#still bad but mostly spends their time fixing cloud's mistakes

[resetting37]

okay disclaimer I was a huge hunger games fan as a teenager (saying this in past tense is weird, the series still holds a special place in my heart, but you know what I mean. I was obsessed.) If you see some connections with my own world building to the series, then it's likely not coincidence, I take inspiration from post-apocalyptic settings for my own.

What IS coincidence is the fact that the new prequel book, the ballad of songbirds and snakes, is being adapted into a movie and the kooky-evil-genetic-scientist character is being portrayed with silver hair and heterochromia like my own kooky-evil-genetic-scientist character ??? I mean I get it's not *that* unique of a character design, but I just thought that was neat lol.

(I will say though if you've read the book, my oc dr. cloud ellocast is not as evil as dr. gaul. That woman is fucked up and I'm excited to see viola davis play her.)

[starakex]

Otakuthon 2024 Cosplay Recap

I used to do con recaps and I kinda miss it. I'm still writing down post-mortem entries on costumes offline to keep track of the good and the bad of a costume's first wear, though. It's helped me learned from mistakes and apply solutions to future builds to avoid issues.

While I don't really wanna review the con itself, I think making these logs public is very relevant information to pair up with Build Logs, so it's time to revive the tradition.

So, let's set the stage real quick. This is at Otakuthon, and it's a 35k+ people convention that keeps happening in the middle of a heat wave almost Every. Damn. Year. Also, 35k+ people is very much over the limit the convention area can comfortably take. Also it was humid as all hell. And so, so hot.

On a personal level, I've been dealing with general hobby exhaustion from things like wig burns, The Sensory Bullshit That Is Stage Makeup, and spending too much time stressing over keeping a costume intact for photos. So this year, the goal was "Silly, Casual, and No Bullshit." No wigs, no makeup, and everything has to be carry-able in a bag or two on public transit. Having begun this philosophy shift after last year's Otakuthon, I made three costumes during the year, leading to debut them during the 2024 edition.

Friday!

Friday was Robed Man from hit video game Final Fantasy VII Remake/Rebirth. I made Cloud many years ago, but the exhausting perfectionism bullshit I was carrying within me was keeping me from feeling like making another named character from the series. Figured this would be a silly idea that could be re-worn for future Final Fantasy events. Friday was the perfect day for it since there was a Distant Worlds concert in the evening.

The Good:

Super quick to set up in the morning. Just a little bit of eye shadow to accentuate the dead fish look, throw the whole costume in a bag and it's good to go. More sleep, yay!

My purse fit under the whole thing for a seamless, accurate look, which was unintended but neat.

It was super easy to pull off and put back on within seconds whenever it got too hot.

The Bad:

It's supposed to be lightweight and breathable, but even with a tank top and shorts underneath I was sweating up a storm. The cloak is so big that it became too heavy to catch any air flow.

Despite pre-washing the fabric, the fabric's dye rubbed off on a couple things, notably the silicone on my water bottle and the rubber backing of some pins. Not on skin or clothes, thankfully.

Verdict: Worked as intended. a snap button's stitching broke on one of the scarves but the button stayed in place, so I quickly fixed it when I noticed it. As for the fun factor, it was great. It made for hilarious candid photos, and there was only a smidge of eye shadow to watch out for instead of the whole face being covered in makeup. It's absolutely unrecognizable IRL from the front though in a large convention setting full of costumed people, so not even FFVII cosplayers said anything 😭 It was fun to bring out for the concert, but I'm mostly looking forward to pulling it out for other small events now instead of cons.

Saturday!

Sonic was the costume for the big day. He was one of my dream cosplays when I first got into the hobby as a teen, so finally having it as a mascot cosplay was, well, SUPER HYPE. I was apprehensive bringing in a full-body mascot after sweating my ass off with just a cloak, but then decided I wasn't going to skip my chance to be Sonic and just go for it. I needed to do it at least once... The Good:

EVERYTHING (ish). SO HYPE

It was reasonable to carry in public transport with large enough bags. Not the most optimal, but more than acceptable. Two bags just so the shoes aren't rubbing on everything else.

I could put it on and remove it quickly without help, and wear it partially when I needed to cool off (arms tied at the waist and head in hand)

Surprisingly easy to navigate with. I didn't need a handler at all times, and spent most of my time fullsuiting by myself. Performing was comfortable, vision was very good straight ahead, and range of motion was excellent outside of the head spikes.

Against all odds, this was super comfortable despite the heat wave! The underlayer carried this entire experience. I could wear the full thing and perform in short hour bursts, then remove the head and pull the suit halfway down for a break with a neck fan, often while going to a panel or something like that. I was still sweating (drenched, even), but the underlayer just made it feel hot instead of sticky and disgusting and cooled down very quickly during breaks.

Sidenote, but I think I look really fuckin' cool with the head off and my badass disheveled hair. Like I felt REALLY COOL instead of worrying about ruining my makeup or whatever stressors I'd have with other costumes.

The donut-shaped support inside the head was great at redistributing the weight comfortably. Didn't have have neck or head pain the whole time.

Batteries for integrated head fans and neck fan did not run out with a whole day of wear.

The Bad:

The integrated head fans didn't seem help much. They didn't cool things to any noticeable degree, and the lack of mouthhole makes this a very sweaty head (especially compared to Wurmple; more below). They might've kept the head from being absolutely dogshit to wear, but it's hard to tell if it actually moved air around. Not a massive issue with the regular breaks, however.

Minor gripe, but the fan system I bought didn't have a on-off switch, so I had to dig in the battery pocket to unplug the fans every time I took a longer break.

The shoes, while easy to walk in, force longer strides that gave me quite the calf workout by the end of the day.

No major breaks during the day, but the shoes' rubber soles slightly peeled off in a few spots by the end of the day. Nothing a little contact cement can't fix., and technically "good" since it means I can safely remove and replace it if it gets too worn out.

I need someone to hold the head if I want to go to the bathroom, otherwise I'm having a really bad time.

Sonic looks kinda booby unfortunately but that's the perfectionist talking and I've vowed to destroy that mindset

Verdict: Holy shit this was worth braving the heat wave, worth all the hours trying to get the build looking just right, worth EVERYTHING! The reception from the people was awesome; I haven't talked to this many people in years, and everybody loved the mascot so much. I got to nerd out about Sonic, nerd out about the build, fist bump people and make them smile. It's my first fullsuit and it turns out I also love the performance aspect of it. The build lasted throughout the whole day with no damage (outside of the rubber soles, but I was expecting more than the small amount that began peeling) The perfectionism mindset I've been fighting with for years wasn't an issue because all the things I spent time getting just right are actionable design decisions like scale and material choices, not just "welp, I don't look like what I had in mind wearing this because I'm a real human and not a stylized 2d character."

Sonic re-ignited my love for cosplay and gave me a whole new style of costume I want to keep exploring and working on. Obviously planning to take Sonic out to other conventions if I can troubleshoot how to fit him into a suitcase.

Sunday!

Wurmple was my official first foray into fursuit making proper. I wanted to make a suit for years and finally committed, but I wasn't super interested in making an OC/fursona at the time so I picked a Pokémon I liked that looked interesting to make (I really wanted to sew the grub butt). I made him all the way back last August; he's the first costume from the "fuck wigs and makeup" era. I wanted to go for a bug-catcher summer look, complete with a little bug "cage" and a net. (I was genuinely worried someone might get full size nets a bad rap at the con with the gnome meme currently going on, so I just went with a tiny shrimp net instead.)

The Good:

The head is actually really breathable. Partialing plays a major part in the overall comfort, but the breathing hole is positioned in such a way a neck fan blows straight into it. The only sweaty area is the contact spot between my back and the tail.

It's easy to bring to the con, like the other costumes. Just stuff the parts in a small bag and go.

The dang thing is basically indestructible, so there's no worries navigating crowds or squishing the tail to sit down or whatever.

The Bad:

The vision is terrible. I absolutely need to hang onto a handler or remove the head if I'm doing anything more than standing around and talking. It's so narrow it messes up with my depth perception. The curse of trying to engineer vision out of a weird character design...

I can't really sit down on a chair with this tail unless I shove it to the side or remove it entirely, which is cumbersome since I thread the tail belt to my shorts for extra stability.

The tail is kind of dumptrucky enough that it got caught in the crowd more often than Sonic's whole costume did overall. Probably because Sonic is so massive he commands respect of personal space and Wurmple's bugass is very subtle in some angles, but it's enough of a concern to point out.

Verdict:

People got a good laugh out of Wurmple and more attention than I've gotten for costumes on average in the last couple years, so that was fun. No breakage either, but I expected these results since I've worn it outside a few times now. It was also by far the least sweaty costume of the weekend, being "regularly" comfortable despite the heat wave (in part thanks to the smaller Sunday crowd.) But the vision really dampens the experience enough that I'd rather keep it for furmeets or other less active events than a full-on convention. Enough workarounds to still be worth bringing around, but I'd love making another Pokésuit that doesn't have this glaring vision issue to rep the series!

Closing

Overall, if you ignore the massive crowds in a tiny space and the debilitating heat wave, Otakuthon went super well! It didn't stand out much event-wise to the other years (though getting to meet Shota Nakama and seeing the Distant Worlds performance were two standouts experiences), but the personal end of it, cosplay-wise, was a huge success. The people I got to interact with were all wonderful, and I got to figure out a new costume niche I want to explore more (hint: less wigs, more mascots). I'd say it was one of my favorite cons to date for cosplaying. I'm writing this as the costumes are drying, and my last observation is that save for the fursuit heads and Sonic's shoes, these costumes can survive the washing machine (something I always try to account for) and I'm so very thankful for that. Washing the heads by hand was a wholeass workout in in itself though, but thankfully Sonic's eyes are waterproof and the electronics are remove-able so I can deep clean him for the next event! On the menu for future events: repair Sonic's shoes, implement a on/off switch in Sonic's fan systems, and start planning out a new Pokémon fursuit. Hope this might've shed some light on the kind of post-mortem observations I note down after wearing new cosplays to a con! Thank you for reading.

[hey-there-juliet]

llora por una rosa, dijo el ruiseñor

➤ Written for Day One of Jukebox Appreciation Week: Canonverse @jukebox-week

Summary: Dr Turner said that there was no such thing as a schedule for grief and that everyone dealt with it in their own way, so it was okay if some days were worse than others. Although it helped to have a cute ghost to cuddle with. (Read it on AO3)

Notes: Thank you so much @sunsetcurbed and @felicitysmoaksx for betaing this for me! You guys are amazing, and any remaining mistakes are my own. 

Title: El ruiseñor y la rosa, by Oscar Wilde. | Song: A La Nanita Nana, from The Cheetah Girls 2.

Enjoy ♡

llora por una rosa, dijo el ruiseñor

Sometimes, Julie would wake up feeling like her world had turned on its axis as the pain of losing her mother hit her all over again. Dr Turner said it was normal, that there was no such thing as a schedule for grief and that everyone dealt with it in their own way, so it was okay if some days were worse than others. 

The problem was that every 'worse' day seemed to get worse.

Reality came crashing down on her on a Thursday morning with absolutely no warning. She still hadn't figured out what triggered the bad days, but she was pretty sure they were intrinsically connected to the good ones. 

Ever since the ghosts of three teenagers from the '90s fell into her life, Julie had been having (mostly) good days. Sometimes it all felt like a too vivid daydream, a fantasy she'd come up with to escape her painful reality. Ghosts, the band, music back in her life, stronger than ever, curses and playing the Orpheum; it was crazy. So crazy that it might as well be true. 

Five days after the Orpheum, after being able to touch the guys, Julie woke up with the realization that her mom would never meet them. She would never be there for Julie to tell her about how much Reggie enjoyed spending time with her dad. Or how cute Alex looked with his pink-tinted cheeks as he spoke about Willie and museums. Her mom would never be there for Julie to tell her about Luke's passion for music, about his endless energy and encouragement, about his perfect smile and ever-changing eyes and how it felt to finally, finally be able to wrap her arms around him. Her mom would've loved Luke. She would've loved all of them.

Only minutes after Julie turned off her last alarm, her dad knocked on her door, brows furrowed in concern when he peered into the room only to find her still in bed, eyes puffy and red, nose stuffed up and burrowed in her covers. 

"Oh, mija," he sighed, making his way into the room. He sat down next to her, and Julie dragged herself into her father's arms, unable to hold back the sobs that were begging to be let out.

"I miss her," she gasped between cries, burying the words into her dad's shoulder. 

"Me too, cariño. Me too." He wrapped his arms around her and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Your mom would be so proud of you, Julie. Wherever she is, I know she’ll be watching over you and Carlos and cheering you on like she always did.”

Julie nodded, thinking about the three boys who had literally dropped into her life. Her dad had no idea how right he was.

“Why don’t we take the day off? I’ll call the school and empty my schedule.”

“No, no,” she protested, leaning away and wiping her eyes with the sleeves of her sleep t-shirt. “Don’t miss out on work because of me, I’ll be alright. I think I’d just like to be alone today.”

He didn’t seem really convinced, raising an eyebrow in her direction and lowering his head to meet her eyes directly. “You sure?”

“I’m sure, Papi.” Julie sent him the most reassuring smile she could manage, which must have been good enough because he soon relented and pushed himself up.

“I’ll bring you something today after work, how about that?”

She frowned, unable to stop the lighthearted smile from forming on her lips. “Like what?”

Her dad shrugged, stepping backwards toward the door. “I don’t know, something cool. A surprise.”

Julie chuckled, but agreed, “Okay.”

“Don’t stay in bed all day. And eat something.”

“I won’t, and I will. Thanks, Papi.” She threw him a soft smile.

“Te quiero, mija.”

“I love you, too.” With a last worried glance in her direction, her dad stepped out and closed her bedroom door, taking all of Julie’s lightheartedness with him.

Like a dark cloud descended over her, Julie’s mood crashed again. Left alone with her thoughts, she couldn’t keep herself from imagining if anything would’ve been different had her mom still been there. Would Julie even have told her about the boys? After all, she still hadn’t told her dad, and now with her being able to touch the guys, it could be just a matter of time before they became visible to her family. 

One thing she knew for sure it’s that she definitely would have never stopped playing, and maybe she wouldn’t have immediately kicked Luke, Reggie and Alex out. And maybe, without needing to earn back her spot in the music program, she never would’ve played with Sunset Curve in the first place. That was a terrifying thought, but she’d like to think that they would’ve found their way to Julie and the Phantoms eventually anyway, and her mom would be cheering for them every step of the way.

Julie sighed, dropping back down into her pillows and burying herself into her covers again. With one hand, she reached over her nightstand for a picture of her mom and her. It wasn’t her favorite one — that one was in her dresser, — but it was definitely a close second. Rose was sitting on the couch with a five-year-old Julie on her lap, fresh out of the shower and rolled up in her towels like a burrito. They’d been watching something on TV when her dad captured the moment. Years later, Julie had no idea what they were watching, but what she did know was that there were several pictures of that day because that was when her parents found out they were having Carlos and so her dad wanted to have the whole day on record.

With a soft laugh at the memory of her mom and dad telling her that story, Julie traced her mother’s smiling face in the photograph, lightly humming her favorite lullaby that Rose used to sing to her.

Julie was startled out of her thoughts by a sudden knock. She dropped the picture down on the bed, body tensing up since her dad and Carlos had left minutes ago, until she remembered they weren’t actually the only residents at the Molina household anymore. She rolled her eyes before calling the knocker in.

Luke’s beanie covered head phased through the door. He had a bright grin on his lips and a bounce on his step as he made his way inside, stopping by the foot of her bed.

“Skipping school? Damn, Jules, I didn’t know you had it in you,” he said, apparently before getting a good look at her and immediately frowning in concern. “What is it, what’s wrong?” Luke came closer, kneeling by the side of her bed and resting his chin at the corner of her mattress.

Julie took a moment to take him in; the way his bottom lip stuck out just a little in a pout, and how his hands fiddled with her sheets, his eyes focused and intense, filled with worry and never leaving hers. She had to look away. “Nothing, I’m just- I’m just missing my mom today, that's all.”

“Oh.” His voice was low, barely a whisper, and it drew Julie’s eyes back to him. This time, he was the one staring down at her bed. He crossed his arms over the mattress and rested his chin on them, only sticking a hand out to tap lightly on the picture that rested between them. “Is this her?”

She looked down at the picture again, tracing the frame with her fingers. “Yeah, that’s mom.” 

“You look like her.”

Raising her eyes to meet his again, Julie couldn’t help the soft smile at the sincerity she found in his face. “Yeah? Thanks.”

They were silent for a moment, both lost in thought. Julie was sure that Luke’s mind had gone to his own mom. She knew he still visited his parents, and sometimes she honestly couldn’t say what would be worse: to never be able to see or speak with her parents again, or to see them and talk to them, only to receive no response and have them look right through you.

“Scooch over.” Luke’s voice brought her out of her thoughts abruptly, and Julie could only blink at him in confusion as he got up and started toeing his shoes off.

“What?”

“Move over,” he shooed her with his hands, and Julie was a little too shocked to protest when he grabbed a corner of her blankets and crawled into bed next to her. 

For a whole minute, Luke fumbled around, fixing the pillows behind him however he wanted and covering himself with her blankets except for the one leg sticking out of the side. Finally, he opened one arm in invitation and threw her an expectant look.

Julie could do nothing but look at him in bewilderment, on the edge of freaking out about having a boy (a boy she had a big, fat crush on, no less) on her bed. Before she could let herself spiral into nervous laughter, Julie shook her head with a chuckle, and moved closer, fitting herself into his side with the picture of her mom in her lap. She was unable to contain the sigh of relief at actually being able to feel him there — the boys’ solid-state was still new, and she was always afraid that it would suddenly go away. 

Luke shuffled around a little more, getting both of them comfortable before tapping the picture in her lap again. “Tell me about her.”

With her brain still struggling to catch up, all she could manage was a “Huh?”

“Well, you got to meet my mom, but since I can’t meet yours, I figured the next best thing is that you tell me about her.”

Julie looked at him then, soft eyes meeting hers, and she felt her breath catch, the familiar butterflies fluttered their wings in her stomach. She couldn’t quite put a name to what she was feeling, she just knew that she had never felt something like it before.

She gave him a smile, and turned forward again, leaning her head on his shoulder to look down at the picture in her lap. There were a million things she could tell Luke about her mother, but the decision was made for her once she caught sight of the dahlias on the cushions next to her mom in the picture.

“My mom loved flowers. All kinds, and plants, and she would make the most beautiful flower crowns you’ve ever seen. Anytime we went to the park, she’d find these pretty, wildflowers and make crowns for me and my friends. Carrie and I used to say we were fairy princesses,” Julie chuckled, losing herself in vague memories of two little girls chasing each other around the swings while her mom sat on the ground nearby, weaving flowers together. Luke laughed softly with her at the image she painted. “Her favorite were dahlias, though. Mom absolutely loved them, they’re everywhere in the house.”

“Dahlias,” he said, and Julie glanced at him over her shoulder to find him lost in his own thoughts. “My mom likes those too.” He sent her a sad smile before motioning for her to go ahead.

“Uh… She loved sparkly things. Every time an outfit wasn’t quite what she wanted, she’d just… bedazzle the hell out of it.” Julie laughed, happy tears forming in her eyes. She sniffed. In the back of her mind, she remembered the latest bedazzled creation of her mom’s she’d found — the Sunset Curve shirt, and made a mental note to ask the guys about it later.

“She, uh, she didn’t like sugar on her tea, but she had the biggest sweet tooth. She loved breakfast for dinner, especially pancakes. She was a great dancer, she’s the one who taught me how to salsa, 'cause dad’s a little useless in that department.” Using the sleeve of her shirt, Julie wiped away the few stray tears that had fallen down her cheeks. If Luke was bothered by her crying, he didn’t say anything.

“She used to leave notes all over the house. Sometimes reminders about Carlos’ games, or where dad had put his keys, but other times just little encouraging messages like 'you got this' and ‘I love you’...” Julie’s voice trailed off, remembering the last note her mom ever left for her at the end of Wake Up; You can do it, Julie. Love, mom.

The few tears multiplied. She sniffed again.

“She sounds amazing,” Luke said softly, brushing his cheek over her hair and using the arm he had around her to reach for her hand. 

“She was,” Julie agreed, distracting herself by playing with the rings on his fingers. He was such a rockstar. She chuckled, tilting her head to the side just a little but not looking away from his hand as she traced the calluses on his fingertips. “When she was younger, she was actually in a band. A couple of bands, even.”

Julie felt Luke tense up in excitement, and she imagined he was having a hard time actually staying still.

“Really?” he asked, and she heard the awe in his voice just like the first time he said her mother was a really talented writer.

“Oh, yeah. They never made it big, but… they sounded pretty good. And mom was an amazing singer and writer, and the way she shredded on the piano?” Julie shook her head, no words would ever be able to describe the admiration she had for her mom and her talent.

“Kinda like you, then?” His tone was teasing, but Julie could hear the sincerity in it plain as day, and couldn’t help but tilt her head up to throw him a thankful look. 

“She taught me everything. The first song I learned on the piano was the lullaby she used to sing to me. Every night, she sang Carlos and I to sleep, and my dad too, if he happened to be sitting down,” she told him, and they laughed at the image of her dad being lulled to sleep.

As their chuckles faded out, they lapsed into silence. Using Luke’s knuckles as keyboards, Julie practiced the lullaby she hadn’t heard in years. She kind of wished she could go back in time and tell twelve-year-old Julie that she would never be too old to be lulled asleep by her mom’s voice. 

A few moments later, Luke’s voice broke the silence. “Will you sing for me?”

“What?” she wasn’t sure she’d heard him right.

“The first song you learned, the lullaby. Will you sing it for me?” he asked again, voice just barely above a whisper, drawing her eyes back toward him, like a siren luring a fisherman into the sea. 

For a second or two, Julie got lost in his ocean eyes — the late morning sun that was shining through her open curtains making them look bright blue. Then she cleared her throat, taking the moment to remember some of the lyrics. Julie’s Spanish was never as good as her parents’, but the words for this song she knew by heart.

“A la nanita nana, nanita ella, nanita ella,” her voice started out low and slowly built up to the song’s rhythm. Julie didn’t look at him, but she could feel Luke’s warm gaze fixed on her. “Mi niña tiene sueño, bendito sea, bendito sea.” She repeated the first two lines, letting her volume rise just a little. The song felt like an overdue embrace from her mom, and Julie let herself get lost in the memories it brought.

She felt Luke’s fingers tapping against her own hand, and could imagine almost perfectly how the melody would sound coming from his guitar. A part of her wondered why it felt so natural to share this with him, but she also knew that if it wasn’t for Luke, Stand Tall would probably still be sitting unfinished inside her Dreambox. Music flowed through him the same way it did through her, and the same way it had flowed through her mom. It felt right to share this with him too.

Ascending to a major key, Julie started the next verse effortlessly. “Fuentecita que corre, clara y sonora. Ruiseñor que en la selva, cantando y llora. Calla mientras la cuna, se balancea. A la nanita nana, nanita ella...”

Julie sat up a little, leaning her shoulder against Luke’s and finally turning to meet his eyes. The look on his face… she couldn’t describe it, but her heart understood it anyway. Without looking away from him, she continued. “A la nanita nana, nanita ella, nanita ella. Mi niña tiene sueño, bendito sea, bendito sea.” Before Julie could start the last verse, Luke started to hum, following the song’s rhythm as if he’d heard it several times before. His fingers were still tapping against her wrist, and she couldn’t help sending him a small smile before continuing.

“Fuentecita que corre clara y sonora. Ruiseñor que en la selva, cantando y llora. Calla mientras la cuna, se balancea. A la nanita nana...” she sang, then drew a deep breath and closed her eyes, remembering her mom’s kind and smiling face. Dragging out the last couple of notes, Julie finished the song, a single tear making its way down her cheek. “... nanita ella.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy or even charged. It was peaceful and comfortable, and Julie could have basked in it for a long time, but she couldn’t say she was surprised when Luke ended the peace quite soon.

She felt his hand leaving hers and wiping away the tear from her cheek just as her eyes fluttered open, meeting his awed eyes and impossibly soft smile.

“That was beautiful, Jules.”

She smiled, accepting the compliment with a nod before settling back down against him. Julie burrowed her face against his neck, the lullaby from her childhood had left her feeling light and sleepy.

Luke seemed to have gotten the message because he shuffled around a little more before settling down too. Julie didn’t know if the boys could sleep now; they couldn’t before, but after everything that had happened post-Orpheum, to ask whether they could sleep or not wasn’t exactly high on her priority list. 

She felt his fingers lightly run down her braided hair, soothing her further into sleep. Just before she could doze off completely, Luke spoke again.

“You know, you never told me her name.”

Julie yawned, wrapping an arm around his middle and pulling herself closer into his side as she answered. “Rose. Her name was Rose.”

She didn’t see Luke’s frown, or notice the way he looked down at the picture that had fallen from her lap and into his with a dawning sense of realization. All Julie knew was that she felt safe, and loved, and that wherever she was, her mom was still watching over her.

After all, she'd sent her Luke. 

[wordsinwinters]

Then Again, Part 26 (Peter Parker x Reader)

Masterlist (with AO3 links)

Total word count: 50,293

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 25,

Summary: After an intense argument and a forced-to-share-the-bed situation during their junior year decathlon trip, Peter and the Reader examine their faults and failings. As they attempt to fix their mistakes and improve their friendship, that friendship quickly begins to evolve into something else.

Slow burn fic in which all characters are included and their dynamics explored; multiple character POVs.

Betas: @girl-tips-from-satan and @fanboyswhereare-you

A/N: This isn’t my favorite chapter, but it’s been sitting in my drafts for over a year and I figured if I don’t post it now, I’ll never move on to the next. Additionally, as always, I live for feedback. 😉

Without further ado,

Then Again Part 26:

(Words: 2,825)

The bus ride will probably get boring soon, or at least as long as the girls stay asleep, but even as quiet as it is, it’s almost a perfect morning. Being early (around 6:00, I think?), there’s barely any light except street lamps and car lights, but some of the clouds on the right have caught a pretty bluish purple tinge. It reminds me of that Rainbow Fish book Aunt May used to read to me as a kid. To make it better, the morning air is chilly enough that the driver turned the heaters on low so it’s wrapped-in-a-blanket-while-it-snows warm in here. Although that also might be why, apart from general dirt and old gum, the strongest smell on the bus is salty grease— since the nearest heater is under the seat Flash spilled french fries and chicken nuggets in yesterday. It could be worse, though. I mean, it’s not necessarily a bad smell and the traffic isn’t horrible. It’s not the best, but it could definitely be louder and a lot slower. The field of flowing red tail lights ahead of us is oddly comforting, like a snail-slow pasture of mechanical color. 

All in all, it’s a pretty cozy start for a dreaded five hour bus ride. It’s giving me quiet time to think. So that’s where I’m at. Or should be. I got some stuff organized in my head last night even if I keep getting distracted now. Well, it was more like a couple hours ago, since I wasn’t able to get to sleep for so long after we said goodnight. But anyway, I’m trying to focus. It’s just hard, even with both of them sleeping.

From my and Ned’s spot behind them, watching the girls’ heads gently shake and bump against each other as the bus shudders through potholes is kind of calming. They seem so peaceful from this angle, like two people who’ve never pranked me and Ned to the point we were nearly suspended, or kept us awake and annoyed by asking paradoxical hypothetical questions because they know how Ned and I will argue for days if we don’t agree on an answer, or anything else like that. It’s like finding two mischievous cats sleeping, curled up on a chair. It’s easier to appreciate them when they aren’t causing chaos. But it’s not that hard to appreciate them when they are anyway.

Though Ned and I won’t admit it when they’re fully awake, seeing their heads smack into the seat in front of them each time the bus lurched to a halt at stoplights (during the first ten minutes after they’d fallen asleep) was funnier than it should’ve been. Even knowing then that we wouldn’t mention it later didn’t stop us from exchanging silent laughs when they leaned back up, muttering unintelligible complaints before settling their heads back onto one another. For the last couple stoplights before the highway, at least, we decided to be better friends. We both stood up with one leg on the floor and one knee on our own seat so we could easily hold their foreheads back each time it happened. Again, I wouldn’t admit this out loud, even to Ned, but it’s a little bit funny that Ned was a split second slower than me, so while I kept catching MJ’s head before the stop, he half-smacked Y/N’s forehead, like a really-close-to-the-floor basketball dribble, and made a wincing face each time. A lot of times. But it did stop her from colliding with the seat, and she didn’t wake up or complain. 

As nice as it is with them and almost everyone else sleeping through the dark, quiet first hour of the bus trek back to New York, I am excited for her and MJ to wake up. Whenever that is. I’ve missed them. 

But anyway, I really need to focus. God. I’m not doing a great job of that this morning. Apparently. So I’m focusing now. It’s like Ned said. I need to be honest with myself. 

Okay. 

Alright. 

No distractions. 

I’m going to set myself straight now, before we get back, so I can make a game plan and be more decisive and make less mistakes. Fewer? Yeah, fewer mistakes. She’s told me that half a dozen times this since she read that grammar book last summer. But that’s not important.

If I’m being honest... I think I’ve avoided the real possibility that things could work out between us because it felt too risky. And I make some dumb, impulsive choices. So that’s saying a lot. If she said no, what’s the worst that could happen? May and Ned have been asking me that for months, and it’s been so frustrating. The answer should be obvious. The worst thing wouldn’t be the rejection, it’d be if it made her uncomfortable and she broke off our friendship. Or, even if she stuck around, if our friendship changed and I had to watch her get more and more distant, knowing it was my fault and nothing would ever go back to normal. 

Those were the worst — and, I thought, most probable — possibilities. For months I’ve been certain that if anything changed, everything would, and it’d all go to shit. So I kept dodging it. And dodging her before the trip. But, then, things did change this weekend. Things are changing. We fought, and it was super shitty and awful and a total nightmare fiasco, but we made up. And she seemed almost as relieved as me when we did. Now we even have this pact about spending more time together. I know it’s officially only in the name of friendship, but something’s… different. I feel it, and I think she does too. And it doesn’t seem bad. That’s the craziest part. I mean, she even kissed me last night. On the cheek, but still. “Keep it.” Maybe May’s not ridiculous: she really might feel the same way. 

I’ve been texting her this morning, actually. Aunt May. I had to admit that I’m happy she forced me to do the forehead kiss thing last night. As annoyed as I was that she and Ned ganged up on me like that, I can’t dispute the results. She kissed me! Kind of. (To be fair, she did hit my mouth a little bit even if it was an accident.) At first it made me wonder if she heard any of Ned’s shout-comments before I could turn the t.v. up to cover what he was saying. But I doubt it. Even if she felt the same way, I know her too well to think she wouldn’t freak out more and enough that it’d be noticable. Yeah, no, I’d definitely have been able to tell if she’d heard him saying things like, “Nobody’s saying you have to tell her that you googled the probability of high school sweethearts getting married that time she saved your ass on that Bronte essay, but yeah, Aunt May’s right! Just ask her to come over and either talk to her or do the hair/forehead thing!” Anyway, May’s on board with her coming over a lot this week and next week and giving us some space. So are Ned and MJ. Ned said they agreed on giving us two weeks (starting tomorrow) without them hanging out after school. And who knows, if the dance goes really well, maybe it’ll be normal for us to hang out, just us, without the whole group. Because… well, I don’t want to get too far ahead of myself. 

I’ll admit, they’re the best friends I could ever have. All three of them. 

And it’s nice to have them all here now, Ned to my left and the girls in front of us. It’s even nicer to be outside of class or the city or crazy study sessions and have had a short breather from all that (despite the shitshow before we smoothed things over and could enjoy it). To be somewhere chill together. Yesterday and today probably feel even better because the last few days, or even weeks… no— months, if I’m being honest— have had me in a kind of less than happy place. But that’s over now. We’re all here and things are finally good. I just wish the girls would wake up, especially since Ned’s back on his phone. Again. 

Yesterday, everybody hung out for most of the afternoon, but being in the whole decathlon group isn’t the same as just being the four of us. Or two. 

Speaking of two— Ned being away during this next week or two is going to make everything so… unfiltered. New. Without his interference and being able to talk to him as often as normal, it’ll mostly just be her and me. Nobody to distract attention or blame stuff on or help me out when I’m doing something dumb (which is often). Like, for example, last night when I maybe let my excitement get the better of me and I might’ve jumped on the bed and thrown a pillow that accidentally broke the lamp on the nightstand. While I don’t really think writing that “Bill Mr. Harrington” note with the school’s address was Ned’s best idea, it helped me not care too much, enough that I didn’t do something dumber like actually tell Mr. Harrington. It might come back to bite us, though. Still, he was genuinely helpful this morning when Flash showed up too. 

While we were hanging out in the girls’ room waiting for them to finish packing, there was a knock on the door. I figured it was Mr. Harrington about to yell at me and Ned for the broken lamp, so I motioned to Ned to shut up and move closer to the head of the bed we were already sitting on where, courtesy of the wall between the bedroom and bathroom, he wouldn’t be able to see us as long as he stayed by the doorway. MJ gave us an odd glance before she got up to answer it. Her annoyed, “What are you doing here?” didn’t immediately disqualify Mr. Harrington, but the sound of Flash’s voice saying, “I, uh, brought you guys some muffins,” made me tense at the first syllable.

“The free muffins they give us for breakfast?”

MJ’s dripping sarcasm nearly made me laugh even though I couldn’t see her, but Y/N turning from her suitcase and walking over to join them killed it still in my throat. 

“Nope,” he said. “They’re fancy muffins from a bakery a few miles away.”

I wanted to roll my eyes out of my skull.

She may not like him, but that doesn’t mean I was wrong about him being into her. What a dumb way to impress someone. “Fancy muffins.”

“Expensive?” MJ asked. Even without seeing her face, I could tell she was giving him the squint death stare. It’s scary to have to respond to that face if you don’t know what the right answer is.

“Yes, especially with the delivery fee,” he said, sounding prepared for the question, “but they’re from a small local place, not a chain, which I figured you guys would appreciate. Actually, I think you’d like the woman who owns it, she was super grouchy and hard to convince.”

“Convince?”

“They don’t normally deliver at 5 in the morning.”

“Oh, so you thought you could just—”

“What kind did you get?” 

That’s one of the things I like about Y/N. She knows how to manage tempers and when to jump in; she has Flash and MJ down to a science. In that moment, though, I wanted MJ to fire her most confrontational questions at him with no mercy.

“Well, they’re all apology muffins—” I heard MJ scoff. Exactly. She gets it. “But I got blueberry, chocolate, obviously, coffee, cranberry orange, maple, I think that one has chicken in it or something, and banana nut.”

Ned and I turned towards each other with silent smirks at the last one. It’s a dumb joke, but under normal circumstances we’d never resist—

“Cool. Since you’ve brought so many, you can come in.”

Sometimes MJ drives me up the wall. This was one of those times. 

I mentally took back my agreement with her scoff.

The three of them came into the room, and for a couple seconds, Flash didn’t see us. The girls were closer to the window than they were to the wall and the bed Ned and I were sitting on, and he didn’t look behind him. Until MJ pointed us out directly.

“You can give them some too,” she said, her expression bordering on smug. “Apology muffins, right?”

Flash froze for a second. I straightened my back. Neither Ned or I said anything.

“Yeah, yeah,” he nodded. “Of course.”

Surprisingly, he shook his shoulders like a bug just buzzed by his head and walked over, opening a giant rectangle of a box up to us. 

“Take however many you guys want.”

I stared at him, not moving. Nobody flinched. Then I realized he was tapping the side of the box with his thumb. Not in an asshole come on, hurry up way, but in an anxious way. Just as I started to reach toward the box, Y/N asked:

“Why’d you get so many of the coffee ones?”

Flash looked away at just the right second. 

Did I technically cave first by reaching into the box? Yes. But did anyone see? No.

Although, I guess he technically caved by offering us the muffins in the first place. Ha. All the same, I took a blueberry one. 

“They’re my dad’s favorite. I wanted to surprise him, you know? But I can’t even get a hold of.... Um, are your guys’ parents going to pick you up when we get there, or are you actually staying for school?”

“Staying.”

“All of you?” 

He looked around to ask all of us, even me and Ned. We all nodded. When he looked at me, though, his eyes twitched. It’s a face I’ve gotten a lot before. He realized he said parents. 

“You said these are orange cranberry?” Ned asked, pointing. 

Flash nodded. 

“They’re solid, though the banana nut ones are probably the best.”

As I said, under normal circumstances, like if one of the girls had said it, I would’ve laughed right then, but I’m not used to laughing around Flash. Ned, who usually follows that same rule, shook his head and grinned, if a little bit... nervously?

“Hell no!” he said, pretending to be mildly outraged. “I’m not eating banana-bust-a-nut muffins.”

A second surprise: Flash tilted his head and paused, clearly as stunned to be told a joke by Ned as the rest of us were to witness it— and laughed. So did everyone else. It was only for a few seconds, like literally three quick seconds, but for the first time for as long as I can remember, all of us were laughing with Flash. It stopped almost as soon as it started. 

Tension crept back in soon so he left pretty quickly after that with an awkward, “See you guys in a few.” Thank god. 

The girls finished tidying their room and going over the homework that’s due today (which we did last week since we knew we’d never get it done on the trip), before forcing me and Ned into the hallway so Mr. Harrington wouldn’t need to check our room for us and potentially find the broken lamp. 

And then, pretty soon, we ended up on the warm bus, loaded in with everyone else. It seemed like everybody but Ned and I were too quiet and sleepy and squinty to be able to talk much before dozing off or staring blankly out the window or scrolling social media on their phones, the latter two options leading to the first in most cases. At this point, I think Ned, Flash, and I are the only ones still awake. 

I’m going to work at tolerating him. As long as he doesn’t cross any lines with anybody from now on, I won’t bait him either. (Admittedly, I’ve been guilty of that, especially recently.) I mean, his comment about his dad was hard to miss. And even when he said it, it wasn’t a shock. Everyone in our grade at some point has had to listen to Flash’s rambling excuses for his parents ignoring or forgetting to show up for school events. Maybe being a dick is just hereditary for him. Or a family tradition. 

I don’t remember how I got so off track. Where was I before? Oh yeah. Risk. Possibilities. The almost-worst case scenario that turned out not so bad. It’s been a messy weekend with plenty of re-evaluating, but the point is simple: I think I’ve got to give a few new things a try, and I’m excited to have a chance over the next couple weeks.

Next update: God only knows.

Tag List: If you’d like to be tagged, send me a(n) ask/message or reply* to this post!

*Notice: If you reply, I may not respond back; if you need/want confirmation, send me an ask/message instead :) Also, there are a few blogs whose tags aren’t working and I haven’t been able to contact them. For the time being, I removed most of the dead tags. If you weren’t tagged and should have been, or if you’ve changed your url, send me a quick message and I’ll put you on my message list!

Tagged: (If I’m missing anyone, send me a message!) @spideymood @solarspidey @tiffanypooh @carrotsunshine @breebree1198 @idontlooklikereginageorge @stumb1ing @bit-bot0711  @justthatshortlittlenerd  @avzuzu   @melonmochi   @happysynonym @the-redthread  @i-love-superhero @ohgloryyy-blog @nicunty @pxrrished @shugr12110629 @realitykilledtheteen@thehanneloner @lionfart   @tryn25 @slythergirlimagines@twentyjuanpancakes @littlekay15  @hi-mishamigos @eversweet-imagines  @thisisthetragicstoryofme @augurydemon@daisy-john @siriuspadfoot14 @debiwolf-t @casual-vaporwave@swimmeranxiety @dangerousluv1   @ghosthiam @homecomjng @deep-thoughts-in-the-shower @bughead-isendgame @qu3en-of-letters @brightcolorsoffendme @cutehollands @enoumen-t @dottirose @justthatshortlittlenerd  @thatgirlthatlikesmarvel@moonofmy-life @royal1958  @ashleyhearto   @pinkleopardss @cutie1365  @spideyschmood @dragoste-lunes @peterparkley @gold-masks @stonesandskeletonbones @myhealingstar  @a-typical-antisocial-fangirl   @love-and-protect-bucky-barnes@fangirldreamsandstuff  @fandom-stuff @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @jellzu  @aussie-mantle@stevieboyharrington  @septicquill @thingfromlove  @dude-whatawave   @me-a-hopeless-romantic @condy-wants-a-cookie @susurrantsoul  @kawaii-girl-101  @lxstneverfound  @ukulele-tea-and-ocean @tepidtrash @emilymarie0422 @styles-bucks@shortstack-ofpancakes @lilbeatlebear @imyourdadssideblog @the-introverted-loner-art @marvelcuties @lesdragly @atomic-chickenwings  @reanne @schwankyblock @nedthegay @kateelyse96@outsider-underwater @omg-lexiloveyou @le-yona  @desteweirdo@thingfromlove @madasameg @bookish-and-shy @lowkeyfriggason @arya-and-sansa @hot-pocket01 @icantthinkofanyusername0 @ajkenwo

[nerdyfangirl67]

Now I Know - Criminal Minds Reader Insert

Pairing: Hotch x reader

Warnings: language, slight angst, fluff, wide range of emotions expressed by reader in the letters

Word count: 2248

A/N: This is a sequel to If You Only Knew, set in the future when Aaron finds the letters the reader wrote. The reader is married to Aaron now. And my requests are always open so feel free to send me some!

Aaron is cleaning out the attic and finds the box of letters the reader wrote for him during a relationship break. He reads them and finds out how the reader truly feels

AARON’S POV

It was one of those days when I didn’t know exactly what to do with myself. I had fixed the squeaky step leading up the front porch, replaced the garage door light, and even cleaned the gutters. And it was only one in the afternoon and I wasn’t sure what else to do for the day. 

On any typical day off, Y/N and I would be spending time doing something with Jack. Today though was different. Y/N was out with Garcia and Prentiss on a much-needed girls’ shopping trip. Jack was over at a friend’s for a playdate and wouldn’t be back until Y/N picked him up on her way home. 

After a quick lunch of a PB&J sandwich with a side of a macaroni salad Y/N had made the other day, I decide to head up to the attic and clean out some of the many boxes that had been pushed aside and forgotten when we had moved into the house.

Pushing open the attic door sends up a dust cloud, causing me to have to wave my arms around like a mad man to clear the entry as I let out a harsh cough. Once the dust clears, I trudge up the rickety stairs, my eyes scanning the room as I reached the top. There were quite a few more boxes than I had anticipated, all strewn haphazardly across the floor. 

Heaving out a sigh, I move forward, examining the boxes and decide to start with those marked miscellaneous.

Two hours and six boxes later and the attic looked no cleaner than it had when I started. I start looking for the next box of seemingly random crap when I come across a small wooden container, resting atop a large cardboard box with Aaron written across it.

Curiosity had me stepping forward to grab the wooden container. Intricate designs were carved into the top of the container and a small gold latch held the lid closed. I trace a gentle hand across the top before carefully opening it. 

I pull out a thick bundle, quickly realizing that it was a stack of letters wrapped in gold and silver tissue paper. I slowly unwrap the paper, careful not to tear it. 

Written in thick, black ink and staring back at me is my name and the address of my old apartment. No name is in the left upper corner, leaving me with a mixed feeling of confusion and curiosity. 

After deliberating for a solid five minutes on whether I should open the letters, as all were addressed to me, none of which had a return address, I decided to go for it.

I grab the top letter of the stack and neatly open it. A glance at the paper tells me that it is from Y/N, dated four years ago.

Aaron,

I don’t have words that will ever truly tell you what I feel.

How could you do this to me? To us? I’ve spent the last year falling a little bit more in love with you every day. And I love Jack as if he was mine. He feels like he is.

But you threw that all away. You told me I deserved something, someONE, better and then walked away with my heart.

You are the sun to my moon. How in the hell am I supposed to be me without the biggest part of me?

I hate what you did. I hate that I can’t make myself go into work because I’m afraid that I might run into you. I fucking work in an entirely different unit, on a completely different floor, and yet, your presence hangs over that building like a shadow.

I hate that I let myself become someone who didn’t know who they were without their partner. I hate that I’m constantly looking at the door, hoping you’ll walk back into my apartment, pull me into one of those bear hugs I love, and tell me it was all a mistake and you’ll never leave again. But the thing that I hate most is that I am still in love with you. That’s what I hate the most.

You ripped my heart out and walked away, leaving me a blubbering mess. 

How could I ever forgive you?

Y/N

The letter leaves me breathless. She never told me how she felt during that almost two-month break. And I can’t believe that I ever let her feel that way. 

It takes me less than a second to rip open the next letter, much more destructively than I had the first.

Aaron,

It hurts so bad. I feel like I’m slowly dying and I can’t bring myself to care. It’s like I was flying and then you brought me crashing to the ground. Hard.

Whenever you speak, I hang on to every word, as if I was drowning and your words could save me. Well, I’d do anything not to have clung so tightly as you ripped my buoy out from under me and let me drown.

That’s what I’m doing, drowning. 

How can I ever live life without you, when I know how good it was with you?

I know it’s all cliches, but that’s how you make me feel. Like a protagonist at the end of a cheesy rom-com, running away with my prince to live happily ever after, except I don’t get my happy ending.

Gosh, it hurts so bad, the pain of losing you. You were my everything and it turns out, I was more of your nothing.

She didn’t sign her name at the bottom of this one. Combining that with the dried, smeared ink on the page and it becomes apparent that she was crying so hard that she couldn’t finish.

A lump settles in my throat, making it hard to breathe as the guilt consumes me. I’m slower this time, as I move to grab another one, afraid of finding out how much I truly hurt her.

Aaron,

I miss you.

And I will always love you.

And if I can’t make you as happy as you make me, then, as much as it will hurt me, I hope you find someone who will.

With love always

Although this one is short, the profoundness of what was written is clear. 

She had been willing to give up if she knew I wasn’t happy with her, no matter how much it hurt her.

I open another, ready to see more of what she wrote in these letters.

Aaron,

The past couple of nights I have been having the same dream.

It starts normally. I’m in the kitchen, making breakfast on what I assume is a Saturday morning. Jack comes barreling into the room, excited to help make pancakes. You come in a short while later, much slower and quieter than the first Hotchner did.

In your arms is our four-month-old son, whom you had grabbed from the nursery on your way downstairs. Jack is rambling about a dream he had as he starts pouring a bag of chocolate chips into the pancake batter. I smile at you, which you return with a silent ‘I love you.’

The scene changes and instead of being in the kitchen with the three of you, I am in my bed, waking up to light shining through the crack between the curtains. I roll to my right to find another person in the bed with me.

At first, I think it’s you, with the dark head of hair peeking out from under the quilt. I move my hand to trail through it, realizing it is not you. At all. 

My hand, which I had quickly removed upon coming to the realization it wasn’t you, causes the person next to me to stir and turn over, revealing someone nondescript, someone who wasn’t you. I scramble out of the bed, finding that this isn’t the home that I had just been in with you and Jack and our new son. 

I scramble towards the door and fly down the hallway, only stopping to open the doors along the way. None of the rooms I open have any evidence of you or Jack existing. There are no pictures, no children’s toys, no red ties casually strewn across the back of the vanity chair, no case files scattered on a bedside table, nothing. 

I soon come to the realization that you don’t exist in this version of my life, which absolutely breaks me. I can’t even imagine a life where I didn’t have you or Jack at least as friends. 

I couldn’t be happy in this version of my life and I know it. That’s what makes this dream a nightmare. The fact that it shows me what my life could very much end up like if I don’t fight for you, or for Jack. 

I don’t want to share my life with anyone but you Aaron. Forget the idea of ‘you deserve someone better’. That doesn’t matter to me because all I want is you. YOU are perfect. YOU make me a better person. YOU make me want to strive for a life full of laughter and love. 

No one but you.

Y/N

This letter truly makes me realize what could have happened had Y/N not come to my door, had she not fought for our relationship, for me. 

I reach for another one, but just as my fingers grasp it, I hear a car pull up in the driveway. A glance out the window tells me it’s Y/N and Jack.

I set down everything that had been in my lap while I was on the floor and hurry down the stairs to the kitchen. I manage to beat you there and I lean back against the kitchen island as I wait.

Jack comes rushing into the room and excitedly starts telling me about his play date. I admit I was only listening half-heartedly as I watch Y/N enter the kitchen. She has several different bags in her hands, yet she doesn’t seem to be struggling.

I listen to Jack for a while longer before I send him to pick up his room. Although Jack’s room wasn’t the neatest, I mostly sent him there to get a moment alone with Y/N, who had just returned from our bedroom after dropping off her shopping bags.

I stand fully and call out softly across the kitchen. “Come here, Y/N.” I open my arms up, inviting her in for a hug.

She doesn’t even question my request. Rather, she sets down the knife she was using to prep for dinner and steps into my embrace.

I pull her as close to me as I can, wrapping one arm around her waist and another up to pull her head into my chest.

I simply hold her, the feelings that came when reading those letters rising and falling within me. I don’t know how to bring up what was in those letters, but I know I have to. Not only because me reading them was a violation of her privacy, but also because what she wrote about in those letters was something I had never known about, something she never talked about with me.

“Y/N,” I murmur as I pull back just enough to look her in the eyes, her Y/E/C that always seemed to pull me in. “I found the letters you wrote and put in the attic.”

As I watch her, I can see the moment she realizes exactly what I am talking about. Her eyes widen and she moves back a step. She opens her mouth to respond, but I place a gentle hand on her face.

“I never realized how I had made you feel. I always thought that I was doing what was best for you. You didn’t deserve a man who works all the time, who can’t leave the job at the office, who brought home the darkness and evil he saw every day. I thought you deserved better than that.” I pause, brushing away the lone tear that was trailing down her face. 

“I realize now though, that despite what my intentions were, I still hurt you. And it kills me that I can’t go back and take that hurt away or keep myself from doing what I did.” I step closer to her, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“What I can do is promise you that I will never let you feel that way again. I promise you that I’ll tell you how much I love you and how important you are to me everyday.” I finish my impromptu speech, watching her as she looks at me.

She doesn’t say anything for a while, which honestly scares me. But then she is throwing her arms around my neck, pulling me down to her lips. 

The kiss is hard and short before she puts her head on my chest. “Thank you Aaron. I know what I said in those letters and a lot of it came from deep down in me.” She presses a kiss to my t-shirt covered chest. “And to me, you’re perfect. You always have been and you always will.”

A feeling of contentment and happiness bubbles in my chest. And I know that whatever happens, as long as I have her by my side, I’ll be able to get through it.

[maggotsandcream]

I woke up super early and haven't gotten back to sleep for over an hour and a half, so here is a ranked list of my favorite Rocket Robot on Wheels worlds, a subject that hasn't been relevant for 2 decades and doesn't even have a community of nostalgia around it. It’s a late 90s collectathon game about a robot rescuing a walrus from a raccoon who took over a theme park that pretty much nobody except me, my sister, and maybe 10 other people on the internet seem to remember.

Food Fright

A monster/candy/mild kid-friendly body horror level that's just very trippy and very fun. Honestly, the best aesthetic. The best parts are locked off at first and need you to fix the machine, but the machine parts are easy to find and the downstairs area still has a lot of fun stuff to do so you don't feel rushed to complete that particular puzzle.

The vehicle is the easiest to use and is an aesthetically pleasing orange beaver spider you drive through the stomach acid lake in the attic. The ring ticket is actually just a platforming bit you do without a vehicle and is actually kind of neat. Even the way you get to it is fun as it's secreted away in an alcove on the ceiling of the homeworld's attic and first you have to figure out how to get up there (but you can immediately tell you can get up on the ceiling so it's not evil). A very excellent final level to the game, the perfect way to round it out.

Pyramid Scheme

Technically you get access to this one at the same time as Food Fright, but you don't have to figure out how to get to it after you take the elevator, so it's functionally the penultimate level. It's a pyramid level (big surprise) but one based more on Mayan ruins which is a bit of fun variety. It has a really cool day (pleasant jungle with water) and night (lava!) mechanic where you have to solve a lot of puzzles by jumping between the 2 parallel worlds and just in general has the best puzzles of the game. The vehicle is really tricky to use, but is made up for by being a flying motorcycle with bat wings that you can take gliding over a lake of lava! And while it's tricky, once you get the hang of it, you can do some pretty neat stuff with the motorcycle.

This would be the best level but for one thing: in order to flip between the night and day worlds and thereby access most of the level you first have to get the machine parts. The machine parts are only accessible by running through one of the trickiest platforming sections in the game in which one mistake forces you to start the entire thing over. Oh, and each section is on a very short timer. But you have to complete it before you can get to the really fun stuff. It's a good thing 64 controllers can survive being thrown down in a middle schooler's hissy fit.

Mine Blowing

So, between my sister and the few people I can find on the internet who acknowledge this game existed, the consensus is that this world is the most boring, but I actually disagree. Sure, the aesthetic is the most boring, merely being a fairly typical cave/mine level where you get to blow stuff up, but the puzzles are probably the second best in the game. Also, I tend to like cave levels in particular for whatever reason. It helps that the "secret" areas feel more secret since it's a lot harder to take a look around and go "oh yeah, I'm going to need to get inside that thing". Mine cart riding is present and is enjoyable. Also, no ring ticket. I prefer throwing bombs to trying to drive an awkward vehicle through a bunch of rings on a timer.

Paint Misbehavin'

Ancient Rome and paint. Yes, in the first half of the world, you can paint almost the entire level with your paintball chariot which is the second best vehicle in the game. I spent a truly ridiculous amount of time just painting everything a different color. You can also paint yourself! The paint part is definitely the most fun part of this world. This is the main reason it's ranked this high and not at the bottom; I just really needed to spend a lot of time finding everything I could paint and painting it, apparently.

Unfortunately the second half of the world doesn't have the paint aspect at all. Instead, you get the worst vehicle in the game, the freaking dolphin. The ring ticket is done with the dolphin. And when you activate the machine and can get into the aquifer you have to do some very precise swimming with the dolphin for a long section. The dolphin is incredibly difficult to control. There are a couple fun puzzles in the second half of the level, but mostly it's just a disappointment after the first half. More paint, less dolphin.

Arabian Flights

So, this one is actually better than both Mine Blowing and Paint Misbehavin', but I just happen to like those 2 better. It's a cloud world with a vaguely Middle Eastern aesthetic. The flying carpet you use to get between sections is hard to control, but not as much as the fricking dolphin. The subsections are pretty neat. There's some good platforming sections and some good puzzles. The way it's laid out, though leaves it feeling kind of disjointed. Some of the best music of the game, only Pyramid Scheme's is better.

Whoopie World (the homeworld)

I'm including this one just due to how extensive it is and including the subareas for clarification. As far as homeworlds go, it's actually pretty good. The side puzzles are basic, but I like that there's stuff to look for everywhere including the homeworld. The attic is probably the best part once you access it, but there's some decent stuff throughout. There isn't a final boss (no bosses at all really, just platforming and puzzles), but instead there's a brutal, long, final gauntlet that tests you on everything you've had to learn throughout the game. That's technically not part of the homeworld, but I mentally group it in anyways.

Clowney Island

It's the first world you get, and it's correspondingly easy and fairly basic. Honestly, props to the developers for making the first world a beach/carnival world instead of your typical green hill world. It's not a bad world, just not anything special really.

Side note: I also really appreciate the rampant use of puns and the many insect enemies. Also, the graphics are pretty good for a 64 game in large part because they really lean into the wonky look everything gets from being so low-polygon and just incorporate it into the style. The colors are a bit loud, but the way they're used is really neat. All the music is fun. The game physics is bouncy but in a pleasing way and is pretty consistent. However, since these are omnipresent, I couldn't use them to differentiate between levels.

[itsomgitsgreenblogging]

The Anchor

So I literally wrote this in one day because I was having a lot of feelings about last night's episode and Fjord and Jester's relationship and how complicated and nuanced their relationship is in general.

This is not written to be particularly shippy, however, feel free to read into it as you like. I leave it purposefully open ended in that regard because, well, their relationship is open ended right now. I am just more interested in these characters and the way their different life philosophies interact.

Enjoy!

Preview:

The days in the north seemed to end much faster than those in the Menagerie Coast. The further that Fjord and Jester traveled the keener he felt that to be true. The air lacked that certain sumptuousness that it did along the coast where it was full of the sea, humidity, and a warmth that bled from the ground and swelled until everything shimmered like it was made of something costly. Even in the dregs of summer that bled into fall, the season felt austere. Fjord had known all his life that the Dwendalian Empire was a strict place, but even the rolling hills and forest lacked a sort of color that he was used to. It reminded Fjord of the washed out grey of a sea at storm, when there was barely any difference between frothy waves and storm clouds on the horizon. 

He was sure that Jester felt it too, though she tended to attempt to fill their days with color in her own dizzying and breathless sort of way. Jester loved to talk but hated conversations, and that was why they had gotten along so swimmingly from the first moment they met. Fjord offered none of himself that he couldn’t spare, and Jester was an open book whose text needed to be decoded by someone who had a degree, and so they could spend all day circling a point like they were circling a drain. Fjord had never met anyone else in his life who knew how to dance over what they meant to say as deftly as he did before. He wondered where she had learned those valuable lessons, but didn’t pry. It was mostly for his sake because he was supposed to be using her. He had thought she had carried herself like someone who had money and such a person would be useful to travel with, and she did have money...at one point. Not any longer. It was just another one of those truths that both of them acknowledged but neither of them addressed outright. Eventually though, one of them had to crack open and offer the olive branch.  For both of their sakes, Jester seemed to steel herself and bridge that divide. 

“I’m sorry Fjord,” she murmured as she curled tighter at the base of the tree, offering that branch to him though she sounded like she loathed every second of it, like a child forced to pull a baby tooth before it was ready to fall on its own. Fjord let his eyes drift over to her for a moment, as he sat rod straight against the bark. Her hair wreathed her hair and dark blue curls like a crown and she didn’t move to fix it as she flopped around like a dying fish. “I shouldn’t have spent all that money.”

“It’s alright,” Fjord promised her as he gazed up into the boughs of the tree. A hawthorn tree contains multitudes, blossoming with beautiful flowers and sharp thorns, it was a song that an old sailor had crooned between puffing at a pennywhistle. It was too bad it was out of season, Fjord thought, he would have liked to see a hawthorn bloom for the first time in his life. His gaze drifted away and then settled beyond the wide dark plains of the empire. “We’ll figure it all out.” 

“You always say that,” Jester grumbled, and Fjord could hear a pout in her voice as clear as day, see her violet-flushed cheeks and her furrowed brow. He felt a smile pull at his lips and the scars that lined the inside of his mouth from nail files and dislodged bones. It was typical, that even in these small moments that were happy, he still had to remember those things he wished he could have left behind.  

“Have I been wrong yet?” Fjord asked, nudging her with the toe of his boot. Jester turned over like a roly-poly and stuck her tongue out properly at him. Fjord released a hearty laugh in return that felt far more natural. Laughter has been a frequent friend since he had met Jester, and he liked that most of the time he meant it with her. Even if he didn’t like to share himself, he disliked being dishonest. Lying by omission hurt much less. 

“But I am sorry,” Jester admitted, her eyes wood-violets cast in shadows. Her blanket was wrapped up to her chin as she did nothing to extricate herself out of her cocoon. “If I had the money we could have traveled with the caravan.”

“My old captain once told me that if we live from our mistakes we ought to learn from them,” Fjord told her quietly, twining his fingers in the grass to anchor him. He pulled at it half-heartedly, feeling the dirt swell and contract with his gentle tugs.  

“I won’t make that mistake again, the horse didn’t even appreciate her clothing!” Jester huffed. “I promise Fjord, when we find my dad it’ll all get figured out. We’ll be able to get new horses and find our way to that academy.” 

“Get some sleep so we can switch,” Fjord told her, amused exasperation creeping into his voice. Jester rolled back over and curled up again, breath even though she was clearly not asleep. Fjord settled in again, against the trunk of that old tree. There was a promise in the north, like the promise of a shooting star. It was something ephemeral and hopeful that conflicted with that dark fear that roiled in his guts like churning black ocean water. If he could get there, perhaps he could find out what had seeped into his bones on that dark night and hadn’t let go.

Fjord shook his head, attempting to shake out those thoughts from his mind. Things were easier when Jester was awake for many reasons, but that was the main one. It was hard to focus on the past when she was dragging him along to the beat of her own drum, but as soon as he was alone all he could do was stew in those feelings that he had long wished to forget. Jester was kind and good and saw those good things in Fjord that Fjord knew that only existed like flashes of lightning, but Fjord knew he could have been better. He could have convinced that caravan leader who had turned them away, he could have done what he had needed to so that they would be safe and comfortable in a world that wasn’t nice to either of their kind. 

Vandren had always been able to make people listen to him. Some people were just like that, they could command a room or a group of men with the ease of breathing. No one had ever listened to Fjord. He had practiced the art of disappearing until he was barely made of anything more than sea mist that dissipated in the morning sun. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t drown, Fjord had thought once. Fjord was nothing, as weightless as driftwood broken off from a whole and eroded until he was battered beyond repair. Though he knew that it wasn’t that. His lungs had filled with water just the same as any man. The miracle that had saved him and flung him to shore just as carelessly, intertwined with him and grew in him...deep in his heart he knew it wasn’t a miracle at all. Miracles don't happen to children tossed aside as easily as a stone. There would be a price to pay soon enough, he just hoped he would find someone who could help him before that. 

If he could be more like Vandren...be the type of man that Vandren would trust, then maybe Fjord could make sense of the outside world. Jester deserved a friend like that at least, Fjord thought with a wince. Not whoever this pushover was. When someone joined with you in friendship there was a responsibility shared...a responsibility to be actively working towards the common good. He would take responsibility, Fjord decided. He would be the type of person that people could rely on, and if he had to discard that other person...well, there wasn’t much of him that he hadn’t discarded before to suit the needs of those who needed him. 

This would be no different, but far more important. 

_____

He pressed the breath in his lungs into her mouth as the weight of the ocean and all of his horrible decisions bore down on them with teeth and tendrils and hungry yellow eyes. Live, Fjord begged her. Live. 

It wasn’t a kiss, Fjord thought pressed against the wall of a captain’s quarter later as Avantika’s fingers danced across his skin. Kisses were things freely given from the heart. Fjord had nothing left in him to save. It was just easier to think of that, of anything else, besides the things that were as plain as the nose on his face. It should have been her choice, but it hadn’t been. So it wasn’t a kiss. It was merely a desperate attempt to save someone else beside himself...to save someone deserving for once in his life. Somehow Fjord was always failing at the simplest of tasks. 

And then he was saved. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Fjord was the worst kind of thief, the kind that took other’s precious things and pretended they were his own and that he was worthy and deserved them. But the goddess looked upon him, and told him he was worthy and that he did deserve to be saved. He supposed he just had to figure out what She saw in him that he didn’t.

Fjord would make it right. He had to. For all of their sakes, to deserve their trust and their love. Patched together Fjord and driftwood Fjord and empty Fjord wouldn’t cut it. He would be a Fjord that he could be proud of, that was his promise.  

_________

Fjord never understood how such big consequences could be decided by such insignificant moments. He could trace a million split second decisions that had somehow led him here. And yet all of them seemed small compared to the moment he had hesitated and the moment that Jester had pushed forward into the hag’s hut and left them all behind. Beau released a strangled noise, her face still sallow. Yasha’s face had gone as hard as stone. Nott looked as if she wished she could sink into the center of the earth. 

 He was supposed to be different now, Fjord thought helplessly. He was different. He was no longer cutting himself apart to please others. He had been given a second chance by a fateful meeting, and had taken it. He was supposed to be stronger. He was supposed to protect them all. But instead it was Jester walking in alone, and then rushing out like the hounds of the nine hells were nipping at her feet. 

Jester-Jester! Are you sure? Fjord had asked, begged as she came running out once more. There was panic under her smile that stretched across his features, magic pulsing under her skin and filling the air in a harried rhythm. Her veins were full of her god’s favor, that Fjord knew. She made them all shimmer like the diamond dust she had scattered across her skin, but never for her own sake it was always for someone else’s. It was that lack of care that had Fjord so deeply disturbed. There wasn’t much that Fjord couldn’t believe she wouldn’t trade away for them. She would trade her tongue for a person's life as he was tossed about in a storm, regardless of if that man deserved it or not. She would give beautiful scales for feet if that meant she could dance with her friends, regardless of if needles pierced her skin every step.  

Everything’s fine, she reassured, her voice carrying a half-lullaby as if she was trying to soothe not only herself but the rest of them who were teetering between the edge of despair and terror. There was a lock of hair twisted around her horn that she didn’t fix, her tail lashed nervously about her legs, her smile was so tight he was afraid it would snap her lips. Fjord helped her gather their traumatized friends up and set them on course again. 

Is it fine? Fjord wanted to beg her. Are you fine? I thought I was going to lose you all to a decision we couldn’t make together again. I was terrified. I was scared, I am always so scared. Are you scared? If you are scared then couldn’t we all be scared together? We are together, but I feel alone. Do you feel alone sometimes, Jester? Is that how you can face a creature like that alone and live to tell the tale? 

But Fjord’s throat was too slick (with sea water, no something thicker, blood, maybe the sea serpent had taken his tongue this time) and no words could escape. Neither of them talked, because that’s what they did. How could one talk when silence was the price you paid for your wishes? 

__________

In the chest there were two sets of silk clothing, gingerly folded and placed alongside a child’s doll that was damp to the touch. Amongst those items, there was a silver pocket watch. On the back of the pocket-watch Fjord caught a glimpse of initials as she turned it. B. V. 

Big Viridian, Fjord thought, feeling a chuckle attempting to escape his throat as he thought on the woman who had taken them through the village of Rumblecusp. Veth turned the watch over in her hands, pulling out a small kit of tools and began to fiddle with it in an attempt to make it work. She grumbled as she did. That was Veth to a tee, Fjord thought idly amused, fixing something so small in such a huge clusterfuck of a situation. She gave up with a sigh, and Fjord watched as Jester reached across and fluttered her fingers. A mist of green and blue caught on the silver edge, and Fjord heard the ticking of the watch. 

“You aren’t planning on keeping that are you?” Fjord asked Jester as she cupped it in her hands. 

“Keeping what?” 

“The pocket-watch,” Fjord clarified. 

The doll’s leg was wet with mildew, and it had raggedy string hair. It had been a human perhaps, a girl doll of some sort. Fjord wondered if the little girl was still on the island, if she had grown up here or if she had washed up on shore like what felt like a lifetime ago and just kept the doll as some kind of momento. Did the clothes belong to her parents? To her? To someone important that she could never replace? What was the difference between these villagers in him? The only one he could think of was that he had just been lucky in the place he had landed. 

Or maybe not, Fjord thought irritated as Jester explained her plan of interrogating the villagers to find B.V.  

“What if they do remember? What if it’s important to them? What if they do remember and they don’t want to speak up for...I don’t know fear of retribution or being outed or something. We shouldn’t take it,” Fjord tried to explain the taste of a cold blade on the tip of his tongue, watching Jester’s face draw in like storm clouds in a grey sky. 

“What if someone hears the ticking sound that follows us everywhere?” Caduceus added from where he was currently inspecting the box itself. Fjord found himself grateful to him for the millionth time since knowing him. Caduceus was steady at the wheel in a way that Fjord found himself lacking. Deep breaths, Cad had advised during one meditation. She can only hear you when you are breathing. 

“Yeah, we know the initials we can put it back. It’ll be a nice treat to open a box and find it working,” Fjord attempted to explain to Jester, but she drew even further away from him.   

“It was pretty dusty, but sure. Put it back, Fjord’s feeling honorable,” Jester said with a scoff and a look she shared with Nott as she tossed Nott the watch. Fjord leveled a glare at them both, and realized that he didn’t think he had ever glared at Jester before. He hadn’t liked how callous she had sounded...it made his stomach feel funny. It made him wonder if she was serious about things he had thought she was joking about like letting people blow up in a volcano or forget in a strange mist about her god-who-wasn’t-really-a-god. It made him doubt her...even though she had been the single constant in his life since this craziness had all begun.   

He looked at her that night, with Yasha’s music still ringing...haunting and sad and beautiful in his ears. Jester slept fleetingly and restlessly, turning over in her sleep like she was on the verge of waking. Fjord wished for a moment he could make it stop. When had it happened? When had they drifted apart and become so disconnected? Their goals so misaligned? There were a thousand scattered memories, and yet Fjord couldn’t pinpoint one. 

It’s just stress, a part of Fjord-the analytical one explained. She doesn’t know what her god wants. Hell, her god isn’t even a god. You know that feeling well enough, how it is to attempt to appease something far greater than you that you have no idea how to appease. 

And what if he is disappointed in her? Another part of Fjord, the one terrified of turtles and scary noises in the dark and larger children with grabbing hands that pushed his head under water in buckets cried. We could barely protect any of them, or ourselves, from the wrath of one entity. What will we do if...what can we do? 

They would have to talk, Fjord thought. For once, they would really need to talk. 

He just hoped he didn’t lose her in the attempt to anchor her. 

[pax-2735]

GoT Fanfic: Come Into My Parlor (3/3)

Words of caution: This part has supernatural elements (sort of), implied murder, smut and dark! Jon - consider yourselves warned.

If you wanna play catch up, here’s part 1 and part 2. 

Summary: When Sansa goes to the Targaryen’s annual Halloween bash, the last thing she expected was to come face to face with her demons.

Come into my parlor

It was only after his footsteps faded, the sound of a door closing in the distance, that Sansa forced her own feet to start moving. Not towards the now dim sounds of the party, no. The last thing she wanted at the moment was to go back in there and risk another chance encounter. It was hard to imagine this night getting any shittier but the way the universe was treating her lately… she wasn’t about to take any chances.

Turning around, she went in the opposite direction.

Which is how she finds herself in her current predicament.

This must be the Halloween party from hell, she thinks grimly, as she rounds yet another corner and comes face to face with four different corridors, all leading in opposite directions.

How the fuck did I get fucking lost INSIDE this motherfucking house? How is that even fucking possible?

She knows her English Lit teacher would probably be appalled at the lack of creativity behind that sentence but right now she doesn’t give a flying fuck. Isn’t this the shittiest ending possible to the shittiest night ever?

Her initial escape from the damn party had quickly evolved into the excitement of exploring the old house. Sansa has never been the bravest of all the Stark siblings – she has, on occasion, even heard unflattering comparisons to a kitchen mouse (not even a garden mouse, for fuck’s sake) – but she has always loved exploring abandoned places. There’s something that speaks to her on a deep level, to come face to face with trinkets and artifacts that have been used and cherished long ago by people she will never know.

Harrenhal isn’t abandoned, but it had quickly become a study in contrasts, as she wondered across rooms that had been completely refurnished to its previous beauty and straight into rooms where no one had apparently set foot in more than a few decades. She’s not exactly an expert on recuperating old houses but she’s pretty sure this isn’t how they do things on The Property Brothers. The excitement had eventually soured though, once her feet had started to hurt and she had decided it was time to get back, only to discover she had no idea where ‘back’ was.

Way to go Alice. Straight into the rabbit hole.

In her defense, she has realized – belatedly, she’ll gladly admit – that this house is an absolute maze. Harrenhal was the pinnacle of Lord Whent’s dreams of grandeur and it definitely shows. Everything is huge and completely disproportional, as though it was built for giants and not men, and the inside is just as senseless. There are stairs that lead to nowhere, rooms where one would expect passageways and everything seems to be tied together in a loop from where there is no escape. She may have to resign herself to the fact that this is where she’ll spend the rest of her life, endlessly going up stairs and turning corners and never finding her way out.

You can check out anytime you’d like, but you can never leave. No wonder they say the place is haunted. At least, if everything turns out for the worse, she’ll have plenty of company.

She chooses the smallest of all four, climbs over the three crooked stone steps at the end of it and turns the corner, and comes face to face with two narrow hallways. None of this looks even slightly familiar which is good – in the sense that she hasn’t been walking in circles as she’d feared – but also bad, as it means she’s not retracing her steps back into the party.

Seven fucking hells. She really needs a drink right now. Or a cigarette. Or her cellphone so she can call the police, the fire department or even her mum. Anyone will do at this point really.

Alright, yoga remember? She takes a couple of deep breaths, starting from her belly and all the way up to her chest, to try and calm the fuck down. This isn’t impossible. All it takes is a little common sense.

There is what looks to be an open door near the middle of the corridor to her right, a soft silvery hue wrestling its way against the shadows lingering in the corners, and she makes her way there. If she can look outside maybe she’ll be able to pinpoint where exactly she is now.

Reference points and all that shit. Dad would be so proud.

The room isn’t very big and it’s crowded with old furniture underneath layers of dust, but the window is huge. The full moon stands directly in front of it, tiny wisps of clouds being pushed by the wind occasionally obscuring its glow. It’s like something right out of a witches story. That, or a slasher movie, she thinks gloomily.

Sansa remembers when she was little, how Old Nan used to tell her that she was lucky for having been born on this night, that there was something special about this time of year. She had never felt particularly lucky though. Right now, she just feels stupid. Still, she supposes, as she makes her way to the massive window, there is something beautiful about this night. Something special, that seems to call out to her.

The gardens that surround the estate are still mostly in disrepair. The grass has grown as tall as a toddler and covers the stone pathways in shades of dark greens and greys. Wild weeds have long since strangled the flower beds, leeching their way into the barks of trees that look older than time. Scattered around the edges of the greenery, antique lamp posts that have long ago grown dark stand as tall as giants, their shadows like black ghosts staring back at her.

She’s startled when she hears it at first, a low rumbling sound that seems to be coming from one of the smaller buildings to her left. Probably the kennels Ramsay was talking about earlier from the looks of it.

She frowns as she peers down at it. The thing looks mostly abandoned, with its barred windows and huge cracks lining the roof and she has a hard time imagining Jon, who is a notorious dog lover, allowing for some poor animals to be stuck in there. But there’s no mistaking the sounds coming from it.

Something heavy clenches at her chest and she suddenly feels the hairs at the back of her neck prickling, the way Lady bristles whenever she senses something foul. The gnarls coming from down below are steadily increasing in volume, something wild and untamed tearing and snarling and scratching at something, until they stop suddenly and everything is silent again. A startled bird takes flight from a nearby tree and the quiet is shattered with a long, powerful howl. Other voices soon join the first one and the black night is suddenly alight with the gut wrenching sound.

The chorus dies down gradually after some time and the night is silent once again. After the sudden howling everything seems deadly quiet, not even a speck of wind disturbing the few leaves still stubbornly clinging to the wiry branches. The only thing Sansa hears is her blood rushing in her ears.

“Sansa?”

The air hisses as she draws it in through suddenly clenched teeth as she swirls violently around. The shadow looming in the doorway jumps back and lets out a startled – and very unmanly – yelp. Her heart is still hammering away as her brain slowly begins to fire back on, her eyes widening at first and then narrowing in recognition. “Jon?”

He has a hand against his chest, the other one running through his hair in a nervous gesture she has seen on him thousands of times, and she can hear him clearing his throat before fixing her with a glare. “Seven hells, you just scared the shit out of me.”

“I scared the shit out of you? What the hell are you doing here?” she huffs.

“I was looking for you. Margaery said she left you in the bathroom but no one’s seen you since. I was worried.”

Ok, so maybe that melts her heart a little bit. “So you came looking for me?”

He shrugs in a casual manner but it does nothing to hide the pink that’s faintly coloring his cheeks underneath his beard. “Just wanted to make sure you weren’t lost or anything.”

And now it’s her turn to blush as he gives her a knowing grin. “Don’t you laugh at me,” she says, as sternly as she can.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He holds up his hands to emphasize his point but she can see the gleam of amusement twinkling in his eyes. “Shall we head back then?”

She huffs as she passes him and he chuckles as she stops dead in the doorway, looking left and right. “Do you want me to lead the way?” he whispers close to her ear, so close she can feel his breath on her neck and the faint smell of the beer he was drinking earlier. Gods, he could lead her straight to hell with that voice and she’d gladly follow.

She elbows him in the ribs instead. “If you’d be so kind.”

They walk mostly in silence as they make their way through winding corridors and steep stairways. Jon seems to know where he’s going, barely hesitating whenever they reach a new crossway before he leads them left or right accordingly, and Sansa begins to believe there might actually be a light at the end of this particular tunnel, and one that doesn’t include a train at that.

It’s only when they turn yet another corner and start making their way down the hall that Sansa suddenly stops, breaking the silence that has settled like a blanket over them to call out his name.

“Jon?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you know where you’re going?”

“Course I do. You think I’m just walking around aimlessly?”

“You sure?”

He frowns at her, looking genuinely hurt. “You don’t trust me?”

“Normally, with my life. In this particular instance, however…” she trails off, nodding her head to her right before fixing him with a stare. His frown deepens and he retraces his steps back to where she stands leaning against a doorway and peers inside the room she just pointed at.

“Shit,” he murmurs.

She narrows her eyes. “I take it that means what I think it means.”

He gives her a sideways glance before turning back to the room, his hand running through his raven curls before he lets out a frustrated sigh. “This is the room I found you in.”

“Which means we’ve been walking around in circles this whole time.”

He turns back to her with a scowl on his face, apparently not finding any of this amusing. Well, tough luck baby. Before he can answer her though, the room erupts in a sudden flash of white light, the walls around them trembling with the force of the thunder that follows right after, making the glass rattle on the weathered windows. Sansa jumps, her jaw clenching as she bites down on the startled scream that threatens to follow suit.

“It’s just a storm Sans.”

She fumes at him. “Just a storm? Just a storm? Are you shitting me right now? This isn’t just a storm! This is Halloween, and there’s a full moon, and we’re lost inside a haunted house –“

“The house isn’t haunted,” he says, quirking his brow. “I can’t believe you believe in such –“

“And NOW there’s also a storm! I’m all for the horror mood of the season but this is getting ridiculous!”

“Hey, hey,” he says, “it’s alright Sansa.” His hands are incredibly gentle as he steps forward to rub them up and down her arms, trying to soothe her. “Look at me. We’re alright.” He’s really close now, their noses almost touching, and the breath she takes in to calm her nerves smells only of him, something earthy and warm and familiar. “Better?” he asks after a few seconds, and she nods.

“Sorry. This has been a weird night.”

He smiles, trying to lighten the mood. “Well, look at it this way. At least we don’t have an axe wielding psycho on our tail.”

The shaky smile she’s sporting dies on her lips. “I don’t know about any axe wielding but we have the psycho part down.” He stares at her, clearly not getting it, and she sighs. “Ramsay’s here.”

“What?” His voice resounds through the walls as another roll of thunder comes crashing in. “What the fuck’s he doing here?”

“He says he was invited,” she explains, as she stares at him, gauging his reaction.

“No,” he says, and there’s an absolute finality in his tone that makes her relax a bit. “There’s no way. Rhaenys and Aegon would never do that, not without talking to me first and I’d never agree to it. At least, not with these many witnesses around.” He smiles as though he’s cracking a joke but it never reaches his eyes. Instead, she sees something hard flashing in its greys depths.

Sansa shivers as another thought suddenly pops into her mind. “Do you have any dogs in here?” Jon keeps silent, his face an unreadable mask as he stares at her, no doubt trying to make sense of the sudden change in conversation. “In the kennels. I thought I heard them howling a while back,” she clarifies.

He shakes his head, giving her a puzzled look. “No one lives here. Besides, I’m the only one who has a dog and if I had brought Ghost, I wouldn’t have put him in the kennels.”

Of course. That makes sense.

Jon gives the room one last dismal look before turning back to her with a sheepish smile. “Maybe you should lead this time.”

“Yeah, because I was doing such a bang up job of it before you showed up.” Still, she starts moving, leading them back the way they came, up until the corner where she turns the opposite way. She can hear Jon’s footsteps following close behind. It’s reassuring somehow, even if he’s just as lost. She’s not alone anymore.

At the very least, he’ll make for good company even if they never find their way out.

“So let me get this straight,” he says after a while, “you ran into Joffrey, Harry and Ramsay? All three of them?”

She shrugs. “My kind of party.”

“I’ll bet,” he murmurs. “I mean, what are the odds?”

“Maybe I should try the lottery next.”

He smirks. “I have to admit though, it was very satisfying seeing you telling Joffrey off.”

She looks at him over her shoulder. “You were about to see me do the same to Harry if you hadn’t been so quick to step in.”

“He was hurting you,” he says, and that hard edge is back in his eyes.

“And my boot was about to hurt him right back. Hard.” She smiles wickedly. “I was channeling Arya. He should be thanking you.”

He lets out a startled laugh as his eyes fall to the mentioned boots. They’re black leather, soft and pliant all the way up to her knees, with some killer heels. Rickon had joked about how she could easily stab a man with those. Or maybe fuck one. Jon’s eyes are now raking up her body, over her legs and lingering slightly at the apex of her thighs, sweeping over her bodice and trailing her neck before settling on her mouth. It’s a thorough eye-fuck if she’s ever seen one. And when he licks his lips before finally locking eyes with her, she feels it like a caress over her skin.

“I wouldn’t want you to ruin them. They look…” he hesitates before giving her a devastating smile, “nice.”

She grins at his cheekiness. They have been doing this for what seems like forever now, the friendly back and forth of friendship always skirting around the edges of flirting, the eternal will-they-won’t-they that has most of their friends rolling their eyes and, in Theon’s case, probably making bets. But there’s something definitely different about tonight. Something far more deliberate, that seems to be taking them much more towards the when-will-they.

The corridor comes to a sudden end, opening up into a large room with massive floor to ceiling windows, wood paneling all around and a gigantic chandelier hanging over their heads. There’s a huge dining table at the center, complete with velvet backed chairs, the brightly polished wood seeming strangely out of place when everything else is covered in what looks to be years’ worth of dust.

“Wow.”

She cocks a brow at him. “You’ve never been here before?” she says, remembering his earlier misguided bout of confidence about knowing his way around.

He seems to be remembering the same thing as he looks sheepishly at her. “In the house? A couple of times. In this room?” His eyes take a long sweep around. “I think I’d remember something like this.”

“Well, I don’t know about you but I need a break.” She struts inside, the carpeted floors muffling the click clack of her heels. The storm is still raging outside but the lighting seems to be holding up so far, several lamps bathing the room in soft yellow hues, a stark contrast against the dark woods and blood reds of the décor. Jon follows her in, pulling up a chair for her to sit before sprawling himself in the one next to it.

“This house was always more of my father’s project. He said there was something about it that reminded him of his Valiryan roots.”

She doesn’t really know what to say to that. The stories about Old Valirya – the ones she’d heard about as a child – were always filled with gore and bloodshed, gruesome tales of incest and madness, sprinkled with just a tad of magic and witchcraft. There’s something strange about this house, that’s for sure. She can feel it in her very bones, to borrow one of Old Nan’s sayings. But she always thought there was something strange about Rhaegar Targaryen as well.

There is something she wants to tell Jon though. Something she feels is way past its due. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you at the hospital.”

The twitching of his fingers as they drum against his jean clad thigh is the only indication that he’s heard her as he keeps his eyes glued to the carpet. “It’s alright.”

She sighs as she contemplates his answer. His quiet dismissal is nothing short of expected but it isn’t what she wants. “No, it isn’t. We’ve known each other ever since we were kids. We’re friends. I should have been there.”

“You were dealing with Ramsay at the time.” His eyes have seemingly lost their interest in the swirling patterns adorning the floor and he looks straight into her own blue gaze. Somehow, it gives her the courage to forge ahead.

“Robb said you died.” She sees him flinch at her words. “He said that when he got to the hospital the doctors told him they were trying to revive you. That you had died and they didn’t know if they could bring you back.” Her voice breaks but there’s nothing she can do about it, the helplessness she always feels whenever she thinks of that terrible night threatening to pull her under until there’s nothing she can do with it but drown.

He must hear it too and suddenly he’s leaning forward, holding her hands and invading her space, breathing her in. “But they did. They brought me back.”

Her smile is probably more like a grimace, her voice barely above a whisper. “What was it like?”

He lets her go and leans back in his chair, his hands running over his face. “I don’t remember much of it. I remember the stabbing.” He shrugs as though he’s talking about something meaningless but his eyes betray the pain the memory still causes him. “I remember thinking how cold everything was, how it felt like I was drowning…” he trails off as he sees her shuddering. “And then I just remember waking up with my father beside me.”

This times it’s her that leans forward, placing her hands over his thighs in what she intends to be a comforting gesture until his eyes darken and he raises his hand to trace a finger gently over her cheek. “I could have lost you that night,” he says, and something both warm and dangerous sparks in his eyes.

She swallows before giving him a shaky smile. “I think that’s my line.”

“No, it isn’t.” He leans forward again and his face is now just inches apart from hers. “I could have lost you without never truly having you.”

He moves, just the slightest bit forward and Sansa knows he’s going to kiss her. Her hand moves up, her palm pressing flatly against his chest and he immediately stops, making her feel a surge of power. It’s intoxicating, the knowledge she can stop him with just the barest of touches, that he will submit to her so willingly. She can see the hurt and regret swimming in his eyes but for once she doesn’t regret putting them there. If they’re going to do this – finally, at long last, actually do this – she wants to be the one to take that final step. She wants to make sure neither one has cause to doubt ever again.

His fingertips are still grazing softly against her neck, as though he fears this is both the first and the last time he has the chance of doing so. Her left hand finds purchase on his arm, holding him against her, as the other one cups his face gently. His beard is scratchy against her palm as her midnight blue nails graze his skin and he closes his eyes when she finally bridges the gap between them.

Behind her closed eyelids she can see flashes of lightning and hear the rolling of thunder from the storm outside. Or maybe it’s fireworks and the mad beating of her own heart and the storm actually exists inside of her. All she knows is that his lips are soft and yielding as they move against her own, giving her complete control over the kiss, and her brain is scrambling to catch up, trying to memorize his reactions. A soft nip at his bottom lip has him groaning, the tug of her fingers in his hair makes him tilt his head as his arm snakes around her waist to pull her into his lap.

She can feel him poking against her ass, the hard plains of his chest rubbing against her nipples as she presses herself against him, and she moans. That seems to be all the encouragement he needs as his control snaps and he grabs her thighs to lift them both up, never breaking the kiss, before settling her down on the table.

Her legs are splayed open and he settles himself in between, her knees cradling his hips and reeling him in. She can feel him rubbing against her most sensitive spot, white hot sparks of pleasure searing through her body and she tears her mouth away in a gasp. His lips never leave her skin, trailing fire across her jaw line and nipping at her ear lobe before venturing down to suck at her neck. His right hand is splayed against her back, keeping her up, but his left is slowly trailing under the hem of her dress and over her thigh, his fingertips toying with the edge of her panties.

She feels the rip against her skin more than she hears it, and she means to give him a dirty look and a slight scolding – those were some of her more expensive panties, after all – but all she manages is a keening, needful sound as he takes half a step back before placing his hand fully against her core. His fingers dip beneath her folds, easily parting them, and the lady in her should feel embarrassed about how wet she already is but she can’t, not when his thumb is brushing her clit in the most delicious manner, not when he slips one and then two fingers inside of her and she can feel her toes already curling in pleasure.

Gods, but the man knows what he’s doing. Her hips buck against his hand and he snaps his eyes back to hers, a smug grin on his face, but right now he has every right to be smug, she thinks, as she grabs his face and pulls him back up to her mouth. It’s only a fleeting kiss before she’s throwing her head back, his arm around her waist the only thing keeping her up, and she lets out a wordless scream.

When she opens her eyes again her whole body is still shuddering. Jon is looking at her as he brushes a lock of hair behind her ear, the gesture incredibly sweet after what he just did to her with that hand, his eyes filled with lust and something else she doesn’t dare to name just yet.

Her fingers play with the soft hair at the back of his head, her nails raking lightly against his neck and she’s delighted when he closes his eyes, letting out a low rumbling sound. They’re still so close that she bumps her nose against his as she tilts her head to the side to whisper in his ear, “I want more.” Her hands smooth down slowly over his chest until they reach his belt, her fingers making quick work on the buckle.

“Sansa” he rasps out through gritted teeth, “we don’t have to…” Whatever else was going to come out of that gorgeous mouth is lost as she pops the button on his jeans and lets her hand play along the fine hair over his abdomen.

“I know,” she says, her hands pushing his jeans and boxers down over his hips, fingertips touching the velvety hardness before she looks back into his eyes, a coy look on her face as he bucks against her. “I want you Jon.”

His uncertainty turns into a wolfish smile, his hands gripping onto her hips to pull her towards the edge of the table, the tip of him brushing against her wet folds. “As the lady commands.”

When he slides inside of her, the only thing she can think of is that it won’t take long for her to peak again. He sets a brutal pace, his hips snapping against hers in all the right ways, his cock hitting that delicious spot inside of her with every stroke. His right arm encircles her waist, keeping her close even as his left hand moves between them to circle her clit. Her legs have wrapped themselves around his hips and her arms move around his shoulders, their tongues mimicking the movements of their lower bodies as they swallow each other’s moans.

Lightning flashes just as Sansa wrenches her mouth free to scream his name as her orgasm washes over her. She thinks she sees something violet sparking in his grey eyes as he leans forward to whisper you’re mine now against the skin of her collarbone but a second later thunder crashes, and Jon roars her name as he spills inside of her.

She’s still limp and completely boneless when he collapses against her, his weight pushing her backwards against the table, his hands moving rapidly to cushion her fall. She lets out a contempt sigh as she combs her fingers through his sweat dampened hair, willing her racing heart to finally settle back down.

He’s grinning when he finally raises his head from her chest to look down at her. “This isn’t how I thought this night would go.”

“Second thoughts already? Man, you’re fast.” Her attempt to look miffed is shattered by a squeal of laughter when his hands tickle her sides.

“Never,” he says, moving his hands up so he can settle on his forearms and give her a heart melting kiss. “My only regret is how much time I’ve wasted.” The tips of his fingers toy with the loose strands of her hair before he brings a lock up to his lips. “But I’ll never regret how tonight turned out.” His cock twitches against her inner thigh and he gives her a playful smirk.

She cocks her brow before giving him a slight shove. “Down boy.” He laughs, leaning down to give her a quick peck on the lips before straightening, his hands gripping her elbows to help her along, even as she uses her stomach muscles to lift herself up to try and chase his lips back to hers.

Jon is tucking himself back into his jeans as Sansa stares at the mess between her legs, looking around for something to clean herself up with. “Where are my panties?”

“Those are mine now,” he smirks, and she huffs at him.

“I bet you’re gonna look great in them.”

He moves back against her, his arms boxing her in as he grips the edges of the table on each side of her. His breath is warm against her neck and she feels his teeth bluntly nipping at her ear. “Want me to clean you up?”

Oh Gods, does she ever. Even though she seriously doubts her body is capable of another orgasm right now – another knee-weakening, mind-blowing, earth-shattering orgasm – she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t very, very tempted. She feels him smiling before he moves back, allowing her brain to start working again. “Raincheck?”

“Whenever you want love.” He nods his head to a small greenish door, partially hidden by the wooden paneling. “There’s a bathroom over there where you can clean up.”

She’s throwing the paper towels down the toilet, checking herself in the mirror to try and make herself look presentable – never mind the marks Jon has left on her neck and collarbone as there’s nothing she can do about that – when it suddenly hits her.  How did he know about the bathroom? Hadn’t he said he had never been here before?

She’s still frowning, trying to collect her thoughts, when a strange noise, followed closely by a moan, startles her. There’s a door on the other side of the bathroom, probably a connection to the adjoining room, and as she strains to hear it, it’s obvious there’s something happening on the other side. The door isn’t locked, or even closed properly, the hinges creaking as Sansa pushes it open and her eyes widen.

Harry is half sitting, half lying on a couch, someone Sansa instantly recognizes as the blonde zombie from the party sprawled on top of him, her hand palming him over his trousers. She can’t see the blonde’s face as it’s hidden on the crook of Harry’s neck, but Harry sees Sansa. He lets out a strangled noise, his eyes widening at her before he lifts up his hand, beckoning her to come closer and she frowns. Is that dick really inviting her to join them?

A shadow moves in her peripheral vision and the door bangs shut abruptly. Jon is looking at her in concern as he grabs her elbows and gently steers her back. “Fucking hell,” he mutters, as he gives the now closed door a dark look. “This night can’t end soon enough.”

“I’ll say,” she mutters. He pulls her against him, his arms wrapping around her as his lips graze her temple and she nudges her nose against the crook of his neck.

“What do you say we head back to the party?” He pulls back slightly to give her a boyish grin. “I promise it isn’t half as bad as it seems.”

She’s about to make a joke over the fact that they’re still as lost now as they were an hour ago, but now that the storm is finally over, she can hear the faint strains of music coming in from somewhere down the hall. She nods, tucking herself against his side as they make their way outside. And just as they’re stepping out, she catches their reflection in the mirror, hair still pretty much disheveled, the remains of her red lipstick marring the black of his shirt, his beard burn making her neck look as pink as a new born.

He looks at her through the mirror, angling his head so he can kiss her cheek while still keeping his eyes locked on hers. “Happy birthday baby,” he whispers. And this time, she can swear she sees something violet flashing in its grey depths.    

                                                            ***

Epilogue

This time, as they start back towards the party, Jon knows exactly where he’s going. It takes them only a short while before the music is blasting its way into the corridor, pulling them back into the mass of bodies drunkenly swaying across the room.

Jon brings her hand to his lips, gently kissing her knuckles before smiling. “Do you wanna dance?”

She nods and he pulls her along, twirling her around as they reach the center of the room before pulling her firmly against his chest, eliciting an excited giggle from her lips. His arms reach around her, a palm planted against her lower back, the other finding its way up her spine to tangle gently in her red locks. Her own arms have wound themselves around his neck and she tucks her head against the crook of his neck. Right where she belongs.

He knows better than to blame this pull she has on him on anything other than his own heart. He has loved her for far longer than anyone would ever suspect.

It had been his reaction to her infatuation with that asshole Joffrey that had first opened his eyes to his real feelings for his best friend’s little sister. He had watched as she lost herself in her feelings for the blond jerk, how he gave her nothing but contempt and threats in return. The desire to see him choke over his own words was so dire Jon was sure his own hands would end up doing the job.

In time, she will learn how Joffrey died on the way to the hospital, choking on his own spit as bloody foam spurted from his mouth. Allergic reaction, the people will call it. But Sansa will know the truth.

When her path to college had taken her miles away from him, he had briefly thought about following her. But his father had cautioned him against it. She needed time, he had said, time to grow into herself and learn what she wanted. Jon hadn’t liked it, but he had agreed.

He had learned about Harry from Robb and once again jealousy had reared its ugly head. But it was Robb’s own rageful comment about how that prick had cheated on Sansa that had truly sealed his fate.

In time, she will discover how the pretty zombie from the party was really someone Harry knew – or thought he knew, in any case. Rhaenys is good at getting these things arranged, even if she doesn’t have the stomach to stick around for the fallout. Sansa will be shocked, no doubt, when Harry’s body is discovered, livid and cold and mangled in one of the mansion’s secluded rooms. Too much alcohol, the people will whisper, his heart gave out. But she will know.

His own death had changed something deep inside him. He didn’t exactly lie when he told her he couldn’t remember much. He doesn’t. But what he does know is that there was someone else in the room with his father when he had woken up, and one look into the woman’s face had made it clear he wasn’t supposed to have come back. But whatever else death might have done to him, the one thing that never changed was his love for her. If anything, it just made everything clearer. He needed her. He wanted her. And he was going to have her.

He knows why she hadn’t visited him in the hospital. While he was lying in that hospital bed, she had been in a different one, recovering from wounds inflicted upon her by the prick who was supposed to love her. Ramsay is the one he’s sorry he couldn’t kill with his bare hands. She doesn’t know it – at least Jon doesn’t think she does – but soon after his release from the hospital he had paid Ramsay a visit. His knuckles had been scraped raw as he had beat the sorry motherfucker into a pulp, his face a distorted, bloodied mass by the time Jon had stopped. Sometimes he wishes he hadn’t. Stopped, that is.

In time, she will hear about the disfigured body found in what used to be the mansion’s old kennels, too eaten and torn to pieces to allow for a positive ID. There will be speculation about how it was probably some homeless guy attacked by wild animals – and won’t Aegon be pissed when he hears his hounds being referred to as such. But Sansa will know the truth.

He nudges his thigh between her legs as he presses closer to her and she lifts her head to shoot him a dirty look. Her dress is short enough as it is and he still has her panties safely tucked away in his pocket. He kisses the tip of her nose in apology as he sways her gently across the floor. He’ll behave for now. His plan is finished and Sansa is safe in his arms.

In time, she will come to learn what he is. She will know the truth about the Targaryen bloodline and heritage, how the stories of madness were mere tales to mask a much uglier truth. In time, she will accept that everything he’s done has been for her.

He twirls his fingers through her hair, gently tugging her head until he can capture her lips with his own in a whisper of a kiss. Her eyes are sparkling as she pulls back to look at him.

“I love you Jon.”

“I love you too sweetie.”

It’s time to reap his reward.

[fcntasmas-archive]

happy birthday, even!

below, you’ll find what you all asked for his birthday: a sneak peek of chapter seven of take me to the stars, “vincent van gogh”. 

i once again cannot promise you it’s any closer, but for your patience, and for the wonderful character even is and the impact he made in my life, here are 9,300 words of my second-favorite scene in the chapter.

note: it’s self-edited, so there will definitely be mistakes. also note that during the editing process of a complete chapter, some things may be added/deleted, so this is definitely not a final draft, but it’s the gist of it.

i love you all very much, and i hope you enjoy it. don’t read under the read more if you want to wait until whenever the full chapter is up!

much love, 

ceecee ❤️

It’s still cold enough outside that Isak can see clouds forming with his every exhale — though, unlike most days, he’s not really paying attention to them this time; this time, his attention is centered mostly on Even walking beside him and talking to him about his day at home. He’s a little solemn as he does so, however, mostly bringing up how quiet the house has been since the Unidentified Issue between Yousef and Elias occurred at an Unidentified Time. Isak mostly nods and listens, because it seems like that’s all Even wants right now, anyway. Or needs. Or both.

He still hasn’t mentioned to Even the cryptic way Elias spoke about Yousef to Isak the other day — he just has no idea how to bring it up without sounding like he’s poking his nose into things he has no business poking his nose into. He’s sure Even is used to Isak doing these things — see: Noora and Eva and that whole fiasco — but there’s something about it this time. Something that tells him he’s better off not talking about it, not looking at it, not getting involved. In fact, there’s something that’s telling him Even should do the same, but Even is — loyal, as he’s established before. Stubborn, as are most people he’s friends with. Even thinks he has a chance at maybe fixing this problem, if he ever has the chance to find out what the problem is, and Isak doesn’t have the heart to tell him that maybe --- just this once --- it’s better if he stays out of it.

“Sorry,” Even suddenly huffs behind him, pocketing his hands in his coat. “I’m commandeering this entire conversation, aren’t I?”

Isak shakes his head. “Since when do you care about whether or not you talk too much?” he teases, and Even smiles only slightly.

“It’s just been a long day,” he finally concludes. “But at least I had this to look forward to.”

Isak clears his throat. He’s not about to tell Even just how much he’s been looking forward to this, too. Then he’ll only get smug and teasing and Isak can’t spend the rest of the night blushing — he needs his blood evenly distributed throughout his body. It’s cold.

“Can’t believe you’re looking forward to proving me right,” Isak smirks. “Nothing’s more exciting than spending a night at the space exhibit.”

Even snorts. “Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy dancing.”

“I’m not acting,” Isak replies seriously. “I’m pretty sure my feet still resent me for that.”

“Impossible!” Even laughs. “I saw your feet moving. They were having the time of their lives.”

“They were being polite,” Isak sniffs. “They didn’t want to make you feel bad.”

“I feel like we’re talking way too much about your feet right now,” Even replies easily. “Is that another kink we need to add to the list?”

“I don’t think so,” Isak assures him. “I’ll report back if I find otherwise.”

Even grins. “Thank you.”

Isak grins back. “You’re welcome.”

The rest of the walk is quiet — but not uncomfortably so. They fall into step evenly, weirdly enough, considering Even’s steps are usually long and hard to keep up with. This time around, however, he’s matching Isak’s pace, and they don’t seem to be in any hurry to make it to their destination in order to get rid of the silence. Instead, they listen to the whistle of the harsh winds, and the rustling beneath their feet, and maybe the clearing of their throats, if it gets to that, but they don’t force a conversation where one doesn’t come naturally. It’s not unusual for them, not anymore, but Isak can’t seem to pinpoint the moment it became commonplace for them to be able to survive such a long silence without worrying about it; he thinks it didn’t take long with Jonas, and it was always easy with Eva, but if he was able to look back and count the days it took to get to this point, he wonders if they’d make sense to him. If they would seem appropriate, or far too slow, or far too fast.

“Oh,” Even interrupts Isak’s thoughts suddenly, which causes him to look over at him. “Is there usually an angry woman yelling into her phone outside the museum?”

Isak follows Even’s gaze and finds Sara doing exactly as Even pointed out — standing outside of the museum yelling into her phone. Isak grimaces slightly and shakes his head in response.

“Not usually,” he assures. “That’s Sara. She’s usually at the front. I have no idea why she’s yelling into her phone.”

“I hope everything’s okay.”

Isak doesn’t know. He’s never really seen Sara not be okay, but that says more about him than it does her, really, doesn’t it? Isak shrugs his shoulders, for lack of a better response, and mutters unintelligibly under his breath as he fastens his pace, silently asking Even to do the same. He does, falling back into step with Isak in no time, and by the time they reach the museum doors, Sara’s hanging up the phone in a huff.

He really tries to avoid eye contact with her, he really does, but it’s impossible — as soon as Isak glances over to make sure she isn’t looking, she’s looking up, and their gazes meet immediately.

Isak sighs.

“Hey, Sara,” he greets her awkwardly, holding up a hand as a hello. He doesn’t --- wave it, or anything, it just kind of stands there, and Sara stares at his hand for a second in confusion before meeting his gaze and offering him a wane smile.

“Hey, Isak,” she replies, glancing over his shoulder. “And Isak’s taller friend.”

Isak glances over to where Even’s standing about a step behind him, and watches through his peripheral as he offers Sara a far more enthusiastic wave than Isak had. “Even,” he introduces himself, and Sara raises an eyebrow.

“Even,” she smiles. “Sara.”

“I heard.” Even replies.

There’s an awkward pause.

“Uh,” Isak coughs once into his hand before gesturing towards the phone in Sara’s hand. “I hope—”

“No.”

Isak blinks. “Sorry?”

“Don’t ask me about it, please.” Sara’s tone is stern and final. Isak feels like he’s being chastised for something he definitely hasn’t done yet.

“I – wasn’t gonna,” he lies stupidly. “Just – your gloves, they look – nice,” he finishes miserably. Even snickers quietly to himself behind him, and Isak has the better judgment not to flip him off in front of Sara.

Sara looks down at her hands, then laughs slightly. “Sorry,” she apologizes, but before Isak can assure her she doesn’t need to, she continues, “It’s just been a long night. Eskild’s in there manning the front,” she tells him, and Isak’s sheepishness turns into immediate panic.

“For – for what?”

Sara blinks. “For me?” She raises an eyebrow. “Since I’m out here yelling into my phone?”

Isak nods vigorously. “Right, right,” he clears his throat. “And you don’t – I mean, you don’t feel like ah, going back inside and taking back your post, maybe?”

Sara’s expression turns from quizzical to maniacal. “Not anymore, I don’t.”

Isak gives her a look. “Why are you doing this to me.”

“I’m not sure yet,” Sara grins. “But I’m sure I’ll find out.”

Even’s snickers from behind him get louder, and Isak whirls around to glare at him. “Shut up.”

Even holds up both of his hands in a defensive manner, and Isak turns back around to look at Sara. He thinks about begging her, really, to go back inside and get rid of Eskild so he can sneak past the front, but --- Isak can tell, behind the humorous glint in her eyes, that she does need some more time out here by herself. She doesn’t want to talk to Isak about it, which is fair and understandable, since they’re co-workers more than they are friends, and Isak isn’t such a selfish and terrible person that he would put his own needs above hers.

He thinks.

Well, if nothing else, his needs currently are a lot more dramatic than they are realistic, unlike Sara’s, surely, so for now – he’s not.

He nods once at her and hovers for only a moment longer. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

Sara’s smile is tiny, if a little bitter. “Never better.”

And you don’t have to be good at people to note the tone, do you?

Isak nods one more time and looks back at Even, who is looking sort of intensely at Sara – he seems to feel Isak’s gaze on him, however, because he turns to look at Isak after a second and nods at him encouragingly. Isak gestures with his head towards the front door, silently asking him to help facilitate their escape from this situation.

Even waves at Sara one last time. “It was nice meeting you.”

Sara holds up the hand with her phone in it. “Likewise.”

Isak and Even walk up to the front doors, but before they open them, Isak holds up a hand to Even’s chest to stop him in his tracks. Even stops dutifully, though there’s an air of confusion coming off him that Isak pointedly ignores as he narrows his eyes and scans the entrance in search for—

Eskild. There he is, and he’s currently busy, looking like he’s happily explaining something to a couple of visitors, his back to the opening between the front and the interactive floor exhibit. It’s the perfect time to sneak by him, he thinks, so Isak opens the door, fists a hand into Even’s jacket and pulls him inside quickly, eye on the prize.

Except Even can’t make things that easy for him, can he? It takes Isak a moment to realize that once they’ve stepped inside the warmth of the museum, they’re not actually moving, and that’s due to the fact that Even’s stopped in his tracks and is staring at an inclined Isak – who is still holding on to a part of his jacket, might he add – suspiciously.

“What are you doing?” he asks, and Isak groans and lets go of Even, walking closer to him in order to keep his voice down.

“I’m trying to avoid my manager, okay?” He hisses urgently. “Which we can’t do if we stand here dilly-dallying.”

Even looks around the front. “But I want the full experience,” he counters as his gaze meets Isak’s again, and Isak sighs irritably.

“Maybe after Eskild is gone again.”

Even raises both eyebrows in surprise. “Is he that bad?”

“Worse,” Isak sighs forlornly. “He’s great.”

There’s a pause.

“No, see, I’m not getting it.”

Isak looks at Even, eyes wide. “Have you ever felt overly supported in your life?”

Even blinks. “Is that – a real thing people worry about?”

Isak grunts, frustrated. “No, I’m saying—”

“Let me rephrase: is that a real thing you worry about?”

“Who – it doesn’t matter, Even, what I’m saying—”

“I’d actually like to spend a little more time on—”

“We’re wasting time—”

“Little one!”

The voice breaks through whatever Isak’s excuse was going to be next like a knife through butter – because Eskild’s voice, though loud and ostentatious at times, still manages to be soft and kind – and his eyes instinctively close is anticipatory disdain while a deep breath escapes him.

“He’s here,” he mutters quietly, and he hears Even chuckle and Eskild clear his throat nearby.

“Right behind you, even!” Eskild exclaims, and Isak’s eyes open quickly as he turns to face his boss. He offers Eskild a tentative smile and a small wave – similar to the one he’d offered Sara outside, where it doesn’t really move all that much – before setting his hand back inside his coat pocket and clearing his throat.

“Hi, Eskild.”

Eskild pointedly ignores his greeting, opting instead to fix his gaze on Even, a crooked smile taking shape on his lips. “And who is this tall drink of water you’ve brought with you on your day off, if I might ask?”

Even elbows Isak softly on the side, waggling his eyebrows down at him. “You hear that? I’m a tall drink of water.”

“This tall drink of cyanide is Even,” Isak deadpans. “Even, this is Eskild, my boss.”

“And very best friend, as I’m sure you know,” Eskild poses dramatically before extending his hand out to Even, smiling widely. “Charmed.”

Even takes his hand and shakes it, smile just as wide. “Likewise, Eskild.”

“Little One, might this be the same Even you’ve told me about in the past?” he asks, voice only slightly quieter than before and gaze still fixed on Even like the big old slab of meat Isak’s sure Eskild is imagining him as.

Isak’s face burns slightly. “No.”

Even glances at Isak, surprised. “You know more Evens I don’t know about, Valtersen?”

“Would you—” Isak glares at him. “This doesn’t have to be this painful for me, you know.”

“This is the same thing Julio asked when I first met him, you know.”

“You know his name is Julian, why do you keep doing that—”

“He is, isn’t he?” Eskild’s smile turns positively mischievous, and Isak’s ready to give up on this entire trip and run out the door with Even. “It’s an honor to meet you, my dear. We’ve heard so much about you here.”

Even looks surprised. “Really?”

“Oh, yes,” Eskild makes an offhanded gesture. “You’ve even come up in theme park conversations, I think.”

Even looks at Isak. “Is that a euphemism?”

“I want to die.” Isak replies.

“Well, don’t do that,” Eskild tuts. “I’m only asking because our very good friend Chris is on shift tonight.”

Isak freezes. “Wait – what?”

Eskild nods once, staring intensely at Isak. “He’s covering for Hanna. Just started his shift.”

Isak cannot believe his luck. He specifically chose this day because he knew Chris wouldn’t be here, knew he wouldn’t be on shift, and knew he wouldn’t have to face him with Even by his side. And Even would never have to know – the thing he doesn’t know, which is his name also happens to be Isak’s fake boyfriend’s name because he panicked that one fucking time before they were even --- on talking terms, technically.

He looks over at Even, feeling panic run through his body. “We gotta go.”

Even shakes his head once. “What? But we just—”

“Can you use a pseudonym?” Isak backtracks, because maybe he can salvage this yet.

“What? Isak, what are you—”

“James? Jerry? Jordan?”

“Am I an American basketball player?”

“I think in American when I’m panicked.”

“Why are you panicked?”

“Even, listen—”

“Even?”

Oh, God. Oh, God. Isak looks towards the sky and waits for lightning to strike him – he’s paying for something, isn’t he? Wouldn’t it be so much simpler if he was just struck by lightning at this very moment to pay for whatever it is he’s paying for? If there is a God out there, somewhere, if He’s truly looking out for him and for all of his children and all of that bullshit he was fed when he was younger – he’d be struck by lightning at this very moment. Your move, God.

“Uh.” Isak can feel Even blink at him, but he refuses to look down until lightning has struck him, thank you very much. “James Jerry Jordan, actually. I think.”

Isak looks down at Even.

Eskild pops a gum into his mouth, looking endlessly entertained by the situation unfolding in front of him.

And Chris – well, he doesn’t look fooled, much to Isak’s disdain. He looks over at Isak, his index finger outstretched towards Even, expression conveying both smugness and disbelief, if such a combination is possible. “This is the famous Even? Your boyfriend Even?”

Even coughs beside him.

Eskild stops chewing his gum.

No lightning?

No lightning.

In for a penny, he supposes.

“Yep,” Isak near-squeaks, quickly taking a hold of Even’s hand beside him and lacing their fingers together. “Yep, this is – Even, my boyfriend,” Isak clears his throat and looks over at Even, whose expression is masterfully schooled as he looks between Isak and Chris. “Even, this is – Chris, my coworker. I told him about you a while back. You, my boyfriend.”

Even blinks at Isak. There’s a moment where he thinks Even’s going to burst out into laughter and ask if there’s a prank being played on him, but he must see something in Isak’s eyes in the few seconds he searches them, because instead he squeezes Isak’s hand and turns over to offer Chris a large, charming smile – perfect teeth and all.

“That’s me,” he nods. “The boyfriend.”

Isak could kiss him.

(Would that help, actually?)

Chris eyes the two of them, looking dramatically suspicious – but Isak’s not sure what he could say to disprove this fact. They’re both in on it now, and what would he gain from trying to disassemble their story, other than the freedom to continue to hit on Isak, which he’s already discovered is a fruitless endeavor, boyfriend or not? Does he just take pleasure in proving people wrong, or bothering them so thoroughly they eventually truly have murderous inclinations towards him?

“Well it’s no wonder you didn’t respond to any of my advances,” Chris declares dramatically. “I’m certainly not your type, if we’re looking at the personification of it right now.” He’s gesturing at Even’s – well, everything, and though it’s a bit crass and definitely done with the intention of embarrassing Isak, he’s not completely off-mark, is he?

Even raises an inquisitive brow. “You’ve been hitting on Isak?” he asks, and Isak thinks it’s almost like he sounds genuinely jealous and protective, and maybe Even’s true calling is acting and not – all the other art forms he’s trying for.

Chris holds up both of his hands and takes a step back. “Only until he told me about you, blondie,” he promises. “I’m a man of honor.”

“Oh, yeah,” Even snorts. “You seem like it.”

Chris seems to purposely ignore the snide comment and looks back at Isak, smiling. “Well, guess I’ll see you around, hm?” He raises an eyebrow. “Just in case, you know.”

Is he being threatened?

It’s a genuine question, since Chris is so bad at everything Isak wouldn’t be able to tell.

“Sure,” Isak nods once. “Maybe. We’re gonna be busy doing boyfriend stuff, and stuff.”

Chris chuckles. “Uh huh,” he nods, looks over at Even again and salutes him. “Blondie.”

As Chris is walking away, Even is shaking his head in puzzlement. “We’re both blonde, he could literally be talking about either of us.”

“He’s not very bright,” Eskild offers. “If he didn’t bring in so much business via horny teenage girls who come here to ogle him I’d have sacked him years ago.”

“Never mind the sexual harassment,” Isak points out, disgruntled.

Even looks over at Isak. “Has he been bothering you?”

Isak waves it off. “Not since I told him I had a boyfriend.”

Even’s lips twitch. “Me.”

Isak takes his hand back and crosses both of his arms over his chest. “Okay, don’t flatter yourself, Casanova, yours was just the first name that came to mind when he asked, alright?”

Even raises an eyebrow. “How am I not supposed to be flattered by that?”

“Just don’t be.”

Even shakes his head. “But if he’s been—”

“Listen,” Isak interrupts. “We’re here to give you the full experience, right? Unfortunately, that,” he points towards where Chris has disappeared through the interactive part of the museum. “Is part of the full experience. Day-to-day. So’s this one,” he gestures towards Eskild, who has not had the good judgment to make himself scarce and is currently looking at the both of them like they’re some sort of soap opera. “And it’s not bad. It’s not. It’s work.”

Even furrows his brows. “Isak, if he bothers you so much you literally consider it harassment, it’s not just work, it’s literal—”

“Not tonight, yeah?” Isak pleads. “Can you just – play along for me?”

Even licks his lips and looks over at the area where Chris last disappeared into, then back at Isak before sighing loudly. He takes both of Isak’s hands in his again and leans over to press a soft kiss to Isak’s forehead, and that—

Isak’s not sure what that is. All he knows is that it makes his stomach warm and his knees weak and he feels stupid.

Some of that must convey through his expression, because when Even pulls back a little to look at Isak, he confuses his absolutely uselessness for confusion.

“This is what boyfriends do, isn’t it?” Even is looking at Isak with a cocked eyebrow and a small smirk playing at his lips and Isak hates the fact that his face is hot and embarrassed and Even’s definitely getting the last laugh out of this.

“You don’t have to—”

“Hey,” he squeezes Isak’s hand. “He keeps staring at us.”

Isak looks at Eskild, who is, in fact, still there, and definitely staring at them. “Jesus, Eskild!” He scowls. “Could you—”

Eskild holds up his hands. “Sorry, sorry!” He grins. “You two are just the cutest, I can’t get enough.”

“This is it, this is enough,” Isak replies through gritted teeth, and Eskild waves him off.

“Don’t be so dramatic, I’m leaving,” he replies as he turns around. “Have fun!” He sings, making his way back to the front desk, and Isak looks back at Even, tiredly.

“I’m sorry about him.”

“I like him,” Even says, his hands still laced with Isak’s. “And I wasn’t talking about him. I was talking about your friend,” he corrects, and looks over towards the interactive section.

“What?” Isak hisses, turning around to look where Even’s looking, and sure enough, he finds Chris smirking at Isak as he makes eye contact, and bringing a hand up to wave with his fingers. Isak narrows his eyes and looks back at Even. “God damn it.”

Even chuckles and untangles his fingers from Isak’s – it only makes Isak feel cold for a second, because then Even is wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling Isak closer to him. Isak huffs as Even waves back at Chris with his free hand, smile so bright Isak’s afraid it might blind the patrons.

“You’re enjoying my misery, aren’t you?” Isak glares up at Even, who looks down to meet his gaze. His smile doesn't waver in brightness, but it does become softer around the edges, far more genuine than the one he’d been sporting towards Chris before.

“A little bit,” he admits, and Isak growls quietly. Even laughs and squeezes his waist, which makes Isak instinctively lean closer to him. “Mostly I’m enjoying how much you’re blushing right now.”

Isak blushes furiously. “I’m not.”

Even grins down at him and brings the back of his fingers to stroke softly at the heat on Isak’s face. “Hm,” he hums. “You blush pretty.”

Isak huffs and has half a mind to slap Even’s hand away, but he’s also very aware that Chris is watching the both of them at the moment, so all he can do is glare at Even uselessly.

“You’re gonna pay for this,” he says through an exaggerated smile, and Even smiles exaggeratedly right back at him.

“Can’t wait.”

It’s easy, after that nightmare, to show Even around the museum – the interactive part, the fountain (that he makes sure Even does not get anywhere near, lest there be child piss decorating it), the other sections where he can learn about dinosaurs and fossils and be wowed by history and science so terrific it’s almost magic, but it’s obvious Isak is hurrying him to his favorite exhibit. So much so that Even, still on pretend-boyfriend mode, kisses Isak’s cheek and mutters into his ear, “Just take me where you want me, silly.”

Isak rolls his eyes and slaps a hand to Even’s chest playfully enough, but you really don’t have to tell him twice. He grabs Even’s hand again and pulls him towards the back, where the entrance to his favorite place is.

It’s strange, how entering this exhibit feels so much like coming home.

It’s nearly empty, save for one or two people standing around by themselves, watching the shift between the projections. Right now, the Milky Way and everything around it is what’s being projected, and it’s spurting all kinds of beautiful colors around the room: it’s purple, and blue, and light, nothing but light bouncing off of the benches around them, the walls, their faces. The room is dark, and though darkness can somehow make Isak feel like he’s drowning further and further into a place he’s afraid he can no longer escape, this place always makes him feel like he can come back. Because there’s light here, even in the dark. He’s calm, and hopeful, and grounded, ironically, though he’s looking at millions and millions of lightyears of distance. He’s wired wrong, so wrong, but here, he’s exactly the same as everything else.

And Even’s hand feels warm and welcoming in his. He’s here, and it’s strange, how easy it is for him to be – this has always been Isak’s escape, Isak’s secret, Isak’s way of coping, and to share it so openly, so eagerly with someone else, someone whose hand feels like it was made to fit into his in this lifetime, and maybe in some others, and maybe in millions of lightyears into the future – it’s strange. But it’s not – bad. It doesn’t feel bad. It doesn’t feel wrong. It feels like quite the opposite, and hidden in the darkness of this room is a quiet, thinly veiled feeling of belonging. Everything here is multiplied and muted, all at once, so Isak forgets to worry. He forgets to worry.

He leads Even to his favorite bench, right around the middle of the room, where the projections can sometimes find his person and confuse him for a screen and make him feel infinite for a moment. Even follows and dutifully takes his seat, but his eyes keep following the moving galaxy in amazement – wonderment, even. It’s Isak’s favorite part about working in here, the sight of people taking in just how beautiful and endless their universe is, how real it feels for a moment, to be surrounded by infinity.

“I feel so small in here,” Isak confesses quietly, and Even looks back at him. “Around all of this. It reminds me of our place in the world, you know? Everything we do, and everything that’s wrong with us, compared to the grand scheme of things – we’re so small.”

Even looks around again, nods once. “It’s beautiful.”

Isak nods eagerly. “And the constellations around us right now—” Isak starts pointing them out. “Perseus, Cassiopeia, Lacerta, Cygnus, Aquila, Sagittarius, Ophiuchus, and Scorpius,” he points at the very top. “Right up there. That’s my favorite,” he grins, looking back at Even. “Because all of Scorpius’s myths usually contain a reference to Orion, and, well, you know,” he gestures stupidly. “The most popular being that the scorpion there totally fucking killed Orion and then was raised to the heavens by Zeus,” he shrugs. “Something about Orion wanting to kill all of the creatures ever or something. Mythology’s not my thing,” he lies easily. “But the scorpion’s usually credited with why Orion’s up in the sky, too,” he explains. “Because Zeus wanted to warn humans about their pride, and—” Isak turns to look back at Even, whose expression might be inscrutable to someone who hasn’t spent so much time with him now. To Isak, however, he looks – almost amused.

“Sorry,” Isak feels himself waver for a second. “I can shut up, if you want.”

Even brings his hand up to stroke the side of Isak’s face. The touch is so soft, Isak’s not sure if it’s even really there. “No,” he assures Isak quietly, and Isak doesn’t have to search Even's expression for long to know he’s being honest. “You could tell me a thousand things about the stars and I’d listen to all of them for hours and hours.”

“I don’t know if I know a thousand thing about the stars.”

“You do,” Even smiles. “If anyone does, it’s you.”

He is so very wrong, and Isak knows this, but when Even looks at him like this, when he talks to Isak like this – Isak wants so badly for him to be right. Whatever Even sees when he looks at Isak, whatever version of himself he’s created for Even, the version of himself he can’t seem to pinpoint, that’s the version he so desperately wants to be. The one that fills Even’s expression with admiration, with a sense of unadulterated confidence in him. Like there might not be anything wrong with him, after all. This is the ideal version of him, the one Even’s looking at right now, and he’s not even sure where he is. Where he can find him. Where he’s buried, where he’s come from.

What is he seeing right now, Isak wonders?

Who is he looking at with such awe?

Is it possible to be envious of a version of oneself?

“You’re so loud when you think,” Even chuckles, and he’s said this to Isak before, but for some reason, Isak believes him the most now, where everything around them stretches out in time and silence.

He almost confesses exactly what he’s been thinking, but then the projection shifts, and Even’s face is tinged in bright red.

“Oh!” Isak notes the shift in the projection, suddenly excited. “Okay, so, okay,” he points outward. “See that right there? That's a planetary nebula,” Isak points out a beautiful, primarily red anomaly on the projection. There’s some purple mixed in the middle, and a bright, almost neon green tinting the edges. “Which is kind of a misnomer, since it has nothing to do with planets, or whatever, but it’s kind of – an anomaly that happens from red giant stars,” he explains. “They eject this crazy glowing ionized gas when they’re about to die and form – that,” he gestures towards the same anomaly again. “And, it’s crazy, because they don’t last very long, but they’re integral to the Milky Way,” he explains. “And to the evolution of stars. They’re a small blip, in the grand scheme of things, but they’re beautiful and important – and sometimes,” he points towards another anomaly, further away on the screen. “Sometimes they’re bipolar.”

He can feel Even’s frown. “Uh—”

“Bipolar nebulae,” Isak clarifies, turning back to look at Even with a small, careful smile. “The word in astronomy has never had an irritated or – or stigmatized meaning; just means that a planetary nebula has formed this – this really cool, really different appearance, a structure that stands out, and though whatever causes the structure of it have all been theories, what they all have in common is that it probably exists out of something powerful. And they’re – I mean, they’re pretty nice to look at,” Isak smiles shyly up at Even, who’s still blinking down at him. “That one especially reminds me of you,” he continues quietly, looking back at the projection. “It's actually frequently called Minkowski’s Butterfly, because of the way the, uhm, the lobes and the colors kind of make it look like a butterfly, right? So – it’s weird, but it kind of – weaves together, you know?”

Even is silent for a beat. “What does?”

Isak shrugs nervously. “Like, science, in the sense that there’s still more to learn about them even though we know they’re important, and art, in the way they look, formed out of the unknown, the powerful. You know,” Isak looks at Even again. “Just reminds me of what you’ve always insisted – that not everything has to be black and white, that – you know,” Isak coughs slightly into his fist. “Maybe there is art in science.”

Even looks at him for what feels like an eternity, and Isak’s not sure whether he’s said the wrong thing, pushed the wrong boundary, but before he can try to reflect, Even’s leaning into him and kissing him far too hungrily for a public exhibition, and still, when Even wraps an arm around Isak’s waist and pulls him closer to him on the bench, Isak fists a hand around Even’s hair and rests the other one on the side of his face, and he lets himself get lost, and he lets Even kiss him for as long as he wants to.

(Isak’s sure it’s most likely the same amount of time he wants, too.)

When they finally break apart, Isak’s face is still close enough to Even’s so that he can see the light of the projected stars create small circles that are inundated in Even’s smile. Isak wants to map them out like he does his constellations, like he’s secretly done to Even’s freckles.

Isak is looking at Even, and for a moment, Even is infinite.

Even presses his forehead against his, and Isak can feel his breath tickling his lips. “You said you feel small around this,” he says quietly. “But you are a giant. Right here, where you’re sitting beside me, you’re the biggest presence in this room.”

“That’s just anatomically wrong,” Isak jokes lamely, just as quietly.

“I don’t care,” Even laughs once. “I don’t care.”

“What are you seeing?” Isak asks, a little desperately.

Even frowns. “What?”

“Right now. What are you looking at?”

Even’s thumb finds Isak’s cheek and strokes it softly. “You,” he replies, sounding a little confused. “I’m looking at you.”

And that’s where he’s wrong.

But it’s nice to pretend.

If only for a moment.

--

They spend the rest of their night talking about the galaxy (Isak) and pointing out discrepancies in theories (also Isak), and after a while Isak decides to show Even around the rest of the museum, if only out of courtesy. The entire time, they’re holding hands, because Chris is having a lot of fun appearing out of nowhere to stare at them and grin maniacally, but it doesn’t feel strange, it just feels – like he’s holding Even’s hand. Like his fingers are laced with his, and they’re headed everywhere together, and that’s nothing new. Not really.

Isak tells him stupid stories about the days he’s worked there before – stories about Sara and Eskild and Chris and Julian (though Even frowns through most of those), then helps him with some of the interactive parts of the museum. Even delights like a child would when a coin he drops in the gravity dispenser does what it’s, well, meant to do in the gravity dispenser, and they spend a good amount of time building silly things with the nano blocks. It’s a little strange, that they spend most of their time in the interactive part of the museum meant for children, but it’s fun, like this specific part hasn’t been in a while – mostly because Isak would rather be working the space exhibit, as has been established before – and they lose track of time pretty quickly. Quickly enough so that Eskild has to start shooing them out as they’re about to close.

Chris waves at them mockingly as they leave, fingers still laced together. They stay that way until they realize it’s time to get on the tram, and they haven’t let go. Isak tries his best to hide his blush.

The tram is nearly empty when they ride it, and after a moment they start talking about the things Even’s learned from his trip. They’re laughing at stupid stories, at the dinosaur exhibit, and at some of the coworkers Even got to meet. When they’re off the tram, Even insists on walking Isak to his apartment, and after about a minute of back-and-forth, Isak loses the argument and Even begins walking Isak – mostly because he was already walking away before they finished, headed towards Isak’s apartment.

Isak falls back into step with Even and makes sure he knows he’s annoying, and Even smiles at him knowingly. They talk some more about his time at the museum, and after a particular jarring story involving Eskild, Sara, and an erratic mother, Even’s shaking his head, laughter dying down.

“I don’t think I can compete with how many stories you’ve got at that place,” Even admits. “To be fair, though, I only work events once. Haven’t had a repeat wedding – yet.”

“I’m sure you’ll have it,” Isak rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile playing at his lips. “Divorce rate, an all that.”

“Quite the romantic, you are.”

“You already know what you’re getting,” Isak spreads his arms and shrugs his shoulders. “You cannot be surprised anymore.”

Even chuckles. “I suppose I’m not,” he says. There’s silence for a moment, then a crooked smile tugs at his lips. “You have been – this person longer than I’ve gotten to know you, then, huh?”

Isak’s brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

Even shakes his head. “It’s just crazy to think that that’s been your life all the years I’ve known you,” Even explains. “Makes me glad I could finally experience it with you. I feel like I understand you better, if that makes any sense.”

Isak feels something give at the edge of his body.

“Why did you — why did you bother with me?” Isak asks suddenly, and Even looks over at him in surprise. “If you thought I was such a — you had the right to, of course, because I really fucked up, but I keep wondering how you could even stand the sight of me, let alone sleep with me for nearly a month and a half while knowing — or, thinking you knew — what kind of a person I am.”

Even seems to consider this for a moment as they walk. Then he says, “The more you know, the more you see.”

Isak blinks. “Why do you keep saying that to me.”

He huffs in laughter. “Aldous Huxley said that once. Famous philosopher. I think about it a lot, when I’m trying to make my mind up about things. You can’t really – I guess – see everything clearly if you don’t know a lot about said thing.”

Isak stares at him. “Uh huh.”

Even laughs. “Okay,” he nods. “Look, I – for a while there, I was so angry at you that I — the boys tried to talk to me about you, tried to figure out why you’d left such a bad taste in my mouth, but I could never — every time they talked about you, I spoke over them.

“You’d hurt me. And, yes, I now know you never meant to, but the wound was fresh, and it made me feel — you were like every insecurity walked up and embodied in six feet of grump and intelligence. You were — you. I saw you that first night and I thought you stood out more than any of my paintings in the gallery, and then you said those things to me, and I shut down. Completely. Because I felt like — like maybe you were right. Like maybe I was defined by my mental illness, and I was — nothing else.”

Isak’s stomach drops to his feet. He wants to go back in time and yell at himself, scream at what a fucking turd he was, thinking he could just – just – say things like that and pretend there were no fucking consequences. Because here Even is, talking to him about just what an impact his stupid mouth had left on him, and Isak wants to apologize a thousand times over, again and again, until Even is so sick of him he pushes him away.

“Isak.” Even’s tone is stern. “I know you didn’t mean that. I know, okay? Stop it. I know the words were never meant to cut that deep, but the mind works that way — you find just the right vein to cut through, and the blood runs freely. Hard to stop it. And for me, it was – very cut and dry,” he laughs, as if he’s finding irony in this place. “Very black and white.” Oh. He is.

“And that’s when I think of Huxley, one day, and try to apply it to my photography – all you have to do is turn it around and look at it from a different perspective. Not everything is black and white, Isak. I had to remind myself of that. Me. I know you think this comes easy for me, but often it doesn’t, and I know – I know you’d like it if it were – black and white, I mean, but where you see fact versus fiction, I start to see a blend of both, and I’d wondered for a long time which version of you I’d seen that night.” Isak almost stop walking at Even’s choice in words, but Even seems to preoccupied to notice. “Because every time any of the boys spoke about you, they spoke about an entirely different person than the one I’d met that night, and that – it didn’t sit right with me.

“So I wanted to figure you out. I’m a curious person, as you probably know by now, but you were always so angry with me and I never knew how to approach you. I couldn’t understand exactly why you were angry with me in the first place — until you told me you’d been angry with yourself all along.

“I don’t know. Throughout my life I’ve learned there’s a lot more to people past the first impression. There are layers, see?” Isak knows. Isak has had the same thought about Even before. “And I’d only peeled back one of them, if any. And I thought — maybe I could get through some more. Find the person that the rest of the boys saw, that I didn’t.

“And, yeah, it took a while. For the first month it was pretty clear to me that I was mostly attracted to you sexually, not really anything past that, and then the moment you — you looked at my drawings, admitted that you liked them, I saw a glimpse of the person I’d heard about. And that shifted something inside me. Like, maybe I could get through to you. Maybe I could find the person that eluded me for so long. And so the more I knew about you – the more of you I saw,” he smiles at Isak, who’s too afraid to say anything at the moment, so he allows the comment to slide between them and be taken away.

“I think we’re meant to take a chance on the unknown, don’t you? On the things that maybe frighten us, that we’re not very keen on. Jump into something blindly, just in case there’s something good on the other end. I lived most of my life under the guise that maybe the only thing people can see about me is my bipolar, and the myths that come along with it — there aren’t many people willing to give me a chance past that. And I never want to be one of those people.

“And look,” Even smiles. “I took my chance on you. And on the other end there was something good,” he says quietly. Isak feels his heart in his throat. “And I realize and acknowledge that the chance I took could have gone either way, but it didn’t, and I’m glad I took the chance on you. Because now you’re one of my favorite people in the world, and I see what the other boys see when I look at you, and — maybe even more. You don’t look at me and see my bipolar. You look at me and see me. Powerful,” Even teases, using Isak’s words from back at the exhibit. “And all because I took the chance.”

Isak almost smiles. “The Theory of Probability.”

Even frowns. “What?”

“The Theory of Probability,” Isak repeats. “The outcome of a random event can’t be determined before it occurs, but it may be any one of several possible outcomes,” Isak recites. “And the actual outcome is considered to be determined by chance.”

Even huffs a laugh.

“You — approached it differently, I guess,” Isak admits. “From a more — spiritual standpoint,” he teases. “While I approached it from a mathematical one. But – we both jumped into this knowing there was a chance it would either end well, end badly, or end completely. You just did so with a lot more hope. I did so with a lot more figures.”

Even hums thoughtfully. “So then what do you think really is the difference? If you’re so adamant hope is a waste of time? Isn’t it the same as the chance you take with your theory?”

“I think your approach made you much more susceptible to disappointment,” Isak points out. “While mine made enough sense so that if it ended badly, there wouldn’t be a point in mourning it. Because it’s all about the numbers. And yours was all about your hope.”

“Okay,” Even concedes with a laugh. “So then it says something completely different of the both of us. What a surprise.”

Isak laughs quietly. “I think more of you than of me, though.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Isak admits. “I think it makes you a much better person than me.”

Even looks at him for a second. “You’re a good person, Isak,” he whispers. “Everyone can see it. Everyone. I don’t know why you refuse to see it, too.”

Even’s wrong. Everyone else is wrong. They just don’t see what’s beneath the surface. They always see what Isak wants them to see. But he’s ugly, and his faults are endless, and there’s the presence curled around him that won’t leave him alone at night, whisper in reminder of all the things he’s not, and that he’ll never be, no matter how much he wants to be. There are many things that are wrong with him, and they all make him a terrible person – barely a person at all – and it’s heartbreaking to think Even thinks otherwise.

He wants to be his Isak so badly. But he’s not. He’s a silhouette, like the silhouettes that haunt him in the dark as ghosts from his past and take the form of all his flaws. He’s barely there. He’s barely here.

Even walks closer to him as they reach Isak’s apartment building. “Hey,” he gently pushes Isak’s shoulder with his. “Stop it.”

Isak raises an eyebrow. “Stop what?”

Even looks at him, but doesn’t reply. Isak has to look away, because for a second, he thinks that maybe Even knows. That he can see what a mess his head is, what he’s saying, what he’s thinking. And that’s the last thing he wants.

They reach the stairs and walk up them quietly, as if the conversation they’d had isn’t probably weighing heavily between the two of them. It’s – a lot, to know these things about someone, to have someone know these things about you, but where Isak’s usual panic finds a home, there’s nothing but a muted buzz, probably helped by the fact that he’s almost at his place, almost ready to find himself under his covers and panic in peace.

When they’re at the door, Isak turns to look at Even and raises an eyebrow. “Happy now?”

Even smiles. “I am.”

Isak gestures towards the door lamely. “I’m gonna fight this thing now.”

Even laughs quietly, but he doesn’t make a move to leave, so Isak doesn’t make a move to find his keys. After a moment of quiet between them, Even leans in – and Isak is quick to pull back, pressing his hands against Even’s chest.

“Eva’s home,” he reminds Even quietly.

Even smiles softly. “I know,” he replies just as quietly, and then leans in to kiss Isak anyway.

And Isak doesn’t know why, but he lets him.

It’s sweet and it lasts maybe ten, fifteen seconds, Isak’s hands fisting desperately in Even’s shirt, and his stomach swoops and his entire body shudders and for some reason, it feels like the first time Even’s kissed him. It’s not, not by many long shots, but his body’s reacting to it as if it’s some new chemical being introduced to it, the properties of it unknown but pleasant.

When Even tries to pull back, Isak’s lips instinctively chase his, and they’re pulled into another soft kiss. Their second, but not their second.

He’d like to say his heart is racing, but he’s not even sure his heart is present at the moment – it feels more like it’s stopped entirely, along with everything else around them. He can only hear their mingled breaths, can only see Even’s smile as he pulls away, can only feel his hand run gently through Isak’s hair.

“Goodnight, Isak,” he whispers quietly, gently, and Isak’s stands uselessly where Even leaves him, whistling happily as he walks down the stairs and back into the night.

It takes him a couple of minutes to regain his composure and try to work out what just happened, and he doesn’t realize he’s got a stupid smile on his face until he places his keys inside the lock and he realizes he’s going to have to deal with this shit again.

He doesn’t, though, because when he tries to unlock the door, he realizes the door is already unlocked – probably courtesy of Eva – and it opens easily, the keys sliding out of the lock without a problem.

He closes the door behind him and presses his back against the door as he does, biting his bottom lip and fighting back the smile that wants to so persistently live on his face. He feels – he feels—

“Hi!”

He jumps, only now realizing Eva’s lying on the couch and looking at him with both eyebrows raised, and a small smile on her lips. She’s holding a book open in her hands, one Isak can’t make out from here, and he adjusts his glasses quickly, as they’d slipped a bit at the fright.

“Jesus Christ, Eva,” he scolds. “Warn a man.”

Eva looks around, then looks back at Isak. “I’m not that hard to spot from where you are, Isak.”

She’s right, but still.

“Yeah, just uh – got a lot on – with the paper on my mind, and stuff.”

“Mhm,” Eva tilts her head to the side. “You have a good time with Even?”

“No,” Isak replies automatically, before backtracking. “Yes. What? Why do you care?”

Eva blinks. “It’s common courtesy to ask?”

“It was fine,” Isak sounds extremely defensive, he knows, and he crosses his arms over his chest instinctively. “We saw the space exhibit. I talked a lot, he listened. He built a dick out of nano blocks.”

Eva smirks at Isak, and Isak narrows his eyes at her.

“What?” he asks cautiously.

Eva shrugs nonchalantly, lying back against the arm rest and folding her knees to rest her book back on her lap. “Nothing.”

“What?” Isak insists, and Eva glances at him, raising an eyebrow.

“It just sounds like you had a good date, is all.”

Before Isak can even think about a response, he’s choking back his surprise — it tickles his throat and it irritates his eyes, and he has to cough an exaggerated amount of times before he’s able to even clear his throat correctly. His heart is racing at the words and he feels his face turn red, although he could probably pass that off as part of the choking incident.

Through all of this debacle, Eva’s mindlessly flipping through her book, ignoring Isak’s high-pitched sounds and unintelligible — yet very offended — jargon.

“Listen—” he finally manages to get out. “That wasn’t a date. I was out with a friend—”

“Isak,” Eva sits up again, closing her book. Isak wonders if she’s just closing and opening the book for dramatic effect now, because he did not see a bookmark in there, or even a dog-ear. “This is the second time you come home from a pre-planned night with Even with an expression that clearly reads ‘oh my God he’s the dreamiest man I’ve ever met’ and with hair that looks like it’s been thoroughly examined.” Isak is quick to try to flatten his hair as Eva continues. “You look happy, you’re literally glowing, you don’t stop smiling for the rest of the night and you literally float to your room every time. Also!” She holds up a finger as soon as Isak’s about to interrupt loudly. “Also, I don’t know what’s happening between you two, not entirely, but I know there’s something, and I like it.”

Isak struggles to find appropriately biting words.

“There’s nothing.”

Nice.

Eva rolls her eyes. “You know it’s okay to like Even, right?” she tells Isak. “It’s okay to — and don’t explode on me now — feel things for him?”

It’s like Isak can feel his heart forming into stone. “I don’t feel things for him.”

“Have you guys kissed yet?”

Isak chokes again. “What?”

“Oh, come on,” Eva grins mischievously. “He looks like a really good kisser. Have you kissed him?”

“No,” Isak lies. “Because it’s not like that.”

“Fine,” Eva rolls her eyes once again, this time with far more flair. “Be that way.” She stands from the couch, grabbing her book as she stands. “But just so you know – this?” She gestures at all of Isak. “This is a good look on you.”

Isak looks down at his outfit, before looking back up at Eva. “I wear this every day.”

Eva sighs. “Happy,” she corrects him. “Happy’s a good look on you.”

Isak frowns. That – doesn’t seem right. Happy’s something he hasn’t felt or been in a very long time. Though he supposes – it’s been so long, he wouldn’t know it if he felt it. He maybe felt it with his mom the other day, maybe again tonight, but – he can’t tell the difference.

Is he so jaded he can’t remember what happy feels like anymore?

“I don’t know what he does, or what he says to you,” Eva begins walking towards her room. “But I like the Isak that walks through the door after a night with him. I love you, don’t get me wrong,” she assures him. “But date-Isak?” She clicks her tongue and gives him a thumbs up. “Happier than a clam.”

“Clams most likely don’t feel happiness,” Isak deadpans weakly, and Eva intelligently ignores his retort.

“I’m going to bed,” she tells him. “I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

Isak is sure he says something back, but he’s not sure what it is. He’s sure he walked back to his room, too, but he doesn’t remember getting here. Did he lock the door? He’s sure he did.

He sits on his bed and stares at Galileo, who’s swimming happily in his tank. He thinks about asking for his attention, but decides he doesn’t need it, nor does he want to disturb the fish as he feels so carefree.

That tank is the extent of his world, Isak realizes. And Galileo seems happy. He’s a fish, and he has a clean tank, and he lives in a world where nothing else matters. That’s – quite insane to Isak. It’s crazy.

Happiness is relative, just like purpose is, just like time is, just like they all are.

A blip in a multitude of galaxies and universes, where little things like dates or not-dates don’t matter.

Isak’s stomach flutters and flies and moves West.

They’d been on a date, he finally and tentatively admits to himself. They’d been on a date, and it wasn’t the end of the world, and—

Isak wants to do it all over again.

He turns over and stuffs his face into his pillow.

He knows nothing about anything anymore.

But he does know the shape of Even’s lips, and the way they fit against his, and the way they taste of escape and promises and galaxies.

Tonight, the ghosts don’t come to haunt him – they don’t have the time to. He falls asleep without trying, and dreams of bright red anomalies and beautiful green butterflies, powerful as they come.

[apiratecalledav]

Okay, reluctantly leaving my happily ever after AU/denial land for a minute because it’s been like two months and I still see people say bullshit like, “If Jaime was going to go back to Cersei, then Brienne should have died” and urgh. No. Just... no.

I won’t even get into how awful it is to reduce Brienne to that as a character within her own right because trivializing and misinterpreting her relationship with Jaime is bad enough. The main reason being that it completely overlooks one of the most important and poignant parts of Jaime’s character:

That even though Cersei was “the end of” Jaime, Jaime was in a lot of ways “the beginning of” Brienne.

While Cersei and Jaime were like kindling and oxygen getting devoured by fire and were destructive and toxic, Jaime and Brienne were like music and lyrics; complete individuals in their own right, but when they’re combined they created something new and amazing. Like two Valyrian steel swords reforged from one greatsword. If fate had been kinder, they would have been very happy together.

Unfortunately, growing up with Tywin (and Cersei), serving Aerys, and spending half his life being unjustly reviled, Jaime had a lot of issues with guilt and self-loathing that no one who didn’t take several advanced psychology classes would have been able to help with.

But despite Jaime’s personal demons, he tried as hard as he could to build up Brienne, not drag her down the way that Cersei did to him. Instead of using his relationship with Brienne for his benefit, he used it to benefit her: He helped Brienne to fulfill her oath to Cat and indirectly led to her being able to avenge Renly. He made it possible for her to go from being regarded as a failure and an oddity to being successful and respected. He knighted her. She fell in love with him and he loved her, too. No, it wasn’t enough to “fix” him (news flash: love isn’t a cure), but it was way, way more than what everyone around her ever expected. He loved her, not her father’s title or lands. And he loved her not in spite of her unusual, knightly demeanor but because of it.  And it wasn’t wishful thinking or all in her head or “but only as a friend.” Jaime Lannister, who was like, a five time winner of Westerosi Weekly’s “Sexiest Man Alive,” looked at Brienne of Tarth like this (so fuck you, Ronnet): 

Cersei saw Jaime as an extension of herself— her “other half” who got to have the kind of power and autonomy in society she desperately wished for herself because he was a man. Her feelings for him stemmed from narcissism and selfishness, dooming Jaime to virtually never being “good enough.”

Jaime also saw Brienne as everything he wished he could be— a true knight who was valiant and honorable, not because she was sworn to do so, but because she wanted to be. The difference here is that Jaime’s feelings for Brienne developed from admiration and respect and he is the one who didn’t feel worthy of her.

Because while Tyrion saw Jaime being with Brienne as Jaime finally allowing himself to be happy, I felt like Jaime saw it as being selfish. Telling Tyrion to “say something snide” made me think he was looking to be chastised. When Brienne tries to talk him out of dying with Cersei and tells him that he’s a good man, he nearly bursts into tears and reveals all of the worst things about himself. The most genuine and heartbreaking “it’s not you; it’s me” speech, like... ever.

If he truly believed that Brienne needed him, he would have stayed with her. We saw a long time ago that he was willing to leave the road that led back to Cersei to save Brienne from the bear pit, and risk his own life in the process. Just as he lost his right hand, his sword hand— when he believed that he “was that hand” and once said he’d rather die than be “grotesque”— to protect Brienne and keep her “whole.”

Even if it was only on a subconscious level, he obviously believed Brienne deserved to live more than he or Cersei did. But Brienne is safe after 8x03; the dead are defeated and she’s not only on the side with a damn dragon, she won’t even be expected to leave Sansa and Arya to fight. The only thing Jaime believes he’s doing for her is clouding her judgment, i.e. “tricking” her into thinking that he’s good and that he deserves her. In his mind, he did the same thing to Brienne that Cersei did to him. He thought Brienne would start making excuses for him, just as he had done so many times for Cersei. Look at his face and eyes when she says “You’re a good man.”

When Jaime told Tyrion that he “never cared” for innocents, I don’t believe he’s a Scooby-Doo villain removing his mask and saying, “Surprise! I’ve been an asshole all along.” It’s just the way he saw himself because he didn’t know how else to explain his mistakes, the (innocent) people he had hurt, or his inability to stop caring about Cersei even though she was horrible. We know that Jaime’s attachment to Cersei is unhealthy and the result of emotional abuse and other factors resulting from trauma. But Jaime saw it as proof he was a bad person.

He did for Brienne what (I can easily imagine) he wished Cersei had done for him— He tells Brienne that he’s hateful and effectively sets her “free” of him. When he perceived himself to be perpetuating the cycle of abuse, he stopped it (more “break the wheel” imagery?). Yeah, he did it in an awful, hurtful way but we have to remember that Jaime had no access to therapy, self-help books, advice columns, google, etc. He hadn’t had or even really seen a healthy relationship since his mother died when he was like seven. On top of that, his last real moment of pure love and acceptance was with Myrcella... about thirty seconds before she died in his embrace. That alone would screw up anyone. It’s tragic and devastating, but Jaime wasn’t in a place to make Brienne happy long term and he had absolutely no idea how to change that. It was easier to shut down those negative feelings when he could say, “I have a noble purpose: help stop ice demons and zombies from destroying the world.” When he couldn’t say that anymore, it got to be too much for him.

I’ve long thought that applying the “redemption arc” label to Jaime (or any asoif/got character, really) was a little too... simplistic. Like most major characters, Jaime has undoubtedly done some reprehensible things, the worst being his attempt to kill Bran. But unlike say Joffrey or Ramsay, Jaime’s thought process wasn’t, “Hey, let’s push this kid out of a window and see if his bones make a sweet crunching noise when he lands!”

He was thinking, “Oh, shit. This kid is probably too young to ‘play it cool’ for long around his parents after being threatened or bribed... And if he blabs, that’s my head cut off, Cersei’s head cut off, and if Joffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella aren’t immediately executed right behind us, they’ll be locked up until they’re old enough that people are less squeamish about chopping off their heads, too. And gee, I bet dear old Dad isn’t going to take that lying down...”

In a world as brutal as theirs, it’s difficult for me to condemn anyone too harshly for trying to protect themselves or their loved ones, provided they aren’t cavalier about collateral damage (for example, Cersei blowing up the sept with more than just her enemies inside and people in the surrounding area ending up getting crushed by the debris).

Early on, Jaime appeared to be arrogant, callous, and convinced that violence was an “easy solution.” As the series progressed, mostly through his growing friendship with Brienne, we discovered that a great deal of Jaime’s behavior was a defense mechanism.

After his “Kingslayer” persona slowly falls away, we eventually see “Jaime” (re)born in Brienne’s arms.

Soon, we even saw him gain a shiny, newly reforged Valyrian steel sword to go along with his new beginning . But he didn’t even have the sword very long before he turned around and gave it to Brienne— and kept the “tainted” Widow’s Wail for himself.

And when Brienne tried to return Oathkeeper,  that precious symbol of hope and honor and second chances, Jaime refused it and told her, “It’s yours. It will always be yours.” (Emphasis mine)

I know we were hoping that Brienne would “save” Jaime— and I firmly believe she was instrumental in saving his soul— but Jaime ended up ultimately saving Brienne. He saved her life, but he also saved her from an existence of loneliness and ridicule. In 4x02 (written by GRRM btw), Brienne tells Cersei, “In truth, he rescued me, Your Grace. More than once.”

Jaime was a flawed and deeply troubled person, but he tried his damnedest to give Brienne everything. No, he couldn’t literally do so— he couldn’t give her his whole, undamaged heart— but he still gave her so much: His admiration; his faith; his trust; his sword; his right hand; her protégé Podrick; helped her fulfill her vows and find good friends like Sansa, Tyrion, and Davos, and a kindred spirit in Arya; and made her dearest wish come true. What is that, if not love, of the truest and deepest kind?

Though Jaime likely thought his knighting of Brienne was merely a nice thing to do for her on their supposed last night on earth, it ended up having an unexpected and incredible impact once the North gained independence: Knights were already mainly a Southern thing and Brienne’s knighthood would have been absolutely worthless in an independent North. Sansa, being completely safe and secure and obviously knowing how much being knighted meant to Brienne, would assure her that she was released from her vow to Catelyn’s daughters. And so Ser Brienne is free to return to the Six Kingdoms, and offer her services to the new King, Cat Stark’s last surviving son. To Bran.

While Jaime once hurt Bran for Cersei’s sake and accidentally paved the way for years of war and destruction, Brienne, thanks to Jaime knighting her, will be able to dedicate herself to protecting Bran, insuring peace, and helping to rebuild.

All of the best parts of Jaime live on in Brienne and not just because she finished his entry in the Book of Brothers. She, and the doors that Jaime opened for her, are his legacy.

Brienne will be able to do the kinds of things Jaime wanted to do but couldn’t. She’ll help restore honor to the knighthood. There will be more Ser Briennes and Ser Davoses and Ser Podricks and fewer Ser Gregors, Ser Armorys, and Ser Meryns.

It truly baffles me to see people bitching about “wasted character arcs” and yet in the same breath are ready to throw Brienne and everything Jaime did for her away. Jaime’s character was frustrating and heartbreaking and maddening but it wasn’t a waste precisely because he made it possible for Brienne to have a bright future and a good life and it’s the proof that he truly was ultimately a much better person than his sister.

TL;DR:  If we must pigeonhole Jaime into the whole “redemption” thing, can’t we see that he did redeem himself through Brienne— by supporting her and validating her and making it possible for her to do the kind of great things he wished he could do himself?

PS: I’m fairly certain Jaime and Cersei’s ending was “softened” for the show, the way so many other characters and events have been. I highly doubt she’ll be pregnant and the idea that he was largely motivated to save their child certainly helped make the whole thing easier for me to swallow. As  Tyland Lannister, hand to the “broken King” Aegon III,  screams “Tyrion and Bran,” and Elissa Farman appears to be foreshadowing Arya’s similar journey/let’s us know it’s very possible she’ll survive... Aelora and Aelor Targaryen make me wonder if book Jaime will accidentally kill Cersei and then freak out and commit suicide. And if that’s the case, I’m glad the show went with something different, as rushed and clumsy as it was. I am glad that Jaime’s last moments weren’t violent or angry or otherwise cruel and didn’t have to add more to his overwhelming guilt and despair.

If he had to die, and especially if he had to die with Cersei, then it’s a good thing that he got to die as Joanna’s son— not Tywin’s— and as Tyrion’s brother— not Cersei’s. He got to die as the man who Brienne fell in love with: Someone who was brave and compassionate, fulfilling his oath, and being honorable in his way, even if it’s not in the way society (or the audience) understands or likes. Even though he was with Cersei, he remained as the man who could see— and love— the vulnerable human being beneath their “monstrous” exterior, just as he did for Brienne and Tyrion. Maybe Cersei didn’t “deserve” that, but Jaime certainly did. And in the White Book, when it’s said that Jaime died protecting his Queen, it’s not a lie. Which is the last thing Jaime would have wanted: “I'll hack the bloody book to pieces before I'll fill it with lies.”

I don’t know if Old Jaime would have intentionally hurt or murdered Cersei, but I definitely think he would have at least hurled out one last massive fuck you in a similar “why have the gods made me love a hateful woman?” way. He’d have reminded her that none of this would have happened if she wasn’t such a stubborn, vindictive wretch: If she hadn’t pushed Joffrey to ditch Sansa for Margaery, whose grandma ended up killing him; if she hadn’t tried to get Tyrion falsely executed, she wouldn’t have set off a chain of events that led to Tywin and Myrcella dying; if she hadn’t tried to screw over Margaery by giving the High Sparrow power; if she hadn’t blown up the Sept, Tommen wouldn’t have killed himself; if she had kept her promise to fight in the North; if she had just stepped down when Dany arrived, etc then maybe they wouldn’t about to damn near literally get crushed to death by all of Cersei’s bad decisions.

Old Jaime talked a lot of shit to people, presumably trying to make himself feel better. But he realized at some point, all it did was make them as miserable as he was. So in the end, when Cersei is so pitifully scared and sad, instead of getting pissed off or bitter, Jaime comforts her the best he can; an ability I don’t think he would have developed if it hadn’t been for his relationship with Brienne. We even see some rare moments of genuine selflessness from Cersei (“You’re bleeding” and “I don’t want our baby to die”). In Jaime and Cersei’s final moments, they act as close to normal siblings as they are capable, seeing as they don’t even try to kiss (thank goodness). This leaves Brienne as the last person Jaime kissed. And to me, that says it all.

Okay, back to our regularly scheduled “Grey Worm and Missandei said ‘fuck you, Westeros’ after The Long Night and dropped Jaime and Brienne off at Tarth on their way to Naath” way of life. 

[carmenlire]

Two Ships

read on ao3

He drinks a little too much. He kisses a little too hard.

For the thousandth time, Alec loses himself in the feeling of Magnus surrounding him. His senses are clouded by the smell of his cologne, the harsh breathing in his ear.

Tonight’s nothing new. It’s nothing new, the way Alec’s chest aches, the way it feels cracked open under the onslaught of feelings that he’d carve out of himself if only it were that easy.

Their nights together are growing more frequent, if anything. Seldom a day goes by without either one of them texting the other.

Busy tonight?

My place.

Alec goes over to Magnus’s loft more often than not. Magnus opens the door and Alec never knows what to expect. A three piece suit, a sheer shirt tucked into leather pants, a silk robe falling open in a way that never fails to make Alec’s mouth flood with want.

There’s conversation, briefly. Magnus pours him a drink and they make a toast. Sometimes it’s a silent acknowledgement and their mouths curve in sardonic amusement.

Another night, yet another chance to lose himself in royal sheets and a man who’s as bad as he is good.

Well, that’s not quite true. Magnus might like to retain his mask, wrapping his position as the High Warlock of Brooklyn around him like the most steadfast cloak, but Alec’s seen enough to know that Magnus has a heart of gold.

It’s a little bruised, a little battered, but it beats strongly and no amount of makeup or sarcasm or devil-may-care wit can hide the way he’s seen Magnus drop everything to save a friend-- or anyone that comes to him looking for help.

Alec’s breath stutters as Magnus hits particularly sensitive area. His nails drag down Magnus’s back-- no doubt leaving scratches that won’t be particularly welcome in the morning-- and Magnus gasps as maintains the almost frenetic pace.

Losing every goddamn thought in his head, the only thing Alec can focus on is the heat of Magnus’s skin against his, the way he can almost pretend that this is so much more than it is whenever his eyes are closed.

Like this, there’s nothing but the two of them.

He loves it. He hates it.

A little while later, the room is silent except for their harsh breathing. As his pulse slows back to normal, Alec wonders for the thousandth time why the hell he keeps coming back.

It’s more than a good fuck. It terrifies him, the thought that he’s so far gone that a part of him-- most of him-- doesn’t even want to think about walking away from this.

It’s not much but if it’s all he can have, then he’ll hang on until there’s nothing left to hang onto.

Magnus doesn’t say anything in the dim room but Alec hears the clinking of ice cubes as he no doubt summons a drink. He hears the clearing of a throat and when he looks over, it’s to see Magnus holding out a glass of water with his free hand.

Alec takes it, drains the glass in a few, efficient swallows. It’s refilled automatically, this time with something that would make his eyes water if he lingered, so he doesn’t. He throws back the few fingers of whiskey just as steadily as he’d downed the water a few minutes ago.

The burn is welcome. It scratches an itch that Alec never had before he met Magnus. With a dry laugh, Alec wonders at just how much has changed in the past few years. Before Magnus, Alec couldn’t hold his liquor worth a damn and he had less than zero interest in changing that.

Now, he almost craves it after a hard day-- after a hard night.

Liquor tastes like mistakes and regret with a particularly bitter undertone and it seems only fitting to indulge after he goes another round with the most goddamn cryptic man he’s ever met.

“Something funny,” Magnus asks, breaking the laden silence. His voice holds idle interest at best and Alec feels his wandering gaze, can’t help the shiver that runs up his spine as Magnus reaches out and strokes a firm hand over his chest, trailing an appreciative path down his stomach to land on his hip.

If he didn’t know better, he’d say the touch was covetous.

How lucky then that Alec’s never been fond of lying to himself. Others, maybe. But he’s always painfully, tragically honest with himself.

Mouth tipping up into the faintest hint of a smile, Alec just replies, “I’m just remembering the first time we did this. That first time after.”

That’s the thing, Alec thinks, swallowing hard and avoiding Magnus’s gaze. It’s been a few years of this shit.

They’re both fucked to hell but Alec can’t find a damn to save himself and his stupid, traitorous heart.

They’d met a handful of years ago. Alec, the newly appointed Head of the New York Institute, green in most ways and devastatingly unaware of the pain and pleasure of a satisfying game of cat and mouse.

He’d met Magnus one night at the Hunter’s Moon. Overwhelmed and feeling one inconvenience away from drowning, he’d escape the cloying grasp of the Institute and made his way to a Downworld bar.

He’d had a single glass of wine when someone had sat next to him at the bar. Set to ignore whoever it was-- Alec wasn’t the most social under the best of circumstances, let alone when he was in the grip of a downward spiral-- he’d nonetheless found himself turning to face a voice that was as smooth as it was captivating.

Long day, darling? I think I know what can help with that.

Looking over to see a steady gaze, Alec had lost himself in warm brown eyes and when the man offered to get him another drink, he’d nodded wordlessly.

Magnus had charmed him and then he’d challenged him and the combination of the two was heady enough to make Alec’s head spin.

Sitting at the bar, they’d talk for a long while before Magnus had nodded toward a now empty pool table.

Do you play, he’d asked idly, taking a sip of his martini.

With that, they’d headed over to the pool table. Magnus had beaten him at pool and before he quite knew what happened, Alec had found himself falling through a portal.

That first night, Alec had been inexperienced but oh so willing and when he’d found himself leaning against a brick pillar with Magnus on his knees, he’d wondered why the hell he’d waited so long for this. He'd come out before his appointment to Head but he'd still been frustratingly inexperienced. No one had caught his eye and then Alec was so busy that he couldn't even think of pursuing anything even if he did find someone he liked.

But as he'd given himself to Magnus, Alec couldn't help but wonder that he'd had no idea what he'd been missing. It was everything he'd wanted and more and it'd taken everything he had to leave the next morning without waking Magnus, without another taste of what he'd gone so long without.

The next morning, though, he was out of the loft and back in his office before the sun was up. That afternoon when he held the first Downworld Cabinet meeting and Magnus walked in-- they’d both been stunned and the afternoon had been filled with blatant flirting on Magnus’s side and a desperate attempt at stoicism on Alec’s.

He couldn’t believe he’d been so stupid, that he’d slept with the High Warlock. It was the height of unprofessionalism and he’d been terrified of anyone finding out, of that single misstep displacing him as the Head of the Institute when he’d worked so long and hard to make it.

Still, that night he’d found himself back at the Hunter’s Moon and then back in Magnus’s bed and now, a few years later, Alec’s shoulders don’t ache nearly as much as his heart.

No one knows where Alec spends his nights. No one knows that Alec and Magnus have been having an affair for years. Magnus has never said anything about making it more and Alec can’t quite shut down the thought that he’s nothing but a convenience to him, that he’s irreplaceable, something new to keep his interest for a little while before Magnus inevitably grows bored with him and moves onto somebody that could give him exactly what he wants.

Most of him wonders what Magnus would say if he asked to stay one morning, if he didn’t leave before the birds started singing.

If he lingered, if he woke Magnus up with breakfast and a kiss, would he be soundly rebuffed? Would this arrangement of theirs come crashing to a halt?

Christ, he wants more. He wants everything but he keeps silent and takes what Magnus deigns to give him. What started out as a swirling mix of lust and fascination and a desperate need for relief has turned into love.

It’s mostly the same except for when Alec remembers that this is all he’ll ever have.

And then it tastes like ash.

They talk about nothing in particular. They fuck and Alec loses himself in the feelings that grip him in a stranglehold, in the man that makes him wish and dream and hope against goddamn hope. Alec leaves and they don’t speak except for vague texts and hoarse pleas that used to make Alec blush but now just fill him with heady satisfaction.

Their professional relationship is above reproach, not a hint of familiarity bleeding into their tones. Magnus stopped flirting awhile ago and Alec didn’t know how to find the words to say he missed it.

He still can’t find the words to tell Magnus how much he loves him, how much he wishes, futilely, that they could have more, that they could bemore.

In the morning, Alec wakes to the light of his cell phone, the alarm he’d set a few hours before going off.

Sighing in the dark, he scrubs his hands over his face roughly. He’s so fucking tired and something tells him sleep wouldn’t do a damn thing to fix it.

Turning his head, he sees Magnus on his back sleeping peacefully. He almost reaches out and touches his face. He wants to sweep a thumb over the jut of a cheekbone, the curve of his jaw.

He’s reached a hand out before he quite knows what he’s doing. Jerking back like he singed his fingers, Alec squeezes his eyes shut and takes a shuddering breath.

Swallowing hard, he throws the covers off and swings until he can place his feet on the cold floor.

It’s grounding. It’s devastating.

He works on his breathing for longer than he’ll ever admit and he’s just about to stand up when something stops him.

“Stay.”

Everything in him stills at the word, hushed in the dark room.

His breath catches as a hand lands on his back, achingly familiar but still so damned mysterious. Magnus’s hand sweeps over his shoulder and down his chest. It sets a trail of fire wherever it touches and Alec takes a deep breath that sounds startlingly like a gasp.

He hears the rustle of sheets as Magnus sits up and then there’s a kiss being placed over his deflect rune and he hears Magnus’s breathing before lips touch the shell of his ear.

“Stay,” Magnus repeats. His voice is hoarse and Alec can almost, almost convince himself that it’s edged in desperation, that’s it’s a plea and a prayer and everything he’s dreamed of hearing since Magnus first beat him at pool ages ago.

He turns his head and meets Magnus’s eyes. His glamour is down like it only is when he’s feeling too much, when they’re wrapped around each other and nothing else in the world matters so much as them.

Alec doesn’t say anything for a moment. He studies Magnus-- the streak of eyeliner smudged under his eye, the crease of the pillowcase on his cheek, those brown eyes that he never stood a chance against.

Closing his eyes, Alec feels Magnus lean closer and nose along his jaw.

“Okay,” he finally says, voice hoarse with the way his throat is aching. “I’ll stay.”

When he opens his eyes a moment later it’s to see Magnus smiling at him, small and quiet but full of happiness and relief and overwhelming potential.

[shall-we-imagine]

Mess me up. (Klaus GoldsteinxReader College AU)

When you start getting angsty feels way too late at night and you just need to write a random one shot..anyone? Just me? Okay

Genre: angst/suggestive/slight fluff

Summary: Klaus goes through a break up and turns to you, aka his bestfriend, for comfort.

(Second person point of view)

"It's okay, (Y/N). This is your last year. You can get through this." Having your own apartment with no roommates throughout college had its perks- one of them being moments like this when studying has practically driven you insane, and now you're just talking to yourself. Fun.

"I fucking hate information. Couldn't I have been created as a rock?" You huff, stretching as you decide to give yourself the hundredth break this past hour to go make yourself your thousandth cup of coffee today.

A knock on the door interrupts your plans, however.

You glance at the clock hanging on your wall. 2:30 AM. The fuck kinda asshole knocks on people's doors at this time in the morning? You sigh, but trudge to the door anyway.

Upon peeking through the peephole, you almost gasp at the unexpected guest. Your bestfriend might've been an asshole, but he certainly wasn't one to stay up that late. He cares about his health, or whatever.

Maybe he'd decided it was time to change his boring habit and spend time with the most fun person in his life, you of course. You chuckle at your own joke, pulling the door open.

But your smile falters at the sight before you.

"Klaus?! What's wrong with you?! What happened?!" Questions escape your lips before you could comprehend any of them. His mischievous, teasing eyes had been turned blank and glossy, redness and puffiness evident even at first glance. He appeared to have been crying, but that was something you'd believed impossible, for you've known Klaus since childhood, and you couldn't remember the last time you saw tears in his eyes.

"Can I come in?" He croaks, keeping his head low.

"Y-yeah, of course." You step aside, allowing him to shuffle into your messy living room and place himself on the couch.

"Um, it's a bit of a mess; I wasn't expecting y- not that I mind, I just- um..do you want some tea?" You finish your string of nonsense awkwardly.

"It's okay. I just wanted to see you." His eyes don't meet yours. Normally, Klaus would be scolding the living shit out of you for your 'pig lifestyle'; never would he have been okay with your living room looking like it'd just been hit by a tornado.

You nervously inch closer to him; it was almost like you were waiting for a bomb to explode at the slightest mistake. "Did something happen?"

"No, nothing; I'm just cosplaying a cloud." He rolls his eyes and looks at you directly for the first time.

You laugh nervously, unnerved by the lack of humor in his statement regardless of how clearly sarcastic it was. Something is very clearly off, but you didn't know how to get him to open up.

"Are you gonna keep standing there like that? Could you just sit down?"

"Oh, um.." Suddenly aware of how awkward you look, you fumble to sit next to him on the couch.

After what felt like an eternity of awkward silence, you'd had enough of how hot your face was getting, but you weren't sure if you were supposed to ask again about what happened, so you do what everyone hates but resorts to anyway: small talk. "So..how much studying left do you have?"

"What makes you think I have any studying left? I'm already done." It was honestly hard to try to talk normally when he looked like he had a permanent pout etched into his face. You couldn't see him for the stuck up, demanding nerd he normally is.

"Klaus, seriously, what is it?"

"What is what?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

"I-" He seemed to have been about to continue the argument but pauses, eyebrows furrowed and eyes glued to the floor (or rather the books and papers covering the entire floor). "I don't know if I'll be able to talk about it." He sighs.

You rub your eyes with your palms in frustration and exhaustion. "Forget the tea; I'm getting the vodka." You push yourself off the couch and head to the kitchen, returning with a large bottle and two glasses filled with ice.

"Drink till you spill....information not vodka; this shit's expensive." You clink your glasses together, downing the clear liquid in one go.

You both cringe a little at the flavour before you pour more for each of you. After that second round is when his majesty had finally started speaking.

"So, you know how I'd told you I'd propose to Mila, right? I was even looking for a ring and all, right?" He stares at his third glass like he was reading his words off of it.

"Yeah?" You already knew of his girlfriend; you weren't very fond of her, but if Klaus likes her, that's the whole point, isn't it? Okay, you weren't that understanding at first, mostly because you'd started developing feelings for Klaus at around the end of middle school, but after he and Mila started dating in their first year of college, you'd given up on it and decided to remain friends with him instead, and slowly you'd felt your feelings for him fade away, helping you become more supportive of his relationship.

However, his next statement makes you wanna throw all that support out the window.

"Well, I went to visit her dorm a few hours ago." He pours himself a fourth glass, downing it before uttering any more information.

He sighs. "She was giving some dude a head." He chuckles humorlessly. "I'd suspected she was cheating, but what I didn't expect was for her to try and play it off like she had the right to- like I deserved it somehow." He slams his glass on the coffee table and reaches for the bottle, only for you to pull it away.

"What are you doing?" He grumbles, the effect of the alcohol evident in the slurring of his speech.

"Enough. I know you're upset, but it's too much; it's strong; I've only had two glasses, and I'm already struggling..you've had four!"

"I'm not telling you the rest if you don't hand it over!" He crosses his arms childishly.

You hesitate.

"Only one more, okay?" Your shakily hand him the bottle, which he gladly grabs to pour his fifth drink.

"So, what does she do? She tells me I'm bossy?! That all I ever do is control her life?!" He laughs in disbelief, "She says if I hadn't been such a pain in the ass, maybe she wouldn't have gone for another man." His laugh turns into shaky, desperate sobs. "Am I really that bad?" You doubted the question, like the rest of his speech, was even aimed at you; it was like he was only babbling and ranting to himself.

But it's not like you were gonna let him wallow in self-pity. "No, Klaus, it's her loss; don't say that-"

"She said at first I seemed perfect: rich, handsome, smart, but up close, I'm absolutely disgusting, and," he pauses, letting himself calm down slightly, which didn't even help because he still kept sobbing harshly, "and that she tried to hold on for the money, but even that couldn't prevent her other temptations."

It was absolutely ridiculous- so ridiculous, it pissed you off.

You pull the blond into your embrace, allowing him to sink into your warmth and let his tears roll freely. "Klaus, you're the biggest sweetheart I'd ever met; yeah, sure, you enjoy sarcasm more than chocolate or sex, but that doesn't make you a horrible person." Your flawed method of comforting earns laughter from the male in your arms.

"See? Who wouldn't kill for such an adorable laugh? Come on." You preach.

Gleaming purple eyes, still tainted red, stare back at you in disbelief, "Going a little too far, aren't you?"

"I'm re-inflating your huge ass ego, is it not working? I should get paid for this." You state in certainty.

"You're an idiot." He pulls himself away from you. You couldn't help the grin forming on your lips; the way his smile contradicted the trace of tears on his pink cheeks and red nose, the way his eyes glimmered in happiness though holding remnants of sadness, it all did wonders to your heart. It was a living, breathing proof that anything she breaks, you can fix- even if at your own pace.

And suddenly you begin to doubt if your feelings for that rude blond ever really went away.

"(Y/N)?" He snaps you back to the present. Has his face been always this close to yours?

"Hmm?" You attempt to shift away from him, but before you can really move away, his lips swollen, pink lips press onto yours softly.

Your eyes widen in shock, hands immediately flying to his chest and pushing him away. "Klaus?!"

"You like me, don't you?" His eyes bore into yours, forcing you to melt under his manipulating gaze. He looks like a kicked puppy, but somehow he'd managed to gain the upper hand, leaving you red and hot with embarrassment and surprise.

"Wha..what are you talking about?" You move back, creating distance between you two, but he just moves closer to you.

"I like you too; how did I never notice my attraction to you?" He sloppily traces your jawline with kisses.

You find it in you to push him away once again, trying your best to ignore your heart pounding in your chest. "Klaus, you reek of alcohol; you don't know what you're doing. Just stop."

He doesn't respond, his lips meeting yours in a heated kiss, one you were unable to pull away from. Butterflies were going crazy in your stomach, matching the speedy rate your heartbeats were going at.

The taste of vodka conquered the kiss, reminding you every passing second that he doesn't mean what he's doing and that it'll be awkward in the morning and maybe for the rest of your life, but maybe this is your only chance to feel loved by him, maybe you too wanted to forget about the future for a second and get lost in the heat of the moment.

So you do.

Therefore, when he begins reaching for your shirt, sure enough, you let him. And faster than you would've imagined, your clothes piled up on the floor with the books you'd abandoned since that idiot has stepped foot into your apartment.

"You're too good to me." Lips pressed to your neck, he mumbles, his right hand caressing your bare hip and side while he uses the other for support. He bites lightly on the soft skin, making you yelp at the sudden sharp pain, but it doesn't last. He licks and sucks on the skin, etching his markings onto your neck and collarbones.

×××

Perhaps an old, hard couch wasn't the perfect place for your sexy time with your crush, but then again were you even thinking at all last night?

Certainly not.

You shamefully collect your clothes off the floor, quickly noticing the fact that Klaus's were no longer there.

"Klaus?" You call out, earning no reply.

Before you give yourself a chance to actually look around for him, a paper on your coffee table catches your attention.

"It was a mistake. I'm sorry.

Please ignore last night I wasn't myself.

Klaus xx"

"Ignore it?" You chuckle sadly, "You fucking dick."

You pour your third glass.

~~(A/N): it's currently 7 am so idk if this is terrible and I'll regret it when I wake up or not but I'm posting it anyway 😂 Also I feel like this blog is becoming don't get Klaus drunk unless you want to get into his pants then sure go ahead! Idk 😂😂 but anyway if y'all want a part 2 for this tell me lol

[charanteleclerc]

Damaged but not Broken

A/N:  I've been super busy for the last week, I promise I didn't write nearly 6,000 in a day! This is for Helena, who asked for this when I said I'd start writing again. Like always, prompts are open! Cross posted to AO3 here

“Ow, shit, fuck!” Seb exclaimed, grabbing at his foot. “Stupid fucking spanner!”

He could hear the chuckles of his part-time receptionist through the door, but he ignored her. Well, mostly. He might have thrown a rather uncomplimentary gesture at the open door.

He thankfully had a couple of cars to work on today, however being clumsy with tools wasn’t going to fix them. Running a garage was definitely easier with two people, but then there was the added problem of the second person. He’d tried in the past, so many times, and it just wasn’t worth it anymore. He’d briefly considered asking his best friend, Jenson, but he was spectacularly drunk at the time, and Jenson had his own career. Besides, he’d already learnt not to mix business and personal. That’d been learnt the hard way.

“You look stressed as hell.” A familiar voice sounded from the entrance. Seb barely glanced up, rolling his eyes.

“Hello to you too, Jense.” He muttered, leaning back over the engine. “Why are you showing your ugly mug around here today then?”

Jenson clasped at his heart, pretending to stagger back. “You wound me. ”

“Sure, sure.” Seb grinned. “If you’ve come to drag me to the pub, let me finish this job. I swear, it’s nearly done.”

“That is part of the reason. But, I’ve been looking around for some help for you.” Jenson hopped up onto the counter. Seb glared at him.

“I said I don’t need another business partner.”

“I never said partner, I said help.” Jenson replied calmly. “Did you know that the local college does mechanic apprenticeships?”

“No I didn’t.” Seb muttered darkly, turning a screw with maybe a little too much force. “But I’m sure you’re going to tell me the benefits.”

“You liaise with the college, no-one is going to undermine you, and you get to give the gift of learning.” Jenson grinned. “Win-win situation!”

“What if I don’t need the help?”

“He needs the help!” Britta called from the reception. Seb swore under his breath.

“I know you’ve had bad experiences Seb, but you can’t keep on like this. Tifosi Garage doesn’t have to start and end completely with you.”

Seb rolled his eyes. “Fine. Sign me up. Just one apprentice though.” He warned.

Jenson beamed, clapping his hands together. “That’s great, because I’ve already signed you up! His name is Charles, he’s twenty-one, and he starts on Monday!” He jumped down from the counter, making a mad dash into the reception as a screwdriver flew through the air after him. “I’m hiding in here until you’re ready, we’re still going to the pub!”

“Asshole!”

“Love you too!”

                                                             ~*~ 

Jenson reappeared early on Monday morning, hanging around as Seb opened up the garage. Hi did however bring coffee with him this time, so he was partially forgiven.

“You don’t need to spy on me.” Seb grumbled, warming his hands on the coffee. “I’m gonna be nice.”

“Sure you are.” Jenson replied easily. “Maybe I just want to get a look at the kid?”

Seb hummed, not fooled. “Yeah right. And don’t you have a job to go to?”

Jenson shrugged, taking a small sip of his coffee. “I’m on holiday this week, gonna spend some time with Nico. So no reporting for a full seven days. Unless something major happens, I guess. It’s usually my luck.”

“And that’s why being a reporter sucks.” Seb retorted cheerfully. “If you’re going to hang around, at least be useful.”

Jenson mock-saluted, heading into the reception. Britta only worked two days a week, and Seb was well aware it was half an excuse to get out of the house, and half a pity favour to him. She’d known him for years, and was far more talented and capable than this job asked her to be. But having small kids at home meant re-evaluating priorities, and both her and her husband took part time jobs in order to juggle childcare. She wouldn’t be in again until Wednesday sadly, so sometimes the phones had to go unanswered if he couldn’t leave what he was doing and make a run for it.

“Um, hello?” A young man peered around the entrance, looking anxious. “This is Tifosi Garage, right? I’m looking for Sebastian Vettel?”

Seb waved, walking over. The guy looked young, but Jenson said he was twenty-one, so not that young. He was already wearing overalls, which was a good start, he didn’t think he had a clean pair hanging around. But underneath the anxiousness, there was a look of determination. Seb could work with that. “Charles, right?”

“Yeah, Charles Leclerc. Nice to meet you.” Charles stuck out his hand. Seb gave it a quick shake.

“Welcome to Tifosi Garage. It’s normally just me, but my friend is helping out on the desk today. There’s a part-time receptionist, Britta, but she only works Wednesday and Saturday. I don’t know how far in your studies you are, so if you just shadow me this morning, and I’ll check your work leaving the garage for the time being?”

Charles nodded, looking eager. “We’ve worked on stuff, but never to a set time, y’know. But I’m excited to learn.”

Seb could see Jenson grinning like a madman from the reception, signing something frantically. He wasn’t even going to bother acknowledging him. Or he wasn’t, until a paper ball hit him square on the side of his head.

“If you get ready, just excuse me for a minute.” Seb smiled as apologetically as he could. He walked quickly into the reception, shutting the door behind him. “What?!”

“Seb! He’s cute! Like, super cute!” Jenson exclaimed, waving his hands around dramatically.

“And?” Seb asked. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Jenson waggled his eyebrows suggestively, leaning back in the chair. “Y’know. He’s cute. And you haven’t been on a date in forever.”

“I’m not going to date my apprentice, Jenson.” Seb replied flatly. “What the fuck.”

“You’re absolutely no fun, you know that.” Jenson pouted. “How am I supposed to help you if you don’t want help?”

“Keep trying, Fairy Godmother.” Seb walked out of the office, making sure it was firmly shut. “So, Charles! We’ve only got one problem in at the minute, that Volvo over there.” He pointed, walking over and pulling open the bonnet. “Basic oil leak. What do we do?”

“Check where the leak is coming from first.” Charles replied calmly. “Then if it’s just loose, tighten the bolts. If the part is broken, order and replace.”

Seb nodded, impressed. “Well done. Want to take a go?”

Charles’s face lit up, and after Seb gave another nod, he reached for a spanner, sliding himself under the car. Seb walked back, arms crossed. Charles seemed to have a good grasp of the basics. He could admit that it was going to be helpful to have him around.

But not in the way that Jenson suggested. That was completely off-limits. Completely.

                                                           ~*~

“I’m just saying -”

“No Jenson.” Seb replied tiredly. “Nico, tell him.”

Nico sighed, putting down his drink. “I really don’t think that’s up to me. And I have to live with him.” He nodded at Jenson. Valtteri sniggered into his drink. Seb groaned, resting his head on the table.

“Sure, he’s cute. But I am ten years older than him, and effectively his employer.”

“Pssht, like the rules have ever stopped you before.” Jenson smiled wickedly. “C’mon Seb. We’re all taken, we need to live vicariously through you.”

“No. Fuck you.” Seb mumbled half-heartedly into the table. “Stop bringing up my shitty dating history.”

“You do have a type.” Valtteri admitted. “And it’s off-limits colleagues.”

Seb whimpered.The rest of the table laughed, Nico patting Seb’s head sympathetically.

“There, there, Seb. Maybe you can just stare at him?”

“Er, hi, Jenson, Seb.” A new voice sounded, causing Seb to snap up from his slouched position. Charles was standing next to the table, with a couple of friends.

“Oh, hi Charles.” Seb smiled, sitting up properly, pretending he hadn’t just cricked his neck in such a quick movement. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just out with friends.” Charles explained, gesturing awkwardly at his friends. This is Pierre, and Carlos.”

Charles’s friends gave small waves, staring intently at Seb. He tried not to meet their gaze, clearing his throat.

“Jenson you already know,” Jenson grinned at that, “and these two are Nico and Valtteri.” His friends said hi, eyes darting between Seb and Charles.

“Um, we’re gonna go. I’ll see you tomorrow?” Charles asked, smiling when Seb nodded.

“Enjoy your night! And 9am sharp!” He gave a small laugh, waving Charles and his friends away. He could feel his friends eyes on him, smiles on their faces.

“Shut up.”

                                                            ~*~

Seb had been running Tifosi Garage for ten years now. He’d been twenty-one, with dreams bigger than reality, and a partner to set up shop with. Mark had been great, and whilst being older (and therefore more experienced), they’d gone fifty-fifty on the garage. Seb had been on cloud nine that first year, so caught up in possibilities that he hadn’t stopped to see the cracks in the foundations.

Seb had fallen for Mark hard and fast, in the way that you only can when you’re young. He didn’t realise he’d made a mistake until after the garage had been opened.

It had been a botched job, a bigger problem that he should’ve recognised but hadn’t. They’d lost the customer, and Mark had been furious. He threw things across the garage, yelling curses as he went. When Seb stopped in to stop him, Mark had hit him instead.

Looking back, Seb always knew that he should’ve left then. But he’d been determined. It was an accident, Mark hadn’t meant it. And Seb couldn’t just walk away from the garage, he’d poured too much of himself into it to just give up. Jenson had kept telling him to walk away, but he’d stayed. He slowly saved up enough money, dealing with the outbursts that Mark sent his way. He’d finally had enough to buy Mark out of his shares three years later, and it was done so quickly and quietly, with another name in place, that Mark didn’t know what had hit him.

Last he had heard, Mark had run back off to Australia. He didn’t have to worry about him anymore.

Dan had been a rebound. A lengthy rebound, he admitted. It had just been casual though, with a knowledge that Dan’s heart would never belong to him. Dan had been employed to fill Mark’s empty space, and he was a good mechanic. But his friend was a regular shadow, and Jev wholly disapproved of their whole relationship. The whole thing lasted two years, until Jev’s frustrations finally won out and he’d made out with Dan, in the middle of the garage.

Dan had never looked back, although he had been very apologetic about it. They’d move away, and were getting married next year. He had his invitation stuck to the cork board in his office. At least they got their happy ending.

Kimi had been the third person Seb had fallen for. He’d known Kimi for years, and they’d been friends for almost that entire time. Best friends truthfully (not that he’d ever tell Jenson that). After Dan left, Seb was emotionally raw. Kimi had been there at just the right time, and had stepped up to help at the garage as well, but Seb hadn’t dared act on the gigantic crush he was nursing. He was quite happy watching from afar, and maybe if nothing had changed Kimi might still be here now. But there had been one drunken night, and he’d drowned in it. Kimi was everything to him, like his soul was finally full. He knew it was dangerous, letting someone so close again after Mark. But Kimi had been everything good, and it was so easy and right.

No wonder he’d been caught left-field when he realised Kimi had been cheating on him.

He’d been out with Jenson, grabbing a coffee on one of Jenson’s breaks. It was nowhere near the garage, full of bleary-eyed reporters and sharp business suits. Seb had only noticed Kimi when he was heading towards the toilets. Lazily sprawled across his seat, with another man leaning into his side, and then they were kissing -

He doesn’t remember what happened those few minutes after. He remembers the white hot rage, but otherwise nothing until he and Jenson were back at the garage. Apparently Jenson had to pull him off Kimi and the other guy, having attempted to punch their faces. They were forever barred from that café, but Seb couldn’t bring it in himself to care about that point, he wasn’t going to return there anyway.

Kimi had snuck in a couple of days later for his stuff, sporting an impressive black eye and a cut lip. Jenson had hovered protectively, not saying a word. Seb remained motionless on the couch, staring at a peeling patch of paint on the wall. There had been no words exchanged, the only time the silence was broken was when Kimi shut the door for the last time. He wasn’t sure where Kimi was now, and he really didn’t want to know.

Seb had certainly learnt the hard way that relationships and business don’t mix. There were too many mistakes that could’ve been avoided, so much heartbreak. His life for the last ten years was littered in scars, and if he wasn’t already making sure that he was keeping his business separate, he wouldn’t want to drag someone like Charles into his messes. He deserved someone young, and uncomplicated.

Seb didn’t want to drag anyone into his life, it wasn’t fair. He was too damaged, the cracks hastily and badly covered. He couldn’t be broken down again. He couldn’t come back from heartbreak one last time.

                                                         ~*~

Charles fitted in effortlessly. He’d brought a little bit of laughter to Tifosi Garage, something that had been sorely lacking. He made Britta cups of tea, and kept Jenson in stitches whenever he came to visit. The garage had started to feel more like a home again.

Not that Seb was beginning to associate Charles with home. Nothing of the sort.

“Hey Seb.” Charles popped his head around the door, eyebrow raised as he saw Seb leaning back in the chair, eyes closed. “Afternoon nap?”

“Sure, we’ll go with that.” Seb yawned, stretching his arms above his head. “Late night.”

“Anything interesting?” Charles asked, a light blush on his face. Seb shook his head, amused.

“Nah, just invoices. Joys of running your own business.”

“Never thought about having someone to help?” Charles suggested. “Seems like a lot of work for just one person.”

Seb stiffened, panic in his eyes. Mark came flooding back into his mind, but he wasn’t going there. Not one bit.

“Er, tried it once. Didn’t end well.” Seb tried for false cheery. He could see Charles frowning, but there was no way he was going to elaborate. “So. What can I do for you?”

“Just to say that I’m all finished up. That Honda was a bit of a mess, but she tidies up well.” Charles explained. “I’m gonna head off, if that’s okay?”

“Sure. I’m not gonna be much company anyway.” Seb gestured at his paperwork.

“Looks like fun.” Charles teased. “Well, if you feel like joining, I’m meeting a few friends this evening, at the pub? If your paperwork gets done, obviously.”

“I’ll think about it.” Seb gave a half-smile. Charles nodded, grabbing his bag and heading out. Seb watched him go, his heart beating just a little too fast. Charles had obviously meant as just friends.

Hadn’t he?

                                                          ~*~

The bar was busy, but Seb was determined. He’d even managed to run home to have a shower and pull on a new shirt. That was really something for him. He was a man of habit now, and it was probably the first time he was going out without Jenson as his crutch since Kimi.

“Seb!” An excited voice caught Seb’s attention. Charles was waving at him, a grin on his face. There were more of his friends here than last time, but that was okay. Less focus on him, he hoped.

“Didn’t think you were coming.” Charles teased, grabbing a chair from a nearby table. “Has the love affair with the paperwork finally ended?”

Seb grimaced. “It’s still waiting, but I can enjoy a night off.” He could see everyone round the table giving him very unsubtle looks - some excited and some more calculating. Pierre was definitely watching his every move. Seb gave a small wave. “Hi, I’m Seb.”

“Pierre and Carlos you already know. The others are Stoffel, Lando and Daniil.” Charles explained, pointing to each of them in turn. “They’ve just arrived back from uni.”

“We’re postgrads.” Daniil explained. “Engineering. We all met at the university here, but Pierre and Carlos have gone into jobs, and Charles here decided on an apprenticeship before his masters.”

“It’s a gap year.” Charles muttered, flushing. Seb was stunned. He’d thought that Charles was just another college student, but he was doing this for fun? On a gap year?

So brainy as well as attractive.

Wait, he wasn’t going there, remember? Not going there.

“Well, call me when you’re working on racing cars.” Seb joked, and the tension broke. He might be older, but cars was a safe topic. “And remember me when your normal cars break.”

The conversation eventually took a turn into more complicated things, such as gossip between friends as who was seen on campus with who. Seb wished he could still be as carefree as them, that if he could turn back the clock ten years, he’d be chatting as much as any of them. He just tended to shy away from most conversation like that now, and his own friends had learnt not to talk about certain topics around him. It was easier for them, with partners and spouses. Time really does make all the difference.

He let the conversation wash over him, joining in at just the right moments. They all seemed keen to catch up, so he wasn’t ever thrust into the limelight. He was enjoying himself, so much so he was surprised when they announced intentions of going to a club nearby.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Charles asked. Seb smiled, pulling on his jacket.

“Definitely not my scene. And, there’s that love affair with my paperwork, remember?”

“I’ll walk with you.” Charles said, waving off his friends cries. “I’ll catch up.

“You can go with your friends.” Seb said lowly. Charles shrugged, a determined look on his face.

“I’m not going to miss much in ten minutes. It’s just a club, I know how clubs work.”

They said their goodbyes, with promises of catching up from Charles, and Seb trying to ignore Pierre’s pointed gaze. It was a similar look Kimi had used on him regularly, and it felt like he was being unmade, unravelling there on the pavement.

“You don’t have to walk me home Charles.” Seb teased. “Amazingly, I’m old enough to look after myself.”

Charles rolled his eyes. “I know that. Maybe I just wanted to continue talking?”

“I’d say you need your head checking.” Seb joked. “You see me five days a week.”

Charles shrugged. “Maybe I want more.”

Shit. What was that? Was Charles flirting with him? What was supposed to do? Was he -

“Seb?” Charles was looking at him, slightly concerned. “You look like I broke you.”

“Er, no, I just… Charles.” Seb sighed. “I’m not a good person to get attached to.”

“Jenson mentioned you had some bad ex-boyfriends.” Charles said conversationally. “No details, but he said you’d had a bad time, and that you needed someone to treat you well.”

Seb groaned. Of course Jenson had gone behind his back to Charles. Fuck, had he mentioned anything about him liking Charles? He had said anything to Jenson, but that had never stopped him from knowing before.

“Charles, Jenson wasn’t joking. I’ve had some really shitty boyfriends, and it’s left marks.” Literally, but Charles didn’t need to know that. “I’m not what you think I am.”

“I think you’re holding back.” Charles surprised him by saying. “I’m not denying you’ve had bad run-in’s, and that you think you’re too broken.” Charles stopped, waiting for Seb to turn to him. “Seb, you’re not broken. You’re one of the strongest people I know. And you need to prove it to yourself. Give yourself a chance, see what the world has to offer.”

“Like you?” Seb whispered. Charles smiled, hopeful.

“Exactly like me.”

They walked in silence until they reach his flat. Seb cleared his throat, eyes on the pavement. “This is me.”

“I hope you had a good time.” Charles said, stepping forward slightly. “Because I did.”

“Same.” Seb admitted. He started to turn to put his key in the lock, but Charles stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Are -” He started, but suddenly there were warm lips on his, and his brain could only focus on that. In that moment, the rest of the world didn’t exist for him.

The kiss was short, and all too soon Charles was stepping back. “Goodnight, Seb.” Was all he said, before turning and heading back down the street. Seb watched him go, key hanging forgotten in his hand.

He was so gone.

                                                        ~*~

“So he kissed you?”

“Yes.”

“He kissed you?”

“Oh my god, yes! He kissed me!” Seb exclaimed, holding the phone to his ear. “How many times do I have to say it?”

“Sorry, I’m just trying to take it in.” Jenson sounded delighted. “Didn’t think he’d have the balls for it.”

“Well, he did. And now I don’t know what to do.” Seb grumbled. He’d been awake for hours last night, overthinking pretty much everything. He’d called Jenson as soon as it was reasonable to. Not that Jenson would’ve cared if he’d called earlier, but Nico might have.

“Seb, maybe you should just go with it.”

“You know that should not be my tactic.” Seb replied. “Remember what happened the last time I did that?”

“But Charles isn’t Kimi or Mark. Charles isn’t even Dan, because his heart isn’t looking somewhere else. You deserve someone good, Seb. Maybe, just maybe, it might be Charles.”

“But what if I get my heart broken again?” Seb whispered. Jenson was silent for a beat.

“You’ll never know if you don’t try.” Jenson said, sounding serious for once. “That heart of yours that you’re so intent on protecting, it will never fully heal if you keep it locked up.”

Seb sighed. How was it that Jenson always knew exactly what to say?

“Fine. I’ll think about it.” He muttered, as he turned the corner to the garage. Charles was already waiting, leaning up against the wall. “Look, I have to open up.”

“Just keep it in mind Seb. See you later.” Jenson hung up, leaving Seb frowning at his phone. Shaking his head, he walked towards the garage.

“Morning.” Seb greeted neutrally. He wasn’t sure if Charles would want to talk about last night, so no point forcing the issue. “You’re here early.”

“Don’t need much sleep.” Charles replied cheerfully, walking towards Seb. “Have you changed your mind about enjoying last night?”

Seb blushed, trying not to rise to the obvious challenge. “Why, looking for a repeat?”

Charles shrugged. “I wouldn’t say no.” He walked forward. “How about now?”

Seb laughed, turning to unlock the door. “Maybe if your work is good enough.” He teased. “If you really want to go down that route, whatever it is, it stays away from the garage.”

Charles nodded, throwing a mock salute. “No problem, boss. No talk about it until five.”

“Good.” Seb nodded. He could wait until five. Only nine more hours to go.

                                                            ~*~

They started to form a routine. Life at the garage carried on like normal - there were cars to fix, for Seb paperwork to keep on top of, and Jenson and Britta keeping a general eye on things. Charles would hang around as Seb closed up the garage, and then both of them would head back to Seb’s flat. Seb had seen Charles’s place one, a student house share on the edge of town, and they both decided that they’d have more comfort and less distractions at Seb’s place. Charles never stayed for too long, either having being warned by Jenson, or he’d figured it out himself, not to push Seb too far. And it was working. Charles was witty, and funny, and easy to be around. They were keeping things light, and aside from takeaway pizza and some make out sessions, they hadn’t exactly discussed their relationship. Whatever it was. Charles probably had a perfect idea of what was happening, with a well thought out plan.

Seb was stumbling along, dazed and blinded. He was taking whatever he could get, and he was grateful for it.

“Pizza tonight?” Charles asked, helping to close up the garage.

“Sure.” Seb agreed. “From the place around the corner?”

“I’ll get them? Meet you back at your flat?” Charles suggested.

“Awesome.” Seb grinned. Charles walked off, and Seb just couldn’t help but watch him go. It was really hard not to watch Charles lately, especially since Charles had started wearing really tight shirts. Really tight.

“Seb.” A low voice came from behind him. Seb froze. He hadn’t heard that voice in a long time.

He turned around slowly, desperately hoping that he was wrong. That his mind was playing tricks on him. But no. Kimi was stood behind him, hands in pockets, his usual neutral expression in place.

��Do you need help with that?” Kimi asked, stretching out a hand.

“No.”

“Seb, let me help -”

“No.” Seb stared, backing into the wall. “I want you to get the fuck away from me.”

“C’mon Seb -”

“You cheated on me, Kimi.” Seb said dumbly. “You cheated, I saw you. You never even said sorry.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s too late now.” Seb spat. “How dare you come here.”

Kimi shrugged. “I missed you.”

“You mean your toyboy got bored and fucked off.” Seb laughed, bitterly. “Makes sense you’d come running back the minute he left.”

“I left him.” Kimi snapped. “Look, I know I fucked up a good thing Seb. I miss you.”

“I don’t want you back.” Seb snapped. Kimi glared, crossing his arms.

“I didn’t come here to fight with you.” Kimi said. Seb sneered.

“Well, that’s all you’re going to get.”

“Seb?” A confused voice sounded. Charles. “Everything okay?”

Seb turned around, watching Charles walk towards the two of them. “I thought you were going to the flat?”

“Forgot my jacket.” Charles frowned. “Who’s your friend?”

Kimi was watching their brief conversation, a cold smile slowly forming on his face. “Seems you’ve picked up a toyboy of your own, Seb.”

Seb glared. “We’re finished here.”

“I don’t think we are.” Kimi turned to Charles. “What’s your name?”

“Charles. And you?”

“Pretty manners. I’m Kimi. And I suppose Seb has told you all about his history?”

“I don’t pry.” Charles replied shortly.

“Sure you don’t. Well, just before you get too stuck into this -”

“Kimi.” Seb tried, standing between the two of them. “Please leave.”

“Seb’s more than a little damaged. There was the guy who beat him up, that really did a number on him. There was the guy who treated him like a casual fuck, now living very happily with his fiance.” Seb winced there. “It stings, doesn’t it? Hearing about Dan being happy?” Kimi turned his attention back to Charles. “And I’m the last in the tale. I’m the one who cheated on Seb. I’m the one that cracked his heart in two.”

“Fuck you.” Seb whispered. He didn’t look at Charles, he didn’t want to see the disgust and disappointment. He couldn’t look at Kimi, it hurt too much. He started walking towards the street, ignoring Charles calling him. He didn’t have it in him to care.

He walked numbly back to his flat, and once inside he leant against the door and sank to the floor. Everything had been going so well, and now his life was in tatters again. He’d been stripped raw, there was no way Charles was going to stay now.

“Seb?” There was a quiet voice outside his door. Charles had followed him here. “I know you’re in there.”

Seb didn’t respond. What was the point in it? He could hear Charles sigh on the other side.

“It doesn’t matter to me, your past boyfriends. They’re not here now. That’s what matters. And you’re not broken. Far from it. You’re one of the strongest people I know. You’ve patched yourself up so many times, and all by yourself. You’ve been hurt, I get that. And Kimi… he was out of order, coming to the garage tonight. I’m sorry, I might have punched him the face once or twice, but he deserved it. I probably should’ve left that to you though.” Charles broke off, giving another sigh. “I’ll go if you want me to. But if I go, I’ll call Jenson. I don’t want you to be along right now.”

Seb ran his hands through his hair. “Stay. Please.”

“Okay.” Charles was quiet. Seb stood up, opening the door just enough to let Charles in. Charles slid in, shutting the door. “Please. Let me look after you.”

“I can’t… I don’t know what…” Seb couldn’t get his words out. “Charles, I don’t know what to do.”

Charles cradled Seb into a hug, stroking his hair. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

                                                             ~*~

Seb’s not sure how he managed it, but he dragged himself out bed the next day, and went to work like nothing had happened. The thought of the garage sitting empty seemed worse to him, and keeping busy was distracting. He did the same the next day, and the day after that. He surprised himself, sometimes.

Having Charles around helped. Charles calmed him, and made him feel like the world wasn’t completely out to get him. In between Charles and Jenson stopping round every free minute, Seb felt like he was recovering.

But that didn’t stop the guilt clawing at him however. He needed to tell Charles the truth, his side of events, rather than just venomous words spat out by Kimi.

Charles obviously wasn’t pressing, but there were questions waiting there. Seb could see it in his eyes.

Seb waited until the garage was shut one day, calling Charles into the office. “I’m only going to be able to do this without interruptions. Just please, let me finish.” Seb asked, pleading a little. Charles nodded, sitting down.

“Everything Kimi said was true, but it is - was - more complicated than that. I bought this garage when I was your age, and I shared it with my then boyfriend. We went half each. And it was great, at first. But then when things started to not go Mark’s way, he’d lash out. At first it was stuff, then it was me. Still got a few scars left, where people can’t see. I didn’t leave straight away because of the garage. It was my life, my dream. I couldn’t just walk away from it, and let have Mark have it. So I saved up enough, bought him out. He fucked off to Australia the minute I mentioned the police.

“Dan was a rebound, I guess? He came in to replace Mark, which he did in more than one way. And it was just casual, agreed upon. I was the idiot that went and caught feelings. I knew he was in love with Jev, and I’m happy for them. I really am. I still talk to Dan, even got an invite to the wedding.

“Then Kimi. I honestly thought Kimi was my soulmate. He’d been my closest friend since I was nineteen, closer even than Jenson. And we fell into loving each other so naturally, it felt so right. And I just happened to wander into the wrong coffee shop on the wrong day. I don’t even know the other guy’s name. But Kimi was gone a few days later, no words.

“Charles, my heart’s been broken too much. I don’t think I can do it again with you.”

Charles said nothing, just watching him. Seb could feel the panic rising. Of course, Charles had now heard all of it, and was trying to figure out a way to leave politely.

Charles stood up, slowly walking towards him. He crouched in front of Seb, grasping his hands.

“Seb, I’m not like them. I’m not going anywhere, and I’m going to treat you as you deserve to be treated.” He leaned close, resting his forehead against Seb’s. “I think I might love you, Seb Vettel, broken heart or no.”

“I think it might be healing.” Seb whispered, before leaning in to kiss Charles. Charles hummed, kissing back gently.

Maybe he wasn’t completely there yet, Seb thought. But maybe he could give this a try.

                                                            ~*~

“Come on, you have to dance.” Charles coaxed. Seb had taken Dan up on his invitation to his wedding, and Charles had been so excited to go as a plus one. “I’ve never been a plus one to anything,” he’d explained, immediately starting to browse for a new suit. “Now shush, I’m shopping.”

“Charles, I’m not great at dancing.” Seb tried half-heartedly, but allowed himself to pulled out onto the floor. They swayed, not really dancing, but enough for them to pretend they were.

“Shut up. I just want to dance with my boyfriend.” Charles said calmly. “Entertain me.”

Seb smiled, resting his face against Charles’s. If you’d said a year ago it was possible for him to be this happy, he wouldn’t have believed you. He did still have dark days, but Charles was determined. He’d stuck around, and in turn he turned his life around. Charles had moved in when he’d returned to uni for his masters course, rather than staying in the house share for another year. The garage was doing well, really well. He’d hired one full-time mechanic, Giuliano, and there was one part-time apprentice, Marcus.

Not to say that he and Charles hadn’t had arguments. There had been rough points (such as the day he’d tried a moustache. Charles had walked in, taken one look and walked right back out again. It’d been shaved off an hour later). But Seb had never felt more grounded, more happy, in his life.

They danced, swaying side to side, trying to ignore the making out that was happening behind them between the newlyweds. “I love you Charles.” Seb murmured. He could feel Charles’s answering smile against his cheek.

“I love you too.” Came the soft reply. Seb smiled, a content feeling in his chest making him feel warm. It had taken a while, but he was broken no longer.

                                                           ~*~

[loveinpanem-blog]

A Candle For The Caribbean: Charity Anthology

Titles and Summaries of Stories and Fanart

The outpouring of support from artists and donors has been truly inspiring. As of today, we’ve raised $1650.00 in funds, all donated directly to organizations supporting the ongoing relief efforts in the Caribbean.

We’ve received the first proof of the anthology, including the list of works being offered. For a minimum donation of $10.00 to any reputable charity supporting victims of Hurricane Maria, you can receive this collection in e-format containing all the creative works from The Hunger Games, Outlander and Overlander fandom, to be published on December 7th. We will continue accepting receipts through the end of January, 2018. Send these to titania522@gmail.com.

Below the cut, you will find a preview of all the stories and works being offered, including the titles, authors and story summaries or opening paragraphs of the works to be published.

We here at Love in Panem cannot express enough how grateful we are for the number and quality of stories and the number of people who’ve stepped up to contribute to this cause. This includes the wonderful banner makers and betas who have made this anthology a success.

Without further ado, find the list and summaries of artists below. A warning: It is quite a long list :)

Table of Contents

The Hunger Games

5 Winds by @lollercakesff

Summary: When the winds of fate blow, there is no stopping these emergency responders from rushing in. After five disasters and five collisions of fate, can they finally find each other?

Capitol Gym by @neverstopwhileyoureahead

Summary: Katniss would do just about anything for her little sister. It's why she reluctantly agreed to be her plus one to Capitol Gym. What she didn't expect was for a blue-eyed employee to make her suffering a little more bearable.

Como Duele by @mega-aulover

Synopsis: Katniss Everdeen world flips upside down after her beloved father dies. She takes on the responsibility to care for her mother and the Coffee Bean Hacienda. Everything goes from bad to worse when she is forced to marry Peeta Mellark. In the midst of a storm things take a dangerous turn when people who have crossed her end up dead.

Costra Nostra by @shesasurvivor

Summary: Katniss Everdeen is a performer for The Mockingjay, a hotel and casino run by mob boss Coriolanus Snow in Las Vegas. Peeta Mellark is the accountant who might be a plant for the FBI in The Mockingjay’s business office. The two are instantly drawn to each other, but how can anything possibly end well when they are on two opposing sides? Especially when the mob will have no problem harming Katniss’s sister if she betrays them. 1950’s historical AU set in mob-run Las Vegas.

Death, Time, Love by @elricsister            

Summary: verlark contemporary AU. Katniss has lost everything, she hates Peeta and just wants to be left alone. The visit of three strangers spanning 12 years will hopefully change that.

Forever, My Muse by @alwayspeetamellark

He needed new inspiration and fast. It was over four months ago he had his last exhibition and this creative rut had found him. Simply nothing was coming out right. He had tried everything, from taking a trip and getting away from things but to no avail. He still lacked the inspiration and when he put brush to canvas nothing came to life, as it should have.

From Peeta with Love by @PatriziaNordsee

July 2017 - Peeta / Lufthansa Flight 707 to Puerto Rico

10 hours is a long time. How will I spend 10 hours sitting in the economy class of a plane with nothing to do but wait? Nothing to do with my hands and nothing to think about but the reason why I left Germany and am now on a plane to Puerto Rico. Left the country I called home for such a long time.

Now flying into the Caribbean. 10 hours is all it will take to bring me from Frankfurt in Germany to Juan Santa María International Airport. 10 hours to transfer my soul from Germany to Puerto Rico.

Hurricane Force 5 by @thegirlfromoverthepond

Peeta was exhausted.

Or rather, he was beyond exhaustion.

He wished he could find solace in the landscape in front of him. The endless blue of the sea, marked here and there with little puffs of white, meeting the sky, in a never ending palette of blues. It would be breathtaking if he could take his mind of the disaster all around him.

Let’s Hurt Tonight by @katnissdoesnotfollowback

Summary: Inspired by (not based on) the film Collateral Beauty and the associated song, Let’s Hurt Tonight by OneRepublic, a short peek into the lives of the Everdeen women. Canon compliant.

Love Letters by @javistg

Summary: Katniss Everdeen learns about her past as she gets ready to face her future. Everlark. Canon-compliant (mostly), Post Mockingjay, Pre-Epilogue.

My Favorite Mistake by @titaniasfics

Summary: They begin as simple acquaintances who quickly become confidantes. When Katniss Everdeen’s friendship with a very-married Peeta Mellark morphs into something deeper, mistakes are made that will change their lives forever.

Panem Cruises by @alliswell21

Synopsis: Everlark meet in a cruise ship, where mishap after mishap brings them to a happily ever after.

Perhaps, Maybe by @everlarkingjoshifer

Weariness bore her sleep addled thoughts as Katniss leaned her head against the car window while rows and rows of unlit mast poles passed by. Blinking slowly she suppressed a yawn as yet another tree the length of a small apartment building whisked by. Furrowing her eyebrows, she tried to guess which kind it could be, but it passed by too quickly and her sluggish thoughts fogged her memory. Unable to conceal yet another yawn Katniss repositioned herself against the all too comfortable seat.

“Tired?” Peeta asked giving her a sweet smile.

‘No shit Sherlock,’ she internally said but thought better of it, choosing instead to just shrug nonchalantly.

Not With Haste by @llmarmalade

Summary: Prim and Peeta were never reaped, Peeta married Delly Cartwright who died and Katniss never married. The Revolution occurred naturally after President Snow died. Prim was killed in the City Circle bombing.

Redemption by @notanislander

She sits alone in the sand overlooking the bay. After pulling the overnight shift at the hospital, this is her favorite place to be. The sounds of the waves crashing and the gulls calling to each other gives her a sense of calm that she cannot seem to find anywhere else. The breeze softly blowing her hair soothes her. She’s glad it’s high tide though, sometimes the smells at low tide are a bit overpowering. She sits there, contemplating the past few days, contemplating her life, contemplating what brought her here to 4. And why she stayed.

Ride Through the Meadow by @savvylark

“Get back on the saddle. Just like riding a bike.” Johanna's words echo in my head as I ride my way through to short cut through the meadow to my favorite park. That’s the problem, dating is nothing like riding a bike. There’s a focus, you can see the terrain ahead of you and know what you’re facing. There’s a clear goal and destination in mind and, if you have a companion on your journey, you keep the same pace, there’s an understanding with the common goal ahead that spurs one another on.

Smitten With You by @litlifelover

These days Katniss enjoys her life as an editor for children's books, which can be stressful at times, but never to the degree of her former career as an event planner. She likes her quiet evenings and lazy weekends, loves that she can visit her family regularly and is able to spend time with her nephews. There’s even the flexibility to meet with Madge after a work day, enjoy a cup of coffee and talk about everything best friends talk about.

Someday by @norbertsmom

Summary: In this Everlark take on West Side Story, Katniss is a Puerto Rican girl living in the Seam neighborhood of the town of Panem. Peeta is a white baker’s son living in the merchant area. Their families each belong to rival gangs. Can the star crossed lovers survive when the feud comes to a head?

That’s How You Change The World by @geekymoviemom

I wake, shivering, in the dark of the night. Peeta is passed out cold, the morphling I shot into his arm nearly three hours ago keeping the worst of his pain at bay, at least for now. But it’ll be all too soon before he wakes again, startling with the intensity of his agony before he remembers that moving makes it all that much worse.

The Buzz Around Town by @florence68blog

Due to unfortunate circumstances, the relationship between Peeta and Katniss ended before it even began. Ten years later they meet again. However, the only thing Peeta is able to observe is that Katniss is even more unreachable than ever …

The Lucky Ones by @historywriter2007

West Virginia, December 1969.

“Peeta Mellark, you need to get back here and fix this right now.” Glimmer screeched.

Peeta stopped halfway down the walk to turn and face his fiancé. Her blue eyes were clouded with anger, he thought she would understand but obviously, he was wrong.

“There's nothing I can do, Glimmer. I got my draft notice, I'm not going to turn my back on my country.” Peeta raised the letter in his hand, his blood began to boil, how could she not see this was the right thing to do?

Too Familiar by @hutchhitched

Katniss smiled as she read the text messages that flashed on her phone screen. Her co-worker and friend, Peeta Mellark, and she had enjoyed a running commentary for the past few months—ever since they both begrudgingly admitted that they shared the same corny sense of humor. Katniss found him remarkably funny and had lost track of the times she’d (literally) laughed out loud at a quip he’d sent.

Unsafe Waters by @jobanana7

Sept 6th JFK international airport The day was finally here. After a month apart from his love, he was coming home and he was ready for it. Before his company asked him to go to New York to do this presentation that Peeta hadn’t thought would take so long, he asked her dad for permission to marry her before he left. Had she known he did she would’ve teased at him for sure but he was ready with his Grandma Sae’s rings on his person and a beautiful would be bride by his side. He was ready. He just hoped she would accept his proposal.

When You Kiss Me…by @chele20035

Dog trainer Katniss Everdeen got to help wounded vet, Peeta Mellark. Neither one knew what to expect when they receive invites to a special New Year’s Eve ball in London, England.

Outlander

Jamaica by @bonnie-wee-swordsman

Summary: A scene that we haven’t yet gotten in Outlander canon, even four books afterward: Brianna tells Jamie about the dream she had about her parents being in Jamaica. Based upon Voyager (Chapter 61) for Jamie’s side of the event, and Drums of Autumn (Chapter 40) for Brianna’s, so expect spoilers for both.

Memories Of The Moon by @phoenixflames12

He sits on the white boulder below the cave, gazing up at the moon. The cup of weak stew that Young Jamie had brought up that evening clasped between hands that are numb with cold.

Multifandom

Hackers Unite by @lilyaceofdiamonds

Alec Hardison sat at his computers a few days after the Irma and Maria hurricanes hit the islands in the Caribbean. Parker and Eliot were off buying supplies, they had just finished a job in New York. Hardison was just testing a program to search for any potential clients that Leverage, Inc could take on when his laptop dinged with a new email.

Sense8

Resist and Bite by @fiftyeightminutes

BPO has Wolfgang. The August 8th cluster have Whispers and Jonas. What is the cluster willing to risk in order to get back their missing piece?

Fanart

Jamie and Claire by @ombradellaluna

Gregor the Overlander by smokestarrules (deviantart)

Banner Makers

@akai-echo

@everlarkingjoshifer

@damndonnergirls

See you on December 7th!

[aleatoryalarmalligator]

life story part something.

Before I continue, I just wanted to give a quick apology for making an error in my previous life-story post. It was brought to my attention that it was not Britney who brought hip huggers to the scene of the late 90's, but Aaliyah RIP. Also though nobody actually sent me a message regarding this exactly, it may seem like I am picking on Britney Spears, but I really am not. She's fine. Aaliyah pants are fine. I am not an avid modern pop fan so there are a lot of things I really just do not know. I would be far more likely to know about some obscure detail about some early obscure 80's twee group than I would sometimes the most notable musicians of today.

And now. To explain my first trip to Florida.

I had never boarded a plane before. I think flying might be one of my favorite things in the world. I honestly can think of nothing better than being in the clouds looking down on everything. I don't think there has ever been a situation where I got on a plane and didn't come off that plane a better more complete human being. And to this day, if the pay was better, I was a little less of a daydreamer and more of a direct kind of person who liked facts, buttons and numbers more, and my eyesight was anything close to decent I think I would have gone to flight school, I love flying so much. We stopped at the Denver Airport, which was the biggest place I had ever been. When we got to Tampa, we had to board another plane and while that was happening, I looked out at the ocean – which I had never seen before either, and there was a cyclone out there. It was pretty wild, at least for me. I am sure local Floridians look out at the ocean casually on a daily basis and see these kinds of things. It's like when people vacation to Idaho, they often get excited about jagged rocks on the sides of canyons, and to me they are pointing out the most obvious mundane thing in the whole world.

It was also really different for me because there is a lot of culture and different skin tones that you honestly just don't see in rural Idaho. Everyone here is white, with the exception of Native Americans on occasion. There was not only people of every ethnicity, color and nationality, but the default music that played in stores was often times reggae, whereas here it's always country or Nickelback, and maybe just maybe some bad butt rock from the 80's where I come from. It was kind of eye opening for me to realize that not everywhere was Idaho.

My uncle Bob lived down in Florida. He was very rich. His job was to be one of those super attendants to super attendants for a school district in Fort Lauderdale. He had a swimming pool and a fancy motorcycle and a bunch of cars. I made the mistake of swimming one night, and he turned on the light in the pool. Suddenly, cockroaches began jumping into the swimming pool from every direction. The lizards were pretty cool however.

The air made me sick though. It was thick and murky. Idaho has very dry air that I am used to. Florida's air is like warm sticky water all around you that you can't get out of. And I am allergic to mold spores, so that was a problem. My throat swelled up and my eyes watered the whole time. Also, it was here that I learned that I have some serious issues with the ocean. I cannot be in the presence of the ocean, however fascinated I am by it, or I start to feel like I have the stomach flu, and I start to feel like I am going crazy. My father and I visited the beach. It was strange to me, but ocean beaches that are open to the public are covered with people. Idaho beaches are very easy to be alone and secluded on.

I really was enjoying myself, but then I started feeling this crazed feeling. First it felt like I was moving, and then it felt like the ground beneath me was dropping. I started crying for absolutely no reason. My father tried to ask me what was wrong and I snapped at him aggressively in a way I would never ordinarily do. This wasn't one of my typical sensitive fits I get when someone has hurt my feelings either. I really just lost my mind and had no idea what I was doing. He actually had to physically haul me off the beach as I kicked and cried. The ocean makes me crazy. I don't know why. As we drove off, I suddenly realized what had happened and I apologized. It's not that much different now that I am an adult. I was visiting the Pacific last year, and though I was able to control myself, I started getting shaky and nauseated and feeling like there was no reason to be alive, and this wasn't coming from my typical morose self. There has to be some kind of scientific backing for why this happens. I suppose I could just be that much of a landlover that even looking at the ocean makes me ill.

We went to Disney World. It was a great place if you have a million dollars to spend and are somewhat patient, but you don't want to eat there because everything is a trillion dollars and tastes like it is made out of whatever Mickey Mouse's gloves are made out of. Sadly, this is the only place I have ever heard people in real life with English accents – except maybe when I saw Richard Thompson and I am not sure, but when I saw the Arctic Monkeys, I think Alex Turner said something short once during the set.

This was also a strange visit because I hung out with my aunt Marty. I didn't really understand it back then, but she is a total racist. There are several different forms of racism naturally, and I couldn't for sure say that one was better than the last, but if I were to peg her form of racism, I would just flat out say that she was a hardcore Jim Crow racist. She was actually is just this openly vile little woman who constantly spews hatred in every which direction, but for some reason that I can only conclude leads to his own racist instincts, my uncle Bob thought it was cute for some reason for her to go on this way, and my dad would just laugh and laugh as she would go on and on with her extremely atrocious little rants. It kind of gave me a precursor to understanding the 'appeal' of Donald Trump for a lot of people. He was unabashedly hateful and racist, and people liked it because they felt like he was giving them permission to say this crap. She really seemed to randomly like me, so it confused me then, but I honestly don't think me or my siblings would have agreed to stay in a place with her. I could not sit in a room with her. She's really just that bad.

On our way to Miami we got into a car accident and we never made it there. We were in the middle of this six car pile up. I remember two girls with matching tube tops were running around upset speaking in Spanish desperately in confusion. There was this old lady that had to be taken to the hospital. My father turned his head instinctively in fear I suppose that I was not wearing my seat belt – which fortunately I was, and I have never forgotten it since because if I hadn't I would have gone flying. When he turned like this though, he permanently fucked up his neck. The super fancy old vehicle was totaled.

On our way back home a few days later, there was also some very extreme turbulence that scared me to death. We were flying over the Midwest, and the plane became very jerky. I was alerted that this was perfectly normal, and I continued to drink my ginger ale and look out the window. But it started to get more extreme. Pretty soon the entire plane was shaking and free falling. My plate of food flew off the table and women and children were crying upset. I was crying. Somehow, everything was alright, though that much turbulence was not considered to be very common. We flew out of the storm, which I heard was spread out from Indiana to North Dakota.

After Florida, life just kind of went the way it always had. Vacations don't generally fix all that much, from my experience, though I am still very glad I got to leave. I think it's very important to always have a trip planned out in the next six months. It keeps you ever hopeful for the future, and it gives you these little breaks in the monotony of what you know.

One day, I decided to play sick and skip school, presumably to get some hours in on the gameboy, get a few hours extra of sleep, eat some candy, read some chapter book about knights, princesses and dragons all that good stuff. I told my father I felt achy and nauseated. I can't say I feel too badly, but my father has always had a lot of faith that I am always telling the truth. And often times, he has good reason to believe I am, I usually am honest to a fault, am prone to oversharing and I don't just lie every time I am in a bind. I will often times rather just turn myself in. I don't believe people should lie whenever it is convenient. But this isn't to say that I don't lie. Sometimes I lie for sport. Mostly I just like to see what I can get away with. I hand select when I am dishonest, and it has to meet various requirements and the lie itself has to be somewhat satisfying. I don't think it's satisfying to lie often to make people think you are cool or to always get your way, but I have always liked to play hooky. I lied A LOT about being sick growing up, and even though most of the time it was bullshit and everyone knew that, my good old dad always believed in me. I also was always buying snacks at the local grocery store on the charge account and he never looked at the purchases that were made. He always just dutifully paid off the account every so often. To be fair here, he didn't leave any food in the house, and what would you expect a hungry preteen to do if they had a charge account at their disposal?

I was sitting in the corner on this such day, and suddenly my whole body was in the most excruciating pain I have ever felt in my entire life. My lungs stopped functioning. I felt like I was breathing rocks. My head was on fire, my jaws wouldn't move. Pain was shooting down to my toes. My muscles stopped working. I tried to tell my dad what was wrong, but no words would come out. I began convulsing. I could not even scream. I was on the floor in agony. I couldn't even move my arms voluntarily. The joints had tensed up so much. I made some kind of guttural noise of some kind and had tears running down my face, and my father was trying very hard to get me to tell him what was wrong. The pain was absolutely unimaginable, and I have to this day nothing that compares to it. He picked me up off the floor, and hauled me up the stairs. I passed out from the pain, and he put me in my bed. When I woke up two hours later, I was perfectly fine somehow. My muscles worked. I could talk. I have no idea what happened. And I never found out.

My mother moved into a new home. I think she got the lump some of the divorce money at this point, and her and Germaine were starting to have disagreements. So she began renting this brand new little white house a few blocks from where Germaine lived. I had to get rid of Crom – we gave him to James's rich family. This brand new house quickly became totally disgusting and trashed. But it was here where I first got to really enjoy cable television. My dad didn't think that tv was good for kids – he's probably got a point there. It was otherwise a completely disgusting mess though, and I often had to fight and manipulate for the best places to sleep and my rights to the controller. I think after a few years of dealing with adult's bullshit, I was starting to finally figure out how to plan ahead to put myself out of harm's way and to best benefit from my situation, if even in small little ways.

My dad would always take me to my mom's very early in the morning. He had to be at work at five am, and so we had to be on the road by 4 am. He would drop me off, and the first thing I would do when I opened the door was assess just how wasted everyone had gotten while I was at my dad's. You could tell by how the place smelled, what kind of trash was in the garbage, how long the dishes had been out, along with more obvious details like what and who was sprawled over the floor. I would make a headcount of people sprawled out on the floor, and try to establish the most pleasant place for me to rest. I would find the controller. Then I would go through my mother's bedroom while she was drunk and passed out with James in the bed, and go through her pants and coats for loose change. Often times, it would be dumped all over the floor carelessly. I would also go into the bathrooms and do the same thing. If there was anyone else there I would go through their things as well, usually finding their little baggies of drugs and pipes to get to the money. I never would take anything more than a dollar bill, but the money quickly began stacking up.

I eventually had 60 dollars, and to put that into adult perspective, that's like a 1000 dollars in Renee money today. At the end of the year, I went to an arcade and I went to the circus, and completely wasted all of it – but I didn't regret it one bit. The entire experience was perfectly delightful. I took great pleasure in being able to spend carelessly. My father kept such a tight hold of his money – I one time asked him for 25 cents and he told me the family simply couldn't afford it. This coming from someone who made over 40,000 dollars a year. I wore handmedowns, and ate left overs from the worst fast food in town. I was always on the receiving end of duties and responsibilities for my younger siblings, I had no power over my life at all. The money felt even better since I had stolen it the way I had.

Everyone around me was quite unpleasant for that entire time I stayed there. It was just a gross mess, before we finally moved again. Other than watching enormous amounts of television, I remember I would spend all day waiting for the sounds of the ice cream man to come down the road. It was the point of my existence at one point in my life to lazily lay about and anticipate the sound of ice cream man music to go down my street so I could run out there and buy a plastic tasting fudgsicle.        

to be continued.

If per chance you want to know more about this project of mine, i am writing my life story down - i have never actually done this. Here are the previous parts i have written so far.

PART 7 - http://tinyurl.com/ybvo283g

PART 6 - http://tinyurl.com/kbc9dwu

PART 5 - http://tinyurl.com/msnz4am

PART 4 - http://tinyurl.com/k9x8esg

PART 3 - http://tinyurl.com/mwp9atx

PART 2 - http://tinyurl.com/lbt6xq2

PART 1 - http://tinyurl.com/l8xbvg8

[survivormoves]

— basics

▸ is your muse tall/short/average?

well he’s 5′9″. is that tall? is that average? is that short? U DECIDE.

▸ are they okay with their height? he don’t really care? is this something he should care about he wonders

▸ what’s their hair like? dark, brown, a frikkin mess nowadays, back in the days slicked back, or parted.

▸ do they spend a lot of time on their hair/with their grooming? lol no, not at all.

▸ does your muse care about their appearance?

back in skybox? oh definitely. needed to strike a good appearance. as the days passed on by? no, no not anymore. he’s gotten to the point of whatever, i don’t care, i look handsome? cool, i don’t look handsome? whatever you say. my hair’s a mess? feel free to do something about it if ur close enough to me. theres blood on my clothes? wow what a surprise.

▸ does your muse care about what others think about them?

he ... hmm... he definitely did back in skybox. needed to make sure he was feared/respected/listened to. during s1 he definitely still clung to that care of what others thought about him with bellamy. aka caring what HE thought about murphy. as the story progresses, he comes to a point where he just... no longer really gives a shit. up until the point where he starts to care again.  it’s an on and off button [ snorts ] like he definitely cares what his space fam thinks about him? but also still feels they’re better off without him

— preferences

▸ indoors or outdoors?    outdoors and indoors ▸ rain or sunshine?    sunshine but rain’s nice too ▸ forest or beach?    forest there’s caves there ( but beaches can be fun too ) ▸ precious metals or gems?    wtf do i do with gems. precious metals i suppose? ▸ flowers or perfumes?    flowers we dont need perfume ▸ personality or appearance?    personality, appearance is a bonus. ▸ being alone or being in a crowd?   really depends... i feel he mostly likes sort of being alone, but not all the time? like alone with 1 person with him? crowds usually end up with bad shit happening. ▸ order or anarchy?    anarchy. ▸ painful truths or white lies?    painful    truths. he’ll always go for painful truths. unless a white lie saves his life. he doesn’t like being lied to himself, though. ▸ science or magic?    science, there’s no magic in the world. ▸ peace or conflict?    complicated ▸ night or day?    both ▸ dusk or dawn?    both ▸ warmth or cold?    warm ▸ many acquaintances or a few close friends?    a few close friends ▸ reading or playing a game?     playing  a  game.

— questionnaire

▸ what are some of your muse’s bad habits? he has bullets for words, doesn’t know how to shut up, ever lasting sarcasm and sass, dark humour, doesn’t know how to fix himself, tends to thrive in chaos and create such too, can’t believe someone would stick with him, serious issues, low self esteem. do i need to go on?  

▸ has your muse lost anyone close to them? how has it affected them? a ton of people, really. the first one having been his father at the age of 9. he never really got the chance to bounce back from that loss. it affected him the worst because through that his mother spiralled so much. and he got the blame for it, again and again. the happy little family they had been had been floated the moment he saw his father’s body leave that room, floated out. soft caresses replaced by hard hits physically, mentally and emotionally. his father’s death destroyed them. then his mother’s death happened and further ruined him. after that in skybox he had to watch his bunk mate off himself because he wanted to go on his own terms. throughout the years there he’s seen people be shipped off to get floated once they reached the appropriate age.  he turns closed off to many, isolated in a way. doesn’t let a lot of people get close to him. can be counted on one hand, really. i think in a sense charlotte’s death affected him too because he was responsible for that. and yes he was fucking pissed off at her, because they hanged him for her crime. but he hadn’t intended for her to do what she did. he realizes at that point he’s made a mistake by letting his rage fuel him to the point of no return. even if he wasn’t really close to charlotte, but still. after that the closest death would be finn, the peacemaker. that one opened his eyes in a sense too. and eventually craig, even though he wasn’t super close to him, it was also an eye opener.

▸ what are some fond memories your muse has? it’s hard. he wants to say the happy moments spent with his family, but they’re clouded with all the shit that happens afterward. so they’re bittersweet because he had it all, everything his young heart could long for, and then it was ripped from his hands. so i suppose i’ll say that the fond memories he has are with emori. just tiny little things. her laugh, teases, her very first shower, exploring the mansion with her, their first time and the sheer l o v e and just-- yeah. the moments he’s been given affection by his space fam are a big plus too.

▸ is it easy for your muse to kill? to be honest, it’s.... scarily easy. but he has to live with the consequences of his actions for the rest of his life. two kills he had done out of rage, out of revenge. out of a sheer believe that it was JUST. that he was allowed this because they had tried to kill him. the second death he was partly responsible for wasn’t really in his book. he doesn’t LIKE to kill, but he WILL if he must.

▸ what’s it like when your muse breaks down? hmmmmm... if he snaps, he snaps. what kind of breakdown do we talk about, though? in season 1 we see him break down in a sense of fuck it all, i’m a goner anyway might as well burn the kingdom down with my downfall. but there’s also other break downs. like the realization he was going to starve to death in that bunker. driving him over the edge. and then the screams and shouts i nseason 4 when they take emori from him. and then in season 5 complete isolation and pushing everyone away.

▸ is your muse capable of trusting someone with their life? good one. he has... major trust issues. which is really understandable with all the shit happens. i have conflicted feelings over this question. like at one point, i think he WOULD be capable of trusting someone with his life. aka emori. and perhaps in season 5 even bellamy. but in all...?  i think it would be really hard.

▸ what’s your muse like when they’re in love? a love sick puppy. [ killed ] nah, he’s loyal through and through. adores and loves and just wants to cling onto this happiness given to him. worships his s/o, cherishes with kisses and touches and hand holding and just. he’s stupidly adorable once in love. but also dangerously lethal if the one he loves is in danger.

TAGGED:  n o o ne

TAGGING: whoever wants to