#i love you scotland but you depress me) but it's still a worry and a challenge and my emotions are all over the place

[unreliablesnake]

Hold it together when the world’s on fire (Simon “Ghost” Riley x reader)

Summary: After Soap dies during a mission, Ghost suffers from survivor’s guilt and depression. You’re there by his side both during and between missions, but sometimes you wonder if you’re enough to help him through this.

Note: Based on “Hold it together” and “World’s on fire” by Mike Shinoda. Soap, I’m so sorry. You were loved by all of us. Alex is a part of the team. Unedited story because I'm too lazy after work. What do you think?

Warnings: major character death (obviously), drug abuse, reader has a sister, brother-in-law, nephew, and parents.

Neither of you handled Soap's funeral well.

You took Simon's hand the moment he returned to stand by your side, squeezing it tightly when he looked down at you for a moment. He had fallen apart after Soap died, and he hadn't been himself ever since. But you were there by his side, and so was the rest of the team.

His eyes were shining from a few stray teardrops, something you never thought you would see on a man like him. Maybe watching as they buried the casket made it real, made him understand that he truly lost one of his brothers. Because that's what Soap was–his brother.

It should've been me. I shouldn't have sent him there. I fucked up, it's on me. If I went there myself he would still be alive.

Price had said it was probably the survivor's guilt speaking when he said these things. It shocked you at first, not understanding how he could say something like this, and making you wonder if he truly believed what he told you. You'd been together for almost two years now, but you'd never seen him be this low.

"Are you okay?" you asked quietly, putting a hand on his arm while you sat in the backseat of a car with him.

Price was driving, taking Gaz, Simon and you back to the hotel you were staying in. Laswell and Alex were closely behind, probably talking about work as usual on the way there.

You waited for Simon's answer, but he was just staring ahead without saying a word. In the rearview mirror your gaze met Gaz's, and he flashed a supportive smile at you when he noticed the worried look on your face.

Back in the hotel Price asked the two of you to follow him to somewhere less crowded, then told Simon it wouldn't be wise to let him back on the field just yet. "You need some time to get your head on straight," he said. "I'll send you the contact info of a therapist who specializes in these cases."

"I'm fine," he told him darkly.

But the captain wasn't stupid. "You're clearly not."

When your boyfriend took a deep breath, ready to speak up again, you placed a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. "He's right, Simon, you need time. Be happy that you'll have the whole bed to yourself when I'm gone," you added with a small laugh, hoping this could cheer him up a little.

"Oh, no, you're staying home with him," Price informed you. "You'll make sure he's okay."

It was an order. There was no need for you to try and resist, so you just nodded. Simon suddenly took your hand, but he didn't look at you. He didn't even look at his superior, instead his gaze turned to his shoes.

Two days later the trip from Scotland to England passed mostly in silence. Simon still didn't feel like talking, the only sounds leaving his lips were quiet yeses and nos, maybe mixed with an occasional I don't know.

"I'll take a shower then hit the bed," he said when you entered your apartment in the evening.

After driving for four hours, it wasn't surprising to hear him say that. You didn't question if he was tired or depressed. Probably both, deep down you knew that, but you were clever enough not to push him. "He'll come out of his shell and talk to you when he's ready," Laswell had assured you when you said goodbye.

Later in the night you woke up, instinctively knowing Simon wasn't sleeping well. Another nightmare. You could tell that from the rapid way his chest was heaving, how he was tossing and turning, and how he mumbled a few words in his sleep, as if he was hurrying someone to move.

Maybe he was talking to Soap. Again.

But it didn't seem to be a severe one, there was no need to wake him up just yet. So you let out a sigh then leaned over to put a hand on his cheek and give him a very soft kiss. Sometimes it helped to calm him down, it was worth a try this time too.

Simon stopped moving around and from what you could tell, his breathing also slowed down. Good. You laid back down to get back to sleep yourself, but soon you felt his arm wrap around your waist as he pulled you close to him.

"Thank you," he whispered into the nape of your neck, probably still half asleep.

••••••••

The weekend arrived soon, and you were invited by your sister to your nephew's sixth birthday party. Simon liked that kid, so you convinced him to jump in, give him his present, and say hi. "We don't have to stay long," you told him kindly before leaving the apartment.

"Maybe being among people will avert my thoughts for a while," he said, surprising you with this answer. Seeing the look on your face, he was quick to add his therapist was the one to suggest this.

There were a bunch of noisy kids at the party, with their parents standing in smaller groups, talking to each other. You didn't know most of them, so you and Simon flocked with your family in the living room, while the rest of the guests were outside with the children.

Your family knew about Soap's death. Well, they knew a friend of yours had died, so they were extra nice with Simon that day. Every time someone new arrived, they asked you two how you were holding up. He didn't really know what to say apart from a short fine.

When it was time for the cake, everybody gathered outside around a table and watched as the kids went crazy from the sugar rush. Some guy came over to your small group that included your sister, your brother-in-law, and your parents, and a guy you didn't know who brought up his three kids and some weird joke they brought back home after a sleepover.

"What has two legs and bleeds?" Simon suddenly asked, surprising you by speaking up for the first time that day. Your family glanced over at him with a concerned look, and you were just about to stop him when he said, "Half a dog."

No one laughed.

"Who the fuck says such a joke on a kid's birthday party?" asked the unknown guy, sounding offended by the joke.

Simon casually looked around, then he turned back to the man and spoke in the most uninterested voice you'd ever heard from him. "I don't see any kids nearby," he stated.

"Simon!" you warned him, only to earn a raised eyebrow from your boyfriend.

After a few seconds of silently staring at each other–you waiting for an apology, him waiting for an explanation as to why his joke was inappropriate–he eventually raised his hands and told you he would wait in the car.

Letting out a sigh, you turned to your sister with an apologetic smile. "I'm so sorry, he hasn't been himself lately. It would be for the best if we left now. Thank you for everything," you said quickly, then rushed out of the garden as fast as you could.

His dark sense of humor was lovely, but it definitely didn't belong to a six year old kid's birthday party. It was painful to see him be so out of place, especially since he had a good relationship with your nephew. But today there was no sign of it, he barely interacted with the boy.

Once you were sitting in the passenger seat of the car, you turned to him and asked, "Are you okay?"

"It was just a stupid joke," he muttered under his breath.

You wanted to tell him that the guy had been right about this not being the time and place for this particular joke, but in the end you remained silent. Deep down you knew he knew it was a small mistake, although you also knew that he wouldn't admit that, not even to you.

Instead of giving him a lecture, you just leaned over to pull him into a tight hug, stroking his back with your hand. "It's okay," you told him. "I'm sure they understand."

••••••••

"Hey, John," you said into the phone as you walked down an aisle in the grocery store.

"How's Simon?" asked the captain, sounding just as concerned as he had been ever since Soap's death. You came to a halt and remained silent which obviously caught his attention. "That bad?"

You let out a sigh and picked up a cereal to take a closer look at it. "No, I just tried to figure out what to say. I mean, he's better than he was two weeks ago, but he still zones out sometimes, he barely sleeps, like two or three hours tops. And even then he often has nightmares."

"And how's therapy going?"

"He's there two times a week. It's helping, he sometimes does or says things he heard there. But he still blames himself, and he still says every now then that it should have been him who died that day," you added with a groan. It was hard to hear it, and it was just as hard to talk about it.

Price remained silent on the other end of the line, either trying to process what he just heard or thinking about how to continue. Maybe it was both, you weren't sure. "When do you think he can come back?" he asked.

That was a good question. "Honestly, he would go back right away if he could. He says it would take his mind off of everything, but I'm not sure," you admitted.

"Yeah, he didn't sound convincing to me either," he replied with a sigh. "I talked to Alex, he's okay with keeping an eye on him on the field, and you could join his group to be there, but–"

"Would that be a good idea? Wouldn't he be afraid of losing me too?" you asked, interrupting him.

In the beginning you worked with Simon, but once you got together and the team found out, John insisted on separating the two of you. He wasn't sure if Simon could give you strict orders on the field, if he wouldn't favor you over Soap–which was something he definitely didn't need on his team.

"That's true," Price admitted. "But you know more about how to comfort him now than any of us. Maybe you could help him focus."

As you put two bottles of soda into your shopping cart, you thought about his suggestion. It could work, you and Alex being there by his side to make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. But what if you get separated on the field? You can't be glued together all the time.

So you took a deep breath and began to walk again. "We can give it a shot. I'll talk to him when I get home and see if he'd still like to go back to work," you said.

"All right. Send me a text with his answer," Price asked you. "Take care, we'll talk later."

You said goodbye and ended the call, putting the device into the pocket of your jacket. A quiet voice in the back of your mind kept telling you it was a bad idea, that maybe it would only put Simon in danger. He still wasn't himself, he probably wouldn't be able to give out proper orders just yet.

When you got home, the apartment was empty and eerily quiet. He was probably still in the gym, the only place where he could be alone according to him. Then you remembered something from the past. You suddenly began to laugh at the memory of all of those stupid little competitions Soap had started with Simon in the gym, both of them eager to prove they were faster, stronger, and had better stamina than the other.

To pass the time, you sat down on the couch and opened a streaming service on the TV to see if there was anything to watch until he got home. But you were just flipping through the titles, one less exciting than the other–your mind was way too worried about Simon to even think about entertainment.

Then you finally heard the lock turn and he finally entered the apartment, throwing his duffel bag near the living room door before walking over to the couch. "What are you doing?" he asked, his eyes momentarily turning to the screen. "You're not watching anything?"

"No. But I have a feeling I won't watch anything in the end," you told him with a short laugh, your eyes moving up from his crotch to his masked face.

There was a strange look in his eyes, one you hadn't seen in a while now. He looked excited and energized, not like someone who just returned from a two-hour workout session. There was also a hint of desire, although you weren't quite sure about that.

You hadn't had sex with him since the incident, but you knew that despite desperately wanting every piece of him, you had to be patient. He would come around eventually, but he had bigger problems than satisfying your needs right now.

"Good," he said, drawing a questioning hum out of you.

But Simon remained silent, he only took off his mask that landed on the couch next to you, then leaned down to scoop you up. With your hands automatically moving to the back of his neck, you took a closer look at him. You were right, that look in his eyes definitely mirrored his desire.

But his pupils weren't right, they were dilated. It could be because of the dim lights of the living room, but you were afraid it meant something else, something more dangerous. Could he be stupid enough to use drugs with his brother's history?

He lowered your body onto the bed before gently kicking your legs wider apart to get into position between them. His hands were resting next to your head, and he slowly leaned down to give you a soft kiss, one that became deeper, hungrier, and more feral as the seconds passed.

"Simon," you tried weakly as his lips moved on to your neck.

"Shhh," he tried to silence you.

But you didn't want to stay quiet, you wanted to ask him if he was high. So you reached out to seal his mouth with your hand, causing him to let out a deep growl. He opened his mouth and tried to bite you gently, but you gave him a warning look that made him stop.

You curled the fingers of your other hand around his muscular shoulder, stroking the rough skin with your thumb as you looked him in the eye. "Give me an honest answer, Simon. Are you high?" you asked him seriously.

Instead of replying, he reached up to peel your fingers off of himself then intertwined his fingers with yours and pressed them against the bed above your head. "I missed you so fucking much, sweetheart," he murmured against your lips.

"Answer my question."

He raised his head to look you in the eye and let out a sigh. "Do we really have to do this?" You raised an eyebrow at him, getting fed up with his bullshit. The more he avoided the answer, the more suspicious you were. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath.

Suddenly he let go of you and sat down on the other side of the bed, his head buried in his hands. "Simon, drugs won't solve your problem," you said the obvious as you sat up as well and buried your fingers in his hair. "Listen, I talked to John today and we were discussing whether or not you should go back to work."

His eyes found your face, eagerly waiting for you to continue. You weren't mad at him, you were just sad that he made the wrong choice. You thought he was getting better, that he had learned how to handle his grief by now, but apparently you were wrong.

"Was this your first time?" you asked him quietly, and he nodded in response. "Can it stay this way? Can you resist the urge to use this shit again?"

"If it means I can go back, then yes," came his response.

You let out a sigh and took his hand in yours. "Alex and I will work with you when you return," you began to explain. "John asked him to keep an eye on you until you get used to being back on the field. But after tonight…"

Your voice faded and he knew what it meant. "I already told you, it was a one-time thing," he assured you quietly, leaning over to rest his forehead against yours. "I saw what drugs did to Tommy, I won't make the same mistake, I promise. I just… I was in the gym and remembered something and I just needed something to take my mind off of everything, you know?"

"Mmm-hmm," you hummed before placing a soft kiss on his cheek. "Listen, I'll buy some drug tests and you'll do one every day for the next… Let's say ten days. If you're always clean, I'll tell John that you're ready to return."

Simon let out a sigh, but he nodded eventually. When you flashed a sweet smile at him, his hand moved under your shirt, long fingers moving up your spine that made you arch your back a little. "I'm so fucking hard, baby, why don't we do something about it, huh?" he asked as he kissed your neck.

"You should get some sleep," you told him, although your voice came out as a whisper.

"It's been so long, I'm sure you've been missing me. I should fuck your sweet, beautiful brains out before sleeping," he mumbled against your skin, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine.

Every cell in your body was craving him, but the fact he was high on some shit told you it was the perfect opportunity to teach him a lesson. You take drugs? Fine, no sex for you. So you pushed him away and cleared your throat as you gave him an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry, but not tonight."

"Are you punishing me for being high for once in my entire fucking life?" he asked, sounding angry.

You nodded. "I prefer it when you're clean," you said, then climbed out of bed and returned to the living room.

••••••••

Three weeks later you could finally join the team again, but everybody seemed to be walking on eggshells around Simon. He noticed and he hated it, but decided not to say anything. He only mentioned it to you, telling you how frustrating he found this treatment.

"It's good to see you again, Ghost," Alex said with a wide smile when the two of you walked over to him for the first time.

Simon nodded and shook his hand. "So you'll be my babysitter, huh?"

"Yeah, it seems like it. But whatever you say goes. I'll only step in if something's wrong with the order in that situation," he assured him.

You gulped, carefully examining Simon's eyes through his plastic skull mask. When you looked over at Alex, you noticed he was doing the same, cautiously watching the lieutenant and trying to decide his movements.

Before he could say anything, Gaz showed up, telling you Price's briefing was about to begin. You followed him, and inside you and Simon sat down next to each other.

You soon saw him rapidly tapping his feet out of the corner of your eye, so you reached out and placed a hand on his knee to calm him down. He glanced over at you, then put his hand on top of yours, his fingers carefully leaving with your own.

After an hour or so everybody left the room, but the two of you stayed behind, silently agreeing to have a quick chat. You looked around, making sure there was truly no one left there, and then pulled up his mask to his nose so you could give him a gentle kiss.

Soon you pulled the mask back down and looked at him with a small smile. "I'm proud of you, Simon. You seem to be a lot better lately."

"I am better," he told you with a sigh. "I'll keep going to therapy when we're home. And if it wasn't for you…"

With a short laugh, you reached out and took his hand. "I'll always be here for you. Never forget that," you said.

"I love you."

It had been a while since he had last told you this. It was as if his brain had forgotten how to say these words, but you knew it wasn't intentional. So you flashed the brightest smile at him before you replied, "I love you too."

[hauntedhotel]

I'm back on my jmart/food as an expression of love bullshit, which I did talk about here already but it will not leave my mind.

I'm just imagining Martin who spent so much of his youth preparing food for his mother, who never appreciated it and never thought it was good enough, and then as an adult only ever eating tinned and microwave meals because he doesn’t put the same care and effort in when he’s feeding himself. Constantly checking that Jon is eating enough and making sure everyone around him is taken care of while never having anyone to do the same for him.

Then in season 4 imagine him not really eating that much at all - drawing from my own experiences with depression it can be hard to summon the energy to eat when you feel really low, and The Fears might sustain people connected to them on some level but it doesn’t stop the physical evidence from showing, so eventually he starts losing weight but there's no one left that's still close enough to him to notice or worry or help.

So then him and Jon get to the safe house in Scotland and Jon is just staring and staring at him and Martin’s like, "right, yeah, okay, get a grip, gotta be useful, maybe I'll make tea or food for us" but he just can't bring himself to move. And then Jon eventually starts to speak and says, "I know I have no real right to say this and if you laugh at me I definitely deserve it but...when was the last time you ate?"

[ben-the-hyena]

Ten First Lines Game

Rules: Share the first line of ten of your most recent fanfics and then tag ten people. Don’t have ten? Not to worry, just share what you have.

Was tagged by @chaifootsteps which reminds me I DON'T write as much as I should and didn't finish one of the ones I'm gonna mention, in fact 10 is SO much I fear it's not gonna be the whole list X'D I tag @dracocheesecake and @awesomex7 because I know they write much more than I do !

Warning spme of them are NSFW fics !

8. Of Blood and Hearts

Adult Gothetta from School for Vampires doing accounting job of her own whole new potion business but it's like the only time the fic focuses on her, it's not about her but about a slow burn between her cousin Batoria just as grown as her and Dr Ironfang... and I'm barely half way through and been so for a year and I apologize to everyone T.T

"663 lei plus 754 lei…"

7. Boggy Heather

A "midquel", "sequel" and "prequel" fanfic all at once about Randall Boggs from Monster Inc and Heather Olson drom Monster University meeting right after he got his "BE MY PAL" cupcakes smashed against his face, becoming friends, falling in love, dating, getting intimate, graduating, getting engaged, marrying, becoming parents, Randall becoming more and more of a petty vengeful asshole who can't move on and has to be the best and prove a point to the point of neglecting her and his child, their relationship deteriorating, divorcing and the end of his villain arc complete in time for the first movie

"Well that sucked."

6. The Forbidden Chant

SkekUng and UrSol from The Dark Crystal meet in the desert as the former was out on a mission and the latter just looking roots, and said latter convinces the former to fuck the shit out of him

"The Three Brothers were shining bright in the sky."

5. Delayed Wedding Night

A pwp of a younger Griddle and her then alive husband Sir Herman from Blazing Dragons deciding to roleplay their wedding night a very kinky way now they finally love each other and already started to have sex at last since back when they were forced to marry and didn't love each other yet they didn't touch each other and the wedding night took place in them sleeping in their own bedrooms

"It had been now a bit more than 2 months that Princess Griddle and Sir Herman had their first love kiss, almost 2 years after their arranged marriage."

4. Nearsighted Love

Queen Griddle trying to convince her gay son Sir Blaze from Blazing Dragons to marry a noble girl one day, which reminds her how she was reticent about marrying his late father Sir Herman, cues her remembering them getting married, hating each other, becoming friends, falling in love, getting intimate, trying desperately to have a child until finally Blaze is born, and then him tragically disappearing at sea

"Sir Blaze slammed open the door while Queen Griddle was following him, running a bit as her legs were shorter than her very tall son's and as she was much fatter."

3. A Furnace Bastard

Duncan from Blazing Dragons having always lived a normal Scottish middle aged family dragon guardian of the Club of Saint Andrew, until one day he accidentally pulled it out and he becomes King of Scotland. Once his euphoria calms down, he starts to put 2 and 2 together since the prophecy states only someone of the Furnace clan can pull it and decides to investigate his origins

"Not far from the royal castle of Scotland was the royal golf course."

2. Queen Morlava's Last Present

A younger King Allfire from Blazing Dragons going from utter boy over his egg being there to utter sadness upon hearing his wife Queen Morlava died from lying it. Cues him still trying to make the best of it after her funeral no matter how he is depressed for being there for their baby who will hatch soon and trying to reason his father-in-law, with whom he always had a bad relationship, over how this id not the egg's fault and his daughter would want him to be a good grandfather to it, he who is way too angry and grieving to think righr and blames him for having made her gravid despite her being of such fragile health from birth

"King Allfire was nervous."

1. Is It Hot in There

My first ever Blazing Dragons fic and nsfw fic with a not very good English and cringe descriptions lmao takes place during the episode Ice Try which is the only episode during which Sir Blaze and Sir Burnevere don't appear because they were gone on a quest together, so I filled the blank by having them act upon their lounging growing feelings for each other now they finally are alone together on a dumb quest Queen Griddle sent them to for her own ego as usual and act on it at least, quite passionately so and then decide to be secretly dating

""The Diamond of Destiny ! Exactly !""

[imspardagus]

A Good Man

Eight years ago, I was walking alongside him in the final, Spanish, stages of the Camino de Santiago. He was carrying a lot of weight and much slower than he had been, but his spirit seemed indomitable and his company uplifting.

It was not our last outing, but Graham’s walking days were coming to an end. In 2017, we managed a coach trip to the Somme, nights spent in a ghastly motorway service area hotel in France in a heatwave, where the air con had failed and opening the windows was not an option. In 2019, we had our final trip to Bruges, taking in Antwerp and a huge quantity of Belgian beer. Not walking far but still managing to have an enchanting time full of unforgettable nuggets of pleasure, not all liquid.

But it was about 30 years ago that Graham and I embarked on our first long walk together. That was St Cuthbert’s Way, from Melrose in the Scottish Borders down to Lindisfarne in Northumberland. I had been going through one of my worst bouts of depression, exacerbated by grief from the loss of my Mother. Graham asked me if I fancied the trip. It would be about 70 miles long and would take 6 days. I had never done anything of the sort before but somehow it felt the right thing to do.

I remember that we stopped off twice on the way up. Once to visit the Black Sheep Brewery in Masham and once to visit Durham Cathedral. Graham’s two loves (apart from his family), beer and Christianity.

I say “loves” but the word does not do justice to either. As far as beer went, Graham professed himself to be in search of “the perfect pint”. As with the quest for the Holy Grail, or the Irishman’s expressed expectation to find the pot of gold “at the end of the rainbow” (a place that he, of course, knows is unreachable), I think that Graham understood the impossibility of his search producing a definitive answer, and that, in fact, was the point. It is a journey and there will always be another brew waiting to be enjoyed.

But as far as his Christianity was concerned, he was not “in love” with it, either. Rather, it gave form and meaning to his life and his unquenchable love of those around him. It fuelled his desire for fairness and justice. It stoked his loathing of hypocrisy and indecency (his contempt for the selfish and soul-destroying money-grubbing of latter day Tories, and, more recently, of the crook, Trump, and his zombie disciples, was the only anger I ever heard him express).

No, Graham was not a Christian groupie, pretending to be “holier than thou”. He was a true Christian. By his acts you knew him.

Both of us were amazed, each in our own way, by Durham Cathedral. To be fair, I would challenge anyone with a functioning brain not to be. It truly justifies that overused word “awesome”. And we saw where St Cuthbert was said to be interred, this being the purpose of its inclusion in our trip.

At Melrose we had time to visit the ruined Abbey and then set off south. At this point, I had not known what to expect. What would we talk about? How fast would we be expected to walk? Would we have time to stop and stare? I need not have worried. The pace was comfortable with plenty of pauses to enjoy the peace and the magnificence of our surroundings. This was, for Graham, what the journey was truly about. And our conversation was interspersed with periods of benign silence as if we both knew when nothing needed to be said.

As we climbed into the hills that straddle the border between Scotland and England, I felt my mind ease, relaxing its grip on the misery I had been feeling and allowing proportion and perspective to re-enter my life. I was breathing more deeply now, free from Hertford’s polluting traffic. The depression was lifting.

On the flat plateau, surrounded by the mist of clouds, Graham pulled out two monks’ habits and asked if I would mind wearing one. This was not some gross attempt at conversion but, I realised, a part of his sense of fun. This was, after all, the pilgrims’ way, the route taken by St Cuthbert and his monk mates all those centuries ago as they sought to bring what they saw as the civilising effect of Christianity to the pagan and backward English. And so we strode on for a mile or so, the wet grass soaking the hems of our dung-brown robes. God alone knows what some hapless walkers might have concluded if they had glimpsed our shrouded shapes through white, swirling fog.

At some stage we crossed a stile with a signpost pointing back the way we had come simply stating “Scotland” and I felt a pang of regret that we would be reaching the end of what Graham had made not merely an adventure but a restoration. But there was still so much more in store.

Passing St Cuthbert’s cave, pausing to think that, if we had been in the US, this humble indentation would have been turned into a theme park with a ticket booth controlling entry, we caught our first sight of the Isle of Lindisfarne, the “Holy Island”. It was still two days’ walk away. A message in itself.

But the adventure was not over. When we reached the coast, Graham suggested – of course he would – that instead of walking across the Causeway to the island (the easy way), we should take the monks’ path, which meant walking across the sands at low tide, barefoot.

I think for each of us this was a challenge similar in nature to Moses’ shepherding of his people across the parted Red Sea. But for me there was a deficit of faith to overcome. Of course, your rational mind knew that the tide would not come roaring in when you were halfway across but, no matter how hard you tried to remember that, you felt you were, quite simply, somewhere you were not supposed to be and at any moment the sea would punish your effrontery.

The rain, as we crossed the wide, wet channel, was at times horizontal, adding to the sense that this was Biblical in its foolhardiness. It seemed to be taking forever but I put what faith I had in Graham and eventually we reached the other side and collapsed onto a rock laughing like children. Then we fought with our socks and boots and went in search of a café where a cup of tea and a slice of lemon drizzle cake tasted like the food of the gods.

The magic had worked and for months afterwards I felt renewed, rebooted, secure. Graham’s gift to me.

After that came many other long walks with him and Ron. The West Highland Way, the Great Glen, Hadrian’s Wall, the Northumberland coast. And each time I came back feeling as if I had been washed clean of all my pain.

Graham never once used his position to try to evangelise me. He knew I had difficulty believing. And his dear, kind heart saw my pain and wanted only to relieve me of it. I don’t think it occurred to him to take advantage of it. He was a good man.

And I came to see how it must have always been this way for him. His faith, simple as it may have seemed to some, his affectionate habit of calling his God “the Old Man”, his pleasure at ringing the bells at his local church and latterly offering sermons of down-to-earth good sense and compassion, came from a profoundly good heart and a certainty that required no convert scalps to make it real. He simply lived as he believed.

But let’s go back further. Forty years have passed since Graham and I met in Blackpool to represent the Certification Office at the Trades Union Congress there. It had been an uneasy start, Graham, a civil servant who had worked his way up from the bottom to the position of Assistant Certification Officer, and me, a relatively green lawyer, wedded to formality in dress and behaviour, afraid of stepping out of line, afraid of everything, basically. But over the few days in that gaudy town, we both learned about each other and I learned a lot about myself. On the last day, Graham insisted on our riding the Log Flume and engineered it so that I would be in front. I, and my carefully pressed clothes, were drenched, of course, and Graham roared with laughter. A baptism of fun. And then I found myself laughing too. Then we went and found a pub and a decent pint.

As we parted, Graham had broken with his workmanlike diffidence to make a personal statement. “I didn’t think I’d like you. I thought you’d just be some stuffy lawyer. But you’re alright.” I went home with that heartfelt endorsement singing in my head. I knew now I had a friend in Graham.

Today I find myself hoping that there is a heaven, for if there is, Graham will surely go there and Jesus will welcome him in like a brother.

Rest in peace, Graham.

[rapha-reads]

Cover letter in French : boring, tedious, but easy (it is my native tongue after all).

Cover letter in English : slightly harder, demands more brain cells working on it, but still easily doable (it is my "heart language").

Cover letter in Spanish : ... suddenly I don't remember a word of Spanish. What's a cover letter? Help me, Obi-Juan whoever the fuck you are, you're my only ho.

I speak Spanish. Technically. Officially. On my good days.

*pathetic screech*

[isolatedlight]

too quiet || Tom Holland

Summary: You suffer with depression, and Tom comes home just in time to help you through it.

Rating: G

Warning: mention of suicide, mental health

You have suffered with depression for what you would consider...too long. And you've never been closed off about it, better said now than at your funeral as you mother liked to say.

You and Tom originally met through social media - him having liked a few of your mental health awareness posts as your account was starting to get big. Before you even met Tom knew more about you than you ever could have hoped.

After 4 years together, he was an angel. You travelled together, Patty always said that Tom was keeping an eye on you and while it is kind of true Tom couldn't get enough of you. Tom's heart was completed when you two met, and while you're more open to the world about your mental health, Tom still has his own struggles that you keep an eye on as well.

This one time, it was a quick trip to Scotland for some sort of promo. Something you didn't feel like travelling for, especially in the winter. So Tom had left you for that week, texting you constantly to ensure you were okay, keeping up with your posts when he could. But one day...was bad.

For some reason the hate and the comments started to get to you. You found yourself skipping your meals, and not turning lights on - you didn't want to see yourself. You kept off your phone staring at the wall with Tess cuddled up to you but all you could think about was what to change.

Your hair, your eyes, your lips. you have wrinkles, how dare you. They size of your legs and your butt - something being deemed unnatural. Your lopsided smile and the freckles on your chest and shoulders. The little gap in your teeth that you'd forgotten about but of course, no one else did.

By the time Tom got home you were sitting in front of the full body mirror in your underwear, with fingerprints and angry tears covering your body. You hadn't slipped in years, you pulled yourself out of worse ruts why was today so bad? You didn't hear Tom screaming your name, the panic in his voice when he came home to a dark, empty home and you not answering his shouts.

He landed on the floor, hard, when he walked into your shared bedroom. It felt like a weight the size of the world was taken off his back. He didn't even speak, he grabbed you tightly, pulling you from the mirror so you couldn't stare anymore.

"love i was so worried-"

"Why are you home so early?" Your voice felt raw, scratchy as you tuned back into reality. Tom had tears threatening to spill out his eyes, and his cheeks were flushed red.

"I...you hadn't posted and i could see all the comments i was worried. So i drove home. Love look at this,"his fingers were cold and rough as the drew over scratch marks on your thighs. "What do you need from me? how can I help you?"

You had no words, you shook your head simply. Tom's body was warm, safe pulling you off the floor and into bed. He sat with you, running his fingers over your skin careful not to agitate the scratches. He was crying almost as much as you were.

"I know you're in a dark spot love, i do. And i'm here to help you, whatever you need."

"The house was...was too quiet. So i listened to the voices Tommy."

"The voices are wrong my love."

"I know. I know Tommy," a pause as you started to register Toms heart rate and the sound of his careful sobs. You can't imagine what it would have been like for Tom to go through that. "I'm sorry i scared you."

"You're here, you're safe, you're alive that's okay. As long as you're here."

"I would-"

"We're gonna stay out of the quiet now, no more solo trips yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I love you so much my girl. I'm so glad that you're here, and that you're mine."

"I love you too Tom."

His kisses were soft, and scared as he pressed his lips over every piece of skin he could see. He was shaking scared after making an 8 hour trip alone, not know what he was going to come home too. But now you know.

The house, alone, the world, is too quiet

[spicy-dunkaroo]

Stuck by Your Side (Part 1)

♫Now Playing: “Stuck by Your Side (Part 1)” by Spicy Dunkaroo…♪

❀Word Count: 2.5k

❀Rating: PG 13, 18+, Minors Do Not Interact (please)

❀Genre: Mythology AU!, Kelpie! Tamaki Amajiki, a pinch of Angst, very Fluffy, Maybe Smut (Still not sure yet)

❀Summary: Due to your job, you’re forced to visit a beautiful city in Scotland in order to get some reconnaissance on the locals. While on this trip, you grab a drink with a coworker and return home where you begin to notice strange things happen.

❀Warning(s): Cursing, Mentions of Alcohol use (Characters are aged up), and Mentions of Depression

❀Author's Note: Hello everyone!! This will be my first collaboration with the BNHarem server (Of hopefully many more). I hope that if you enjoy this story that you also go ahead and check out the other talented artists/writers that participated in this server collab here. I am beyond grateful to be working with so many amazing writers and artists that have helped me and inspired me to start writing!! I would also like to ask that if there are any warnings I might have missed, please do let me know. The last thing I want to do is have anyone read my story and get triggered because I didn’t properly put the warnings here.

Without further adieu, I hope you enjoy :)

☟❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀☟

Birds singing, leaves crunching, and the wind singing in your ears was all you could hear as the tour guide went on with their one-sided conversation of tour around Inverness, Scotland. If it weren’t for your worrisome supervisor, you’d be in the cute little cottage that you rented for the next few weeks, probably playing on your switch or watching Tigtog videos for hours on end. But noooo, they mandated that everyone had to go on this hour-long tour of the city to “get a nice perspective of the city” or whatever the hell they were rambling on about.

Each person was assigned a partner for the tours so they didn’t have to worry about anyone getting abducted or ‘lost’. Knowing better, you visibly rolled your eyes as your partner looked around like a kid in a candy store. Apparently the woman was from the marketing department as well, her name seeming to leave your memory as you squinted in her direction.

“You forgot my name again, didn’t you?”

“Pfft- no- no way!”

“Yea? Then what is it?”

“Uh, erm...It- it starts with a H, I know that!!”

“It’s Hoshi, or if you’d like to continue with formalities, Ms. Tenmei.”

Hanging your head in shame you look away. Getting lost in your thoughts once more, Hoshi taps on your shoulder.

“Hey, no worries! I’m pretty bad with names myself. How’s camera duty going?”

Saying this, the woman grabs the camera from your grasp, turning it back on to see the pictures you had taken thus far. Whistling, Hoshi looks back at you, noticing the lack of enthusiasm that was painted across your face.

“I know this tour is the last thing either of us want to do, but the quicker you get all those pictures for the portfolio, the quicker we can get out of here and grab a drink. It’ll be my treat if you can get all of them before the end of the tour.”

Nodding your head, you grab the camera back from her, beginning to focus it on a nice view of the lake from the bridge the two of you were standing on. Before you can snap the shot, the tour-guide’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts as he begins to speak about a more interesting topic.

“It’s said that this lake has a kelpie spirit living within its waters. Although, that can be said about any lake that’s big enough to swim in.”

As most tourists begin to talk amongst themselves, you grip onto the expensive camera once more, hoping to find that perfect shot you had before the man’s shrilling voice had interrupted your train of thought.

“Mommy, what’s a kelpie?”

As the little boy spoke, you took the chance to snap the shot as a bird flew on the lake's surface, leaving a black blur on the perfect shot!

‘You’ve got to be kidding me!’

The tour guide you grew to despise butted into the pair’s conversation to answer the boys question.

“That’s a good question kiddo! It’s said that the origins of the Kelpie were originally told as warnings to women and children alike to be alert at all times when not around their loved ones. Despite this, you can ask any local in the area and most could tell you their story of encountering the supposed myth. I suppose we’ll never know till we see one for ourselves. Though, if you’re unlucky enough to encounter such a myth, there’s the chance that you won’t live to tell the tale...”

The boy trembled as he gripped his mother’s dress tighter in his clutch. Your partner begins to scoot closer to you as she whispers into your ear.

“Psst! Hey, what do you think about those ‘kelpie’ hm?”

“It sounds like some sort of folk-lore they tell all the tourists here.”

“Oh c’mon now, you’re no fun! I’d like to think they might not be as brutal as this guy says.”

Scoffing, you shake your partner’s hand from your shoulder as you look into the camera’s lens once more to take another picture.

‘I’m sure it’s all bullshit. There’s no such thing as a shape-shifting kel-‘

Thinking this, you suddenly feel your body begin to fall forward as the bridge railing suddenly let out from beneath you. Before you realize it, you open your eyes to see the water's surface only a mere foot or two from your own face, the camera hanging by your neck and grazing the lake, your body beginning to be pulled back to its upright position.

Turning around to thank whoever it was that just saved you from having to pay for the company camera, you look to see nobody behind you. Nobody seemed to even be around you as you see Hoshi following behind the group of tourists, leaving you in the dust. You begin to chase after the group as you shake off the entire encounter.

Shuffling your bag off of your shoulder you threw it into the nearby chair, slumping into the couch that was adjacent to the chair. You began to hum to yourself as you felt the effects of the beer contest you had with Hoshi who you now knew was your supervisor. Thinking to yourself you remember losing that contest the two of you set up.

‘It was nice of her to pay for us and to bring me back home even though I lost. I should thank her tomorrow and try to pay her back if I can.’

Suddenly feeling the effects of the liquid courage, you stood up a bit too quickly, reaching your hand out to the couch you were just laying on. Not sure what to do, you reached for your phone to scroll through Tigtog, that was until you began to hear something strange. From what you could tell, it sounded like a voice, though you weren’t sure if it was male or female. Curiosity began to take the lead as you stood upright once more. Looking around, you began to walk around the cottage, seeing if there was anything on that could be making that noise. Eventually you found yourself outside in what looked to be the backyard of your little cottage, swaying side to side as you tried to listen for the voice once more.

“Y/N? Are- are you there?”

Under normal circumstances, after hearing an unknown males voice you’d already be locking the backdoor behind you after racing to that door. Tonight, however, was not the case as you yelled back the best you could of a response.

“yYeaa! Wwwhooo- whoo arre yOU?”

After saying this, you suddenly began to burp, probably due to the alcohol. Despite everything you had experienced thus far, for some reason your fit of burps could not be funner to you at that very moment as the voice spoke once more.

“T-That’s not important r-right now. I just wanted to make sure you made it back home safe.”

The liquid courage that coursed through your veins decided that you wanted to find out more about this stranger and began to walk into the forest. You began to sway as you attempted to find them, calling out to them in hopes of convincing them to stay and hang out.

“OoooOh c’mON now!! Don’t be liiiike that! Wh-wherrrreeee are ya? Le-le-let’s hanggg ouT for a bit! I-I *hic* think there’s cards in the liv-livingg roooom~! We- we can play a gggame of poKER and- and see what’s in the fridge. Man, now I’m hungryyy!”

Despite your lack of sobriety at the moment, you began to hear a few leaves crunch nearby. It appeared that for some reason or another, what you lacked in logic you seemed to gain in your basic senses. This theory proved true as you sniffed the air, you noticed that there was a lake nearby.

‘Since when the hell did I know what a river smelled like?’

Before you can continue on with your train of thought, the stranger responds once more. They seemed a bit panicked as you heard a twig snap, followed by more leaves crunching beneath their feet you suspected.

“D-D-Don’t come any closer! Y-You should go back h-home, you’re not t-thinking rationally.”

Not wanting to take no for an answer, you continue to walk to the source of the sound, hearing what sounded like a cascading river growing louder. Looking through the trees, you noticed a few yards away the river you had just heard. You speak up once more as you begin to walk toward the river.

“I-I don’t want to be alone r-right now… It-it’s stupid I know, I just...I’d just like to talk, just for a little bit. Would that be okay?”

Your vision began to blur as you rushed to the river's edge. It didn’t matter now if the stranger responded or not, your world began to crash down around you as you looked at the reflection on the water's edge. Sitting on your knees, small whimpers escaped your lips out as you covered your face with your hands. Despite the literal lack of sight, your emotions consumed you as it felt that everything around you was losing the light that once shone in your hopeful eyes.

At this point, you couldn’t hear any signs of life as you gripped harder at your face, only the sound of your quiet cries for help being all that echoed through that hollow forest. Assuming the worst, you began to move your hands from your face, dropping them by your side once more as you looked at your reflection once again.

“Y-You said you wanted to talk? T-That’d be fine, just- just promise you won’t cry anymore?”

There's a beat of silence, it seemed that not even the wind could speak as your body froze. Sure, you could convince yourself that you were just hearing things, that you were just acting aloof because you were feeling lonely. If you could get yourself on the couch, you could wake up and even tell yourself that the whole experience was just a really surreal dream you had. What you couldn’t convince yourself was the half naked man that appeared to be standing a few feet behind you, his voice matching his lips as you watched them move.

‘Maybe- maybe I’m just seeing things? That-that has to be right, right?! But alcohol doesn’t cause hallucinations and I’m positive that none of my drinks were spiked. So- so...Who the hell is this!?!’

“Are- are you okay Y/N?”

Your body grew stiff as you heard your name roll off of his tongue. If you weren’t getting clearheaded before, you definitely were cold sober now. Those shy indigo eyes that seemed to stare back at your own off of the river's surface as they brought you back to your senses.

‘There is a strange, half-naked man, who somehow knows you by your name, staring at you- talking to you! He doesn’t seem very intimidating, but then again he is a stranger!! In the best case scenario, he could just be a nice guy who found someone in need. Worst case, he’s a psycho that found their next victim! I can’t keep my back turned like this, I have to do something and get the hell out of this!’

Taking a shallow breath in, you swiftly turn your entire body around, facing the stranger that now made your body shiver in fear as you looked up at him. Despite the appearance of the situation, the man seemed to be intimidated by you as he looked away.

‘He doesn’t really seem like he wants to hurt me. If anything, he’s scared of me? Maybe I can intimidate him to leave me alone? Though, I don’t think I could pull it off seeing as I’m still a bit drunk…’

“Y-Y/N?”

Looking back at the man, you notice he begins to reach his hand out toward you, slowly beginning to walk toward your crouched form. Worried for the worst, you scoot away as you respond.

“H-HEY!! D-Don’t come any c-closer! If-If you don’t I-I’ll- ACK!”

Speaking this, you only now notice that there didn’t seem to be any more ground beneath you as you felt your body begin to fall into the river.

“Y/N!”

Before you can process everything that’s happening, you close your eyes in anticipation for the cold water that was bound to drown you. The stranger grabs your wrist, holding your body up above the river, your body mere inches from being submerged in the cold water. Noticing the lack of impact, you flutter your eyes open as you look back at the man before you. Shocked, the man looks down at where he grabbed your wrists. Only now do you notice a purple hue that surrounded both your arms.

“What- what is this?!”

At a loss for words, the man can only look back between your face and where he held your wrist. Confused and scared, you rip your arm from his grip as you stand yourself back up. As you stare at the man, you look around, befuddled by whatever the hell had just happened.

While a part of you would love to ask what just happened, the more logical side of you knew that none of this was worth hanging around to find out. Dusting yourself off, the man speaks up once more as he looks away in what seemed to be guilt.

“Y-Y/N, I-I’m so so-sorry!! I-I didn’t mean to t-touch you- What have I done?!”

Not wanting to wait any longer, you began to shuffle around the man, holding your hands up in surrender as you attempted to empathize with the man. Although, you weren’t sure why he was so worried since he didn’t seem to do anything besides whatever that purple glow was moments before.

“Hey, hey! We don’t have to speak about any of this. I’ll go back and after that we won’t have to ever see each other ever again, okay?”

“Y/N, i-it’s not that simpl- h-Hey, WAIT!!”

Before he had a chance to explain, you sprinted back to your cute rental cottage that you were now wishing you never left. Looking back, you notice the man just stood there as you were almost home.

Suddenly, your body stopped moving. What was even stranger, your body seemed to freeze mid-sprint. Looking around, you noticed that somehow your head was able to move but your arms were stiff as you attempted to force your body to run once more. Just as you were about to give up, your legs moved once more, wobbling as they felt gravity work once more. Not taking any chances, you began to dash once more. Not a second later, your body rolled forward from some sort of large and heavy impact. After your body finished rolling forward, you noticed that you were sitting in the backyard of the cottage, the man sitting on his head as his body laid against the door.

“W-Who or-or What are you?”

The man sighs as he flutters his eyes open, rubbing his head as he looks up at you.

“M-My name’s T-Tamaki Amajiki, and- and I’m a kelpie…”

~End of Part 1~

[captaincravatthecapricious]

Getaway

The trip to Scotland.

cw nausea and vomiting but no details I promise, fainting I think?  I don't really remember, dizziness, food mentions, let me know if I need to add something more I haven't looked at this chapter in a while and I a posting in a rush.

Martin’s hand is damp in his.  The same tacky, salty grit of the Lonely fog.  A little bit of fog trapped between their tangled fingers, or maybe just the anxious sweat of two people who don’t really know each other as well as they should.  

If Jon is being honest, it’s not a comfortable sort of hand holding, but he doesn’t care.  He will keep clinging to Martin’s hand as if that single point of contact can keep Martin weathered to the physical plane.  

It makes packing more difficult, but Jon doesn’t care.  Not as if he hasn’t been living out of a backpack for months, or anything.  (Longer still if you count living off a shelf before most of his belongings were ruined in the flesh attack).  Still, he stuffs in the few items not in his back, and takes a healthy stack of statements and shoves those in, too.  Probably depressing that he can fit those in a single bag with all his earthly belongings.  

Jon doesn’t feel well.  

He hasn’t felt well in a while.  But the exhaustion is getting to him.  Apparently shredding a person with his mind is a bit rough on the body.  Even if the supernatural hunger is more than sated.  

Heh.  The unnatural feeling of being content and full and powerful at the same time as hallow and shakes and weak.  It would be enough to make him dizzy, if he wasn’t already dizzy.  If he hasn’t been dizzy constantly since statements were limited to empty paper, as if he hasn’t been dizzy since his early 20s and his POTS diagnosis.  (And before, but that’s where he was still convinced it was nothing).  

Jon is loathed to let go of Martin’s hand when he starts Daisy’s ancient car.  It’s more than a little beat up.  Jon tries very hard not to remember Mike Crew’s blood in the back seat.  It’s clean now.  Mike’s blood and Jon’s vomit long since scrubbed away.  Nothing quite like being carsick at gunpoint.  

Jon shivers.  

He can’t let himself think about Daisy now.  Such a confusing jumble of anger and fear and sadness and regret and friendship and comradely and resentment.  It’s… it’s too much for him to take in.  

He hasn’t ever been able to reconcile his feelings about Daisy, and now it’s worse.  Worsened with his exhaustion.  They were friends, they were enemies, and he couldn’t give up on her because that would mean that he was also lost.  She hurt him and she loved him in a way.  He couldn’t forgive her and  she was his closest friend for a while.  She was terrible, is terrible, but she was all he had and he loved her for being there.  It’s too much to think about.  And Basira.  Christ, he feels terrible losing Daisy like that, and yes he loved her in a way, but he wasn’t in love with her like Basira is, and he knows the helplessness and emptiness of losing someone he’s in love with.  

He shakes his head roughly.  The bite of headache and way the world sickly twists in and out of focus for a moment distracts him enough to start the car.  He looks over at Martin, pale but solid.  He reaches for Martin’s hand as he drives them to Martin’s flat.  

Jon has to do most of the packing for Martin.  Martin more attached to him than free thinking individual.  Drifting after him, pulled taught by their tethered hands.  A balloon pulled along by the wrist of a small child on a rollercoaster.  Although Jon can’t fault him for that, he thinks that might be an apt description for how he’s feeling.  …Pulled along by unknowable forces beyond his control.  And he’s flapping helplessly in the breeze of a battle far bigger than him.  

No.  Focus.  

Martin.  

Shove clothes and toiletries and tea and books and a few items that Jon judges to look treasured.  A worn stuffed tiger, a few faded pictures, a deck of tarot cards, he even takes the ratty binder that are shoved under the other ones (the nicer ones that Jon has already packed with the essentials), a tattered notebook under a layer of dust, a well loved poetry book, a small box of earrings, and what looks to be Martin’s knitting.  

It’s still a pitifully small amount of luggage for an indefinitely long trip.  The large first aid kit that he found makes him feel a little better.  (Emotionally, but also physically after he downs some paracetamol.  He eyes the dramamine, but he’s going to be driving and he can’t risk getting drowsy.  It’s not like they have time to stop).   

Nausea twists down deep before Jon even starts the car.  Catching at his stomach as he settles Martin’s bags in the back seat.  Still trying to search out the stains that are long gone.  

And oh fuck he killed someone.  

And yeah the bastard deserved it, but Christ he feels sick.  Sitting behind the wheel, staring blankly ahead.  

Martin’s hand in his.  

Martin squeezes his hand.  

Jon squeezes back.  

It’s fine.  He’s fine.  Just… Just drive.  

It’s the next step, and he has always been good at pushing from one step to the next.  Don’t worry about what happens next, just drive.  

Martin is here and… not fine, but alive and whole, and slowly thawing next to him.  

“Hey…”  Jon forces his tight throat and tighter chest to allow the word past.  

They haven’t spoken since Basira told them where to go and gave them a ring of keys.  

This almost shakes Martin out of his stupor.  Almost.  “Hey,” he echos.  

Jon wants to pack so much into a question.  How do you ask everything?  Are you okay?  Do you love me?  Do you know I love you?  Do you need anything?  Are you sure you want to come all this way with me?  Are you okay with moving in with me?  Are you hungry?  If the fog comes for you, will you tell me?  But those are too many words.  Martin starts looking glazed over when there is too much going on.  Too much movement, too many people, too much sound, too many questions.  And Jon wonders if the Lonely only served to magnify this, and if so, did he notice?  Did Martin hide it well?  Did Jon make it worse?  What if he makes it worse now, but what if he makes it worse by not saying anything.  

“You ready?”  This will have to be enough.  

Martin nods, apparently not noticing the pause.  

Jon tries not to jump out of his skin when Martin starts rubbing circles on Jon’s hand.  It’s surprising, but it feels nice.  

More than nice.  

Jon starts the car.  

It’s chilly.  Late September.  And it’s getting dark.  Both in that the sun is going down, and in that storm clouds are gathering.  

Jon knows they can’t stop for the night.  

He just has to get them to Scotland.  Hopefully then it will all be okay.  

They stop at a service station just out of the city.  Jon gets a black coffee.  He buys Martin a tea and a sandwich.  

He knows the coffee won’t do his stomach any favors, and will more likely than not set his heart to hammering, but it will be worth it not to fall asleep at the wheel.  

He can’t let Martin drive until Martin looks like less like a space cadet.  

But Jon hopes the tea brings color back to Martin’s face, even if he can’t quite tell in the sickly light of the service station, or the dim light of the evening as Jon tops up the petrol.  

Highway before and behind, and Jon is throwing up.  Pulled to the wrong side of the road in the dark and the rain.  Trembling as Martin rubs his back and gently pulls back his hair.  

They aren’t even halfway there.  His heart is beating too quickly.  Anxiety?  Caffeine?  POTS?  Nausea?  Who’s to say.  But Jon is miserable, but there isn’t much choice, because being a passenger will make it worse, even if that would mean he could take some medicine.  But Martin is in not fit state to drive.  And Martin must know that, because for all his soothing, he doesn’t offer to drive.  Or he almost offers, but Jon can see the thought die on his lips.  Besides, Jon is fairly certain Martin can’t drive a manual transmission car.  Not that Jon is particularly good at it, and stalled the engine twice leaving London.  

The occasional car and lorry thunders past.  On the side of the road, Jon can feel their movement in his core.  He worries how he will get them safely back on the road, as he spits in the dirt.  

“Sorry.  Let’s go,” he mumbles his embarrassment to Martin.  

He tries to ignore the pitying look that Martin has fixed on him.  

“Sure we can’t stop?”  

Jon shakes his head, and the dizziness threatens to take him down.  He sags against Martin for a moment.  “Can’t risk it.  Perils of being on the run, I’m afraid.”  

Martin frowns at him.  

“I’m fine.  Just… tired and… well, carsick.  We’ll be there by morning.”

“Yeah and the fact that you basically collapsed against me is something I’m just supposed to ignore?”  

Jon waves him off.  

The brief conversation seems to have stolen all of Martin’s words.  He quietly gets back in the car, and Jon shudders and sways without Martin’s warm bulk holding him up.  

He starts the car, and takes Martin’s hand.  

Just a few more hours.  Then they can rest.  

[mytwilightimagines13]

Memories from the past (Caius Volturi)

Word count: Trigger warning: mention of depression

Okaay, so I have decided to try and make one poly story. It seems they are quite popular and since my bisexual ass loves blondes, I figured I will ship our main character with Caius and Athenodora. Also I haven’t seen this ship just yet and I want to explore it hehe. Also, I got the idea from the facebook post below, so thanks for that person for giving me an idea! Hope you guys enjoy it!

Word count: 1083 Trigger warning: mention of depression, suicide

Here lies Isabella Marie Swan September 13th 1987 – September 16th 2027 "Death lies on her like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field." (Romeo and Juliet, Act IV, Scene V, Line 33)

I stood as I looked at the gravestone. My mother’s gravestone. I knew what I was supposed to feel. I had to feel grief, I had to mourn. Yet I didn’t. I was relieved, happy. She was finally free, she could finally rest. “Are you ready to go, kiddo?” my grandfather asked, his voice still shaking with pain. I nodded my head, finally removing my stare from the gravestone and towards the brown orbs that belonged to my grandfather. The brown was surrounded by red as his eyes were puffy from crying. “Yes, let’s go. Shall we go to the diner?” I asked, hoping some food would lift our spirits. Grandpa simply nodded his head as he wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close to his side. His hand was wrinkled yet laid firmly on them, almost afraid I would vanish as well.

“You know you aren’t allowed to drink, Xandria.” Grandpa said as I took a sip of my white wine. I chuckled. “I turn 21 next month gramps. Besides, I am allowed to drink in Scotland” I said as I took another sip. Grandpa rolled his eyes. “Yet you are in the United states right now. But I guess I can let this one drink slide for today.” He said as he took a sip of his beer. His hair was almost completely white, with some gray streaks woven through it. His face had been wrinkled and a kind yet stern look resided on it. And finally, a moustache in the same colour as his hair accompanied his features. I chuckled sadly at his remark. “Thank you, grandpa. And thank you for letting me stay here.” I said as I played around with my glass. “Anytime panda.” He said, using the nickname he gave me when I was a little chub. Grandma had once dressed me up in a complete panda jumpsuit as a toddler (yes, including with a hat that had little ears on it) and since then the nickname had stuck. The memory of it made me smile as I still had the little jumpsuit back at home.

Grandpa drove us back to his house, the ride back to it was quiet, as had our time at the diner has been. Neither of us felt like talking, not knowing what to discuss without returning to the topic that was my mother. My now dead mother. Once inside I helped grandpa get comfortable on the couch with another beer in his hand watching the football match that evening, yet his eyes where hallow. He merely stared at the screen. I kissed his cheek and made my way upstairs, towards mum’s old room. I jumped on the bed, plunging my face in the pillow as the tears finally came. Truth be told, she never really was much of a mother to me, sure she tried to be there for me but she had a crippling depression that she never could break out from. I had never seen her smile, well truly smile for that. There were only ghosts of what might once had been a genuine smile around her lips, but it never reached her eyes. I sad up and sniffed as I wiped my eyes. I had to remember that she was in a beter place now, and that she was happy. I sighed as I got up to make my way towards the bathroom, only to trip over a loose floor board. I yelped softly as I caught myself on the door handle, my other hand smacking against the wall beside it hard. “Everything okay up there, Panda bear?” Grandpa yelled from downstairs. “Yeah I am fine gramps, just lost my balance. No worries!” I yelled back as I turned around and examined the loose floorboard, only to discover it had a hidden compartment underneath. I knelt down to examine the compartment closer and found a small box hidden in it. I gently grabbed it and sat down on the bed. The box itself was a velvet blue with a simple clasp to keep the lit closed. I flicked the claps and carefully raised the lit, only to find multiple photographs of my mother and a necklace with some sort of crest on it. The crest was made of a lion, with a hand above it and three clovers in a banner underneath the lion. It was beautiful. I felt the tears burning yet again as I grabbed the pictures and started to look through them. It was my mother in her senior year of High School. She had pictures with all of her friends, they were in the parking lot, in classes or they were hanging out. But the last picture intrigued me the most. It was my mother on her 18th birthday, and she was standing next to a boy who seemed to be her age, only there was something odd about him. My eyes traced over his pale white features: the hard square of his jaw, the softer curve of his full lips—twisted in a smile, the straight line of his nose, the top of his forehead—partially obscured by the tangle of rain-darkened bronze hair. He seemed almost unnatural. But the thing that shocked me the most was my mother’s smile. It was genuine. Real. It even reached her eyes. I close my eyes and try to control the tears that are threatening to fall once again. I imagined she might have smiled this way the moment before she jumped off that cliff. I imagine she might have thought about this man. Maybe he was once her true love, before she met my father. Maybe he passed away, and is that the reason why no longer could smile after both he and my father passed away. I could not imagine what it would be like to lose someone you love twice. Even if it might have been years apart. I finally opened my eyes and allowed for one last tear to slip away. I had to believe she was happy now. That she was with my father and her first love again. That she is smiling now like she did in the picture I was holding close to my chest. I just had to believe that.

[platonicavengers]

headcanons for being the youngest maximoff (part two)

pairings: maximoff twins x sibling!gn!reader && avengers x gn!reader

warnings: spoilers for infinity war + endgame, death, non-descriptive violence, idk

author’s note: IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG TO COME OUT AAAAAAAA it was supposed to be up a while ago but things got in the way and im so sorry :(

tags: @madamevirgo​  @euphoniumpets​

headcanons under the cut !

so

after steve broke everyone out of the raft you were all on the run for a while

vision and natasha joined you all at some point, and scott and clint returned home to their families

after a while wanda and vision decided to stay in scotland, leaving you with sam, nat, and steve

you were not a huge fan of the idea of leaving her behind

you had already lost your parents and pietro and even though she wasn’t dead you still wouldn’t be able to see her

but you knew why she did what she did

fast forward a little bit

you find out that tony went missing

and then that wanda and vision are being attacked

so u all fly to scotland to help them

*insert u being a badass and beating the shit out of an alien*

finally reuniting w your sister

there were tears

when you arrived back at the compound it was like a breath of fresh air after so long

it’s a shame you weren’t there under better circumstances

immediately getting upset when you saw the hologram of ross

that motherfucker

anyways

going to wakanda was an.... interesting experience

you wanted to enjoy it 

but considering why you were there,,,,,,

it was kinda hard to enjoy it lol

wanda ofc stayed up in the lab with vision and shuri

she wanted you to stay up there as well so she could keep an eye on you

she was very hesitant to let you go into the front lines of the battle

even though you were an adult now you were still her little sibling and she was worried for you

you assured her that you would be fine though

fine might be pushing it but

let’s be realistic here

you kicked some alien ass down there

taking out enemy after enemy with no hesitation

pretty impressive tbh. ur fucking awesome

ily

anyways

eventually wanda came down to join the battle

the two of you fought alongside each other

badass sibling duo ugh yes

but then

you had to go against thanos himself

ugly ass mf

you tried to use your magic to remove his gauntlet

you were unsuccessful

he kinda tossed you to the side like a rag doll

which hurt like a bitch

when he snapped you had no idea what tf to do

i mean you had just lost, what were you supposed to do?

you were in the middle of crawling over to wanda, wanting to try to comfort her over the loss of vision

but then she just kinda, disintegrated?

you were in shock for a minute

but then it hit you

“no, no, no, no, no...”

you started sobbing

now you had officially lost your whole family

after a little bit you made your way over to what was left of the team

you all kinda stood in silence for a little while, just processing everything that had happened

eventually you all returned to the quinjet and flew back home

for the first two-ish weeks after the snap you just locked yourself in your room and refused to leave

though eventually you did leave your room again, though very reluctantly

after three weeks had passed by carol, who you were quite fascinated by, returned to the compound carrying a spaceship with her

turns out tony was on said ship

you were glad to see him after so long

and now we jump to going to space to beat thanos’ ass (a g a i n)

you had never been to space before so it was quite a new experience

shame it was under such poor circumstances

when you arrived at thanos’ residence you were out for blood

he took your last remaining family and you were not in the mood to let him get away with it

and then you found out the stones were gone

and everything he had done couldn’t or so you thought be reversed

you were already ready to kill thanos before, but especially now that that was revealed

sadly though, thor took the responsibility of killing the titan himself

*5 years later*

you were 23 now

a whole ass adult

you still lived at the compound with natasha, not exactly having anywhere else to go

not like you would’ve left anyways but

nat had become your sort of support system over the last few years

after all, at this point you really only had each other

all of the rest of the remaining team went their separate ways, none of which deciding to stay with the two of you

one day though steve comes by

you were glad to see him, you had missed him a lot since he left

the three of you had a not-so-positive conversation and then out of nowhere scott appears at the front gate

he tells you his insane idea of using the quantum realm to time travel back to before thanos

you were very wary

you didn’t exactly have a lot of knowledge on the quantum realm but you could still tell that it seemed risky

the four of you went to tony’s house to try to convince him

he almost immediately said no

yikes

you all tried to convince him but to no avail

so you went to bruce hulk instead

bruce?? hulk?? who tf is he tbh

but anywho

when you saw him you were kinda like ????????

but chose to ignore it

you got him to agree to the time travel thing

and it was ?somewhat? successful

somewhat is pushing it tbh

scott became a baby which wasn’t great

but then tony showed up and fixed it like the genius he is

you helped recruit all the remaining avengers to help w the whole time travel thing

you were going to go back in time and get the stones before thanos could

you went with clint and natasha to vormir

you thought it made the most sense for you to sacrifice yourself

after all you weren’t even positive this whole thing with the stones would work, and you couldn’t risk continuing to live a life without wanda and the rest of the team

they stopped you before you could jump though

when natasha dropped you swore your heart stopped beating

she had been all you had for the past 5 years and then she was just gone

you ended up getting the soul stone but at what cost

you and clint returned to the compound and there was a small ‘memorial’ (for lack of a better word) for natasha

after that tony put all of the stones together into a makeshift gauntlet

after a little bit of deliberation it was decided that bruce would be the one to snap his fingers

bruce, hulk, whatever tf

brulk

LMFAO

sorry back to the headcanons LOL

he snapped

immediately everything felt different

you went out to look out a window, seeing a few butterflies fluttering around that you knew weren’t there before

a smile immediately took over ur face

“hey guys, i think it worked!” - you

you were about to turn around and walk back to everyone else

but then

you saw a large ship in the distance

and something began flying toward the compound

and then everything went dark

when you woke up again you were buried under a bunch of rubble

which bruce picked up off of you

you ran out to where thor, tony, and steve were

you saw thanos and froze

they were engaged in a battle and you tried to keep your distance in order to collect yourself for a moment

which proved to be futile because you were dragged into the fight not long after

you kinda got your ass handed to you

it wasn’t pretty

you were lying on the ground when all of a sudden you saw orange light surrounding you

you looked up to see portals opening, all your allies who you had thought to be dead stepping out

you saw wanda and you stopped breathing for a moment

you got up as quick as you could

which proved to be difficult due to ur injuries and overall extreme fatigue

you launched yourself at her, bringing her into the tightest hug you could muster

the two of you held onto each other for a moment before you had to return to fighting

maximoff sibling teamup part 2???? yeah most definitely 

fast forward to after thanos and his bitch ass army lost (im sorry i just really dont have the energy to write all that rn)

and to after tony’s funeral 

you and wanda had a l o t of catching up to do

like

5 years worth LOL

u had to comfort her over vision’s death a lot

considering that to her, that was still only a couple days ago

and a lot of the time when you two talked the mood was kinda depressing, all things considered

but you still tried to keep it lighthearted

for example

your absolute favorite thing in the world was the fact that you were now older than her due to the snap, 3 years older to be exact

you held it over her all the time, constantly making fun of her for it

all in good fun of course

something wanda really loved was when you would tell her stories from when she was in the soul world (only happy ones ofc)

though it made her sad that you had to go so long without her, and she missed out on so much

she wanted to know what she had missed

all in all

you two were incredibly close, the snap and its aftermath only further confirming that

sibling goals tbh

a/n #2: aaaaaa im sorry to end it on that note (i didnt know how to end it im sorry asf) but yeah </3 and once again, so sorry this took me so long to post, ive been super busy with school && life in general so i just havent gotten around to it :( butttttttttttt if u guys want i could try to continue this series of headcanons for wandavision?? i’d wait until friday ofc for the final episode and id spoiler tag it and everything but i could try my best? might be kinda difficult but i think it could be fun so if anyone wants that then lmk!! :)

[oh-styles]

Something About a Beginning: Part II

First off, I want to thank each and every one of you for your immense patience. (More so than others, but I digress.) Writing on such topics when you yourself aren’t in the most healthiest mentality is a struggle alone, but we got here. 

Second off, if you haven’t read the first part, you can so here. These chapters implicate bouts of depression and talks of miscarriage, so read at your own will. 

I do want to note that I mention Robin in this story, and I was hesitant to include him because I felt it wasn’t appropriate, because he shouldn’t be used as entertainment purposes (i.e. in stories) but I mention him only with love and respect.

Again, thank you for your patience, and happy reading.

July 3, 2019 London, England

Harry lost his girl.

She vanished in the night – gone with the wind – and all that remained was a ghost of a woman, transparent and bleak. He hasn’t seen her smile since that night, coming close to a week now, and his gut retches at the thought he might never get his girl back.

She’s buried herself in the sheets; the window is opened a crack, and he spots an empty bottle of melatonin laying overturned on her bedside table. He stares intently at her body, watching as the sheets rise and fall to the pattern of her placid breathing, and he thinks for a moment that she’s finally found herself a better place. Not dead—not by any means. Whatever dream world she has found herself delved in, he knows she might have found a sliver of peace there, hopefully smiling.

“She’s sleeping, mum.” Harry says into his phone, taking a step back to gently close the bedroom door. “Rande and Cindy invited us to Muskoka but…” His words hung in the air, like the elephant in the room, but his mother knew all too well what was lingering on the precipice of her sons’ tongue.

But she’s too depressed.

But she can’t go a day without crying.

But I don’t think she has the energy to leave the house.

It’s been four days since the attack, and Harry hasn’t seen her take a step outside of their bedroom.

“Love, she’s wasting away in there. It might help her a little to get out, get some sun…”

“Mum, I can’t even get her to sit in the fucking garden.” He can hear his mother’s nettled sigh on the other end of the line, but how can anyone expect him to put her on a mother fucking airplane if she can’t even bother to walk the 30 meters to the fucking garden? “The sodding paps were outside the house last night.”

“They can’t—”

“I’m aware.” He begins to descend his way down the stairs, stopping to peer out from the front window – an old, worn out habit. “I think it’s best we get away for a bit. The story hasn’t died down… I think it’ll help—getting away. They won’t bother us there.”

Harry knew your answer before he even had the chance to ask; he knew he was wasting his time in even suggesting such a thing, but the guilt would eat away at him if he didn’t even try.

“Muskoka…Canada, remember? We went there last year.” He sat at the edge of the bed, running a hand over the sheets where a peek of your shoulder laid exposed. “It’ll be quiet. Nobody there to bug us. If you want to just hang out in the hotel room the whole time, I’d be fine with that. It’s just…”

I can’t stand to see you burrowed away another day.

“I’m really worried about you… I’m just trying to help.” He was powerless, and he knew it. He couldn’t take her by the arm and force her on a plane, but god forbid he try his damned hardest. “No paps, nobody. I promise. I wouldn’t take you there if it wasn’t safe.”

He feels a stir beneath him, and from underneath the covers, a small hand inches outward and lays upward, a silent plea for intimacy—a piece of familiarity he hasn’t touched in days. He reaches out and clasps her hand in his, and readjusts himself to lay beside her.

“You can think about it. I don’t need an answer this second, but give it a day or two, okay?”

He sees her nod, and her eyes blink open to meet his, only for a second, before they are closed once again for the remainder of the night.

*

July 6, 2019 Ontario, Canada

Muskoka came and went. Nothing advantageous to really capture your attention, though you kept your head nestled low in a book for most of your stay. You tossed a couple Stephen King novels into your bags without much thought, and by the time your trip was coming to an end, you had already completed one and started another.

A photo made its rounds online of you at dinner with Harry, Rande and Cindy, and even thinking back to that night, you couldn’t recount a time where you felt a pair of eyes boring at your table. You think it might be because you paid more attention to the drink menu than your friends, but you digressed. They only saw the back of your head, and not even the photographer mentioned you. You were also mistaken for Kaia on a couple occasions.

After Muskoka, you were back in London, and not much later Harry would be jetting off to Italy for Google Camp, and a few days after that, he was set to fly to Mexico for a video shoot. He was redundant to go, and even called Jeff to see if they could reschedule, but that would cause a delay for the next video they’d film only a week later. He asked if you wanted to join him, and you kindly declined. You were much aware of his past video sets, and how common it was to see photos and videos leaked online, and you were far from interested to be included.

You were much happier to find yourself under the watchful eyes of Anne Twist.

“I can meet you in Scotland if I’m feeling up to it.” You knew it was a scorching lie crawling right off your tongue, but if it meant he carried some hope with him, then you would feed him whatever white lies you could muster. Even Anne knew better than to believe you.

“I think Canada was good for you, love, but you need some rest, too. Can’t be travelling all over the bloody world, now, can you?”

It was a nice feeling to know she had your back.

In another life would a little green monster be envious of missing such a trip to Cancun, but the only desires you had were sitting in Anne’s garden being force fed a steady cup a tea and a plate of biscuits.

Anne didn’t pry; she knew well what you needed, but she would be keeping her sons promise on keeping you safe, and she knew there was no safer place for you to be.

It was August now, and the heat felt suffocating. You and Anne spent your mornings walking to the bakery her son once worked in, grabbing a quick breakfast before heading to the park. You would pick off pieces of your croissant and toss it at the squirrels, but you almost always scared them off. Anne told stories of when Harry was a child, and how he once tried to tell her Gemma was a drug dealer.

“She was only a child,” she hummed, laughing into her coffee. “But he was always a character to have around.”

“I feel like…between you and me, right?” You could hear in the distance the sound of a goose honking and a group of children wailing, running away. “I just…don’t want to upset him.”

Anne reached over and took your hand in hers. “Anything you say is always safe with me, love.”

“I’m mad he left me here.” There was a short beat, but you could feel your throat close, and that anger begin to well up in your chest. “This…this is also…”

“I know, love.” She scooted closer, squeezing your hand. “Everyone has their own ways of dealing with grief. Harry isn’t good at sitting around… Even when Robin passed, he didn’t like to sit. He needed to go do something.”

You remember, and yet you still recall him lying on his mother’s couch in tears. You don’t think he’s cried since the two of you left the hospital a couple weeks ago.

“He loves you, darling. He calls me every day to check in on you. Don’t think for a second he doesn’t care.”

Even with her words, you felt something was missing.

*

Harry was only in Scotland for a couple days before he was finally home, but it wouldn’t be long before he would be venturing off to Italy – again – for another work-related conquest. You weren’t sure why he was so content with country hopping every couple of weeks instead of resting at home with you, but you didn’t bother bludgeoning him with questions.

“After I’m through with Italy—I won’t even be there a day—I’ll be back home, but a couple weeks later, I have to go to LA for some meetings… I’d like you to come, if that’s okay.”

Again. There’s always something. It must be so fucking difficult to stay in one place for more than a couple weeks with your grieving girlfriend.

“Also…I was meaning to ask you. Ariana is in town in a few days… Wanted to know if you wanted to come with me and the guys… I think it’ll be fun.”

“Your child died a month ago and you want to go to a fucking Ariana Grande concert.” The words fell helplessly from you, but it was weeks of anguish and neglect that hit its final tier, and you were quite tired of hanging on. “Tell me….how does that make sense to you?”

“Excuse me?” For the first time that night, he looked at you. All before, he found excuses to shift his glances to anything but you, maybe in fear of reality finally hitting him in the face with what he’s been running from for weeks, but for the first time that night, he bared his eyes down at you, and his mouth fell open.

“I’m sorry—have I been hallucinating you just picking your shit up and leaving every chance you get?”

“I’ve had work—” He took to his feet, swiftly flinging his hand out to close the lid of his luggage.

“Any normal person—I swear, any normal person would stay home, and fucking grieve, except you, who wants to fucking fly everywhere and work, because that would require facing his fucking prob—”

“I have a job—I know it’s hard for you to relate to that, but I have commitments—”

“And what am I then? If not a commitment, then what, Harry?”

“You are a commitment—”

“Then where have you been? Why have I been staying with your mother? I know you invited me to go with you, but I shouldn’t have to. I’m fucking hurting, Harry! I don’t want to go to Cancun and Italy—I want to be here with you. Do you know how fucking hard it’s been dealing with this without you here?”

For once, he was silent, but he shifted on his feet.

“You haven’t cried. Not since the hospital. I can’t count how many times I’ve cried, and you sit around texting your band or going to video shoots… If you feel nothing—no grief or anything…if you didn’t even want the baby, just tell me. Make this easier on me, please.”

“How the fuck can you say that I didn’t want the baby? My heart is fucking hurt!”

“Then act like it!”

“You really think I can sit around every day and watch you fall apart? I have to be the strong one… If it can’t be you, then it has to be me, and I don’t like watching you hurt.”

“You know…you sometimes have a really shitty way showing people you care about them.”

You stood there, arms folded in resistance, and he couldn’t take his eyes from off the floor. He felt cornered, and he was defenseless with nothing else left to give. His bags still laid on the bed, clothes scattered over the sheets ready to be put up, and you knew this room was no place for you. Your purse was downstairs, and your phone in your pocket.

“I’m going to stay with Gemma tonight. I’ll have her pick me up. Please don’t follow me out.” 

*

She’s always been the quiet one.

The first time she met you, at a family gathering you were reluctant to attend despite the persistent reassurance from your other half, she knew from the moment she saw you that you were different from all the others. You held yourself different, much shorter, like you knew you could never become the center of attention.

You studied the room, holding onto Harry’s hand as he introduced you to his mother, and that’s when Gemma appeared from over her mother’s shoulder.

“About time I meet you,” she chuckled, reaching her hand out. “I’m Gemma.”

She watches you now from the edge of the driveway, sitting on the steps of the porch with only the light above you illuminating your surroundings. From behind you, she spotted the silhouette of her brother peeking through the curtains, keeping a close eye for just in case.

Your track record wasn’t a good one.

As she approaches, you perk your head up with a sigh of relief. For the first time, she was the Styles you nothing but needed.

“Come on, Magoo,” she chirps as she finally reaches you, lifting her hand out for you to take. “We can hit the McDonald’s drive-thru.”

Laura Nyro played over her car stereo, a melodious tune you recall hearing once before on a long drive in Cheshire. You shut your eyes, and the memory floods you like a storm, like a stampede parading across your chest, and you lean over to rest your head on the window.

Gemma reached her hand over to find yours, giving it three squeezes of solace.

I. Love. You.

The cut that was tucked away in your hairline was in its last stages of healing, and a scar would most certainly take its place. You always felt the erratic throbbing, like a little reminder that no matter how far you run, your problems will always be chasing you like the devil.

“Did I make a mistake?”

Gemma turned her attention from the road, lifting your hand up with hers, and planting a soft kiss to your knuckles.

“No, Magoo. I’m sorry to tell you, but you’re dating a dumbass.” She heard a muted hum in response. “Nobody is perfect… Not even that shithead. I can see where he thought what he was doing was okay, because he was sacrificing his feelings for you, but… that’s just not how you do it.”

You could drink to that.

Gemma spotted the golden arches and took a left at the light. “I’m glad you texted me… Haven’t had a bloody girl’s night in ages. It sucks under the circumstances but…” She turned back to you with a wink. “I’ll take what I can get.”

On the journey back to her flat, you pleasantly sipped at your chocolate milkshake and tapped your feet to the music, and even sporadically hummed along to the few chords you knew. It really didn’t take much to please you.

Gemma was never gifted a sister as a child. Though, she did want one, and was thoroughly distraught when her mother brought home a brother all those years ago, she did grow accustomed and grew to love the curly haired boy who she would then share with the world. But the girl beside her, who slurped her drink and choked behind a laugh of a joke about a time traveler who walks into a bar, had burrowed herself deep within her heart, much like she does with any counterpart she meets.

It’s incredibly difficult not to meet this girl and not hold some sort of placement in her life. Her heart is massive, but the love she radiates is gracious and touches anyone who dares get too close.

And the love Gemma has for her is just as the same.

Michal was asleep when the two of you arrived; you knew your way around, and confidently walked to the spare room down the hall, last door on the right. Gemma trailed behind you, holding your milkshake as you flipped on the light, and kicked off your shoes.

Olivia was already sprawled out over the comforter.

“Could you stay with me, tonight?”

“You don’t have to ask me twice, babe.” Gemma smirked, setting your drink down on the bedside table. “Have you ate?”

You shook your head, even trying to recall if you had mustered an appetite to have some breakfast, but even then you think you took a couple bites out of an apple and forgot about it.

“I’ll make you something—actually, Michal and I have spinach ravioli left over… Want me to heat some of that up for you?”

You graciously nodded. “You’re too good for me.”

“I just love you is all.”

The next morning, the spot beside you was visibly vacant, and from down the hall you could vaguely hear a low, sullen voice talking over the sound of the television. Gemma fired back in response, and from your feet, Olivia peeked her head from the covers, turning towards the disrupting noise.

“Let her sleep—she’s exhausted—”

“Just give me five bloody minutes!”

You knew any chance of sleep you wish you had was far gone.

“I’m up—just fucking talk!” You hollered into your pillow, your eyes still adjusting to the sunlight cascading into the room. You could guess it wasn’t any later than nine that morning, and before you had a moment to check, his unquestionable footsteps neared your door, and you heard a light tap. “I’m obviously awake.”

After you walked out the night before, he ignored your wishes and followed you downstairs where the shortest reaction he got from you was the front door slamming in his face.

“Can I talk?”

I don’t know, can you?

“You literally came here and woke me up from some incredible sleep, mind you, and you’re asking me if you can talk.” He was in a blind panic and darted his eyes around the room. “Well, talk.”

“I’m a fucking twat, I know this. It’s inexcusable what I did—what I put you through—it was selfish—I’m so fucking selfish—I can’t fucking deal with this kind of stuff, and I’m a bloody twat for leaving you because I can’t handle it. It’s cowar—I’m a coward! I can’t face shit—and I love you so much, and I left you… I’m so sorry, please believe me. I’m such a twat—"

“Shut up, please—you’re giving me a migraine.” You held up a single finger as you adjusted yourself in bed. “Look, I don’t even know how early it is, and you know how much I hate mornings.”

“I know, but…I didn’t want to wait until the afternoon to talk to you.”

“That’s fair.”

“It’s 10:30 by the way.”

“Did you practice that speech in your car, or did you just wing it?”

While you were in bed with Gemma, watching King of the Hill on her iPad, Harry resided to his office where he spent much of the evening hunched over his journal, scrawling out endless messages to you about how much of a wanker he is, and by the time the sun began to rise, he had his eyes in his hand and began waiting for an appropriate time to come and see you.

“I…thought a little bit about it, yeah.”

“You really hurt me, alright? It’s not something I can just forget because you said you were sorry. When I needed you the most, you weren’t there. What kind of partner is that?” He stood silent in his spot; his hands dug deep into his trousers. Suddenly, he was a little boy again getting scolded by his mother. “I had your mom, I had Gemma, but not you. The only person I needed. I get this wasn’t part of the plan, and we got our hearts broken, but that doesn’t give you the right to run off because you can’t handle seeing me upset.”

Olivia stretched her limbs out over the covers, purring against the sheets.

“I appreciate you coming, I really do. This isn’t something I can just forget and move on from. I want to work on this, but it’s going to take time… I still love you though.”

*

September 19, 2019 Los Angeles, California

“Your shirt looks like amebae under a microscope.”

He stifled a grunt, looking down at his shirt with concentration, and every so subtly did you see him glance swiftly at the bathroom mirror. “I’m surprised you even know what ameba are.”

“Or it looks like those eye floaties you get, but…colorful, you know?”

“Will you stop bullying me?”

“Only when you tell me how much you paid for that shirt.”

For a second, and you saw it flash through his eyes, he considered telling you, but figured that was a fight for a different afternoon. His silence was all the answer you needed. You nodded and left the room.

He found himself eminently lucky that you even agreed to accompany him to Los Angeles, but it was under the one condition that he takes you to In-N-Out whenever you oh so politely asked. Though, after you harassed him over his attire that morning, he was undecided to change his mind.

He didn’t.

You did, however, apologize and say he looked like a sexy ameba, and he then locked you out of the car for five minutes.

To be fair, you only accepted his offer to travel with him because you missed your friends, and they were the one thing that remained untouched from the summer. You felt the emptiness being carried with you with every passing day, and all the books and websites said that was normal, but finding distractions and hobbies to pass the time was coming close to becoming a sport – way too laborious for you.

You even found yourself searching “Losing interest in things I used to like” and you were considerably shocked to discover the rabbit hole Google led you down.

You didn’t consider yourself depressed, not by any means. Sure, you were sad most of the day, you never really gained your appetite back, you stopped painting and watching King of the Hill and Breaking Bad, and if you didn’t spend the entire day sleeping, you would lay in bed with your eyes closed, praying you would eventually grow tired enough to slip away for a little while.

Harry even signed you both up for couple’s therapy.

“This is for people who cheated on each other and refuse to break up!”

But regardless of your inherent fussing, he refused to back down. Where the two of you stood mentally, this was your last chance at redemption, and he wasn’t letting you back out. The way he saw it, if you didn’t make an effort to try and fix what was broken, there was no hope for the relationship moving forward.

That was when you realized the outcome was more than just losing your baby.

After the first session, you made an appointment with your physician, who later prescribed not only you with anti-depressants, but Harry as well. Your world was spinning madly, in every which direction, but at least you had your boy holding on madly with you.

The first time you encountered a fan since the summer happened on that very first outing in Los Angeles when you and Harry were arriving for your lunch plans. (Not In-N-Out, but you let it go.) If it had been solely one girl, you trust that you could easily fight her off if given the opportunity. I mean, sure, you didn’t fight off that other girl, but she had the upper hand, or so you tell yourself.  

But, no, she was with a group, and you felt the urge to vomit.

“I’m going to throw up—” You propel yourself in the other direction, ready to sprint back to the parking lot, and thinking back on it now, you can’t even remember the last time you even sprinted. “Let me sit in the car—let’s get the food to go—I don’t care—”

This is why we should have fucking gone to In-N-Out.

“Pet—you can’t run forever, okay? I know it’s fucking scary, but you have to face this one day.” You remember the exact quote Harry was reciting from the therapist, just with less profanity. “I won’t let them do shit, alright?”

They did stop him, of course, and you took a few steps away so they could have their moment, but you made sure he was still an arm grab away incase—

“Hey,” You had disregarded the voice, opening a game on your phone – Numberzilla – before you registered someone had spoken to you. “I’m sorry to bother you…”

At first glance, you could easily discern she was unsure of herself. She likely had a rush of confidence, and now standing blankly in front of you, she has lost all certainty. From behind, you peered up to find Harry staring at the back of her head, already inching into his pocket for his keys.

“Oh,” you gulp, clutching your phone in your hands. “Hi…”

“I just…was just hoping that you were doing okay.”

Doing okay, because of—

Your heart thudded to a stop.

“You alright?” Harry was at your side, and the young girl took a step back.

“Sorry—I’m sorry.” She gave a weak smile. “I just wish the best for you two.”

She was already walking off when you mustered up the words to thank her, but you were doubtful she heard you. Harry’s arm was in a tight grip around your backside, with his keys hung in his hand, ready to run.

The two of you cancelled your lunch plans and hit In-N-Out instead.

*

September 24, 2019 Los Angeles, California

“Is it okay?”

It was a Tuesday; you had a clear agenda for the day, and it was a little after lunch that you found yourself aimlessly clicking through channels, with your boyfriend sitting down by your feet, flipping through the pages of your current read.

You had felt the undeniable ache since the night before, and you thought maybe if you just ignore it, it’ll go away, but it only lingered, taunting you with its insatiable lust.

The itch you don’t want to scratch.

Your heart was racing, your palms were sweaty, and it didn’t matter how tightly you squeezed your legs together, nothing could rid you of this.

“H,” You poked his leg with your toe. “Bear with me on this, okay?” He didn’t respond, but he carefully set your book back down on the coffee table. “Will you have sex with me real quick?”

“I…you want to?”

“Do you have condoms? Because if not, I can take care of this myself—”

“Yes, yes, I have them. I have—they’re upstairs.”

And there you were, minutes later, his cock was inside of you, and he slowly rolled his hips carefully into you, dipping his toes into the water. He physically cannot express how much this meant to him, and how long he hid this desire deep in his gut, because God forbid he be the one to bring it up. If he had to wank off in the bathroom in between commercial breaks until you decided you were ready to have sex again, he’d find a way to tolerate it.

“Is it okay?” He choked out in between breaths; only minutes in, and he was cradling dangerously on the edge.

“Yeah—yeah, it’s okay. It feels good.” You readjusted your hips, stretching your leg out to wrap around his. “Maybe a little faster?”

“I’ll cum in a second—” He shook his head, halting his movements when that tiny, little knot inched closer to unravelling. “Just give me a sec.”

“Babe—”

“Hold—” He reached his arm under the bend of your knee, lifting it up as he thrusted back into you. “Fuck—”

He was relentless; you stretched your hand down between your thighs, rubbing and kneading that small bundle of nerves as his cock hit deep within you with no sign of letting up.

It had been way too long.

“Harry—fuck—” It was deep, pulsating, and you lifted your hips up as your orgasm radiated throughout your every limb, tightening around his cock as he thrusted hard, giving you one last nudge of pleasure as his grip tightened around the sheets, fucking into you with a lasting, animalistic moan, cumming thick ropes into you.

You made him access the condom, triple checking there wasn’t a hole unbeknownst to either of you, and after a fourth overview, he politely asked you if he could throw away his used condom now.

You would be okay this time.

He ran a bath a little later, and you submerged your body deep within the bubbles, letting them rest at your jawline. You felt like you lost your virginity all over again.

“H?” You asked, rubbing the bubbles up your arm.

“Yes, pet?”

“Do you want to get married?”

The question caught him, and he cracked his eyes open with curiosity. “I want to, yeah. You know I do.”

The conversation had only been passed around once, when you were terribly drunk and crying over some sob film where the boyfriend dies before they have a chance to elope despite their parent’s protests. The film stuck with you for weeks, and you always wondered, if you knew you were with the one, why wait? Why wait for tragedy to strike?

“Let’s get married.”

He chuckled, wiggling his toes against yours. “You’re mental.”

“No, I’m serious. Why wait? Seriously? I love you, you love me, and we aren’t getting any younger.”

“Pet, you’re 24.”

“And only getting older!”

“So, you want to find some Little White Chapel in Vegas and get hitched?” He leaned up a little, a smirk stretching out on his face.

“I want a real wedding, of course, someday, but right now…let’s do it. Let’s go to Vegas or Miami or somewhere, and just do it.”

It took an hour, but he eventually agreed, and was on the phone with Jeff to arrange a flight and hotel. The next day, the two of you ran around downtown to every consignment shop in the city, looking for a white dress – not as hard as you thought it would be – a diamond ring – a little tough, but you found one for cheap – and a nice pair of heels in your size – a lot harder; you bought a size too big by accident.

And in 24 hours, you would be marrying your best friend.

*

Miami, FL September 26, 2019

“Shit…fuck, we’re actually doing this?” You stuffed a wad of tissue paper into the toe box of your heels – one size too big – and stood up to test them for a final time. “No going back?”

“Cold feet, pet?”

“No, I’m fucking—it’s humid in here.” You swing around to face him, fanning yourself off with a loose People magazine, and its then you see him standing smugly in his slacks, a proper grin etching itself across his face.

“Cold feet—the expression, pet…”

“Harry—fuck, I’m nervous. My shoes are too big, I feel a pimple forming on my chin, and I’m pretty sure the wire in my bra broke ten minutes ago because something is stabbing my tit.”

“Well, I think your tits look great.”

“You can thank that bombshell bra I bought years ago for that.” You stroll back over to the sofa and toss the magazine carelessly onto the coffee table. “Did you have them sign an MDMA?”

“NDA, and Jeff got that covered.” Harry combs back a piece of his hair, that one strand that always gives him trouble. “Hold onto this for me?” You watch as he removes his H ring, and strolls over to the sofa. “Put it in your bra—can’t lose much in there.”

“You’re hilarious.”

“And you’re my wife.” His fucking smug grin falls over him like a tidal wave, and you wish you could just slap it right off his face.

“No, I’m not.”  

“Give it a couple minutes.”

Your heart hurled itself up into your esophagus, the tremorous pounding radiating all throughout your head to your toes. Harry appeared quite relaxed as he staggered to the full-length mirror to adjust his collar, and from the reflection, he caught your watchful stare.

“Your mom is going to be pissed.” You think back to Anne, and all the good she’s done for you, and you are now repaying her by having her miss her son’s wedding. “We’ll need to plan the real thing soon.”

“We’ll tell her when we want to tell her, but for now,” he swung around on his heel to face you, “This is about you and me…and the rest of our lives.”

You make a mental note to thank Niall later.

You think back to those years ago, and how you almost bailed on Niall that night to stay home and watch The Young and the Restless with your roommate. You weren’t thrilled to get that phone call, but as long as Niall agreed to pay for a couple drinks, you found it in yourself to put on a pair of pants and enjoy a night out. 

And maybe if you had inclined to stay home, your entire life would be a completely different world right now. Maybe you’d be in somebody else’s kitchen helping them prepare dinner, or on some lavish vacation with a guy you only met a month ago, or maybe you’d be alone in your apartment, binging a new show to pass the time you only let flutter by.

But you were here now, standing at an alter that smelled roughly of cigarettes and mildew, wearing shoes that were too big on you, in a dress that probably saw more weddings than you ever will, holding the hands of the man you were prepared to love for the rest of your life.

Nothing seemed to matter anymore, not the harassing, not the attack, not the stalking. It didn’t matter what anybody threw at you anymore; you were hard as fucking stone, and not a single person was going to damage what the two of you were building.

“You may now kiss your bride.”

[mischiefthedreamerx]

To Never Give Up

Summary: By mistake, Loki takes a portal leading him to New Asgard, where he meets Thor who is broken & hopeless after the events of Infinity War. Thor is given some closure and Loki can finally say goodbye.

Pairing: Loki x Sylvie implied.

A/N: Idk how Loki ends up in New Asgard in but that's irrelevant. Towards the end I kind of lost inspiration & ideas so it flopped a bit but I wanted to finish it.

Word Count: 3k

- - - - - - - -

Loki landed ungracefully with a loud 'thud' against a hard cold floor. As he lay down in his new surroundings, the awful smell of the room hit him first, making him scrunch up his nose. Getting up to his feet with an exhausted sigh, he took in the room. It was small, dull and unkempt. Only a slither of light broke through the closed curtains. Empty food packets and cans of alcohol littered the table and wooden floor. Loki saw some controls with wires connecting to a thin rectangular box next to a TV. The stoned-wall room looked abandoned, claustrophobic. How could anyone possible live here? Blankets lay over a gloomy sofa as if someone was sleeping on it too.

Loki cautiously walked around the room for any sign of life, avoiding treading on the litter or touching anything for that matter. He thought whoever lived here would probably not be much of a threat. Outside, he heard the sound of birds squawking and ocean waves.

The next thing he heard was a sudden high pitch creaking sound of a door opening. Loki conjured up a small dagger, eyes narrowing to the direction of the sound. Someone was home. The door closed and within seconds, the resident appeared in front of the room.

Loki’s dagger fell to the floor as he froze in place. He stared openly, wide eyed, trying to process who this heavy figure was. The figure in turn dropped a white plastic bag of food.

"Thor..?” Loki gasped in horror. His brother wore a grubby white t-shirt and a knitted cardigan, hair long and tangled. At first, Loki wasn't even sure it was Thor.

Thor mumbled out a bunch of incoherent sounds before managing to form actual words. "Loki..? Loki! You're alive!" He let out a laugh as he pulled his brother into a tight hug.

Loki was left speechless. Tears prickled in the corner of his eyes, hesitantly placing an arm around Thor to return the embrace. A warmth spread through him. Loki did not wish to let go though Thor eventually did.

A bright smile crossed his lips. “You bastard! You had me fooled there, thinking you'd actually died again! And for good this time. You truly are quite the trickster, brother. " The laughter continued as he pat Loki on the back.

Loki swallowed. "Thor..I'm.." His stomach ached at the thought of telling Thor the truth. "I'm not from this timeline." He guessed since Thor was not on Asgard that their home had been destroyed on this timeline by Ragnarok and Thanos had attacked. Loki placed a hand on Thor's shoulder. "I'm not your Loki." He said softly.

"Wait..this isn't another one of your silly little tricks, right?" He kept up his smile despite the uncertainty in his gaze.

Loki raised both hands in an attempt to calm his brother. "Thor. I need you to listen to me."

But he did exactly the opposite. "Please come in! Excuse the mess. I-i wasn't expecting visitors. Not that I, er, getting any.." Thor mumbled as he hurried in, removing any litter from the sofa and tidying the blankets. Loki turned to watch Thor helplessly, unable to move from his spot. He sucked in a heavy sigh. "Have a seat." Thor spoke.

Loki forced away the numbness in his limps and slowly sat down. "Thor, please. Just listen to me." He said in despair.

"Right. Of course." Thor muttered, siting himself down.

"What year is this?" Loki asked.

"Um.." Thor frowned, scratching himself. "2023."

"I've come from the year 2012." Loki explained. Thor stilled frowned.

"This isn't a joke is it?" His little piece of happiness faltered.

Loki shook his head, a pained smile reached his lips. "I wish it was."

Any trace of a smile left Thor completely. "So.. you're from another timeline..which means.." He sniffed. "..you're still.."

"Dead." Loki said. "Your Loki is dead." Loki felt a heaviness in his chest. Dead.

Thor wrapped his cardigan around himself. "Then why are you here?"

Loki took a moment to gather his thoughts. "It's a very long story. I took a portal and by chance it lead me here. To you." His gaze met Thor's. There was no sign of that prideful hero left in those empty eyes. Nothing that once resembled a would be King of Asgard, a saviour to many. Loki wasn’t sure it was a good idea to tell Thor about the whole TVA situation either.

“How come you’re alive?” Thor asked.

“After New York, I escaped with the Tesseract. I’ve seen a lot..I saw the events that happened to my future, from the Dark Elves to Ragnarok and the attack by Tha—“

“No. We don’t say that name here.” Thor choked out, cutting Loki off.

Loki nodded. Thor had lost everything and so had Loki too, though in return he found Mobius and Sylvie to help with the loss of his family but Thor was alone. Not even the avengers came to visit him from the sound of it. Loki fought the urge to let his fingers curl into fists.

"Sorry." Loki apologised. "So this is your new..home?" His eyes scanned the living room.

Thor fumbled with his fingers. "It's not much. After the..well, you know, the humans were kind enough to offer us this village. It's a bit fishy but it's all we've got. They even gave us a sign too." Thor forced on a smile. "It's not quite like home." He looked down at his lap.

"Asgard is not a place." Loki said.

"It's a people." Thor said quietly, finishing off the common saying amongst the Asgardians.

Loki knew he should not stay too long, it would only hurt Thor more when he left but maybe this was what they both needed despite not being from the same timeline. Loki told himself to go. Was it selfish to stay for a little while longer? Maybe this was meant to happen?

"Why don't you show me around this new kingdom of yours?" Loki suggested with genuine smile.

"No, I don't really go out much."

Loki stood up. If he was going to stay for a while, he wasn’t willing to be confined in this depressing room. "Well I'll just go ahead on my own, if you don't mind?" He smirked. "I'll be on my best behaviour."

Thor scrambled up to his feet. "I don't think that a good idea. You're suppose to be dead, they'll see you."

Loki chuckled. "No they won't. You still underestimate me, brother."

- - - - - - -

Loki concealed his presence from anyone nearby, though it wasn't too busy, some had gone out on their boats. They both walked along the pier, Loki had conjured up a black coat due to the weather. The sky was hidden behind grey clouds, as a breeze swept across the ocean. Rays of sunlight managed to break through occasionally. Thor briefly spoke about their job with trading and catching fish for nearby villages in this place called 'Scotland'.

After about half an hour of wandering along the pier, they both stood on a hill overlooking the coast and houses of New Asgard. Thor bent down, placing in hands on his knees to catch his breath.

"Are you okay?"

"Don't worry about me. The exercise will do me some good." He said sucking in the ocean air before standing up straight, stretching his back. Loki gave him a moment to steady his breathing back to normal.

"So what are your daily king duties on this fine and wonderful kingdom?" Loki asked in light humour.

Thor scratched his brow in thought. "You know, king stuff, the usual. It's not like I stay inside all day shouting at a bunch of fools on a screen."

"Sounds..exciting." Loki said flatly.

"What about you? Causing chaos wherever you go?"

Loki thought of his words carefully, there was no need for Thor to know all the specifics when he already had enough to deal with.

"Something like that." He smiled. Chaos was too much of a small word to describe what he had gone through. "I've been protecting the sacred timeline." Loki joked with enthusiasm.

Thor frowned but did not question it. "Oh, yeah? And how's that going?”

Loki's facial features tightened. "Marvellous.”

Thor did not have the effort to ask Loki to expand on his response, he probably thought Loki was lying but it did not matter to him.

They both stood together watching the ocean. Loki closed his eyes, tipping his head back as he let the breeze blow against him, prolonging their time together. There was something about the ocean that brought him a sense of calmness. As Loki's eyes remained close, Thor turned to look at his brother who appeared to be so at peace, a feeling Thor had rarely often seen Loki experience.

"You've changed." Thor said absentmindedly, his voice mirroring the calmness between them.

Loki opened his eyes, a warm expression crossed his face. "I know. Seeing one's own life play out on screen was certainly an experience. I finally heard what I needed to hear for so long.” That he was loved.

"I met people I could trust.” Well, it was still an ongoing process for some part of it. “Someone who told me I could be anything I wanted to be, even someone good.”

A tinged of jealousy pinched inside Thor's chest. "Met anyone special along the way?" He nudged Loki with his elbow as he grinned.

"Well," Loki placed his hands in his pockets, letting out a nervous laugh. "it's complicated."

The shining grin remained. "I wish to hear about them.”

Loki shied away for a moment, trying to force his smile back but unfortunately failed to do so. "She's sometimes irritating and very reckless." His expression then softened. "She reminds me of how I used to be..so full of anger but deep down she's hurting, a lot. She doesn't trust, or let anyone in. Or even know what it’s like to love someone.”

"And then you came along with all that charm of yours.” Thor teased.

Loki scoffed. "Cut it out. We're..still figuring things out. I think."

"Truly, I am happy for you, brother. And what is this fair maiden’s name?" She was definitely far from a ‘fair maiden’...

Loki averted his gaze downwards, their last moment that they shared together played through his mind. "Sylvie." He said, almost as a whisper to himself. A name that weighed heavy in his heart.

"Sylvie." Thor repeated, testing the name. “You know, brother, for the first time in my life. I'm actually jealous of you. Who would of thought that?"

Loki frowned. "Jealous? Of me?" This would of once made Loki feel victorious that the roles had been reversed after many years but now it only pained his heart to see his mighty brother succumb to such sadness.

"I mean, look at you! All happy and in love. And then there's me. Barely even a king, I spend every day inside pretending I'm fine, it's not like most of my people haven't died when I was suppose to protect them or-or that half of the universe has been destroyed, that we failed them, failed each other and fell apart..” Thor rambled on. “We lost.”

"If this means anything to you; I still think you're worthy." Loki said softly. Thor turned with tears prickling in his eyes.

"I am?" He questioned, sniffling. “I’m not quite sure anymore.”

"You are forgetting who you are. You can't let Thanos take everything away from you. He is no god.” Loki knew mentioning Thanos would displease Thor but Loki knew the hard way that hiding your pain, forgetting that it exists, only made everything more worse. The only way out was to face it head on. Loki would certainly know.

Thor shook his head. “No, no. Loki, I can't. Not without you. I've lost everything." He trembled in his words. Loki regretted not leaving sooner. He had failed to comfort Sylvie, to save their trust within their final moments, now Loki had to find some way to bring closure to Thor who was possibly past his breaking point. Comforting others was a tricky task, a trait he had not quite naturally inherited from his mother.

"You don't need me. Our paths were destined to diverge." Loki had found a way to move on and Thor needed to do so as well. "All is not so lost, brother." When you live for so long, loss must be something you became familiar with but regardless of long you knew someone, there was never enough time for when you'd be ready to say goodbye.

"I know. I know." Thor mumbled to himself. Despite his larger size, somehow he seemed to cower into himself, making him seem so small.

Loki cleared his throat. "So the Avengers..they disbanded?" He asked.

Thor nodded. "Seemed that way. Not heard from them since the whole 'snap' disaster." They abandoned him, Loki thought in anguish, failing to hide the disgust in his features.

"The mighty so-called Avengers gave up, is that it?" Loki folded his arms across his chest.

"You seem angry, brother." Thor commented out of curiosity.

Loki shrugged. "They call themselves heroes, protectors against evil but when they lose, they go and hide away from their mistakes like cowards.”

"Then what makes someone a hero?"

Loki blinked several times, his annoyance was caught off guard by Thor's question. Someone who blindly follows the rules? Who uses their powers for fame and fortune? Those who believe they are perfect? But it seems after all, that they were anything but perfect.

"I don't know." Loki looked across at the waves, straightening up his posture and gave Thor his answer; "They are selfless, willing to sacrifice themselves for others without question. They don't just give up even when they lose. They keep on going." Loki attempted to keep his frustration under control but tendril of it managed to slip through.

A small smile portrayed across Thor's lips. "So is that who you are now?"

Loki frowned, turning his attention to his brother. "What do you mean?"

"A hero."

Loki chuckled. Him? A hero? He'd never stopped to think of himself as that. Loki had been many things, taken on many roles; the villain, a trickster, an outcast, a prince. But never a hero in the eyes of others or himself.

"Is that really such a bad thing, Loki?"

"I suppose not." Loki huffed out in uncertainty.

"Whoever said you could be anything you wanted to be was right." Then Thor repeated the words he once said to his Loki on Sakaar; "You could be more."

"Thank you." Loki spoke sincerely with a smile. Maybe he was thankful that he had stayed after all. A final chance to see his brother and for Thor to know that on another timeline, Loki was alive and well.

"No need to thank me, brother. I should be the one thanking you. I am glad fate has brought you here to me, to remind me of who I am."

"My pleasure." Loki nodded.

After a gloomy start to the day, the sun had won its battle against the clouds and shone its rays against the ocean, blessing New Asgard with its glorious light and warmth.

"Looks like the sun is finally making an appearance." Loki commented, looking upwards. "This place is rather melancholy to say the least."

Thor's eyes widened in bewilderment, his gaze switching between the sun and his brother. A tear trickled down his cheek. Fate was truly cruel in some ways. Loki noticed Thor's odd expression.

"Thor?"

Thor shook his head to escape himself from his thoughts. "I'm fine. And don't talk badly about my newly established kingdom. It's a...work in progress. Come back in a few years time and we'll have towers across these mountains."

"I'll take your word for it." Loki chuckled, though their happy mood soon faded. Loki would not be back here in a few years time. He would likely not come back at all. Thor picked up on Loki's sudden change of mood.

"Why can't you stay, Loki?" Thor asked despite knowing that he could not stay.

"As much as I would wish to stay with you, I can't. I.. have people wanting for me." He needed to find Mobius and Sylvie, to fix this mess that had unfolded, he will not run away. Thor nodded with a sniff.

"Will you at least come and visit?" He pleaded. Loki did not want to make any false promises, though he so easily could to make this less painful for Thor but in the long run, the guilt would soon eat up inside of him. He had enough of it to deal with already.

"Thor. I can't. I don't belong here."

Thor’s newly found confidence collapsed, hands beginning to shake. Loki made the decision to leave before the pain was too much to bear for both of them.

"No." Thor shook his head. "Don't leave me."

Loki placed a hand on his brother's quivering shoulder. "I have to. People need need me."

"To be a hero?" Thor managed to force smile as the tears shone in his eyes

"Well I guess." Loki smiled back before opening up his arms to embrace him in a hug. He let their embrace linger on.

"Don't give up." Loki whispered until they let each other go one final time. Thor did not have a chance to reply when Loki waved a hand of green sparks across Thor’s tear stained face.

"Goodbye, brother." Was the last words Thor heard before a gentle darkness overtook his sight.

- - - - - -

"Hey, man. You waking up anytime soon?" Said a voice. Thor felt something small and solid hit his face. "You're not dead are you?" Another minor hard object made contact with his cheek.

Thor had awoken, he was inside his beach hut, Korg stood above him catching a rock in his palm. "Sorry, hope that didn't hurt too much."

Thor ignored him, shrugging off his blanket as he stood up, stable onto his feet. There was a gleam of strength in his eyes that had been missing for far too long. A broad smile made an unusual appearance as the sound of thunder rumbled in the distance.

"Must of been some good dream you had there, buddy?"

"We need to contact the remaining Avengers." Thor demanded as he strode off towards the front door.

Korg scratched the back of his head. "Why?"

"Because heroes never give up!" Thor beamed.

Thank you, brother.

- - - -

@cazzyimagines @maciswack

[rosy-cheekx]

“You’re such a dork.” for the emotional writing prompts! I don't know anything about critical role, really, so for TMA :)

I spy, with my little eye, Bryce’s attempts to shove her own interests into her fics. Anyways, I am an American in college so I was basing this on my own experiences oops. Enjoy!

Date night was Wednesday evenings. Jon and Martin both found it preferable for a variety of reasons; it was the most likely nights for happy hours at the pubs in town, guaranteeing a cheap drink, and keeping to a weekday night minimized the chance of Jon seeing one of his students out. He hated seeing his students. Not that he hated them of course, he really rather liked them…not that they would ever know that. Being a professor, of parapsychology of all things, was rather rewarding. He knew the content inside and out (it felt good, using the mark of The Eye to actively work against it, to pass along information instead of consuming). And they didn’t seem to mind him either.

That was the thing about university students. They really didn’t care about who he was or where he came from. The fact that he was a scrawny, scarred Englishman in a lecture hall in Scotland didn’t matter to them. In the classroom, all they cared was whether he taught the material well (he did) and was kind to those with late assignments (he was. He had been a university student once too; he remembered the anxiety and depression that took him and his mates in waves). He was a good professor; Jon knew that objectively in the marks his students received. But in the subjective? His student had decided they liked him.

This had dawned on him at the end of his first semester; when he was inundated with emails of sincere thank-you for a great semester, for being such a helpful teacher, for taking the time to help review, et cetera. Martin had grinned at him, poking a tongue out his mouth and making some remark about teacher’s pets coming full circle (Jon was never a teacher’s pet though. He had always asked too many questions. He welcomed those questions with open arms now, to be the teacher he hadn’t had.)

The next semester it had been more obvious that students liked him now that he knew where to look. It was in the open “good-mornings” and questions about his weekend plans, and in the fact that he had the best attendance records of his department. It was in the way they asked genuine questions about his material and the waitlists miles long to get into his sections. Later on, it was in the gentle ribbings about his looking tired and the grey hairs even as they celebrated his fortieth birthday with him, bringing in cupcakes and sneaking in between lectures to decorate his office and the sincere questions over his scars, his life, his relationship with Martin (his introductory lecture always featured Martin and Her Regency, their thick orange tabby). To make eight wonderful semesters short, he was familiar with his students, and they weren’t afraid to be familiar back. Which was wonderful in the classroom and all, but not when he was trying have a relaxing evening with his husband.

Which brings them back to Wednesdays. Wednesdays were the days least likely to have students out in town, he had learned from Dr. Kerrigan, the positive psych professor, because Thirsty Thursdays started off the weekend’s partying and drinking for the undergraduates. Wednesday was the day students, in theory, buckled down to finish homework and give themselves a free weekend.

So here they were, Martin in a collared shirt, printed with tiny flowers, and jeans, hair bleached white from the Lonely and curling softly at his temples; Jon in a slouchy ribbed turtleneck and high-waisted pants, his own thick curls half-piled atop his head. Jon was listening intently as Martin spoke animatedly, talking about his own day as a guidance counselor at the local primary school.

“…and I swear Jon, if it wasn’t bad enough that Kimmy has decided never to speak to Lawrence again, now Lawrence has confided in me that he is positively in love with her.”

“Did he say that verbatim? In love, I mean.”

“I mean, no, but he said he was willing to give her all his Squishmallows for a playdate. Squishmallows. That’s real eight-year-old commitment, right there.”

Jon barked out a laugh and put on a puppy-eyed expression, grinning all the while. “Martin Blackwood, do you hereby take Jonathan Sim’s stuffed animals, to have and to ho-”

A gentle swat to the knee with Martin’s shoe cut Jon off. “Oi! Respect my children. They may be fools but its not their faults their brains aren’t developed yet. And yes, I know, ‘they’re not developed ‘til twenty-five and you can argue that your students’ brains aren’t developed either.’ But it’s different. They’re babies.”

“And I’m the All-Knowing One,” Jon mused thoughtfully around a forkful of food, earning him another love-filled kick.

“Speaking of,” Martin pointed to Jon with his glass, eyeing him deliberately. “Midterms next week, yeah? How do you think it’ll go?”

Jon shrugged, scratching at the back of his neck. “Alright, I hope. First exam went well but could’ve been better. I’m worried about Avonni, honestly, he’s nodded off a few times in class and I’m not confident he has someone to get the material from.”

“He has you.” A pointed, snow-white eyebrow.

“Right, but sometimes students don’t want to ask for notes because they think I’ll say no. Maybe I should email him. Speaking of email! Did I tell you what Suzanne sent out?”

“Oh no, what?”

They carried on like this through their meal and into dessert, and not for the first time Jon was struck by the sheer normalcy of it all. His greatest concerns were Suzanne’s passive-aggressive emails and his students, not the inevitable destruction of reality as they knew it to be. They were scarred, inside and out, everyone who had escaped The Magnus Institute was, but they were safe and free and happy. In defiance of everything that had happened to and because of them.

“Dr. Sims!”

Uh oh. Spoke too soon.

Bite of lava cake halfway to his mouth, Jon squeezed his eyes shut, rolling his eyes back in his head and willing there to be another professor with the surname Sims in the restaurant. When he opened his eyes, Martin was valiantly trying to suppress a smile as he eyed something, someone, over his head. Jon twisted awkwardly in his seat to see—

“Parker. What a surprise.” His voice was warm but carefully measured, and the dark-skinned boy waved, shit-eating grin on his face. “I have told you that you can call me Jon.”

“Yeah, I know, but you earned that doctorate! And “Doctor Jon” sounds awful, like you should have your own show or something.”

He hadn’t earned that doctorate, actually, but Martin’s expertise in lying and the disastrous apocalypse that had left everyone disoriented meant it had been easy to exaggerate some of Jon’s CV and manufacture a fake diploma.

“I do have my own show. Monday and Wednesday mornings, where I teach a bunch of caffeinated undergrads parapsychology,” Jon replied easily. “You’re welcome to tune in.” He liked Parker; he was a bit of a class clown, liked to ask off-topic questions or pretend to sneak a look at Jon’s answer sheets, but he was sharp and knew his stuff. Jon respected that. He reminded Jon of someone he dearly missed.

But Parker had already turned his attention to Martin, who was watching the interaction with mirth in his eyes. “Hello sir! I’m Parker McMichael, Jon’s favorite student.” Martin shook the extended hand and nodded in mock seriousness.

“Of course. Pleasure to finally meet you. Are you the one with the essay on ESP or the one on psychokinesis?”

“Neither,” Parker shook his head proudly, short dreads swaying gently with the movement. “The Validity and Continuity of Near-Death Experiences,” he made a mock marquee with his hands, arching curved fingers to indicate the title hanging in the air. “Researching any consistencies in near-death experiences stories, whether they’re legitimate, and what they mean if they are. But-” Parker shook his head and turned his attention back to Jon. “That’s not why I’m interrupting.” He took his phone out of pocket idly as he spoke. “I’m afraid I’ve come to settle a dispute among the 11 a.m. section.”

Oh no.

The Ceaseless Watcher whispered to him, unbidden, the dispute in question. Jon generally knew how to suppress the powers, and they were weaker than they had been, once upon a time, but when he’s caught off guard with the desire to know, to Know, it could still overtake him.

“This you?” A blurry screenshot of a Youtube video is shoved under his nose, a part of a text chain titled Sim’s Spoopy Spirits, captioned by many text bubbles expressing disbelief and objections and a variety of emojis. Jon took the phone and examined it, the truth already sure in his chest. Yes, that was him, dressed in his Jonny d’Ville costume, eyeliner streaked and eyes closed, mid-ballad. God, he wished he could be rid of those Youtube videos.

Jon’s gaping silence must have been enough of an answer for Parker because he whooped a little too loudly for the restaurant they were in and pumped his fist to his chest before typing very quickly on his phone. “I knew it! Take that Sabina,” he was mumbling to himself, lost in his texts for a moment.

Martin took the opportunity to clear his throat. “Sorry, uh, no one’s asked so I will. How did you know to look for him-us-here?” Jon frowned, He hadn’t thought about that.

“Oh, a couple of my mates work here and mentioned seeing Dr. Sims and his husband here a lot on Wednesdays and I dunno about you so much, but Dr. Sims is pretty habitual. Figured it was as good a guess as any. Some things can’t wait til Monday.”

“..an email. Parker. You could’ve sent me an email.” Fingers ran over scarred face, as if he could wipe the irritation (and Martin’s poorly-hidden laugh) from existence.

“But then I couldn’t do this.” His phone was back up again, level with his own face and he twisted so both his own and Jon’s faces were in the shot. “I’m here at 7:02 pm on Wednesday the 26, here to make a very important announcement,” Parker spoke to the camera with confidence. “Dr. Sims just confirmed to me that he is the one, the only, Jonny d’Ville.” Parker held the camera to Jon’s voice. “Anything to say to your adoring fans?”

Jon sighed and tugged on an errant curl. “Don’t forget, reading due Monday.” He wasn’t genuinely upset with Parker, just filled with fond embarrassment.

Parker sent the video off and clapped the back of Jon’s chair. “Well, Dr. D’Ville, its been a pleasure. Everyone’s really excited to get a confirmation on your status of coolest teacher. Any plans for the evening?”

Jon sighed through his lower lip, stray curls framing his scalp flying upward in the sudden burst of wind. “Watching a documentary and trying to forget—wait. What?”

“Oh yeah no, everyone thinks it’s badass. You’ve got a super nice voice and the stories you told were really interesting, if a little buckwild.”

Jon felt his cheeks flush and Martin grinned slyly at him from across the table. “Y-Yes. I guess we were rather good.”

Parker gave his farewells and Jon’s shoulders sagged (he had immediately righted his posture on seeing Parker, his grandmother’s voice in his ear reminding him of his manners), turning his full attention back to his husband. Martin had maintained that grin and was eyeing him intensely, like he expected Jon to say something.

“What, Martin?”

“God, you’re such a dork.” The words were soft, expression fond, and Jon could feel the radiation of unadulterated love Martin gave off in his smile, the one only ever used for Jon. “You really love your students, don’t you? You know how much they love you, right?”

Jon grumbled, but he couldn’t quite sweep the smile off his face either as their waiter made his way over with their check.

“No comment. But we are switching to Tuesday date nights.”

[isitgintimeyet]

Just a Friend

Hope you enjoy the next chapter of this story. Thanks to you all for reading this. You comments are lovely to read.

Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta

Previous

AO3

Chapter 5: From Facebook to Friends

When I was a little girl, Uncle Lamb would sometimes take me into university with him. I would creep into the lecture theatre and sit at the back watching him as he enthused about Phoenician trade routes, or long gone military strategies. I didn’t really understand what he was talking about, but I loved it anyway. The passion he had for his subject matter thrilled me.

And once the lecture was over, I would join him in his office and we would squeeze together in an old armchair, drinking hot, sweet tea while he tried to explain the principles of a three thousand year old civilisation in words a seven year old would understand.

The armchair is now in my office at the hospital. It looks more than a bit incongruous amongst the standard NHS furniture. The rich green velvet fabric has faded to a shabby eau de nil colour and years of shuffling bottoms have left a large depression in the seat cushion. But I won’t have it reupholstered. I love it as it is. It’s a great reminder of my wonderful uncle. I sit in it and somehow it comforts me, like a soothing hug.

**********************

I glance at the clock as I walk into my office, paper cup of hot, sweet tea in hand, and head straight for Lamb’s chair. Gratefully, I sink into its depths and take a tentative sip of the steaming liquid before closing my eyes for a moment. The surgery was long; much longer than anticipated—having taken all morning and most of the afternoon, in fact. It had also been far more complicated—my original plans for keyhole surgery had to be changed, but, eventually, we completed the operation successfully. I’m always proud of my theatre team, but never more so than in situations like this.

And now, after hours of concentration, I feel in need of some light relief. I can go home, have a wonderfully reviving shower and then what? I know that Dougal is taking Geillis out for a meal tonight, so she’s not available. Mary and Anna are both working nights this week, so no joy there. Other friends live too far away for an impromptu midweek activity.  I could go to the gym. I should go to the gym. Or… more likely, I’ll go home, have cheese on toast, a glass of wine and watch ‘The Devil Wears Prada’ for the fifteenth time instead.

I reach for my phone to check for messages.  A notification for a Facebook friend request appears on my screen. I very rarely get new friend requests—other than the odd random gentleman hoping, I presume, to make some sort of connection. I always delete immediately.

And, yes, the request is from a gentleman—one Jamie Fraser. The profile picture is definitely Samsonite Jamie, even wearing the Scotland rugby shirt I fingered whilst foraging through his suitcase. I click accept. Why not? I don’t think I have anything too embarrassing on my posts. In fact, I don’t use it very often at all.

Neither, it seems, does Mr. Fraser. His cover photo shows a very youthful bunch of Scottish rugby supporters and his recent timeline seems to comprise mostly of being tagged in photos by Laoghaire Mackenzie. Is it my imagination, or does he have a resigned look on his face on each of their ‘selfies’?

My tea is cool enough to drink now without scalding my tongue. I put my phone down and take a large gulp whilst considering tomorrow’s workload. My job is a series of highs and lows. Today, for example, started as routine, slumped to a worrying low, before peaking at a very relieved high. Tomorrow appears to be an easier day, certainly—a review of patients’ case notes in the morning followed by an outpatient clinic in the afternoon. All follow up patients, and all doing well as far as I know, so tomorrow is shaping up to be a very good day.

I open up my phone again. Facebook messenger is encouraging me to ‘say hi to your new Facebook friend.’  Without thinking, I send a little waving hand emoji to Samsonite Jamie.

I have no sooner put the phone down than it pings. Waving hand returned. I smile. What are we… thirteen years old? Next I’ll be asking him out for an Irn Bru and a bag of chips.

Ping again.  

You owe me…

Shit! The stain on his t-shirt, no doubt. I watch the dots on the screen. Perhaps he’s calculating the cost of a dry cleaner, or a new t-shirt.

You promised me an ice cream.

You up for buying one for me tonight?

I hesitate for a moment. I hope Jamie doesn’t think I’m after him or anything like that. I mean, he’s not really my type. As I’ve said before, I’ve always been attracted to academic, cerebral kind of men like Uncle Lamb, rather than Viking marauders.

And I’ve never subscribed to the idea that men and women can’t be friends. One of my closest friends at university was a man—Joe Abernathy.  If it wasn't for the fact that he is currently three thousand miles away, working in Boston, I would be arranging platonic ice cream outings with him.

So, deciding I have nothing to lose, I type my response.

If you can get to the kiosk by 6:30, it should still be open

A brief pause, then the response.

Great. See you there?

****************

Even at a distance, I recognise him sitting at a table next to the kiosk. No white t-shirt today, it looks like some sort of check lumberjack shirt. I breathe a sigh of relief. Not what I would call ‘first date’ clothing. Which is handy, seeing as I’m wearing ripped jeans and an oversized Aran jumper. I’m clean, presentable and fresh-smelling but definitely not dressed to impress.

He stands up when he sees me and greets me formally with a handshake. His hands are warm and dry—no nervous, sweaty palms here, which is another good sign. His shirt is blue, red and cream flannel and actually quite hideous.

“I hope this ice cream lives up tae ma expectations,” he says with the merest hint of challenge.

I crane my neck and look him straight in the eye. “No doubt at all. Cherry bakewell, is it? Double cone?”

“Aye. With a flake too. Compensation, ye ken.”

He stands aside to allow me to make the purchases. Before accepting the cone, he picks up half a dozen or so paper napkins and stuffs them in the pocket of his jeans.

“I’m prepared fer ye now. Do yer worst, Ms Beauchamp.”

I ignore his clear inference and follow him to a nearby bench.

“I can manage to eat and walk at the same time, you know,” I say in mock indignation.

“Hm,” he replies. “All the evidence sae far suggests the contrary. I need proof afore I believe it.”

There’s a moment of silence as we both focus on our ice creams. I lick neatly all the way around, trying to prevent any rogue drips trickling down the cone. Jamie pulls the flake from his cone and consumes it in two mouthfuls. He looks at me and laughs.

“Caught me. I’m a bit of a bugger fer chocolate,” he mumbles before swallowing.

“Right,” he continues, much more clearly now. “I suggest we get all the boring stuff out of the way. Ye ken, name, age, family, job, blah, blah blah. I’ll go first, if ye like.”

I nod my agreement.

“Sae, I’m James or Jamie Fraser. I’m thirty years old. Since our last conversation I am most definitely single. I live in Glasgow, obviously, but grew up on a farm near Inverness. My parents still run the farm. I have one sister, Jenny, who’s married tae Ian, my childhood friend. I have one nephew—a grand little lad known as Wee Jamie and a wee baby niece, Maggie . And I dinna think it’ll be long afore they’re joined by others. They all live here in Glasgow. My job, weel, I have a business—FraserFood—recipe boxes delivered tae yer door.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve heard of that. ‘From farm to fork.” That’s you, is it?”

He smiles proudly. “Aye, it’s me and ma family. Looks like ma marketing manager is doing a fine job, then.”

“Oh, forgot tae say, after the blah blah, ye have tae tell one confession. Only a wee one, mind.” He takes a large mouthful of his ice cream.

I purse my lips. “Really, and what if I’ve nothing to confess?”

Jamie snorts with laughter and does a funny sort of blink, screwing up his face and closing both eyes. Is he trying to wink? If so, he’s failing miserably. I try to look angelic and sin free. Judging by the look of scepticism on his face, It doesn’t seem to be working.

“Sae, my confession is, dah-dah-daaaah,” he does a fake fanfare, trying to build suspense. “I wanted tae be yer friend on Facebook because I wanted tae see if there were any photos of ye in Barcelona, with all yer...er… accessories.”

I feel myself redden. I’ve just remembered catching Geillis on Facebook the other day at work and I’m pretty sure I know what’s coming next.

“Verra interesting… in particular, the one with ye and six penis shot glasses. How d’ye manage tae get two of them in yer mouth at the same time?”

I inwardly curse Geillis and her desire to live her life through social media.

“Excuse me,” I reply somewhat primly. “I don’t think we’re at the Q and A stage yet.”

“So,” I continue in a lighter tone. “Me. Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp. I’m thirty two and I’m a paediatric  orthopaedic surgeon, here at the children’s hospital. I love my job so much, I can’t begin to tell you. As of two weeks ago, I am thankfully single. I was born in Oxford and moved up here when I was twelve, when my Uncle Lamb became a professor at the university. He brought me up, you know. Raised me when my parents died in a car accident... I… er...I was four at the time.”

I can feel Jamie looking at me, but I can’t raise my eyes. Telling people about my parents never gets any easier, no matter how many times I say those words. I concentrate on picking bits of wafer off my cone and throwing them to the ducks loitering nearby, waiting for some sort of treat.

“So it always was just my uncle and me.” I carry on talking. “Then he died… seven...seven years ago…” I can hear my voice start to crack as I fight back tears. A hand creeps into my vision and I gratefully accept the proffered paper napkin and wipe my face.

“Och, lass.” He says softly.

I clear my throat. “I'm sorry. We were having a nice conversation and then there I go, getting all teary. It’s just, well, we were a team, Uncle Lamb and I… the two musketeers. He was my hero.”

Blowing my nose in a most unladylike way, I toss the napkin into the neighbouring bin.

“And that’s pretty much me. As for a confession, well… I suppose it’s kind of one.”

He raises one eyebrow quizzically, making a better job of that than the whole winking lark, I think.

"Ok, well,  when I had your case, I tried to ring before I emailed you. I called the number in your case… twice. A woman answered and told me I had the wrong number—"

"Laoghaire."

"I know that now. But she obviously knew how to get onto your phone."

"Why did ye no' tell me?" He smiles as he says this. It's not a reprimand.

"I would have but you seemed to be coming to a conclusion anyway. No need to add more fuel to the fire."

"Happen ye're right."

He notices me shivering and gets to his feet. “Aye, there’s a bit of a chill. Fancy a wee walk tae warm up and we can carry on wi’ round two. It’s a quick fire round.”

I stand up and we move away from the pond. The ducks have already lost interest in us since they realise that we’ve nothing more to offer them. It’s pretty quiet in the park now, the cooler evening air seems to have kept people at home. The gravel crunching loudly under the soles of our shoes, I glance down and notice Jamie’s doing a sort of awkward stuttering movement with his feet. He’s clearly trying to match his stride pattern to mine. Which isn’t easy when his must be a good few inches longer than mine. Nice, considerate gesture, though.

“Sae, quick fire questions and answers. Ye can go first,” he says generously.

It only takes me a moment to think of a question that I have been wondering about ever since I explored the contents of his suitcase.

“What were you doing in Barcelona? I mean the contents of your case weren’t really fun-weekend-away stuff.”

“Nah, ye’re right. It wasna a holiday—flying visit only. I was there on business—talking tae a food wholesale company. Serrano ham, chorizo, saffron, that kind of thing,” he explains, a look of excitement on his face. “We’re expanding our range, starting with Spanish influenced recipes. A full three courses ready tae prepare, plus wine delivered straight tae yer door. Dinner party FraserFood style.”

He can’t stop smiling as he talks about these plans. And his hands move animatedly as he continues to elaborate on his new venture. His business is obviously his passion. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t got the desire for a relationship with a girlfriend—FraserFood seems to be his one love. No girl could compete.

He stops talking for a moment. “And here I am, boring ye.”

I shake my head. “Not at all, it’s really interesting.” I don’t have to lie. It’s the truth. My mouth is watering at his description of albondigas and flavoursome chicken and chorizo with cannellini beans. I’m ready to sign up for this delivery service any time.

“Sae, ma turn tae ask a question. Tell me, d’ye like this shirt?”

I try to stifle a laugh. The question is so unexpected and the shirt so awful. Trying to be diplomatic, I search for the right words, evading the actual question. “I’ve only seen you in white tops before, no colours.”

He sighs. “Ye’ve only seen me twice afore... anyway I dinna think ye need tae say any more. I ken ye’re being polite, but ye’re a terrible liar. I can tell by yer face ye dinna like this shirt. Laoghaire hated it, always made me change it. I did wonder if that was jes’ her being difficult. But apparently no’.”

“Sorry, I didn’t want to be rude.”

“Ye dinna need tae apologise, Claire. Being honest is a good thing, is it no’? And friends should always tell each other the truth. And that’s what I think we’re going tae be, Claire— friends. D’ye no’ agree?”

I crane my neck  and look Jamie straight in the eye. “Yes, I do… friends.”

[thecoleopterawithana]

"I never knew what he wanted in a woman because I never knew what I wanted" I think this quote is so telling but I haven't seen much commentary on it. Do you have any particular thoughts? It seems to put John in a very sad light. And to me it's one of his most revealingly repressed-gay quotes, but maybe there's another way to interpret & I'm overstepping.

Hello there, dear anon! 

I hope you’re still around to see this! As usual, I’ve taken an appalling amount of time answering this thought-provoking ask. However, in this instance, that “appalling amount of time” is probably over a year; a new record for me. Wherever you are now, I hope you are well, and if my ramblings don’t reach you, may they interest others. 

I also have to admit that at the time I received this ask, I was most likely not equipped to understand all the layers of meaning in this sentence. And it’d be quite presumptuous of me to assume that I am completely prepared now. But let’s just hope that my ability to perceive their nuances has grown since then, and will continue to do so in the future. 

Needless to say, this is only my current interpretation, and I welcome any commentaries that will help broaden it! (And please don’t fret for a second about offering your own interpretation and somehow “overstepping”; we’re all just having a decades-spanning conversation here.)

Now, on with your question.

First, let’s integrate that sentence in its full quote:

Q: So, John. You and Paul were probably the greatest songwriting team in a generation. And you had this huge falling out. Were there always huge differences between you and Paul, or was there a time when you had a lot in common?

JOHN: Well, Paul always wanted the home life, you see. He liked it with daddy and the brother… and obviously missed his mother. […]

JOHN: So it was always the family thing, you see. If Jane [Asher] was to have a career, then that’s not going to be a cozy family, is it? All the other girls were just groupies mainly. And with Linda not only did he have a ready-made family, but she knows what he wants, obviously, and has given it to him. The complete family life. He’s in Scotland. He told me he doesn’t like English cities anymore. So that’s how it is.

Q: So you think with Linda he’s found what he wanted?

JOHN: I guess so. I guess so. I just don’t understand. I never knew what he wanted in a woman because I never knew what I wanted. I knew I wanted something intelligent or something arty. But you don’t really know what you want until you find it. So anyway, I was very surprised with Linda. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d married Jane (Asher) because it had been going on for a long time and they went through a whole ordinary love scene. But with Linda it was just like – boom! She was in and that was the end of it.

— John Lennon, interviewed by Peter McCabe and Robert Schonfeld, at St. Regis Hotel, New York City (5 September 1971).

So, the interviewer inquires about their differences and similarities during the relationship, probably to assess the pervasiveness of the clashes that supposedly led to the “huge falling out” in “the greatest songwriting team in a generation.”

And John answers that “Paul always wanted the home life.” 

At first glance, and following the logic of what was asked, one might assume John was pointing to a difference that always existed between them. And an irreconcilable difference at that, given that it’s the first thing he points out in answer to a question that is probing for sources of conflict that might explain their falling out.

So we get a feeling that John saw Paul having a family as incompatible with Paul maintaining a partnership with him. They were mutually exclusive; thus, Paul getting a family resulted in a falling out between them.

That right there carries a lot of implications already.

Because John himself also wanted the “complete family life”:

Q: But with that much experience behind you, now, would you like to have more children?

JOHN: Yeah, I – as – as many as come, you know. If Lennon roll out, as they. [thoughtful] I like large families. The idea of it.  

— John Lennon, interviewed by Brian Matthew (13 November 1965).

And we shouldn’t take his disappointment with the suburban life in Weybridge as proof that he’d given up on that fantasy. It’s all about the circumstances, in the end; who you’re sharing your dream with. 

After all, Yoko herself came with a “ready-made family”: a six-year-old daughter named Kyoko, who she was fighting to get the custody of, after divorcing the father, Anthony Cox, in February 1969; by then John and Yoko would even have a baby of their own. 

This would all eventually fall through, as Yoko suffered a miscarriage in late November 1968, and Cox would disappear with Kyoko in 1971. Yoko would not see her daughter again until almost three decades later.

So you could see how John could have felt resentful of the family life Paul had built. Always perfect mirror images, Paul was living the dream, while John’s turned into a nightmare.

But with John, the situation is always doubly complicated. Because if he was often envious of Paul, John was also jealous. Note that “envy is when you want what someone else has, but jealousy is when you’re worried someone’s trying to take what you have.”

So we have to go back to his first answer. We’ve established that wanting “the complete family life” was something they had in common rather than something they differed in. 

But Paul wanting a family is still presented here as a reason for their falling out, or at least tangentially related. And John goes on to present his theory about how Paul’s choice in life partner was based on who could provide that for him. It wouldn’t be the career-focused Jane, or the inconsequential groupies. 

And it couldn’t be John himself.

We should also note that, in answer to the second question, it is made clear that John’s previous declarations were but a retrospective interpretation of what happened. As he goes on to admit, at the time, John was surprised by Paul marrying Linda instead of Jane.

And that is how we finally get to the sentence in question: 

“I never knew what he wanted in a woman because I never knew what I wanted.” 

A possible first layer of meaning is what I’m guessing you meant by this being “one of his most revealingly repressed-gay quotes.” 

1. The emphasis being placed on John never knowing what he wanted in a woman, and thus not being able to know what Paul would find more desirable in a wife.

He does go on to use admittedly questionable pronouns: “I knew I wanted something intelligent or something arty.” It happened in other instances in this interview:

I just realized that [Yoko] knew everything I knew, and more, probably, and it was coming out of a woman’s head. It just sort of bowled me over, you know? And it was like finding gold or something. To find somebody that you can go and get pissed with, and have exactly the same relationship as any mate in Liverpool you’d ever had, but also you could go to bed with him, and it could stroke your head when you felt tired, or sick, or depressed. It could also be Mother. And obviously, that’s what the male-female – you know, you could take those roles with each other.

— John Lennon, interviewed by Peter McCabe and Robert Schonfeld, at St. Regis Hotel, New York City (5 September 1971).

So one could see how, at this time, John was struggling to manage the differences between male and female partners. As Cynthia put it:

I think he was trying to find himself a… what he’d call a soulmate. Someone who had as mad ideas as he had. I think he felt that she had the talent… but that’s debatable. But he needed that— he didn’t need a ‘mumsie’ partner at that point. He needed a mate. And I think he actually said, at some stage, in an interview that, you know— She’s the nearest thing to a man — a mate; man — that he’s ever had in a woman.

— Cynthia Lennon, interviewed by Alex Belfield for BBC Radio (2006).

Another angle that I find curious is:

2. The parallel drawn between Linda’s knowledge of Paul’s wants (and her ability to satisfy them) versus John’s.

“[Linda] knows what he wants, obviously, and has given it to him.” / “I never knew what he wanted”

This one integrates a theme I’ve been interested in exploring recently: their epistemology of each other. Basically, assumptions of knowledge; when it works out and when it doesn’t.

1968: I wonder should I call you but I know what you would do

JOHN: Well, [‘How Do You Sleep’]’s an answer, you know? Paul, uh, personally doesn’t feel as though I insulted him or anything. ’Cause I had dinner with him last week, and he was quite happy.

— John Lennon, interviewed by Mike Douglas on The Mike Douglas Show (12 February 1972).

1973: And I know just how you feel / And I know now what I have done / And I know and I’m guilty (yes I am) / But I never could read your mind

In this specific case, he could be humbly admitting he never knew what Paul wanted. But another possible reading of the sentence is the exact opposite:

3. The assumption that they were so connected, so much like a single entity, that to know himself was to know Paul. That their wants and needs are aligned, and what John wants must be what Paul wants.

I never knew what he wanted in a woman because I never knew what I wanted.

1967: I am he / As you are he / As you are me / And we are all together

1969: I know you, you know me

The mirror image of this interpretation would be Paul’s own thought-provoking declarations:

[T]he Beatle thing is over. It has been exploded, partly by what we have done, and partly by other people. We are individuals— all different. John married Yoko, I married Linda. We didn’t marry the same girl.

— Paul McCartney, for Life Magazine (7 November 1969).

Q: Will Paul and Linda become John and Yoko?

PAUL: No, they will become Paul and Linda. 

— McCartney press release (9 April 1970).

And finally, I believe another very important facet expressed in this sentence is:

4. The theme of John not knowing what he wants for himself.

I never knew what he wanted in a woman because I never knew what I wanted. […] But you don’t really know what you want until you find it.

This is a sentiment that John has expressed before.

JOHN: Weybridge won’t do at all. I’m just stopping at it […] I think of it every day — me in my Hansel and Gretel house. I’ll take my time; I’ll get my real house when I know what I want. You see there’s something else I’m going to do, something I must do — only I don’t know what it is. That’s why I go round painting and taping and drawing and writing and that, because it may be one of them. All I know is, this isn’t it for me.

— John Lennon, interviewed by Maureen Cleave for the London Evening Standard (4 March 1966).

JOHN: I think, in one way, all of us were under the slight illusion that we might— or maybe it wasn’t an illusion and maybe had we pushed harder we would have got what we wanted, but I’m not sure that anybody really knew what we wanted. We knew we didn’t like what was happening but nobody quite knew what it was that we wanted, cus we’d never had it!

This is another very fascinating avenue I’ve been wondering about. 

John Lennon, the Dreamer, not actually knowing how that dream would manifest. Him having a vague romantic idea of what he wanted, but not really knowing how to practically bring it about. 

[Imagine here a whole essay of John versus Paul in the studio, and their contrasting abilities to materialize the sounds they heard in their head and turn them into something that others could experience with them.]

In conclusion, these are about all the potential levels of nuance I can read in John’s statement at the moment. All of them fascinating and worth exploring. So I’m truly grateful to you for giving me the perfect opportunity to do so. 

It would fill me with joy to have this conversation continued with all who feel like adding their own perspectives to it!

[927roses-and-stuff]

Miracles in Gotham Chapter 5: Tales of the Misguided Serpent

I really am sorry it's taking more than five chapters for them to actually get to Gotham, by the way. I know most fics will usually have them there by the first chapter. I just like having a lot of build up for the plot and future subplots, so please bear with me!TW: Explicit minor character death and violence in war. Mentions of PTSD, depression, anxiety, and self-harm. 

Hey guys! Thank you so much for reading this story and (hopefully) enjoying it so far! I realize I don’t say it enough, but I truly appreciate everyone who took the time to read this fic, and knowing that there are people who enjoy it are part of my inspiration to write more. As always, an extra thank you to @ozmav for the AU, and @mystery-5-5 for helping me through the writing process (and dealing with my rants).

There will be mentions and allusions to real life events and locations associated with World War II. I don’t mean any disrespect, and any character mentioned and associated within the story is purely fictional. This is not meant to be an accurate depiction of WWII or war in general, nor is it meant to be a mockery of what actually happened. There will also be brief mentions of PTSD, depression, and anxiety symptoms and self-harm. These are all based on research from sources that my therapist has given me (i.e. Centre for Clinical Interventions) and my own personal experiences. 

Lastly, Alfred is in his mid-teens here (because he would fake his age to get into the army) and he isn’t the all wise and knowing Alfred Pennyworth we know and love just yet. And we all know how Master Fu loves giving Miraculous to unqualified, unprepared owners XD. 

P.S. Not me making Sass oblivious to human stuff because I don’t know a lot of war stuff. 

If you want to see more, follow: #miraclesingotham or ask to be added to the tag list.

Tag list: : @northernbluetongue @zerotosiki @spicybelladonna @my-name-is-michell @legendaryneckjudgestudent @lokiifriggasonn

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“Tell me everything you know about this Alfred Pennyworth and your time with him, Sass. I need to know if he can help before considering everything.” 

The snake kwami merely nodded. “Of course, my Guardian.”

“Alfred Pennyworth was one of the best snakelets I have ever known, even if in the end, he did not believe so. If given the time, perhaps, he could have mastered the Snake Miraculous in all of its power, despite his young age. I think he would’ve been only a year or two older than yourself...” 

August 1943, Northwest Europe

“Alfred Pennyworth, I am Sass, kwami of the Snake Miraculous, of Intuition. I will grant you the powers of Second Chance, so long as you promise to use your powers for good.” 

The snake kwami held out his hands gracefully as he finished introducing himself to his new owner. The current Guardian had told him of his duties before he was handed to the young man in front of  him. In times of war, a little intuition could go a long way. 

As Alfred continued to remain unresponsive, Sass began to worry. Alfred Pennyworth was a young man with sharp eyebrows and dark, piercing eyes dressed in a camouflage dark-green military uniform complete with the green beret covering his scalp . Sass noticed the tiny tremors of his shoulders and his tightly pressed lips,  although it would be unnoticeable to the untrained eye. They were in a dimly lit room, although it was strangely quiet for times of war, as the Guardian had relayed to him. 

It had been perhaps the strangest experience that Sass had encountered with a human, although he didn’t have that many to rely on. The young man continued to stare at Sass, and in all his infinite patience, Sass floated in place, and entered a meditative pose above the box he had just come out of.  From the little he knew of humans, they were often slow, narrow-minded creatures who needed more patience than most kwamis were willing to give. 

However, despite the strangeness of it all, Sass felt a warm kinship with the still man in front of him. 

Sass was unsure of how long it had taken for Alfred to be shaken out of his stupor, but he soon closed the box carefully and addressed him. 

“Hello. You’re the friend Mr. Fu told me of?” He asked hesitantly. 

“Yesss,” Sass nodded. “Master Fu is the current Guardian of the Miraculous. You must be someone special for him to entrust you with me, and me with you.” 

Alfred nodded slightly. “Yes, he mentioned that you would help me in my times of need.” 

“That is correct.” 

Sass watched as the young man bit his lip in thought and lightly traced over the marks on the box. “Sass, was it?” 

“Yesss.” 

“...I am Alfred Pennyworth.” 

“I am aware.” 

He looked up from the box and lightly cupped Sass in his hands. Alfred’s eyes squinted at him, his eyes roaming over his tiny form suspiciously. Sass stayed still for him, not feeling uncomfortable at the human’s scrutiny. Humans were suspicious of the unknown, Sass decided. They were wary even when there was evidence to say otherwise. 

When Alfred seemed satisfied, he spoke again. “Why would Mr. Fu give me a tiny snake?” 

Sass frowned. “I may be tiny, human, but I am powerful. With the bracelet you hold in that box, you will be able to turn back time for an unlimited amount of times within an allotted 5 minutes after the first reset. With my help, you are able to directly change events around you as they happen, for as much as you wish.” 

The young man’s eyes widened and gulped; Sass was unable to determine if it was out of terror or fascination. 

“Why would he entrust me with such a power?” 

“The Guardian’s mind works in mysterious ways. Perhaps, he wanted to give you a chance to see in yourself, what he saw in you.” 

His breath hitched, and he gulped again. “And what if I don’t like what I see?” 

Sass floated upwards to meet Alfred’s eyes. Yellow eyes met dark brown as he spoke. “That will all depend on you.” 

For the next few months, Sass watched as Alfred Pennyworth trained with his fellow soldiers as part of the Achnacarry in Scotland and eventually recruited to the No. 47 (Royal Marine) Commando based in Dorchester once the new year came. It had been the longest that Sass had interacted with any of his holders. He took to hiding in the pockets of Alfred’s uniform, although he often wished he had another place to hide when Alfred and the other humans were training with ringing, deafening gunshots,  the thundering footsteps of a hundred men caused tremors within the soil, and the hoarse shouts and screams of soldiers in a stimulated battlefield. When the soldiers were off-duty, Sass liked the chatter as Alfred and the others conversed with one another, their different tones whether morose or jovial, since it helped him drift off to sleep in Alfred’s warm pocket. 

In what little downtime that they had, Alfred liked to ask Sass questions about the Miraculous, what they did, their purpose in the world, the limits of his own Miraculous, and always, why he was chosen to bear such a great responsibility. Sass always told him what he could (although being inactive for so long left him little knowledge of other holders), and always repeated what he had told Alfred the first day they met. Sass liked being with Alfred. He was intelligent, curious, logical, and sensitive to information. Despite the grim circumstances that surrounded their partnership, he was glad that Master Fu had chosen Alfred Pennyworth.

It had been nearly a year since Sass and Alfred met when the No. 47 Commando received their first operation on June 6, 1944. Alfred often told him stories at night of his family, his home, and his surroundings. The night before as they were preparing for battle, Alfred had shared his worries with his fellow soldiers and Sass. It would be the first time they would be in a real battle, outside of Achnacarry or Dorchester. As the Commando arrived at the battlefield the day after, all the soldiers were crammed onto a ship. It had only taken a few hours to arrive at the outskirts of where they needed to be. Only a few miles from the shore, and already the sounds of battle rang throughout the ships, and the soldiers prepared to join in. Some would join as soon as the ship hit shore while others would stay behind to make sure that their ship didn’t sink and attack the opposing army from the water. Alfred was one of the soldiers that would be fighting the moment they hit shore, so he made sure to find an empty space to transform. Sass found himself and Alfred cramped near the ship’s engine, where Alfred was already fiddling with the Snake Miraculous. 

“I won’t look like a circus act when I transform, will I, Sass?” 

Sass shook his head. “No. Make sure to imagine yourself as you are, and the Miraculous will conform to your desires. You might find that your clothes will feel scaly as a side effect. Either way, your clothes will protect you from most impacts, although I’m not sure about bullets.” 

Alfred smiled. “I see. Will I be able to talk to you when I’m transformed?” 

“No.”  Alfred’s eyes widened. “Fear not. I will still be with you, as a part of you, but we will not be able to interact as we are now nor will I be conscious when you are transformed.”

Alfred took a shaky breath. “Alright. Thank you, Sass. Anything else I need to know?” 

“Use it wisely. Seeing that many possibilities will take a toll on you. You will most likely witness one moment in time in different ways. Others may not remember the other timelines, but you will. Do not forget that.” 

Alfred gave a curt nod. “This is it, then?” 

“Yessss, I wish you luck, Alfred.” 

“As do I,” he chuckled. “Sass, scales slither.” 

As Alfred called out the last words, Sass faded into unconsciousness. He had faith in Alfred, and hoped he would work well with the Snake. 

______________________________________________________________________________

When Alfred de-transformed, Sass noticed the light in his eyes and the way he clutched tightly onto two soldiers a few years older than him. The battle was over for now, Sass mused, so Alfred must be relieved that he was safe and alive. Later in the safety of his barrack, Alfred recounted the battle in hushed whispers, how many times he went back to save just one more life (“To think, who might’ve remained dead if you were not with me,” he said, rubbing Sass’ head affectionately with his finger), or to take one more shot he missed the first time. Sass asked him the precise number of times that he went back in time during those allotted 5 minutes that he had used “Second Chance.” Sass asked him who he had saved, how, and whose lives were lost in return. Alfred answers both questions enthusiastically with a significant amount of detail, that Sass allowed himself to feel content. Alfred had saved lives, had done his part for his country.

Sass was proud of his snakelet. 

As time went on, battles were waged and the war raged on all over Europe. Sass didn’t understand human battles, but he made sure to stay by Alfred’s side for all of it. 

It was about half a year in that Sass noticed the changes that Alfred is going through. Like every soldier, he is marred with scars, had a more gaunt, more sickly frame that came from eating smaller rations and sleeping less, and dark circles under his eyes that emphasized how haunted he was. Yet, Sass noticed that Alfred was overextending himself. In every offense, Alfred volunteered to be in the frontlines. In every battle, he took the time to transform, which meant Sass was also often exhausted after every battle and struggled to eat the already miniscule portions Alfred spared from his rations. After every battle, Alfred was jumpy, going from soldier to soldier and striking up conversation whenever he could, visiting the infirmary and muttering apologies to the wounded soldiers. It took Sass a while to realize that the former had been people he had saved, and the latter were the people that he couldn’t or those that he almost hadn’t.

Nights were always the worst. In the daytime with the rush and hustle of war battles, there was not a lot of time for Alfred to do anything but act and fight, especially when he transformed with Sass. But at night, when there was a semblance of silence in his own corner of the barracks, Sass comforted Alfred through the tears, the nightmares, the bloodshed, and other horrors he witnessed. When Sass couldn’t comfort him, Alfred retreated to the arms of Leo Dupain, a soldier a few years older who knew of Alfred’s real age, and the person who Alfred recounted saving the most during his resets. He had sandy brown hair, olive green eyes, a square-like jaw with a hooked nose that looked like it had been broken at least once. Sass listened to their hushed promises of returning to the motherland and settling down somewhere in the countryside far away from the influences of war and its politics. Sass watched as both Alfred and Leo drifted to sleep, holding each other like they were each other’s only anchor to the physical realm. Sass watched as Alfred woke a half hour before the crack of dawn to visit the infirmary before beginning his training, never looking back. Each time, Sass noticed that Leo searched for warmth that had previously been there.

Sass knew that witnessing all of Time’s possibilities was a heavy burden for anyone, much less a child. Alfred related to him about comrades who had died from gunshots, from being trampled on, or thrown overboard. If not them, it was the patients in the infirmary, the ones who had fallen trap to insanity or those who had lost a part of their physical bodies forever. Alfred was inconsolable. By December of 1944, Alfred had anxiety, insomnia, and an unhealthy attachment to the Snake Miraculous.

During that time, Sass tried to teach Alfred how to be more responsible with the Snake’s power, how to use each return more efficiently, and especially, how Alfred didn’t need to use the Miraculous for every injury that his comrades endured. Sass had relayed stories of other Miraculous heros: Heracles, Hippolyta, Joan of Arc, others unrecorded in history who had struggled to learn the same lesson: that Alfred was not a god and he couldn’t save everyone. 

But war was brutal and without mercy, especially to those with kind hearts.

Everything came to a head when Alfred failed to save Leo Dupain before he could reset. Sass was thrown onto the ground as the transformation wore off, gunshots blazing in the background as Alfred’s screams pierced his tiny ears. Sass slowly shuffled to Alfred’s side, and climbed into a nearby pocket.

“Leo, Leo!” Alfred cried, grabbing the heavy body of Leo Dupain, whose leg had been blown off by a nearby explosive. Blood spilled forth from the wound, and Leo breathed in shallow gasps, as his body became limp. Alfred was soon covered in his blood and from the dust and dirt around them. Frantically, he tried to find spare cloth but was futile in his efforts. Sass could feel the tremors from Alfred’s body as he held onto Leo Dupain like a lifeline. Other soldiers had heard his cries and clambered to them, grabbing Alfred forcefully out of Leo’s arms and into safety,

“He needs me! Stop! I need to save him!”

“Leg’s been blasted off, can’t do much for ‘im now but fight,” a soldier- Gabriel Ackles- muttered. He had been one of the soldiers Alfred saved a week earlier from a headshot.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Alfred ranted hysterically. “I was supposed to save him; he wasn’t supposed to get hurt. He’s going to die…”

SLAP

Alfred stood stunned as Gabriel stood before him, red-faced and fuming.

“We are in battle, soldier! Get it together! You wanna help Dupain, Pennyworth?!” Gabriel didn’t wait for an answer before shoving a long gun of sorts into Alred’s hands. “You go out there and drag every Nazi motherfucker to hell or die trying! You got it, soldier?!” 

Sass watched as Alfred’s eyes dimmed into a stormy grey and stared at the gun in his hands. A second passed and with trembling hands, Alfred was marching back onto the battlefield, gun ablaze. Sass tried hard as he could to use whatever remaining energy he had to protect Alfred, but the amount of resets during Alfred’s transformation had exhausted him and he fell unconscious to the sounds of war.

When Sass regained consciousness, it was to Master Fu’s face. A chill ran down his spine as he fluttered around frantically searching for Alfred. They were in an empty room that only had a few books, two futons and the Miracle Box. There were two double doors that separated their room from the outside world and another, smaller door that led to the rest of the building. 

Where were they? Why was he here? More importantly, where was Alfred?

“Do not bother, Sass,” Master Fu said in a tone more morose than he had ever heard. “Mr. Pennyworth has returned you to me. It has been several months since you were inactive.”

Sass deflated and floated down to the ground beneath him. “Where is he now, Master?”

“I am unsure.” Master Fu looked out of the large double doors. “I am afraid that I have placed too many expectations on young Alfred. When he helped us escape London, I had given you to him as a token of gratitude and friendship.”

“Master?”

Master Fu sighed and turned back to look at Sass with teary eyes. “I could not have foreseen that I had cursed more than blessed him, Sass. He had refused to give you back at first, and it was only yesterday, a month since I last saw him, that you had returned to us.”

Sass couldn’t speak. He had really liked Alfred Pennyworth. He was a good man- one of the best. But, even he couldn’t deny the madness he had endured during his time as one of his snakelets. If kwami had hearts, Sass knew it would be obliterated by the news.

“I see, Master,” was all Sass said before Master Fu renounced him and his Miraculous.

Present day

“And that was the last I heard of Alfred Pennyworth. The next time I appeared in this realm, it was to Luka Couffaine.”

Marinette wiped away a few tears that had sprung up during Sass’ story.

“Do you think he would have anything to do with the Miraculous after all he’d been through, Sass?”

Sass bowed his head and closed his eyes. “Perhaps. He had many questions I could not answer. I am not sure if his trauma overrode his curiosity. I know he had been planning on studying the Miraculous more before Leo Dupain had died.”

Marinette played with her hands as she mulled over Sass’ response. Something about his story caught her attention.

“Leo Dupain? As in my granduncle, Leo Dupain?” 

Sass blinked, yellow eyes trained on her. “Perhaps.” 

“If they're the same person, then he’s still around,” Marinette mused, thinking of the one-legged elder from her early childhood that made her laugh with his silly jokes and warm cuddles. “I never really kept up with him since my grandfather kept us away from Papa’s side of the family. He was funny, though.”

Marinette entered a silent trance, going over all the new information she had received so far, while the kwamis waited with bated breaths. Alfred Pennyworth had deeper ties with her than she had previously thought. In another world, he would’ve been another distant granduncle. However, would she risk going to him in this world when the Miraculous had already scarred him so deeply? But what if he didn’t know about her granduncle? What if he spurned her away despite that? What if he didn’t? What had Master Fu seen in Alfred Pennyworth that he had practically given away one of the Miraculous to his care? How would she explain everything that had happened since their last argument?

What other choices did Marinette really have?

“Marinette?” Tikki asked, the only kwami comfortable enough to break her train of thought.

She sighed, not liking her decision one bit, but she was desperate, and in some ways, this would be beneficial for both Alfred Pennyworth and her.

“Looks like we’re going to Gotham City.”

______________________________________________________________

I really am sorry it's taking more than five chapters for them to actually get to Gotham, by the way. I know most fics will usually have them there by the first chapter. I just like having a lot of build up for the plot and future subplots, so please bear with me!