nothing of her was similar aside from her speckles of freckles. She was just an average white woman. If she were his mother than everything should have come from his father, but then the question would be about where he was.

Oliver gave up thinking about it all, taking a sigh and leaving the photos to shine like always. He entered back to his own room, walking and leaning over to the corner of his nightstand’s legs. Grabbing and setting up his ukulele, he plucked tabs and rhythms in silence.

Vittorino appeared again in short time. He sat on the ground along with Oliver beside the bookshelf. However, he didn’t say a word, only watched from afar. Oliver took no mind of it, focusing solely on the music he played.

His breathing calmed down as the chill melodies rung throughout the room. He mumbled the lyrics of the song he played, they didn’t matter much to him at the moment, he only wanted the rhythm.

Music was the only thing that could clear his mind almost completely, yet something he detached from through the years. It was something his mother raised him with, playing songs for him when he wasn’t thinking so much. He grew up only a year after she gave him his own uke to play with.

He continued to play with whatever he came up with, only for Vittorino to interrupt by asking, “Do you know any hymns?”

“Hymns?” Oliver stopped playing. He raised a brow by the question. “I don’t know any. Caeli Desuper is bound to be easy… but why hymns?”

Vittorino rolled his eyes over. “I remember learning lots of ‘em as a kid. Forgot most of them though. Barely remembered Caeli existing…” He shrugged it off quickly, “So, how’re you feeling now?”

Oliver eyed him at the suddenness of the topic, though didn’t ask. “Eh, still wondering about stuff. ‘Least things are going somewhere for once.”

“That’s good then.” Vittorino sat up from his slouched state. He grabbed a book from behind him, opening it up and staring at a middle section of a fairy-tale book. He only muttered after seconds of not moving, “I forgot I can’t read in this language.”

They both sat, Oliver playing on his ukulele again and Vittorino sitting around. The quiet relaxed Oliver’s body for once. He was replenished with barely any pain, no headache with the music, and no Vittorino annoying him at every waking second. However, there was one more thing he had to question before any resolve for the day. “Hey Vittorino,”

“Yeah?” He looked up from looking at a picture book.

“Do you know why Faustus gave me a switchblade in the first place?”

Vittorino’s face softened, to Oliver’s surprise. “He knew you would want it for the future, I believe.”

Oliver bit his lip. He then crawled over to his ukulele case, opening the small pocket inside and grabbed the blade. He stared at it in his hands. The handle was carved with a beautiful silver, showing patterns of roses and other items he couldn’t tell as easily.

He fisted the switchblade handle in his hand. “I want to see him again, just so I could know what the hell he was doing.”

With no words, he put the switchblade back in place. “… Ayu’s gonna ask about my mark again, isn’t he?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Vittorino suggested. “Depends on how he thinks the privacy is.”

Oliver listened to Vittorino in the back of his head, spacing out with ideas swirling. He pulled down his left sleeve barely. What encased was a sliver of a black sun mark like beforehand. He refused to pull the sleeve down more, shameful of what was underneath.

The idea of blood was already craving his mind.

“… It was a mistake for Faustus to give me that thing.”

#writing #my writing #writeblr #writblr #writers on tumblr #black sun tale #bst #chapter 6 #minor blood warning #sharp object warning #swearing warning #murder mention?#bst oliver #bst vittorino #i love vittorino in this chapter tbh #i wasn't sure on the title too #it was waging between caeli desuper or vermillion #but then i remembered the real point of the chapter #aka my outline title

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moonb-eam · 4 years

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Hi! I just started reading your fics. You're such an amazing writing. Do you have any writing advice? Also what books/movies/TV shows have influenced your writing?

ahh hello darling!! 🧡🧡🧡 these are such lovely questions thank you so much!!

okay, so i answered a fanfic ask about writing advice here a little while ago, but i’ll reiterate a few points, and add some new ones!!

i do want to say that these tips are just my opinion, and writing, like any other form of art, is so specific in process to each individual writer that what works for me definitely won’t work for everyone 🧡

(these are going to be very general and conceptual, but if you’d like some more technical “craft” advice then please let me know!!)

1. i’m going to keep repeating this until i die - the most important thing is to write, as basic as that sounds! i know some people who write every single day - i don’t, i find that exhausting - but i do try to write as often as i can, even if it’s something i observe on the bus to work that i write down on my phone, or it’s a single line for an opening of a new story. for me personally, i find it important to keep that part of my brain exercised, which is actually why i started writing fan fiction in the first place - so i could make deadlines for myself and keep writing in the midst of a terribly depressing job search, so i don’t lose that part of myself.

2. now, that being said, there are some days where writing just straight up doesn’t work. i sit down at my laptop and i have no words inside of myself, and it’s so frustrating when that happens, especially when you only have certain times of the day/week/month dedicated to writing. when that happens, i don’t force it. i have a friend in edinburgh who bakes every time he’s frustrated with a story - he says it always helps him to methodically create something and see it come to fruition, so he doesn’t feel so mentally stuck whenever he returns to his story. i have another friend who draws whenever she hits a writing snag. for myself, i like to go for runs whenever that happens - it helps me clear my head and sometimes, gives me new ideas. writing is something that doesn’t just happen at the computer or the notebook. it’s happening constantly, with the media you consume, the interactions you observe, the new words you learn, the fragments of ideas that pass through your mind. so yes, the actual writing of the words is critical, but so are all the other parts, and above all, it’s so important to take care of your mental state before anything else.

3. it’s also important to read a lot!!! there is no better inspiration that consuming the work of authors you really love and admire! i pretty well always have a book on me, and in the rare moments that i don’t, you know i’ve got ao3 loaded on my phone

4. rules and conventions exist for a few reasons, and one of those reasons is so they can be broken. so often young writers are told time and time again to find their “voice” or their distinct writing style, and what can happen is they feel pressured into boxing themselves up so early in their career - for example, in my master’s program, i wrote mostly science fiction, and was essentially labelled “science fiction girl” - that’s not necessarily a bad thing, because i love sci-fi, but i felt like i could never step outside of that box, because the people in my workshop would say, “this doesn’t feel like you” - but i didn’t even know who i was as a writer at that point, and honestly i still don’t - writing fan fiction has actually been really good for me to experiment with my prose and see how readers react to it. what i’m saying is, try something new, try whatever interests you, whatever you think may be cool, and if it doesn’t work, then it doesn’t, but don’t let yourself be swayed by what you think people may want to see from you. does that make sense? always remember that you’re writing for yourself before anyone else

5. the “don’t be afraid to write badly” advice is overused, but that’s because it’s important. i have a bad habit of self-editing as a write, which means writing a first draft can take me ages. sometimes, the best thing you can do is try to let go, and just let yourself put the words down without overanalyzing them. i described it in a group chat as “no thoughts, only words” asdfjkdf - when i first started in my workshop in edinburgh, i was terrified to write anything that wasn’t perfect, as though i would be judged for it. but the best thing you can do, is to show unfinished, imperfect work to people you trust. it is inherently embarrassing to share your writing, to let people see the inside of your heart, more or less, but it is the best way to improve - to get feedback, and to take it into consideration for your own work. not all feedback is good feedback, but all of it should be listened to! (conversely, if you’re ever asked for feedback, it’s so important to learn the distinction between being critical and being constructive)

6. this is getting quite long 😬 so i think i’ll do just one more - in the midst of practicing writing, receiving feedback, drafting and editing, i think it’s important to remember that, on a base level, what we do is tell stories, and that’s something that is really special. the act of writing isn’t always fun. editing certainly isn’t always fun, but telling stories is. finding new ways to look at the world is. discovering something new about a character is. what i mean to say is, get excited about your own work. get excited by your own ideas. those moments of excitement, for me, always help to carry me through some of the rougher bits

and now for a bit of inspiration!!

there are a lot of writers whose work i really admire - i would never say i’m as good as them asdfjk but i think they all have influenced me in one way or another

for novelists, i’m really inspired by madeleine miller, erin morgenstern, cherie dimaline, maggie stiefvater, leigh bardugo, ursula leguin, kurt vonnegut, mary shelley, shirley jackson, thomas king and kazuo ishiguro

then there are some writers who do short stories and more experimental work, who have influenced me more in the last year or so: helen mcclory (i highly recommend everyone check out her work!!), shane jones (specifically the short novel light boxes), leanne shapton, and susannah m. smith (specifically the fairy tale museum)

and poets!! anne carson, richard siken, pablo neruda, amanda lovelace, i know there are more i’m forgetting....damn it

then there are a few illustrators/comic artists whose work really inspires me, such as tom gauld, emily carroll, tove jansson (moomins!!) and again i just know there are more i can’t think of!!! 😫

okay, okay lastly film and tv: i love any work by guillermo del toro, jane campion, alfred hitchcock, hayao miyazaki (so i LOVE your icon!!) and joe wright (except the peter pan film...we don’t talk about that...) i also think phoebe waller-bridge and dan levy are such stellar tv writers and i am very, very jealous of them - and OF COURSE skam, and all its iterations 🧡

(and if you browse through my “fic rec” tag on here, everything on there is from incredibly talented writers!!)

alright this got very long, I'm sorry about that!! but i hope there’s something in here that speaks to you in some way ✨ best of luck to you in your writing, and please drop by my inbox anytime if you’d like to talk more about it!! 😚

#asks #barsofambrosia #long post #writing #thank you again for the questions!!#❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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harrysbaebyhoney · 6 years

Text

THE BLITZ.

A/N: hi, this note will be a little bit longer than i usually try for! first of all, sorry for the long wait for this part, it was just a bit harder to write and try to properly encompass all the right emotions. if you’re new to this fic, you can find part one here! there will be one more part to this series, and then i’m moving onto newer things. (i love trilogies)

i’d like to point out that i do not consider myself a master at history, so while i did do my research to be as accurate as possible, it might not ALL be correct. *now, i tried to capture some of the symptoms of mental illnesses in this fic, and though i don’t know if i’d say it’s triggering at any point, i would rather warn you guys just in case bc everyone has different triggers. i never specify which mental illnesses are being displayed though it can be assumed to be ptsd/depression. again, i’m not an expert at how mental illnesses can affect people, this is based off what i’ve searched up/what i’ve gone through.*

lastly, i worked really hard on this fic, so i’d love to hear your feedback!! feel free to leave me any messages on what you thought, i would really appreciate it. i did go over and read it all again as i went along, so i would say it’s mostly edited, but i may have missed some things. okay, enough rambling! enjoy!!

WARNINGS: 12.1k words+, smut, a lot of angst, cussing, fluff, displays of the effects of mental illnesses

PART 2.

November 1942, Birmingham.

Frantic voices and rushed footsteps flooded the sidewalks of Birmingham. Children held onto their mother’s hands while they were led through the panicked crowds. “Over here, miss!” One man urged a mother and her family to follow him into the underground cavern that would serve as protection for them during the airstrikes. This was routine, not new or sudden for the citizens of the city.

Y/N had just come back home from work, which had been a long and tedious day, when the warnings of an airstrike came. Of course, there had been warnings before, and she often found herself spending nights in bomb shelters with her heart thundering against her chest. So far, she had been lucky, as both her loved ones and her home had been safe. However, luck was not promised to remain for eternity, and she knew better than to be hopeful in times like these.

After grabbing the paper-plane necklace from her dresser, she had rushed out of her own apartment, only to follow the bustling crowds towards the designated bomb shelters. The first time, she had brought a blanket with her, but she now knew there was no chance of sleep when the threat of death loomed over her.

“Did you bring your book to read for us?” She overheard a mother ask Marc, an individual who did his best at comforting those in the shelter alongside him. He read to the children who paused their sniffling and crying to listen to the male entice them with a fairytale world. If she was being honest, his storytelling helped to put everyone at ease by allowing them to escape into an imaginary world, children or not.

“‘Course I did, lovey. I’ve got a bloody good one to read to them,” He assured her to which Y/N grinned at, taking her place by sitting in the corner. She had been here before, considering it was the closest bomb shelter to her home. Most of the people from her community utilized the shelter that the basement of this factory provided for them. Whereas a basement was secured to serve as an air raid shelter, it still did not guarantee ultimate protection.

She knew Harry disproved, considering he wrote to her often about purchasing one of the new shelters invented, such as the Anderson shelter, to share with other apartment dwellers. Though she promised to look into it, she never did. The basement was enough for her, and she had grown comfortable and more at ease with the company of those who came here with her.

It was silent for a while besides the occasional sniffling and prayers sounding throughout the room. Y/N held the necklace close to her chest as it made her feel closer to Harry. She remembered when he gave it to her, the night before he left. He told her when she felt panicked or anxious, to hold onto that necklace and remember he is always with her. In fact, he insisted she always wear it, so that she felt less alone, but she felt it was far too valuable to risk ever losing, thus she kept it in her dresser’s drawer.

Routine followed as it usually does with the dust from the ceiling falling onto the ground as the bombs hit the city, followed by more weeping and praying. Marc did his best to ease the nerves of the crowd by reading stories from his book of fables, though it was harder this time as the noises boomed above them.

Y/N knew it then, that this time routine had fallen short of offering full protection from the air strikes, and this time, she would experience loss. So, she held onto Harry’s necklace tighter, hoping it would at least provide her and the rest of the people shoved into this basement protection from the death those bombs promised.

A few gasped and some shrieked as the noises came closer and boomed more heavily than before. Even Y/N had put her hands over her ears, eyes squeezing shut as she attempted to drown out both the noises and negative thoughts circling through her mind. Tears began to form, but she remembered her promise to Harry, to be strong for him.

So, she collected her breath and opened her eyes to see a small girl trembling beside her. Lips curving into a frown, she slid her hand down to reach the girl’s and clutched it in her own. “It’s gonna be alright,” She promised her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze as the girl whimpered and curled into Y/N’S touch. Her heart ached at that, wondering where her parents or loved ones were, but she didn’t dare ask. She only provided comfort.

Her own hand clutched the necklace tighter before presenting it to the little girl. “See this?” She asked her softly, looking down at her with a small smile. “An angel gave it to me before he left. Y’know what he left for, hm?” The little girl shook her head in response to which Y/N grinned softly at.

“He left to protect us, and he wouldn’t let anything harm us, ever. So, don’t worry a single bit, because we have angels on our side,” Y/N comforted her, her thumb running over the back of the girl’s hand as she felt her relax slightly. “Try getting some rest, yeah? I’ll be right here to make sure the angel does his job, okay?”

The child nodded hesitantly, and Y/N knew it would be hard for her to actually be able to sleep, but it was worth a shot. After all, the poor girl looked exhausted and frightened beyond belief. Allowing the girl to rest her head on her lap, she ran her fingers through her hair soothingly and rested her own head back on the shaking wall behind her.

Eyes falling shut, she attempted to focus on the readings of Marc while the sounds of warfare and tragedy continued on above them. Her thumb ran over the pendant of the necklace as she drowned out the reality around her by singling her thoughts to a particular, green-eyed angel.

April 1943, Birmingham.

Today was a great day. No, that would be an understatement. It was a day that Y/N would never, ever forget. However, it proved to come along with its own obstacles, as well, considering she was running late on her way to the train station.

When she received the letter from Harry that he was coming home on this day, her heart skipped a beat. She wasn’t sure if she was reading the letter properly or if she was merely dreaming. She cried that night, happy tears because after being apart from him for almost four years, they were to reunite. Though they had not seen each other and only communicated through the occasional letters, her love for him had never wavered, and she knew, ever since the night they met, that he would be the one for her.

Waking up in the morning to realize the day she had been dreaming of had finally come was an indescribable feeling. Though, she had to wait till 4 pm, and she currently was rushing out of her office building at 3:45 pm.

Her job had grown more and more important to her over the course of the few years. The boss, who she had worked directly under in 1940, was soon drafted for the war movement, and with a lack of workers to support his family business, he appointed Y/N to oversee how it was ran. Receiving that news was a prideful moment for her, considering all she had ever wanted was to run her own business and have an important role in society.

She was damn good at it, too. Not only did she keep Mr. Porter’s family business running, but she actually managed to increase his profits by gaining more business through several advertising efforts. Of course, she did so through the help of other women who participated actively in promoting the company. It was women who revived his business, and she would not let that ever be forgotten.

That didn’t mean no men worked there, either. In fact, there were quite a few who surely did their effort in helping the business, but they did so with spiteful remarks and dismay that they were working under a woman. Y/N paid no attention to their ignorance, though, knowing that both her work ethic and success was something they could never grasp in their tiny minds. If Harry were there, he would poke fun at their fragile masculinity being insulted by a woman’s success.

So, being the boss of men did come with its downsides, such as a lack of obedience on their part. Raised in a society where women were seen as inferior, it was very difficult for them to recognize that being employed by a woman is no different than being employed by a man. However, this is how she ended up stuck at work for much longer than she expected, considering Johnny had decided going out for drinks was more important than filling out some expense reports.

The family business she was looking over specialized in clothing for both women and men. With many other clothing stores and companies, ones far bigger than Mr. Porter’s, it grew difficult to find a way to really stand out. However, Y/N found a way through making the company’s relationships with clients more personal through custom designs. Moreso, she found a way to lower prices without having to let go of workers or to lose profit. Lower prices was quite a seller in wartimes.

“Cathy, I just finished the reports, please send them out for me!” She had hurriedly exclaimed as she grabbed her coat and threw it around her shoulders, frantically rushing out of the building.

“Our own ‘boss’ leaves early, how’s that fair?” Johnny scoffed, shaking his head.

“Oh, shut up, Johnny,” Cathy rolled her eyes.

The train station, luckily, wasn’t too far away. Y/N couldn’t drive though, considering she lacked a license and a car, so she was forced to sprint there since no cabs were in sight. In fact, the station was only a few minutes away from her apartment, well their apartment.

After the bombing that night, when she had comforted a little girl without being able to ease her own nerves, Y/N unfortunately found out that her apartment building was torn down. It was a devastating time, considering most of her possessions were long gone. She sought help through some donation centers that were generous enough to offer her spare clothing.

Even worse, though, Harry’s flat was destroyed, too. She had frantically written him a letter, apologizing for giving him such troubling news while he was already struggling to survive. For a few weeks Y/N lived in the apartment of Tom, her grandfather. He lived right above his bakery, so waking up to the aroma of bread in the oven wasn’t something she would complain about. However, she received a letter from Harry soon after, stating that she should find a new place for them to live together. Even when Harry wasn’t there, he managed to make her the happiest girl alive, and to know he had plans to live with her after the war was over made her giddy.

So, she had apartment searched, and finally found a flat that was perfect for them. An additional benefit was that it was only across the street from the bar they had met at, the Interlude. However, as she was passing by the bar right now, she noticed how the Interlude sign was barely hanging on, and the letters had started to rust. It looked like the physical representation of war, still surviving but hardly so.

Out of breath and panting, her heels clicked on the floor as she finally made it to the designated train station. Her eyes roamed over the crowds of people reuniting with their loved ones, happy tears and sobs coursing throughout the setting. But, she couldn’t spot her love. “Harry!” She called out, voice shaky as she looked around for him.

Harry was beginning to give up hope. He had arrived at the train station, groggy yet anxious. It had been about ten minutes since he got there, and he was starting to think that perhaps, Y/N had forgotten about him. He was rather paranoid about it throughout the war. Of course, she wrote to him, but whose to say that she didn’t do it out of pity and had actually found a new lover, but was waiting to tell him the news so he wouldn’t get discouraged while in battle?

Pulling the duffel bag over his shoulder, his eyes squeezed shut, trying to fight away the hurt that was building up inside him as he was beginning to confirm his paranoia. That was until he heard the faint call of his name. Now, he knew her voice, he had it memorized in his mind. When he laid in a cot or on the dirt during the war, he would often imagine her speaking to him, consoling him and murmuring sweet nothings into his ear.

Then, he saw her. She looked different, a bit older and exhausted, but still held that same fiery innocence within her. She looked as if she had been through hell but was still fighting through, pushing forward with the strength buried inside her. After imagining how this day would be like for years, this seceded all his expectations. She looked like a bloody angel, here to finally rescue him from the atrocities he had witnessed and been part of.

“(Y/N),” He croaked out, his own voice trembling as she turned around, her eyes catching his in a startled expression. Her nose scrunched up, eyes filling with water as her mouth fell open at the sight of him, her Harry.

She ran to him, arms spread out as she launched herself onto his body, her arms looping around his neck and ankles crossing behind his back. His arms hastily wrapped around her waist, stumbling back slightly but burying his face into her neck. Both of them released the tears that threatened to spill out.

“Oh my god, you’re here, you’re actually here,” She whispered to herself as if it weren’t true, her hands lifting his face to cup in her own palms. Her eyes searched his before she pressed kisses all over his face, not realizing just how much she missed the touch of his skin until she felt it again. “I can’t believe you’re here,” She sobbed, smiling widely.

He looked like her Harry, green-eyed and curly-haired, but he looked like a different version of himself. He was tired, anyone could tell that, and he was in pain. His eyes held untold stories, ones he probably would never have the heart to tell or even revisit. His sad smile spoke volumes of the battles he went through, and she wanted to cure him of all his hurt and suffering.

“‘M here, can’t believe I’m holdin’ yeh’ in my arms again,” He murmured back, looking down at her with his own goofy grin. They both smiled at each other, forgetting about the world surrounding them, before leaning in close and connecting their lips for the first time in almost four years. Every single ounce of emotion was poured into that kiss, their angst, their nostalgia, their love, their shock, their passion, and their joy. Neither of them dared to end the kiss until they were out of breath, so as not to miss a moment of each other ever again.

“I missed yeh’ so bloody much,” He told her, leaving kisses on the corner of her lips as he held her tighter to his body. He had always imagined holding her close to him again as he laid down to sleep, but was unable to. He thought about her body strewn over his, her fingers lazily tracing patterns on his chest. She was what kept him going, kept him pushing through all the death and blood around him.

“I missed you more than anything, H, I can’t even begin to explain to you how much I missed you. I’m so glad you’re here and you’re okay,” She responded softly, hugging him once more as she pushed her face into the crook of his neck and held onto him tightly. “I love you.”

He breathed out, tears threatening to resurface as he was reminded of how much he had missed this, missed all of this for so goddamn long so that he could be a killer. “I love yeh’ more, petal,” He told her firmly, his hand reaching up to tangle itself in her hair, stroking it. She still felt as soft as ever. That, at least, had not changed.

— —— — —

The entire walk back was filled with giggling and wide smiles that seemed unable to be wiped off either of their faces. They appeared just as in love with each other as they had been four years ago, and to bystanders, a certain radiation glowed off of them.

“Oh! I should be carrying your bags for you, give me that,” Y/N insisted as they stopped in front of the new apartment building, Harry’s eyes taking in the scenery.

“None o’that, ‘ve got it,” He waved her off with a roll of his eyes, but she reached out to grab it from him anyways, yanking it out of his grip. His brow rose challengingly, before he mumbled an, “Alright.” Then, he stepped forward, gripping her waist.

“Harry! What are you-“ She began to say as he picked her off her feet and threw her over his shoulder, her head dangling by his back as a surprised shriek passed her lips.

“Guess I’ll have to carry yeh, then,” He cheekily explained to her, chuckling under his breath as he felt her small fists hit his back in response.

“You’re ridiculous, H,” She scolded him, though the smile could be heard from her tone, and her heart was full of only love for him. So, she hung over his shoulder, holding his duffel bag in one enclosed fist.

He managed to open the front doors of the building, much to her surprise, because the Harry she knew had awful coordination skills. Y/N gave a sheepish grin and waved her hands at the other apartment residents that were lounging in the lobby. Luckily, there was an elevator, and Y/N thought he would finally put her down, but he insisted on carrying her all the way to their flat.

It only made matters worse that Melinda, Y/N’s neighbor from across the hall, was opening her front door to enter her apartment, the same exact time that the pair of them arrived at their own loft. Melinda awas a rather judgmental lady who had come from an older generation. It was easy to say that she was rather displeased with Y/N’s choice of attire or her stumbling home, comapletely wasted, after a long night. So, it probably didn’t help that she saw Y/N slung over some stranger’s shoulder with her dress hitching up her thighs and showing far too much skin than Melinda would’ve liked.

“Hi, miss!” Y/N still attempted at greeting her politely, giving her a small wave, to which Melinda merely huffed and scoffed at before rolling her eyes and storming out of her apartment, mumbling something about what the youth was like these days.

“Thanks a lot, H, she already hates me,” Y/N groaned, only met with his chuckles in response.

“How can anyone hate yeh’ with such a cute bum?” He teased, giving her ass a small pat to which she gasped loudly at.

“Harry! We’re in the hallway!”

“We don’t have to be if yeh’ opened this door up.”

“You gonna put me down then?”

“No.”

She sighed, before tugging her cross-body purse closer to her reach and digging out the key. “Here, love,” She told him, blindly reaching her hand back towards him to pass the key over. He took it graciously and with some trouble, he managed to unlock the front door (though after a few curse words were dropped).

“Watch your head, doll,” He warned her as she ducked down lower once he entered the loft, taking it in for the first time ever. He adored the place already, and her aroma lingered throughout the apartment. Harry would easily be able to tell that it was decorated by Y/N from the little plants that accompanied every window, and the blanket strewn over the couch, which Harry knew she always used while watching her favorite shows.

He could smell the freshly baked cookies, and it tugged at his heart because he knew she baked them specifically for him, remembering the time she had brought him chocolate chip cookies when they had gotten into a terrible argument. He was never able to stay mad at her for long, but her chocolate chip cookies were enough to cure anyone’s anger.

Kicking the front door shut with his heel, he finally decided to give her a break and allow her to stand on her own two feet. “I like what yeh’ve done to the place,” He remarked softly, her lips twisting in a grin. “Alright, down yeh’ go.”

His hands gripped her waist tightly as he began to lower her down to the floor. Her own hands slipped to hold onto his shoulders, in order to not lose her balance. He paused, though, once their faces were leveled to each other. Her feet dangled right above the floor, and for a moment, she finally realized what it was like to be at Harry’s height.

Not a word was spoken as they gazed into each other’s eyes, memorizing the exact color spectrum of their hues that were filled with love and compassion. His arms moved to encircle around her waist, clutching her to his body with their chests pressed against each other tightly. Eyes searching one another, they gave into their deepest, animalistic desires and soon their lips were engaged in a passionate kiss.

The electricity of the kiss spread throughout either of them like a wildfire, setting their insides to flames— the damages to be dealt with once the chaos was over. Her arms looped around his neck loosely, moaning softly into the kiss as she felt him press against her, grinding his hips onto hers. He groaned against her lips once he heard that soft moan pass from her flushed assets, forgetting how much he loved to hear the results of pleasuring her.

Their kiss felt like a battle in the war itself, both of them fighting to take control as to where the kiss was leading to. They were fighting to keep this feeling alive and to never lose it again. Their anger for the war, for society, and for the whole bloody situation was poured into the mere touch of their lips against one another. His teeth nibbled on her bottom lip as she parted her lips for him, his tongue poking in before he pulled away, both of them panting. Moving her head up, she captured his nose in an open-mouthed kiss, dragging her bottom lip along the flesh.

“Where’s the bedroom?” He whispered out hoarsely, his tone low and full of lust.

“Straight then take a left,” She rushed out hastily, already longing for the touch of his lips against hers once more. He followed her directions within a few seconds, her ankles locking behind his back once more as she held onto him tightly.

He maneuvered his way through the apartment while she planted kisses along his face— all over his face, actually. His features were covered in her pecks as her hands moved to cup his face in her small palms. “Missed your cute nose,” She murmured, pressing a kiss there.

He chuckled lowly, throwing open the door of their bedroom and taking a quick look around. “Like the curtains,” He admitted to her, glancing there as she left small, gentle bites along his jawline and down his neck.

“Thank you, I thought you’d like the floral pattern, too,” She told him in between kisses, squealing as her body was thrown onto the bed. Looking up at him, she sat back on her elbows.

“Think it’s time to finally break our bed in, hm?” He cheekily asked her, her own nod being enough for him to hastily peel off his shirt. She worked at unbuttoning the top of her dress, letting the polka-dot fabric slide off her shoulders before lifting her hips and throwing the dress to the side.

His hands unbuckled his belt, shoving his trousers down. “Take everything off, I can’t wait, ’s been too long. Just wanna feel inside of yeh’ already,” He demanded, his eyes moving from her face to her figure as he cursed under his breath. It had been so long since he had been touched, since he had felt her, that he could already reach his release right now.

And, she felt the same as she watched him stand in only his boxers. His body was definitely more toned than when she had first met him. Of course, Harry had always kept up a nice figure, considering factory labor did require such physical work. But, his muscles were more defined than ever, and she noticed a few scars lingering on his side. She unclasped her bra, setting it to the side before tugging down her underwear, the same time he took off his boxers.

A silence lapsed over them once more, both of them memorizing each other’s bodies and comparing it to four years ago. They both felt a sense of insecurity, unsure if their dreams and fantasies of this moment would be fulfilling enough in reality. But, when Y/N reached out for his hand, and his palm slid into hers, it was an undeclared statement that this moment was perfect already, just because it was actually happening.

She gave him a gentle tug onto the bed, and he hovered over her with either hand on either side of her face. Staring down at her, he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to her lips before lining his cock up to her entrance. She mewled out as he began to push inside her, it being so long since she had felt him, or anyone, inside of her.

Head thrown back, her eyes squeezed shut, an overwhelming sensation of pleasure washing over her. He gave her a few moments to adjust along with for himself, too, in order to compose himself and resist the urge to cum right now. “Fuck, yeh’ alright, baby?” He asked her lowly, his forehead resting against hers as he waited for her response.

“Mm, I forgot what it feels like,” She replied with a soft laugh, her eyes creaking open to peer into his before a soft smile pressed on her lips. “Missed it so much.”

“Bet yeh’ did, dirty minx that yeh’ are,” Harry muttered back, the both of them laughing as he continued to push inside her, pulling his hips back to thrust slowly as she moaned out. His groans met her soft whimpers and whines as he continued his deep, slow thrusting. When her eyes fluttered shut again, his brows furrowed, shaking his head and moving a hand to cup her chin in his palm. “Open your eyes, want yeh’ to look at me when yeh’ cum.”

She nodded slowly, forcing her eyes to remain open, even when his cock hit that one particular spot that had her back arching and her hips bucking. It didn’t take long for either of them to reach their climax, considering it had been forever since they had had sex. Pleasing yourself with your own hand was efficient, but it wasn’t nearly as amazing as this. And when they came, their eye contact never broke, both of them murmuring their soft, “I love you.” He even had to wipe away her tears during it, although she couldn’t help it. It was an overwhelming amount of emotion to have Harry back at all, let alone inside of her.

And, although the first time of the night was gentle, he didn’t hold back on her for too long. The both of them went after each other again and again— with Harry between her thighs, or Y/N with her pretty, little mouth wide open— until they were both far too exhausted to even think about cumming once more.

She left him laying on bed, chest covered in a thin layer of sweat as he shut his eyes to regain his composure. Y/N had babbled something about fetching them both some water before they go to bed, but Harry had already dozed off by the end of her sentence, falling into a rather fast slumber.

Y/N didn’t have the heart in her to wake him up when he looked so peaceful, so she downed her glass of water before going back into bed and snuggling into him, a leg thrown around his waist. It didn’t take long for her to fall asleep, either.

However, both of their sleep was soon interrupted.

Gunshots sounded around him. Airplanes flew over them, bombs dropping from the aircrafts and collapsing onto the very ground that innocent civilians once lived on. Blood soaked through his uniform as he clutched his side with one hand, his other hand clasping the palm of James in his own.

James had been his first friend, considering they met each other at training. They bonded well, both having a quick wit and a rather cheeky sense of humor. It was pure luck that they were sent off to the same station, and Harry had quickly grown a liking for the blonde-haired male.

That was his first mistake— growing attached to anybody he met in the army, and he would now learn to never make that mistake again. James was his last piece of England, the reminder of home, a home that came along with his sweet Y/N.

Now, his reminder lay on the dirt beneath them with blood seeping through the bullet-wounded embedded in his chest. His lips were parted as he wheezed heavily, trying to capture another breath though it was fleeting away from him quicker and quicker.

“Gonna be alright, okay? Just hold on fo’ a mo’, and a medic will be here, alright?” Harry encouraged him, rocking back and forth on his heels as tears slid down his cheeks, covered in dry blood and mud.

James didn’t have the strength within him to respond, to mumble that it was time to let go. Instead, his pale, blue eyes stared up at the sky, and his chest heaved with each last breath he took.

“Please, gotta stay wit’ me. Can’t do this without yeh’, yeh’ know I can’t,” He murmured lowly, his bottom lip trembling as he attempted to stifle the sobs that were rising in his throat.

But, James’s fingers went limp in his grasp, and Harry recognized the way his eyes wouldn’t flutter any longer, instead peering up eternally into the vast openness of the sky above them. The very sky that taunted them with the idea of an escape, but never provided them with the means to get there.

Sobs wracked throughout his body as he realized he had lost his dear friend, had seen him die right before his very eyes. And, he couldn’t feel any anger or desire for revenge. He knew his captain would use James’s death as motivation to avenge him by killing enemy soldiers.

But, all Harry could think about was the fact that perhaps he had taken the life of someone else’s friend, too.

Y/N shook Harry awake, his lips parting in a loud gasp as he sat up hastily, trembling. She had awoken to his repeated mumbles of, “Stay with me, please.” It wasn’t until she felt his body shaking beside her that she had the urge to pull him out of the nightmare he had sunken into.

“Harry, baby, what’s wrong? What’s happened?” She whispered to him, her eyes clouded with worry as she reached out for him, but he flinched away, not fully recuperated from his nightmare.

His breaths came out in short pants, chest moving up and down heavily, as tears continued to slide down his pale cheeks. Then, it pieced together in his mind— the fact that it was a nightmare of what had occurred to him. And when that settled in his mind, he sobbed harder than before, curling forward into his body as he hid his face in his palms.

Though, Y/N was concerned he would refuse her touch once more, she hated to see him like this, all alone and suffering. So, she reached out for him again, this time surprised he let her arms slide around him. Pulling him into her chest, she sat up against the headboard, clutching his body to her own. Pushing his head into the crook of her neck, she allowed his tears to dampen her skin as she ran her fingers through his sweaty curls.

“Shh, it’s alright, H. You’re safe now, you’re home,” She murmured to him reassuringly, pressing small kisses to his temple. She continued to soothingly run her fingers through his hair, or to rub his arm up and down, until his cries finally quieted down and silence loomed over them.

Although, it was true that Harry was safe now— he was far from being home.

— — — — —

Being back at home with Y/N was a product of heaven. On the other hand, though, Harry was questioning whether a heaven existed anymore. After taking part of the cruelties of war and witnessing it, it was hard for him to establish faith in an afterlife.

He was trying, though, to move on from it and to become an active part of Y/N’s life again. It had been four weeks since his return. Those four weeks seemed even longer than his time spent in war with each minute dragging on as he recalled memory after memory of the bloodshed that stained his boots.

He attempted to put on a front that he was alright, offering Y/N the widest of grins whenever she asked if he was truly fine. Of course, she knew he wasn’t, he was rather easy to read. However, she was troubled with figuring out how to help him.

His nightmares had progressively worsened over the weeks, too. It was safe to say that his state of mind was rather unstable, but he was acting as if that just was not the case. It is questionable whether he acted that way for the protection of Y/N or for himself.

Harry was in bed, the blankets pulled around his body to keep him warm as he nuzzled his head further into the pillow that smelled faintly of Y/N. He had lost track of what time it was, but from the ruffled sheets on the right side of him, he knew that his love was no longer home. She had been providing for the both of them, her work covering the costs of what it would take to take care of two. It wasn’t like she minded, whatsoever, as she thought the proposed gender roles of society were unfair.

Sighing, his eyes creaked open to spot the sunlight already pouring through the windows and brightening the room. His lips turned downwards into a frown. He distinctly remembered telling Y/N to keep the curtains closed when she left for work. He disliked waking up to such light in the room and much preferred the darkness that enveloped their surroundings.

Sitting up, he leaned back against the headboard, his head tilting upwards as eyes fluttered shut. He was still exhausted, and he didn’t feel like doing much today. Today would be a relaxing day for him, he decided. Just like yesterday. Maybe, even just like the day before that. He had had a series of relaxing days, recently.

The sudden sound of a loud crash had his eyes opened wide. His muscles tensed, back straightening as the loud clatter sent him through a wave of alarm.

The tray crashed onto the floor as the frantic nurse rushed to his side, eyes blown wide.

“Abigail, pick that up! Regain yourself,” The doctor sternly directed her before returning his gaze to the emerald-hued male that laid on the cot.

He didn’t appear as a man in this very moment, but rather back to his younger roots, reflecting the composure of a mere boy, entirely innocent. Blood seeped out from his lower abdomen, tainting his skin with the color of red.

The nurse, with shaky hands, picked up the tray and hurried over to the bedside. She knew she should be prepared for this, should’ve known what was going to come out of battles and war, in general. But, when she had seen his body being carried in, skin pale as snow and eyes both droopy and exhausted, she had panicked. When she saw the blood pouring from his wound, his hand clutching it as labored breaths escaped his lips, a wave of anxiety rushed over her.

“H-here,” Abigail murmured in a trembling voice, the tray being placed beside the doctor as he removed the pressure he was pressing onto the wound. Her blue hues shot towards Harry’s green orbs, trying to gauge out his emotions through his eyes. His green orbs peered into her own, pain filling them as the doctor began to stitch it up.

He let out a loud groan, head thrown back and banging against the bed as his hands curled into fists. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Commotion surrounded them as more bodies were brought in, dead or alive. Blood stained the floors, and the aroma of the room set the scene with tragedy. As Harry felt another incision press into his body, a loud scream fell from his lips, eyes squeezing shut until his vision blurred out entirely and his body slipped into unconsciousness.

A thin layer of sweat was beginning to form on his body, his hands curled into fists by his side. Green eyes darted around the room, trying to find the source of the sound. He was the only one there, though. So, what could it have been?

Stepping out of his bed hesitantly, his jaw clenched as he reached for a nearby object, settling on the book that Y/N was currently reading. Holding it tightly in his palm, he kept it raised slightly, in case he had to whack an intruder with it.

Feet moving him slowly towards the noise of the commotion, his breaths became more raggedy as reality blurred with his memories of war. For a split second, he felt like he was back in the cot, thrashing and squirming as his wound was tended for. Shaking his head, he shut his eyes before reopening them, the scene filtering back to the apartment he shared with Y/N.

Confusion settled throughout him, trying to decipher which moment was the present and which was the past. Stumbling on his feet, his chest rose and fell with heavier breaths, panic settling throughout him. Was he imagining being with Y/N? Was he still in war? Maybe, he was still lying on the cot. Maybe, he had never woken up, still blacked out on the bed he bled on.

Lump growing in his throat, he sauntered into the kitchen, eyes blown wide and wild like an animal.

“Oh, Harry! You’re up,” Y/N exclaimed cheerfully as she turned over her shoulder from her spot near the stove, shooting him a fond smile.

His panic settled down when he heard her voice, blinking a few times to regain himself.

Once he realized that he was, in fact, in the comfort of his own apartment, he set down the book a bit lower. Y/N noticed the object in his hands, brow arching as she gazed at him curiously. “What do you have that for?”

“You…” Harry trailed off, brows furrowing in confusion. When had she gotten home? Why hadn’t she greeted him before beginning to cook? He felt ridiculous for his entire panicked state a few moments earlier, thinking he was back in war. “What was tha' noise?” He settled on asking, confusion laced in his tone as he ran a hand through his hair, eyes still darting around cautiously.

“You okay, bubba? Look a bit lost…” Y/N frowned before pointing to the pot on the stove. “I was trying to get it out of the cabinet and dropped it.”

“Yeh’ were awfully loud,” He told her, his jaw set as he stared at her with a bit of a harder gaze. His frustration at himself for being so foolish was now unleashing on her. He felt frustrated with her for not being more careful, even though she had always been klutzy like this, since the day they had met. “Can’t go around dropping things all the time.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is that what woke you?”

“Why didn’t you come wake me when yeh’ got home? Yeh’ startled me,” He continued to scold her, leaning back against the counter as he attempted to get himself to relax. The faint noise of gunshots was still ringing through his ears, and he had to try hard to concentrate on her voice to erase the memories.

Y/N furrowed her own brows at his harsh, accusing tone and his composure. Sighing softly, she decided to let him be moody with her. In fact, she had been letting him get away with a lot, lately.

For the past four weeks, Harry had been burrowing himself deeper into the covers of their bed rather than getting out of it. She knew something was wrong with him, and he refused to get help for it, which troubled her. How could he fix himself if he wasn’t willing to accept there was something worth fixing? Instead, he acted as if he was alright, which was absolutely ridiculous to her, because nobody was expecting him to be fine after the atrocities he witnessed.

“Sorry, H. You didn’t do much the other times I would wake you up, so I didn’t see the point,” She responded with a shrug, turning back around to stir the pasta she had began cooking.

He scoffed at that, rolling his eyes. “Oh, m’sorry I’ve been tryin’ to catch up on my rest after hardly having any for the past few years,” He huffed out, tone dropping to a lower, quieter tone. “Some of us haven’t had the luxury of a bed, yeh’ know?”

Y/N shut her eyes, taking in a deep breath before exhaling slowly. She had to be patient. He was just frustrated, for whatever reason, and taking it out on her. Although he had been an awful amount of dismissive and defensive lately, she knew her sweet Harry still lay within. He just had to be reasoned with, not treated like a burden.

“Never said you couldn’t sleep, Harry, just was explaining why I didn’t want to wake you. I’m sorry for being loud, okay?” She breathed out, tone a bit sharper as she attempted to gain control of the situation before it spiraled into something bigger than it had to be.

When he didn’t respond for a few minutes, she sighed and turned to look back at him. “Now that you’re up though, maybe we can talk about your plans, yeah? I know you said you don’t want to work right now, and I’m perfectly capable of providing for the both of us, so don’t take this the wrong way, but… I think you should look into a job. Not for the money, but for you. So, you can have something to do all day while I’m gone. It might keep you distracted from your thoughts and help you move on from everything,” She rambled on, a bit nervous to how he would react as she shifted on her feet and bit down on her bottom lip.

He eyed her, his orbs unreadable as he considered her words before shaking his head slowly. Even the thought of facing the outside world just felt exhausting to him. There was no motivation in his bones pushing him to strive for that, connection with the world surrounding him. Instead, he felt like simply lounging in bed, hidden from society by the sheets that covered his body.

“Dunno’ if m’ready fo’ that quite yet,” He hesitantly replied, giving her a small shrug as he looked down at his feet. “Think I need to be at home fo’ a bit longer.”

She swallowed, nodding slowly along with his words. Sending him a tight-lipped smile, she responded, “It’s your choice, H. I’m not going to force you do anything, just thought it might help your mental state, which reminds me… I was talking to a friend at work, Amanda. She has a brother who was in the war, too. She told me he was also suffering from nightmares and random panic attacks in the middle of the day. But, they got him a psychiatrist to see, and he’s been doing a lot better—“

She was about to continue when he cut her off, “Also? What do you mean also? Have yeh’ talked to her about my problems?”

Her lips parted before closing, attempting to think of a smart response. “Well… I was just worried about you, bubba. There’s only so much I can do to help, and I wanted to see what other options we had.”

He breathed out an annoyed sigh, pinching the bridge of his noise. “S’not your business to tell anyone. S’private fo’ me and yeh’ to know only,” Harry murmured, his tone irritated as he stared at her with disappointment.

Y/N shifted under his gaze, clearing her throat and looking down at her feet. “Okay.. I’m sorry, I won’t do it agian. Just still think you should consider seeing so—“

“I’m fine, (Y/N). I just need some time, alright? I’ll be in bed if yeh’ need me. Try not to be loud, please,” Harry dismissed her, turning on his heels and walking out of the kitchen before she had a chance to reply.

She stared at his retreating figure with a longing gaze, wondering where her Harry had gone and just what she could do to get him back to her.

— — — — —

That same night, after Y/N had eaten her dish of pasta, she had laid in bed with him. He was already asleep, and after how mad he had been before, she didn’t want to wake him up— especially if it was just because she wanted his arm secured around her waist.

So, she slept with no cuddles. However, it was the same routine as most nights. He woke up at about 3 a.m. with sweat layering his skin and gasps heaving passed his lips. Within moments, Y/N had dashed out of bed to grab the glass of chilled water he would enjoy to help relieve his panicked state of mind.

Her hand was rubbing soothing circles on his back, looking at him with worried eyes. “You okay, baby?” She whispered softly, resting her head on his shoulder gently as she peered up at him. His eyes were still squeezed shut as if attempting to force out a bad memory from resurfacing into his mind.

“Mm,” He merely hummed out, head leaning upwards against the headboard.

“You can talk to me about them, you know? Maybe getting it off your chest will make you feel better,” She offered, just like she did every night. But, she held onto the hope that maybe, just maybe, this night would be different.

Maybe, this night he wouldn’t just wave her off. He would dive into the thoughts that tortured his mind and allow her access to his vulnerability, in order for her to understand the pain he was going through properly. However, their communication had been severely lacking, and she was entirely left in the dark.

When he didn’t reply, she continued on, “Opening up about it might make it easier to cope, yeah? I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on in your mi—“

“S’fine, (Y/N). M’just going to go back to sleep,” Harry mumbled tiredly, setting the glass of water on the nightstand beside him. He shifted back onto his side, laying down with his back turned to her. “Goodnight.”

She let out a low sigh, tears beginning to form in her eyes at how easily he dismissed her. The distance was killing her. Even laying beside him in bed, she felt so far away from him. He was out of her reach, in a different land where she couldn’t steal him back from or offer him an escape route from.

“Yeah, goodnight, bubba,” She murmured sadly, a frown forming on her lips as she laid back down, her eyes never shutting.

Perhaps, it would not have even mattered if she had woken him up for cuddles. Even when he was awake, he didn’t bother to wrap his arm around her tightly. Instead, their bodies remained on their sides of the bed, separated and barely grazing one another.

— — — — —

The next week had been the same. Harry would promise her everyday that the next one would be different, and that he would get out of bed. Maybe, he would even go for a nice walk, he insisted. She had only tried once more to mention seeing someone, a professional, and when he had snapped at her in a louder tone than beforehand, she stopped.

Secretly, she hoped he would realize it on his own. It would save her the difficulty of having to have an argument with Harry over what’s best for him. For Y/N, though, her morning routine was rather typical.

She would wake up at around 8 a.m., being careful to step out of bed quietly, so not as to disturb him. In fact, she had to walk with one hand reaching out before her, to feel for her surroundings. Harry hated when she opened the curtains before he awoke. She forgot why, but it was something about how the light was too bright for him when his eyes first crack open.

Though, she didn’t bother to argue about it. He was difficult enough to deal with right now, considering all he did was sleep or dismiss her. So, she just agreed to his terms and instead blindly stumbled about the room, being careful not to bump into anything. In fact, she had gotten rather good at it with all the practice these past few weeks.

As she buttoned up her blouse, she leaned down to press a small kiss to Harry’s check, smiling sadly down at his slumbering figure. “See you soon, H,” She whispered, pulling away slowly, but it wouldn’t have mattered what she said. He didn’t stir a bit, instead resting peacefully after another long night of thrashing in bed, only to wake up in a terror.

Grabbing her bag, she slung it over her shoulder and tiptoed out of the room, shutting the bedroom door behind her. She wasn’t that hungry today, and quite frankly, she had been afraid to cook while Harry was asleep, because he got upset if she was too loud. Instead, she grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl, taking a bite out of it before exiting their flat.

The streets were still filled with the aftermath of buildings collapsing. Some parts of the pavement were cracked, and other parts were untouched. Y/N gave a wave to Melinda as she spotted her across the street. Sighing softly, she frowned as Melinda only scoffed before turning her head the other way. She would never understood what problem that woman had with her. Shrugging it off, she continued her way to work, which wasn’t too far of a walk.

Opening the front doors, she stepped inside, the warmth surrounding her as a fond smile pressed on her lips. Unlike others, Y/N truly adored her job, and she wouldn’t miss a day of it. “Hi, Cathy,” She greeted the female with a soft nod of her head.

However, she was met with wide eyes and a scared expression from the girl which made her brows furrow. “(Y/N), thank God, you’re here! M—“ Cathy began to explain her worries, before a voice cut them off.

“Ms. (Y/L/N), it’s good to see you,” The familiar voice interrupted, making Y/N turn around with a confused expression. All of her questions were answered in a split second as the face registered in her mind. Mr. Porter had returned from war.

Eyes widening, she blinked rapidly as if the sight in front of her weren’t true. “Oh my… Mr. Porter! You’re back, I-I had no idea, wow. It’s amazing to see you here.. are you.. how has everything been.. are you fine?” Y/N stumbled over her words, hurriedly rushing over to him with a hand extended, his own sliding into hers to give it a firm shake.

He sent her a warm smile, chuckling lowly at her stuttering before nodding. “Yes, came back a week ago. M’alright. Thought I should spend some time with the family before I returned, but I missed this place. I wanted to come back as soon as I could,” He explained.

“Well, of course.”

“Why don’t you step into my office?” Mr. Porter suggested, gesturing to the same room which Y/N had referred to as her office. Her heart dropped at that, not liking the idea of giving up her dream so hastily. Swallowing, she sent him a forced smile before stepping inside the office.

“Take a seat, miss.”

She complied, sitting across from her usual spot and uncomfortably shifting in her spot. Hands folding into her lap, she waited for him to take his seat. The two stared at each other awkwardly for a moment before he cleared his throat. “Well, it’s fair to say that you’ve done a tremendous job at keeping up the numbers for the company,” He started.

“Thank you, sir,” She beamed, pride filling inside of her.

He nodded slowly, leaning forward in his seat as his hands folded on the wooden desk separating the pair. “Yes, of course. You deserve credit for that, really did a great job at it. But, I’m back now, so it’s time I release you of those duties and start working in my position once more.”

Her lips turned downwards slightly, though she knew this was the inevitable. She had to prepare for this eventually. The only thing was she had no actual time to prepare herself for this today. It had all been sprung upon her. “Right, I understand entirely, Mr. Porter,” Y/N slowly responded before continuing, “But, I was thinking instead of going back to my old assistant’s job, I could work as a sales associate. I have a lot more experience now, so it would be perfect really.”

Mr. Porter grimaced slightly, clearing his throat yet again as he stared at her with dismay. “Here’s the thing, Ms. (Y/L/N), many men have returned from war now. They’re in need of jobs, and I’d rather save those jobs for them. After all, they’re in need. The assistant job is yours as a thanks from the company and myself,” He told her, brow arching as he awaited her reply.

She was stunned at that. She had singlehandedly brought this company to a better place, and now she was being demoted back to a job she could have gotten absolutely anywhere, based solely off the fact she was a woman. Anger stirred inside of her, brows furrowing as she shook her head at him.

“Excuse me, what? You mean to tell me, you put me in charge of this business instead of other men, and now you’re not giving me a job because other men might need it?” She snapped, tone frustrated.

“Well, I gave you the job of running the company purely because you were the only one who knew how my job worked— from watching over as my assistant for so long. You knew how it all ran. Plus, I couldn’t risk putting a man in charge, he had a higher chance of being called in for war when the draft first started,” Mr. Porter tried to reason with her.

Now, she was angered. This whole time she had believed that she was chosen for her skill and effort, but no. It was because she was his assistant. Not only that, but he knew perfectly well what she was capable of, yet he was demoting her regardless.

“Why’re you giving me back my old job? You clearly see what I’m made out of.”

“Other men need those jobs, you can’t be selfish about this.”

“Selfish?” She asked incredulously, scoffing. “Nothing about me was selfish when I took over your business and ran it, so it wouldn’t collapse. Not only that, but I made your numbers better than from when you were running it. Is that why you want me to be an assistant? You saw how much better I did your job, and you couldn’t handle it? So, instead, you need to put me back in my supposed place.”

She knew she wasn’t helping her case by acting out like this, but it was all too much. If he really wanted to thank her, he would be giving her the job she wanted, the job she deserved. Instead, she was being put back in her previous position where she wasn’t seen as worth anything, really. It was a giant step-back in her plan for success.

“Now, don’t get emotional, miss. Being emotional like this wouldn’t work for a good sales associate, anyways. Are you going to snap at your clients like this?”

That was it. He was really pointing out her frustration rather than logically answering her questions. And, why? Because she was a woman. If you showed emotions, it just proved their conception that you weren’t fit to be in the positions you wanted to be in.

“I can’t believe this. I really, really can’t. After everything I did, the long hours, everything…” She breathed out, shaking her head as she scoffed again in disbelief. “You know what? Good luck keeping up your business, because I quit.”

Mr. Porter rose his eyebrows in shock at this, shaking his own head now. “Miss, I don’t think this is very reasonable. I don’t know what to say to this all. I thought you would be happy with what we were offering, but…”

A moment passed, the silence washing over them before she waited for him to continue speaking, to think of something. He owed her words, he owed her gratitude and apologies for the lack of respect he had for her.

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out, Ms. (Y/L/N),” He settled on.

She backed out her chair, standing up from her spot and staring at him with disappointment. Walking over to the door, separating his office from the rest, she reached for the doorknob.

Twisting it, she turned her head over her shoulder, confidently speaking her last words to the man, “You know what, Mr. Porter? You will be damn sorry.”

She swung open the door and strode out, head held high as she ignored the many eyes on her. The front door of the office building was thrown open, shutting behind her as she refused to spare a second to glance back at her lost dream.

— — — — —

Though she had been rather confident in her strides out of the building, the walk back home was filled with her distraught and sadness. It angered her, how easily she had been dismissed by Mr. Porter and Harry. The rage fueled her all the way home, where she opened the apartment door, not bothering to be quiet for once. She wanted to scream, to fill this lonesome apartment with noise.

Letting it slam shut, she listened to see if Harry had bothered to get up today. He hadn’t.

Jaw clenching, she walked into the bedroom, noticing that he was still asleep in bed, and she just couldn’t handle it. She couldn’t handle another day of the distance and silence between them, especially not when she needed him. Because she had needed him when he was gone for war, and while she had done her best at being there for him, he hadn’t bothered for one second to be there for her.

Stomping to his side of the bed, she yanked the sheets off his body and snapped harshly, “Get up, Harry.” He groaned, not opening his eyes as he reached for the blankets and tried to envelop himself once more. “I’m not fucking kidding. Get the up right now.”

Her vulgar language did a better job at waking him up, mostly because he was stunned at the tone she was taking with him. Eyes parting open, he sat up with much dismay, rubbing his eyes slowly with the balls of his fists.

She moved to the curtains, peeling them open hastily and forcing the light to flood inside the room at once.

“Hey—“ He began to groan out, hands shielding his face from the light.

“No. I’m opening up the curtains, because I want the fucking light in our room. You know why, Harry? Because, it’s daytime. Normal people are awake at this time, they’re out in the streets and doing something. They’re not in bed still, whining about whatever the fuck is going on in their mind. They’re doing something with their lives,” She began her angry rant, her hands waving in the air.

“Wha’ the fuck is your issue?”

She scoffed, running a hand through her hair before it slapped down onto her thigh. “What’s my fucking issue? Where do I start, Harry? Maybe, the fact that you are still in bed is my issue. Or, maybe, it’s the fact that you’ve promised to get out of bed and do something every single day. But, here, let me give you a little spoiler. You won’t do shit today, just like you didn’t do shit yesterday. And, want to hear the funniest part of it all? I let you mope around all day without saying a single thing.”

Now, Harry was getting rather frustrated with her words. After all, it was so simple for her to say all this, when she didn’t understand the processes and thoughts that went through his mind. She didn’t understand how badly he wanted to be able to go out and be normal, but the memories stopped him. It led him to be unmotivated to do much of anything, his thoughts running wild as he would rather shield himself away from it all.

“Mope around? Is tha’ what yeh’ think I want to be doing?” He asked her slowly, his tone laced with disbelief as he stood from the bed, anger surging throughout him. “Of course, yeh’ would say that. Yeh’ don’t understand a fuckin’ thing about wha’ I’m going through.”

“I don’t understand? That’s fucking rich, Harry, coming from you.”

“How? S’true, yeh’ don’t get it, never will.”

“Maybe I don’t get it because you don’t tell me anything. You keep it all trapped in that tiny, little brain of yours, instead. And, you know what, Harry? You may have gone through shit, but so have I. You think the war was only out there, on the battlefield? It came here, too. But you wouldn’t know that, would you? Because you never bothered to ask or care. You never noticed when I couldn’t fall asleep at night because I could still feel the buildings shaking from when I was hiding in shelters, so I wouldn’t be bombed.”

“Yeh’ really gonna do this? Yeh’re gonna act like what yeh’ went through was close to what I did, huh?” Harry questioned her, tone low as he stepped closer to her, their bodies only a few feet apart. Both of them were angrily gazing up at each other, Y/N’s chest heaving up and down as she let out frustrated breaths.

“M’not acting like I was out there, on a battlefield, fighting for my life. I’m not acting like I had my experience worse than yours, but it doesn’t make mine any less important! I worked my ass off for a job that I just got fucking fired from, and you didn’t once ask me how it was running a company. You didn’t care to! No, because it’s just about what you went through!”

He paused at that, adjusting to the fact that she was now jobless. It explained the sudden change of mood into one of rage and anger, but he couldn’t properly register that now. No, because, now he was getting the rage filled inside of him out. Most of the anger wasn’t even directed at her, but at himself for how his mental state had been lately. Yet, here he was, taking it out on the girl he loved, instead.

“Yeh’ didn’t see your fuckin’ friends die on the ground that yeh’ were just standing on! Yeh’ didn’t see their eyes shut for the last time, and you sure as hell never had that almost be you! No, yeh’ were safe in your fuckin’ bomb shelters, crying and shaken up, while I was taking somebody’s life, so that I could save my own!” He yelled at her, the vein on his forehead bulging as his eyes danced wildly with anger and his steps had advanced till they backed her up against the wall. His hands slapped down onto the wall behind her, on either side of her face, making her flinch slightly.

She was scared of this man, the man representing a monster that was hidden within him. She didn’t trust this man. Her own hands shoved at his chest, keeping his body a few feet away from her own.

“I took people’s fuckin’ lives, do yeh’ understand that?” He asked her, his voice dropping to a quieter pitch as he stared down at her.

“No. You can’t expect me to understand any of it when you haven’t bothered to talk to me about it,” She breathed out, ducking from beneath his arms and pacing around the room as she ran a hand through her hair nervously. “We don’t talk anymore. In fact, we haven’t talked in a long, long time. Like, a genuine conversation. I worry about you, you dismiss me, and then we sleep. And, we act like it’s all okay, because we want it to be okay. But, you can’t expect me to understand shit when you haven’t bothered to talk to me about any of this!” Her tone had grown harsher by the end of it, her brows furrowed.

“S’not like it’s fuckin’ easy to talk ‘bout,” He scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief as he turned around to stare down at her, making her feel small in her spot. But, she held her head up high, just like she did in Mr. Porter’s office.

“But, you haven’t even tried! You haven’t tried to talk to me! You just wave me off like I don’t even matter, like I’m not even there! And if you can’t talk to me, I told you to see a profe—“

“Don’t go on ‘bout this again,” He cut her off, sighing dramatically as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“No, Harry, I will! See a fucking professional to help you, because I clearly can’t, and you need help. Because, I can’t fucking understand, isn’t that right? Because I couldn’t possibly understand, and you just couldn’t possibly ever, ever talk to me about it, yeah?”

“Isn’t this enough for you!” He suddenly snapped, stalking towards her as he gestured towards himself, “Isn’t me being back here enough for yeh’? Why do you want mo’ from me, huh? I came back from the war for you, I would’ve given up a long, long time ago. But, I didn’t, because I promised to come back for yeh’.”

She had given up at this point, the anger replaced by sadness and devastation from the series of events that had transpired. Her shoulders sagged as she looked up at him with wide, upset eyes, sending him a small, sad smile. In a faint, quiet tone, she whispered, “You may have come back from war, Harry, but you never came back home.”

The words struck him, his own heaving chest slowing down its breaths as he attempted to regain his composure. Blinking down at her, he stood in his place as he allowed the words to register and process in his mind. Her own shaky figure walked towards the bed in a hesitant manner, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. Eyes peered out the window ahead of them, arms wrapping around her own body as she attempted to provide herself with some comfort.

A low, trembling breath left her lips, eyes shutting as the tears that had been threatening to spill unleashed, falling down her cheeks slowly. Silence loomed over the pair, both realizing that they were stuck in this very moment.

Neither of them knew what to do, because both of them were so broken in different ways. Do they fight? Do they fight for the love that they had stayed alive for? Or, do they realize that perhaps there was no more time for fighting? That, perhaps, they had lost the determination to fight for it, because they were far too exhausted, themselves.

Harry, in what seemed like a trance, sauntered to her, sitting down on the bed beside her, their shoulders hardly touching as he kept his hands in his own lap. His own gaze rested ahead of them, both of their breaths being the only sounds that filled the tense room.

He had survived for her. Or, maybe a part of it was for him, too. If he went through the difficult efforts of war for her, why wasn’t he willing to fix himself for her, too? Maybe, it was because he just didn’t have it in him, anymore. Maybe, he had lost the version of himself that could love her properly on the battlefield.

He parted his lips, to say something, anything, that could regain her hopes that it would work out, but he couldn’t find the words. So, he said nothing instead.

She hadn’t bled like he did. Her wounds didn’t appear like scars on her skin. Instead, they ran deep inside her, eating at her flesh and organs. She couldn’t show him evidence of her pain and suffering during the war, but that didn’t mean it didn’t exist.

Even then, she had continued going because of how she promised she would be strong for him. So, she had remained strong all those years, pushing forward and fighting through any obstacle that was thrown at her.

Now, though, her strength was diminishing, and she needed him, even for just a second, to lean on. However, he couldn’t provide her with that support, when he could hardly support himself. Her strength had worn thin, from trying to fix him and the company, only to lose them both so suddenly.

But, still, it had to be alright, right? Her mouth opened, searching for something to say to him, anything, that could reassure him that they would be okay again, but no words came to mind. So, instead, she remained quiet, never once inching closer to his body.

And, there, they sat, looking ahead of them into the vast future of their lives that they could not predict. They sat beside one another, not speaking or touching, but instead remaining in absolute silence as their thoughts circled through their minds.

Minutes passed as they rested in their spots, scrambling through their minds to find the ghosts of themselves that had once loved each other with so much strength and compassion, but had now been replaced with new versions of themselves, ones foreign to each other.

And, as those minutes passed, it had dawned upon them both that since Harry had returned from war, they had been sharing their bed with a complete stranger.

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