#last season and HE ALMOST DIES TWICE??? rude

[a-wisebear]

haunted by the narrative? haunted by the fact that he rarely shows up in the narrative, he kicks ass, he's cool, he's pretty, he's capable, he could solve a 5 episode arc in 1, everybody loves him, he changes everything with his little appearances, and yet we don't know anything about his fate?????

[thefloatingpickle]

Runcorn

Just a small one shot about Osferth and a local woman because he’s my fave. Set in the time between seasons four and the start of five.  Osferth!FemaleOC 

NSFW, no triggers I can think of. 

After another long day on her feet working as a serving-maid in the largest tavern in Runcorn the only thing Astrid wanted to do was find her bed. She'd taken the job a few weeks ago when the owners wife had died and while the freedom to make and spend her own money had given her a sense of independence from her overbearing father, it had only added to his claims she was growing in to a spinster since she was in her early twenties with no marriage prospects. There weren't many men in town who had caught her eye, she'd had a couple of small trists but nothing that would be considered serious, that was until Uhtred of Bebbanburg had come to town with his men. Since then she had come to grow fond of the evenings that his men would frequent the establishment passing the evening drinking and enjoying eachothers company. 

On this particular evening only two known as Finan and Osferth had shown up, and while Finan was invested in a particular woman that she'd seen him chatting up on several occasions, Osferth was busy drinking the evening away surrounded by several local women who had all become quite taken with the handsome man. 

As she brought another jug of ale to their table Finan gave her a pleasant smile. "Long day Astrid? You look ready for bed." The exhausted woman gave a nod, "I was up with the sun again. It seems the gods don't believe I'm in need of much rest." Ingrith offered a sweet smile. "You poor thing. Maybe it's just not as comfortable in that old farm house as it used to be for you." Returning the smile with one of her own Astrid shrugged. "Sleep will find me again eventually, enjoy your ale." As she turned to go Finan teased, "You know I've heard Osferth's bed is terribly comfortable." Upon hearing his name Osferth looked over from his conversations confused. "What about my bed?" Her face turned bright red as she replied "I'm sure plenty of women would be happy to find out." She walked away, leaving Finan laughing and Osferth a picture of bewilderment. 

Ingrith landed a small punch on Finan's arm. "Why would you tease the poor thing so?" "Oh come on! I know you've seen how Baby Monk's eyes follow her as she works. Not a single woman I've seen him take home has gotten as much attention." Many of the ladies sitting at the table got up and found other places to continue their evening and the young Monk looked like he was desperate to disappear in his seat. "She doesn't look twice at me." "Perhaps if you weren't constantly finding your way between the thighs of others she'd take a second glance." Finan clapped him on the shoulder with more vibrant laughter. 

Astrid finished her night as peacefully as she could, unable to keep from looking over at Osferth whenever she passed by, and he was almost always looking back. It made her anxious in a way that she wasn't familiar with and she was in a rush to be out of his company. When the owner told her at last she was free to go she nearly ran out the door and headed straight for home. She was just passing the home she knew Uhtred's men stayed in when she heard a voice from behind her. "I'm sorry you were embarrassed in such a way." Spinning around she found the warrior smiling with an awkward look on his face. "It's alright. He was only teasing, he's just like that it seems." "He tends to show his affection through rudeness unfortunately. " He leaned against a nearby building seemling unsure what to do with himself. "It was an unusual jest though, seeing as you had yourself occupied with many other beautiful women." His brows furrowed at her words. "Well he's observant I suppose." She found herself confused now and sat on a nearby stack of hay. "What is it he would have observed." He kicked a bit of loose dirt on the path and spoke to the ground as he replied. "Just that I watch you I expect." "You watch me?" He straightened quickly and made his way closer to her. "Not watch, just.. notice." 

She smiled at her hands in her lap feeling her cheeks flush. "What is there to notice?" "You of course. I just notice you, your beauty." He was standing directly in front of her now, looking down at her with a small grin on his face. "I don't mean to be forward, but most of the reason I patronize the tavern as often as I do is to see you." "And yet you frequently find yourself leaving with others?" She was teasing him, she didn't care that he spent his nights in the company of others. Things like that mattered little to someone of her background. He stumbled over his response. "It’s... they're of little consequence. I mean... they were lovely in their own ways. But, not you." 

The blush on her face had spread and she was feeling the weight of his eyes on her. "That’s kind of you to say." He looked around seemingly unsure of where to take the conversation, "Could I walk you home?" She looked at the home he was staying in across the road and laughed. "Just to circle back and find your way home again? I think I'll be alright." His mouth drew out in a frown. "I'd like to spend more time with you. If you would. Finan won't be back tonight. If you're struggling to sleep I can offer you a fairly large bed, and I believe we have wine." He spun in place on his heels chewing his bottom lip. Astrid contemplated her options, she wasn't looking forward to returning home to her nagging father, and it had been a while since she'd let herself enjoy a nice night. "Alright, it's very kind of you." He nodded fervently. "Of course."

As they entered the small home he gestured for her to sit at the large table in the center. "I'll get the wine." Handing her a cup he sat across from her and looked around uneasy. "What would you like to talk about?" She'd always had an interest in the battles often fought over ruling the land around her home. "I'd love to hear about your time as a warrior. What a battle is like, tales of the road perhaps." He perked up at her request and the evening followed with them sharing many glasses of wine as he regaled her with stories of his time on the battlefield. 

She'd nearly forgotten how tired she was until she saw the sun rising over the horizon out the window. "It seems we've talked through the night." He turned in his seat appraising the coming dawn. "You are correct it would appear. I apologize. We should get to bed." They stood and he grabbed her a blanket, "You can sleep in the bigger bed. Its just through the door there." He led her to the back of the small dwelling and as they crossed the threshold she felt as though the air in the room had grown heavy. "Thank you again, it's incredibly sweet of you to do this for me." "It was good to get the time with you, you're welcome here whenever you'd like." He went to leave but paused at the door. "If you should need anything please don't be afraid to wake me." 

Placing the blanket on the bed she walked over to him in the door way. Leaning up to place a kiss on his cheek. "You're very sweet Osferth." He took one of her hands in his own and gave her a shy smile. The tension between them thickened as he bent his head down slowly, bringing his lips near her own. "Is it alright." He whispered against her lips and in reply she closed the space between their mouths. The kiss was heated instantly, his arms wrapping around her waist pulling her body flush to his. She moaned softly as he pressed small kisses down her neck, pulling her dress aside to nibble at her shoulder. 

She took his hand and turned to lead him to the bed. Unlacing the sides of her dress to drop it to the ground as step out of it as he removed his many layers. He came up to her and pulled her gently to him so that his lips could meet hers again. Backing her to the bed, he helped her on the edge, stepping between her thighs. The warm length of him pressed against her core as their tongues danced. He kneaded her breasts, delicately rolling her nipples between his fingers while she placed kisses along his jaw and neck. She felt her core dampening while his hips moved gently against her, he moved his hand down between them, tips of his fingers finding her bud making small circles. She moaned, head resting on his chest. 

"You're so beautiful." He spoke the words into her hair as he took his member in his hand and positioned it at her entrance. Pushing himself inside her as she sucked in a sharp breath. "God save me, you feel amazing. " She grinned and began biting gently at his jawline. He pumped inside her quickly, driving in to the hilt with every thrust. She wrapped her legs tight around him, digging her nails into his arms to brace herself. His hips were moving quickly as he pumped himself in her passionately. Taking her chin in his hand so he could press his mouth to hers once more, swallowing the sounds she made for him. Fingers coming between them again to help guide her to the edge. She felt herself tightening around as her vision blurred in pleasure, head falling back and a loud moan spilling from her. His pace sped and he was quickly shaking as he emptied himself. 

She came back to herself with the feeling of his lips tenderly grazing her face and neck. "That was heavenly Astrid." She smiled at him. "It was a good night, and morning." They laid down in the bed and he pulled her in  his arms. "You should stay here more often. It would be nice to spend more time together." She traced circles on his arms and hummed in small reply. "Goodnight Osferth." Then she fell into a deep sleep.

[willandmichael]

something i keep circling back to is mike's characterization from a (byler)-outsider point of view.

the duffers saw the way the public reacted to mike in s3, he went from being a loved character to someone most people found annoying and just plain rude (the cause: his relationship w el). he became someone that started to act extremely out of character for what people knew of him in s1-s2 by ignoring his friends and his BEST FRIEND (who btw everyone saw him going crazy over the last two seasons bc he almost died twice in the span of 2 years). so, going in, the public expects that in s3 he would absolutely be clinging to will, being protective and not.. pushing him away, ignoring him and making fun of him wanting to play d&d. the public was left with a bad impression of mike, but nothing that he can't come back from. we get left with the just the plain "mike is annoying" from everyone.

so if you're writing the show and you want people to like mike again, what do you do? well, this character who was left with a bad impression last season needs to have a new arc and stop giving everyone more reasons to dislike him. but then we get to the whole ordeal of s4 and boy oh boy, the amount of times i saw people saying they wish mike was the one to get vecna'd and die was overwhelming. even finn himself was getting the bad end of it :/

if the duffers don't have an actual reason and resolution in s5 as to why mike is acting the way he is for 2 whole seasons then it will just be bad writing i'm sorry lol we get to sit here to write and read analysis and truly try to understand mike, we believe he acts the way he does because he's battling with himself over liking will and having internalized homophobia.. but the general public only sees what's on screen and don't really have many thoughts about it. all they're going to see when they think of mike in stranger things is that he went from a loving, caring kid to an annoying, rude teenager that treats his girlfriend like shit and ignores his friends.

the milkvan relationship will be in shambles and terrible, why push this relationship that doesn't work? why does mike treat eleven like that if she's supposed to be the love of his life? why write all this conflict in the first place?

and the byler narrative will also be unfulfilled and make no sense, why would mike change so much in regards to will if 1) he doesn't know will is gay / is projecting onto will: did he say "it's not my fault you don't like girls" / "we're friends, we're FRIENDS" for no reason? it was just to hurt will, the canon gay character, even more? 2) is not attracted to will himself? what other explanation could they give to mike's behavior around him?

all this to say, would they be dumb enough to "ruin" mike's character for no reason and to "ruin" mikvan's relationship for no reason for 2 seasons in a row? if they're going the byler route they need to have the public seeing mike being his true self again with will (which we get in s4), where he is caring and soft and likeable. in s5 they have the opportunity to actually explain mike's actions and have everyone looking in retrospect and going "oh, so that's why"

but if the duffers are actually that dumb and anything happens otherwise, i feel bad for el, will and my beloved s1-s2 mike.

[dnarez]

Rain Season

Tw. Sex, a lot of fluff, domestic, porn with plot

Aizawa Shouta x Reader

Requested by: Anonymous

Anonymous: I would like to request an Aizawaxfem reader, where she is a pilot but decides to transfer to an office job for him, also, please do is very domestic, like... he had an awful day and is very grumpy, but she takes care of him, and then he takes care of her ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) if you  know what I mean.

I hope you liked it!!! This was my first time doing a request!!!

+3.9k words

I didn't made the second check to see if I have anything wrong with the writting, sorry

...

"Fucking rain season" said Eraserhead while getting inside his home, soaked from head to toe, he saw your heels on the entrance hall and frowned at it, he just wanted to be alone right now.

You heard him going inside your house and by the sound of his wet boots his mood was just as bad as the weather.

Chuckle to yourself as you keep preparing the bathtub.

Shouta's footsteps were light, but you always had a good hearing, and that helped to not letting him scare the shit out of you.

"I know that you are there love" you raise to your feet and look at him with a smile, but turns into a giggle seeing him all wet.

"Why are you here?" his rude tone would set anyone off, but you knew he was just being grumpy.

"I can't fly with this rain, it's too dangerous for me and the passengers so~" you go to him and brush his bangs away to let you see all of his beautiful face.

His eyes glare at you, he didn't want to get his hopes too high, Shouta knew that having a relationship with a pilot wouldn't be easy, and the little bit of time you two had together was heaven but always too short.

So any time that you had a day off he wouldn't ask for more time, but fuck he missed his girlfriend, he didn't even know how he was so lucky to fetch such a catch, but you would always respond with 'the bait was just too good to let it pass'

Even so, even if he tried to not get his hopes up, maybe... just maybe you would stay for a bit longer than usual...

You kissed his cheek and petted his drenched hair "I also got a promotion!"

Shouta frowned at that "so why don't you go celebrate with your friends?" He pushes you away and started to strip.

Huffing, you help him against his wishes "How barbaric! Didn't even let me finish!" You hold his hands stopping him from taking his pants off "I got a promotion for..." you clap twice "AN OFFICE JOB!" And make jazz hands on the end.

He looks at you astonished "An office job!? You hate working on a desk, and you also hate doing the same things every day! That's why you love being a pilot!" He says angrily, everything was making him angry right now, even your voice, one of, if not the most thing, he likes about you.

You sigh "Yes but... I already traveled to most of the countries in the world, I saw so much but..." you blush and evade his eyes

Aizawa gets closer to you, making both chests almost touch "But?"

"But... every time I saw something new I would think of you... and how you would like this, or how you would smile eating that, I'm feeling more and more homesick with each trip so... I asked to be transferred..."

He just... looks at you, which makes you blush more each minute that passes "I-I was thinking... that I could... maybe... move in, since it's so close to the airport from here, and... I would be able to sleep and wake up with you by my side" your whole face is red.

Shouta smile and hugs you tightly, "Why are you even asking? I gave you the keys in hope that you would move in"

You smiled and hugged him back, but his skin was too damn cold! You felt like you were hugging an ice cube!

The sweet moment was interrupted by him sneezing, "OMG! Bathtub! Now!" You pull him to the tub and help him to take off his clothes

"What about you? You just got here, right?" He asked while stepping out of his pants and boxer.

"I will take a shower, you can take your time and relax" you kiss his shoulder (because it's the highest place you can reach without him bending)

Shouta nods and gets inside the bathtub, smelling a woodsy scent, the water was also a little green "what did you put in here?"

You take off your clothes "It's a new bathwater, it helps relax the body and all that shit" you take a hair tie and ties Aizawa's hair in a cute messy bun "today we will take care of you, okay?" finally being able to kiss his cheek you smile nodding to yourself and goes to take a shower.

He watches you for some time and then relax on the bathtub, now that he's calm and relaxed he can faintly hear the sound of the rain outside, the strong bathroom lights were annoying him by not letting him relax "can you please turn off the lights?"

You stop for a minute and get out of the shower, doing what he asked, but lighting a few candles first "better?"

"Uhum..." he sighs and close his eyes

"I will keep on watch, don't worry, you can take a nap" you dry yourself and take the stool you normally used to shave and sit on it while on Aizawa's side

He just mumbles something and start to snore lightly.

You smile at the scene, he was always a sweetheart with you, putting you first, even if you had to cancel a lot more plans than he had because of work, the day you two meet was while he was working, and you were on your way to your flight, it was out of a novel type of meeting.

________________

It was supposed to be a normal Friday, you were going on your vacation, and decided to walk to the airport, you decided that it was the only type of exercise you would do on your vacation, since you were going to eat a lot of everything no matter the place.

But while calmly walking and admiring the orange sky, some guys passed running way too close to you, the last one actually picked you up and started caring you!!!

"HELP!" you shouted and started struggling trying to get the man to release you, to no avail

"Calm down princess, we just want the cops to not shoot"

"YOU SHUT UP!" you screamed and punched his throat making him stumble and drop you on the ground.

You landed in a bad way over your arm, you heard something crack, but the adrenaline pumping in your veins made it impossible to feel any pain.

You heard footsteps coming to you and see that a pro was following them, one of the guys grabs you and point a knife to your neck.

"Stop or I'll slice her throat!" The pro stops a few meter away and glares at the villain.

The villain rise you to your feet and gives a maniac laugh "poor hero! I know that you won't forget her face after this-"

Since you had both arms free, and had a brain, you decided to not let him kill you, so as logically as anyone would think, you decided to grab his balls and squeeze them as strongly as you could, and sadly for him, you were really angry.

The villain releases you and falls to his knees, you take the opportunity to run to the pro.

The dark haired hero put quirk canceling handcuffs on both of them, he looks back at you and makes sign to get you closer, you do as told and, and he put his hand on your right arm, you scream at that and holds your arms close to your chest "FUCK!"

He nods to himself "the police and ambulance are already on their way, you shouldn't have done that, what would happen if he had cut your throat in impulse?"

"Then I would die" you look at him with a poker face "so what? Now I will have to get a license and won't be able to work for the next 3 months, GREAT!" you groan frustrated and glare at your own arm.

"You almost died and care more about your job?" He asks confused.

"Not exactly, I just got my vacation, and now I have to postpone for a few days, just so I can get used to the cast, this suck" you sigh and let your head fall forward.

"You just need to ask for your friend's help, why would that be difficult?" He looks back at the handcuffed villains and then looks the siren noise finally starts to be heard.

"I don't have friends" you say and look up at him "so again, it will be difficult to do things with a cast"

You two were silenced by the ambulance and the police car arriving almost at the same time, you were checked and told that you would go to the hospital, but before they closed the door the hero came back into view.

"You said you don't have friends so... would you like my help?"

______________

Since then, you both had so much fun together, you started to pass more and more time with each other.

Until you asked him out on a date, and here you are, watching him on the bathtub taking a nap.

You smile at the scene and goes next to him, and start giving butterfly kisses all over his face to wake him up.

Aizawa wakes up and looks at you sleepy, you smile at his cute face "the water must be getting cold, come on, I already ordered food from your favorite restaurant" you help him up and dry him when he steps out of the bathtub, giving small kisses all over.

"You don't need to do this... I'm actually quite against this..." you chuckle and shake your head

"You work hard every day and night, always finds time to go watch a movie that I want, or go to a place that I like, you stay at school until late to help your students, or to help Yamada with paperwork, you are also thinking about getting the temporary guard of that little girl Eri" you put his towel around his waist and ties it there "It's my time to help you" you kiss his shoulder "and take care of the man I adore"

He nodded, permitting your plans to pamper the shit out of him.

You take a hold of his hand and brings him to the bedroom, where there were some candles and light blue rose petals, some relaxing song was playing, and the few scented candles were weak and just enough to help him relax.

"You got my favorite ones... " he looks at the light blue petals and gives a sad smile "thank you..."

You know that he is thanking for the flower, since the color always reminds him of his late friend, but when you two talk about it, you never ask about the accident, and just ask about everything else about him and their time together, so to Shouta when you show or talk about his late friend only good memories surge, and not the dreadful one, which he is quite thankful for.

"You're welcome, now lay down on the bed, stomach down and ass up" he looks at you suspiciously "I won't play with your ass today, don't worry, I will give you a massage"

He sits on the bed "since when do you know how to make these?"

You huff and put on one of his shirts "I took classes, so that I could help you de-stress, now lay down and let me help you"

He sighs thinking how this is a terrible idea, but smiles and comply at the end 'she learned something just to help me...'

You start on his feet, massaging with care a trying to remember what he told you on the classes.

Aizawa closed his eyes and thought about the time before this relationship, he would probably have taken a quick shower, ate some leftovers and slept the rest of the time, then woke up and go to work.

Having you is a luxury he wants to have every day.

Shouta knows that it's selfish of him to think like that, but you are so good to him, always has been.

When he was tired it seemed like you had a sixth sense to know, you would tell him to lay his head on your lap and would pet his hair while talking about your day with a sweet a low toned voice, he would always wake up on the bed, you said that you woke him up and brought him to the room, but he doesn't remember waking up at all.

Your hair was beautiful, your eyes gorgeous, your nose cute, the way you tilt your head before asking a question, the little mole you have on your eyelid, that can only be seen when your eyes are closed.

He really adores you.

The massage is so fucking good, you said you took a few classes??? He doesn't believe you.

Your hands go gradually up to his legs, then his lower back, his upper back, and you finish on his neck, when you had finished the feet he was already napping.

You hoped that the massage was good and that it would help him, you were going to wake him, but your phone buzzed signaling that your food was here.

You get up, pick the phone up and go to the door where you greet the delivery guy.

"Having a good night?" You ask while hiding half of your body behind the door

"Yes ma'am! Here's your order" he gives you your package which you quickly put on the table and return with your cellphone showing the qr code

"Here, have a great end of day" he smiles back at you and goes away.

You lock the door and put the table for the two of you.

...

Shouta wakes up feeling extremely relaxed, but something was missing, he looks around and see that the candles were off, only the scented one was light 'smart girl' he smiles at the thought of you, and notices how his body is super light.

He gets up and adjust the towel around his waist, his mood is a lot better now, but while hungry his facial expression still was an angry glare, he looked at his reflection in the mirror and frowns, you always had a carefree and relaxed expression, and he was starting to get aging lines, were you really only 5 years younger?

He sighs and opens the door not bothering to put on clothes, he sees you putting the table up and sees the package for his favorite sushi place and frowns.

You look back at him and smile "I was about to wake you up"

Aizawa gets closer to you "You shouldn't have done that, my favorite restaurant is too expensive to order if it isn't an especial occasion"

You shake your head "We are celebrating my promotion, also I got a fat bonus~" you sit and point serves you both some wine.

"Let's celebrate and relax" you start eating happy for the high quality product.

...

After eating you washed the dishes against Shouta's wish, but he did put the plates away.

"So... is there anything else you wanted to do?" You look at your boyfriend and see his relaxed body and face, much better than the angry wet cat that had arrived earlier.

He steps closer to you and looks into your eyes "I want to do you"

You blush heavily "this isn't about me today..." you pout

He shakes his head "I love when I see your facial expressions, and your voice screaming my name is my favorite song, now please... let me hear you sing" he holds your face with both hands and give you a peck on the lips.

You nod and close your eyes, going with the flow.

His pecks turn into kisses, that he cover your face with it, very slowly "my beautiful. Kind. Sweet. And caring girlfriend. Taking such a good care of me. You think that I didn't notice how the house is cleaner than when I left?" His kisses start to go lower to your throat "always so caring... you also need to de-stress a little. Let me help you" his hand start to travel down thru your body.

You sigh from how kind he is being, normally he would kneel and eat you out like he was a starved man, then he would proceed to fuck your brains out on the dinner table, but right now he wasn't stressed from work, or angry about the villains attacking even in this bad weather.

You should do this more often...

"Stop spacing out and focus on me" he bites your earlobe, and you gasp focussing on him, you only now notice his hands on your thigh and on your breasts under the shirt, he gave both a little squeeze which made you whimper and tremble under his hands.

"S-sorry..." he kissed your collarbone and bite your neck

"Let's go to our bed, it's been some time since we used it for something that isn't sleeping" you felt a shiver going all over your body from how low his voice got.

"Y-yeah! Let's do that!" You turn around to go to the bedroom, but he stops you by picking you up, you hug his neck and blush heavily again "hey! You surprised me!"

"Good, that was the intention" as he walks to the bedroom you hear something falling, when you look behind him, you see that he dropped the towel, and now you have a perfect place to see his butt.

"Why is your ass better than mine?" You pout and notice that you are now on the bedroom

"If you exercise more you would also have a nice and firm ass like mine, but I do prefer pudding"

"Pudding?" He lays you down on the bed with your back to the ceiling and stomach to the bed.

Shouta give your ass a bite, and you laugh "oh! Pudding! Now I get it"

He chuckles and kiss where he had bitten "mine..." he says in a sweet voice and hugs your waist for some time.

Then he raises and turn you around, now facing him "would you allow me to make love with you?"

You blush and smile, caressing his face "of course" you take the opportunity to untie his hair, that had been tied since the bath 'next time I will wash his hair'

Shouta smiles and kiss you slow and passionately.

This was different from normal, and so good, so sweet, you feel his hands going down again and opening your legs.

His fingers caressed your entrance, he broke the kiss and brought his fingers to his face "so wet for me already, how kind of you" his fingers go down again but this time he makes circling movements on your clit.

You sigh from the stimulation and pull his face close to you again "please, I want more Shouta" you open your mouth begging for more kisses.

He complies and kiss you passionately again, his second hand come up and fondle with your breast, sometimes pinching your nipple.

Everything he did was so slow that you felt like drowning in him, his taste, his scent, his skin touching yours, you were drowning in him and him in you.

After 2 years of relationship you two knew what the other liked or needed, and this was something new, that both needed this very much and neither knew.

His fingers went inside you slowly and curved slightly, then he moved it at the same pace as before, slow enough to tease but fast enough to stimulate.

You part the kiss again "more... please! More!" You move your hips to feel more and put your hand over his that was on your breast and squeeze it asking for more pressure.

"Such a nice way to beg... do you think you can take it? I want to feel you around me"

You knew that you needed more preparation, since Shouta was the biggest you ever had, and he stretched you to your limit every time, you remember that the first time you two had the sensation was the same as losing your virginity, but he asked so nicely... and by the looks of it he will be very loving, so you nod in confirmation.

He smiles at you and lined himself on your entrance.

Now that you think about it, it looks like he was hard for some time now, the purplish head and the pulsating vein make it obvious that he has been holding himself back.

"My eyes are up here~" he mocks, and you look at him, like... you really look at him, and you decide to drop the bomb.

The L bomb hadn't been dropped by neither of you, even after 2 years, both afraid of the other leaving after they got attached, but... you were already attached, and he has such a dangerous job, you never know what will happen, so you decide to let it be known.

"Aizawa Shouta... I love you"

He looked astonished at you and gave you a wobbly smile "I love you too" as he said that he penetrated into you and gave you a deep kiss with a lot of tongue to distract you from the discomfort.

Aizawa keep pushing until all of him was inside, he part the kiss and sighs relieved "you are always what I need to make a shitty day much better"

You shudder from his deep voice and put your hands on his shoulder "I'm glad that I can put your mind at ease in though days" you kiss his nose and he smiles back at you.

He gives a small trust, and you respond with a small moan, encouraging him.

Shouta gives slow and shallow trusts, letting you get comfortable.

You lick your lips and wiggle your hips trying to get more of him in "please move! Your going too slow!" He chuckles and bites your neck

"I had totally forgotten this" he takes your shirt off "there, all mine " he said in a sweet tone and hugged you close, letting both chest press against each other.

Shouta starts moving faster, and the way his body squeezed you was suffocating in a good way, you start scratching him as soon as he's hips start clapping against yours, the pressure on your belly.

'So close' the position had his cock rubbing against your favorite spot deliciously you were taking short breaths with your eyes glossy from pleasure.

But the feeling of you around him, your nails on his back and your small moans and whimpers, everything about you was intoxicating, Shouta bites your necks, then your shoulder, and start to bite you all over leaving marks on you "mine..." he said again and started pounding on you.

It was so sudden that you couldn't hold back a high pitched moan followed by a whimper "Shouta!"

He bites your nipple and suck it while fucking you, holding your body against him by the hips.

Shouta was going to be kind and have a slow and sweet sex with you, but the way you drive him crazy with so little, he wants to ravish you, but decides against it.

One of his hands go to your clit and rub circles on it making your body tremble, and you arch your back wanting more "Shouta!"

His thrusts got sloppier, now going faster "close... so close" he laid his head on your shoulder.

The feeling of his dick kissing you womb hurt in a good way, the way he knew you loved "close!"

You came first, creaming on his dick while arching your back, his thrusts got sloppier he bites your shoulder and grunts while coming on your stomach.

He sits up and looks down at you, and your stomach covered in cum and your fucked out face with pride.

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

I had already wrote this, I still am on hiatus, I'm just posting it here, since the other plataforms already have it

[snipsnsnailsnwerewolftales]

Blue Moon - Part 7

A/N: See masterlist for prompts used. (And the list of amazing people who have helped me with this.) There is some show related violence referenced in this one, so, like always, check the masterlist if you need a heads up about the warnings. But this one is mostly just fluff and some angst. Though, arguably, like the season, this one may be a bit heavier. (And thank you to the amazing @trexrambling for coming up with the lines in bold during one of our chats just for fun, that was too perfect to not include.)

I do not own Teen Wolf or it’s characters. Sadly.

Warnings: See Masterlist

Word count: 4,390

Xxx

“What do you mean there isn’t a body?” you asked Stiles over the phone, walking back to your house with Derek. You had expected it to be like twisting his arm to talk him into coming back with you, but he surprisingly agreed almost immediately.

“I don’t know, they just called us to come up to the school. Apparently she went into another fugue state or something….” You heard the gears shift, the engine of the jeep coming to a stop over the line. “Look, we’re here. Just, keep your eyes open, please.”

“Will do.” You cleared your throat. “Please keep me updated.” You stared straight ahead as you ended the phone call.

“You didn’t tell him about finding me,” Derek mused from your side.

“They have enough going on right now. Plus, you didn’t say you were ready to be ‘found’ yet, so I omitted certain truths.”

Staring at the ground as you both continued in silence, you made it to your front porch before you realized you didn’t have your keys. Reaching under the front mat, Derek produced the spare key. “It didn’t take much searching,” he answered your raised eyebrow of question.

Once inside, Derek let out a heavy sigh. “Look, I’ll admit, something has felt off about Jennifer from the beginning. I didn’t want to admit it, but you’re right.”

“You didn’t want to admit something felt weird, or that I was right?” You smiled at him, taking the groan he gave as the answer. “We’ll finish this conversation in a minute. First we need to change clothes. We are both covered in…. woods.” Derek snorted a laugh, nodding in agreement.

As you started up the stairs to your room, you looked over your shoulder in question as he fell in step behind you. “Okay. What’s up, Derek?”

“My bag is in your room. I’ve…. been sleeping on the floor.”

“I thought you only came by here twice?” You opened the door to your room, seeing his duffel bag sitting on your bed with clothes pouring out the sides of it and onto your comforter.

“Yeah, that was a lie. It’s the only place I could think of where no one would bother me.” He grabbed a change of clothes before walking back out of the room, stopping at the door with his back to you. “Plus, I’m used to you being at the loft. Having your scent around was calming, and helped me think straight.” With that he left the room, softly shutting the door.

Looking to the makeshift bed he had on the floor, you noticed various things with your scent laying close by, and you smiled. Examining the room further, you realized the majority of your clothes were at the loft or at Stiles’, which left you with only one other option.

“Are those...are those my sweatpants?”

Looking down at the base of the stairs as you slowly made your way down, you saw Derek, wide eyed, and was that the beginning of a blush on his cheeks?

You shrugged. “You said I could borrow your clothes.”

Reaching inside the shirt that was massive on you, you cinched the drawstring on the pants even tighter, contemplating making it into a belt instead.

Making it to the final step, you hopped off of it to the main floor, looking Derek straight on.

Derek looked down at your feet. “Exactly how many times did you-”

“Seven. These have been rolled up seven times. I almost died going down the stairs.”

The grin working it’s way up his face was very contagious, and you found it spreading to your face as well. “All my stuff is at the loft or the Stilinski’s, so, I figured I’d take you up on your offer.”

“Well, it’s a look I could get used to,” Derek said easily, before stuttering, “um, I mean, yeah. Yeah. Whatever you need. It looks good on you.”

You plopped into a chair in the living room, him gently sitting in the one opposite you. “So, Jennifer. You think something isn’t right?”

Derek, still smiling, shook his head gently at you and sighed. “Yes.”

“What is making you say that now?”

“You.” Tilting your head at him questioningly, he grinned again, looking down at the floor. “What you said today. It’s instinct.” He looked up, meeting your eyes on the last word, and you both held the other’s gaze for a few moments in the comfortable silence.

“So let’s test your theory,” you mused. “Show up at school tomorrow, I’ll stay close by and see if anything seems overtly out of place-”

“You have classes-”

“Derek. I finally found you again. I’m not letting you out of my sight for the foreseeable future.”

He relented, leaning back in the chair.

“Text her and tell her you want to meet up before lunch. Meet her in the alcove by the fields, none of the pack will see you there, and then you are welcome to come back here.” You hesitated. “Not with her, though. That goes without saying. But I felt it needed saying. Just to be clear. Moving on.” He smirked as you continued. “While you talk to her, I’ll stay right behind the wall and listen to her heartbeat and see if I pick up on anything. You pay attention to the physical cues.”

“With her scent being so…. off, what do you think she is?” Derek said on a huff of air.

“Do you think she’s the Darach?”

His eyes widened and he looked away for a second before looking back to you, resigned. “As of today, it’s crossed my mind.”

“Why today?”

“I don’t know. I think it’s just the first time I was able to think clearly in a long time. Since she came around, really.”

You gestured to the room around you. “Well, my life is a Jennifer free zone, so feel free to use it to your advantage.” Smiling, you held his gaze once again, both of your grins lazy and comfortable.

This time, you sighed. “I’m sorry, Derek. I really didn’t want to be right about this-”

“Yes you did.” He raised his eyebrows at you challengingly. “I’m not blind, Y/N.”

“Well, that may be, but I never wished you would find the devil and start dating her.” He glared at you. “You know, you seem to have a pattern.” He rolled his eyes. “Wasn’t Kate, like, psychotic?”

“That was a low blow.” You smirked at him, but it slipped when he smirked right back. “And what does that say about you?”

You choked on your own spit. “Excuse me?”

“You heard what I said.” He tilted his head back onto the chair, closing his eyes and grinning triumphantly, hands knit together and resting on his chest.

You launched a pillow at him, letting out a cry of triumph when it hit him square in the face, startling him. His head snapped back up. “No need to be freaking rude.”

Derek curled up with the pillow, a smug look on his face. “Derek? Can I have that pillow back? This chair is lumpy.” Your voice was small.

“You should have thought of that before hurling it at me.” He got up and plopped down on the couch, letting out a sigh of content as he stretched, still holding the pillow close, smug grin still all over his face.

Getting up, you went over to him, reaching for the pillow, but he turned away, tucking it under him, clutched tight in his grip. You paced back and forth a few times, hands on your hips, before you turned to go back and try again, tripping on one of the legs of his pants that had started to come unfolded in all the movement, and launching at him with unexpected force.

He let out an oof as you landed on his chest, his head snapping your way to try and guess your next move.

“Well. This is unexpected,” you said tightly. You looked at as much of him as you could see, propped on your elbows awkwardly on his shoulder as he lay slightly sideways away from you. “You’re squishy enough, I’ll just use you as my pillow.”

Laying your head down on his shoulder, you could have sworn you heard his heart rate pick up, making you smirk. Suddenly you were laying with your head on the pillow as it rested on his chest, the rest of you flush with his body, one of your legs slotting between his and the other between his leg and the couch.

Sighing with contentment into the pillow, you had just gotten comfortable when the pillow disappeared, your head falling down to his chest with a thump, ear over his racing heart. Looking up at him through your lashes, you saw him tucking the pillow under his head, and his eyes closed. He grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch, covering you both and taking a sniff of the top of your head in what he probably thought was a subtle way as he did.

“I think you have a type, alright,” you mused quietly. “Dangerous - snore and all bets are off.”

“Same goes for you - drool and I find a way to give you fresh hell when we go back to training regularly.”

“I don’t drool!” You pulled slightly away from him.

“I don’t snore.” He settled further into the couch, one arm wrapping around your waist.

After a brief stare off, you mumbled, “Fine. Truce?”

“Truce.” He smiled.

“You’re unbelievable,” you grumbled into his chest.

“Thank you. I try.”

You could hear the smile in his tone, and it was the last thing you registered before drifting off to sleep.

Xxx

You were reliving it again. The fight with Kali. Just before the dream turned in a bad way, your phone ringing and vibrating across the coffee table beside you woke you up with a start. Glancing down at Derek who looked sleepily up at you, you mouthed a sorry before answering the phone. “Hello?”

“Where the hell are you, Y/N?” Stiles’ angry voice made you pull the receiver away from your ear, your face scrunched up in pain. Putting it on speaker and placing it back on the coffee table, you sighed, holding your head in your hands, elbows braced on Derek’s chest.

“Stiles, I’m so sorry, I-”

“I almost had my dad start a search for you!”

Derek nudged you, making you look down at him, ignoring Stiles’ incessant repeating of your name. He gestured to the phone, whispering, “It’s okay. Tell them you found me.”

“Are you sure?” you whispered, and he nodded.

Laying your hands on Derek’s chest, his arm still firmly around your waist, you placed your cheek on the back of your hands and looked at the phone as you spoke. “Are you alone, Stiles?”

The line was silent as his constant speech stopped. “Why?”

“I just want to talk to you without supernatural ears around, that’s all. It’s need to know at the moment.”

You heard Stiles fumbling around, closing doors and running faucets on his way from his room down to his kitchen - you knew by the floor board squeaks, he could never avoid them - and looked to Derek when his arm tightened around your waist.

“They can all know,” he said softly.

“I’m going with my gut, Derek. The less people know, the better. Jennifer will feel more special, and probably open up more. Plus, Scott’s got his own problems right now.” It sounded like Stiles was finally reaching the kitchen when you added softly to Derek, “Plus, I know you like to make an entrance.”

You both smirked and Stiles came back on the line. “I’m home alone with my dad, but I turned on every faucet between my room and the kitchen in case we have any lurkers outside.”

“Why is every faucet on?” You heard the Sheriff in the background, walking from room to room, and you smiled. He could be such a light sleeper.

“Talk fast,” Stiles rushed into the phone.

“I found Derek. We found the Nemeton but lost it again. We’re back at my place so no one will look for him. We have a plan, and we’re gonna try something tomorrow at school, I’ll give you details after. Nothing dangerous-” you looked up at Derek- “at least, I don’t think.” You looked back to the phone. “Just me and him, for some info gathering, then probably back here, and we’ll go from there.”

“And the others couldn’t know about this why?” Stiles hissed into the phone, his father’s footsteps getting closer.

“Because, everyone is working on their own thing right now, and we can regroup after. I think we finally have all the puzzle pieces we need to get a picture.”

“Fine,” he huffed.

“For the record, that’s my idea to bring him to school for info, and my idea to only tell you. He said others could know. I just thought it best that less know for now.”

“That actually makes sense. I agree. Okay, fill me in as soon as you know more, please. But I don’t know how long him being gone will be helpful.”

“You got it.”

“Wait…. You found the Nemeton?”

“Go to sleep, Stiles. I’ll fill you in later.��

“They found a what?” The Sheriff said in the background, voice heavy with sleep.

“Uhhhhhh….” Stiles failed to answer.

“Just say shenanigans, Stiles.”

“I don’t even wanna know,” the Sheriff said, yawning, his footsteps retreating.

“Smooth, Stiles. Smooth.”

“Oh, just go back to sleep, Y/N.”

“Will do. Sorry I didn’t let you know I wouldn’t be back tonight.”

He sighed. “It’s okay. I was just worried, but it’s okay now that I know. Sleep well.”

“You, too.”

The call ended and your phone locked on its own, the room going dark once more, Derek startling you when you looked at him only to see bright red eyes staring back at you.

“You know very well you could see without those,” you mumbled, tucking your face back into his chest, digging your chin in a little more forcefully than necessary as you stared at him.

He grinned, no sign of them going anywhere as he blinked a few times. “Now, where’s the fun in that?”

Xxx

It was like something out of a movie.

Jennifer saw him standing in the tunnel, hesitating only a second before she realized it was him. She smiled and ran up to him, embracing him as she leapt into his arms, tucking her face into his neck, his face buried in her hair.

You watched until they kissed, and you had to look away before you made any gagging noises. You blamed Stiles for some of these reactions, you really did.

Derek kept his answers to a minimum, asking her to come with him for the day, and you felt your stomach drop. You knew it was an act, but the thought was just unsettling.

They kissed one more time, and you had to physically step back a few paces so you couldn’t peek around the corner and see them anymore. You were supposed to be listening to her heartbeat, but yours was so loud in your ears it was hard to focus. As far as you could make out, her heart was steady the whole time, not a single tick. And that’s what was the most concerning.

Between the kisses and shared words, hell, even the sight of each other, she should have had some sort of uptick or something.

You wouldn’t admit it to him, but you had eavesdropped on his heartbeat, too, and noticed his little upticks here and there.

You wanted to be wrong, just for his sake, but it looked more and more like she was up to something.

Looking one last time, you saw her turning away, their hands lingering on one another’s before falling away at the last possible second. She walked away confidently, tucking some of her hair behind her ear almost shyly as the wind swept errant leaves and her long loose tresses around her.

He turned and looked at you once she was out of sight, holding your gaze for only a moment before hanging his head and shaking it gently.

Walking up to him, your hands itched to reach out and comfort somehow, but felt it better to give him space, so you settled for touching the tips of your shoes to his, putting them in his line of sight. The smallest of smiles turned up his face when he noticed.

“I really hope you were listening to her heart rate, because all I could hear was yours.”

You felt your eyes go wide at the admission, the act of breathing something foreign. “Um, yes. Yes, I…” You looked up then down, then to the side before looking back at him, his head still hung, and you swallowed to try and get rid of any emotions in order to simply speak. “It didn’t change the whole time. Which I don’t have to tell you is an even bigger tell.” You gently shifted your weight from foot to foot. “You, on the other hand,” you spoke softly, “you had some major tells, and, I’m sorry. I’m sorry you keep getting dealt the shitty hand, and have to-”

You were cut off by his hands gently grabbing your face, tilting it back until your noses were touching like yesterday, and you could just feel the ghost of his lips over yours. Resting his forehead against yours, he let out a sigh that sounded both content and yet frustrated. You opened your eyes just in time to see his flick up to look at yours before a voice to the side jarred you from the moment.

“Hey, hooligans! Get back to class!”

You let out a decidedly frustrated sigh before answering, making Derek smile. “Yes, Coach!”

Pulling away, Derek tugged you by the hand back to the car.

You heard Coach mutter something about “delinquents” and “back in my day” before he was totally out of earshot.

“I finally understand why all the guys call him Coach Cockblock now….” you mumbled, making Derek snicker.

Xxx

Back at your house that evening, Derek had been unusually quiet, but you didn’t feel the need to fill the silence in any way. You just sat near him on the couch, both of you processing what today had revealed.

When you got a call from Stiles that Cora was in the hospital, you immediately looked to Derek and knew he had heard.

“Go,” you urged him, waving the hand not holding the phone in a shooing gesture.

“But tonight-”

“Everyone will be there at the concert, safety in numbers. And right now Cora is all alone. Go take care of your sister.”

Nodding, Derek practically jumped over the back of the couch, grabbed his coat, and was out the door in seconds.

“Y/N, Cora was about to show her eyes to my dad after I explained everything to him when she passed out. He’s gonna be at the concert tonight. Think you can use the glow sticks to help me prove a point?”

“Sure, Stiles. What else is a werewolf best friend for?”

He chuckled. “Okay. Fill me in when you get here about what all was accomplished with your and Derek’s secret steakout today.”

“You make it sound like something sordid.”

“And until you tell me otherwise, these are the nightmares that play in my head.”

You laughed, grabbing your coat before stepping out the front door, locking it behind you. “Then suffer until I get there.”

Xxx

Once again, things turned super weird super fast. As soon as you got to the school, you felt a chill go down your spine, your eyes glowing of their own accord. Something was off, and you didn’t like it. Blinking away your golden eyes, you got out of the car, looking up and meeting Chris Argent’s gaze a few spaces away. He looked just as unnerved as you did, and that definitely didn’t sit well with you. Giving one another a nod in acknowledgment, he turned to follow after Allison and Isaac, and you met Stiles and Scott outside the auditorium.

Filling them in quickly, Scott was surveying the area for Lydia as you spoke. Suddenly, a scream was heard and you knew it was Lydia. You and Scott dropped to your knees with your hands over your ears, Stiles panicked and trying to help. You felt your phone buzzing in your pocket, and managed to stammer out, “My…. phone….” to a helpless looking Stiles. Immediately he fished it out and answered it, the screaming coming to an end. Scott was still on his knees and breathing deeply, and your own world was spinning as well. You removed your hands from your ears and placed your palms flat on the ground to try to find some balance again.

You heard Derek over the phone asking what’s going on when Scott abruptly took off towards the classrooms. Stiles sprinted after him, tossing you your phone, which you fumbled, before holding it to your ear and rising to your feet to take off after your friends.

“We don’t know, Derek. Lydia just screamed, Scott took off for the classrooms, Stiles is right behind him, and I’m the last one on this crazy train. There is a whole other something crazy going on inside the auditorium from what I can hear, but right now I’m focused on Lydia. The others in there can take care of that. Call Isaac to find out what’s going on.”

“Be safe,” Derek said quickly, and you nodded before rolling your eyes, remembering he can’t see you.

“Will do. Thanks. Let me know if anything changes with Cora.”

“Of course,” he said, then you both hung up.

Stuffing your phone in your pocket, you screeched to a halt when you saw only Stiles, and he looked utterly lost. “What’s wrong?”

“Scott- he- he said he heard my dad, and-” Running his hands through his hair, Stiles was turning in circles, his heart hammering away as a panic attack brewed.

“Stiles.”

“And he just took off, Y/N!” Stiles yelled, his hands starting to gesture. “I couldn’t keep up, and now my dad-”

“Stiles, calm down. Remember you asked me to use my glow sticks to help you prove a point?” You flicked on your yellow eyes with a blink. “We’ll find them.”

Simply nodding, his face screwed up in fear and dread, Stiles followed behind you as you turned toward where you heard voices.

Despite an all out sprint, neither of you made it in time to get into the classroom, Jennifer slamming the desk against the door too easily for a human and holding it there with some sort of magic. No matter how hard both of you tried, you couldn’t make the desk or the door budge. You peeked through the corner of the little window in the door while Stiles watched on, taking up most of the frame.

Scott was coughing up blood on the floor, completely wolfed out, Lydia was in a chair crying, a garrote loose around her neck, and Jennifer was approaching the Sheriff slowly, a knife sticking out of his right shoulder. After some exchanged words, he shot her in the right leg, and you smirked, only for it to fade as the wound healed in seconds. She was going on and on about the sacrifices, how they helped her acquire certain traits like healing from the bullet the Sheriff had fired, and then she kissed him.

You couldn’t hold it back this time; you made gagging noises, trying desperately to keep your focus on the scene in the room though your eyes began to tear up as you fought the urge to vomit. You stopped breathing when Jennifer morphed into what you could only assume was the Darach before pulling away from the Sheriff, screeching, and jumping out the window, shattered glass going everywhere.

Stiles finally was able to push the door open, his strength surprising you as he shoved the desk back while opening it. The Sheriff was gone, and Scott and Stiles stared out the window in silence. They shared a look briefly before Stiles’ gaze returned to the window, his face a tight line, Scott looking on with concern.

Going over to Lydia, you helped her get free of the bindings of the chair, tearing the duct tape away like it was nothing, and then the garrote, pulling her up and into a hug as soon as the offending thing had been tossed onto the desk beside you.

“I found it in time for you guys to do something about it. I didn’t find a body. If I had just been a few minutes sooner we could have-”

“Lydia.” You pulled away, gripping her hands to turn her attention from Scott to you. “You were right on time. You’re right. You didn’t find a body, and because of that we know who is doing this, and there’s still a chance that the Sheriff will be just fine. We caught her off guard, thanks to you.” You grabbed her biceps and squeezed gently. “Just, next time, maybe a little quieter? The room still is sort of spinning.”

The pack started to fill up the room, and you saw police car lights starting to reflect off the shattered glass around the space.

Going over to Stiles, you gave Scott a sad look before you both stepped up beside your friend, one on each side. You bumped Stiles’ shoulder with your own. “We’ll get him, Stiles. We’ll bring him back.” You spoke softly, leaning into his shoulder just as gently. “I know it.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I made a promise.” He looked at you, his face void of any one emotion. “I have to help you prove a point.” You blinked your yellow eyes on for a few seconds before blinking them off. “What else is a werewolf best friend for?”

He smiled almost imperceptibly. “Okay.”

“And until we find her, or tell you otherwise, there are no nightmares that should play in your head. Please, plot away. Just know…. She will suffer when I get there.”

Xxx

Tags: @mayahart02, @palaiasaurus64, @shydinosaurcandy, @lucyqueenofthestars, @c-breanne1999, @l4life, @ethereallysimple, @teenwolffan-with-nolife, @bellabadacadabra, @lilostif16, @wandas-love, @emily500, @babygirl-angel-love, @c-dizzle99, @itscheybaby, @fandomsfanman, @sunsetcurvej, @reichelhache, @shortimaginewriter What’s This?

[theasstour]

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓑𝓲𝓻𝓽𝓱 𝓸𝓯 𝓥𝓮𝓷𝓾𝓼 𝓫𝔂 𝓢𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓻𝓸 𝓑𝓸𝓽𝓽𝓲𝓬𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓲

𝓯𝓲𝓬 𝓹𝓪𝓰𝓮 | 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽: 21k 𝓝𝓑: 𝓮𝔁𝓹𝓵𝓲𝓬𝓲𝓽 𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓾𝓪𝓰𝓮, 𝓼𝓮𝔁𝓾𝓪𝓵 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽

A/N: my baby @shepherald... grazie mille my dear one! i’ll never be able to thank you enough for what you’ve done for bb, and i’ll never be able to put into words how much you mean to me! i love you so much! thank you!

A/N2: so, this is it! last chapter of bb! it honestly doesn’t seem real, and i’m so sad i have to let painter!harry go cos i’ve grown quite fond of him the year i’ve spent thinking about him and this fic! what bb represents is what makes this fic so special to me. i - a plus size woman - never felt like i belonged anywhere. i assumed i was unloveable from never seeing a bigger person like myself in a book or a film where that person was deemed attractive. they were always the clown, or ‘the fat character’, or their entire storyline was based around them needing to lose weight. i’ve gotten pretty fucking tired of never seeing myself represented properly in fiction or irl or ANYWHERE for that matter, so i decided to take matters into my own hands, and i cannot begin to tell you how LIBERATING and AMAZING it felt! to each person who reached out to me saying bb made them confident, made them feel like they weren’t alone, opened their eyes to what life as a bigger person is: i love you all. this is the exact reason why i wrote bb. fat doesn’t equal ugly, it doesn’t equal unloveable, it doesn’t equal any negatively charged words. fat equals beautiful, it equals human. and anyone who ever tries to tell you otherwise can choke lmao. enjoy this last instalment of bb, i love you all so much x

Sunday, 1 March 2020

Y/N had always thought that the biggest changes were those you didn’t pay immediate notice to. Like the changing of the seasons, aging on your birthday, when the clock struck 12 and a new day began. Changes that were caused by time; that could not be prevented. Loads of changes couldn’t be prevented, but it was impossible to escape time. Manmade to make life simpler to live, and yet it’s what kills us in the end. However, Y/N had come to learn that some changes – the biggest and worst of them all – pained you so much, they didn’t fully leave your body. Like a volcanic eruption, they’d come every now and again, but would leave you scorched and burning for days. She chose not to think about those changes.

But it was hard when she was out shopping with her younger sister and said younger sister would not stop bloody chattering. The first day of spring had brought nothing but clouds and the occasional fall of some rain. Y/N wasn’t impressed. Wasn’t a new season supposed to bring something else? So far it just felt like any other winter day in south England.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

Looking up at Portia, it was painfully obvious Y/N hadn’t been paying attention to anything her sister had been saying.

Portia raised her eyebrows. “Are you taking the mick right now?”

“What?!”

“You’re not even listening to what I’ve been saying.” Portia scanned her Oyster card and walked on into Haggerston station, leaving Y/N sighing behind her. Y/N scanned her own card and followed, knowing that her sister would not stop being annoying unless she asked what she’d been talking about. The second she began talking again, she’d forget Y/N wasn’t listening to begin with.

The two were on their way to Victoria Station, Portia was going back home after having stayed with Y/N in her shared flat in Hackney for two weeks, having had some modelling jobs to attend to. And now that she was done, she would be going home to their mother and staying there for a week until she had to come back down to London for some more jobs. Y/N was getting rather sick of her little sister staying with her when she could easily find her own flat, but she figured she’d bring that conversation up another time. A time when she hadn’t pissed her sister off already that day.

“Tia,” Y/N said as they reached the Southbound platform, the windy remnants of the storm that had just been making it freezing to be taking the Overground and wait outside for the next tube to arrive. “What were you saying?”

“Do you even care?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

“This bloke I’ve been going on dates with while I’ve been here, right,” Portia started crossing her arms over her chest as the tube started approaching, knowing that a gust of wind would accompany it. “He’s got this friend that’s been eyeing me up the two times I’ve met him. He’s fit and everything, but I’m seeing Azeem, you know.”

“Tell Azeem his mate makes you feel uncomfortable and he’ll do something about it till next time you meet.”

“But he doesn’t make me feel uncomfortable, that’s the thing.” Portia sighed as the two girls walked up to the yellow line, waiting for the train to stop so they could get on. “I just think it’s annoying.”

“That men find you attractive?”

“That the fit one’s are always the ones I can’t have.”

“Oh, my days, Portia.” Y/N mumbled, getting on the Overground and sitting down in one of the orange and brown seats. Portia sat down next to her, putting her bag on the ground beside her feet.

“What, Y/N?”

“You just sound like a bellend.”

“How?”

Y/N gave her a look.

“How?!”

“’The fit one’s are always the ones I can’t have’? At least you’re dating someone, and they’re interested in you.”

“And Azeem is delicious, but his mate’s got…”

“Got what?”

Portia sighed. “Got nice arms.”

Y/N leaned her head against the wall behind her, it swayed with the moving coach.

“I know it’s not all about looks.”

“It really is not.”

“But I still can’t help myself.”

“You’re such a prick.”

“Don’t be rude.” Portia nudged her sister’s shoulder. “If you’d just go out and date people as well, you’d have the same problems.”

Y/N huffed, looking at Portia. “Doubt it.”

Portia rested one leg on top of the other, examining her nails. “You’re so boring sometimes.”

“Cheers.”

“No,” Portia glanced at Y/N again. “But isn’t it boring to just be sat inside all day?”

“Oh, it’s incredibly boring to get an education.”

Portia rolled her eyes.

“Go out of my mind going to lectures, writing my dissertation, doing other assessments, and applying to thousands of jobs a day.”

Portia crossed her arms, looking ahead.

“So boring.”

“I know you pride yourself on the fact you’re gonna be a vet.”

“Shouldn’t I?”

Portia sighed, refusing to answer. The two kept quiet after that. Y/N knew in order to make Portia shut up, she just had to bring up her education. Portia was fully aware that Y/N was the smartest one out of the two of them – quite frankly, the smartest one in their entire family – and if Y/N rubbed it in, Portia would keep quiet. Reminding her sister how she’d gotten into the University of her dreams and was doing great, was a low blow, Y/N knew that. But at the same time, Portia just pissed her off so much sometimes that she simply could not help herself.

The two got up as they reached their stop at Canada Water, and walked off towards the Jubilee line once the tube doors opened. Portia’s bag kept bumping into Y/N as they walked, and though she would normally tell her to piss off, to keep her bag closer, she didn’t know. Giving Portia a reason to start shouting at her in the middle of a tube station was not ideal. She was mad enough as it was.

They got on the escalator, Y/N was just about to tell Portia what direction to walk in once they reached the bottom since her little sister always forgot, but Portia gasped before Y/N got the chance. Looking up at her sister, Portia’s eyes were wide, a small smile lingering on her lips. She pointed to the digital posters that lined the wall along the escalator, making Y/N look to her right to see what had gotten her sister all excited.

It was the colour that stood out first. She remembered the exact shade of it. The painting stood out second, then the colour of the person’s hair, the shape of their body, the shoes. The landscape, the warm colours. It was her. It was the same day she’d found Viola. The same day Harry had supposedly… No, she couldn’t even finish that thought. She’d tried not to think of him for months now. As they passed another one of the posters, she looked at it again. In white and bold letters, the text on the poster said ‘H. Styles’ exclusive and limited new exhibition. 11:00-18:00. 23rd February – 1st March. Dover Street, Mayfair. £10 admission.’

“Y/N, what the fuck?” Portia said, tapping her finger against the screen multiple times as they passed yet another one of the posters. “What the fuck?”

The exact same statement was going on repeat in Y/N’s head as well. Seeing the painting, seeing herself on that poster, it brought back so incredibly many memories from a time she had tried to forget.

Ever since they had parted ways, Y/N and Harry had only talked on a handful of occasions. They would text one another – very early on, Harry even called her twice (only after making sure the time zones weren’t fucked and she wasn’t asleep) -, and they did so for a long while, but then Harry’s answers got shorter and shorter, and Y/N felt like he might be falling out of love. She didn’t want to ask him in case she was reading too much into things, afraid of what the answer might be. She was still in love with him, would probably be so till the day she died, but she didn’t want to force him to talk to her if he wasn’t feeling it anymore.

As time went on, their text conversations got less frequent, and by Christmas, they weren’t talking at all. Y/N had tried to forget about him, thinking that he might have just viewed what they had as an intense summer romance and that was it. After all, he was a passionate and artistic man, maybe he fell in love with the thought, image, and what she represented to his summer more than her person. It all hurt to think about, which was why she rarely allowed herself to think about him at all. She hadn’t seen him in almost seven months, she was terrified of what that distance had done to them. To his heart. Because hers still longed for his in every way a person could yearn for another. It proved hard living apart from a person whose name you had etched onto the organ that kept you alive.

They reached the bottom of the escalator and the two girls stepped off, Y/N blinking a few extra times because she simply could not hold tears back when she was thinking about Harry. Portia walked beside Y/N, mouth agape.

“Y/N,” she said. “We have to go.”

Y/N sniffled, pretending it was because she’d caught a cold. “Why?”

Portia glanced at her as if she was insane.

“What?”

“Don’t even start, Y/N. We’re going. I need to see those paintings and so do you.” Portia walked onto the Jubilee tube, Y/N following straight after. They held onto a pole, and when Y/N averted her eyes to the advertisement on the walls of the coach, she saw Harry’s poster again. They were everywhere, how hadn’t she noticed them before?

“Dover Street.” Portia said. “Right by Piccadilly, innit?”

“Yeah.”

“Brill, we just jump off at Green Park and walk for like five minutes and we’ll be there.”

Y/N sighed, suddenly feeling like she needed to throw up.

Portia grinned, looking at Y/N. “I’m excited now.”

“Portia, this is a bad idea.”

“It’s a splendid idea.” Portia corrected. “I need to see all the paintings. I’m sure they’re amazing.”

Y/N had never told Portia she hadn’t seen the paintings herself, that Harry hadn’t let her. But then again, there were a lot of things she hadn’t told Portia about last summer and H. Styles. Her heart was beating way faster than normal, she was suddenly sweating. The notion that Harry might be there was overwhelming, that he had probably been in London for a while now but not contacted her made her entire body ache in a way it had never done before. Though Harry being at his own gallery didn’t make sense on any other days than the opening one, Y/N was still sick thinking about meeting him. He wouldn’t be there, but she still was wary of going.

“What’s gotten into you, you look faint.” Portia pointed out, raising her eyebrows.

“I think it’s a really bad idea to go to that exhibition.”

“What the fuck, Y/N?” Portia groaned. “These are paintings of you. You’re literally the star of the whole thing.”

Y/N shrugged.

“Besides, I don’t think we have to pay a tenner since you literally spent all summer with him so he could paint you. Free admission equals ‘why the fuck not’.”

Would Harry even want her there? They hadn’t talked after all; he hadn’t told her he was in London. Maybe he didn’t want her to come see the paintings. Maybe he just wanted her to stay away.

She hated how much she was overthinking this. The last thing she wanted to do was step on Harry’s toes, especially now that they hadn’t spoken in a while. Especially because she loved him and was afraid he didn’t anymore. However, realising the reason she was overthinking in the first place, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. It was because Harry meant so much to her. Never could she face him now without knowing if he felt the same way about her.

Portia dragged Y/N off at Green Park, walking towards the exit with an excited gleam in her eyes. Y/N’s stomach hurt so much she didn’t know what to do. She wanted to lay down in a foetal position and die. This was all so sudden, so overwhelming. They exited the underground, and as they reached the outside again, the sun was shining and the wind didn’t seem as horrible. It didn’t ease Y/N’s nerves one bit, though.

It took them a total of three minutes to reach Dover Street, and the exhibition was one of the first things that caught Y/N’s eyes. The entire front was made of glass, covered in a baby blue sheet that read ‘H. Styles’ new exclusive exhibition.’ Portia gripped Y/N’s arm, squealing before she looked both ways and crossed the street. Y/N knew Dover Street was known for having numerous contemporary art galleries, but looking down the street, none stood out as much as Harry’s. It was impossible to view any of the paintings through the windows, undoubtedly leaving people wanting to pay the 10 quid to do just that. Y/N was torn between actually wanting to walk inside or sprint back to Hackney.

“Why’re you hesitating? Come on!” Portia took Y/N’s hand and opened the door with the other, forcing Y/N in first.

The reception was dark, absolutely everything covered in black from the floor to the ceiling. There was nothing on the walls, nothing that stood out. But in the middle of the room stood another black wall, covering the proper entrance to the actual exhibition. In front of it stood a reception desk in the same colour, and behind it sat an old man, but he was accompanied by a figure Y/N recognised right away. Portia walked straight up to the desk, a huge smile on her face.

“Good afternoon, miss,” the old man said, smiling right back at her.

“Hi, my sister and I would love to just enter the exhibition, please.”

“20 pounds, then.” Jamie said, standing bent over a pile of papers that they were signing and reading over.

“No, you don’t understand,” Portia started, turning around and beckoning Y/N over. “My sister is a good friend of H. Styles.”

Jamie looked up, their eyes immediately landing on Y/N. And just like that, she was brought right back to last summer and everything Jamie had told Harry on one of her last nights there. So many memories washed over her that it made her a little dizzy. The car rides where she and Jamie would sit in the backseat and discuss animals, life, or anything else that would’ve caught their attention. The other times when they’d wait for Harry to get ready downstairs. She didn’t know how to act. Did she give them a hug? Did she smile? Did she say something? This was exactly why she didn’t want to go.

“Y/N,” Jamie said, standing up straight.

“So you recognise her!” Portia was elated. “Can we just walk on in then?”

Jamie and Y/N didn’t break eye contact, both at a loss for words. It was clear that something went down between them, that there was something unspoken in the air of the reception hall. Y/N looked away, not wanting to have Portia ask her about Jamie once they entered the gallery. She didn’t want to tell her; didn’t want to recount anything from her time in Italy.

“Yeah,” Jamie hastily reached for two brochures, locking eyes with Y/N again as he handed them to her. Portia raised her eyebrows, catching on that something was going on. She looked at Y/N. “Don’t take any photographs, if any of our guards see you do so, you will be asked to leave and pay a fine. Other than that, I hope you enjoy.” Y/N knew they were talking to both her and Portia, but by the look in their eyes, she felt as though they were talking to her alone.

“Thank you very much.” Portia smiled, taking one of the brochures and walking away from them.

Y/N looked at the brochure, just as baby blue as the sheet that had covered the front of the gallery, the same writing on it as well. Her eyes met Jamie’s again, and there was something about the way they glanced at her that was so sad. Somewhere in the wrinkle between their eyebrows Y/N saw an apology of sorts. Regret so deep and intense that she could feel it herself. They didn’t say anything, but Y/N felt the agony; saw something in their eyes that she hadn’t experienced herself, but that they needed her to see. She gave them a small smile before following Portia and walking around the wall behind the reception desk, keeping her eyes on the brochure in her hands.

If meeting Jamie had her shaken up this bad, she didn’t even want to begin to think what an encounter with Harry would bring. The leaflet was shaking in her hand, begging for her to open it. What would it even hold? Copies of the paintings? No, if they weren’t allowed to take pictures inside, why would he have them attached in leaflets for anyone to see?

“Oh, my word.” Portia said, making Y/N look up.

The entrance to the gallery had her halting. Just like everything else, she recognised it right away. All over the wall was a painting she’d seen on her first week last summer; seen on one of her last days when she’d shown it to Harry.

“When I first moved into the flat, I found a painting in this wardrobe.” She pulled it down, taking a glance at the autumn painting depicting a gravel path leading nowhere into darkness. Turning around, she walked back over to the bed, handing the painting to Harry. “That’s only one of like, two of your paintings I’ve really seen, other was one of the sea back in your house. Mind if I ask what inspired this one?”

A projector planted it on the dark surface, welcoming the guests to the gallery. A gravel path leading off far into the dark distance, tall oak trees surrounding it, filled with the rich colours of autumn. Though it was filled with yellow and green, two colours that would normally have positive connotations, Y/N couldn’t help but get quite the opposite vibes staring at it, just like all the other times she’d seen it. There was something about it she couldn’t put her finger on. Like there laid a secret at the end of the path; an explanation in the black of the unknown.

“It’s the drive to my house back in Manchester. The drive up to my childhood home, or… this is facing the other way.” He explained, dragging his finger gently along the gravel path. “It’s what you see when you’re leaving.” He shifted the attention of his finger to the trees of different colours. “Autumn, the dull colours…” he trailed off, as if reliving a memory he’d almost suppressed; something he’d pushed so far into the back of his head it had almost vaporised and disappeared into nothingness. “This was when I left home, when I first moved to London.” He pointed at the darkness at the end of the gravel path. “That’s the end of the road, I couldn’t make it out clearly. My future, I mean. It’s all supposed to represent uncertainty.”

Portia looked over her shoulder at Y/N, squealing. The darkness at the end of the painting was a hallway, a dark corridor that seemed to be leading off into nowhere. Her sister stood there waiting for her, reaching her hand out so they could walk through the darkness together. But Y/N needed to take a moment and just look at the wall, because it was one of the very first of his paintings she’d ever seen, and now she was about to see all of the other paintings he had refused to let her see. Taking a deep breath, she walked forward, took Portia’s hand, and the two walked into the dark hallway. Y/N felt her grip on Portia’s hand tighten for each step they took

“Why didn’t they just put some bloody lights in here?-“

But just as Portia said that, the exhibition was revealed to them. It was black. Dim white lights lit up the room on the walls and ceiling, illuminating the floating balls that were lined up down the room. Looking at the walls first, Y/N realised the light appeared as stars. Dotted along the walls and ceiling, lighting up the room and revealing the huge round objects that appeared to be floating, but was held from the ceiling and the floor by metal poles. The first one was completely dark, and as the two sisters walked on closer, Portia gasped a little.

“Y/N,”

“What?”

“How many planets are there in our Solar System?”

Y/N frowned, but as her eyes met Portia’s she understood immediately. Taking a step to the side, she looked down the room, seeing that there were quite a few others visiting the gallery as well. Harry was an immense painter, after all. Everyone knew who he was. However, Y/N couldn’t focus on the other people in the room with her, she started counting the different sized round objects that were nicely lined.

“Eight.” Y/N answered.

“And how many-“

“-Eight.”

Portia squeezed Y/N’s hand, eyes wide with some kind of realisation. The sisters looked at one another for a minute before Portia opened her mouth to speak again.

“Why the fuck has he done that, Y/N?”

Y/N shook her head. “Dunno.-“

“-You do.” Portia said. “That’s why that person back there looked at you all intense as well, wasn’t it? What happened last summer? You never spoke of it.”

Y/N sighed, closing her eyes. “Portia, it’s… it’s incredibly complicated and… and it’s a long story.”

Portia groaned, clinging to Y/N’s arm. “I don’t care, Y/N. I want to know. For fuck’s sake, look around you,”

Y/N opened her eyes, doing as her sister told her to.

“It’s so painfully obvious, Y/N.”

 Y/N refused to believe it was. She didn’t want to believe that what Portia was insinuating was true, because it would mean the last few months had been for nothing. It would mean the countless hours she’d cried, the times she stopped herself from thinking about him, from yearning for him, from going back to a time spent with him and cursing herself for doing so; it was not worth it. Trying to forget him had meant nothing.

Portia tapped Y/N’s arm, catching her attention. She gestured at the painting they stood in front of, giving Y/N a little smile. Y/N looked at it, and she was immediately taken back to the exact moment of it.

There was a hole in the planet in the shape of the canvas, white light washing over it to reveal it completely to the gallery visitors. Portia opened the catalogue as Y/N studied the painting Harry had never let her view. His first painting of her.

“Miss Sweeney,” Harry said, pointing at the hill. “You-“

“-You can just call me Y/N.”

“You need to stand far away.”

Shocking. But there was no use making that comment. She took her cardigan off, putting it along with her purse in the backseat of the car.

“You will find a tree further down if you just walk straight ahead, it’s got a blue ribbon on it. Stop there with your back facing me. And don’t move until I tell you so.”

As she started walking down the hill, she could feel Harry watching her, studying her every move and every surface of her body. She supposed he wanted to make sure she found the ribbon, as well as to see what he was working with.

An abundance of colours surrounded her; green, grey, yellow, brown. She could barely make out the baby blue dress amongst the nature swallowing her, there was no way of knowing the colour of her hair, the proper colour of her skin, or any of her characteristics. The only thing that stood out was the colour of her dress, but even that wasn’t as prominent as she remembered the colour to be.

“Won’t that smear the paint everywhere?”

Harry looked at her, those two familiar lines appearing between his brows. “How?”

“Shouldn’t it be left to dry or something?”

“It’s dry.”

She frowned back at him. “Already?”

“I finished a while ago, left it to dry for around an hour.”

The memory made her smile some, regardless of how infuriated she remembered being. It was the fact that they had started out like that; polar opposites with absolutely nothing in common. Two people who couldn’t see eye to eye on anything. That fact was easy to note in the first painting, seeing the insignificant role she played in the actual painting. The Tuscan landscape could’ve done fine without her presence in it, she wasn’t even placed in the middle of the painting where nature parted to reveal Fosdinovo, but somewhere to the right of it, in the middle of the trees.

Portia tugged at Y/N’s sleeve, motioning for her to follow her to the next painting behind the first one. It was the same as the first one; a rectangle shaped hole in the dark planet, lights surrounding it to show it off. She smiled again.

“It’s beautiful here.”

“Do you see that rock over there?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes.”

“Sit there facing me.”

She knew there was no use saying anything back, so she simply walked over to the rock and sat down like he wanted her to. It wasn’t comfortable to sit on, and she didn’t think she’d be able to sit there for two hours straight. Then again if she decided she needed a break, the painter would undoubtedly show his annoyance in some way. He instructed her to straighten her legs, crossing them at the ankle, leaning back on her hands. He said he wanted her to “be looking directly into the sun.”

“That could literally ruin my eyes.”

“Art goes beyond comfort.”

“I want to be able to see said art.”

Y/N felt like she was transported right back to the moment of the painting, like she could feel, see, smell everything. Though she had known that would probably be the effect once she saw the collection, she hadn’t been aware it would be this intense. The notion Harry had painted these of her; that he had painted them before, during, and after everything happened between them, it struck her. He’d been working on these for so long; she had been a forced part of his life for so long. Maybe that was why they’d stopped talking. He’d gotten tired of her. Gotten enough of her.

The colour of her dress was the same as the previous painting; it stood out, but not in a contrasting way like you thought the colour of baby blue would when surrounded by woods. The white sunlight lit up most of her surroundings, making them blend well with the dress, but then again, she could recall quite clearly how bright the sun had been that day. Though she had hated the heat of the Italian weather in the beginning, towards the end she’d gotten kind of used to it. It was almost cold coming back home to a normal British summer.

Y/N groaned, positioning her head like he wanted her to. “Went to this baker Wednesday.” It just slipped out. She had genuinely not meant to say it, but now that she’d already mentioned it, she might as well go all the way.

Harry didn’t respond.

“Said you were known around town as the grumpy Brit.”

She didn’t see him stop painting, but she could tell he halted a little. “Who said that?”

Trying not to smile as she had somehow managed to capture his attention. “Does it matter?” Y/N didn’t know why people wanted to know what someone else thought of them. It was out of their control. Then again, she supposed, she’d brought it up so it was partly her fault he asked in the first place.

Harry huffed.

“What?”

“Hm?”

“What was the –“ Y/N imitated his exasperated huff.

“Whoever said that,” Harry said, bending down a bit and disappearing completely behind the canvas. “They’re a fucking knobhead.”

Y/N nodded her head, pursing her lips before she clicked her tongue loudly. Harry glanced up. “Great argument.”

It was weird how there had been a time prior to how she was feeling now. That at the time of this painting, she hadn’t been in love with Harry. The hands that had created this artwork hadn’t yet touched her; hadn’t yet loved her. She wanted to reach through the glass that separated the canvas from them; wanted to feel the paint and the memories that came with it.

But Portia was impatient, having already started walking around the planet to the next one. She looked down into the brochure, a furrow to her brows and concentration on her face as she read something on it before taking in the third painting. This was the one Y/N almost remembered best. This was the one that changed her and Harry’s relationship in a way neither of them was made aware of till after. You don’t realise the pivotal moments in your life till after they’ve happened, but as they’re happening, you don’t understand their incredible impact. Harry nor Y/N knew how big of a role Viola would play in their lives. What her presence would do to them.

“Is that a smile I see?” she teased. “You got a rise out of me, and now you’re pleased with yourself?”

He bit his bottom lip, shaking his head without looking away from the painting before him.

“Right then.” Y/N said, eager to get the conversation going again. “What’re you best at? There’s a lot of stuff you can do with gymnastics, innit?”

Harry wasted no time. “Swing bar.”

Y/N’s eyebrows immediately shot upward. Trying to be subtle, she let her eyes fall to his muscular arms, his broad shoulders and the curve of his slight biceps. The tan he’d gotten did wonders to the outline of his muscles. Stop, stop, stop-

“Explains the arms.”

Oh. My. God. Immediately she felt her cheeks heat up. And her blushing got worse when Harry looked up at her. He huffed.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve been checking me out.”

She rolled her eyes. “I have not.”

She walked closer, feeling her bottom lip start to wobble as she saw the painting. Harry had depicted the cliff, the ocean, the forest, the atmosphere of that clifftop perfectly. It was exactly as she remembered it. Just looking at it brought her back to finding Viola, to watching Harry pet her to calm her down, the closeness in the back of Gioele’s car. How willing Harry was to help. How good he’d smelled. How hot his skin had been against hers. That was the first time she’d ever seen him smile; first time she’d seen him happy. It was the first time she saw him show compassion; saw him worry. She hadn’t known then, but she knew for certain now, that if Viola hadn’t stepped out of the woods at that second on that day while Harry and Y/N hadn’t been talking, then none of this would’ve happened.

“What?” His voice was a whisper, the small word leaving his lips like a simple puff of air that hit her jaw, sending a storm of goosebumps up and down her back.

“Your…” she started, swallowing thickly before looking down at the cat in her arms. “Your moped.”

“I’ll get it later.”

She hated that he sounded like he wasn’t faced by the close proximity at all.

“What if someone steals your painting?”

Looking up at him, she realised once again how close they were. They might have been close earlier when he helped calm the cat down outside, but this… this was close. She felt his hot breath against her lips, in her nose; felt his eyes on her like there was nowhere else to look in the car; felt everything too much. He was… so handsome. So incredibly good looking. There was undoubtedly sweat along her hairline and cupid bow, but she literally could not reach up to remove it right now. She was unable to move, not only because of the cat, but because of Harry.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Y/N,” Portia said, pointing at the painting. “What’s that?”

Y/N walked over, looking at what Portia had asked her about. Though she didn’t see it at first, having mistaken it for a dark rock or something alike, Y/N gasped a little when she realised what it was. Small pointy ears, fur a dark brown with some striped black and desert brown and a tail swaying upward. The cat was so tiny, hidden amongst the tall grass by the forest, looking at Y/N with big pleading eyes. Y/N had almost forgotten what Viola looked like, but seeing her on the canvas, it was like being back in Fosdinovo, walking the cobblestoned streets with the little kitten following her every step.

“Viola.” Y/N answered, blinking a few times as her eyesight started to blur.

“What?”

“A cat.”

“A live one?”

“I, uhh,” Y/N nodded. “The day of that painting we found an injured cat in the woods and brought her to the nearest vet so I could help nurse her. She’d broken her foot.”

Portia looked at Y/N, raising her eyebrows. “And you called her Viola?”

“Yeah,” Y/N didn’t take her eyes off the cat. “She stayed with me the rest of the summer.”

Portia turned to face her sister. “Where is she now?”

“Dunno.” Y/N sighed. “I… dunno.”

Y/N looked at Portia, giving her a little smile before walking towards the next painting. Looking at Viola and knowing that she’d left the cat in Harry’s house in Fosdinovo, also knowing Harry had most likely moved out of the Italian mountain village, it hurt. She had no idea what happened to the cat after she left. Absolutely no idea of how she was doing or who was taking care of her now. There were many times when Y/N had cursed herself for not bringing Viola back home with her. After all, they had created a little bond between them that Y/N now realised would stay with her forever.

Walking up to the fourth painting, Y/N felt herself halt some, watching as Portia walked right up to it to study it properly. Y/N wasn’t sure if it was because Harry had taught her about how he painted during the summer, if she was getting an eye for these things, or if she was just that observant, but she could swear there was something about this one that set it apart from the other few she’d seen up till now.

It dawned on her that for each painting, her figure had gotten closer and closer to Harry. As if the focus shifted from the nature around her to her alone. From far away in the first one, to taking up the whole lower half of the canvas in this fourth one. Her figure was the first thing you saw. The baby blue dress that only barely covered her bum, her bare legs, her white knee socks, her white docs.

“Don’t bend your knee that much.”

Y/N readjusted her knee.

“No.”

“Then how?!”

The grass shifted behind her, and looking to her right, she noticed Harry walking over. For some reason, Harry getting closer got her heart beating so hard she heard it in her ears and her muscles tensing. He sat down before her, a concentrated furrow to his brows that wasn’t at all intimidating. He just looked focused, deep inside his own head, constructing and planning his new painting.

For some reason, she hadn’t thought of the reason for Harry coming over, only that he was. So when he reached for her leg, she almost jumped.

She blinked as she remembered the first time Harry touched her willingly like that. How he had barked orders at her in the beginning, to coming over and moving her leg like he’d done. It made her thigh seem very cold all of a sudden.

“You’re not being serious right now.” Portia hissed, sliding her finger in the air along with the outline of the mountains at the far back of the painting.

They were dark against the pink, orange, and blue sky, so was the forest, making Y/N stand out majestically against everything else. The hint of a small white outline in the sky showed the presence of the early moon, welcoming the oncoming night. Y/N couldn’t remember seeing the moon that afternoon, but then again, she didn’t remember much besides the fact that she laughed with Harry that day and he touched her bare thigh. But Portia had miraculously seen what had captured Y/N’s attention as well. The landscape in the painting, though it wasn’t blatantly obvious, it resembled her figure. It swayed where her hips did; dipped where her legs did. It did so in a natural manner, Harry had made them seem like actual mountains and not just a replica of her curves, but Y/N couldn’t see anything else.

“The blue,” Portia said, pointing at Y/N’s dress and then at the slight streak of blue in the sky. “Kinda looks alike, does it not?”

Y/N didn’t pay much attention to it. She started walking away, eager to see the next painting, which she knew was a very special one because it might be the one she remembered the most clearly. As she rounded the planet and started walking toward the fifth one, a huge white orb caught her attention. The detail in all of Harry’s creations caught her off guard, but the moon she was looking at right now looked so real it took her breath away. She saw herself standing in the water; saw the baby blue dress; the knee socks and her Dr Marten’s in the sand. It all looked like a photograph, only the moon was abnormally big. But all his paintings looked so real it was almost like if you stripped the display of the glass protection, you could walk right into the world he’d created on the canvas and live there forever.

“What about you?” he asked again, voice low like a mumble.

Y/N hoped he couldn’t tell how fast her heart was hammering, how every nerve in her entire body was on high alert, how every cell was screaming for him to get closer. “What about me?”

“You’re never as alone as your head makes you believe. The moon is always there.” He said, eyes searching her face. “What about you?”

“Will I always be there?”

He just looked at her, clearly thinking that his look was answer enough.

Her breath hitched somewhere in her throat, and she hoped the rush of emotions that was running through her didn’t show on her face. Portia looked at her with an open mouth before taking in the fifth painting. Y/N knew exactly how her sister was feeling; that overwhelming need to ask herself and everyone else in the room if this was an actual painting, or something from someone’s most desired fantasy captured exactly as it was and printed onto canvas. And maybe it was. But Harry had taken days, weeks, months to finish these paintings, Y/N knew. She remembered those times when she’d watch him paint and he’d refuse to let her see them. She didn’t know why he didn’t want her to see them.

It was so beautiful it was hard to believe someone had made it; it just seemed too celestial for it to be real. She wanted to touch it where Harry had touched it, feel the strokes he’d made, the lines of paint. There was something about this one that sent a shock of pain through her heart no medicine could cure.

“I’d stay up only to get a small glimpse of you.”

She balled her hands into fists, digging her fingernails into her skin to hold herself back from crying. Because all she could remember was how fast Harry had kissed her back when she’d kissed him, the feeling of his lips against hers, and the taste of peach tea on his tongue. His hands roaming her body, gripping onto her thighs as she hooked her legs around his waist. His body against hers, their cells mingling, the moon shining her white light down on them, and the ocean swaying around them.

Portia walked around the planet and onto the next one, and giving the moon one last glance, Y/N followed her. Y/N couldn’t even remember this one. Maybe it was because everything that happened after the wedding blurred together, or maybe she’d just not thought about it enough for it to take up space in her head. But as she got closer, the idea of her being a model for this painting seemed unlikely.

The canvas was black as night, a huge moon in the centre of it like the one before. A figure was floating in the middle of the white moon, a baby blue gown clinging to its form and floating up behind them like they were sinking. As she got closer, Y/N saw that this wasn’t her. All the other paintings were of her, but this one wasn’t. This was Harry.

His arms were floating at an almost 90-degree angle, the baby blue gown hovering behind his arms and torso, just barely covering some of his thighs and crotch. One of his knees was bent a bit more than the other, and the tattoos he had up and down his muscular legs were very visible, making Y/N think back to a time she’d been allowed to touch them. His neck was craned backward, eyes closed and mouth parted ever so slightly, bubbles of air leaving him and making a hasty return for the water’s surface. She remembered his fright of the dark, how much he hated the ocean, but his facial expression showed one of peace. He didn’t seem afraid; didn’t seem like he dreaded any of it. It seemed like he was okay; ready to reach tranquillity and the ultimate meaning to life. He was surrendering himself, it seemed.

“Y/N, I swear to you,” Portia said, pointing at different places on the painting. “Look.”

“At what?”

“You mean you don’t see it?”

“See what, Portia?” Y/N knew she must sound irritated, but with everything going on and all the emotions she was feeling at once, she simply could not hold her anger back.

“The painting,” Portia directed Y/N’s attention back to the canvas. “Do you see?”

Y/N took a closer look.

“Do you see all the blue?”

And it was like her little sister flicked a switch, and suddenly, Y/N saw it. Blue. Baby blue. It was hidden in the waves along the top of the painting, in the shadows of the water, in and around the moon, in his hair, his body, his gown. Taking a few steps back, Y/N wondered how she hadn’t picked up on the blue right away. It was all over the painting. Most of the details on that canvas were baby blue.

Quickly, Y/N walked all the way back to the first painting. Portia just watched her, unsure what was going on, but not wanting to interrupt something if Y/N had come to some sort of realisation.

The only blue in the first one was her dress, in the second one, the sky resembled her dress some. In the third, the sky, ocean, and a bit of the grass surrounding her held the same colour as her and her dress, and in the fourth the landscape swayed along with her form, the sky, the woods, and certain highlights were the exact colour of the dress. How hadn’t she seen it all the first time around? Because once she took a few steps back, the baby blue stood out starkly against everything else. Marching straight past the fifth and the sixth, Y/N wanted to see the last two. Because the second to last put the finishing touch on everything.

The entire canvas was baby blue. Her form was outlined in white, but none of her features were shown. Her breasts, face, or any other part of her body was not included. But Y/N would remember that exact pose till the day she died and long after that also. Because it was the one where Harry had drawn on her; her arms above her head, her knee bent, leg resting over the other. She wondered if this had been the one he’d painted when she laid on the floor of his loft, but why had he been so incredibly detailed when he painted on her if he was just going to erase it forever? Not include it in one of his masterpieces? It didn’t make any sense.

“You let him draw you like one of his bloody French girls.” Portia hissed, about to burst out laughing when she stopped herself. The room was silent as people walked through the exhibition, neither of them wanted to be thrown out or something to that effect.

Y/N looked at her sister. “Yes.”

Portia’s eyes got wide. “Shut the fuck up.”

“He painted on me.”

“Shut. Up.”

Y/N glanced at the painting again, noting that the only thing on that canvas was the very careful outline of her.

“Exactly how well did you fuck him for him to do that?”

“Portia!” Y/N hissed. “Leave off.”

“I’m serious, Y/N, this seems like the summer of your entire life.” Portia smiled, raising her eyebrows suggestively. “Did he do you good at least?”

Y/N only gave her a look.

“Oh, come on.” Portia pouted. “I just found out my sister has been shagging with my boss all summer, I want the deets.”

“Can that happen another time? I’m a little busy-“ Y/N gestured around her and Portia nodded, clearly eager to be done here so she could hear Y/N explain everything to her over the phone on her commute home.

“You know,” Portia started, holding up the leaflet. “If you’d just bothered and taken the time to look in the brochure, there’s a lot of information about all the paintings.”

Y/N frowned.

“I kind of had my suspicions about the two of you before you even said something just now.”

Y/N looked down at her brochure, reading the front of it again as she walked toward the last painting. She wanted to go through everything one more time and read the leaflet, she needed to know all the details and all the reasons why Harry had done what he’d done. When she glanced up again, the first thing she noticed was how the planet surrounding the canvas was glowing. A dark golden colour, looking a little like the moon, but as if it was on fire on the inside, the surface of it pure gold. She turned around and looked down the row of planets, meeting Portia’s eyes right after.

“The first one is black,” Portia said. “And the last one is golden.”

Y/N felt her heart hammering faster, felt herself begin to sweat.

“With each planet, you slowly fade into-“

“-Venus.” She finished, looking at the last planet she’d been named after. Y/N Venus Sweeney. She was so overwhelmed she felt a little faint, though she hadn’t known what to expect from the exhibition, this – all of it – was not it. She didn’t want to draw conclusions and think this whole collection was about her, but right now, looking at everything around her, it was hard to think anything else.

She still had one more painting to go, so she grabbed the leaflet and walked to stand in front of it. Instantly, she remembered it. She’d seen this one before. It seemed like ages ago, but she had seen this painting. It was the same one Gioele had stolen from Harry’s house and given to Salvatore and Carina as a wedding gift. Y/N had no idea why that one would be in the collection, what had made Harry put it there. She was just about to open the brochure and read what it said about this particular one when she heard a commotion behind her. The screeching of joggers against the floor as if someone was running, some gasps, Jamie shouting something.

Y/N turned around, and she recognised him right away. Her heart immediately started screaming his name. He walked down the row of planets in a haste, frantically scanning the crowds surrounding each quickly till he came to the last one where she stood. He stopped abruptly as his eyes landed on hers, a sigh of relief leaving him in between pants for air. Had he been running? Quickly, he swallowed, trying to regain his composure before he did anything. While he did that, Y/N took him in.

His hair had grown, he must’ve trimmed it some since last summer, but his curls were lush, his hair thick, and just as brown as she remembered it. He was wearing a colour-block patchwork cardigan with all the colours of the rainbow, a white tee shirt with some blue artwork printed on it, washed denim jeans, and his signature pink Converse. He looked healthy, maybe not as tan as she remembered him to be, but he looked good. He looked like the same Harry she had fallen in love with back then; it was still him. He was here. Right before her. After months apart, he was here.

“Y/N.” He said, voice faint as he took a reluctant step forward. It was like he realised what he was doing – getting closer to her when he had no idea if she still wanted that - and was almost about to take a step backward again but stopped himself.

She was unable to say anything at all. One second she had been about to take in the last painting of the collection, and the next Harry had rushed into his gallery and now he stood right in front of her. It didn’t seem real. The months they hadn’t talked, the months they hadn’t seen each other. They all hung in the air between them, pushed them apart from one another; demanding them to keep separated. She wanted to defy their distance, wanted to fling herself into his arms and melt into him like she had done so many times before, but the uncertainty, the separation, and the many curious eyes watching them stopped her.

Harry was about to say something else when his eyes fell on something behind her, clamping his mouth shut.

“Hi,” Portia said. “Don’t know if you remember me.”

“I-I do, I…” Harry’s eyes fell to Y/N again as he trailed off, glancing back at Portia after clearing his throat. “Portia.”

“And you’re H. Styles.” Y/N could hear the smile in Portia’s voice, and Y/N knew instantly she was taking the piss, telling Harry she knew exactly who he was and why he was here. Whispers were heard, as if the visitors all suddenly realised who they were looking at. Someone gasped and someone on the other side of the room started walking closer. Harry looked around him as if he just understood what he’d done by coming here. Their eyes met again, and Harry let out a sigh.

“Can we talk?” he asked, eyes big and pleading. “Please.”

Y/N looked at everyone around them, then back at Harry, hoping he’d understand that she didn’t want to do it in front of everyone else. Taking a few steps backward, Harry began walking towards the exit of the exhibition, making sure Y/N caught up with him before he started walking normally. Y/N glanced at Portia over her shoulder, but Portia was grinning so widely Y/N knew her sister was okay with her leaving her behind for a bit.

The next room they entered was just as dark as the first one, but the paintings were huge projections onto the walls, ceiling, and floor, showcasing all the details each of them portrayed. Harry walked quickly through the room, having seen this multiple times before – having created this -, but Y/N slowed. The attention to detail was incredible; it looked so real, yet it still looked like art. She was never able to really put her finger on it, but then again, she supposed that was what creativity was. The lines between what was certain and what was a craft from someone’s imagination, blurred to the point of doubt, yet it’s human nature to find an explanation for everything; but in art we find an excuse not to have one. Maybe that was what drew people to it; it was real, but not real enough to need reason.

He held the door open for her, leading her to a smoking area in the back of the gallery. Two trees rose up, some dead grass sprung up between the stone flooring, and, thankfully, no one was there. The sun was still shining, and somewhere not too far off, an ambulance siren was going off. It was weird to be with Harry in an environment other than quiet, warm, rural Fosdinovo, it was almost as if she associated him with the peace of the Italian countryside now. But she didn’t mind having him here in London. Not in the least. In fact, she liked it very much.

“Y/N,” he repeated, almost as if he didn’t really know what else to say; almost as if he had to repeat her name over and over and over again to tell himself that she was really here. He just looked at her, studying her intently, probably to make sure she was okay.

“I didn’t know…” she started, blinking a few times. “Didn’t know you were in London.”

“I’m in London.”

“But I didn’t know you were.”

“But I am.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

Harry sighed. “No.”

“Why?”

Harry opened his mouth but hesitated. “I… I just… It’s not as if I…” he ran a hand through his hair, sighing again. “I didn’t know if you wanted me to.”

She frowned. “What made you think that?”

“We haven’t talked in a couple of months, have we? Maybe you’d forgotten about me.”

“You think I’d forgotten about you?” Y/N crossed her arms. “I’m not the one who got disinterested and pulled away.”

Harry’s face screwed up into that familiar scowl she had seen so many times before. “I never bloody lost interest, what’re you on about?”

“Seemed that way over text.”

“Those are text messages!” Harry gestured with his arms, very obviously frustrated. “How much can you tell from a text?!”

“A lot!”

Harry groaned. “Y/N, please.”

She stood her ground, looking at him and waiting for him to say something that would change her mind. How had they gone months without talking, months before that with barely any communication, and he didn’t think she’d be annoyed at him for that. She was annoyed at herself, too. It takes two to communicate.

“I don’t want to fight.” He said. “I… I just… I don’t want to fight. Can we just talk?”

“We’re talking.”

Harry’s eyes fell to the ground, nodding a bit before he dared look up at her. “What’ve you been up to?”

Though she wanted to yell at him, tell him that she’d been busy writing and researching her dissertation, that she had been busy missing him, she composed herself. She might be frustrated, but Harry was trying, so she should as well.

“Uni,” she simply said. “And you?”

Harry let out a short breath through his nose. “Figured, stupid question, really.”

She couldn’t help the slight tug at the edge of her lips.

“Been travelling the world, showing off the exhibition.” He gestured back at the gallery. “It’s been wonderful, but I’m glad it’s over now. Can relax for a bit before I start painting for clients again.”

“It’s quite the exhibit.”

Harry nodded.

“Almost a little too extra.”

He let out a chuckle, eyes falling to the ground again. “You think?”

“Wasn’t it hard travelling around with all of that?” Y/N asked, thinking about the huge planets – or rather Venuses – back in the exhibition. Seemed unlikely that they travelled far distances with all of that, but then again, what did she know, she hadn’t talked to him in a long while. And when they did talk, it wasn’t about the transportation of his collection from country to country because he never talked about it.

“No, we drove around most of the time, then by plane when it got to travelling from continent to continent.”

She nodded. “Fair enough.”

His eyes flicked between hers, inhaling slowly. The sun hit the top of his hair, making his locks shine like gold, and Y/N remembered the countless number of times before she’d seen his hair like that in the early morning light, or a bright sunset. Memories are supposed to bring you joy, especially those remembered with fondness, but those are also the ones that hurt the most to relive.

“Are we really gonna chat about anything but what we want to chat about?” Harry asked, face very serious all of a sudden.

“Which is?”

“Us.” Harry said, something in his throat making the word almost sound choked. “And… and…”

She waited, feeling her heart beat harder in her chest.

“And us some more.”

She let out a small chuckle.

“What?”

“Start then.”

She could tell he wanted to frown at her, as if he wanted her to have a certain reaction. But he didn’t, instead he let his shoulders fall a bit, taking her in for a few moments more before he decided to start talking again.

“I thought you’d forgotten about me.”

It hurt every time he said that, as if he didn’t believe that what she’d felt this summer wasn’t half of what he had.

“Tortured me to think about you.”

She took a little step backward, not wanting to listen to him talk on about how she’d hurt him.

“But the thought of you also brought me peace, as it always has. Brought me inspiration and motivation.” He took a step closer to her. “I miss you. I’ve missed you since the day I was brought into this world, I never knew I did till I was without you.”

Those three words radiated throughout her entire body, her heart screaming them right back at his. I miss you I miss you I miss you I-

“Please don’t…” he trailed off, balling his hands into fists as if he was mad at himself for not finding the right words for what he was feeling. “Don’t leave.”

She swallowed, not wanting the hundreds of butterflies and warm feelings in her chest to get the better of her when she answered. “Don’t leave… now? In general?-“

“-Don’t leave me. If not as a lover, as a friend. I need you in my life to some capacity.”

“Harry-“

“-I’m in love with you, Y/N.” His voice was so soft, yet urgent. He needed her to feel the same way, to understand what he was talking about. “I love you.”

Every cell in her body vibrated with the effect of those words, telling Harry she felt the same. In every way one person could love another, she loved him.

“If you even feel a fragment the same, please tell me.” His eyes were so big, pleading with her.

She felt so much all at once, finding the right words – finding words at all – was difficult. Every single part of her tried, her brain working hard and fast so she wouldn’t leave him hanging. But that was exactly what she did. So overwhelmed with absolutely everything today had brought, she couldn’t do anything but feel.

Harry’s jaw visibly tensed with the lack of response. “Or don’t.”

She opened her mouth, brain working a hundred miles a second to find words for him.

“If you don’t, then that’s fine. I won’t pretend it’s not gonna hurt and I’ll need some time to come to terms with it.” He sighed, eyes falling to the ground as if he couldn’t look at her now. “I… I was terrified this would happen.”

She couldn’t just stay fucking silent, she had to say something. Speak you bloody nonce, don’t do him like this. “Harry-“

“-What I’ve been most scared about since we stopped talking is that I played an insignificant role in your life, when you played the most significant in mine.” His eyes were still on the flooring, gripping the ends of his colourful cardigan. “A part you won’t talk about with others, that you keep a secret.”

“I’m not ashamed of this summer, Harry-“

“-I feared you’d never need me like I need you.” He said, voice thick with something resembling torment. “Because I just… I know we have no power over who we end up loving, you meet someone and before you know it, they’re so important to you that imagining a life without them in it is like staring uninspired at a blank canvas. But I’ve chosen to pour every ounce of my love onto you. I’ve chosen you, and I’ll continue to choose you without hesitation and without fail, for the rest of my life.”

She felt her eyes sting, fearing that she’d start crying if he continued on talking. Why was it that before their first kiss, Harry hadn’t been one for talking, but after it he hadn’t dithered? Everything he’d told her since had been so heartfelt and true, she felt like he was putting words to her very own feelings.

The right words wouldn’t come, and she felt like the longer she left him standing there in silence, the longer she let him ramble on, the more catastrophic this would get. Because she felt the same for him, but what she felt was so enormous and she was afraid she’d never find words for it. She wasn’t one for art or expression. She studied science and medicine and animals, she knew all that, but she didn’t know how to tell someone like Harry what he wanted to hear. Most of the time, at least before, he didn’t need her to say anything. Her presence, her touch, her comfort was enough for him. He never expected anything else from her but to reciprocate his feelings. Which she did. Oh, did she love him. More than she thought possible.

“I-“ she started, but cut herself off as she didn’t know where it was going. Harry looked up at her instantly, instant hope in his eyes. “Your exhibit.”

Not the appropriate thing to be talking about right now, she thought to herself, but better than nothing.

“Could you explain it to me?”

He blinked. “Explain it?”

“Yes,” she said, feeling every surface of her body heat up. “Because I knew you were painting me, but I didn’t…”

His eyes lingered on her lips for a second, but he quickly composed himself, a slight redness appearing along his cheekbones. A wave of goosebumps ran up her spine.

“I didn’t expect…”

“Didn’t expect the whole exhibition to be about you?”

She just looked at him, biting her bottom lip.

Harry let out an amused chuckle. “You’re the smartest person I know, thought you might get it right away, to be completely honest with you.”

“It took me off guard.”

“Right, should I walk you through it, then?” Harry gestured at the gallery. “Want to see it?”

She sensed irritation in his voice and sighed. “You don’t have-“

“-Don’t fucking say I don’t have to. You asked about the exhibit. You don’t understand, even though I just made it very clear for you. So, let's.”

He walked toward the door, flinging it open and beckoning for Y/N to walk through it first. Walking first, he stomped straight through the entire exhibition, right past people who were leaving. They all looked over at Y/N and Harry as they walked the opposite way, a few raised eyebrows and some whispering. Portia still stood in the first room with the eight planets, looking up as Y/N and Harry came back. A smile first graced her features, but seeing the look on Harry’s face and how fast they were both walking, she quickly pieced together that something was happening.

“This,” Harry said as they reached the reception, pointing at the wall with the projection of that painting Y/N had found in the flat in Fosdinovo. The drive to his childhood home in Manchester. “You recognise this?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

She gave him a look to tell him she didn’t appreciate his tone. He didn’t seem to care.

“Told you the path leads to uncertainty, hence the darkness at the end of it. I didn’t know where my life would lead me and I was terrified. Now,” he pointed to the dark corridor. “What does that lead to?”

Y/N blinked a few times, looking up at Harry when he didn’t continue talking. But he was already glancing down at her, raised eyebrows and a stoic look on his face. Though she was tempted to tell him to shove it if he was going to keep that attitude up, she didn’t. She needed to tell him how she felt, that he wasn’t alone in wanting more. She needed to find the right words. But right now, knowing Harry, he’d just get furious with her if she told him now that he was putting the effort in and showing her what everything meant.

“The paintings.”

“It leads to the exhibition.”

“That’s the same thing.”

Harry didn’t respond, he just walked towards the corridor without looking back. Y/N felt her anger bubble up, but she tried to control it as she followed him to the first room of the exhibition.

“Hope you know what the solar system is.” Harry shouted back to her.

She dug her nails into the palm of her hands, gritting her teeth from responding. Portia was standing at the other side of the room, watching them with wide eyes. Everyone else had left, she realised. The gallery was closing, and Harry’s exhibition needed to be taken down so the next one could be put up. This was his very last day showing his collection. Y/N gave her a look to keep quiet, the last thing Harry needed now was Portia intervening.

“Our solar system’s got eight planets-“

“-I bloody know how many planets there are in our solar system-“

“-But to me and my life,” Harry walked to the side of the room, pointing down at the last planet. The full Venus. Her plant. “In my universe, there’s only one.”

She didn’t know what to say to that.

“They each fade more and more into Venus. Notice how the first one’s black.”

“Like the end of the painting I found in Fosdinovo.”

Harry’s arm fell to his side, having proven his point on why he’d chosen space to be the theme for his exhibition. He walked on over to the first painting; straight past Y/N, jaw still tense and the look in his eyes enraged. She realised this was torturing him. Going through everything without knowing how she felt, and probably fearing – and believing – the worst. She had to say something.

“This one,” he pointed. “We can barely see you. You were a fucking pain in my arse.”

“Hey!”

“There’s only one dot of baby blue, you’re far away from where I’m standing.”

“If you don’t-“

“-Next one,” he walked onto the second one without Y/N even having reached him and the first painting. “You’re closer to me, still not very close, still not a lot of blue. Only some in the sky. Didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Harry, slow down-“

“-Third,” it seemed he was on a mission, wanting this to be over with as quickly as possible. “You’re close. You can see baby blue in the sky, ocean, your dress, some in the grass. Still not doing it on purpose.”

She jogged over to the fourth as he did, really wanting to take a grip of his arm and tell him to calm down. But she had no right. Not now. But she was still getting annoyed with him.

“Fourth is when I start doing it deliberately. Realised I caught feelings for you, and you can see that in the landscape, how it follows the outline of your body.” Harry pointed just as the lights inside the planets went out. “There’s baby blue in quite literally everything.”

The lack of lights to showcase the paintings didn’t stop him, Harry walked on. She ran after him, about to tell him to slow down again when he walked right past the beach painting with the huge moon.

“The night you changed the moon for me forever. Now I do as you said you do; I talk to her. Every night.”

Y/N felt her heart ache. She wondered, if they were both talking to the moon at the same time, if they were talking about one another, why didn’t the moon whisper Harry’s words into her ear and hers into his? Why didn’t she help them?

“You’re further away in that one ‘cause I realised I’d have to let you go at the end of the summer, didn’t want to get too attached.” A dry laugh slipped past his lips. “Look how well that worked out.”

They stopped in front of the second moon painting, where he was floating in what looked to be the middle of a huge and dark ocean.

“You once told me the moon knows all your deepest secrets and biggest desires,” Harry pointed at himself in the painting. “Here’s me surrendering myself to her.”

“Why’re you in the ocean?”

Harry chuckled, running both hands over his face as if he couldn’t believe her.

“What?”

He looked at her for a few seconds while clenching his jaw. “I used to be terrified of the dark and the ocean. You taught me monsters won’t magically appear just ‘cause you can’t see. They’re just as likely to show themselves in sunlight.” He glanced at the painting again, blinking a few too-many times as he looked away from her. “If you take your time to understand and truly look at this painting, you’ll understand it.”

She was about to open her mouth when Harry said, “And don’t use your ‘I only know science, I barely know how to interpret art’ rubbish.”

“Well, it’s true.” She mumbled, but Harry only clicked his tongue, disinterested in her insistence on not understanding art. He walked on to the next one, the one that was completely baby blue, where her body was carefully outlined in white.

“Here you can clearly tell-“

“-I have a question,” Y/N said, making Harry shut up. “That painting of me… the one where I’m… Where’s that one? I mean…”

Harry stared at her for a few seconds, waiting for her to continue, but when she never did, he mumbled another question right back at her, “You think I’d put a painting of your naked body on display in my exhibition?”

She just looked at him, seeing something in his eyes that was vaguely familiar but too far away to fully grasp.

“I’m keeping that one-“ he stopped himself, swallowing hard. “It’s private.”

She nodded.

“Anyway,” Harry went back to the painting before them. “You represent baby blue to me, so here’s your colour – you -,” he paused for a second. “Becoming everything.”

She looked at him, feeling everything within her wither and bloom at the same time. The painting seemed to take him back to a time long ago, every urge he had to do this as quickly as possible seemed to leave him when he looked at that painting. They still had one left, but he forgot about that, losing himself in a memory. And Y/N lost herself in him. Suddenly, proper lights lit up the room and the stars that had illuminated everything prior, disappeared.

“Harry!”

Harry didn’t meet Y/N’s eyes as he stepped away from the row of planets, looking up at Jamie how had shouted his name.

“Closing time. We need to pack up, mate.”

Harry nodded, looking over at Y/N who suddenly felt her heart pick up speed.

Jamie clapped their hands together. “Come on, you lot, you need to leave.”

For a few moments, it was like the two of them moved in slow motion. Harry took a few steps so he could face the other way, ready to leave through the backdoor, not breaking eye contact with Y/N. Once they looked away from one another, the rest of the world would resume being and they had to leave. Y/N had to say something, she had to tell him. But everything was clogged up somewhere in her throat, she wasn’t able to say anything. This whole exhibit… it was about her. Harry had cared so much about her and he still did. But she couldn’t find the right words. She had to say something. Had to let him know she felt the same way.

Harry’s jaw clenched again before he looked away from Y/N and started walking back down the way he’d taken Y/N before. Everything inside her went into panic mode.

“Harry.” She said, but he didn’t turn around. She started jogging after him. “Harry.”

“Y/N-“

“-Just a sec, Portia!” Y/N continued to follow Harry through the now lit exhibit. “Harry!”

He didn’t turn around still.

“Harry, please.” She took a grip of his arm.

Harry stopped, dragging his arm out of her grip. “Y/N, stop.”

The force of his words took her off guard and it took her a few seconds to compose herself. “I’m sorry.”

Harry nodded, looking behind Y/N at the closing exit door. “What?”

“I… I need to tell you that…” she swallowed, feeling her palms get clammy. “You said earlier that…”

Harry looked at her expectantly, something in the frantic way his eyes moved over her face and the quick breath he took made her think he detected reciprocation in her voice. “Yes?”

Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Her heart was beating hard and fast, she was beginning to sweat.

“What, Y/N?”

“I can’t, I-“ She ran both hands over her face, frustrated with herself. She groaned.

“What?”

“I know how I’m feeling, but I don’t know how to say it.”

Harry took a small step towards her. “Say what?”

“How I feel for you.”

He let out a small breath. “And how’s that?”

“Just how you feel about me.”

There was a single second when Harry’s eyes were filled with elation; like he was ready to embrace her, kiss her, and never let her go. Wanted to become one with her right then and there, to never leave her side again. A ghost of a smile grace his features and his shoulders lowered; his entire composure seemed to relax. As if all the anger he’d been carrying around with him in the gallery disappeared. But the next second, realisation sunk in and he glanced away for a second.

“Need to hear you say it.” He said, voice weak. “Know you say you’re not one for words, but there are moments in life when words are everything.”

Y/N felt a drop of sweat run down her back. Her head was spinning.

“I deserve to hear you say it yourself.” Harry said.

“I know! That’s why I’m trying so hard to say something!”

Harry nodded, eyes falling to the floor. “You’re not ready.”

Y/N frowned, sure her panic showed on her face. “I am ready. That’s why I followed you out here, isn’t it?”

“No, Y/N, you’re clearly not. You might feel it, but being vulnerable is hard for you. Admitting to being vulnerable isn’t something you know how to do.”

Y/N’s mouth fell open.

“Your whole life you’ve put up this cold and hard exterior to protect yourself from feeling too much. You’ve had a hard time receiving the love you needed while growing up, and you’ve been burned in the past-“

“-Don’t psychoanalyse me.” She pointed a finger at him. “You know I have a hard time opening up to people completely.”

“You have a hard time admitting to letting your guard down. You do it willingly, but there’s a part of you that just doesn’t want to admit it.”

“I said don’t psycho-“

“-I know, I’m sorry.” Harry took a few steps back, as if getting ready to walk away from her. “I’ll wait.”

She blinked. “For what?”

“You.”

“Me?”

Harry nodded, just about to turn around and leave when she called his name again.

“You just begged me to tell you I felt the same way, and I did.” Y/N said, taking a few steps toward him, but stopping herself. “I told you.”

“That you felt like I did.”

“Exactly.”

Harry let out a small chuckle and though it sent a swarm of butterflies straight to Y/N’s stomach, it also hurt because she knew the next few words would send her into a panic. “And thank you for that, but I told you how I felt. Now you need to tell me. Physical show of affection is nice, but proper verbal confirmation that someone loves you…” he trailed off, looking at her in silence for some seconds. “It’s key.”

“Harry-“

“-I love you.”

She fell silent, taken off guard. But the words warmed her so that she was sure she’d never freeze again. He started walking away.

“I’ll wait, you need to figure this out on your own. I know,” smiling he continued, “Now I need you to comprehend.”

Mouth falling open as she tried to force herself to say something, she cursed herself over and over again for having built up that humongous wall around her. Being vulnerable was like admitting that you were weak, and she knew those two weren’t the same thing at all, but she’d associated them with one another her whole life. She needed to stop.

“I’ll wait for you.”

And just like that, Harry left her this time. She was tempted to run after him again, but to what purpose? To have him tell her yet again that he needed her to tell him she loved him when she couldn’t bring herself to? To hurt him again? No, she was going to deal with her struggles to admit vulnerability herself. He deserved to hear her say everything he’d just told her and much more. And hopefully Harry would still love her the way he did now by that time. How terrified she already was that he didn’t.

But if that was the case, at least she’d have taught herself the importance of vulnerability.

Thursday, 10 September 2020

“Smile, baby.” Elaine brought her phone up, snapping a picture of Y/N with her diploma in hand, standing in front of her University.

It was a nice day; the sun was shining through a thin layer of clouds and the temperature was high, but not so high that Y/N was struggling to breathe. All her course mates were milling around behind, beside, and around her, saying their last goodbyes before everyone was to part ways after this. It had been bittersweet saying goodbye to her mates. She knew she was going to see them again and knew she would be happier now that she didn’t have to care about uni, but it would be sad not seeing them and not knowing when she would meet them next. Though she hadn’t really been close with any of them, she still counted them as her friends and would miss their time together.

Portia stood beside Elaine and gave Y/N a little applause, grinning from ear to ear as her sister walked over to them again. “Look at you, all smart.”

“Yes,” Y/N said, doing a little dance with her diploma. “I’d like to think I am.”

“Look,” Elaine begged Y/N over so she could look at the pictures she’d taken of her. “You look lovely, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, the lighting’s amazing.”

“So peng.” Portia said, zooming in on Y/N’s face.

Y/N playfully hit Portia in the head with her diploma, making the two sisters chuckle before they turned back to their mother. Elaine smiled at Y/N, there was a look in her eyes Y/N wasn’t accustomed to seeing on her mother’s face when looking at her. It was something she often directed at Portia, but Y/N rarely got this. Pride. It almost made Y/N’s eyes sting with oncoming tears.

“Come on, girls,” Elaine said, taking each of her daughters’ hands. “We need to celebrate. What’s a good pub around yours, Y/N?”

“Hmm,” Y/N thought for a few seconds. “There’s a Gregg’s two minutes away.”

“Sausage rolls!” Portia exclaimed.

“We’re not celebrating you getting a degree at bloody Gregg’s, are you dim?” Elaine huffed, unlocking the car once they reached it. “We need to get a pint each, and a fancy dinner later.”

“Reckon we could afford a fancy dinner in London, Mum?” Y/N sat down in the car, putting her seatbelt on as Elaine started the car. “I’m skint.”

“Well, you’re not the one paying for the dinner, are you?” Elaine raised her eyebrows at her, driving away towards Y/N’s flat in Hackney. Portia reached into the backseat where Y/N sat, squeezing her knee before she sat back and focused on the city they were driving in. Y/N leaned forward and squeezed Portia’s shoulder.

“Thank you for coming, P. Know you have a lot going on at the moment, but it meant a lot to me that you bothered to come.”

Porta looked over her shoulder at Y/N, studying her sister for a second before she smiled. “Might be busy, but it’s your graduation. It’s important to me.”

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up a bit, something they always did when she managed to discuss her feelings. “Thank you anyway.”

“You’re very welcome.” Portia’s smile widened, and she grabbed Y/N’s hand, kissing it before turning to look ahead again.

Y/N smiled herself, sitting back in her seat and looking out the window.

She’d never really gotten attached to London. Maybe it was because she didn’t really have anyone she was close to, or the constant fast-paced lifestyle you had to lead to live there. Y/N had always preferred a slow life, like the one she had grown up knowing in Maldon. Essex was calm, it was what she’d known her whole life and what she wanted to know forever. Regardless of where she wanted to live and where she felt she belonged; she’d gotten a job at North London Veterinary Clinic so she didn’t really have much of a choice in where she could settle down for a little while. North London wasn’t as busy as Central, so she wouldn’t be as overwhelmed as she usually was. She’d have to move and though the thought stressed her out, she was ready for a little change. It would be good for her.

“Do you remember that guy I was chatting to for a little while?” Portia suddenly asked, snapping Y/N out of her reverie.

“Drake?”

“No.”

“That Felix lad?”

“Not him.”

“Ezra?”

Portia shook her head.

“Jackson-“

“-Oh, for fuck’s sake, Y/N,” Portia turned around in her seat. “Do you have to rub it in?”

“That you date a lot of men? I don’t have to do that; you know it perfectly well yourself.”

Portia rolled her eyes. “Azeem.”

“Ahh! Azeem!” Y/N nodded her head, giving her little sister a smile. “Remember you talked about him, yes. Ages ago, though.”

Portia seemed to think back to the time she was talking to Azeem, getting lost in her own thoughts for a few short seconds before she blurted out, “Anyway, I met him on a night out like two days ago.”

“You did? What’d he say?”

“Just that it was nice to see me again.” Portia said. “Told me I looked good. And then he walked me home.”

In an attempt to come to terms with how she was feeling and letting other people know, it had been one of the first things Y/N had done. She sat Portia down when she came back to London, told her she loved the fact her sister came down and that they got to spend time together because it brought them closer – and she wanted to be close to her sister since they’d struggled being just that growing up -, but Portia needed her own place. If she was going to spend that much time in the capital, she might as well move there permanently. Elaine had struggled to come to terms with the fact that her youngest daughter would be moving out, especially considering how much time and resources she’d put into Portia and her career. But both the sisters had convinced their mother that this was what Portia needed to do. She needed to become independent. And besides, Portia wouldn’t be alone in London, Y/N lived there as well.

“And…?” Y/N urged, raising her eyebrows to show she was eager to know what happened next.

“He asked me out on a date.”

“He did?!” Y/N grinned. “Why did you stop seeing each other in the first place?”

Portia sighed. “It was hard to not see him very often, we lived far away from one another, and all that. But now that I live in London, maybe it’ll work out.”

“Is he a decent bloke, Y/N?” Elaine looked in the driving mirror back at Y/N. “I won’t take Portia’s word for it. You know she’s blinded by a good shag when she’s got one.”

“Mum!” Portia exclaimed. “Don’t say that! You’re not allowed to say that!”

“Say what? What you always tell me? You talk about lads and your sex life constantly.”

“I do not! Oh, my God!”

Y/N laughed, zoning out as her little sister and mother started arguing in the front. They soon reached Hackney and Y/N’s flat building. It felt weird knowing that Thursday next week, she’d be moving out of this flat and into a new one. Though Hackney wasn’t the nicest place to be living in London – or the nicest place to just be walking through – it had been Y/N’s home for five years now. Sure, she spent loads of time in Maldon and Essex, but this was her place in London. But soon, Hampstead would probably be it. It wasn’t that the commute would be horrible from Hackney and up to North London, but she would rather have a stroll to work in the morning instead of using public transit. It was bloody unbearable on the tube in the mornings sometimes.

They exited the car and Y/N rummaged through her purse for her keys, giving them to Portia when she reached her hand out for them.

“Thanks, babes.” Y/N said, getting her diploma out of the car seat before closing the door and letting their mother lock the car.

Portia glanced at Y/N for a little while, a grin spreading out over her lips.

“What?” Y/N asked, gesturing for her sister to unlock the door so they could walk on in.

“Dunno,” Portia shrugged, putting the key in the hole and turning it. “You never call me ‘babe’ or anything like that, but you’ve started recently.”

“Been watching too much Love Island.”

Portia laughed, holding the door open for her mother and sister. The lot of them walked up the stairs to the second story, about to let Y/N change out of her heels so they could go have a pint and then go out to dinner. Though she wouldn’t look as smashing as she did with her heels on, they would ultimately kill her feet and she was not about that life today. She’d just gotten a degree, she was going to feel good all day. So fuck heels.

They reached Y/N’s door and she let Portia unlock that one as well. Her flat was as simplistic as always; one single room with a small kitchen, a bed, a desk, and a door to a small bathroom. Elaine walked over to the desk, sitting down in Y/N’s office chair while Portia bent down and picked up something behind the door.

“Mail.” She said, giving Y/N a few envelopes.

“Thanks.” Y/N took it, looking through the envelopes to see nothing interesting. A couple of bills, some rubbish, and…

“Where are we going after this then?” Elaine asked, looking from Y/N to Portia. But Y/N didn’t hear what Portia was answered because she was too busy reading the small slip of paper that told her she’d gotten a parcel. Everything that was too big to slip through the mail slot was out into a cupboard on the outside of Y/N’s flat. Beside her front door was another, smaller door where her electricity metre was. If she wasn’t in to receive the parcel herself, she’d written on her mail slot to just pop it in there.

She put all her mail down on the kitchen counter before walking outside to check the cupboard. Upon opening it, she saw a single brown parcel, though it looked more like a gift than anything. She reached for it, bringing it out into proper lighting. She read her own address on the front, and when turning it around, she found it a little hard to breathe. Had he…

Y/N walked back into the flat, closing the door behind her and placing the package on the kitchen counter so she could unpack it. She knew Elaine and Portia were talking behind her about something, probably where they were going to go have their pint, but Y/N could not focus on anything but what was right in front of her. Ripping the paper off, a sea of colour was revealed to her and she recognised what she was looking at right away.

“A sunny morning in Essex.” Y/N smiled, looking at him. “The most beautiful sight in the world, if I may say so.”

“Oh, is it?” he asked, putting the brush away and placing his hand on her thigh, turning to face her.

“Uh-huh.” Her smile widened some as he moved closer to her, brushing his nose gently against hers.

“I can think of more beautiful sights than a sunrise in bleeding Essex.”

She ran her hand over it, feeling the strokes of paint she’d put there with Harry’s help. It wasn’t nearly as beautiful as the paintings in his collection, but it was the most breath-taking creation she’d ever laid her eyes upon. It was something she’d made with Harry. It was art. Picking it up, something fell to the kitchen counter. An envelope.

“What’s that?” Portia asked, but Y/N couldn’t answer.

She put the canvas back down on the counter and reached for the envelope, tearing it open. It was his handwriting and she suddenly longed for him again. Months had gone by, but she thought about him every day. He was always with her, always motivated her; made her want to be better. And seeing something the two of them made a year ago, reliving the memory of them sitting close and creating something beautiful in the warm Italian summer night, it made her yearn in a way she never had before.

‘Complimenti per la laurea, celeste.’

Looking down on the canvas again, she suddenly recognised it. The landscape resembled the one in Tuscany, the one she had walked through and lived in all last summer. And in the corner was a white house, almost like a mansion of sorts, but not as big as some of the houses she’d passed on the countryside. She didn’t remember painting that. In fact, she barely remembered painting anything but the colour of the sunrise. Orange, yellow, blue. Harry must’ve completed the painting after she left.

“Y/N,” Portia said, now standing by her sisters’ shoulder. “Is that one of his paintings?”

Y/N just looked at he canvas, unable to say anything.

“Is that one of his fucking paintings?” Portia gasped, looking at Elaine and back at Y/N. “Imagine how much that is worth!”

“I’m not gonna sell his painting, Tia.”

“No, but-“ Portia gestured at the artwork, squealing. “What’d the card say?”

“Think he’s congratulating me on graduating.” Y/N put the card down, looking at the painting again. The room fell silent as nosy Elaine probably didn’t know which of her questions to ask first, Portia looked dumbfounded at the canvas, and Y/N yet again lost herself in daydreams of Harry. He knew she was graduating today. Sent her their painting. He congratulated her on finally getting her degree. He was still thinking about her like she was thinking about him. One of Y/N’s fears with taking so long to figure herself out, he’d somehow move on. But she believed in him enough, knew how she felt well enough, to know that they’d see each other again.

“You have to leave.” Portia said. “Y/N, it’s been six months.”

“I know.”

“You have to go to bloody Italy right this second.” Portia looked around Y/N’s flat. “Where’s your bag?”

“What about my life here? I’m starting a new job next week, I’m moving.”

“Figure that stuff out next week.” Portia smiled. “You’ve grown so much in the last few months, Y/N. You’re softer now, not so prone to fighting people for not having the same opinion as you, but you listen and you’re willing to change. Not for the world, but for yourself. Harry didn’t tell you to embrace tenderness just so you could admit how you were feeling about him, but also so you’d be nicer to yourself.”

“But I already am.”

“I know, but he wanted you to allow more love into your life. By seizing love and allowing yourself to feel, not only self-love, but the love of others, you allow yourself to live fully and completely.” Portia squeezed Y/N’s shoulder. “Without regret, without apology.”

Y/N smiled a little at her sister, studying her face. “Portia Cressida, when the fuck did you become so wise?”

“Can’t let people know I know shit or else I’ll ruin my dumb image.”

The girls laughed, and Portia rested her head on Y/N’s shoulder, glancing at the painting Harry had gifted her sister.

“Go, Y/N.”

Saturday, 12 September 2020

She remembered Italy to be hot, but something about Italy in autumn was almost unbearable. Everything was still a lush green, nothing had changed outdoors since last year it seemed, everything still looked the same. But Y/N wondered how that was possible when she wasn’t even in the southern part of Tuscany anymore, she was in Veneto, a county further up north. North-west Italy looked as summery in autumn as Y/N would’ve expected it to, and she loved it. Though she didn’t like the sun much, she’d come to appreciate it more than the rain of England. Besides, she could stand the heat if it meant meeting Harry again.

She’d called Jamie yesterday, asked them where she’d be able to meet Harry. She knew she could’ve just asked Harry, but she also wanted to see the surprise on his face when he saw her on his doorstep. So, she hadn’t told him she was coming. Which could either end with them living happily ever after or him saying he didn’t feel the same anymore. Thinking about the latter gave her a panic attack.

She hadn’t brought much with her, just a small bag as a carry-on and the clothes she was wearing. A see-through red, yellow, white, and pink tie dye crop top, showing off her cute black bralette underneath, a washed-out pair of high-waisted boyfriend denim jeans, and a black pair of Dr Marten’s. Though it had gotten a bit chilly on the plane, she knew Italy would be hot, and she had been very right about that. Besides, she needed to look extra cute now that she was seeing Harry again for the first time in six months.

The bus ride wasn’t as bumpy as the one she’d taken to Fosdinovo, the bus was new, and she trusted the driver to know if something was wrong. She hadn’t trusted Gioele to know the same, which she applauded herself for in retrospect. The bus was fairly new and the road to Padua, Veneto was nice. She’d done some research and figured out the reason why Harry might’ve moved up north and close to Padua. It was a city known for art; spectacularly pretty and often overlooked by Venice, a mere hour-drive away. Knowing Harry, he’d probably walk through the quieter streets of Venice to get inspiration or sit on a corner café in Padua to people-watch. She knew he wanted to get out of Fosdinovo, but he hadn’t been able to remove himself entirely from the Italian culture he had immersed himself in. His love for that country was too great for him to ever truly leave.

Reaching Padua, Y/N got off and got a taxi right away. She told the driver where she was going, and though it was a bit out of town and onto the countryside – not to Y/N’s surprise, Harry liked quiet after all – he agreed to get her there. It took them about 30 minutes to reach the house, and when they did, it was a simple gravel path. She obviously had to walk for a bit to get there, but she was glad she got to take in Harry’s new residence in the calmness that was the outskirts of Padua. She could make out the white house at the end of the road, the newly sown trees that lined the path, and knew when they had grown to their full height, they would envelope the drive like a tunnel of green leaves and nature. Y/N smiled a little to herself as she imagined it, knowing that Harry most likely had the exact same thought in mind.

It was nice seeing how he decided to live now, especially after everything that happened in Fosdinovo. Secluded, but a couple of neighbours a few minutes’ walk up or down the cemented road she’d just been on. It was undoubtedly his new paradise. And by the looks of it, the closer she got, it seemed he was still working on the house. White and grand, with huge French windows and sheer curtains on either side of them all, there was still some construction work going on on the outside, though the workers weren’t working today it seemed. It was only 12pm, but maybe Harry wanted them to take the day off to relax. She’d ask him, she told herself, because she was now in the driveway, viewing the red front door, looking in through the windows to see if she saw him. Her heart was hammering so fast in her chest that she noticed her tie dye top vibrating with each beat.

Reaching forwards, she pressed the doorbell, taking a step back so the door wouldn’t hit her in the face when he opened it. Nearly as quickly as it had gone off, she heard something very familiar inside the house. Spending time around animals nearly all the time, Y/N’s puppy radar went off when she heard the tiny barks of a baby dog inside. Immediately, her mouth fell open, and she walked to the closest window to look inside.

Down a white tiled corridor, the light from the massive windows on the other side of the house shining down on him, a puppy came running down on his big paws, his tail wagging so wildly his little bum moved with it.

“Hi.” Y/N cooed when he reached the window, standing on his back-paws to get a better look of her and bark some more. “Who’re you then? What’s your name?”

He sniffed the glass as if trying to get a sniff of her, but he whimpered when he couldn’t. And as Y/N got a good look of the little guy, she realised something very quickly that made her almost fall backward onto the gravel of the driveway. A Scottish deerhound.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Y/N said under her breath, walking back to the front door and ringing the doorbell again. Why was it that Harry had trouble answering the bloody door every time? She stood her ground this time, the puppy still barking at her and watching her in anticipation, ready to jump onto her the second Harry opened the door. But he didn’t. So this time she knocked on his door with her fist, not about to wait around for hours. She knew he was in. A puppy couldn’t be left alone in a big house like this, he’d either have to put him in a cage or take the pup with him.

With no response, Y/N decided to explore the outside of his house. Giving the pup a little wave, she stepped down from the front step, taking in the marble pillars on either side that held a small roof above the front door. The house was incredibly elegant and new. Had he built it himself? She walked around the side, admiring the huge garden and the tall stone fence that secluded it from everything else. There were a couple of trees that stood around a tiny pond, and it seemed he’d taken the time to put a grey stone bench beside it. The rest of the garden was newly trimmed and grand, though pretty empty still. There seemed to be the start of a pretty big doghouse beside another tree, and something else that might be the start of a veranda. Maybe he’d just about moved in. It would explain why everything looked so new, anyway.

It felt like Harry, though. All of it. Elegant yet simple, big but not too much. He was a simplistic person who loved grand things. The thought of him moving into a new house, probably a little anxious to meet new people and to get acquainted with his new life in a new town, it made her smile. He was restless and would move in a few years, but for now, this was exactly what he needed, she knew.

Faint, but Y/N still heard it with every single part of her being, a meow sounded from behind her. Turning around, there stood a striped cat looking over at her. She hesitantly moved forward and Y/N felt like breaking down crying.

“Viola,” Y/N hunched down. “Hi, baby.”

The cat made her way over quite hastily when she recognised who the person was, rubbing herself against Y/N’s outstretched hands. She’d grown, yet Y/N would know this little creature anywhere. She’d often wondered what happened to Viola, because when she left, she assumed Harry would take care of her till he left. But here she was. Had he brought her with him everywhere? She reached down, pressing a soft kiss to Viola’s forehead like she always did, and the cat meowed in response. Y/N giggled, the feel and sound of Viola brought her right back to her time in Fosdinovo. The cat had been there for her every single day, putting a smile on her face. They gave each other a home for a month.

Thinking she might explore more of the grounds, she stood upright, and Viola immediately perked up, ready to follow Y/N wherever she decided to go. Her eyes suddenly landed on a glass house attached to the mansion, and then on the figure standing by the open door leading into it. The inside of the winter garden was fully furnished, unlike the rest of the property that lacked the same attention. She couldn’t believe this. Not only was this Harry’s dream home, it was hers as well.

Their eyes met, and a jolt so intense rocked through Y/N’s body that it shook up everything. She fell in love with him all over again, seeing him there, looking right back at her with a look of startlement and longing and relief. She couldn’t wait any longer, she had to be close to him. Taking the first few steps, she felt the inside of her tummy vibrate as the butterflies inside her came to life again. The closer she got to him, the more every single part of her body tickled, itching to hold him again. And when it seemed to have dawned on Harry that this wasn’t a dream, he started walking toward her as well. The closer they got the more they picked up the pace. It had been too long, they had taken too much time, they had worked on each other for one another and for themselves.

Y/N threw herself into his chest and Harry wrapped his arms around her so tightly she was sure she’d fade into him. Though it had taken them so much to get to this moment, it had taken them a while for a reason. People needed to work on one another and for each other to make a relationship work, it didn’t just magically happen. And sometimes people need to be apart for a little while to gain perspective and mature enough to return. Harry needed someone who could be as open as him, and Y/N needed someone who wasn’t afraid to be himself to the fullest, without apology.

They broke apart, eager to look at one another again. Harry’s eyes moved over her frantically, taking her in again. He was wearing another silk shirt, tucked into high-waisted washed out denim jeans, and barefoot. Something about his bare feet was adorable. And the fact they were basically wearing the same jeans made her stifle a laughter.

“Hi,” she said, unsure how else to greet him.

He chuckled. “What the fuck, Y/N.”

“What?”

“You’re here.” He said, smiling at her. “I… I had no idea. But you’re here.”

“I’m here.”

He took her hand, squeezing it, looking her up and down. “Here.”

She smiled as well, feeling her hand heat up here his skin met hers. When he looked up at her again, eyes glistening, face lit up more than she’d ever seen before, dimples as deep as ever, she felt like tearing up. This was the man of her dreams; the man she wanted to spend every day with till death. And even after that she’d find him in their next life, or she’d find him in her afterlife, or wherever else they’d end up. There was no one else. Would never be anyone else.

“This is a big place.” She said, gesturing at the house and the rest of the estate.

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, still looking at their joined hands. “Started building it back in March.”

“Big place for a big lad.”

Harry laughed, looking up at her again. “Need enough space for Viola and Gopher to wander.”

Y/N’s heart did a dreamy sigh. “Gopher?”

“Oh!” Harry pointed behind him at the house. “He was the one barking.”

“The puppy?”

“Yeah.”

She bit her lips together, looking down at their hands. “You adopted a puppy.”

Silence for a few moments before Harry said, in such a soft voice she swore it felt like a caress, “He’s been waiting for you.”

She glanced up again, happiness so overwhelming filled her to the point that she felt like flying. Eyes landed on the house and then back on Harry as he ran his thumb over her hand.

“Don’t you remember that day in the car last summer, when you first met Jamie?”

She didn’t at first, but it hit her like a truck and she almost gasped out loud. Harry only smiled a little at her, having remembered her words this whole time.

“A Scottish deerhound.”

“They’re quite big, aren’t they? Can’t remember how they look, but I think I know.” The phone was in Jamie’s hand, typing the name of the breed into the Google search bar.

“I’ve always wanted one. Always wanted to move to the outskirts of Maldon with two deerhounds. That’s where I want to settle down, I think.” She said. “With a winter garden and a big property so the dogs can run freely.”

She shook her head, not wanting to believe Harry had done this.

“Harry…”

“It’s not Maldon, or Essex, or England for that matter,” he said, stepping aside so she could look at the house. “But I tried to make it like you said, with some pieces of me in it, if that’s okay.”

The resemblance it held to the last painting of Harry’s exhibit was incredible, the same painting that had been stolen by Gioele. The painting Harry had an emotional attachment to of sorts. It was because it was this. It was the house. It was the place he hoped she’d settle down. With him.

“Wanna take a look inside?”

She smiled at him. “Please.”

He smiled back, letting go of her hand so they could walk into the winter garden. Viola followed them, strolling in through the door before Harry closed it. He took her into his arms and walked over to the door that led into the house, opening it and letting Viola walk away before closing the door again. They were left in silence, a few of the windows were open to let some air in or else the room would undoubtedly get incredibly hot with the sun shining right in. The roof was shaped like a spire, the whole glasshouse a half-circle, and green plants lined the window wall. Vines hung gracefully along some of the stiles, and in the middle of it all stood a big blue velvet ottoman. The whole place had a gothic feel to it and Y/N absolutely adored it. When she’d pictured a winter garden, she’d just wanted a place she could relax outdoors during wintertime, but this was something else entirely. It had a Harry feel to it, but it also felt like her.

“What do you think?” Harry asked, leaning his back against the windows.

“It’s amazing.” She mused, looking around. “Harry… I’m speechless.”

“Tried to make it into something that I knew you’d like. That’s why I painted it first and had an architect sketch the outline of the house after.” Harry explained. “Hope it falls into liking.”

She looked over at him, for the first time in ages, seeing the hint of doubt in his eyes again. Simply not able to help herself, she walked over to him, hesitating a bit before placing a hand to his cheek. He leaned into her, closing his eyes for a second and letting a sigh of relaxation leave his lips.

“I love it, I haven’t even seen the inside of the house, but I love it.” She told him, studying his dark eyelashes against his cheekbones. “And I love you.”

Harry’s eyes shot open, looking straight into hers. The absolute joy in them made the colour of his irises more radiant, and it was almost as if the sun shone a little brighter. As if the world fell into place; like how it was supposed to be all along.

“I love you.” She repeated, softer this time around.

“Yeah?” Harry’s voice sounded like a whisper; a plea for her to really, really, really feel it – what was between them – like he did.

“I’m in love with you, Harry.”

He grabbed the back of her neck, swallowing hard. “I love you, too.”

She couldn’t help it when the sides of her mouth tipped upward. “I know.”

Harry smiled. “Smug bastard.”

She laughed, leaning her forehead against his, feeling his fingers stroke her scalp tenderly. God, it felt good to have him touch her again. It felt good to be close to him. It felt good to not be ashamed of saying ‘I love you’. It felt amazing to let someone else know how deeply you cared for them and see them light up in response because they felt the same way.

“Now fucking kiss me before I go out of my mind.” Harry said, an undertone to his voice that made a hot tingle run up Y/N’s spine.

“How about you kiss me?”

Harry frowned.

“After all, if I hadn’t kissed you in the ocean that night, would we even be here?”

“You take pride in that, don’t you? I would’ve kissed you eventually.” Harry said, and Y/N raised her eyebrows at him. “I would’ve!”

“Yeah, alright. When? The opportunity presented itself a couple of times, but you only had the nerve to kiss my hand.”

Harry gripped her hair hard in his hand, bringing her lips to hover above his. She gasped, looking down at his lips and then feeling it against her thigh. Very quickly, she felt hot all over, and the need to be closer to Harry grew so fast it made her dizzy.

“Got the nerve to fuck you good now, don’t I?” Harry said, voice so deep she felt it vibrate through her bones.

Y/N bit her lip. “What gentleman talks like that to a lady before he’s even kissed her for the first time in a year?”

“You want a gentleman?”

She ran her hands down his torso. “Depends on the situation.”

Harry kissed her jaw, leaving wet kisses down her neck. “Hmm, does it now?”

“Want a gentleman to walk the little puppy with, to make breakfast with, or to take me out for dates.”

“Do you want a gentleman between your thighs, baby?”

She closed her eyes at the feel of Harry’s lips on her, bit her bottom lip as he pressed her body closer to his. “Depends on how well that gentleman knows how to treat a lady.”

Harry chuckled, the feeling of his laughter against her skin was like heaven. “I’ll be a gentleman, the devil, an angel; I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”

She huffed. “Thought we were doing dirty talk, and here you go turning it romantic.”

“I need you to shut up,” Harry said as his lips hovered above hers. “Because I’m about to kiss you and then fuck you on that sofa.”

She grinned, tilting her head to fit perfectly against his. “Kiss me.”

And he did. Hard and passionately. They wasted no time, slipping their tongue into one another’s mouths, clinging to one another, touching all over. They tasted the other, felt them right there. There were some birds singing outside, rustling of some leaves, but the two of them didn’t care. Harry pushed her backward till her legs hit the couch, but she stopped herself from falling back into it. Instead, she turned them around, pushing Harry back onto the ottoman.

“Let me show you how much I love you.” She said, and Harry let out a shaky breath at her words.

He quickly undid the buttons of his silk shirt, threw it somewhere behind him before he leaned on his elbows. “Nothing you’ve ever said has turned me on more.”

She giggled, taking her jeans and knickers off and straddling his lap. He sat up, attaching his lips to hers once again, grabbing onto her bum, begging her to grind against him. They both wanted some friction, and she knew that if he pressed her harder onto him, there would be wet marks from her left on his jeans. But in the moment, neither cared. They just wanted to be as close as humans could be, wanted to feel ecstasy. She buried her hands in his hair, dragging out the tongue filled, wet, lustful kisses. It was excruciating, and the heat between her thighs got more and more intense the more time went on. A wave of excitement and adoration ran through her as she felt Harry’s hand run up her back, reaching for her bra. He wanted to see all of her.

She let him, throwing her shirt off and letting her bra fall to the floor. Harry kissed her the second she was done undressing, moaning her name against her lips. She felt her centre ache, reaching for the zip of Harry’s jeans as quickly as possible. She couldn’t bare it any longer, she needed to be skin to skin; soul to soul. Y/N found that the people she had sex with, she formed an emotional attachment to them in a way that was unexplainable. There might not even be real feelings there, but you’d shared an intimate moment with someone, and it was a moment neither of you would ever forget. But with Harry, it was more than that. It wasn’t just a single moment she shared with him when they were like this; it felt like sharing an entire lifetime. It felt like happiness; it felt like the rest of her life. And she knew she was right to have spent time away from him, because she would tell him this over and over and over again, and she wouldn’t be ashamed or feel weak for admitting how much she loved him.

They got Harry’s jeans and boxers off, and as she took a grip of his cock, Harry stiffened. Their eyes met.

“A condom.” He said, reminding her what they were about to do.

She shook her head. “It’s fine.”

Harry gripped her thigh, squeezing her.

“You pay for the pill.”

He smiled, kissing her for a long time. “Fuck me, please.”

Slowly, she sat down on him, gasping at the familiar feeling of him inside her like this. Harry didn’t take his eyes off her the entire time, mouth opening wider for each centimetre he moved inside her. Positioning her feet on the floor, she started moving her hips over him. He instantly moaned, not able to help himself because it felt so good. He moved his hands up her thighs, her sides, her back, wanting to feel every single little part of her. Wanted her to know how much he appreciated every little thing about her. There wasn’t a single part of her body, of her soul, of her existence he didn’t love. She felt all his emotions in his touches, in the kisses he left along her collarbone, in the soft way he moaned her name.

She tried to push him down onto the ottoman, wanting to have him watch her as she rode him, but Harry stopped her. He shook his head, curls tickling her jawline and cheek.

“No,” he simply said, wrapping his arms around you. “I’m staying right here.”

And though he hadn’t meant it that way, Y/N still took it as him telling her he’d stay with her like this forever. After all, she’d been the one to leave him in the first place, but they were here now. Never was she going to leave him. He was the best thing that had ever happened to her, the truest thing in her life, and her best influence. Had she ever been happy before she’d met him? Had she known true happiness till now? Because right now, feeling Harry’s bare skin against hers and hearing him repeat her name, she wasn’t so sure the happiness she’d felt before him could be counted as just that, happiness.

Harry squeezed her hips. “Like that,” he moaned, burying his face in the cook of her neck.

Nothing mattered besides the magic they were creating between them; nothing mattered but Harry and eternity. The soft skin of the inside of Y/N’s thighs against Harry’s hips and sides, pressed to him, sweaty. His tattooed body against her bare one. Heavy breathing, the occasional moan.

The burn in her core was really starting to build up now, and she knew it would burst any second. Harry moved his face so it was right in front of hers, studying her moving form above him. Her sliding hips, her desperate hands, her exclamations of pleasure. The butterflies in her stomach went crazy, all of them flying wildly in a single circle to intensify the oncoming orgasm. Harry’s hips moved more with hers, staring at her as she closed her eyes, digging her nails into his shoulders.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” Harry said, hands trembling against her back.

She didn’t know why that almost brought her to tears, but it did, and she bit her bottom lip to stop herself from crying. No one had ever made her feel as stunning as Harry. Though she was confident in her body and on her own, being with Harry made her feel on top of the world. His love, his encouragement, his compliments, it all made her feel so incredibly good about herself in a way nothing ever had before. She had no idea how she could ever thank him for that.

Their hips moved rhythmically, hard against one another, desperate for release. Everything felt electric, everything felt hot. Y/N wanted to melt into him and have the two of them sitting like this forever. Wanted to feel him close, feel his love, feel his skin. Having him inside her like this, feeling him grip her hard, whimpering against her lips, moan her name; she felt powerful, beautiful, strong, and so so so good.

“Harry,” she moaned, looking into his eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.” He said, bringing her closer. He reached between them, knowing that in order to come properly, she needed him to flick her bud. “Let me watch you come.”

“Oh, God.” She gripped his shoulders harder, moaning loudly as he rubbed her clit like he knew she loved so much.

“Yeah?” He watched her, flicking her faster. “Come for me, baby.”

She came hard. Harry watched her intently, clearly holding back his own release till he knew she was completely done with hers. She grinded on top of him, looking deeply into her eyes as hot flames lashed threw her body, rocking up her entire reality. She gasped for breath and moaned and repeated Harry’s name over and over and over again until it let like it was the only word she knew. Her legs were shaking, and it was hard for her to move properly so he could come to.

“Say it.” Harry said, his neck vein about to show and his face reddening with the oncoming climax. “Tell me.”

She knew exactly what he needed to hear. “I love you.” She whispered against his lips, pressing a tender kiss to the side of his lips as she continued to rock over him. “Everyday, for the rest of my existence, I’ll love you.”

“Fuck.” Harry moaned, not able to look away from her. “Y/N. My love.”

She held his face in her hands. “Never leave me. I love you too much.”

“Never.” Harry said, a moan escaping his lips. “Shit.”

He came, not looking away from her. A furrow appearing between his brows, lips parted, and Y/N had never seen anything so hot and beautiful. He stilled, neck vein showing, and he moaned and moaned and moaned. She watched him till he came down, feeling his cum inside her, feeling his breathing against her, his arms around her.

“You need to go meet Gopher now.” Harry said after a little while.

“My puppy.”

Harry laughed. “We’re gonna have a house filled with fucking animals, aren’t we?”

“And what about it?” Y/N smiled. “Don’t you want to see me happy?”

Harry’s eyes softened, smiling slightly up at her as he took her hand, bringing it up to his lips. He kissed her hand, then her palm, then the pulse of her wrist. “For the rest of my life, celeste.” His smile widened as he felt her beating hearts against his lips. “My baby blue.”

the BIGGEST thank you to all my beta readers! you lot have saved me and helped me more times than i can count! love you!

@aileenacoustic @sunflowervolumeeleven @emotionally-imbruised @fromyourstrulyh @harryisadogperson @harrysthighles @mellowstyles94 @toolazymyguy @clorenafila @dearest-rebecca @tpwkceline @tasteslikestrawberriesharry​

and thank you to you! thank you for reading baby blue! thank you for the love sent both mine and bb’s way! thank you for letting me tell you yet another story, the fact that you sit down each sunday (or whichever day tbh) to read bb and immerse yourself in the bb-verse means so much to me!

as for what i’m gonna do next cos i’ve gotten quite a few questions about that! i won’t be posting writing on tumblr or wattpad till may, but in the meantime i’ll be over at patreon posting! there’ll be a poll there where some of my patrons can vote for what they want me to write next and i’ll post something every week!

my next fic will be announced sometime in april (tho i’ve talked about what it’s gonna be multiple times lmao), and the first few chapters will be available to read on my patreon before it starts posting on my other platforms!

ANYWAY, i love you all so much! thank you again! bb!harry and bb!mc appreciate you very much, as do i :’’)

thank you so much. till next time, stay hydrated.

your bestie, nora x

[letterstothemidnightsociety]

Alright, so if you've been following along with me, Supernatural season 3 starts out on a trio of episodes that are Really Fun, slides into some episodes that are Pretty OK, then takes a real nose dive into Bummersville. Hoo boy guys, I really hope that this season picks up. I mean, it won’t, but I can still dream. 2021 was maybe not the year to start watching this season. Fair warning.

The next three episodes for this season are just, like, real downers. First we get “Fresh Blood,” which, aside from the terrible title, starts out on a high note. Gordon (gross) somehow manages to catch up with Bela (HOW??) and threatens her if she doesn’t hand over the Winchesters. Bela, in all of her class and grace, won’t give them up because she has a high price point and Gordon is really lowballing her here. Just like, yes, ok, please stay forever, you’re amazing and I love you. And what a scene this is! You have two characters, one with a strict moral code (albeit one that allows for violence and winning at all costs) and the other with almost NO moral code, but an allegiance that can be bought with the best price and it’s such a fun back and forth until Gordon pulls out a gun. And then she pulls out her phone and just has Dean on speed dial and that’s maybe my fav part. Bela has run into the Winchesters twice and they maybe legit hate her but she’s very much like, oh yeah, my BFF’s the Winchesters, I love those idiots!

I love that we come back to this moment later in the episode when Bela, like, three days later, is like, Oh! I guess I should warn the Winchesters that some crazy guy is after them! She’s just so casual about it you kind of get the feeling that, even though technically Gordon was threatening her life, she doesn’t view him as A Threat. She gives the Winchesters a heads up just to be like oh yeah, you might want to watch out for this mild inconvenience, and she seems legit shocked when Dean freaks out. There’s this moment that plays across her face like, oh shit, did I...did I fuck up? And it adds a nice bit of depth to her character. She’s seems honestly worried, both for the lives of the Winchesters but also that Dean won’t like her anymore and that is just a charming bit of A C T I N G!

I am gonna miss her SO MUCH when she dies at the end of this season. WHY did we CANCEL HER???

But despite the fun beginning, this episode is about monsters and how people become monsters and how other people are probably the reason. Because our main baddie is a vampire who hunts to...well, listen if we look at the facts that he lays out in his monologue, it’s a little more tragic - he’s trying to replace the daughters that he lost hundreds of years ago, cool motive, still murder. In practice though, he goes around turning hot blonde coeds into vampires and then ?????? Who knows. I’d like to believe that this was a problem with the CW executives or maybe casting/directing and not with the writing, but it’s SPN and you really can’t be sure with anything. The fact is, this is a CW show from the early 2000’s and a lot of their extras are cast to type. And that’s maybe me exhibiting some girl-on-girl crime, but there are other episodes that did a much less blatantly gross job casting their extras/Very Special Guest Stars.

Anyway, the POINT of this guy is that he’s a monster because someone killed his daughter and he’s just been trying to fill that grief hole inside of him for centuries. This is not unlike Gordon, who ALSO has been trying to fill a grief hole that he’s had for decades, except he’s not killing people and resurrecting them as blood suckers, he’s just killing them. And then, when the Vamp decides to turn Gordon it’s a real sweet moment of comeuppance for like, a HOT second and then you’re like, awww dude, ya done f’ed up. That was a bad idea. You’ve made a HUGE mistake.

More importantly, our Vampire In Question finally runs into the Winchesters and get’s to say things like “I was desperate! You ever felt desperate? I've lost everyone I ever loved. I'm staring down eternity alone. Can you think of a worse hell?” and also “I just ... I didn't care anymore. Do you know what it's like when you just don't give a damn? It's like ... it's like being dead already.” and Dean’s v. much like, THIS IS TOO REAL ROY.

Sam may ALSO be feeling Too Real feelings because he is DONE dicking around with Gordon and honestly yes, I like this, this is good Sam development. It’s nice to know that Sam has a breaking point. And I admit I’m of two minds about this moment because 1) I love the idea of Dark!Sam this season and that maybe Sam’s decision to actually kill Gordon is just one step in that process but 2) I ALSO love the idea of Sam Lite finally having a breaking point and Gordon is IT. I don’t know which theory I like more in this scenario, but they are both good theories.

I think as much as this episode wants to draw parallels between the monsters and Dean (thank you artful editors), you can’t look at the “I’ve lost everyone I ever loved,” line and not think of Sam? Cuz he’s got one (1) person left in his life that hasn’t died horribly, so how desperate is he about to get through the end of this season? I’ve definitely been watching this season with eyes on all the ominous Dean foreshadowing, but the Sam foreshadowing is also there, just buried under the heavy weight of a thousand smulders and suicidal levels of denial.

And also, FUCK the tag on this episode! Guys, it is CUTE but it is also HORRIBLE. Dean starts teaching Sam how to fix the Impala and at first it’s all, “Oh! Adorable Brothers Being Brothers!” and I loved it but then I almost immediately hated it because you realize this is about making sure Sam can get along without him once he’s gone and Dean just accepts his own death with such casual ease that it’s just...INFURIATING!

This scene was rude and I HATE IT!

Cut to - “A Very Supernatural Christmas” Special!

Guys, I was so excited when I got to this episode. THIS is Classic Supernatural Shenanigans. Plus, you know a Holiday Special is the ultimate sign that this show has Made It, right? Or it could be a sign that they’re selling out, who knows, but I think we can say that at this point in the series, SPN is established enough to start having fun with their fans. That’s what this says to me. BUT THEN what we get is like...oh boy.

First - like, I’mma beat this horse to death, but what is WRONG with this FAMILY? John Winchester very quickly devolved into the sort of father that forgot about every single holiday and did not ever, even a little bit, make up for it. It’s not a surprise, but it kind of wrecked me seeing a flashback where Baby Dean is just so attached to a father who can’t be bothered to actually care for his children. I know he’s not in this episode because Jeffrey Dean Morgan was tied up in other projects, but the fact that John doesn’t show up at the end to button the flashbacks with a But then he DID show up for Christmas! just makes this plot line that more gutting. And despite Dean’s hero worship of their father, this is maybe the Christmas where Baby Sam stops believing in his own father. The only bright side to this is that it continues to enforce the fact that Bobby should have sued John for custody. Bobby should maybe STILL Sue for custody so that Dean at least would feel like someone wants him for once in his life, damnit.

And then we wrap this episode up with the Best Worst Christmas of all, because we see Sam start to...also?? accept that Dean is about to die? Cuz that’s what this episode is really about - Dean’s Last Christmas. And everything about that makes me ~ u p s e t ~.

So Sam decides to put his curmudgeonly grinchy attitude aside in order to make it a special day for Dean and ugh. UGH. UGHGHGHG. Season three is the worst guys, and I can’t believe I didn’t realize that until right this second now.

So let’s wrap this up with "Malleus Maleficarum", honestly an episode that is mostly forgettable until we get to, like, the last five minutes. Sure, witches and curses and selling your soul, woohoo whatever.

But then we get some real Ruby centric reveals and like, WHAT is happening?? First off, the scene where Ruby and Tammy have a moment is a real Moment. There is some baggage and tension here and it is heavy. And then Tammy drops the mic when she reveals that Ruby used to be human.

THEN, Ruby legit saves their asses by killing Tammy with a fancy magic knife. Ok, Dean does the actual killing, but Ruby brought the fancy magic knife. So between the hot and heavy tension with “Tammy” and her repeated attempts to keep the Winchesters alive, we’re left wondering what IS Ruby’s deal? I personally wonder how much of the show’s mythology the show actually has figured out at this point? Because interviews with Kripke definitely walk the line between “Oh we definitely have this whole thing worked out,” and “yeah, we’re sort of finding things as we go along,” which is maybe why it’s able to last as long as it does. More on that later.

Of course the big kicker is the final scene between Ruby and Dean. Dean is almost on board with Ruby at this point in the season, and much like his scene with the demon in “Sin City”, they share a kind of vulnerable moment together where Ruby admits that, yeah, she was human once and yeah, Hell will destroy you, body and soul, and yeah Dean’s worst fear will probably come true - he will become the thing he hunts, no ifs, ands or buts about it. And Dean knows that Ruby knows that Dean knows that there’s no way to save Dean from his fate, but they both agree that they can’t take Sam’s last ounce of hope away from him because, for both of them, Sam is their hope. Ruby and Dean both see the war happening around them and they know that with Dean gone, Sam’s maybe the last guy holding back the tide to save all humanity.

Which, honestly? Bull shit. Do you know how many hunters are out there? Neither do I, but this season seems to indicate that there are a LOT. We have barely scratched the surface on the hunter community and it’s a damn shame that they are all weirdo loners because there is a war going on. You know what works great in a war? An ARMY. Buncha mentally unstable, martyr-complex ijits who can’t put their differences aside for one damn MINUTE so that maybe, JUST maybe, the could actually defeat the evil they’ve spent their entire lives dedicated to fighting. And if Ruby and Dean wanted to help Sam, what they should probably do is get him plugged in to that community. I do believe that of all they backasswards, self-obsessed, painfully anti-social crazies out there, the Winchesters are THE WORST.

Listen tho, this was like, a solid scene between these two. Just a lot of work goin' into this and it paid off.

Anyway, back to the mythology for a hot second - This sort of loosey-goosey stumbling into your own world building is probably another one of those things that you’ll only really get in a show with this many episodes per season? It’s that room to play and experiment and just make stuff up as you go along. I think the slow drip method of releasing episodes ALSO helps in this scenario because you’re able to see what fans are reacting to in almost-real time. When viewers are binging episodes, I think you're less likely to see what specifically they’re reacting to and more wholistically they’re reacting to. And that’s not to say you won’t see those specific things that they like/love eventually, but by the time you get there, your season’s been produced in its entirety and you’ll have to bear that in mind for (hopefully) next season. But with SPN, they were writing and producing the show at the same time that some of the episodes were airing. That’s why they were able to make decisions on the fly, based on what fans responded to. And definitely by this point in the show, there was a sizeable and vocal fan base that made their feelings VERY well-known. We’re only in season three, but they’ve already had a number of con appearances and a pretty active online presence. That kind of feedback has got to be helpful, from a writing perspective, but it also allows for things like characters getting cut because nobody liked them for some dumb reason. BUT, if you’re fighting to stay on the air for 100 episodes or longer, responding to fan reactions is what’s gonna do it and that’s a fact.

[allyvampirelass29]

Goodnight, Chris McQueen

A NOS4A2 Review By: Allyssa J. Watkins

I love you, Brat I hope you know that....... My biggest fear was becoming my old man Drinkin', philanderin', livin' for nothin' I wanted so much more for my little girl But Babe, I'm just like him A haunted soldier That never came back from the war I tried so hard to make you laugh Just so you didn't see me cryin' Funny names, and stupid jokes I guess, don't band-aid the holes Punched through the walls and in Your mother's heart Jesus, maybe this dad thing Was a cosmic hoax right from the start I love you like a big dog I'd die twice just to give you a hug Before I go, I want you to know I'm proud of my kid I could never do what you did It's like you told your ma You're made of steel, Vic You threw the bottle away You sure as hell didn't need me But you let your broken down dad save the day I ain't half the hero to you though As you are to Wayne Give 'em HELL, Babe Fight the good fight Don't cry over me I won't die as I lived A good for nothin' It's gonna mean somethin' I gotta believe Don't stay here, Brat, trapped in my death scene Remember the good stuff, when they say "Goodnight, Chris McQueen."

In the words of the illustrious Linda McQueen........ "Holy HELL." It's been days, and I've been in a morose fog, only just now emerging, shaking and fighting the tears, even as I write this, half numb, and half agony. I'm shocked, dismayed, and altogether fragile. The second I saw that this episode was going to be called, "Chris McQueen," I couldn't have been more thrilled, and my heart soared, excited! Chris McQueen has SHINED this season, our own resident white knight, slaying Vic's demons, both of the vice, and supernatural variety. It was no mistake, or random shuffle of fate, that her magic bridge led her back to her dad. He's been a gun-wielding, bomb-making, godsend!!! He helped her quit drinking, heartbroken that his little girl had inherited his disastrous coping mechanisms, refusing to let it drown her the way it did him. He's fought at her side, let her lean on him, he's become her safe place. He's given her the best advice about fighting for Lou, choosing her family, and oh yeah, he SINGLEHANDEDLY took on Bing Partridge, not just once, but TWICE!!!

If NOS4A2 has a CHAMPION, a dark horse in the game, it's hands down Chris McQueen. If anyone is deserving of their own personal, entitled episode, it's the vindicated father who did the work, fought like HELL for his redemption, made himself a better person for his daughter. That rush of flooding joy, cooled to wary concern, and hesitant dread, however, when I realized....... This honour could be his final tribute.......

Don't kill Chris McQueen........ I pleaded over and over in my mind, the frantic cry, resounding, even as I pressed play. I hadn't been able to shake that sinister, creeping feeling all day, and when we opened onto Chris at a funeral, my relief flooded in, graciously thankful to see him alive!!! Wait, he looked younger, like WAY younger, even younger than the first season, and oh my god, hold on, whose funeral is this!? Someone died........ my stomach knotting again, trying to figure out who, and we realize that this is Chris, decades ago, speaking at his Dad's funeral.

I loved, and I mean LOVED this opener. It's just so beautifully real, and one hundred percent Chris McQueen, as he muses about his father's life, and his own, and how the two came to mirror each other. He's funny, irreverent, vulnerable, and by the end, absolutely heartbreaking. It's a searing portrait of a broken man, and everything that caused his life to fracture, every death, that made him wish he was never born.

"When I came back from the gulf, I finally understood why he was pissed off all the time, because he knew there was no reason for him to born, and that nobody was going to give a shit when he died."

Chris' voice cracks, and my eyes sting, because I feel it, his greatest fear, and I know he's not just talking about his father, he's talking about himself, effectually delivering his own eulogy, and again I implored the fates...... Don't kill Chris McQueen.

Aaaaaaaaah, and HELLO Baby Vic!!! Oh my gosh, she's so precious, about eight years old, frowning as her father speaks, huddled close to her mother, and then when Chris becomes too overwhelmed with his anger and emotions to go on, tearing out of the church, she frantically chases after him, calling for him!!! Even then, she was her daddy's girl!!! Once again, I must COMMEND NOS4A2 for choosing the perfect miniature of our badass leading lady, because this girl is the very IMAGE of Ashleigh, and it was such a joy to see her fierce features, and resolve, in a dear little face!!! More Baby Vic, PLEASE!!!

Flashforward to the present day, and Team McQueen is ready and raring to hit the road. I loved this entire scene. The love between her and Lou as she tells him goodbye, and says, "I'm going to go get our boy." An achingly beautiful moment, these two give me life, and have become my FAVOURITE couple on the show!!! I may have been purely Team Drew Butler, Season One, but now I can't imagine our beautiful badass without her Teddy Bear Man, and I ship McCarmody so freaking hard!!! Vic revs the Triumph's engine, testing it, gearing up with her Dad, and it hits me....... She doesn't have to hide it, sneak away to go do her Creative Hero thing, he accepts her for exactly who she is, believes in her gift enough to go with her. For the first time..... Vic McQueen isn't riding alone........

Linda is an absolute rollicking delight, emphatic in her protest, and I have just come to LOVE her so much!!! "I don't know about this Vicki, taking explosives across a magical bridge IN THE RAIN!!!!" God BLESS this woman, she's so maternal here, and I love it, I see how much she's changed, becoming this mother and ex wife even, that isn't afraid to express her feelings and doubts, no longer shackled by the fear that she's destined to be alone.

"You're my only kid, Vicki, My Baby."

"You know me, Ma, made of steel, remember?"

Awwwwww oh my gosh, so freaking CUTE, and for the first time, they feel like a real family, The McQueen Clan on a Mission, slaying psychotic kidnappers, and rescuing lost children, becoming the family business. Linda's still unsure, hurrying after Chris and Vic, still thinking they're both CRAZY, when she sees it for the first time....... Her eyes widen impossibly, as a rickety, wooden, covered bridge, appears on the street in front of them, and her reaction is EVERYTHING we've been waiting for, I found myself, leaping off the couch, cheering as she says it. "Holy HELL!!!"

Chris' childlike wonder, as he looks up into the dark eves, and watches the bats flutter, the Triumph roaring through the beams of breaking light, weaving in and out of shadow, is such a joy to behold. He believed in it, believed in her, even without seeing, and it means that much more to Vic, you can tell. It's also symbolic, Vic sharing her world with her father, bringing him into her inscape, fighting the good fight TOGETHER, both soldiers. I loved it, every second.

Surprise, surprise, when they roll up to the junkyard, Bing Partridge isn't dead, because some cockroaches just won't DIE!!!! Like an AVENGING ANGEL, Chris McQueen is all of us, flying off that bike, and assailing Bing with murderous fury, backhanding his stupid face with the gun, over and over, impaling him deeper with the protruding rod, and I swear, I wanted to run to him, and HUG him so tightly, so freaking PROUD!!!! THANK YOU, CHRIS MCQUEEN!!!

"Where is he, you SICK, Son of a BITCH!?!?"

"HE CAN'T HELP US IF HE'S DEAD!!!!!"

Vic screams at her father, angrily chastising this good and proper beating that has been a LONG time coming!!!! I'm sorry, isn't that how ANY sane person would react to a sadistic, murdering, rapist whose made their life a LIVING HELL!? What gives, Victoria!? Chris falls back, as confused as I was, and then shakes his head, as he apologizes vehemently, which Vic is having none of. She's AWFUL to her father from this moment forward, rude and spiteful, blaming him for everything, and as much as I love the girl, in this unjust punishment, she REALLY lives up to her nickname, Brat.

This Kids Glove approach to Bing Partridge is MADDENING enough to make me PSYCHOTIC!!! BING. IS. EVIL. Say it with me, NOS4A2!!!! It's like they are hellbent on redeeming the ONE character that is beyond saving, a man that even God, himself, would look at reviled, and say, "Get thee behind me, SATAN!!!" Last week they failed, first through the deus ex machina epiphany, and then through the attempted murder/suicide, so they tried even harder, using a meeker approach, making him say manipulative propaganda like, "I wish I'd never met Mr. Manx, because then Vic McQueen would still be my friend." and "I'm all alone in here, and it's really scary." Ughhhh somebody, anybody, put us out of our misery, and put one right between his beady little rat bastard eyes.

I almost understand Tabitha's need to keep things professional, and speak to Bing, in a reassuring way that reaches his simple, monosyllabic mind. I get that beating the living hell out of him like he so obviously deserves isn't an option for her, but this man is a HEINOUS criminal, who's kidnapped kids, drugged and raped their mothers, KILLED both of his parents, not to mention TORTURED Charlie within an inch of his life, only just last week!!!! But by ALL MEANS, Vic, go HOLD HANDS WITH HIM, and see if that will help get your son back!!!! Cringe.

I HATED this, so, so, SO much!!! Bing was her friend, he betrayed her, violated the trust between them, became her worst nightmare, shot at her, traumatized her, duct-taping her to a chair, she should HATE him, despise the sight of him far more than Charlie Manx!!! I CRAVED a reckoning, even if it was just a verbal assault. But no, instead, Vic decides to play nice, and I get that most of it was an act to convince him to help her get her son back, but I could also feel NOS4A2's misguided hand in her actions. Look, see, even Vic can find the good in Bing!!!! Sigh. Not gonna lie, I was going to scream bloody murder if she said she forgives him!!!

Good Cop pays off, however, and Bing, desperate for Vic's forgiveness, reveals there is one more stop before Christmasland, one last chance to grab Wayne, when he gets out of the Wraith at Sleigh House to hang his ornament. It's a dawning revelation, intel quintessential to their success, and for once they know where Charlie is going to be, before he gets there, and can lay a trap for him and his indestructible car. I hate the way they arrived at the information though, I'd have much preferred to see Bing suffer for his sins, and the whole interaction is just so laughably implausible. I will say this however, there was a rather BEAUTIFUL line in this scene that Bing couldn't begin to deserve, but I LOVED it all the same. "I miss the person I thought you were." My god, that's powerful.

"Chris McQueen," is a STELLAR episode, full of beautiful lines like this, including my FAVOURITE thing that Maggie has EVER said to Vic, which perfectly exemplifies their eccentric friendship!!! "I'd shank a thousand assholes for your mopey ass!!!" YES!!! I LOVE THAT SO MUCH!!! I will say though, that I was SHOCKED at how cool Vic was with Maggie's scary new trick of hurting herself to use her powers, sans seizures. I thought she was going to kick her butt for that!!! I'm really worried, Guys, this is a dangerous addiction, that's going to be the hardest one yet for Mags to quit!!! The break-up with Tabitha was bittersweet, but it did not come as a shock to me. They'd been drifting apart for awhile now, and I feel like Maggie was so scared of losing her, that she was afraid to be herself. "I want to live in the real world all the time." For me, that was the nail in the coffin, having only heard it about a thousand times myself. Maggie will always be living in two worlds, and whoever she's with MUST accept that. They love each other, yes, but they just want different things. I do respect Tabitha so much for not demanding that Maggie give up her tiles, threatening to leave her if she didn't. She'd rather let Maggie go be herself, be happy, than try to stifle her, shove her into that hateful, constricting little box called normal.

Vic continues to be petty, and spiteful towards her father, treating him WAY too harshly, punishing him, when he's done nothing but fight for her, a literal action HERO, avenging Wayne, and kicking ASS!!! It hurt my soul, and I could see the pain in his eyes, thinking he'd failed her, apologizing again, just wanting her forgiveness. The second scene at the McQueen house is a far less fuzzy one, as she forbids her father to come with her, placing all the blame of every bad thing that's happened thus far on his shoulders, and she cuts him with razor edged words, saying the worst thing that she could have possibly said in that moment, something truly unforgivable, that I already know she will spend the rest of her life, regretting.

"I lived eight years of my life without you, Dad, and I can just as easily do it again." She sneers, and even Linda stares, aghast. "Vicki, no, you don't mean that!!!"

I felt the pangs in my heart, stunned that she could be that vicious to her own father, after all he's done for her, getting sober, changing his whole life, hell, getting HER sober!!! Linda is again so adorable, insisting she take Chris with her, like "Vicki let your father play on your magical bridge, if he wants!!!" not wanting him to feel left out, and while I want more father/daughter explosive awesomeness, I'm conflicted whether or not he should go. If he stays here...... he's safe. Eventually Linda's persuasion wins out. "Don't let your anger towards your father, keep you from getting back Wayne." With a frustrated sigh, Vic shoves a black helmet in Chris' hands, and we're off to the races again. "Bring them home," Linda whispers sweetly, embracing him tight, and as they hug, I get the most sinking feeling that it's for the last time. Dont...... Don't kill, Chris Mcqueen.

Vic and Chris work in silence, once they get to the charred foundation of Sleigh House in Colorado, burying the handmade bombs, and finally Chris can't take it anymore. "Is this how you want it, Brat?" He asks her, heartbroken, and Ashleigh's acting is PHENOMENAL, as she breaks down and reveals the truth behind her unprovoked animosity.

"It's easier to be mad at you, than to blame myself."

"None of this is your fault. Charlie Manx is not your fault."

"I want to forgive you, because if I don't, how can Wayne ever forgive me. But I can't just let myself off the hook!!!"

It's not entirely a make-up, but it's an important conversation, something she's been wrestling with for a long time. Chris is again AMAZING, consoling her, easing her guilt, even while she's the one that's been impossible. Again Vic, I love you, but your father did the absolute RIGHT thing, and he's the only one that did right by Bing, as far as I'm concerned.

Maggie and Lou join the dynamite father/daughter duo in Colorado, and I LOVED all of their scenes together, the two people in this world that Vic McQueen loves most, and there's something magical about it, something iconic, seeing all three of them together, the Creative Dream Team, united in their crusade against Charlie Manx.

"Every one of these ornaments represents a kid in Christmasland, lost forever. Do you think there's a way to get them back? The other kids?"

WHEN SOULS FALL.

Maggie stares down, perplexed at the tiles, as she arranges them, revealing to the oracle this cryptic, mysticism, and I myself, could NOT breathe. Holy SMASH. Ever since the end of, "Gunbarrel," where Vic wanders through the trees outside Sleigh House, frowning at them, the hundreds of glittering ornaments, swaying in the wind, glowing as she drew near, I just knew...... I KNEW the souls of the Lost Children, were trapped inside each and every one of them, and this suspicion was ever further confirmed, when she found Bradley's canoe ornament, broken open on the ground, after he burnt up in the Wraith. My prediction? To turn the kids back, they have to smash every single one of these ornaments, and only then can the escaped souls return to their vampire shells, and make them human again. The minute a child hangs an ornament, the transformation is complete.

I also LOVED the transcendent scene between Vic and Millie, a scared little girl, in over her head, calling, pleading through the static, and I couldn't help but MARVEL at how much has changed between them. Last Season Millie Manx was very much her father's daughter, cruelly taunting Vic, on her father's behalf, even appearing to her while she was awake, stabbing her with an invisible sword. Now, she calls out to her to be her saviour, her father's greatest enemy, the iron wrought armour of her inherited hatred falling away, and Vic sees her as she always was, not a hollowed out demon spawn, but just a frightened little girl that needs to be set free. I was also THRILLED that dear little Millie imparted the knowledge that Charlie CANNOT die, else all the children, including his daughter, will die with him. Vic abhors Charlie with a screaming vengeance, but now that she knows his death comes at the cost of every child he's ever taken, she won't kill him, she CAN'T kill him, because then all of this, everything she's fought so hard for, bled for, would be for nothing.

The final act is both the thrilling BEST and the incoherent WORST of the episode, as the chaotic music ominously heralds our man's arrival. Charlie Manx, cutting a dashing, imposing silhouette, dark against the hazy dusk, exits the Wraith, turning every which way, striking in profile, floating smoothly across the front of the car, to let Wayne out. I loved this aesthetic, Charlie moving swiftly through the mist and dying light, rising as the threatened dark, enclosing. It's beautiful, and serves two clever purposes. One, to shroud our debonair dark menace in all the more intrigue and mystery, and the other, to conceal just how bad Wayne's gotten. Charlie clasps his hands around Wayne's shoulders lovingly, the picture of paternal pride, and my heart caught, seeing Wayne in the cast light, his boyish curls, frayed and almost white, his skin covered in white blue veins, every one of his teeth, coming to a sharp point.

"Go on, My Boy, it's time to hang your ornament," Charlie chortles handing Wayne the CUTEST little gray, baby bat ornament, I have ever seen, urging him forward. "Choose any branch you like, just make sure it's a SPECIAL branch," Charlie crows, and my heart melts, so in love with both of them, and the way Charlie dotes on him, knowing that while this began as a revenge plot, Charlie has come to love and favour Wayne, like the son he never had. "Don't dilly dally," He warns adorably, with an eyebrow raise, and even this mild scold is too precious for words.

Charlie waits by the Wraith, already nervous, as little Wayne disappears into the grove of trees. I LOVED the Wraith's ADORABLE warning system, as it flashes danger, the car horn honking, and even more I loved Charlie's distressed reaction to it, hurrying over, brow knit, like a father racing to tend to and protect his frightened child. Can I just have this impossibly PERFECT man, that darling little curly-haired boy, and this pretty, shiny car, PLEASE!?!?

"Smart Car," I whisper to myself, as the Wraith senses Vic's presence, and the waiting bombs beneath the ground. Charlie, alarmed, jumps back into his car, to seek out what's got the Wraith in such a tizzy, racing away, and leaving young Wayne behind. If there was ever a time, to save Wayne, it is NOW!!! NOW, Maggie, grab him NOW!!!! Here's where things start to unravel for me as far as character motivation and realistic ability is concerned. Yes, I get that Wayne's appearance is terrifying for her, that she doesn't know what she's walking into as she approaches him, but there is NO WAY Margaret Leigh, Oracle Extraordinaire, Hourglass SLAYER, would just cower, and watch as Wayne hangs his ornament. Nope, sorry. Wayne isn't even all the way a vampire yet, he's in transition, and the FEARLESS girl that I know and love, would have grabbed him, reassured him, while she wrested the ornament from his hands, and SMASHED it!!! Wayne's soul flies back into his body, crying as he clings to his Aunt Mags, Charlie is thwarted, and everybody lives happily ever after. End Scene.

But no, Maggie, in an uncharacteristic move, waits until Wayne has ALREADY hung his ornament, and then approaches him fearfully. I will admit I was a little nervous too..... Wayne, Darling, NO BITING Aunt Maggie!!! Wayne bares his vampire teeth, and raises his vampire claws in an adorable scare, with the cutest little growl ever, laughing cheerfully as he chases Maggie through the trees, clearly thinking it's a game.

Meanwhile, Charlie bristles as he sees the glowing headlights of Vic's motorcycle up ahead, piercing through the descended dark. His annoyance is obvious, but you can almost sense his secret excitement, at having one last chance to kill her.

"Gunning for Mother of the Year?" Charlie scoffs, amused, looking hot as hell behind the Wraith, clenching the steering wheel, his head down, eyes narrowed and full of smouldering, black intent. It's a FANTASTIC face-off, as the Wraith screams down into the open field, Chris pressing HARD on the detonator, and the first bomb goes off in a spray of dirt and billowing smoke. Again here's where I found myself more than a little bit incredulous, wondering WHAT THE HELL IS THE WRAITH MADE OF!?!? I even giggled to myself, remembering what Chris had said. "I don't care if he's in a GOD DAMNED tank!!!" The Wraith remains unscathed, the gleaming black paint, not so much as scratched, as a second bomb, and then a third go off beneath it, to no detriment. Really!? The Wraith is NOT a tank, it's not even armoured, and while yes, it's a supernatural entity, it CANNOT DEFY THE LAWS OF PHYSICS!!! Baby, I'm sorry, I'm so don't want to see you harmed, but you put a blast beneath that undercarriage, it is going to send that car FLYING, flipping it over at the very least!!!

Back in the grove of trees, Wayne, still chasing Maggie, stops cold when Lou calls out to him.

"Dad..... is that you?" THANK GOD, I cry out tearfully, as Wayne recognizes him, and in a very human moment, runs and hugs his father so tight, snuggling his little head to his shoulder, Lou sighing relieved, as he holds his son at last. Happy tears become angry ones, however, and at first I was LIVID with Wayne, horrified as he sinks his tiny little fangs into Lou's shoulder, biting him hard. DON'T BITE YOUR FATHER!!!!! Why, Wayne, WHY!? But the second time I watched this episode, I noticed something soooo very important. Wayne doesn't show any signs of hostility, poses NO threat, UNTIL the first bomb goes off. This is NO coincidence. Charlie, you're too clever for your own good!!! I suspect, that once the transformation is complete, and the kids are connected to Father Christmas, they can sense when he's in danger, and their innate attack instinct takes over!!! Freaking brilliant, and yet also terrifying!!!

Vic curses under her breath, her foot slamming on the gas, helplessly, as the Triumph won't start, her knife failing her, as the Wraith, screams at her like a shot bullet, promising vengeance, and Charlie smirks, sadistic, knowing he's about to end this....... "Say Goodnight, Vic McQueen."

My heart clenches in my chest, barely breathing, the tears flooding my vision, watching through blurry eyes, knowing what he's going to do, before he even does it. Chris McQueen hurtles himself in front of Vic, selflessly sacrificing his life for hers, and the Wraith runs him over, crushing the back of his legs. as he collides with it. I screamed, I sobbed, and shook violently, stunned because my prayers had been answered....... Chris McQueen, has miraculously SURVIVED. He's alive...... he's alive...... I whisper, reassuring myself. While he's far from okay, surely suffering two crushed legs, unable to move, I'm just so happy to see him still breathing, still fighting.

"Perfect timing, Wayne," Charlie snickers, Vic screaming, "NO!" as Wayne hops back into the car. This is it, this is the moment, where it all goes so wrong. Charlie's holding all the cards, he's got Wayne in the car, he's subdued Vic and her father, neither of them can so much as move, and he listens, drinking in their anguished cries. All he had to do was drive away....... It was over. It was SUPPOSED to be over.

"Chris McQueen, a disappointment of a man, just like your father," Charles snarls, and I AM BEGGING him to stop, bawling, pleading frantic, my terrified voice shrill. "BABY NO!!!! BABY STOP!!! DON'T KILL CHRIS, PLEASE GOD, CHARLIE!!!!!" Tapping into a darkness, donning a heartlessness, unbecoming of our gentleman villain, Charlie looks Vic in the eye, as he does it, snapping Chris' neck with lethal force, killing him purely out of spite. The episode ends with her broken, mournful sob, and Chris' slain gaze, his eyes still full of tears, staring blankly at the camera.

My pain is deafening, my sorrow beyond all hope of any coherent expression as NOS4A2 suffers its greatest loss to date. It's an empty gesture, a callous act, uncharacteristic of the man that I love with all my heart, but who has hurt me something profound with this senseless murder. In what kind of CRUEL world, does an innocent man, who sacrifices himself for his daughter, who fought for eight years to be the kind of father she deserved, have to die, while an indecent evil like Bing Partridge gets to live!? Charlie, HOW could you!? This...... There's no honour in this. Charlie kills only as a last resort, and only in defense, he has a strict moral code, and is vehemently against violence without cause. This was unfeeling, unnecessary, and soulless. Yes, he knew Chris was a bad father from before, but surely in witnessing the valiant manner in which he'd flung himself in front of the car, with no thought for his own life, Charlie would have found him redeemed, he would have seen a father who'd do anything to protect his daughter, not so different from himself, and he would have felt SOMETHING!!!

Goodnight, Chris McQueen. You fought the good fight, you changed and made things right, and now at last you can find peace....... My heart is so heavy, I can't hold it, and crying here, I want him to know how wrong he was, thinking nobody would mourn him when he died. A thousand cry out, stricken with grief. Husband, Father, White Knight Redeemed, here lies Chris McQueen, a HERO who didn't die for nothing.........

[sprnklersplashes]

the opening line

yo so I decided to create a series of one-shots on ao3 based on my own version of season 7. it includes emma, hope, original killian and hopefully some other season 7 characters. there would be some similarities to canon, but a lot of differences. some is based on how I think the show would have went if jen had stayed, some is just how I would have wanted it. if that seems like something you’d vibe with, check it out! this is the first part.

AO3

“This is what you’re going to do,” their mother tells them, standing the two of them side by side. “You’re going to run. You’re not going to look back, you’re not going to stop. You’re going to run and you’re going to get to the wardrobe and hide in there until it’s over.” Henry holds his sister closer, feeling her body trembling through his jacket. Their mother smiles, pride shining in her eyes despite the terror coursing through her veins. “And then you’ll come find us.”

“Mom,” Hope chokes out, tears already running down her young face. Henry’s heart breaks for her, the weight of this destiny far too much for her young shoulders. Not quite the same prophecy as the one their mother faced, but similar enough. Emma presses a kiss to the young girl’s head and looks into the green eyes so like her own. “Mom, I can’t do this.”

“Yes you can,” she tells her firmly, her eyes looking up to check the sky. They don’t have much time, and Emma knows it, so she makes do with what she can. “You’re my daughter. You’re descended from Queens and warriors and pirates and Saviours.” She grabs both the girl’s shoulders, forcing her to look into her eyes. “And you’re a survivor, Hope. You and your brother. I don’t trust anyone else the way I trust the two of you, okay?”

Hope opens her mouth to answer, but a clap of thunder stops her, a scream eliciting from her mouth instead.

“We don’t have any time left. Killian and I’ll hold anyone off. You two go. Go!”

Her final order jerks Henry into motion and he grabs his sister’s hand and takes off into the woods, their feet skidding over stones and sticks, their hands barely visible in front of them. The trees seem to have grown and spread over the sky and smoke blocks out the moon and stars. If it wasn’t for Hope’s magic guiding them to the wardrobe, they’d be utterly lost.

Unfortunately, his sister isn’t the only one with magic, and just as they arrive at the tree where the wardrobe has been built, visitors arrive, clad in black velvet cloaks, their hands clawed. There’s a wild, feral look in their eyes and while they look like ordinary young girls, they’re not human. Not anymore.

“Henry,” Hope whispers, her hand tightening around his, the other extending and pulsing with magic. Henry has to smirk, despite everything else. Ready for a fight, that’s her.

But she’s not the one who needs to fight.

“Hope, get in there,” he tells her, drawing his sword.

“But what about-”

“I’ll be right behind you,” he tells her. “Now get in there.”

“I don’t think so,” another voice says behind them. A girl appears at Hope’s side, with a smile both beautiful and dangerous. “Young Hope. You’re coming with us.”

“Over your dead body,” Hope snarls, and the girl flies backwards, far out of sight, into the coming smoke. He sees her grin, savouring her first victory, but another crack of thunder shakes her out of it. Sharing a nod with him, she runs to the wardrobe, her fingers fumbling in her bag, and she pulls out a key.

Just as he hears a click behind him, a gust of wind throws the two of them back, and more importantly, keeping the door shut tightly.

“Hope!” he calls. He just about makes her out, hair whipping wildly across her face. Pushing against the wind, she reaches out and points across the glen, to where another girl stands, her hands raised. “I’ll take care of her. And once I do, you get in.”

“What about you?” she screams above the gust. “I won’t leave you.”

“You’re the one Gothel wants!” he reminds her. “It’s you, Hope. Whatever happens, you get in that wardrobe.” She shakes her head, but they’ve no time to argue. “I’ll be right back, just get in there as soon as you can!”

With that warning, he charges at the girl, sword brandished high. His limbs burn as the wind grows stronger, pushing him back, back, away from her. One foot lands in front of the other, one hand held up in front of his face, and once he’s in front of her, he slashes at her legs. Not enough to kill her, but enough to distract her. The breeze dies down as though it was never there, and the wardrobe opens behind him.

The girl blinks in confusion, pain flashing across her face, and guilt blooms in his chest. None of this is her fault. She’s caught in Gothel’s spell, and both he and Hope know how hard that is to break.

“Henry!” Hope calls. He turns and sees her inside, her face white and her eyes white. “Henry get in here!”

He doesn’t need to be reminded twice. He turns and starts running, his eyes locked on his sister’s face, his body speeding across the forest floor until he’s just steps away from her.

Until something hits his shoulder, and suddenly his cheek is on the ground. He’s vaguely aware of his sister’s anguished screams, but the pain, oh the pain, blocks it out. He reaches up and finds his shoulder wet and his shirt heavy. He doesn’t need to guess what it is.

“Henry!” A pair of legs come out of the wardrobe.

“No, Hope!” The smoke isn’t just above them now, it seeps past the trees and over the ground, already engulfing the other girl. She goes willingly, smiling like she’s been blessed rather than the opposite. He turns back to his sister, her horrified face, and drags himself closer to her. “Hope you need to go now. Close the doors and you’ll escape all of this.”

“But what about you?” she asks. “I was mean to go with you.”

“Change of plans,” he grunts. And despite the searing pain and the darkness taking over his vision, he smiles. “What does our family always do, Hope?” The smoke is upon them now; they have seconds, if even. “What do we do?”

“Find each other,” she says. “But-”

“No buts!” he tells her. “You need to go. For all of us.”

She nods and mouths something before disappearing into the wardrobe, the doors closing and locking behind her.

He’s turned onto his back, and someone’s face is in his vision, demanding to know where his sister is. He knows who it is, and that’s exactly why he spits in her face.

“She got away,” he whispers before she smoke fills his vision and he’s gone.

It’s raining when Henry leaves the couple off at a nightclub, one man holding his jacket over his boyfriend’s head. It’s an intimate gesture, so much so that Henry almost feels bad for looking in on it. He wouldn’t know about that sort of thing, obviously, but he can tell from looking at them. He might not know about relationships, but he knows people.

The boy gives him a tip and tells him to have a good night. He doesn’t respond to that, only thanking him and telling him to be careful before pulling out of the kerb and heading home, windshield wipers batting away against the rain.

At least that was his last one for the night. If only his shift didn’t finish at 11. And if only his apartment wasn’t on the other side of town and he wasn’t battling his way through 50 other Swyft cars, cabs, buses and cyclists. Damn he hates those freaking cyclists.

He keeps his focus on the lights of the car ahead, staring at them even as his head begins to throb. There’s plenty of light here, not just from the cars, but from the street lights and the glow of the clubs and bars and restaurants, the city bright and alive against the dark backdrop. Bright and alive. Those are the two words he keeps in mind as he drives. As long as there’s light, he’s safe.

He parks his car at around 11:30, far later than he likes to be home. In an ideal world he’d be in his bedroom with a good book (and the lamp on) at this point. The street light is still on as he gets out of the car, as is the porchlight on his apartment block. There are little lights all around him, small and flickering and weak, but they’re there.

So why is his skin crawling?

With the collar of his jacket pulled up, he makes his way to the front door, hands stuffed in his pocket. At least the lobby is lit and warmer than outside. The receptionist gives him a half-nod as he walks in, more interesting in her Instagram feed than him. Maybe some people might find that rude, but it suits him fine. The less people involve themselves with him the better.

The elevator is slow as hell and creaks so loudly the whole building hears it and it reeks of something he doesn’t want to know. There’s also dozens of messages scribbled on the walls in marker, ranging from phone numbers to people’s signatures walls to heartbroken, half-drunk rants. Henry can only look straight at the doors if he doesn’t want to read about some teenager failing school or how some pathetic asshole walked out on his baby mom. He gets enough of that from the back of his car.

It grinds to a halt and the doors open to the dim hallway. Henry’s hands clench at his side, sweat trickling slowly down his back. It’s not pitch darkness. It’s not so dark that he can’t see where he’s going. But it’s enough. Enough to make him bolt from the elevator and down the hall to his apartment, the walls blurring into one as he goes. If he could, he’d be grateful that no-one was around to see him, but all he can focus on is getting into his apartment and turning on a light before it happens.

It’s only when he’s there that he feels truly safe

He isn’t scared of the dark. Not in that way. Not in the stupid little kid way, or even the way people his age still are. No, the reason he can’t stand dark rooms and sleeps with a lamp on isn’t because of some horror movie he watched as a kid or some primal fear. It’s because of what happens whenever the lights go off.

It only takes a second of darkness for him to see it; flames leaping up at his side, spreading across the room, surrounding him, almost mocking him in the way they move. Daring him to cross over them. Smoke filling his lungs and clogging his mouth, stopping him from crying out for help. The walls of purple flame rising higher, illuminating a figure opposite him, reaching out their hand, mouth open in a permanent scream. Sometimes, lately more often than not, he hears them calling out his name, desperate and terrified, begging him to do… something. To come save them, he guesses, but he can’t be sure.

Survivor’s guilt. That’s what his therapist calls it. He doesn’t really understand that phrase. How can he feel guilty for surviving a fire that happened when he was a baby? The fire that killed both his parents. According to his file, he was mostly untouched, only a few burns that still show themselves in scars on his arms and chest. Lucky, he’s been told. His parents were less so.

His therapist also reckons the figure he sees must be his mother. And much as he respects her, he silently disagrees. He doesn’t know who it is, but there’s a feeling of protectiveness towards her that he wouldn’t feel towards his mom.

He shakes his head, smacking the side for good measure. He doesn’t like dwelling on that for too long outside the confines of his therapist’s office. That will only lead to a bigger workload for her.

He takes out his dinner-microwavable pasta-from the fridge and sticks it in the microwave, his frayed, overworked brain barely remembering to punch the holes first. He learned that the hard way. With his dinner cooking away, he leans against the wall, running his hand over his face. Behind him, the tap drips incessantly, signalling to him that another day has gone by that his landlord hasn’t fixed it. That makes it day number twenty seven. Adding that to the Internet cutting out on the regular and the heating going out every month, there’s probably a lot that his landlord has done to violate the terms of his contract, but he doesn’t say anything. Yes, this apartment sucks, but he hears that living on the streets is far worse. There’s not many places in the city a Swyft driver can afford.

Well, Swyft driver slash former author.

When he started writing that book, he pictured himself living in a place with a lot more class. At least two bathrooms, for a start. And in a nicer part of town. Maybe with a partner, some dogs. A family of his own, he guesses.

It’s not that his book did badly. At the start it had done quite well; he got emails from fans telling him how much they liked it, it made quite a few top 10 lists and people were initially excited to hear he was planning a sequel.

Only the sequel never came. And excitement died down, his book overshadowed by the next big thing; something about robots in the distant future or something. And he got left behind. There are a few old faithful fans knocking around on Tumblr and once in a blue moon, someone will ask on Twitter about his sequel, but all in all, the literary world doesn’t want him anymore. People have outgrown fairytales, and so outgrown him.

The sequel is still on his laptop. Well, sort of. There’s a blank word document with a blinking cursor, a story he’s tried a hundred times before. He can see it in his mind, the story of a brother and sister fighting against evil, holding onto each other. He knows every detail of these character’s lives, who they love and how, he knows the girl has magic and the boy wields a sword and that an evil witch has a huge interest in the girl and it’s the brother’s job to protect her. He knows these characters like they’re real, like they’re here, know them better than he knows himself and his own life.

He thinks about it all day long, and yet when he sits down he can barely write an opening line. His hand moves of its own accord and opens the laptop, the mouse moving to open the document-

Then his microwave goes off and at that same second there’s a knock at the door.

He wanted a sign from the universe that this story wasn’t worth finishing. The universe gave him two.

“If this is another Mormon,” he mumbles as he makes his way to the door. He does not have any time to talk about the Lord Jesus Christ. As far as he’s concerned, if the Lord Jesus Christ exists then He’s not watching over him.

It’s not a Mormon. It’s a girl, a teenage girl, which ranks slightly below Mormons because at least he gets what a Mormon would be doing at his apartment at this hour.

“Isn’t it a little late?” he asks her. “Do Girl Scouts usually deliver this late?”

“Do I look like a Girl Scout?” she asks, indignance evident in her voice. He’s a little shocked, and a little impressed, so he looks at her properly. He guesses she’s 15, maybe 16, with red-brown hair held back in a loose braid and green eyes. Her clothes are interesting to say the least, her frame hidden beneath a jacket slightly too big for her, the sleeves of a plaid shirt hanging over her hands and the laces on her converse coming undone. There’s something about her face too when she looks at him, equal parts cautious and hopeful, trying not to let one win out over the other.

“Are you Henry Swan?” she asks.

That’s the last thing he expected to hear from her.

“Yeah,” he answers carefully. He’s pretty sure he’s seen this movie before. “Who are you?”

“My name’s Hope,” she tells him. She smiles, and there’s something almost familiar about it. “I’m your sister.”

And then it happens. Without warning, the Earth shifts, the floor is pulled out from under him, gravity fails and he goes plummeting through the air, unable to breath. His whole perspective on himself and who he is and life itself is thrown into the air and turned around completely.

“What?” is all he can say to him. She simply smiles and ducks beneath his arm, letting herself into his apartment.

“I’m kind of hungry, you have any food?” she asks. As though she didn’t just drop the biggest truth bomb on him.

“Woah, kid,” he replies, following her into the kitchen. He finds her standing on her toes to reach the cupboard, her tongue poked out of the corner of her mouth, and for the brief moment wonders when she last ate. “You just said you’re my…. My sister?”

“Half-sister, if you want to be technical.” She flashes him another smile, her eyes soft and her face glowing. “But we never really bothered about technicalities.”

“O… kay,” he says. “But I don’t…. how?” He doesn’t know if he’s asking her or himself. “You can’t be my sister.”

“Well, I am,” she says firmly.

“Okay, okay, okay,” he reasons. He sits down at the table and she does the same, a bowl of cereal in front of her. “How old are you exactly?”

“Sixteen.”

“Ah-ha!” He doesn’t know why exactly he’s so happy about this, but he is, and he points a finger right at her to prove it. Maybe because if she isn’t his sister (which she can’t be) he can go on his normal, mundane life and not have to face any massive alterations. Or disappointments. “You can’t be my sister. Because I’m thirty one-”

“You look it.”

“And,” he interrupts, rolling over her. “My parents are dead. They died when I was a baby. So logically, you can’t be my sister. You see siblings kind of have to share parents. It’s one of the things.”

“Your parents aren’t dead,” she says. She’s so remarkably casual when she’s saying all this that it’s actually infuriating. It might be a game to her, but it’s his life.

“Choose your next words carefully, kid,” he tells her. “Otherwise I’ll be tempted to call security.” There is no security, but she doesn’t need to know that.

“Okay.” To her credit, she sobers up and leans on the table, seriousness creasing her face. It’s strange to see on her. “Your family isn’t dead. They’re just lost.”

“I lost my family?”

“Wasn’t your fault,” she tells him. “There was this curse and everyone got torn apart. You were meant to come with me.”

“Oh, a curse.” He throws his hands up and leans back in his chair. He should have known. “Kid, I’ve read that book. I wrote that book.”

“You mean this book?” She takes a copy out of her bag and slides it across the table. It’s small and bound in brown leather, the words Once Upon A Time written across the cover. It’s his all right, even if for some reason his name isn’t on it. Nothing is, no publisher, no author’s note. Just his story.

“So you’re a fan?”

“Henry,” she says strongly. Again, there’s something so unsettlingly familiar about her saying his name. “This is our story. Our family’s, our parents.” She taps the cover. “It’s all in here. It all happened to you.”

“Nothing in this happened to me,” he says, dropping the book on the table. He pushes himself away from the table and as he does so, his shoulder twinges. The suddenness of it hurts just as much as the pain. He grits his teeth and grabs the edge of the counter, breathing slowly and steadily until it subsides. He always manages to forget about this until it flares up again.

“Are you okay?” she asks, running up to his side, her eyes wide.

“Fine,” he grunts, rolling it around for good measure. “Shoulder pain. Therapist reckons I got it when I was a baby. The night my parents…” He shakes his head at himself. “Why am I even telling you this?”

“Because we’re family?” There’s a strange look in her eye as she looks at his shoulder, something he can’t place.

“Stop that,” he sighs. He turns to face her, the two of them in stony silence. The most logical explanation is that she liked his book and got obsessed with it. So obsessed she wanted to meet the recluse author. That happens; fan culture has gone crazy these days. But there’s something about her, something about the familiarity of her face, her smile, her voice.

No, that’s insane. Maybe they ran into each other at one point at a book signing back in the day. But nothing else. She’s nothing to him and really, he’s nothing to her.

Still, she’s just a kid, and her parents are probably worried sick. And there’s all kinds of creeps on public trains and buses at this hour.

He’s going to regret this. So much.

“Where do you live?” he asks. “I can take you home, explain all this to your parents. Say it was all a misunderstanding and listen to them ground you.”

“You’ll come home with me?” she asks. Elated is almost too weak a word for her face. Her hands are clasped together in front of her face, her eyes shining.

“I’ll take you home,” he corrects her. She nods anyway, the smile on her face breathless and joyful. It almost makes him feel something. Empathy, maybe. Which is odd since he’s not the empathetic type. “Where’s home?”

“Hyperion Heights,” she replies. Oh, great. Hyperion Heights is at least a forty minute drive from here. After getting her home and explaining whatever he’s going to explain to her parents it’ll probably be around 2am when he gets back.

Besides, he’d be driving in the dark then. Pitch darkness. That’s not ideal at the best of times but especially when he’s driving.

“Is that an issue?” she asks with an audacious false-earnestness. She planned this so well that he’s almost impressed. He’s be more so if he wasn’t so annoyed with her.

“Stay here for tonight,” he sighs. Just as she brightens up, he points his finger at her, squaring up. “But we are leaving here at 6am sharp to take you back to your parents. Deal?”

“Deal.” She holds her hand out to him. He glares at her for a second but shakes it all the same. “Oh, can I use your bathroom?”

This kid has some nerve. And he supposes he’s not much better for going along with it.

“Sure. Down the hall first door on your right.”

She grins and turns to go. He watches her, kind of fascinated. Despite the annoyance, he wonders what her home life is like. If she’s in school and does she do okay there. If she has friends. If she’s happy. Why she liked his book so much. If she’s okay. He’s not one to judge but those clothes don’t look new and the way she wolfed down that cereal has him on edge.

“What did you say your name was again?” he asks.

“Hope,” she says proudly. “Hope Hermione Swan.”

“I like the middle name,” he snorts.

“You would,” she tells him. “You chose it after all.”

Then she skips off to the bathroom, leaving him scratching his head. An hour ago he was an orphan and a loner, now he apparently has a while family trapped cursed in another neighbourhood, living under an hour away from him without him knowing. A sister he apparently helped name. It’s crazy. She’s crazy. And he’s even crazier for going along with this crap. A long-lost sister showing up on an orphan’s doorstep and telling him he has a family. It’s ridiculous.

Although… he turns back to where he left his laptop, the blank first chapter still sitting there. It’s not a bad opener for a story.

He puts the laptop in his backpack. Just in case.

[ramblinganthropologist]

N7 Challenge Day 30 - End

Summary: Well... Alistair’s dying again. At least this time, he took the Reapers out with him.

(Mentions of blood, some limb loss without description) 

---

Yep... he was dying alright. This was definitely the worse of his two deaths.

Alistair could barely groan as he lay there among the rubble, coughing up what was probably blood. It was hard to see then... one eye was definitely fucked up, possibly gone. Ironically it was the one he had lost the first time. Talk about things coming full circle.

At least the Child was gone.

Yes, there in the ruined Citadel chamber, he was finally alone. The conductor lay smoking in the distance when he had finally managed to shoot something from a distance. Things had gotten crazy after that... now he was laying in a pile of rocks, actively bleeding out.

And he had thought the crushing pressure of space was bad.

Somewhere nearby lay the modified body of the Illusive Man. Had he the strength to get up, he would've gone over to give the corpse a good kick. Then again... Anderson was close at hand too. He shouldn't see something like that.

Well... he would be joining him soon.

“Least it's over...”

Blood bubbled at his lips as he gazed up at the ceiling. It was starting to get hard to see – probably the blood loss. Either that or the massive ache at the base of his skull that could have only been a malfunctioning biotic amp about to blow. Part of him wanted to see what would kill him first. Either way, he was about to be the third body.

At least he would be the last body of the Reaper War.

Even though he couldn't see it, Alistair felt it. That one shot had ended it all. The Reapers had lost at last, after untold millennia of fucking up sentient species for the hell of it. They had lost to an idiot with limited depth perception, generalized anxiety, and an inability to control his blood sugar.

Take that, you synthetic fucks.

He coughed again – it was getting weaker now. His vision was starting to fade even more. Maybe he had a minute or two left before the end. Alistair wondered if he shouldn't have been more upset, but then again this wasn't his first time dying. He had been living on borrowed time... now it was his chance to return it.

His only regret was never getting to see Bo or Garrus again.

That hurt almost as much as his amp overloading. His last memories of either of them were on the chaos of the battle for Earth. Hell, for all he knew they were dead. The Reapers could have shot the Normandy down when they were evacuating and he just hadn't seen it.

If it had... well... he was in for some nasty words on the other side. At least he and Joker would be even at one death a piece.

“I wish I could've said more...”

It was getting harder to speak now. The overwhelming, unbearable pain in multiple parts of his body was starting to ebb away. No doubt about it, this was the end. All he could do was prepare for what was to come.

At least he closed his eyes. He had never liked coming upon bodies all splayed out, wide-eyed and staring at the living. It was kind of gross. Then again, Alistair doubted anyone was going to be able to find him before he was a skeleton.

Maybe that was for the best... bodies got kind of gross.

As his world went black and all feeling ceased, Alistair had one last thought. The sun was going to rise on Earth tomorrow. It was still there, even if he wasn't. They had managed to do what not even the Protheans could. It was over.

It was over... and so was he. So he let himself go, floating away to wherever he went the first time. At least this time, there were no Collectors.

---

The funny thing about dying was that it wasn't supposed to fucking hurt so badly.

'You aren't through yet.'

Shut the fuck up and let him die in peace... noisy ass ghost or god or whatever.

'Strange, you aren't normally this rude. Oh well... they're waiting for you.'

A haze of dull agony surrounded him like a blanket. Funny, the first time he had died it had been over rather quickly. One moment he was floating in the blackness of space as pressure crushed him like a tin can... and then he was waking up on a Cerberus base as it all went to hell.

…

Fuck you have GOT to be kidding him. Was he ever going to get to die in peace?

The first feeling he got back was the tips of his fingers. Toes came back too, not enough to wiggle but he felt the pain no matter what. On a scale of 1 to 10, it was get him some fucking pain medicine or finish killing him.

There was noise somewhere, he wasn't sure where. It sounded...

“Folks, it's the bottom of the 7th inning, the bases are loaded and the score is tied 5-5. Batting fifth for the Luna Bats is Luna colony's very own Jim O'Reilly.

Like a baseball game. And if he heard that score right, his Bats were tied with their best pitch hitter up!

“I can't believe he's fucking missing this.”

“So if he hits the ball and nobody catches it, that means they run around the squares and score?”

“Bases, Mandibles, I already explained it to you. Damn it, Al, you got me explaining baseball now.”

He knew those voices. They belonged to Bo and to Garrus. Unless they were all dead and watching baseball from the afterlife, then they were alive and well enough to complain. Given the fact his sister hated baseball... that was another point to him being alive.

That's a strike.”

“It's a ball, it was outside the box.” Another groan. “For fuck's sake.”

The count is now 3-2. And the pitch-

Alistair could feel his heart pump faster at the sound of a bat somewhere cracking when it made contact with the ball. He could picture it, flying far off into the center field stands and above the head of the outfielders.

And he was missing it...

“Fuck... it's a grand slam.”

Miracles did happen. Not only had they saved the universe from the Reapers, but his Bats had pulled a grand slam out of their ass.

By now, there was more feeling in his body. He couldn't move, not yet anyway. However, he was starting to get the feeling he could make his mouth move. It took effort, far more than he had, but he managed to get a sound out. He would have called it a groan, but that was being generous. A death murmur was more like it... only he wasn't dead.

Slowly, he managed to maneuver his eyes to opening. Then he shut them – too bright. Wherever he was glowed brighter than when he had shot to end it all. Now he was starting to get a headache – what a thing to add to his problems.

He still couldn't sit up... but he could probably try to talk.

“Are we winning?”

That sent crazy amounts of motion into play. Someone – he assumed Garrus from the sound of talons on tile – ran off to probably get a doctor. Something landed heavy at his side – that was probably Bo. She was close enough that he could feel her shaking.

She was pissed.

“I can't fucking...” despite that, she laughed. “Fucking Luna Bats, I should've known that would bring you back.”

Alistair's head was pounding, but he could still talk. “How long?”

It had to be some time – before the Bats had suspended their season due to the war, it had been at the very beginning. From the sound of things, they were going into a playoff run. At the very least... months. Possibly years, if they were finally good.

Nah, probably not years – O'Reilly probably only had two seasons left in him at this rate.

“Over two months, you asshole. You died twice.” Her voice was thick with emotion she was barely containing. “And in the end it's the fucking Luna Bats that bring you back. Not me, not Garrus, but the Bats!”

She was laughing still, despite how annoyed she sound. It was probably the best sound Alistair had ever heard. He would have probably laughed too, but it fucking hurt too much. Hopefully wherever his boyfriend was, he was getting a doctor with some heavy duty pain medicine.

“It took a miracle I guess...” he cracked one eye open. “What's their record?”

It was a miracle he didn't get socked in the arm, but Alistair quickly realized that was because he didn't have one. It had just been a brief glance, but there was definitely something missing on his right side. No wonder he couldn't wiggle his fingers on the right side: they were gone.

But... if their record was winning.

“I'd say your priorities were fucking awful, but you did kind of save the universe so I'll give you a pass.”

“Thanks.”

Couldn't move the toes on his left foot either... bad sign there. At least he still had all his fingers on his dominant hand. The universe had been kind for once.

Still... it was true. He was in a hospital, there was a doctor coming with hopeful amounts of pain medicine to help him. All of this  meant one simple thing: the Reapers were gone. Well, either that or they also liked the Luna Bats.

It was maybe the only thing they agreed on.

“So... we won then.”

Bo sounded calmer as she got up – probably for whatever medical staff was coming. “Yeah. We won. We won and we got you back. Forget hamsters, you're a fucking cat with how many lives you got to burn there.”

Well, he was good at stopping at life 4 or 5. Dying was unpleasant and he had done it way more than anyone had right to do and still come back. This was the last time, he promised to whatever universal figure was listening.

Still, as the medical staff freaked out around him upon his waking up, Alistair found he was pretty relaxed. Whatever happened, nothing could have been worse than facing down the Reapers and making the choice left to him. He could get past anything after that.

But... yeah... the pain meds would definitely help. His brain was throbbing. At least he was pretty sure his amp hadn’t exploded, because then yeah he would have definitely been dead...

Honestly, an injury update would have been lovely, if just to know how many parts he was missing and what he had broken in his final hit on the Reapers. At any rate, he was going to need to know how bad off he was once he put his papers in. After all, if he was going to live... might as well do it as a free man.

It wasn’t quite the end he had expected, but it was his. At least he had most of his limbs? Or at the very least half... he would have to ask about that later, once it was easier to see in a bright room.

Again, pain meds, great idea...

[moondustis]

loyalty.love (m)

pairing: nakamoto yuta + reader genre: smut, angst word count: 8,3k warnings: violence, mentions of drugs, death, depictions of injuries  summary: the starting point, the moment it all changes, is very easy to remember. as is the moment it all goes wrong. (modern persephone and hades, gang au.)

you think there is more dark in you than there are bones. what is a monster? what is a lover? what is the name that sounds so sweet on your lips in the dying of the night? love we’ve only the light to fear. darkness always follows.

darkness and bones - k.j.c

the starting point, the moment it all changes, is very easy to remember. as is the moment it all goes wrong.

it’s a slow day, like tuesday mornings always are. you are fixing arrangements for the display while a calm song plays in the background, so immersed in it that you don’t notice the big black car that parks right outside the small flower shop. you don’t notice the man getting out of it until the little bell in the door alerts you of his presence.

a shiver runs down your spine from the sudden sound but in no moment, like it’s automatic for you, you’re turning around to greet them. “good morning, how may i help you?” it’s sweet and welcoming like an employee of a flower shop should be.

he looks out of place, with the all black outfit and not a trace of a smile on his lips. “hello.” he says, eyes scanning the room but never meeting yours. “i have an event coming up and would like some flower arrangements. “

the event in question turns out to be a funeral, and it’s not unusual, not at all. but the man, that you would much later find out was named taeyong, made it seem like it was. he doesn’t request specific flowers, says he trusts you to pick the most adequate ones for the situation. you give him the prices and he gives you the date and address, nothing else and nothing less.

you didn’t know then that this is where it would all begin, of course. but you think that maybe your intuition did, that something very deep inside of you was screaming to be careful. you didn’t listen to it, of course.

✦

it’s june so the rain is no surprise but still you wish your coat was warmer from the cold that takes you even in the inside of your car. it’s a perfect day for a funeral, you think, if such as thing exists.

the address they give you is far out of the city, so far that you get lost twice before finally arriving at the huge mansion. the first thing you notice is the garden full of green but no other colors, it’s almost as if it adapted for the funeral with only dark red roses in the front yard. the second thing you notice is the cars parked outside, all black and looking expensive. you park your small car a bit far from the others and as soon as you get out two man dressed in all black appear asking for your name and id.

when it’s clear to them who you are and what you are doing there they let you inside, helping you with the various flowers arrangements you brought to decorate the funeral. in your mind you’re walking inside the house of one of the richest families in japan, with the level of security they have and how huge this house is. you wonder what piece of the family has died.

they take you to a kitchen where numbers of employees walk in and out bringing trays of food and empty glasses. you place your flowers on an empty space and work in peace on making the last details perfect. 

you work for about 20 minutes when a man walks inside the kitchen, in and all black suit and comes into your direction. he examines the flower for what feels like hours in an uncomfortable silence before he finally speaks.

“what kind of flower are these?” he asks, observing them with care in his eyes. he doesn’t look a year over twenty but there is a harshness in his features that make him look like someone your mother would tell you to stay away from. 

“they are lilies” you reply, avoiding eye contact. “they represent the restored innocence of the soul of the departed. i thought it would be fitting to the event.”

he just hums, making you uncertain to if you should continue the conversation or if he just came here seeking for silence. “are you close to the person?” curiosity gets the best of you.

“yes. very close you could say...“ is what he replies with and if there’s hurt in his voice you don’t notice.

“oh, i’m really sorry for your loss...” he has stopped analyzing the flowers and is now looking at you, the look in his unchanging. “you must be devastated.”

“it’s okay.” he says, voice flat and you don’t know what to take from it. you notice just now that the rain has stopped. “death is not something that phases me anymore.”

his word make you taken back, and you finally look at him to see if there’s anything in his face that indicates he’s joking. nothing. “i think it’s natural for humans to fear death, since it’s the only thing that’s final.” he raises an eyebrow at your words, as if he’s intricate “if we don’t then maybe it means our humanity is dying.”

“are you implying that i'm no longer human?” his voice is so harsh that your eyes widen and you start apologizing, only stopping when you hear his laugh, deep and like honey. it’s odd to see a man that looks like him laugh.

“i’m only joking, please don’t take me seriously.” you roll your eyes. turning to your flowers again and making the last changes so they look perfect. he takes that as a clue to leave and with one more word directed to you he’s walking away from the kitchen.

✦

june is almost over, the days passing in a blur of sameness and you’re getting tired of the rain by now. no one seems to want flowers in this weather and the shop barely sees more than three customers a day. you’re boringly swiping through your instagram feed, watching your fifth dog video of the day, when the black car parks outside the shop. the same one from that last time, almost a month ago. a man walks out, wearing all black again, but it’s not the same one as last time. still, he looks familiar and it’s only when he walks inside the store and gives you a tiny smile that you remember.

“good afternoon, how may i help you?” you say, voice filled with sweetness out of habit. it only makes him smile more.

“hello.” is all he says for a while and he moves around the small store with ease, but looking completely out of place. he’s wearing a coat and a turtleneck that makes him look fancy and rich, like someone who shouldn’t be shopping in a neighbor shop “what is this season’s flower?”

the question takes you by surprise, taking you a few moments to finally get your thoughts together and reply. “the hydrangea. it’s very popular around this time of the year.”

“i see… and what is the meaning of it?” he raises one eyebrow and continues to smile at you. the whole interaction is setting a chill down your spine, like you can’t understand why it’s happening.

“according to a legend it’s associated with heartfelt emotions, gratitude and it’s often used as an apology.” you say naturally, like it’s a normal thing for a person to know so well.

he seems surprised by the knowledge. “i’ll take a bouquet of it then.” it’s an odd request, like every interaction with this man seems to be. you start gathering the flowers in your arms, all blue, and move them to the balcony in a way you’re too familiar with. he stays quiet watching as you arrange it with as much detail and care as possible.

“you’re very good at this.” he compliments, the smiling forming on your face impossible to hide.

“oh, thank you.” you reply bashfully “i have been around flowers from a young age, since my mother was a florist. when she passed away she left the store for me to care for.”

it’s probably too much information to share with a complete stranger, someone you don’t even know the name, but he listens to you like he cares. “i’m very sorry for your loss.” he says “but it’s very good that she passed forward such a good talent.”

“yes, i agree.” you finish up the bouquet, tying it up at the bottom with a pretty lace. talking about your mother always made you feel weird. it happened so sudden that you were never sure on how to really feel and because of that you hated discussing the matter. “but what about you? what do you work with?”

he laughs like it’s a funny subject. “you could say i work with a family business too.” you just hum, not pressing further on the subject and walk to the register, him following right behind you and taking out a wallet from the pocket inside his coat. “how much do i own you?”

“the total is $14.” the payment goes normally but as you hand the flowers to him he just shakes his head, the beginning of a smile on his lips.

“i bought them for you.” the look on your face must be hilarious, you are not even sure what to say, even less on how to react. who in their right mind buys a bouquet for a florist. “as an apology for the way i behaved at the funeral, i thought that i may have come out a bit rude.”

“that was days ago, oh my god.” is this man crazy? that’s the only possible thought that runs through your mind. “you have nothing to be sorry for.”

“still, i needed an excuse to see you again, didn’t i?” your cheeks turn an impossible shade of pink, the bouquet still in your arms probably making you look very silly. “i could also say sorry over dinner if you’d like that.”

he is definitely crazy. who meets someone on a funeral, has something that can barely be considered a conversation and then a month later comes to their workplace to ask them out.  “i’m sorry, what? i don’t even know your name.”

“i’m yuta.” he says, extending his hand for you to take. “it’s nice to meet you, ____”

you shake his hand, and for a moment you wonder how he knows your name if you didn’t even say anything. but then you remember your name tag and feel a little dumb for it. he just smiles at you and takes a little longer than normal to drop your hand. “so, about that date?”

✦

yuta is surprisingly gentle and flirty, nothing like you had imagined and expected. he takes you to a restaurant that’s too fancy and expensive for you, the food coming in small portions and the wine he orders so sweet that before you notice you have had four glasses of it. you would feel out of place if yuta hadn’t made sure that you felt comfortable with the many compliments he showers you with.

after the date he texts you asking when it would be okay to take you on another and you indulge him on not just one but five more dates.

it’s not hard to fall. not when he treats you with such care, not when he sends you  flowers even though you’re surrounded by them everyday. not when he kisses you like he’s trying to say something with the press of his lips to yours.

it’s natural how it happens, you go from dates to late night calls and late nights drives, and hand holding while walking around the street. he nevers asks and you never question it, just let it happen.

it’s so easy to fall that you let yourself, freely. and he catches you.

✦

november comes with the cold weather of autumn. business is slightly more busy due to end of the year celebrations and more often than never you find yourself tired and worn out after a full week. this week only you had to make arrangements for two big events and on top of that make bouquets for regular customers.

yuta’s existence seem to be surrounding you. he doesn’t take you on as many dates as before, claiming that business is busy, but every chance he gets he stays the night at your apartment and leaves so many traces of himself on it that there’s not a time of your day that you don’t think of him. you wonder if it’s healthy to miss someone’s presence so much when you have to sleep alone. without his warmth you think that you weren’t made to endure the coldest weathers without him.

you didn’t get to see him at all this week, your heart aching for his smell when you finally get home on friday after a tiring day of roses and dandelions. to soothe it you decide to have a nice night for yourself, taking a nice bath and ordering food to watch in front of the tv while you drink wine.

you are comfortable on the couch, blanket almost swallowing you, when it happens.

you never watched the news, because of time and disinterest, but what was happening in the country was too huge to not know. another drug war, years since the last one and this time much more violent as the gangs killed each other for territory and money. you watch it all on the tv with anxiety running through your veins and maybe you had been too naive, not paying enough attention because the moment the tv flashes and yuta’s face is on it the last thing that goes through your mind is surprise. it made sense, of course. the scars  and the multiple tattoos he kept hidden. the gun you know he carries on his car but never tells you about.

your mind goes blank for a couple of second. a gang leader. you should’ve known by the way he carried himself that yuta was not a regular man. you feel on the verge a panic attack but it never comes. you should be afraid of him, leave and never look back but there’s not a single molecule of your body that wants to do that. it’s the cliche of cliches. falling in love with the bad guy, the type of man your mother warned you about, the one you should keep your distance from, the one would ruin your life with a snap of his finger. you wonder how many men he has killed in his lifetime. wonder if he would kill for you.

your phone rings and it gets you out of your daze. it’s him, of course it is. this is the first time the news show his face without discretion and it’s obvious to him that you know by now, it’s obvious that you’re going to leave and never talk to him again. he wonders how he managed to keep it as a secret for so long.  “______…” his voice sounds almost sad, regretful “i’m so sorry.”

you grip the phone in your hand, crying without even noticing. “can you come over? please.” it’s too much suddenly, your heart feels like it’s going to rip your chest in half. the thoughts of yuta being dangerous wipe off your mind, being replaced with the ones of him being in danger. images of him being hurt, gun pressed to his forehead flash behind your eyes and you’re weeping like mad on the phone. “please, yuta. i need you to come here, i need to see you.”

when he arrives, 2 hours later, you have a headache from how much you cried. your eyes red and puffy and it breaks his heart to see you like this. he holds you and tells you everything will be okay for what feels like ages and you want to tell him to stop lying, there’s a fresh scar on his face that proves to you there’s no way it will be okay.

“no one is going to hurt you, baby. i promise you.” he says pressing thousands of little kisses across your face. “i will kill every man that dares threaten you.”

when you fall asleep yuta watches  you with grief in his eyes. if he could he would undo it all, go back in time and make sure you never got involved in any of it. it would hurt too much but he knows pain better than anyone else.

✦

nothing and everything changes. yuta is the same as always, sweet and caring boyfriend who comes to your house at midnight with chocolate and cuddles you. in the news the reporters paint him as a man that lives for blood and will kill anyone that dares threaten his empire. in your eyes, he is both.

the violent war portrayed on the television is not half as bad when seen from inside, yoongi’s gang works in quiet ways, sending his men to yuta’s areas to cause havoc. if yuta is worried he doesn’t let it show but he looks more tired these days, his face somewhat harsher and when he fucks you it’s like he’s trying to let something out, trying to regain control where he can. you don’t complain.

it’s saturday night and where you would prefer to stay at home and have a nice night in, yuta is antsy and agitated. it’s the first time, of many that were to come, that you go to the underworld. you had heard about it before, the biggest and most popular club in tokyo where only the richest and most influential people went for drugs, for fun or both. what you never knew was that yuta owned it.

“i own half of tokyo, lover.” is what he tells you when you ask about it, giving you his cocky smile and you swear you couldn’t fall more for this man.

the lights blind you for a second the moment you walk inside of the club, hand in hand with yuta but he seems unfazed by it. there’s a loud beat playing, something electronic with some rap and some people dance to it, bodies mixing and grinding together, while others stay secluded to the private booths, whispering secrets in each others ears. the decoration is nice, all black with some gold details and there’s lights everywhere.

yuta squeezes your hand softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he walks deeper into the club, greeting some people on the way. your black dress flows a little as you walk.

“the royal couple!” taeyong exclaims when he sees the both of you arrive at the highest booth of the club. he was the only of yuta’s men that dared to talk directly to you, being his right hand. yuta had told you taeyong was like a brother to him, the both of them growing up together and becoming attached to the hip. he also said that taeyong was his best snipper, having such a way around a gun that it was like a dance to him.

you watch with a smile on your face as yuta hugs taeyong, whispering something in his ear that makes the other man laugh loudly. he moves to the rest of his men, taeil, johnny and jaehyun all stand in a circle, looking powerful in their suits.

“how do you like the underworld?” taeyong asks, coming closer to you. his hair is almost white blonde now, a high contrast to the red he had the last time he saw you, and he wears an opened shirt that gives you a glimpse to his chest tattoo, the same koi fish yuta has.

“it’s very nice.” you say, playing with the hem of your dress. after all these months you still feel a little out of place in yuta’s reality “i’m not much of a club person but this is not as overwhelming as the other ones i have attended.”

“oh, of course. we keep things classy in here.” he says, a smirk on his face as he turns a bit towards the table in the middle of the booth and grabs a glass of something that has a pretty drink color to it and red seeds on the bottom. “here. you should have something to drink.”

you take the glass from him, raising one eyebrow. “what’s in this?” you ask.

“champagne with pomegranate.” he takes a sip from his own glass “the underworld’s speciality.”

you mimic him, taking a small sip but the flavor is so pleasant that in no time you’re the downing the whole glass.

when yuta comes back to your side you’re slightly tipsy and feeling clingy, keeping him close to your side and touching more than necessary. he looks amused by it all and pleases you by moving to press his lips against yours, in a sweet manner and you are sure he can taste the pomegranate in your lips.

you don’t know if it’s because of the alcohol but you feel on the clouds moving his lips in time with his, his big hands gripping at your waist to keep you as close as possible. it’s like the whole world has dissipated and there’s only the two of you. when you break the kiss he looks at you with adoration in his eyes and you can’t hide the smile that takes your lips. you sway your hips playfully in time with the music that’s playing, dancing with yuta and he laughs at you. “you’re so silly.” he says, pressing one more kiss to your lips, a smile on it.

around 2am, when you’re comfortable in one of the seats on the booth with yuta’s warmth surrounding you and laughter bubbling on your chest, taeyong whispers something in his ear that changes the entire atmosphere. yuta curses lowly under his breath, getting up in one swift movement and storming outside of the booth telling you he’s going to be right back.

you’re a little stubborn so you follow him, right behind taeyong and taeil coming right after. “what are you doing here, kim?” you hear yuta’s voice before you see him, coming face to face with a blonde man that you have never seen before.

“i just came to have a good time, my dear.” the boy says wickedly, a smile on his face and you know already that he’s going to get on yuta’s nerve. “and to finally see the princess you hide so well.”

yuta surges forward so fast that in no time he has the man in his grip, wicked smile still on his face. “what did you fucking say?” his voice is filled with poison.

the man looks straight into your eyes, smirking before he’s facing yuta again. “i said i came to see your pretty little whore.” he says and the moment he finishes the last word yuta’s fist is coming in contact with his face. there’s a number of gasps, and oohs, one coming from your own mouth as you watch yuta punch the blonde multiple times.

your heart beats erratically on your chest, watching as the two men fight. when the man’s hand come in contact with yuta’s faces you let out a cry, body instinctively moving forward before taeyong grabs you. you only relax in his grip when you see the smile on yuta’s bloody lips as he moves forward, punching the other like a mad man. you feel like you’re going a little mad too as you smile at the way yuta is moving, it fills your chest with something that’s very close to excitement. when he falls to the floor, yuta finishes with a last kick to his ribs. “tell min that i’m fucking sick of his acts. if i have to see any of you one more time i’m going to burn everything he owns to the ground.” he says, turning to look at his men and nodding his head to the back door. “take him outside.”

“let’s go, baby.” he says, grabbing your hand and taking you to the back exit of the club, where his car is parked. his mouth still has a bit of blood on it.

when you’re inside of the car he wastes no time in driving away at full speed, music playing loudly. there’s an edge to him that sets on the whole atmosphere, he looks wild and powerful speeding so much that you feel like you’re about to take flight. you don’t tell him to stop, of course not. you bask in the thrill of it, melt against your seat when he moves his hands to grip your exposed thigh, smiling softly your way. he looks untouchable, like there’s nothing in this world that can touch him, and it makes you feel just as powerful.

✦ mornings where you wake up yuta’s body pressed against your are sacred. you always wake up before him, with the small rays of sun invading your room and the warmth of his body making you feel safe.

like this, he looks young and peaceful, hair messy and mouth slightly open as he snores quietly. your heart swoons with adoration and affection. with a hand moving slowly as if to not disturb his sleep, you brush the scar on his cheek with your thumb, feeling the soft skin as his eyelashes flutter from the touch. he’s a light sleeper.

“morning.” he mumbles, eyes barely open yet and you giggle, moving the hand on his cheek to brush his hair out of his face.

“good morning, baby.” you reply and he smiles lazily, arm bringing you impossibly closer to his body.

“i like when you call me that.” he hums when you let your arms fall to his chest, face so close to him that it’s easy when you finally press your lips together in a lazy kiss. it’s nice and comfortable with the warmth of the sun and the birds chirping outside.

yuta is usually desperate when it comes to this. like he has been craving you for his whole life and can never get enough. he fucks you hard, spilling filthy words and bruising you in ways that you don’t mind at all. he likes having control and making you beg while he calls you his over and over again. now, when he kisses you with such gentleness it’s nothing like that.

there’s still clear intentions when his hand move to your thigh, playfully hiking your babydoll until he has his hand on your ass, massaging it softly like he doesn’t want nothing out of it. you whine against the kiss.

he breaks the kiss with a last peck and a kiss to your nose before he has his lips on your neck instead, biting marks and sucking on it. you let him have his fun, feeling the warmth on the bottom of your belly grow. even more when he presses himself so close to you that you can feel his arousal against the satin of your sleepwear. “mhm, yuta...” you say, voice low as you move a hand to his hair, soft against your fingers. “want you to fuck me.”

his lips detach from your neck, now all pink from his bites, and he looks up at you with glossy eyes and swollen lips. a sinful look. “you’re so needy, baby. i fucked you yesterday.” he says, a playful smile on his lips and you see flashes of last night play before your eyes. his hands gripping your hips as he fucked you harshly from behind, the filthiest things spilling out of his mouth. a small moan falls from your mouth as your remember when his hands came around your neck, squeezing it just enough to make you come. “don’t worry, princess. i always give you what you want, don’t i?”

and then he’s kissing you again, deeper this time with his tongue dancing with yours in sensual motions. one of his hands stay on your cheek as the other wanders underneath your babydoll, finding your breasts and massaging one of them until you are whimpering against his mouth. it’s a game he likes to play, getting you worked up that by the time he’s inside of you, you’re already losing your mind. he pinches one of your nipples hard and you’re arching your waist, trying to get a little bit of friction where you want it the most.

“tsk, you’re so desperate, angel.” he says teasingly but still gives you exactly what you want, hand moving down and down until he’s touching you through your thin panties, wetness soaking it. “and you get wet quick like a virgin.”

your cheeks heat up from his words, it’s embarrassing and he knows it, the sound of his laugh almost low enough that you don’t hear it. he removes the panties and then your babydoll, throwing them to the side along with the bed sheets. the look of adoration in his eyes when you’re bare for him like this is imprinted in your mind forever.

the kisses he presses against your belly make you giggle, until he’s face to face to your heat and it turns to a moan that sounds too much like a plea. he listens to it and parts your folds, breath against it making you shiver. a kiss and then he’s eating you out like it’s his favorite thing to do in the world. he gives you kittenish licks before he’s pressing his tongue flat against your entrance and licking it up in a way that makes your whole body arch from the bad, his name falling from your lip.

he doesn’t make you cum like this, only teases enough that when he finally, finally, enters you you’re so wet and ready that his eyes roll to the back of his head from it. the most powerful man in the country but the moment he’s inside of you is like he becomes putty, will do anything you ask him to. “you’re so perfect, baby.” he whispers against your ear, hips moving in a slow pace and your nails drawing crescents on his back. “you feel so good, it’s like you were made for me. only mine.”

you nod, urging him in to move faster but he doesn’t. continues to move with patience, his dick thrusting into you so deep that you see stars each time it brushes against the spot you love so much. when you’re close to come he brings his hand down and he rubs your clit until you’re clenching around him and moaning desperately. it’s blissful when you finally come, whole body shaking and he kisses your noises away.

his thrusts become just a bit faster after, and he whimpers and groans close to your ear. he comes when you tell him to make you his, to come inside of you and he moans so lowly you wish you could have recorded the sound.

afterwards, when you’re both clean in bed, you trace the lines of the tattoos on his chest. like this, when it’s peaceful and you’re safe, yuta feels at home. feels like it would be okay to die if it was in your arms.

✦

the club is filled to the brim with people, the shiny lights illuminating where it should and leaving the places that need to be hidden alone. yuta’s eyes roam around the area, looking for possible threats and things that look out of place. he finds nothing but still feels on edge, being on an area that wasn’t his always did a good job of setting his nerves on edge. he looks at his men, just in time to see taeyong whispering something on jaehyun’s ears and when he nods their way they separate and go to strategical places among the crowds of people, only taeil and yukhei following him now.

his gun feels heavy, like a sign that he’ll have to use it soon but he leaves it be. the reason why he’s here stands in a table far from the people and the lights. min yoongi sits there, in the middle of the booth with his men surrounding him. he looks powerful, yuta will give him that, but it’s only an illusion. he prides himself in knowing min is nothing but a facade, that all his weakness are on yuta’s sleeve to use as he please. he prides himself in knowing that while min has power, yuta is still the owner of everything he touches.

“min.” he says, with a nod of his head towards the blonde as he opens one button of his suit to sit down on the opposite side of the booth. yoongi looks the same he did the last time yuta saw him, blonde hair falling in his eyes in an attempt to cover the nasty scar that adorned his face and the single silver tooth in his mouth that made his smile even more bizarre.

the fucker has the nerve to smile and greet him in an excited voice. “oh, nakamoto! my old friend, how have you been?” he raises his glass of whisky to him, signalling for one of his men to pour him a glass.

he takes it, raising one eyebrow. “let’s cut the bullshit, alright?” yuta says, eyes examining yoongi’s expression. “i’m sure you didn’t get me to come all the way over this hell hole to talk about life.”

the other man laughs, deep and drunkish like yuta said something extremely funny. it pisses him off. “of course not. i invited you over to my hell hole to talk about something much more fun, i’m sure you’ll be much interested in it.”

when yuta was only fifteen his father’s gang got involved in the biggest drug war of the decade. he already knew all about the world but the only part he took in it was getting into fights with min yoongi after school while students gathered around and made bets on who would win. in the end, his father buried the rival gang to the ground, becoming the royalty of japan’s crime scene. in a fun coincidence, yoongi was the rival’s son and swore that someday he would kill yuta with his own hands.

the day never came and his attempts never succeed. yuta’s empire kept growing, yoongi falling right behind with a lust to put a bullet right in the middle of his forehead.

“there’s another war coming, nakamoto.” is what he says after taking a long sip of whiskey. “what will you do about it?”

“when will you learn that your ambition will be the death of you, min?” yuta replies laughing “aren’t you tired of having your man killed? there’s no need for another war, i have given you more than plenty territory to sell.”

yoongi’s hand move to the top of the desk, his fingers beating against it in what indicates anxiety but his smirk is still unfazed. he looks exactly like the sick sadist he is. “perhaps i have the upper hand this time.” he says “a trick on my sleeve that you won’t see coming.”

yuta raises one eyebrow, patience running thin and he decides to down the rest of the liquor and stand up. “my time is precious, min. when you have serious matters to discuss we can talk.”

he thinks he won’t say anything back but in the far distance he hears something that makes his heart rush just a bit more than normal. “people like us can’t love, my dear yuta. everything we touch is bound to death.”

his blood boils and he wants to come back to the table and punch min yoongi until he’s dead. “they’re going to come for her.” taeyong says, stating the obvious. it only pisses yuta more.

“i won’t let them touch a finger on her.” he replies, tapping his fingers in an erratically motion on his leg.

“i know, boss. but still, they will try to.”

“and i won’t let them.” are the final words. the rest of the drive is dead silent.

✦

the thing about power is that when you start losing it, even by just a bit, it feels like everything will go downhill. yuta sits on his table, fingers tapping at the dark wood. the sky outside is an ugly shade of grey, the clouds warning of the chaos that is coming. he feels tired, hasn’t slept well in weeks because all he sees when he closes his eyes is sicheng bleeding on the floor, like his life was worth nothing more than a few bags of cocaine.

wars like this, they happen in mysterious ways. it’s almost quiet. man are never satisfied with power until they have all of it, yuta had been there before. he would kill any man that came in front of what he wanted. but now, that he had it all ambition came chasing him and it wanted his blood.

“tell me what happened.” it’s the first word he says after minutes of dead silence. taeyong, who’s sitting in the seat in front of him looks at jaehyun on the other side of the room and then he starts talking.

there had been an attempt to rob one of yuta’s warehouses, the one he kept most of his stock. an attempt that costed him 30 bags and the life of one his youngest and most loyal man. min had sent around 10 of his own to attack the warehouse and the moment they arrived it was blood everywhere, sicheng not standing a chance. what gets to yuta the most, what makes his blood boil and the wish to put a bullet through yoongi’s forehead is that it wasn’t about drugs anymore, it was about proving something.

the rain starts, calm of first, and then it’s on full rage. the sky painted black in a melancholic way. “did you get any of his men?” yuta asks and this time taeil comes forward, hands behind his back.

“no, boss. but we got the informer.” he says and yuta can feel his eye twitch. the informer. one of his own men betraying him behind his back. it’s one of the things that make his power waver, if he can’t trust his own the who is he going to trust? how is he to know that taeyong won’t point a gun to his head the first change he gets.

“who is it?” he sounds almost bored, wants to think that he’s unbothered by this. he starts loading his gun then, moving with calmness and precision.

“it’s kim woojin, sir.” there’s grief in taeil’s voice.

yuta clocks the gun and stands up. there’s a look on his face that screams tiredness, exhaustion. “take me to him.”

kim woojin was a scrawny little kid when yuta found him selling cheap weed on the back of a public high school. with no family and real friends he had given yuta attitude when he asked what he was doing. in the end he accepted to come with him and trained until he became one of yuta’s best seller. he had the charisma and the talk that had people coming back for more.

when yuta enters the small room he sees the boy he knew for 10 years with a swollen eye and blood dripping from his lips, hands tied up behind the chair. he feels no remorse.

the door slams shut, taeyong and jaehyun coming behind him. the noise makes woojin look up, movements slow from the pain. there’s a mixture of feelings that go through his eyes when he sees yuta. regret, sorrow. but the one that stands the most is fear. it makes yuta smile, that’s what he wants, to be feared. wants people to be terrified of him.

he starts rolling his sleeves up, taking his time. “i-i’m so sorry, boss.” woojin’s voice is pitiful and it pisses him off.

“man, shut the fuck up.” he takes the gun in his hand, aiming it playfully at the man’s head like he would just shoot without getting anything in return. “didn’t feel sorry about sicheng’s dead body, did you?”

woojin whimpers as yuta hits his head with the gun before pressing it tightly to his brow bone. “i didn’t know they would kill him.” he cries out.

“awn, you didn’t?” yuta mocks his voice, pressing the gun even harder. there’s blood still dripping from the man’s mouth. “if you’re so sorry then tell me... where is fucking min yoongi hiding, huh?”

yoongi had been hiding for three weeks now, letting his man do the dirty work as he stayed low and not risking the chance of getting killed. “i-i don’t know.”

the punch that hits woojin’s face is loud, blood splattering across the floor from it. the next one hits even harder and yuta feels his whole body pump with adrenaline  and anger. he thinks of sicheng as he grabs the man by the hair, grip tight and gun coming to press at his forehead. “would you rather i use other methods to get you talking?” he asks, poison dripping in his voice “i’m sure you’re very familiar with our torture tools.”

woojin ends up talking. something about an old warehouse and a meeting where they would be getting guns from abroad. he assures them that not many men would be there but that min definitely would. after he finishes talking the pleas for forgiveness start again and yuta patience wears thin. he shoots and watches the body fall limp.

✦

winter always made you sad. you remember years where you would stay in your house for days and feel miserable whole the snow fell outside. there were not many flowers around this time of the year.

this year is not as bad. yuta comes visit as much as he can, with tired eyes and cold hands. tonight he holds you close, warming you up as you lazily draw hearts on his chest. none of you say anything but the silence is comfortable, you enjoy listening to his breathing. moving up so you’re facing him you see that the scar he got from the last fight is fading, the cut in his eyebrow not as visible anymore. you touch it with a finger, rubbing softly and it makes him smile. there’s not many feelings that compare to this, having yuta close to you, safe. your heart feels full on your chest with the amount of love you feel for him, flowers blooming in your stomach.

you love his smile, how he has a special one just for you. you love the tattoos that paint his whole body, love how he lets you touch them for hours, getting to know each one. but what you love the most is that yuta is one of the most powerful man you know, could kill someone in a heartbeat, but when he leans down to press his lips to yours it’s gentle, like you’re a delicate thing that needs to be taken care of.

you kiss for hours but he never tries to deepen it like he usually would. it’s like he wants to enjoy the moment, memorize how you feel against him. “baby...” he says when he breaks it, hand moving to your cheeks. you hum, basking on his attention. “you know i will do anything to keep you safe, right?” he uses the word will like it’s something he’ll really have to do.

you nod your head and his eyes look almost pitiful. “i need you to stay with me at a safe house for a couple of days.” after a lot of thinking he thought that would be the best way to keep you safe. yoongi had realized that his drugs and his territory meant nothing to him anymore. his only real weakness was you.

at night when he closes his eyes he sees sicheng’s body in a mess of his own blood, sees taeyong getting shot and falling to the floor. in his dreams he sees you, smiling at him in the way he loves so much, and then there’s a gun to your head. your body falling to the ground, your house burning down. he weeps.

the look on your face is unreadable. “for how long?” you ask.

“two weeks maybe.” your eyebrow furrow. “until this whole mess is over.”

“i-i... are you asking me to leave my flowers?” it’s silly but it’s how you feel. you don’t want to be away from the only thing that has made you happy before he came along.

“there’s no other optio-“ he starts saying but you interrupt him, moving away from his embrace.

“if i say no then you’ll just kidnap me and hide me in the middle of nowhere?” you’re not being rational, acting almost childish like your life is not the thing at stake here.

“yes, i said i will do anything to keep you safe.” is his reply “but i would rather that you came willingly.”

✦

the safehouse is somewhere far from tokyo, and old thing that seems like it hasn’t had a soul step foot there for ages. you feel out of place and claustrophobic inside.  “just for a couple days.” yuta assures you as soon as you step out of the car, four of his closest men with you.

taeyong is the one that gets closer to you, accompanying you for breakfast and during your daily sun baths. you wonder if he’s doing this under orders or out of pity. either way, you enjoy the company.

“how did you get into this whole thing?” you ask one day when you’re both sitting on the porch outside.

he seems unbothered by the subject, picking on his nails as the sun illuminates his face. he looks young without the usual suit and harsh expressions, they all do. “like yuta, i didn’t have much of a choice. it’s a family business.”

“didn’t you ever want to get out of it?” he looks at you and gives a tired smile. you have asked the same questions to yuta before and you don’t expect taeyong’s answers to be far from them.

“it’s a hard thing to get away from. death chases you and money is too addicting.” he says “but sometimes when i look at people being able to walk around not fearing for their lives i get jealous.”

you nod, feeling bad for him. “maybe one day you will.”

“some scars are too deep to heal, ____. and some things are too hard to escape.”

the days pass in a blur of empty walls and no color. you read, play cards with taeyong and get acquainted with the three rottweilers that guard the place. yuta had warned you about them when you arrived but they were puppies whenever you came around, tails wagging and bellies in the air.

some nights yuta only comes back when you’re already fast asleep, or pretending to be. too upset to even face him properly, the man that’s doing everything for your life. other nights he tries to kiss your sadness away. he brings you a bouquet of violets one day, making you feel warm inside. noticing your smile because of it he keeps bringing them until the entire place is filled with petals. an image of his loyalty and devotion to you.

you think of what taeyong said all the time. try to imagine your life with yuta in a few years from now and all you can picture is yourself living in fear of losing the person you love. maybe it would be better if you walked away, left to live a normal life but there’s no way you could that. you’re into it too, the scar is already too deep. way beyond retaliation.

it ends two weeks and five days after your arrival. taeyong has put a bullet on yoongi’s chest and taeil wakes you up at four am to tell you can leave at any time you wish. you get up immediately, gather your things and tell goodbye to the dogs.

when you see tokyo’s lights is like a weight has left your shoulders.

when you ask about yuta the man tells you it’s better if you wait until the next day to see him but you have none of it, acting like a crazy woman until the only thing he can do is give in and take you to him.

there’s not a lot of things you expected to see him but him all beaten up and doped from anesthesia is one of them. you let out a choked cry and taeyong turns to see your body entering the room with pity in his eyes. “what is she doing here?” his question is directed to taeil who just shrugs.

“she was going to murder me if i didn’t bring her to him.” he says and it’s true.

“what happened?” you question, moving closer to him, hand moving to his swollen cheek as you take a closer look to the wound right on the head of his tattooed koi fish. how terrible it is to love something that death can touch, you think to yourself.

“things got a little out of control and he got shot.” is jaehyun’s simple reply. he won’t give you any details, there’s no reason for that.

hours and hours passes before he finally wakes up. groggy and with a silly smile on his face when he sees your tired figure sitting on a chair beside his bed. “did i die and an angel came to pick me up?” he whispers to you.

“shut up, nakamoto.” is your angry reply. he knows you’re not really angry, just worried about him. “if you had died you would go straight to hell for breaking my heart.”

he has the nerve to pout, hand weakly moving to your cheek in a sweet motion. “i would never do that, my love.”

you want to cry when he asks for you to kiss him. want to cry when he says he thought of you when he fell to the ground.  “my own personal heaven.” he says against your lips as your tears fall freely “i would love you even if i was buried in the deepest parts of hell.”

[red-moskito]

24. April. 2020

Málaga, Spain

For many of us, the last time it felt like the whole world was having the same conversation was on September 11th, 2001. For me, it was also the day I left London for Faedis, Italy. A few people around me on the train were murmuring about some kind an attack. When I got the airport, it was so quiet. People stood frozen in front of televisions watching two plumes of black smoke rise into a blue sky.

I’d met Marco while he was in London for a couple days to sell some wine. We both quoted Biggie Smalls and the Big Lebowski. He was just getting the family vineyard going as a proper business. I had no plans beyond the next weekend. I said I liked the idea of working on a vineyard. He said, cool. 

The house was a kitchen and a bedroom above the cantina. Almost everything inside was older than me. The roof in the bedroom sloped down to the floor. We opened a few bottles and ate dinner. 

While insects buzzed and chirped outside the windows, we watched our world reorganize itself towards endless war on television. It was cold that night. We slept under scratchy blankets on little beds made during times of less abundance. 

I stayed until the end of October. We often ate lunch in Orsaria with his parents, Paolo and Miriam. I liked them. They acted as if Marco had just found a younger brother they had somehow misplaced. I also liked their house. It was big, beautiful and warm. They had comfortable sofas and a computer for sending sentimental emails and downloading mp3s. 

I did my best to match their enthusiasm for every course. E buona la pasta, Tito? Si, si... buonissimo! Marco, perché non mangia di più? When I got sick, they had a doctor come to the house. He brought a stethoscope in a leather bag. Nonna introduced me to grappa as medicine. The first glass felt like hot wax going down my throat.  

I annoyed Marco with my plans to marry his sister Barbara, even though she thought I was a sfigato. We drove down gravel roads to parties in little bars where his friends played reggae like some of mine did back home.

No matter how late we stayed out, or how many bottles we left empty on the table, Marco was up with the sun and ready to work. He’d drink flat Coca-Cola before his coffee. Some fuel to get the engine started, man. Good for the stomach. 

Winemaking is agriculture, science, art, design, engineering, sales, marketing, gambling, guessing…. When there aren’t vines to trim, there are tanks to check, fertilizers to buy, grapes to take to the laboratory, grass to cut, cases to deliver, bottles to label, fill, cork... People we’d meet throughout the day said, buon lavoro as goodbye. 

Whenever something could go wrong, it often did. Marco’s momentary frustration would quickly just become something else to laugh about. Stay calm. Piano, piano. We have to be the Tom Cruise of the situation, man. 

Sometimes he would sketch out the plans for our day on scrap paper. Little cartoons of machines, grapes, tanks and tubes with arrows between them. Numbers and notes floating around the edges. He never drew us. We were always moving anyway. 

During the vendemmia a crowd arrived to help. Friends, traveling workers and his family, of course. Nonno laughed and shook his head at me and my allergies. I never really got the hang of the tractor, but I loved cutting the grapes free. We stacked crates and tipped them into presses. They all knew far more about my country than I did about theirs. We debated the merits of Sublime, compared Berlusconi to Bush and retold our favorite Simpsons episodes. Every day we all ate lunch together on the patio beneath a sunshade of interwoven vines. 

The wine we made went to tables all around Friuli-Venezia-Giulia and parts of Europe. I brought a few bottles with me when I left for Torino. Some went to rest on shelves in the cantina.   

The last time I was in Faedis was in August 2016. Marco still sings while he’s walking between the rows of vines. 'Biggie Biggie Biggie can’t you see…’ I mean come on. man. He was really the best. You know it. The best... ‘It was all a dream. I used to read Word-Up Magazine…’ 

The TV in the kitchen is gone. There’s a wood stove there now. They watch movies projected on the wall of the room we used to sleep in. A futon for guests has replaced the little beds. Marco had remodeled the house to make room for another proper bedroom. 

He dug out some grimy bottles of our wine. It was six years younger than I was when we made it. I didn’t get to see Barbara. Paulo and Miriam’s house is now a bed and breakfast. Go there if you’re ever near Orsaria. It’s even more beautiful now. 

Friuili is 300 km from Lombardia. In February, Marco and I started talking and texting about the virus. I’d already started veering away from people on the sidewalk. There was a movie I wanted to see in the cinema, but I didn’t go. I avoided the port full of cruise ship passengers. But I still went out. 

On March 6, I’d had an internal debate about going to the botanical gardens on my day off. It’s outdoors. It’s low season. It’ll be empty. It’s windy and warm. And anyway, Málaga isn’t Bergamo. I rode my bike there, and while I was locking it, I reconsidered again. I saw a couple walking down from the mountains across the road. Should I just hike up this trail instead? Instead I went inside. I’d only been in summer before. I wanted to see what it looked like at the beginning of spring. 

While I was having my coffee, a woman sat at the other end of the picnic table. When she started blowing her nose, I told myself it would be silly and rude to get up. Then she started coughing. I looked at the unwrapped sandwich I had brought from home. My open water thermos. Mentally measuring metres and wind speed. Still feeling like I was being ridiculous. Her daughter brought the drinks and sat down. Ecco la tua mamma... I picked up my things and moved to another table.

I spent the next half hour telling myself I was being paranoid while trying to focus on the plants in the sunshine. Doing impossible math in my head. There are 60 million Italians.... they could have been traveling for weeks... maybe they live here... anyone could have it... there are so many old people here... I heard that man couch under is hat... it could have been on the coffee cup anyway… the bartender washes them in the sink... how hot is that water?

I walked to the end of the gardens where a gazebo was built for the view of the cathedral and the sea. I watched turtles swimming around the little pond. Marco texted me. Stay at home. I called him to tell him about the Italian women and my paranoia. They walked by while I was on the phone, and I moved upwind. Still feeling ridiculous. 

He was calm as always. The main problem is there aren’t enough beds for the, how do you say... the reanimation. The people they are just fucking dying in the corridors. They don’t know for sure who is the patient zero, but the patient one or two. He’s a 38 years old guy. He’s been on the fucking respirator for weeks. In Cividale there are three cases. It’s crazy, man. What we have to do is just fucking close everything like they did in China. But that will never happen you know man, because this is Europe. 

Two days later the Italian government locked down Lombardia and fourteen other provinces. The following day they extended to it include the entire country. Within a week, most of Europe followed suit.

Seven weeks later the Italian government agrees with many of you about the essential nature of wine. So Marco is still working. Since the lockdown started, he’s been in the hospital twice. He was in a car accident in March, and then something more serious happened in April. 

He sent me a selfie from the hospital bed. I called him and he answered laughing. His wife had thought he was faking a stroke to play a trick on her. Fucking unbelievable, man. I tried to drink the juice. You know in the morning, the orange juice, and I put it all over my t-shirt. I couldn’t put it to my mouth. I couldn’t say nothing. I was like blah, blah, blah. My brain was no good. Anyway, how are you, are you good?  

The hospitals in Udine aren’t overwhelmed, but he was only allowed one visitor per day. He asked his mother to bring his laptop, so he could get some work done. Everybody say rest. Rest, rest, rest. Okay, I’m in the bed. 

When he was discharged he sent me a photo with his wife and baby walking between the vines. Their daughter, Emilia, has unruly red hair. In every photo she looks overjoyed and a little surprised to have found herself inside her new body. Are you ok? Super ok, man. Super ok. They were all smiles. Glowing in the green grass. Paola looks far too smart to have fallen for either of us back when we would try to out-charm each other every time a woman arrived at the vineyard. 

Marco’s still getting up with the sun. But fewer and fewer Italians have money for wine. He’s not loading pallets with boxes bound for dinner parties in Oslo or Chicago. No American tourists will be giggling at his accent this summer. The local restaurants are dark and full of stale air. 

For almost twenty years, whenever I’ve called Marco to talk about moving or just getting away, he reminds me of my house in Faedis. 

Next to the front door there are photographs of family and friends working together since long before the days of color. Behind the house, up on top of the hill, there is a little shack with the year 1867 written above the door. It will still be there once our world has reorganized itself yet again. 

So will we. 

https://www.cecchinimarco.com/

http://www.dorsariabedandbreakfast.it/index.php/it/

[ask-alaska-and-hawaii]

TV Tropes: Alaska

Acting Your Intellectual Age: He has the looks of a first-grader but the mind of a seasoned mountaineer and has no interest in connecting with children that look his age. However, this could just be because he has no interest in connecting with anyone outside his ‘pack’ after what happened last time.

Adorkable: Has his moments, such as when he’s gushing about dogs. He really loves dogs.

The Alcoholic: Being Alaska, Alaska has a love for the sauce, especially salmon vodka. This usually leads him to pass out by the end. 

Animal Motif: Dogs and wolves obviously. Specifically Alaskan Malamutes and Siberian Huskies for the former and Arctic Wolves for the latter.

Badass Bookworm: Loves to read but is a natural survivalist and gunslinger.

Berserk Button: For your safety, do not mention Russia or Texas within ten feet of him. Also, don’t call him small.

Big Brother Instinct: To Hawaii and by extension the other states if they are threatened as he does genuinely care about all of them even if they do think he’s rather odd.

Big Brother Mentor: Also to Hawaii by sharing his experiences to teach her that the world isn’t all sunshine and rainbows. She, however, hasn’t taken on his nihilism and still believes in the best in people.

Big Eater: Given that he smokes marijuana, is a state, and is stress eater this is no big shocker.

Blue-and-Orange Morality: Being raised by wolves, Alaska has a mindset closer to animals than humans. For one Alaska, cares nothing for morality besides protecting his ‘pack’ (America and the other states) and judges things like disloyalty and irresponsibility far more harshly than someone being outright malicious. He also thinks that politicians need to start fighting to the death for their position. Literally. (This also could just be because he just hates politicians since they often lie to gain people’s favor)

Broken Bird: After so many years of tragedy and isolation, Alaska is understandably rather cynical.

Break the Cutie: See ‘Dark and Troubled Past’.

Brooding Boy, Gentle Girl: A platonic version but he is the brooding boy to Hawaii’s gentle girl. 

Brutal Honesty: Everyone agrees that Alaska is probably the most honest of the states, however, his honesty is usually extremely impolite to which he just says ‘I say the truth, it’s their fault if they can’t accept’.

Byronic Hero: Alaska is snarky, stoic, stubborn, excessively cynical but is passionate about his beliefs and has a soft spot for the environment and its creatures.

Celibate Hero: While not asexual, he has little interest in ever having sex and it’s not just because he looks six.

Color Motif: White and gray.

Comically Serious: He does not understand jokes so he will often take these at face value.  

Crazy-Prepared: Winter’s in his state are intense, so he leaves nothing to chance. 

Dark and Troubled Past: Imagine being locked into the form of a baby, abandoned by the people who were supposed to love and protect you, find a new family in wolves only for them to be killed leaving you to survive on your own while looking a like a toddler. When you finally found someone they also die leaving you to want to curl up and die and then be adopted again but seen as odd by your adopted siblings. Yeah, Alaska having depression and anxiety makes a lot of sense.

Deadpan Snarker: Usually this, especially when at states meeting or when he’s answering asks.

Defrosting Ice Queen: Alaska is not an easy person to get along with and can be extremely rude and sarcastic especially to ask blogs that star Texas, however, it is possible for him to warm up to some people outside his family like Dave (@alaska-ask-blog-aph) or at the very least learns the ability to bite his tongue.

Emotionless Boy: Most of the time, he is extremely stoic due to the fact that when he does express emotion, he can come off as rather intense.

Everyone Has Standards: He has a strange morality, however he is openly disgusted by ‘people’ who would rip away children’s innocence.

Foil: To Hawaii. They are both disconnected states and the child of a Native mother and Caucasian parent with trauma happening to them at very young ages which caused them to act the way they do, with Alaska being very stern and no-nonsense while Hawaii is energetic and enjoys making people smile.

Friendless Background: Because of his inability to relate to children his physical age and his autism causing him panic attacks whenever he is in close proximity to others, he has very few friends other than Hawaii. 

Friend to All Children: Zigzagged. He doesn’t connect with older children very well but he does have a soft spot for toddlers and babies and even makes an attempt to be openly kind to them. He also considers the worst people the ones who would purposefully steal their innocence and wouldn’t hesitate to pull his gun on such people.

Friend to All Living Things: Hey, I said humans, I never said anything about animals but yes he does love animals particularly dogs, wolves, and eagles.

Good is Not Nice: Not nice is an understatement. He has a strange moral code, is rather rude to new people, and mainly keeps to himself but if someone dares and tries to hurt his little sister or anyone in his family, they better start running.

Guilt Complex: Blames himself for what happened to his crush.

Hates Being Touched: The only one who he will willingly let touch him, much less hug him, is Hawaii. Other than not, hands-off.

Hates Their Parent: Openly refers to Russia as ‘a sperm donor’. And that’s when he’s being nice.

The Hermit: Lives like this whenever he’s at home in his state.  

Hidden Depths: 

Instead of hockey as one would think, he enjoys figure skating and is actually pretty good.

Not shown on the blog, yet but he actually enjoys the company of toddlers like Nunavut as they are far less complicated than people who are older.

He also enjoys writing and even creates stories in his free time. He also uses it along with his personal journal as a form of therapy for himself.

Huge Guy, Tiny Girl: Brother/Sister version. Alaska is the huge guy to Hawaii’s tiny girl, especially once they’re older where he’ll be at 5′11 to 6′0 to Hawaii’s 5′3. Justified as Alaska is one-fifth the size of the lower 48 and is larger than Montana, California, Texas COMBINED.

Human Mom, Non-Human Dad: While his biological father is Russia, his mother was a normal Yup'ik woman named Uki.  

Hypocrite: Alaska calls Russia a ‘cruel, crazy manchild’  when he openly calls for the deaths of anyone who betrays their country. He also wants Hawaii to seek help when he resists any for him.

Hypocrite has a Point: To be fair, being lenient with traitors is a recipe for disaster for this country.

Ice Queen: He’s a rather cold and rude person but still a nice guy underneath.

Jerk with a Heart of Gold: Cynical, rude, stubborn are all words that would accurately describe him but also family-orientated, protective, and generous when he needs to be.

Knight in Sour Armor: He does see the world as a cold and dark and is a self-proclaimed misanthrope but still does his best to protect his family and people.

Meaningful Name: Alaska’s name Inuit name, ‘Nukilik’, means ‘strong’ and given everything, he’s gone through and still living to see today, no one can say he isn’t strong. As for his European name of ‘Peter’ meaning ‘stone’ and he is stone-faced and it’s also a nice reference to Peter the Great of Russia.

Mixed Ancestry: He’s half-Slavic, half-Inuit. 

Nature Lover: Growing up most of his life in the forests of Alaska, it makes sense the woods are where he’s most comfortable especially among the animals there. He is also disgusted by hunters who hunt merely for the game and not because they need it.

Not Good with People: Type 2. My beloved grumpy boy is unsurprisingly not good with people as he can’t understand their feelings or why he offended him. However, he is good at reading the feelings of animals and emphasizes more with them.

No Social Skills: Justified due to both his upbringing. He also is very indifferent to having them at the end of the day.

Older Than They Look: Being a state this a given. However where he differs, since he was born in 1800, he’s actually older than most states but since he was basically deserted by Russia he was never given the ability to grow.

Only Sane Man: Certainly sees himself as this among the other states as he feels that they play bloated, bureaucratic politics far too much instead of working together to help their father.

The Pessimist: Alaska physically can’t bring himself to hope in the best in people since all he’s seen was the worst in people since he was young when everyone he loved just ditched him or died. 

Raised by Wolves: Played completely straight. After his mother’s tribe abandoned him in the woods an Alpha She-Wolf who had just lost her pups adopted Alaska.

Socially Awkward Hero: Alaska can scale mountains, survive massive earthquakes, and survive on his own for years. However, the ability to interact with humans or even other anthropics is the hard part.

Strong Family Resemblance: Besides his dark skin, black hair, and eye shape, Alaska is basically a younger version of Russia. This has gotten him into quite a bit of trouble like when he was accused of being a communist during the McCarthy era due to his Russian heritage and Belarus has tried to kidnap him on more than one occasion.

Sugar-and-Ice Personality: In spite of cold, loner nature and dislike for society in general, Alaska at his core is a genuinely familial, protective person who just wants to take care of those he cares about. This is best showcased in his relationship with Hawaii, who might be the only person he openly gives affection to and he did go as Elsa twice just to make her happy even if it was embarrassing for him.

Trauma Conga Line: Abandoned, seen as a threat, had his pack murdered, only person he ended up caring about dying, and nearly froze to almost-death. All when he looked 2. Someone get this boy a therapists.

Used to Be a Sweet Kid: When he was young, Alaska was a sweet and gentle boy, even while living with his wolf pack. However, due to the many tragedies in his life, he has become extremely bitter and cynical towards the world.

When She Smiles: Has given a few in some comics and chats. He even admits that the main reason he loves Hawaii (as a sister) is that she is one of the few people who can make him give a genuine smile.

[cassie-and-ren]

Christmas Bias Day 7 Bang Chan (Stray Kids)

Recommended song: literately still Treasure by Ateez i’m like still on them i need help

                                  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    Being out in the cold wasn’t the biggest issue here, but what happened to be was the immense amount of time Chan had been spending on shopping. You and Chan had been out hoping to find gifts for all the members of Stray Kids, but Chan couldn’t find what he wanted to Changbin and Jeongin, you had told him you would go out with him again tomorrow as all you wanted to do now as go home and rest your now sore body. No, instead you stood outside of the shop Chan had been inside of for hours now having nothing else to do but freeze. You sighed and brought your hands up to your face blowing warm air.

“He cannot be taking this long.” You wanted to go in the store and find him, but it was huge and finding him would prove to be a bigger hassle then just waiting outside. It was times like this that you hated. You took out your phone checking the time, you saw it was turning eight now, you sighed and decided to call Chan. It rang twice before he picked up sounding as if he wasn’t really paying much attention.

“What could you possibly be doing in there?” He chuckled.

“I’m almost done I promise. Good news though: I found it!” You sighed caring less about what he found.

“Well hurry it up, I’m freezing out here!”

“Okay, be out in a second.” You huffed ending the call before you returned to waiting.

                                                ~~~~~~~~~~~~

    It had been ten minutes later and finally Chan came out finding you shaking a bit, he smiled walking over to you.

“Sorry for making you wait.”

“You will be, why’d you take so long?”

“I didn’t think I was gonna find it, but someone helped me.” You sighed walking with Chan.

“What even is it?” He chuckled.

“I can’t tell you.” You really weren't in the mood for this.

“Well, whatever, it’s done and now all that’s left is for me to wrap my gifts.”

“Do you need any help?” You shook your head.

“No, I don’t have any work this week and next week so I’ll be free for a little while to get all this done.” Chan nodded as he faced forward walking with you. You two didn’t say much but only halfway into your walk did Chan notice that you were shaking.

“Uh, are you cold?” You shot him a glare.

“No, I just saw a ghost and got chills.”

“Hey don’t get mad at me, you should have came with me!”

“Please Chan I just want to go home and warm up.” Chan pouted now as he kept walking, but a few seconds later you felt something on your neck.

“Here, wear it.” You found Chan’s scarf on your shoulders, he moved it around your face and you felt the heat he once had on you.

“Why are you giving me this?” He shrugged.

“To say sorry?” You sighed pulling the scarf over your nose.

“... You smell like those guys who wear way too much cologne.” He chuckled.

“I only put on a little today.” He corrected, you laughed with him, when you guys stopped you spoke once more.

“Sorry about getting mad at you.”

“It’s fine, I’d be mad too if I was left outside to freeze.” You chuckled.

“I wasn’t even really cold until my phone died.” Chan chuckled, “How’d you call me then?” “It died right after, I kept checking the time.” Chan nodded to you almost nearly apologizing to you. “Actually there was something I needed to check, can I see yours real quick?” Chan nodded without question handing it to you, you took it and typed away, Chan didn’t worry and kept walking with you and after a little bit he heard you giggle to yourself.

“What did you need to check?” You moved and stuff it into his pocket before he could take it back.

“A vlive what else?” He chuckled.

“Whos?”

“I won’t tell you, you’ll just make fun of me for liking them.” After you said that you giggled like a lovestruck high schooler.

“I don’t have to know, I can make fun of you now!” You nudged him as you walked blocking out his voice with you own. You both went like this until you have to split off, in returning his scarf, you guys spoke.

“You better not let any of them see the gifts.” Chan nods to you.

“Don’t tell them either.” He told you.

“You don’t have to worry about me.” You and Chan chuckled to one another before saying your byes and leaving on your own.

    Chan got back to the dorm and shook off the cold into the warmth of the room.

“Oh, is someone cooking?” He asked excitedly removing his jacket only to walk into the kitchen where Woojin and Jisung were. Jisung turned to him and smiled.

“Yeah, I lost so I have to help cook.” Chan laughed.

“By the way did you go into the store?” Woojin asked.

“No, why?”

“We ran out of seasonings, I tried to call you but you didn’t pick up.” Chan made a face.

“I didn’t get a call.” He reached for his phone only to realize that he wasn’t holding his phone.

“That’s (Y/N)’s phone.” Jisung said cleaning his hands.“Why do you have it?”

“I don’t know… where’s my phone?” Chan asked searching his person, eventually Jisung had started laughing at him.

“How did you lose your own phone but get someone else's?” Chan sighed and didn’t respond to him.

“I’ll just call her.” Woojin said.

“Yeah, thanks.” Chan walked off a bit letting Jisung leave the room as the food cooked. Chan sighed but looked to your phone when he felt a vibration. It was unlocked. Chan looked to Woojin as he was still trying to get a hold of you, he slipped off into the main room and realize that you didn’t have a lock on it. Which was weird because he always saw you unlocking it whenever you were together. He didn’t think too much on it and thought about looking through it. Mentally he shook his head saying how rude it was to do something like that. On the other hand you possibly may have had something you wanted somewhere. He had been looking for a present for you while he was in the store and had to lie when you asked about it, he was hoping to get you something you really wanted since this was your first Christmas together. He sighed saying that, he made it out as if you guys were together, but you weren't he wasn’t even sure you saw him more than a friend or possibly even a brother. While he was thinking about that he hadn't noticed the feet in front of him, he looked up backing up from the person a bit. Felix chuckled to him.

“Why do you have (Y/N)’s phone?” Chan shrugged.

“I don’t even know,” Felix made a face,

“Were you looking through it?” Raising his eyebrows Chan sighed.

“No, I wasn’t…”

“Oooo, that pause. You were thinking about it!” Chan sat down on the couch. Felix hung over him as if he had nothing else better to do. “You should at least change your name inside of it, maybe to something cute~”

“I’m not doing that.” Chan asserted.

“Just tell her it’s a joke afterwards she won’t think anything else of it.”

“I’m serious Felix, it’ll be weird and I don’t want that.”

“What will be weird? Your dream of a domestic life, with wedding rings, a big house and lots of kids-”

“Felix!” He laughed.

“What? It’s cute, (Y/N) thinks so too.” Felix left with that, Chan jumped up stopping him from leaving.

“You told?” Felix shook his head.

“No, we were talking and marriage came up. (Y/N) already is thinking about who and how they want to get married.”

“There’s a person?” Felix shook his head.

“No, (Y/N) wouldn’t tell me that.” Chan sighed, Felix chuckled to him. “What’s so bad about just saying it? It’s not like your friendship will be ruined or something.”

“I don’t know that Felix.” Chan sat back down sighing to himself.

“Well, I know you don’t have to worry for about five years. (Y/N) said that’s about the time they’ll wait for someone.” Chan smiled a bit at Felix’s attempts at making him feel better.

“(Y/N) said to just return it in the morning.” Chan nodded to Woojin as he went back into the kitchen. Chan waited for a second, he was alone now and seeing that your phone was still on he gave into his temptation and decided he’s just see what you had been searching up. He wouldn’t look anywhere else and once he found something that seemed too personal he’d stop. Chan told himself that but he still felt bad going through your phone.

                                           ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    It had been nearly four days since that day, Chan had managed to find something that night you had been looking at and it was easy enough to find. So he was ready to give it to you while everyone else was opening their presents, you met outside the dorm building.

“Hey Channie!” You said to him barely even able to see with all the boxes in your hands.

“Here, give me some.” Chan took a few off the top, “No, that’s what you got for Jeongin right?” You made a sound adjusting it in your arms.

“Yeah, I managed to get all of it inside!” He chuckled to your love of the maknae, you had done the same for all of the maknae line but the biggest one was for Jeongin. Chan set the lighter boxes down before taking the largest ones into his arms.

“Hey, I can carry it.” You said.

“No, just let me.” Chan said looking back to you, you gave in pretty easily and just took the lighter ones as you opened doors for Chan. Once you guys got into Stray Kids’ dorm you happily yelled out:

“Merry Christmas!” In a loud voice everyone responded with various noises of their own as they all ran into the main room seeing you and Chan. You watched as all their eyes went wide at the gifts Chan placed down,

“Woah, who are those for?” Chan let out a breath.

“These? They’re for you all!” At that they all went over looking for their name,

“We decided to split the gifts for you all so if you don’t like your gift you gotta find the right person to complain to.” Even as you said that no one was saying anything, all you could hear was the loud noise of wrapping paper being torn off and boxes being opened. Sooner or later everyone was screaming of jumping with joy at their gift. You and Chan laughed at them but was soon brought into all the noise as everyone thanked you two for the gifts.

    After everyone had relished in their gifts (and maybe even cried a little) you all were sitting on the floor talking about various things. It was until Chan stopped everyone.

“Everyone?” They all looked to him, “There is one last gift I had.” Chan turned to you and reached from behind the table getting it out and handing it to you. “It’s just a little thanks for helping me out with all this.” You took the box and smiled to Chan. Everyone else was cringing out behind you all, causing you to laugh, once they calmed down they gathered around you.

“Well open it!” Minho said behind you, as you opened the gift.

“I know it’s not like super expensive but I remembered you said your mom made you a scarf and you lost it a while ago. You said you weren't going to but another one because of that, so I figured why not give you something from me instead, so you won’t be so cold.” You looked to Chan, he wasn’t expecting you to cry or something like that but he was at least expecting you to thank him in some over the top manner. Instead you just spoke back to him.

“I didn’t tell you who had made it for me, just that I had lost it.” At that Hyunjin, Felix, Changbin and Minho all fell over in a screaming laughter.

“Uh,” Chan had no words, you went on. “But, it’s not like I wasn’t expecting that.” You got up, “I know you looked through my phone.” Chan was about to defend himself. “But it’s fine, I’m just glad you fell for my plan.” Everyone else did as well, Chan was helped up as someone covered his eyes leading him.

“What’s going on?” As Chan asked that he could see again and in front of him was a table full of food all steaming and ready to eat. You moved in front of Chan and handed him a small box.

“This is for you.” Chan was still a bit confused but he wasted no time and opened it only to see a eye mask in his favorite color. He looked to you. “Now before you say anything I got it for a reason. We all know you don’t sleep, and even if you do, you don’t. So this is my way of telling you eat well and get some sleep. You just do all this stuff for everyone and deal with all this stuff for everyone so let someone else worry for you this time.” The rest of Stray Kids joined you.

“Yeah, we didn’t know about the gifts, but we helped cook all this!” Hyunjin said,

“You wanted to ask you to join since it was a lot of fun, but this is a gift to you.” Minho didn’t miss a beat and spoke up.

“Yeah, we worked hard on this.” You hit Minho playfully.

“Come on, you didn’t even do anything.” You complained to him.

“I did more than Jisung!” He fired back.

“No, (Y/N) told me to leave when I burned the meat.” Hyunjin laughed.

“Why are you laughing she told you to leave too.” Jeongin exposed Hyunjin, leading to Seungmin which made everyone else laugh. As everyone was dying, Chan hadn't been laughing as he was still trying to digest all of this, you nudged him making him look at you.

“Come on, we should eat!” Chan said nothing, but as you turned to get a seat Chan grabbed your face and before you knew it you were kissing him. Everyone else had stopped their antics to watch you, but you didn’t notice them as you tried to focus on what was happening. When Chan pulled back he could finally speak.

“... I-I’m sorry if you liked someone else or had someone else but… I couldn’t think of any other way to thank you.” It was your turn to lose your ability to speak. Chan chuckled to you, “I wish I could take it back but-”

“Chan, don’t say anything else… okay?” Looking in your eyes he could tell that his feeling weren't one sided. You guys were about to kiss again when the voices behind you started singing the “my destiny” track. You turned to them,

“You’re all such dorks!” You said separating from Chan.

“Well we can be dorks together! Let’s eat!”

[khellamendra]

GAC Often Cost Too Much

This was my entry for a Side Character Appreciation contest on the Voltron Amino which I actually ended up winning. I had a lot of fun writing this and I love the characters in it. They don’t get enough love. Voltron in general has a lot of great side characters that I would have loved to see more of. I’ve seen zero evidence that Rolo made it to the last season which makes me really sad.

This stands on its own as is but I plan to expand it. I’ll do it after October. I have like six other challenges to get through this month plus a Zine I’m participating in. Story is under the cut, enjoy!

Title: GAC Often Costs Too Much

Characters: Rolo, Nyma, Beezer, Te-osh, Matt

Pairings: None officially. I honestly love Rolo/Matt though.

Word Count: 4,334

“I need a favor.”

Rolo took a deep swig from the bottle, enjoying the burn of the liquid. He had been doing his best to keep his head down and not drag attention to himself. Even his normally flirty companion had yet to leave the table except to score a few free drinks for them. Despite picking a table in the back of this dive hadn’t apparently been enough. He didn’t know how these people did it.

“We’re not joining your little group Te-osh.” he finally said, leaning back in his chair. Putting a hand behind his head, he gestured to their group with the bottle. “Actually takin’ a night off, for what that’s worth.” It wasn’t exactly a great idea to try and pilot a ship when you were trashed. He could do it, had done it in fact, but the repair cost had been enough that he promised himself he wouldn’t do it again. His dismissive attitude apparently wasn’t obvious enough as the feathered woman took over the empty chair, much to Nyma’s annoyance.

“I’m not here about that, not this time but the offer is open if you ever choose to take it.” She said evenly. Nyma rolled her eyes though Te-osh missed it, eyes focused on Rolo who was still just as uninterested. 

“So why are you here then?” Nyma scoffed at his question and crossed her arms. He shouldn’t be encouraging this but if there was one thing he knew about the rebel, it was that Te-osh was very focused. If they didn’t hear her out, she’d hang around or try again at the worst possible time. When she wanted something important then she got it. When she leaned in, he knew it had to be along those lines.

“Very soon, I will need some...cargo moved.”

There it was. “I don’t do live cargo that isn’t a bounty. Not since that Yalmor almost destroyed my cargo hold. The pay was not worth the clean up and the jerk tried to get out of paying. Didn’t appreciate having to wring it out of him.”

“I did.” Nyma said, snickering when he made a rude gesture at her.  

“This one should be much more behaved.” the rebel pushed. From the look on Nyma’s face, she obviously wanted him to say no. Taking another long drink, he sat the bottle heavily on the table.

“Tell ya what. I want to see this ‘cargo’ first and if it doesn’t look like too much trouble, I’ll say yes.” Rolo ignored the obvious and loud sigh from Nyma.

“You’ll say yes.” Te-osh said, standing up. “Stay in the Eluridan System. I’ll contact you when I’m ready.” She continued, dropping several GAC on the table before leaving without another word. Large fingers pulled the coins towards Nyma.

“I don’t like this, something about it feels off.” She said, idly starting to count them.

“I don’t either but after the Empire confiscated all our stuff, we could use the GAC.” He raised a brow as a smile finally came back to her face.

“Looks like the rest of the rounds are on her.”Nyma said, flipping a coin his way. Holding it up, he grinned.

“At least we know she’s good for it. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna say yes.”

“Of course not. Any thing the rebels want is a bad idea and we’re already barely getting by as it is. You know that we got lucky with Prorok right? If those Voltron jerks hadn’t been so trusting, we would have been locked away, or worse.” She said, waving someone down for their next order.

“If they had been a little more trusting we could have gotten away. They were pretty stupid.” Rolo offered with a shrug. “Either way all this business talk is killin’ my buzz.” He picked up the new bottle when it was sat down. “To the rebels, for their contribution to this round.”

Nyma grabbed hers. “And to several more!”

By the time the call actually came, they had forgotten about it. After dropping off a bounty at the closest outpost, they were all ready for some more downtime. Even Beezer looked ready or that could have been the new algorithms Rolo had installed a few quintant ago. As far as they were concerned, Beezer was a much a part of the crew as either of them. Not the best drinking buddy but great for flying their drunk butts around when necessary. Pushing the button, a familiar face popped up. “Yo Te-osh, I almost thought you might be dead. Congrats on another day.”

“Meet me on Varaden. One varga.”

Beezer gave a warning beep and Nyma frowned. “Varaden? That place is a dump and overrun with space pirates.” she said, sharing a look with Rolo.

“One varga.” Te-osh repeated before cutting the communication. Taking his hat off, he ran a hand through his hair.

“Rolo-”

“I know, I know.” He sighed.

“You’re not serious. Varaden doesn’t even have good booze.” She argued, crossing her arms. He laughed wryly. “True. Still, you know how she is and something about this whole thing has my interest piqued. What would she possibly risk bringing to Varaden of all places unless it was super illegal? Job like that’s expensive too.” He said, rubbing two fingers together with a grin.

“I suppose Beezer can keep the ship ready in case we have to make a break for it.” Nyma muttered, still not looking convinced but caving all the same. Rolo slipped the cap back on.

“That’s my girl, let’s go.”

Varaden was a damp and boggy world where it always seemed to be raining. Rolo thought he remembered hearing it use to be a more lush and sunny planet. At least until the Galra had gotten a hold of it and wiped out the natives. Space pirates had decided it was undesirable enough they could have it, which wasn’t a wrong assumption. The Galra had moved onto bigger prizes though some showed up now and then to slum it up. The weather always made his lower leg ache and the ground was unstable, filled with hidden sink holds just waiting to steal unsuspecting boots.

Shaking the water from their hoods, Nyma grumbled at her pants. The cloaks were heavy enough to keep them dry but no matter how careful you were, the mud always found a way to come with you. The bar was an even bigger dive than their last stop, noisy with laughter and at least one fight that was going on. A few glances came their way but everyone seemed more interested in their own companions or egging on the fight.

Nyma tapped him on the shoulder and pointed. There across the room he could see her, looking as calm and put together as she always did. It wasn’t until they got closer that Rolo realized she had something at her side. No on a second look it was actually someone, dressed in a brown cloak though he couldn’t make out any features with the hood up. Joining her, the person at her side was visibly startled and she put a had on their shoulder. “It’s okay, they are going to help.” Rolo was tempted to correct that they might help but bit his tongue. Even Nyma was silent on that front. “I need you to take him to these coordinates.” She said, inputting the information and sending it. They both pulled it up but it was Nyma who looked the most pleased at the GAC amount that came with it.

“I think I’m starting to warm up to this job after all.”

“Good. You’ll need to leave immediately.” Teo-osh stated, glancing around for the first time since the two of them had gotten there.

“Leave? We just got here.” Nyma whined and the other woman shook her head. “It needs to be now.” she repeated firmly. Scowling, Nyma played with the ends of her hair. Rolo knew that signal, one of many they had when discretion was the most important. Glancing to the left, he saw them, almost obscured by the crowd, bounty hunters, empire ones at that. He knew they weren’t here for either of them but that didn’t make him feel any better, not when he had a feeling who they were here for.

“Now you see why you have to leave now. There was only one before.” Te-osh’s voice cut  through his thoughts. Rolo sighed. There were currently four and the more time that passed, the more that would surely show up. “Well no fun for us tonight. I hate exercise too.” he grumbled. “Hey you.” Rolo finally addressed their far to quiet guest. “Hope you can run.”

The figure glanced up briefly, most of their face still hidden by the oversized cloak. “I-I can try.” The voice shook, sounding a lot younger than Rolo expected. This was not going to end well, he could already tell.

“No try, do. Otherwise I’ll owe our friend here a refund and I hate giving back good GAC. Get ready.” Leaning back in the chair suddenly, he bumped right into a short Unlilu who had been painstakingly carrying way more glasses than was safe or practical. Immediately sitting himself back up, the small action had been enough to put the poor fellow off balance and tumbling right into the neighboring table that was already well on their way to being drunk. The rowdy songs died the minute the drinks came down, drenching half the party and leaving only one very obvious culprit who was face first on the floor. The Unilu looked up just as the large hand came down, trying in vain to cover himself. The blow never happened as one of his larger companions came to his defense and just like that the fight was on.

“Now, go!” Rolo didn’t have to tell them twice, all of them jumping up at the same time and making a break for it just before the two large aliens fell on the table, still fighting one another as the rest of their respective crews joined in on the fun. Looking back, he saw their mystery guest lagging behind, the route he wanted to take blocked by the fight.

With no other choice the boy had to go the other way, frantically looking for the woman he had come with. More patrons were starting to crowd into the space, drawn in by the new entertainment. Holding the cloak tightly around himself, he caught a glimpse of purple and gold moving away from everything else. With no other choice he followed them, dodging various creatures and appendages. Never had he been more happy to be out in the humid and wet air, welcoming the sound of heavy rain. He might have enjoyed it more if he wasn’t standing in the middle of the muddy courtyard, still looking for any sign of Te-osh. The sound of someone shouting drew his attention and he looked back to see an unfamiliar alien pointing at him. That was all he needed to start running as fast as he could.  

The consistent rain and mud weighted Rolo and Nyma down but they couldn’t afford to stop. A sharp cry caught his attention and they looked back just in time to watch the small figure fall. Swearing in his own tongue, Rolo stopped. He should have just kept going. This wasn’t worth the GAC, the clean up, or the stress. He was not a good guy and yet here he was running the opposite way of a nice warm and safe ship, free of drama. Long arms easily picked up the bundle that thrashed in his grip. The extra weight caused his leg to sink in the mud and he cursed again. “Stop it, it’s me you idiot.” Pulling with all his strength, he was glad the boy (because surely someone this small was not that old), couldn’t see because he wasn’t sure he was going to get himself free. Reaching for his blaster, a shot came from behind and caught the first guy square in the chest. Nyma put her arm around his waist, helping him pull his foot free in time for him to shoot another one.

“The least this planet could have given me was a drink or five.” She grumbled before they started running and he managed a wry smile.

“I don’t think even that’s enough to be worth this.” He retorted. Shooting another one, it was enough to trip the other two long enough for them to get around the corner and slip into a nearby crumbling archway. Pressed up against the wall, they both held their breath as the sound of shouting and footsteps passed by. It wasn’t until they had faded that either of them thought to breathe again. Nyma cautiously looked around, purple eyes peering through the heavy rain. After several ticks she shook her head.

“A-are they gone?” The kid had hands wrapped around Rolo’s neck, face pressed to a shoulder. Rolo would feel bad for the kid if it wasn’t his fault this was happening.

“For the time being but they’ll circle back around eventually. If we don’t make a move soon, they’ll find our ship and stake it out.” Nyma said, pushing buttons on her communicator.

“Oh. I..um...I can walk now if you want.”

“No offense but you’ll just slow us down. I think I’ll just carry you. Not like you’re heavy or anything.” Rolo stated, peering out as well before readjusting his hood and heading out into the rain with Nyma in tow. A face pressed closer and he could feel a small body shivering against him. Apparently he weren’t built for this kind of weather, what a shock.

They didn’t have any problems until they got to the docks where more of those same people were hanging out. Rolo couldn’t help but think that was way to many for one measly kid. Keeping an eye out, they made their way as casually and stealthily to their ship as possible. They finally breathed a sigh of relief as soon as they stepped on board. “They aren’t going to try and stop us?” Rolo had almost forgotten about the burden he had been carrying, mind more on not getting caught.

“Nah this ship is registered as a cargo ship for the Empire. We can go wherever we want. Now if they had seen us gettin’ in it, that would be a different story.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth the small body tensed against him. “You’re with the Empire?”

Rolo rolled his eyes and practically dropped the boy, earning a startled yelp in the process as the kid got tangled in his own cloak. “If I was, I wouldn’t have carried your water logged butt this whole way. There were plenty of nice people out there just waitin’ to take you off my hands.” He said, pulling off his own cloak and hanging it up before heading for the cockpit, Nyma already ahead of him. “Better take yours off too. I don’t need whatever foreign germs you might have affecting us if you get sick.” Rolo said, flopping down in the chair and taking over for Beezer. They needed to get out of here before even thinking of cleaning up which he knew they were all dying to do. His companion could grumble all she wanted but she wasn’t the one that had to carry a wet and muddy kid around either.

They had just left Varden’s atmosphere when he heard their guest finally decide to join them. “Um do you happen to have something I can use to get cleaned up with? Sort of cold and...gross.” The soft voice asked, earning a chuckle from Rolo.

“That’s what you get for fallin’. I can show you where it is.”

“Hey ladies first!” Nyma protested, shooting Rolo an annoyed look which he ignored.

“Like we have any of those on this ship. Besides next checkpoint ain’t for another several varga. Beezer can handle this.”  Rolo turned around, smile turning into a frown as he got his first good look at their new charge. Something about the look on his face caught Nyma’s attention and she turned as well, swearing under her breath.

He had been right about their guest being a kid but he hadn’t expected a human kid with an all to familiar face staring back at him. If Rolo hadn’t already heard him speak, he might have wondered if they were the same person but no this obviously wasn’t one of the Paladins of Voltron. That wasn’t what had the both of them on edge, no the ragged purple and black outfit that clung to a too skinny and shaking frame was a big red flag.

(He’s an Empire prisoner.) Nyma said, switching her translator off. (She wants us to smuggle an Empire prisoner.)

(Which would explain our new friends.) Rolo stated.

(And not just any prisoner. Look at him, he has to be related to Voltron somehow. There wouldn’t be so many after him if he wasn’t important. We should drop him off on the nearest planet and be done with it. This is trouble that we don’t need.) She continued heatedly.

“Sorry did I do something wrong?” They both looked at the boy who had wrapped arms around himself in a vain attempted at warmth and comfort. Shaking his head, Rolo stood up.

“Nope, it’s cool. I’ll show you where to go so you can stop tracking mud everywhere.” Nyma scoffed and stood as well.

(Eventually our luck is going to run out. He’s not worth it.) She said, practically storming out of the cockpit. The kid had been quick to get out of her way, staring at the door she left through.

“Cool huh?”

“Yup. Now stop asking questions and follow me.”

Leading the boy through the ship, his companion was a little slower than he would have liked. That mostly had to do with the way he kept looking around in wonder at all the stuff they passed. Rolo didn’t think it was that interesting, the same typical stuff most ships had. Any modifications he had made over time were hidden and not completely legal. Then again nothing he did was ever completely legal. Stopping, he pointed at a door on the left. “That’s Nyma’s room. I would suggest you do not go in there for any reason. Fair waring.” Walking again, they went down another hallway before he pointed at a door. “That’s my room. For now you can have...” He thought about it before stopping again. “This one.” Pushing the button, the door slid open with a soft hiss. “Nothin’ fancy but probably better than what you had.” He said as the kid walked in, turning in circles as he looked around. “Get cleaned up, I’ll see if I can find something else for you to wear.”

“Thanks! Um..”

“Rolo. My name’s Rolo.” he said, watching as a smile finally appeared.

“I’m Matt. Thanks Rolo.” Such genuine cheerfulness just seemed so out of place with things the way they were. This kid had no doubt been through a lot and yet something as simple as this could make him smile. He wasn’t going to last long out here, Rolo decided as he rubbed the back of his head.

“Yeah no problem. I’ll leave whatever I find on the bed.” With that he left the kid on his own to figure it out while he went down to the cargo hold to dig through his stash. What did humans even wear? The Paladins had some kind of uniforms on so that didn’t help. Not wanting to think to much on it, he grabbed a bunch of stuff. Matt seemed pretty close to an Unilu in shape, that was was probably good enough right? Dropping it off as promised, he could hear the sound of running water coming from the adjacent room and someone moving around. “Brought you stuff. If you need somethin’ else I’ll be in my room for a bit or the cockpit.”

“Cool thanks!” a voice called out and Rolo bit back a sigh. This kid was too much. Maybe Nyma was right after all. Shaking it off, he went back to his own room to finally get cleaned up. He made a face at the sound boots made as they came off. Moving his leg carefully he could feel the difference in the prosthetic, no doubt clogged with mud from when the foot had sank after he grabbed Matt. Just another thing on a long list of things he was not going to let bother him. Instead he washed himself off, dropped his clothes into the laundry tube and pulled on some new ones before sitting at the desk.

It was messy with various tools and parts on and around it with just enough of an empty space for him to work. Carefully removing the leg, he pulled a light closer, switching it on before assessing the damage. The outside had been cleared of mud but as he started to take it apart, his concerns were proven correct. The slimy mud really did know how to get everywhere. Grumbling to himself he set to work, rolling himself around as needed. When he checked the time, a couple of varga had passed but at least it was finished and he was more aware of how tired he was. Leaving the prosthetic on the table, he rolled himself over to the bed, making a deep noise of appreciation as he laid down, putting hands behind his head. He must have dozed off, woken up by the sound of his door opening. (Finally cool down and get your head on straight?)

“What?” Opening his eyes, the person in the doorway was most certainly not Nyma as he had anticipated. Instead it was the kid again wearing some of the clothing he had picked out. “What are you doing in here? Figured you’d be takin’ a nap after all this.” Matt moved far enough in the room for the door to shut behind him, fingers playing anxiously with the long sleeves of the shirt he had chosen. It took Rolo a moment to realized Matt had tied the second pair back. Matt must have picked up on what he was looking at because he started fidgeting more. “There was an extra pair of sleeves and I didn’t want them to get in the way so this is the solution I came up with. I did try to sleep but I couldn’t. Every time I do I just have nightmares.” After everything that had happened, Rolo should have guessed that would be the case. It wasn’t uncommon for sleep to be elusive. Even for him, though he didn’t need much sleep to begin with. Generally enough booze fixed that problem but sometimes that was a luxury they couldn’t afford. Focusing on the kid again, he realized that eyes were now fixed on his leg or rather where it should have been. “It needed a little maintenance after all that runnin’ around we did. Was too lazy to put it back on.” He had lost it too long ago to be hung up on it though it was amusing the way the kid got all shy again. “I didn’t mean to- I’m sorry.” Rolo shrugged. “Don’t be, doesn’t bother me. Things like this happen.” He wasn’t prepared for the sad look that came across Matt’s face.

“It shouldn’t though.”   

“Maybe but it’s how it’s always been and always will be.” Loss was just a reality of the Galra Empire. Everyone knew that. Those that hadn’t lost anything would soon enough.

“It won’t be. Te-osh said there are people fighting against them and not just the rebels.” Rolo sucked in air through his teeth. Voltron had seemed so certain too but they had been less than impressive. Enough to beat a couple of low level bounty hunters who had gotten to cocky but not the entire Empire. Matt seemed pretty confident that he was right and as easy as it would be to prove him wrong, Rolo let it go. It wasn’t worth the fight or the headache, at least that’s what he told himself. Moving an arm from behind his head, he held it out to Matt. 

“Come ‘er kid. Before you fall asleep standing up.” Matt hesitated, obviously weighing his options before deciding to accept it. Maybe it should have seemed odd at how he curled up so easily against Rolo but considering he was a prisoner not so long ago, the comfort of another person had to have been scarce. It was obvious he didn’t want to be alone. “You seem pretty confident in all that.” Matt nodded. “I am and I’m not a kid. I’m seventeen.”

“What’s that suppose to mean?” Matt huffed.

“It means I’m practically an adult by human standards.” Rolo hummed thoughtfully.

“Well I can’t prove you wrong so we’ll go with that. Kinda small though.” He grinned at the pout on the boy’s face.

“As if you have anything to compare it to. Besides puberty generally happens between 10 and 16 for guys. I’m just a late bloomer, probably because of all the trauma. I’ll hit a growth spurt soon.” It was a bit of a surprise how easily Matt could say all that so matter-of-fact.     

“You got me there. Now go to sleep.”  The big yawn was more than enough proof Matt needed it, and he curled up a little closer.

“Okay.” The room fell silent again and Rolo was convinced Matt had fallen asleep before his voice filled the room again. “Hey Rolo?”

“What?”

“Thank you.” Rolo fought off a smile at the word.  

“Go to sleep Matt.” A small nod was all he got before breathing slowed and evened out as Matt finally stopped fighting sleep. He sighed softly. The kid was giving him too much credit.

[letterfromtrenwith]

Grand Jete - Ch 11 & 12

When George Warleggan quits a high powered job in the City to take care of the finances of the South West Ballet, run by his friend, Francis Poldark, it changes his life - even more so than he expected.

Elizabeth Chynoweth came to the South West to come back home, take on new challenges, and leave behind a less than perfect time in her life. She intends to focus on her art, but everyone knows what they say about best laid plans…

Now complete!

Ch 1 & 2 Ch 3 & 4 Ch 5 & 6 Ch 7 & 8 Ch 9 & 10

~

Chapter 11 

“Did you get a chance to look over the quote from the advertising agency? George? George?”

“Hmm – oh, er, yes. It doesn’t look too bad, but it never hurts to get an alternative. As for the art, though, that’s your department.”

“Are you okay?” Francis frowned at him in concern and George looked away. “You’ve been very distracted recently.”

“Just busy is all.” It was true enough – early preparations for next season were well underway, and the company’s accounts were due shortly. He hadn’t much experience with charities so it had been a bit of a steep learning curve, but he was getting to grips with it. Frankly, the work had been a God send, since it distracted him from what was actually bothering him.

“Elizabeth all right?” It was as if Francis had read his mind. George was on the edge of snapping that Francis could ask her himself, since they were rehearsing for The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, but he held back. None of this was Francis’ fault, and shouting at him wouldn’t help.

“She’s fine.” Elizabeth probably was fine. She’d been the one who’d ended it, after all. He’d had a bad feeling as soon as he’d received her text saying they had to talk, especially as it came after over a week of her quite obviously trying to avoid him. Following on the heels of what he’d thought had been their blissful few days away together, it had confused him.

He’d worried before asking her that it was rushing into things, but her acceptance of his invitation had led him to believe she didn’t think so. However, that seemed to be exactly the problem if he was reading between the lines correctly.

They’d met for coffee at an impersonal chain place a few streets away from the Hall, Elizabeth looking awkward and uncomfortable.

“Is something wrong?” He’d known it was a stupid question as he was asking it but he hadn’t been able to come up with anything else, an increasing sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“No, it’s just…I think we should…shouldn’t see each other for a while. Just…have some space.” It was both pretty much what he’d expected and a horrific blow. There were a hundred things he wanted to blurt out – why? What had happened? What had he done? How could he make it right? But he hadn’t said any of that.

“Well, if – if that’s what you want.”

“I think it’s for the best.” The pained silence which followed had been absolutely torturous, and George had quickly made an excuse, nearly knocking over his chair in his rush to stand. Elizabeth looked like she was about to speak, but he’d walked away, taking several deep breaths as he did.

He hadn’t seen her since, save a brief glimpse along the corridor. Their eyes met for a moment, but she’d turned away almost instantly. Every day of the final few performances of Checkmate he’d left the office at dead on 5:30, so as to resist the temptation to go and watch her dance. He made an excuse not to attend the closing party, which had clearly made Rosina suspicious, but she had blessedly chosen not to say anything.

When he’d spoken to one or two of the dancers, chiefly Caroline and Morwenna, he’d sensed an odd note. They were Elizabeth’s best friends, so even if she hadn’t told them about breaking it off, they certainly suspected. Neither of them had said anything directly, and he’d mostly done his best to cut their conversations short without seeming rude.

After the end of the de Valois duo, he’d taken to working late, hours more like he’d been doing at the family firm than what was expected from him at the Company. Work occupied him, while being back at the flat allowed him to dwell on how wretched he felt, as well as think too much about Elizabeth. About her sleeping in his bed, drinking from his coffee cups, wearing his shirts.

It was his own stupid fault. They’d only met – what – three months ago? Yet he’d gone and let the whirlwind romance of it all go to his head like he was a love struck teenager. Of course, it was obvious why anyone would fall in love with Elizabeth, but he’d just dived in head first and, clearly, he’d come on too strong and frightened her away.

Another one to add to his short and decidedly unsweet list of romantic disasters. Except this one really hurt. He’d come to Cornwall to find something missing in his life – he’d found it, along with something he hadn’t even realised he’d been looking for, which had made him happier than he could ever have imagined.

He’d found it, and now he’d lost it.  

~

Time passed, Lion debuted to rave reviews – Morwenna was even pictured in her role on the front page of The Cornish Times – Christmas decorations went up around town, and George felt no better at all.

Unable to resist, he’d sat in on a performance of Lion. It really was a wonderful production, but he’d been unable to concentrate on anything but Elizabeth. She was playing a relatively small part, that of the Professor’s housekeeper, but even in her severe 1940s costume she was enchanting. He left just as the curtain fell, making sure he’d be gone long before the dancers.

One day, on his way back from Ellen’s office, he’d almost run right into Elizabeth. For a moment, they stood looking at each other. He clamped his lips shut against the stream of undoubtedly horribly embarrassing things he wanted to say to her, as she bit her lip glancing side to side awkwardly, like she couldn’t wait to escape. Thankfully, Dwight had appeared, breaking the tension, and George was able to make an excuse and leave.

The onslaught of cheery music and festive décor which greeted him just about everywhere except his flat – Rosina had even put up a little Christmas tree in the corner of their office, which he hadn’t had the heat to object to – did absolutely nothing to improve his mood. Just before Elizabeth had withdrawn from him, he’d been planning to book a special Christmas dinner for them. He’d found the brochures for the local restaurants and hotels in a drawer in his flat and stared at them miserably for a while before crossly shaking himself and throwing them out.

It seemed the whole company knew about him and Elizabeth breaking up. He was being treated with exaggerated friendliness by just about everyone, and people kept dropping by ‘just to say hello’ or invite him for a drink or coffee. Nobody seemed to hold anything against him, but of course Elizabeth wasn’t the sort of person to slag him off to all and sundry. He didn’t think he’d given her anything to slag him off about, at least he sincerely hoped not.

“Oh, your dad called.” That had been absolutely the last thing he’d expected Rosina to say when he returned from buying the one not-cranberry-enhanced panini offered in the coffee shop this time of year.

“My – my dad? Is that what he said?”

“Well, his exact words were something like: This is Nicholas Warleggan, I’m George’s father.” That sounded more like him.

“Did he say what he wanted?” George hadn’t spoken to his father or uncle since he’d stormed out of Nicholas’ office and, as stubbornness was one of the few things he had in common with them, he’d expected their stalemate to continue for quite some time.

“No, just said would you call him back.”

“I’ll do it when I get home.” Rosina looked a bit surprised at this, but didn’t question it. By what she’d told him, she had a very good relationship with her father, so George’s apparent disinterest probably seemed something of an anathema to her.

George debated not calling, but he didn’t think his father would call if he didn’t have a good reason. After a microwave dinner and staring disinterestedly at the television for an hour or so he finally picked up the phone. He called the office first, and right enough, Nicholas picked up on the second ring.

“Warleggan.”

“Dad, it’s George.”

“Oh, finally deigned to call me back, have you?”

“I was busy this afternoon.”

“Doing what? Collecting ticket stubs?” George gritted his teeth. His father was getting more like Cary as the years went by, and it did nothing for him. Nor for George’s relationship with him.

“Did you want something?” The faster he could get this conversation to the point, the better.

“I thought I’d better ask if you’re coming home for Christmas.”

“What?” That threw him completely. After his mum died, they’d never been much for family gatherings, not even at Christmas. One or two rather strained dinners over the years had been about it. The rest George had spent working or sitting alone at home. He’d hoped to spend this one with Elizabeth, or at least some of it, since he assumed she visited her family as well. That was out of the question now, of course. “Do you want me to?”

“Suit yourself.” Typical response. “Although, more pressingly, I was wondering if you were finally going to come to your senses and take your old job back.”

“What?” He’d said that twice in a few minutes but frankly he couldn’t think of anything else.

“Look,” Nicholas sighed. “You’ve been with the firm since you were still at university. I did often wonder if you’d want to…spread your wings a bit, but I’ll admit I didn’t expect you to go off and work for some dance troupe.”

“They’re not – “

“But surely you’ve got it out of your system now? You can come back to the firm, no hard feelings.” George’s first instinct was a flat refusal, not to mention anger at Nicholas’ dismissive, high-handed attitude, but then a little voice whispered in his ear. If he went back to London, then he’d be making a clean break from Elizabeth and he could put the whole thing behind him. He’d never admit to his father or his uncle that the reason he came back was a failed romance, of course, but they’d like as not ask. He’d hate to leave Francis in the lurch, but Rosina could probably manage until they replaced him.

George looked around his sparsely decorated flat. When he’d moved in just about four months ago, he hadn’t expected to be contemplating moving out again so soon. Then again, he also hadn’t expected to end up with a broken heart.  

Chapter 12

“Elizabeth! Where are you?” Caroline waved her hand in front of Elizabeth’s face and Elizabeth jerked out of her fugue. They’d been taking a break from class and she suddenly realised that everyone else was back on the floor, several of them looking at her questioningly. Oh God, how embarrassing. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, let’s just – “ She stood and hurried into position next to Demelza, who gave her a concerned glance but, before she could say anything, the pianist struck up and class recommenced.  As Lion was the final show of the season, there was nothing to rehearse so they were essentially just exercising. Elizabeth allowed herself to become absorbed in the routine movements, letting the physical exertion overtake her emotional disturbance.

This was far from the first time she’d found herself distracted lately. She’d managed to convince herself she was doing the right thing by pulling back from George, even though every word she’d said felt like it was being ripped out of her. As she watched him walk out of that coffee shop, a voice in her head had screamed at her to call him back, tell him she hadn’t meant any of it.

In the intervening couple of weeks, she’d kept on trying to tell herself that it was for the best. They’d rushed into things; it could only end in tears. As if it hadn’t already.  

“All right, what’s going on?” There was only Elizabeth, Caroline and Morwenna left in the changing rooms, but Elizabeth still did her best to avoid her friend’s gaze. So far, nobody had said anything to her, although her mood must be obvious to everyone, as must the distance between her and George.

“Nothing…” She tried to hurriedly pull on her jumper but ended up fumbling it with her shaking hands.

“Cut the crap, Beth.” Morwenna’s tone was unusually harsh, undercut by her use of her childhood nickname for Elizabeth. “You’ve been off for days now. It’s something to do with George, isn’t it? Did you two have a fight?”

“No. It’s – no.” She looked at them both. She could see from their expressions that there was no way she was going to be able to prevaricate. “I just – I decided it was best if we get some space.”

“Some space?” Caroline raised an eyebrow. Elizabeth knew how lame it sounded out loud, and in her head, every time she tried to justify it to herself. “But why? When you came back from that break you were so happy. I’ve never seen you like that before. You were glowing.”

“Did George do something?” Even as Morwenna asked this, she sounded doubtful that the answer could be affirmative.

“No! It was just better if we slowed things down, is all.” Elizabeth wrapped her arms around herself defensively.

“How? Because you look absolutely miserable, and so does George. Why would you think – “ A look of understanding crossed Morwenna’s face. “This is to do with Ross, isn’t it?”

“Ross?” Caroline frowned. “The guy you were with at the National?”

“Yes.” Elizabeth said, quietly. There was no point denying it. Morwenna wouldn’t let it go now she’d figured it out, and she could certainly count on Caroline to back her up. Elizabeth hadn’t told Caroline everything about Ross, but she knew the basics.

“But what’s he got to do with anything?!”

“It’s – it’s complicated.” Everything she said sounded increasingly weak, and in frustration as much at herself at getting the third degree, she slammed her locker shut and grabbed her bag. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But – “

“Just leave me alone!” Elizabeth stormed past them, bumping into Morwenna, who let her go without protest. She swore when she dropped her car keys on the ground, half expecting Caroline or Morwenna to have followed her, but they hadn’t. Her burst of irritated energy lasted until she got home. Sitting on the sofa she suddenly felt quite drained and lay down on the cushions, hugging one close to her.

She would have to apologise to Caroline and Morwenna tomorrow; she could call them now, but it was better doing it in person. It had been wrong of her to snap at them, they were only concerned for her, but hearing her own doubts echoed back at her had not really hit a nerve.

Caroline’s confusion when Morwenna brought up Ross was entirely understandable. Elizabeth might be trying to use him to justify her decision, but as time went on, it was clear that it was a feeble excuse.

She’d first met Ross properly when they’d been put in the same class at the Royal Ballet School. Verity and Francis were already her friends, and they’d introduced her. The Poldarks were a bit of a novelty at the school – having two siblings there together was one thing, but the addition of a third family member was something else altogether. All three of them were exceptionally talented, but – to Elizabeth at least – Ross had something special, a sort of rawness to him. Her girlish crush had developed into more when they were teenagers, and they’d eventually become a couple. After graduating, she’d followed him to the English National Ballet despite a probably better offer from the Birmingham Royal.

For a couple of years, everything had seemed wonderful – Elizabeth had enjoyed the envious looks she got from the other ballerinas, both on stage and off, and basked in Ross’ attention. When he was in the mood to give it, that is. Oddly, it was in their professional partnerships that the cracks first began to show. Despite her romance with Ross, her performances with him at school had somehow never been quite so dynamic as they had with Francis, and this slight incompatibility had become increasingly more obvious as they rose through the ranks.

All of a sudden, Ross had announced that he was going on a six month guest stint at the Paris Opera Ballet. The same night, apparently on a complete impulse, he’d proposed to Elizabeth. Caught up in the romance of it, she’d agreed. Visiting him in Paris seemed to re-ignite something for them, and after his return Elizabeth had set to planning the wedding. However, Ross’ apparent disinterest in them actually getting married had started to unsettle her.

When she was invited for an 18 month stint at Ballet Zurich, she’d expected Ross to object – he’d been unhappy with her joining Verity for just a few guest performances with the Northern Ballet – but to her surprise, he’d enthusiastically encouraged her to go. Her time there had been neatly divided between loving both the city and her work and her creeping suspicion that it was truly over between her and Ross. Almost as soon as she moved there, he began making excuses as to why he couldn’t visit, even when she knew he wasn’t performing. Her calls went unanswered more and more frequently. The final straw had come when she’d heard a woman’s voice in the background of a rare conversation they actually did have – a voice Ross had shushed.

As soon as she returned, she’d given Ross back the engagement ring it had taken him nearly a year to buy her, and fallen into a deep funk. With unusual sensitivity, their artistic director had split them up entirely, partnering them both with others, and even casting them in different productions during the season. It had still been horrendously awkward, at least for Elizabeth. When Francis asked her if she wanted to join the South West, she’d jumped at the chance, seeing it as an opportunity not only to do some wonderful things professionally, but draw a line under things with Ross at last.

In the intervening couple of years, she’d come to realise what the problem had been. She’d tried – they’d both tried, although Ross less than her – to turn their teenage romance into a real, adult relationship. It might work for some, but it just wasn’t what they were meant for. Ultimately, they weren’t right for each other, and it would have been far better if they’d both realised that years earlier.

But that wasn’t how it was with George, was it? Despite what she’d tried to tell herself. Her problem was that very much were right for each other, and it had scared her. She’d fallen for him – no point denying it now – so fast and she’d been terrified of getting her heart broken again. The happiness she’d felt with him had reminded her of the early years with Ross, but it just wasn’t the same. Not at all. She’d been unnerved not just by how quickly her feelings for George had come, but how deep they were. How real.

Her phone bleeped, pulling her out of her miserable self-recrimination. It was from Morwenna, probably checking to see if she was okay despite Elizabeth’s behaviour. She didn’t read it, however, distracted by the screen background, which she hadn’t been able to bring herself to change. She’d snapped the picture of George when he wasn’t looking – for someone so handsome, he was oddly reluctant to be photographed. He stood on a sort of rocky outcrop on Fistral Beach, looking at something in the distance, the wind tousling his hair and tugging at the loose corner of his scarf.

I’ve made such a terrible mistake.

~

“Ugh.” Francis hung up his phone with a cross expression, made rather comical by the fact he was wearing his Aslan costume, since it was the final children’s matinee before Christmas. Comical enough to pull a small smile from Elizabeth. She hadn’t felt much like smiling lately, consumed by the knowledge that she’d stupidly destroyed one of the best things that had ever happened to her.

“Everything okay?” She waggled a little paper cup out of the holder at the side of the water machine, tutting at the pathetic trickle of liquid out of the tap.

“Yeah,” Francis sighed. “It’s just – negotiations with the prop hire place. They want us to pay a larger deposit for anything we use at the Minack, since it’s allegedly more likely to get damaged performing outside. I might not mind quite so much except what they’re asking for is bordering on the extortionate.”

“Oh dear.

“Yeah. George might be able to work something out with them, but I’ll probably have to get used to this sort of thing if he’s going to be leaving us. Until we can replace him, that is.” It took Elizabeth a moment to process what Francis had said, and when she did she felt herself crush the empty cup in her hand.

“He – he’s what?” Francis looked surprised.

“Oh, I thought you’d know, of all people.” He made a face, obviously having forgotten that she wasn’t with George anymore. Francis could be hopeless with that sort of thing. “His, er, his dad’s asked him to go back to the firm, and I think he’s considering it. I suppose I can’t blame him, he’s done wonders for us, but we can’t offer him much reward…”

Elizabeth had stopped listening. George, leaving? She couldn’t imagine it. He loved this job – he hadn’t said so in as many words, but she could tell by the way he’d talked about it, about all of his ideas for the Company, about working with the creative team. There was only one reason why he might be thinking about giving it up – especially to go back to a position which had left him so unfulfilled. She’d driven him away.

If he left, there was a good chance she’d never see him again. She felt herself start to panic, her heart fluttering and her breaths coming short and sharp. No, she couldn’t let that happen.

“Ten minutes to curtain!” Ellen’s voice cut through her like a knife, and she forced herself to focus as best she could. However, as she waited at the side of the stage for her cue, her mind, for just about the first time in her career, was not on the performance.

As soon as the curtain dropped after the first act, Elizabeth was running through the backstage area and up the stairs into the main corridor, thanking Heaven that she wasn’t performing en pointe. She ignored a couple of odd looks, heads turning at the sight of a fully costumed ballerina hurrying past. Outside of George’s office, she almost collided with Rosina.

“Oh, Elizabeth!” Rosina looked astonished to see her, quite naturally. Glancing quickly between her and the office door, Rosina made a face of understanding and then gave Elizabeth an encouraging smile before disappearing away down the corridor.

George stood up when she entered, surprise written all over this face. Now that she was here, Elizabeth realised she had no idea what to say, but the words began rushing out of her anyway.

“Don’t go! You can’t go!”

“I – “

“I know there’s probably no chance of me undoing what I’ve done but don’t go because of me, please. You love this job, I know you do, and you’ve done so much here. Don’t let me push you away, away from here, that is, because I’ve already pushed you away from me. Now I know I shouldn’t have, it was just because I was scared of how much I felt and it all seemed too good to be true, but that doesn’t matter now. You can’t go, you can’t, I – “

“Elizabeth!” She pulled up short, biting her lip, thinking that she’d probably just made a complete fool of herself. But, oddly, George was smiling. “I’m not leaving.”

“You’re not? But Francis said your dad asked you to go back to London?”

“He did, but I’m not going to. There’s nothing for me there. And so much for me here. I think.” Could he mean - ? She took a deep breath.

“I really I am sorry for what I did. It’s too complicated to go into now, but I had a bad relationship and I let it cloud my judgement. I was worried that everything was going too fast. I came here to focus on my work, and I love my work, so much. But –“she stepped further into the office, closer to him. “But the thing is, I’m pretty sure I love you, too. And I’ve behaved like an idiot, and messed you around, and you’d have every right to hate me.”

“I don’t hate you. Not at all. But I am disappointed.”

“Disappointed?” She frowned.

“Yes.” He smiled, widely now. Properly. “Disappointed that, since you’re in your make-up, I can’t kiss you.”