#i’m sorry but if you expect me to be calm and normal when Hozier is out there being THE Man Ever. it’s not gonna happen

[seventh-district]

takes a 5 minute break in the middle of writing a scene to sob over Swan Upon Leda by Hozier

[muertawrites]

Hey! I absolutely loved your Zuko x reader one host you wrote, and I was wondering if you could do one where Zuko and the reader barely talk, but she’s part of Azula’s friend group. At the beach some stuff happens, and Zuko finds out she’s not as crazy as he thought she was. Kind of angst. I totally understand if you can’t, or don’t feel like it! I hope you’re safe and healthy, and everything is going well. Thank you!

From Eden (Zuko x Reader)

Word Count: 1,776 (FUHREEDOM MOTHERFUCKERS 🎆🦅🦅🦅 🎆 )

Author’s Note: Ok this request is P E R F E C T. I don’t think I need to tell anyone I love the psychology of this show, but I love the psychology of this show - especially with Zuko and his relationship with himself and others. And this episode??? Ohhhhhh I have some THINGS. TO. SAY. about this episode. I have been in this boy’s place and I feel 👏🏻 for 👏🏻 him 👏🏻 he 👏🏻 deserves 👏🏻 better 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻. I went in a sliiiiiiightly different direction, but I didn’t drastically change it (it turned out cute I think). Also, I named this “From Eden” because as I was writing it reminded me of the Hozier song. I’m such a sucker for a Broken Babe™, especially when the babe in question has a lot of personal growth and learns to love because of it. Thank you so much for this, anon, you’re absolutely gorgeous and I hope you’re keeping safe and healthy as well ❤ 

~ Muerta 

(Also, if you’d like to request something, I have a list of prompts tagged! Feel free to ask for anything from fics to headcanons to imagines - I’m also open to new character suggestions!) 

“Hey.”

Zuko sat on the porch of his family’s old vacation home, his mind miles away. Your greeting made him snap his head towards you, glowering down at where you stood at the base of the front steps. You crossed your arms, responding to his gaze with a defiant glare. 

“What do you want?” he growled. 

“To have normal friends,” you spat in reply. “Seems I’m stuck with you instead.” 

A few hours ago, Zuko almost made a crater in the beach from the campfire you, his sister Azula, and your friends Mai and Ty Lee had started a screaming match around. Insults were flung, tears were shed, and skeletons were evicted from closets, all resulting in your realization that maybe political survival wasn’t worth the dysfunction of constantly being surrounded by a sociopath and her cronies. Pretending to have a super fun sleepover with them back at the guest house was proving to be too much for your fragile sense of self-containment, and you weren’t quite friendly enough with your newfound death wish to tell Azula how you really felt about her, so you went where you knew it would be quiet. You didn’t expect to find Zuko and his anger issues there a second time, but he honestly didn’t scare you - you’d take his obvious rage over Azula’s subtle calculations any day. 

“I don’t know why you’re complaining,” Zuko jeered. “You’re just as emotionally fucked as the rest of them.” 

“Ty Lee’s got herself pretty much under control, despite her gullibility,” you answered cooly. “Also, if you really wanna talk about emotionally fucked, I’m not the one who almost roasted my ex-girlfriend alive earlier.” 

Zuko furrowed his brow at you, leaning forward as if to challenge you. You stayed exactly as you were, regarding him with a hard, unimpressed expression that revealed just how little he intimidated you. You couldn’t bend and weren’t a trained fighter - you knew he knew this, and that he wouldn’t actually attack you, despite how convincing he tried to make his empty threat appear. After a long, intense moment of wrinkled foreheads and competitive frowning, he backed off with a sigh, leaning back against the pillar behind him. 

“So, what, you want to come and make peace? Talk it out or something?” 

You shook your head, climbing the steps and lowering yourself onto the second highest; just below him, with a few feet between you as a courtesy. 

“The last thing I want to do is talk about that dumpster fire on the beach,” you told him. “I just needed some time alone. But, since I found you, I guess it’s a good time to ask if you’re okay.”  

Zuko looked you up and down, a confused and partially concerned look on his face. You half expected him to raise the back of his hand to your forehead to check for fever. 

“What do you care if I’m okay or not?” he asked bitterly. “We’re not friends.” 

“Zuko, I’ve known you since I was a toddler,” you said. “I’d say we’re friends. It’s not like anyone else really is.” 

“Mai is my girlfriend,” Zuko snapped at you. “She’s the best friend I have!” 

“Mai dumped you for being a possessive asshole,” you deadpanned, “then she let her best friend convince you to commit arson. Friends don’t let their friends’ sisters manipulate them into felonies.” 

Zuko huffed, slumping back defeatedly. 

“You can’t act like Azula’s never made you do anything you didn’t want to,” he grumbled. 

“I don’t,” you replied shortly. “I’ve just stopped caring about making her like me, since she really doesn’t like anyone. She doesn't get under my skin like she used to when we were kids.” 

You noticed Zuko’s lips curl upwards into the ghost of a smile. You mirrored him, leaning your arms atop your upright knees. 

“What?” you asked. 

Zuko chuckled faintly, shaking his head. 

“Nothing,” he responded. “You just… Do you remember when you were eight, and Azula teased Ty Lee about being too slow climbing the trees in our courtyard?” 

Your eyes widened in realization, your mouth parting into a wide smile as you let out a gasp of hysterical laughter. 

“Oh, that was awful!” you cried, though the memory only brought more fits of giggles to your gut. “I was such a little brat!” 

Zuko was laughing with you too now, arms wrapped over his stomach as he tried to speak between breaths. 

“It was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen!” he exclaimed. “Watching her fall out of the tree like that, the shock on her face, and then I caught you with the knife and saw where you cut the branch... She deserved it. You should give her a taste of her own medicine like that more often.” 

You blushed, looking away from him as your laughter died down. 

“Now she could kill me if she wanted,” you said. “I try not to say or do anything around her if I can help it.” 

“... Is that why you’ve been so quiet since then?” 

You nodded. 

“She beat me up when she found out what I did,” you explained. 

You stood, pulling down the waist of your sarong to reveal the burn scar on your right hip. Zuko’s eyes burst with shock at first, wondering exactly why you’d be disrobing in front of him, his expression softening when he saw the mark Azula left. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Most brothers feel like they should protect their little sisters. I always felt like I should’ve protected all of you from her.” 

“You did,” you assured him. You sat back down beside him, closer this time, so that your hips almost touched. “I remember you jumped in front of her once when she threatened us. And that time…” 

Your voice faded, the memory almost bringing tears to your eyes. You couldn’t figure out why. 

“You hid from her,” Zuko finished your thought. 

You nodded. 

“You let me hide in your room,” you recalled. “Remember? Azula punched me. I ran to the first quiet place I could find and accidentally went to your room.” 

Zuko hummed. 

“You were crying,” he added, “and your eye was all red and swollen.” 

“You held me.” 

Zuko’s eyes fixed on you. He didn’t say anything, though he remembered; you burst through his half open door, sniffling, tears and spittle running down your cheeks and chin. It was the first time Azula had actually, physically hurt you, and you were terrified and confused. He asked if you were okay, and you shook your head. Being so young, the only thing he could think to do was hug you, since that’s what his mother did to make him feel better, and you clung to him, sobbing into his shirt and using his much bigger body for protection. After that day, he let you use his bedroom as a hiding place whenever Azula got to be too much - until she found out about it and started teasing you about wedding dresses and baby names. 

“We were friends,” you breathed. “I wish we still were.” 

There was a long silence in which the two of you stared out at the horizon, down the steep hill leading to the vacation house and into the ocean. The moon hung in a small sliver, barely flickering across the calm waters that rocked below; you could hear the gentle rush of waves as they crawled over the sand and shrunk back into themselves, creating a calming din that echoed up to where you sat. 

“... I still remember your favorite game to play with me,” Zuko said into the warm air between you. “Those times you hid in my room. You used to pretend to be a Kyoshi warrior. My mom gave you one of her old fans and we’d jump on and off my bed, trying to catch each other.” 

You grinned. 

“I would wrap myself around your legs to keep you from walking,” you recalled. 

Zuko laughed. 

“I loved that,” he admitted. “It used to make me laugh so hard when we were kids.” 

He looked over to you, and you turned to face him as well. The anger in his eyes was gone completely, in its place a warm, steady sadness that made you ache. 

“I miss you,” he whispered. 

You reached cautiously for his hand, relieved when he slid his fingers between yours and gripped your palm tightly. 

“I miss you, too,” you replied. “I’m sorry I let Azula drive me away from you.” 

Zuko wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tender embrace. Your hands latched together on either side of his back, gripping into his shirt a little bit as you buried your face in his shoulder. He felt and smelled the same as he did when you were little; hard like the walls of a sturdy house and sweet like the last embers in a fireplace.

You didn’t know how long you held each other, but when you broke apart, you sat together for ages, existing in silence on the steps of his childhood house and beside one another. You felt small again, but in the best way - you felt like the girl who was brave enough to cut through the branches of a maple tree so your tormenter would fall out of them. 

“I want to run away,” you blurted. “I could be someone totally different if I weren’t stuck here.” 

“If you do, I’ll go with you,” Zuko said. “We can be different people together.” 

You grinned, leaning your shoulder against his. 

“We could move to Kyoshi Island,” you suggested. “I’m too old to start warrior training now, but we could start a business. Open an inn or something.” 

Zuko chuckled at the thought. 

“I’ll call myself Lee,” he mused, “and you can go by Izumi.” 

“Maybe we could be married. And we could adopt orphan children and cats.” 

“Just cats. You can’t emotionally destroy a cat like you can with a kid.” 

You glanced over at him, noticing the hard gleam in his eye. You wrapped your arms around his bicep, holding him close to you. 

“You’re not your father, Zuko,” you whispered. “You don’t want to be.” 

Zuko nodded. He reached for one of your hands, curling his own around it. 

“... I feel like I am going to leave,” he said, “at some point. When I do… will you stay? So that I have at least one friendly face to come home to someday?” 

You nodded, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. 

“I will,” you promised. “And when you do, I’ll give you Azula’s severed head as a homecoming present.” 

Zuko laughed at that. 

{ epilogue }

[remywrites5]

14 Fluff with wolfstar? 😉 /casualmaraudering

           Remus Lupin was willing to admit that he was a little bit obsessed with Sirius Black. Sirius often came in to the Karaoke bar where Remus worked to sing better than most of the others that came in. He was mesmerizing to watch on stage no matter what he was singing. He tended to go for more of the 70’s punk rock but every once in a while he would switch it up with a little Panic! At the Disco, Hozier, Beyonce, and all sorts.

           The last time he had come in he had done a rendition of “Somebody to Love” by Queen and Remus hadn’t moved for the entire five minutes that Sirius was singing. He had straight up ignored other customers who had been wanting drinks because he couldn’t stop watching Sirius. His coworker Marlene had just shook her head at him and served the people Remus was ignoring, knowing better than to try and pry Remus’ attention away from Sirius.

           Remus’ crush had gotten even worse when he’d discovered Sirius had a youtube channel where he posted covers of songs. Sirius apparently played piano and guitar, switching it up between videos. Remus had drastically increased Sirius’ viewer count since Marlene had been nice enough to drop that tidbit of information to fuel Remus’ pathetic pining.

           It was fairly slow for a Saturday night and it was just after nine o’clock when Sirius came in with his friends Lily, James and Peter. They grabbed one of the tables towards the front and Sirius immediately began filling out a slip of paper with his song choice. After he dropped it off with the emcee, he walked over confidently to the bar and leaned his elbows on it casually. He had on tight black leather trousers and a Sex Pistols t-shirt that had been cut to be a crop top, hitting just above Sirius’ belly button. Remus knew getting through the night with Sirius wearing that was going to take every ounce of his perseverance.

           “What’s up, Marls?” Sirius said, nodding to her.

           “Hi Sirius,” Marlene said, grinning in response. “What are you serenading us with tonight?”

           “Thought I might do a little bit of Elton John,” Sirius said, sliding his fingers through his hair. “I’m feeling extra gay tonight.”

           Marlene laughed. “You’re feeling extra gay every night, Black,” she teased him. Remus stood off the side pretending he wasn’t listening in on their conversation.

           “Pot, kettle, black and all that,” Sirius said with a smirk. “Your better half here tonight or are you sparing Dorcas the pain of listening to yet another night of karaoke?”

           “She has to work early in the morning,” Marlene informed him with a shrug. Remus realized he’d been cleaning the same glass for way too long and quickly switched to a different one. He didn’t want it to be obvious that he was eavesdropping. “When are you going to get a better half?”

           “Excuse you, I’m clearly the better half, Marls,” Sirius joked, glancing over at Remus. “Hi there.”

           “Oh, um, hi,” Remus said, giving a little wave. “Did you want a drink?”

           Sirius flashed him a smile. “Gin and tonic, two lagers and a ginger ale,” he rattled it off from memory. “First round is on me.”

           “Ginger ale?” Marlene echoed.

           Sirius’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Yeah, Lily’s pregnant. She’s off the sauce for the next seven months.”

           “Oh my god!” Marlene said, jumping up and down excitedly. “I’m going to go congratulate her! Can you handle the bar for a moment, Remus?”

           “Of course.” Remus gave her a quick nod and Marlene rushed off to go find Lily. Remus got to work making Sirius’ drink order, trying not to be distracted by the man himself. He quickly uncapped the two lagers and placed them on the bar before starting on the gin and tonic. He glanced up and found Sirius watching him intently, his head cocked to the side as if evaluating Remus. Remus couldn’t help the blush he could feel creeping up his neck the longer Sirius stared. He was so distracted that he overfilled the cup with soda water, spilling it all over his hand and the bar. “Shit.”

           Sirius laughed. “Am I making you nervous?”

           “Only always,” Remus said without thinking. He immediately wished he could take it back.

           Sirius blinked a few times and then smiled. He dropped his chin into his hand and looked Remus up and down. “We’ve never really talked before, have we?”

           Remus swallowed thickly and shook his head. “Not really.”

           “Pity.”

           Remus dumped out the gin and tonic and started over with a new glass. His hands were shaking from the knowledge that Sirius was watching him. He was so completely fucked that it wasn’t even funny. “I’m so sorry this is taking so long,” Remus said, wiping his brow and hands with a dishtowel. He was going all clammy from nerves. “I’m not normally this bad at my job.”

           Sirius reached across the bar and put his hand over Remus’ wrist. “Relax, mate.”

           Remus looked at Sirius’ hand and then his eyes flickered up to meet Sirius’ gaze. “If you want me to relax you really shouldn’t be doing stuff like that,” he said, wondering where all the word vomit was coming from. For some reason he just couldn’t stop. It was like his brain had stalled and any filter he had between it and his mouth was completely offline.

           Sirius snorted and took his hand away. “It is unbelievably cute that I can make you this nervous. It’s like finding out you have a super power.”

           “Yeah, except you’re using your powers for evil.”

           Sirius barked out a laugh at that. “I don’t think anyone would consider making adorable bartenders blush evil, mate.”

           Remus made a face at him and managed to finish making Sirius’ drink. It took concentrating on someone singing Maroon 5 badly to accomplish it.  He finished off by making the glass of ginger ale. He let out a shaky breath as he slid them across the bar towards Sirius. “That’ll be sixteen pounds fifty,” Remus told him, feeling slightly less anxiety-ridden now that he’d finished Sirius’ drink order.

           Sirius got out his wallet from his back pocket and gave Remus twenty pounds. “Keep the change.”

           “Do you need help carrying the drinks to your table?” Remus asked.

           “Nah, I got it,” Sirius said, putting the two bottles of beer in the crook of his elbow and gripping the other two glasses between his long, slender fingers with sparkly silver nail polish. “Thanks Remus.”

           “You’re welcome.”

                                                           ***

           Remus was outside smoking on his break, needing to take a breather and get away from the constant singing. The worst part of being a bartender was the later it got the more annoying and more drunk people got. Remus just hoped to get through the night without having to clean up someone’s vomit.

           The back door opened and Sirius stepped out with his hands in the pockets of his ridiculously tight trousers. “Here you are!” he said brightly, walking over to Remus.

           Remus took a long inhale of his fag and tried to think of something to say in response. He was slightly thrown off guard that Sirius had apparently come looking for him. “Hello again,” he finally settled on, blowing the smoke out slowly, careful not to aim it right at Sirius’ face.

           “So what did you think of my performance?”

           “You put Sir Elton to shame,” Remus said with a shy smile.

           “Thanks,” Sirius said, chewing on his bottom lip. Remus watched him as he continued to smoke, thankful that the nicotine was helping to calm his nerves. “You don’t sing?”

           “Oh god no,” Remus scoffed, shaking his head. “I’d rather put this cigarette out in my eyeball.”

           Sirius took a step closer to Remus. “Well we can’t have that. Not that I don’t think you could pull off an eyepatch.”

           Remus chuckled. “Thanks…I think?”

           “Give me your phone.”

            “What for?”

           “I wanna give you my number,” Sirius said, holding out his hand expectantly. Remus grabbed his phone out of his pocket and handed it over without thinking. Sirius pressed the home button and the screen lit up to reveal his own face. He glanced up at Remus, his eyes wide with surprise. “Am I your lock screen?”

           Remus’ face went bright red in embarrassment. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

           Sirius looked back down at the screen. “This is from one of my videos, isn’t it?”

           Remus nodded, taking another drag off his cigarette and letting it out shakily. He couldn’t believe he had done something so completely mortifying. Sirius was certain to think he was some kind of obsessed stalker. He couldn’t even say that Sirius would be wrong for feeling that way. In the video there had been a moment where Sirius had been singing while playing piano, his head bowed so his long hair hung in his face. You could see his reflection in the shiny black top of the piano. It would have been an aesthetically pleasing photo even if the subject didn’t enamor Remus.

           “The one where you did a cover of Le Vie En Rose,” Remus confirmed, dropping the end of his cigarette to prepare to run away if need be. “It’s my favorite.”

           Sirius passed the phone back and Remus felt his heart sank. That was it, he had officially blown it and Sirius didn’t want his number anymore. He took his phone back and tried to ignore that painful twisting in his stomach. “The passcode,” Sirius said with a small smile. “You have to put the passcode in.”

           “Oh,” Remus said, blinking in surprise. “I thought maybe you were having second thoughts.” He quickly typed in his passcode and handed the phone back to Sirius.

           “Well I mean I would expect my boyfriend to be my number one stan, so it seems like you’re already there,” Sirius teased, his thumbs flying over the screen as he added his contact information in.

           “I promise I’m not weird,” Remus said quickly. “I just really liked that picture of you and it’s basically art and no one would think I wanted to fuck the statue of David if that was my lock screen and…” Remus trailed off for a moment, something Sirius had said finally sinking in. “Did you say boyfriend?”

           Sirius laughed and held the phone out for Remus. “Trust me, Marls would have warned me if you were weird, and wouldn’t have encouraged me to come talk to you.”

           Remus rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “You’re not just doing this because Marlene talked you into it, are you?”

           “Definitely not,” Sirius said, grabbing the front of Remus’ shirt and tugging him forward slightly. Remus stumbled over his own feet but closed the gap between them. “I’ve been meaning to chat you up for ages, actually. My best mate James and I had an agreement that if he could get his wife pregnant then I would talk to you.”

           Remus huffed in amusement. “You said Lily was already two months pregnant,” he reminded Sirius.

           Sirius’ eyes lit up mischievously. “Oh so you were listening in,” he said, biting his bottom lip. “I thought so. And they only announced the pregnancy two weeks ago. Besides, I didn’t promise I’d be timely about chatting you up.”

           “Will you sing something for me?” Remus asked, reaching out and cupping Sirius’ face in his hand, letting his thumb brush over his high cheekbones.

           “What are you Ursula the sea witch?” Sirius joked, tilting his face and biting Remus’ thumb playfully. “Go on and kiss the – “ Sirius began to sing but was cut off by Remus capturing his lips. As much as he wanted to hear Sirius sing some Disney classics, he was much more interested in kissing him senseless. He splayed his hand over the small of Sirius’ back, touching his warm skin and holding Sirius flush against him as the kiss deepened. Sirius brought his hands up and gripped Remus’ biceps as he sucked Remus’ tongue into his mouth.

           “So…” Remus said, breaking the kiss after a few moments of intense snogging. “You said boyfriend? “

           “Yeah.” Sirius smiled, looking slightly dazed as he held onto Remus. Remus took it as a point of pride. “I believe I did.”

[frospino]

Ah, but I’m flying like a bird to you now

A Klaus Hargreeves Imagine

Warning: Death mention

Summary: Klaus Hargreeves helps (a non-gendered) reader connect with a dead loved one.

Word count: 1.719

A/N: I’ve been in a bit of a slump lately, but I really wanted to write for Klaus. Let me know what you think please! :) Title is from the lyrics of Hozier’s “Shrike”. I took some liberties with the way Klaus can use his powers.

Ah, but I’m flying like a bird to you now

 Klaus Hargreeves was excited to feel the heavy rain on his skin. The way the drops made his hair stick to the side of his face. His eyeliner drawing intricate patterns on his cheeks. The splashing sounds his naked toes made on the pavement.

Klaus had been sober for a couple of weeks now. He saw no point in counting just how many, but his body wasn’t racked by terrible cramps, sweat attacks and all the other fun stuff that came with his new life anymore. Tiny moments of mindfulness, such as letting himself feel nature’s power, had become a beautiful distraction from the moaning, accusations and dark stares that followed him wherever he went.

He was aware of the irony behind using mindfulness as a distraction, but well, Klaus Hargreeves had never been someone who let rules and expectations dictate the way he did things.

“You may want to put on some clothes. It must be cold. And wet.” Ben’s voice pulled Klaus out of his semi-meditative state.

“I don’t really care, but I appreciate your concern, little brother.”

“You do know that we are the same age?”

“Ssh. You stopped aging when you died. Therefore, you are younger than me now.”

An old lady, maybe around 80, raised her eyebrows at him and made a disgusted noise. Klaus grinned at her and tipped an imaginary hat in her direction. “Have a wonderful day, Queen Elizabeth!” She didn’t turn around, only hurried away.

Klaus turned to his brother’s ghost again. “People are so rude.”

“You do make a rather strange sight. At least put on some shoes.”

“My feet are never rude to anyone. And if they were, they’d apologise.”

Ben’s laugh echoed through the deserted street, and Klaus felt a twinge of sadness that he was the only one to hear this beautiful sound. 

For a while, Ben and Klaus just sat next to each other, each of the pair following their own trails of thoughts. To an outsider, Klaus must have made a pitiful sight—a 20-something with runny eyeliner, a shirt that was at least one size too small and distinctly naked feet, soaked to the bone.

Klaus was happier than he had been in a long, long time.

---

Your day couldn’t get much worse. Your ‘favourite’ colleague had found a way to blame his mistake on you, your boss had jumped at the occasion to scream at you, you forgot your lunch on the kitchen counter, and your best friend had called earlier to cancel your date for tonight. Life had just taken one turn for the worse after another, after… the incident. You forced yourself to push the thoughts way. You wouldn’t dwell on it now.

As you stepped outside of the office, you were engulfed by the heaviest rainfall the city had seen in weeks. And you didn’t have an umbrella. Of course.

At least the rain obscured your tears to anyone watching you.

Not that there were a lot of people on the streets to begin with. Most sensible people were probably huddled up on the sofa, hiding under a warm blanket, hot cocoa in hand. You contemplated taking the bus home, but decided the rain might help to cool your temper. You absent-mindedly nodded a greeting to the young man on the pavement.

“Your sister would like me to tell you that it wasn’t your fault.”

You turned around and finally noticed the state he was in. His face looked vaguely familiar, but you were pretty sure you didn’t know anyone with a fable for rainbow-coloured shirts and leather pants.

“I’m sorry, I’ve had a shitty day and really don’t feel like playing games right now.”

“Alice, right? Around 12, long blonde hair, died in a blue summer dress? From the looks of her, run over by car, poor thing. Ah yes, no, tact isn’t really my thing. Say, does your sibling punch people? Ben shut up, you’re not helping.”

You clutched your bag and took a step towards the stranger. Hot fury bubbled up in your stomach, and indeed, you wanted nothing more than to punch that stupid grin of the guy’s face.

“What. The. Fuck. Do. You. Want.”

He got up and took a small bow in front of you. “Klaus Hargreeves. Number Four. Umbrella Academy. You may have heard of me, we’ve been all over the news lately.” The stranger—Klaus—offered his hand in greeting.

Ah. That’s why he looked familiar. You remembered something about a family trying to stop the apocalypse. After Alice’s death, your life really had been one apocalypse after the other, so you hadn’t cared much.

Klaus or Number Four or whatever the fuck he wanted to be called let his hands drop to his side again. “Alice tells me you’re not big on strangers. Understandable. She’s worried, you know? You really need to eat something. There’s a nice place just around the corner. Wanna grab a bite?”

“You’re the one who can talk to the dead.”

“I probably should have led with that. Yeah, I guess that’s me.”

“Alice is—Alice is here?”

Klaus looked at the empty space next to you for a while and laughed. “She’s witty. I like her. Yes, Alice says she’s been following you. Says someone has to look after you, since apparently you’re bad at it yourself.” Klaus held up his hands in defeat, giving you a good luck of the words ‘Hello’ and ‘Goodbye’ tattooed onto his palms. “Her words, not mine.”

The tears started again, heavier than before. Sobs shook your body, and you felt your knees give out. Klaus caught you before you could hit the ground.

“Can you—can you tell her that I miss her? And that I’m so, so sorry?”

For a second, Klaus looked as if he wanted to give you a hug, but he opted for an awkward pat on the back instead. “She can hear you. And she says it’s not your fault.”

“But I—I should have looked after her better. I should have—should have—“

You didn’t manage to finish the sentence as your grief held you in an iron grip. You were shaking like a leaf in the wind, and if not for Klaus’ hand on your arm, you would have fallen down again.

“You know, in the last weeks, I’ve learned that hot cocoa is very comforting. Let’s get you out of the rain, and then we’ll have a nice chat, you, Alice and I.”

---

True to Klaus’ word, there was a nice café just a few walking minutes from where you met. You were very conscious of the wet trail you were leaving on the floor, but Klaus moved as if he couldn’t care less. His wet, naked feet made quiet splashing sounds with every step he took. There was only one other customer in the café, but his sigh was loud enough that it could probably be heard at the other end of the city.

“How about you sit down over there—the table with the four chairs—and I’ll get us something? Chocolate cake okay?”

You only nodded in response, pondering why Klaus would point you towards a table with four chairs. Up until now, you hadn’t really thought about the physicality of the dead. Did they need chairs to sit?

One or two minutes later, Klaus set a cup of hot cocoa and a slice of chocolate fudge cake in front of you.

“So,” Klaus looked at you with as he wiped eyeliner smudges from his face with a napkin. “Alice here tells me you’ve hardly eaten anything. That’s not good for your health, you know.”

You sighed. “Thank you. I know that.”

“She says you need to stop being so hard on yourself. And that your boss is a dick.”

You poked at your cake, unsure of what to say. “How would—how would she know?”

“Oh, she’s been following you around since she died.”

“She—what? She’s been here all this time?”

“…not when you go to the bathroom, if that’s what you’re asking.”

You shook your head, trying to process this new information. This whole time, Alice had been there? She had been with you when you cried over her dead body, during the funeral, during everything?

---

Two hours later, the barista informed you that she would close the shop soon. You were amazed by how calm she took in the whole situation—as if it was normal that two people had conversations with their dead siblings. Maybe she recognised Klaus, or maybe she just had an amazing poker face. Either way, you thanked her with a big tip.

Once outside, you gave Klaus a long hug. If you had any tears left, you thought you might have cried again; the conversation with Alice had taken all the shame and guilt away, but the sadness of her passing would stay with you forever.

Klaus slung his long arms around you, and so you two stood there for a while, a comfortable silence engulfing you.

When you eventually let go, Klaus looked at you with serious eyes. “Promise you’ll take better care of yourself.”

“I will.”

“If you need to talk to Alice again, you can always find me, okay?”

“…have you considered becoming a therapist? That power of yours could come in handy.”

Klaus smiled at you and shook his head. “Not all ghosts are as positive as your little sister, you know. Some are… better left with the dead, where they belong.”

Klaus waved at you, his tattoo telling you “goodbye”. Perhaps that was the only thing left to say. You felt a pang of regret as you watched Klaus Hargreeves go—regret that you did not get to know the man who spoke with the dead better. He turned a corner, and you were left wondering whether you really just spoke with your dead sister.

The only proof you had of what just happened was the sound of naked feet on the wet pavement.

  And Klaus arguing with who you guessed was Ben—

“I know man. I should get that line tattooed somewhere. What? Nope, not asking them out. Yes I saw that. Yes. Just—shut up, will you?!”

[tarithenurse]

On my mind, in my soul - 15

Prompt:  A sweet Anon was kind enough to hand me the challenge of a medieval village, a book, and the song  “Foreigner's God” by Hozier. Now, I’ve already used that song, but I love Hozier (who doesn’t?) so I wanted to stick with him….which eventually I didn’t so here’s “Pack up the Louie” by Caro Emerald. Sorry about that, Anon, this ended up very different than either of us probably intended, still I hope you like it! Pairing: Loki x Burglar!reader. Content: Swearing as usual, bit of angst, some mystery? No lemons this time, but just wait for the next chapter :D A/N: This has not been proof read! Might do that at some point and re-upload, but I’ve missed writing for fun and sharing it with you <3

Tricks

It was paradise. Travelling from one place to the other, cities and countries you’d only ever dreamed of getting to see one you made the score that’d help you retired. Retire? Your old life of planning heists and dodging private security guards was far from the life you were living with Loki. Budapest had been the start where the god had seen your curiosity of the long-lost worlds, and so he brought you along to every Mediterranean Eden. You would never tire of it, listening to him tell about historical events as if he’d been there. He probably had, actually.

Some part of you knew the sweet life would end. Life does that to good times. It takes what’s good and right and stubs it out in the dust like a half-smoked cigarette, lipstick stain still on the filter. And if it wasn’t something tearing joy away, then you’d already realized the inevitable: Loki talked about history as though it was yesterday, because for him it was. Time moved differently for him than it did for you.

Why had you never thought of that before?

In the haze of warm sunshine, champagne and lazy kisses up your thighs, the two of you had created a little pocket of bliss outside of time. You were addicted to it. Never wanted the rush to end. And so that became your biggest fear because damn you if you almost hadn’t already. But the silver tongue and warm heart in a chest of ice could stem the nightmares as you’d fall asleep, sated in all manners of the word, in Loki’s arms.

The clock rings and it’s half past eleven Can’t believe it but the time just flies

Waking, sight bleary even with the soft light coming through the dark canvas above, you find the coolness of the god’s arm and chest still around you, but nothing else fits with your expectations. You’d fallen asleep in a bed with silk, a room of marble and open windows overlooking València and the sea…that’s all gone now.

It takes a few attempts to rub the sleep from your eyes, time where you become too aware of how scratchy the coarse wool and mismatched furs are against your bare skin. No, this is nothing like where you fell asleep.

“L-loki?” Twisting, you not only face your god, but another one too. “Loki, wake up.”

From somewhere under the mass of black hair, there’s a grunt in approval. Much can be said about him, but your lover loves a lazy morning. This time, however, he must sense something’s going on, because all of a sudden he’s on his knees, shielding you with his (very naked) bod, and knives in hands.

It must be said to the stranger’s credit, that he never seems anything else than annoyed despite the display. In fact…he doesn’t seem to take it half as serious as he should.

A heavy sigh escapes him, granting him time to pinch his own arm. “All…alright. I see. That’s just nasty! No other word for it!” Sighing again, he looks around the place and your gaze follows his. Shit. “Well, if my master findeth out, I shall be the one punished. Ye hath not long ‘fore he returneth. Taketh nought but what is your to take as ye leaveth.” With that he turn and exits through a tent flap.

“That…hurt my ears,” Loki complains.

You’ve never seen him suffer a hangover and his face of disgusted curiosity supports your theory that the way the man had spoken was weird beyond normal. Not as weird as waking up in a tent that could’ve been taken from a Robin Hood-movie, though.

Everything seems to be handmade, including the bed which seems to be pieced together on the spot and padded with straw and sheep skin. The red and blue canvas walls are thick, but not enough to block the unmistakable shadows of leaves in the sun, or the sound of voices. Happy voices.

Rounding on Loki, his evident surprise does absolutely nothing to calm you down. “Where…the fuck…are we?!”

“Not València.”

“Oh, really?” The urge to slap him with a pillow is strong, but he’s faster than you and tugs it away. “What did you do?”

“What did I do?” Perfect, black brows arch at your insinuation. “I didn’t do anything! I’m complete- well, maybe not completely, just in thi- but no. I didn’t bring us here.” Turquoise eyes roam the room and your naked form. “Where- and whenever here is.”

Pulling you to your feet, you allow him to do what he wants, knowing that whatever he’s got you into now it’ll be easier just to roll with it. Magic caresses your skin (lingering long enough in certain places to soften your mood) until you’re dressed in clothes more ridiculous than what you’d had to wear In Valhalla. Billions of layers weigh you down and it feels almost impossible to breathe due to a corset. Looking at Loki, the view isn’t quite as foreign because you’ve seen him in leathers and silks, and you envy the lightness of his clothes.

“What? Loki!”

But voices from right outside have you scurrying through a slid the Asgardian cuts in the tent wall, escaping the man that had given you a chance to run away before his master came back.

By the time you come to a stand still, it’s abruptly and smack into Loki’s unyielding form because you’ve not been paying attention, focusing instead on the ridiculously long sleeves that keep getting in the way. And shoes? Oh, the trickster’s going to hear just wrong everything is, that’s for sure! The problem’s just…it really doesn’t seem to be his doing. Whatever “this” is. Either way, doesn’t take a genius to fit the pieces together, now that you’ve stopped to think.

The language.

The tent and its contents.

The ridiculous clothes.

Medieval Europe has been represented plenty among some of the things you’ve “procured” over the years.

The language.

…   Loki’s PoV   …

This is unheard of. Loki, God of Chaos and Mischief, waking up in a strange time and place with no recollection of how he got there. Glancing over at the woman, he appreciates what the outfit does for her figure for nothing more than a second (or two) before looking for cues on how she is dealing with this situation. Mimir’s balls. Nostrils are flaring, following the same rapid tempo of the bosom that is shackled by a corset and layers of fabric. Oh, she is furious, and it is all Loki can do to push aside the memories of how some of their very first encounters had been.

“Do not worry, [Y/N],” he promises tentatively, “I will see to it that we are returned.”

Even the bird that has been chirping prettily in the nearby tree falls quiet as she returns his gaze, burning cold with determination.

“Worry?” The bird flutters away with a protest. “You will make su-…you are just as surprised as I am, and I’m plenty capable of doing the saving too.” For a moment Loki envies the bird, although the wrath is more likely a result of the situation itself. “In fact, Loki god of Mischief…I think I know what sort of place we are at.”

Without explaining, she stomps past him towards the clamouring noise of what sounds like a village, and he knows better than to argue at this moment. In fact, he quite enjoys witnessing the feisty side of [Y/N], though his appreciation might be tainted by previous experiences. So he follows dutifully until their reach the edge of the woods and stumble upon the type of scenery Loki recalls from his childhood.

Roughhewn, wooden cottages, stables with sturdy ponies and a donkey, a strangely new looking smithy, and where there are not actual buildings, there are tents or market stalls with an abundance of items. Ah! Market day! That would account for the high amount of people for such a small place. And where there are travellers, there will be plenty of information…and mounts more fit for a god than a woolly pony.

“I beg pardon, good lord,” [Y/N]’s voice rings from across the makeshift street, “mayhaps thou canst offer me direction to the Guild of Law or the Town Hall?”

Despite the loveliness of her voice the words jar Loki’s ears, but the stranger hardly raises a brow and merely explains the (very simple) route. Maybe his grasp of the spoken languages were not as correct as he had thought…still…

She leans in conspiratorially close, a smug smile on the perfect lips. “Oh, yeah, I’m so right! Look at the windows.” Doing so helps the god very little, and the devilish woman doesn’t give up the secret until she has laughed thoroughly first, but then: “The glass…it’s too clear, too perfect. And look at the paint, that’s modern too.”

…   Reader’s PoV   …

Hearin' stories and a thousand lies About the things that I’d never do

A lot of things begin to make sense when you get to the Town Hall. Like the geographical location: Mid-England, not too far from a place called Hucknall (although you’re still not sure how you actually got there). And the time? Still 2019 on the very day you had expected to wake up. And still, it’s somehow much more satisfying to see that you have been right in noticing all the little things that somehow are off even though it becomes easier to explain to Loki just what is going on when you finally stand with the so called “King’s Law”. Theoretically at least.

“Role playing?”

“U-huh.”

“You mean to say this is all fake?”

That one takes a bit longer to explain to him, how it’s an elaborate game of pretend for adults but that breaking the rules of the game is absolutely not acceptable. It becomes even trickier to harness his impatience when he learns that whichever punishment there would be dealt would be of no consequence to either of you.

“I know we’re not coming back, but don’t you see?” Noticing the disapproving look of a nearby LARPer, you tug Loki over to a corner. “Whoever sent us here wanted to annoy us or whatever…how about we play his game, but up the ante?”

Curiosity wins over frustration in those green-blue infinities. “What do you mean?”

“This place, these people…according to the rules and outline for the weekend, they expect the Magicians’ Guild to visit, maybe show some tricks. Tricks. You can do better than that.”

“I don’t do tricks for amusement like some jester.”

“Exactly.” His skin is blessedly cool on your hands when you draw him in for a kiss. “They’ll have no clue what hit them.”

…

Is there a porter somewhere For a lady in despair Can you help little me

It started in the details like things disappearing and reappearing which wouldn’t have been alarming until the frequency of the incidents skyrocketed and everyone were talking about moving items within an hour, stressing the poor souls in charge of maintaining some order. They were relieved when things resumed staying put…then a suspicious amount of even stranger sightings were reported.

“I swear, sir, there was a unicorn!”

“Madam! Thy book is not a possum…”

“Hath thou any witnesses?” – “Ay, sir Walter.” – “Sir Walter…didst thou hear the tree talk?”

It might not be the LARPing group’s plan, but the big mystery of the day is how these things are happening. Of course, the incentive for figuring it out differs depending on the level of powerlessness for each individual (extremely high from the gamemasters’ while virtually non-existent for the players who manage to keep believing it’s essentially a matter of very clever tricks).

And still no one tries to stop you and Loki. Time for the big show, you smirk as you prepare the final act to smoke out whoever has brought the two of you here. A kiss, a promise not to be scared by whatever will come, and then you start running from the forest, head over heels and yelling for people to save you.

Why?

Looking over your shoulder, you admit you would’ve been terrified at the monstrosity that haunts you. It’s a beast like none you’ve ever seen. Huge, tough and thick fur on the front half of the lumbering body while the hindquarters are covered in scales in the same venomous yellow as the leathery wings. Even with just two limbs (strong legs and big paws with deadly claws) it moves fast simply due to the size. It’s just an illusion. And still you try to speed up, hands fighting with the (pre-)shredded garb to keep yourself from falling.

It’s not until a tent is flattened under the beast that people seem to decide that they’re neither collectively hallucinating…nor watching a fancy show. Screams rise, agitating the creature so it roars with the draconic mouth open wide enough to count every single tooth, though most probably never get further than the set of fangs that drip with something that singes the grass below.

It’s chaos. Heart-pounding, gut-twisting, explosive chaos. The kind you’ve always avoided at all costs in your work by planning everything meticulously, preferring the satisfaction of perfection instead. This is…your gasping is not just from running. Burning from within the veins is the pleasure of being in control in this living nightmare: the chaos is yours to command. Dark and addictive, like the sides of a god you know. And you don’t want to run, you want to stride purposefully to flaunt how you of all people are untouchable by this monster following in your footsteps.

What? Chains of un-burning embers latch on to you from all sides and shackle you in place, restraining all but your head as you try to spot the one behind this twist of the scenario. And there he is. Tall and slender like Loki, you admit, and with the same slightly arrogant confidence in his own abilities even now that he stands calmly while everyone else is fleeing. Guess we found you.

Like a ballet with hands, the man gathers the air (it’s the best way you can describe it) around him until the red cloak is flapping. Then he sends it towards the monster, not caring that you’re in the way to receive the force too. You land clumsily with a thud and an umph but manage to twist in time to see the illusion break apart like smoke, leaving everything intact once more.

“Loki!”

“I should have surmised it was you, Strange.” The god steps out from the smithy, a cold smile on the lips. “What’s this? Tired of playing games?”

Swatting the oddly active cloak aside, the wizard turns to face Loki. “We can’t let you endanger innocent people.”

“Please! They were never in danger.” The glint of green in his eyes is still one of amusement.

“These may not have been, but there are others out there…you been ignoring us and as su–“ Strange (because you recognize him from the news now) interrupts himself with a heavy sigh. “We need your help with…something.”

“Find someone else.”

You can hear it, the tension in Loki’s voice that you’ve come to learn has something to do with you. Maybe the wizard recognizes the nature of it, because he disintegrates the chains and even help you get back to your feet (and the cloak dusts you off – on it’s own!). It’s not until you’re safely back by Loki’s side that the men seem to return to business.

“Loki…trust me, we didn’t want to do this, but we need your help…the manner of getting you involved was your brother’s idea.”

Surprised by the admission, Loki’s head snaps up. “Thor planned this prank?”

“Yeah, now are you coming? They’re waiting at the tower for you and [Y/N].”

Wait what? “Why me?”

The wizard’s surprisingly kind eyes meet yours. “You were brought in, dying from a poison…the least we can do is ensure that there are no lasting effects.”

And without further ado, he stirs the air to create a ring of embers through which a very different place can be seen. One with white walls hung with original artwork, sleek designed furniture in dark colours, and a handful of very serious looking superheroes.

[moonlights-inkwell]

He gives me toothache just by kissing me

Summary: A late night doing homework becomes something else when your best friend stops by to talk. 

Jason Todd x Reader

Robin! Jason Todd x Reader.

Word Count: 2072

Happy Valentine’s Day! …So the old version of this had some issues? So I fixed it? I guess this is sort of angsty at the end but is generally pretty fluffy.

Title is from Hozier’s Work Song.

It was late, so late that you could feel your eyelids fluttering shut as your elbow dug into your calculus homework, crumpling the sheet beyond comprehension. You would normally be asleep by now, but the need to finally finish all of your work had ensured that you had stayed up for several more hours than usual, and this extra time awake was definitely playing on your body. You hadn’t been this tired since… well ever. It was overwhelming really, head feeling heavier and heavier with every second until you jolted yourself back awake. The need to sleep combating with the need to finish ensured that you had been reading and rereading the same question for at least half an hour. The sound of knocking against the window was what finally drew you back to reality, head turning quickly to see the domino mask clad face of your best friend behind the glass, dark hair merging into the pitch black of the night sky behind him.  

Jason had shown up at Gotham Academy two years ago, after being taken in by Bruce Wayne, which had created a small amount of levity for you. Before Jason, you had been the New Kid at school- the new kid who wasn’t as rich as the rest. You were only at Gotham Academy because your grandmother had died, and in her will had left a fair amount of money to be spent on your education. That had been a bad idea. The other kids had treated you like shit for months until Jason showed up, you couldn’t help but feel sorry for him despite your relief. No matter how shitty the other kids had been to you- and how much you had wanted them to stop treating you poorly- you didn’t want someone else to take your place as their new target, rather them to just lose interest and leave you alone. Your English Teacher had brought him forward on the first day, telling him to say somethings about himself but all that you were able to do was pay attention to how he looked. He was smaller than most of the kids in your class (something you had later found out was from malnutrition), with wide blue eyes which easily turned to catlike slits when he was angry- which seemed to be often, and messy curls of soot-coloured hair. He was cute, in a sort of sad way. You found out later from the whispers of some of the other kids that Jason had been taken in by Bruce Wayne, that he was from the Narrows- not that they described it like that. Street Rat was their usual terminology, and it made you hate them all the more. That was probably why, a few days later, when a kid called him a charity case in the middle of the cafeteria, you had decided that the only means of stopping the bullying once and for all was to punch the Bully in the face.  

The bullying subsided for both of you after that, and in its place you had gained Jason’s friendship, something that seemed somewhat impossible to anyone else. With Jason’s friendship came a fierce sort of protection, he had seemingly decided to become your own personal guard dog, protecting you as much as he possibly could. You notice the bruises after a few weeks, blooming on his legs and arms as if they had come from fights, the split and bruised knuckles such an often-seen part of his appearance that you became confused when they weren’t present. They make your mind race through all the possibilities on the planet; that the bruises are from falling, the split knuckles from some sort of secret fight club, because the alternative is too horrible for you to think about. The truth came out after a year when he finally confessed to you that he was Batman’s sidekick, not that you believed it at first. You only knew it was true when he came to your window later that night in uniform and grinned at you, face lit up and eyes shining mischievously in a way that just screamed ‘I told you so.’ It made his protective nature make sense, but also meant that the bruises that littered his arms and legs were was less worrying than you had previously thought. He happily shows you his mask while hidden away in the confines of your bedroom while he ‘showed you his moves’- which actually means that he showed off some sort of confused air karate before saying he couldn’t show his ‘real moves’ because they’d scare you off. You had laugh at that and flop onto the bed, his mask between the thumb and forefinger of each hand. Robin. Jason. It seemed almost absurd.  

Now, he leans against the window frame as you pushed the glass upwards to allow him into the room, his lips turned up in a small, sad sort of smile as he climbs in. He’s taller now, finally taller than you, and broader too. The sadness is newer though, made even clearer as he peels the mask off of his face and stomps over to your bed (something that would have been comical with his scaled shorts and pixie boots if it wasn’t for how upset he seems). You reach out almost subconsciously and pull him into a gentle hug, his body rigid as your arms wind around his frame; he feels safe and warm even in his ridiculous costume, and your eyes slowly slip shut until you feel something warm and wet hit your cheek. Your [E/C] eyes look up and see the tears dripping down his cheeks.  

“…Jase?” Your voice is soft, to try and avoid the risk of your parents hearing you talking and coming in, but as your eyes glance at the red neon numbers on the digital alarm clock you decide it’s too late for your parents to be awake.

“Bat benched me.” He says softly and slides down onto the bed. “He benched me. I…”

“Oh Jay…” You whisper and hold his cheek softly. Him crying isn’t exactly new, Jason cries whenever he’s angry or excited- you can’t help but think that he must feel things so strongly that it’s overwhelming for him, and that’s why it’s never stopped making your heart clench. Sitting beside him, cheek cupped in your hand seems a good way to calm him, so you gently wipe the heavy flow of tears away. “He… it isn’t permanent right? I mean, you’re still Robin.” You whisper to try and calm him down, but his thin fingers wrap around your wrist. His grip is tight, even in spite of his green gloves, and it makes you flinch slightly from the unexpected display of strength.

“…Doesn’t matter. Cause I’m not stickin’ around.” His voice is louder than before, more conspiratorial as he leans in to you, the corner of his mouth turned up in what is either a small smirk or as a means of keeping from crying any further.

“What do you mean, not sticking around?” You ask worriedly, your thumbs stilling from wiping his cheeks. That could mean anything, but you found yourself silently praying that it didn’t mean that he was running away or anything stupid like that.  

“…My mom, I’m gonna go find my mom.” You turn your head in absolute confusion, lip caught between your teeth.  

“I thought you said she was-”

“Dead? That’s what I thought, but she wasn’t my mom.” He says, voice caught somewhere between feverish and overjoyed. “I’m going to find my real mom. She’s in Ethiopia, so I’m gonna go find her.”  

You know it’s selfish, but your jaw tightens and your hand shifts away from his face, almost angry that he would leave you, but his tight grip on your arm doesn’t stop or even loosen. You don’t want him to leave, and it’s cruel and selfish and harsh, so you swallow down that negative feeling and force a smile. His mom. How could you be so cruel as to tell him not to try and find his mother, just do you can have him around? So you don’t, choosing instead to nod and tilt your head.  

“That’s… fantastic, Jay. You need to find her.” His mom. Of course, he’d leave to find his Mom, even if it meant travelling all that way, but your heart still throbs painfully. You smile and gnaw at the soft flesh of your lip, too busy focusing on trying to keep positive that you don’t notice how Jason’s eyes flit down to your lips and how he moves closer to you, don’t notice how his hand slides up from your wrist to your upper arm until he pulls you into a kiss.  

It’s awkward, mainly because you hadn’t been expecting it in anyway shape or form. Kissing had never been something you spent much time thinking about other than in the confines of in romantic movies and classical literature; kissing was always for girls who look like Molly Ringwald to you, or boys like Paul Rudd in Clueless, or for heroines like Elizabeth Bennett or Emma Woodhouse, not for you. But here you are, sat on your bed in a t-shirt and pyjama shorts with your best friend, clad in his crime-fighting get up, kissing you like he thinks it’s his only chance to do so. His lips are cold and wind-chapped, moving slowly against your own, and working your lip free from the tight grip of your teeth. You finally respond after a minute or two, just before Jason could pull away, lips pressing back against his own which made him grin against you, free hand sliding up into your hair. It’s clumsy, but its soft and sweet and so very Jason that you can’t help but think that it’s the perfect first kiss. Equal parts romantic and soft to awkward and unaware. It’s not like the kisses from the movies you like or the the novels you read, or even anything like the kisses you had seen from public displays of affection that normally had your eyes rolling. It’s gentle in ways you aren’t used to. He pulls back to smile at you before brushing his lips against yours once more before you tug him back into another kiss, almost unwilling to let him go because you know if he stops kissing you he’ll leave.

After a few more minutes Jason breaks the kiss with a breathless smile, kisses your forehead and smiles. “I’m coming back for you, Okay? I promise. I’ll be back.” He kisses you chastely- little more than the smallest press of chapped lips against yours- but stops before you’re able to return it, then stands up and walks towards the window. “I’ll be back. You won’t even have enough time to miss me, and when I’m back, I’ll take you to Pauli’s for a date.” He smiles softly and gives you enough time to smile and nod excitedly. You watch as gets closer before your fingers close around the thin chain of the necklace that your grandmother had bought you before she died.  

“Jase!” You call after him before he’s able to get his leg over the window-frame, rushing to him. Undoing the clasp, you gently pull it off then grab his wrist and force the fabric of his glove down, you slowly wind the dainty chain around his wrist and smile, tugging the glove back up.  

“I can’t-” He starts but you cut him off with a soft kiss.  

“Give it back when you come home, yeah? Now you have to.” You hope that you don’t sound too desperate, and from the way that he smiles back at you, it’s safe to assume you don’t. He climbs away, and you sigh softly, leaning against the window ledge as he disappears into the night. You eventually stop staring off into the darkness to try and get some sleep, walking back to the bed and lay back. But now sleep refuses to come, so you let yourself drift off into a fantasy of the oncoming date; how much fun that date will be, what you should wear, how long you think you’ll have to wait for him to come home. You fall asleep with that on your mind, eyes slipping shut with your lips turned up in a peaceful smile.  

But he never comes home.