#angsty fic

[natalievoncatte]

“What I did wasn’t personal,” Lena said.

Supergirl had already turned to face her. There were words formed on her lips, but Alex struck first, bringing her viper wit where it wasn’t needed or welcome.

“You had a stash of ‘Kills Kryptonians’. It’s personal,” said Alex.

Lena ignored her, looking directly at Supergirl.

“You know I’d never use it that way.”

“You kept secrets,” said Supergirl. “Secrets change things. I don’t like secrets.”

“Oh really,” Lena spat, knowing she’d regret what came next. “You don’t like secrets. Okay. What’s your real name?”

Alex flinched. Supergirl stared her down. Even in this miserable place, she was inhumanly beautiful, even if Lena was a little resentful that she’d been bitching about walking fifty yards a few moments ago, and making light of exercise, when she had the audacity to look like that.

The pause grew heavy. Something seemed to turn behind Supergirl’s eyes, like she was working something out. Her expression softened lightly.

“Why didn’t you come to me about Sam? I thought we trusted each other.”

“How can I trust you?” Lena said. “You still hold me at arm’s length, won’t let me in, only look for my help when it’s convenient for you. Maybe I should have sought your help, but it isn’t like I have you on speed dial, is it? What was I supposed to do, toss myself off a balcony and hope you were having coffee with Kara Danvers again?”

Supergirl flinched. Looking at Lena intently, she stepped closer, and Alex grew visibly nervous.

“Supergirl…” she said.

“You want to know my real name?”

“Yes,” Lena said, her voice suddenly unsteady, her palms breaking out in a sweat despite the cool, stale air. She stood her ground before a being that could level a mountain with a look and held her gaze.

“Kryptonian names are patronymics, sort of. A man’s name is his own and that of his family. So, for example, my cousin’s name is Kal-El. His father was Jor-El.”

“I knew that already,” said Lena. “Your cousin shared that an interview with Lois Lane.”

“He can share his because he has a name that was given to him by his adoptive family,” said Supergirl, her voice softening as she took another step closer. “I still use my Kryptonian first name.”

Something about that itched at Lena’s brain, but she wasn’t sure what.

“Supergirl,” Alex hissed. “You can’t… we can’t…”

Supergirl threw her a glance. “What? Trust her?” She looked at Lena. “My father was Joe-El’s brother, Zor-El. My mother’s name was Alura In-Ze.”

Lena licked her lips.

“They gave me the name Kara,” said Kara Zor-El. “On Earth, I accepted the surname of the family that took me in to raise me when my cousin gave me up to them. My full name is Kara Zor-El Danvers.”

Lena stumbled a step back, her mouth falling open comically. It felt like the ground was bursting open and swallowing her up, her stomach dropping through her knees.

No. No, no, no, no. It couldn’t be.

“Look at me, Lena.”

Lena looked away from her.”

“Look at me.”

Lena looked.

Lena saw.

Her hair was down, but Lena knew those honeyed curls. Supergirl carried herself differently- her shoulders were proud where Kara tended to hunch down, make herself small, as if to pass through the world without touching it.

Lena hadn’t really looked before. Not like this. She’d studied Kara, maybe even mooned over Kara a little until she seemed to confirm she was straight by dating that alien jackass. She knew every part of her face from her soft lips to her feel blue eyes to that funny little scar right over her eye.

How had she not seen?

“Fucking hell, Kara!” Alex snapped.

Lena’s lip trembled. She clenched her fists to keep her hands steady, knowing they were shaking.

“You tricked me,” Lena hissed, “so many times, so many ways, running off and changing into that suit when I thought you were both people. The super-speed, right?”

“I’m sorry,” said Kara, her voice soft. “Let’s just…”

“I wasn’t finished,” said Lena. “You… you told me you were having coffee with Kara, but you are Kara. Kara… you caught me when they threw me off the balcony. You risked being killed by a kryptonite explosion when Metallo went critical. You… you were… Jesus Christ, the plane, the chemicals, that was you?”

Kara’s eyes grew wider with every syllable and even in the gloom, Lena could swear she saw tears welling up within them.

“She’s risked her life for you over and over and over,” Alex said, quietly. “Her faith in you has only wavered the once. She’s always defended you and insisted on your innocence even when I was ready to throw you in a cell,” said Alex. “She defended you from the first. Shit, she defended you from Superman.”

Lena looked from one to the other, staring at them both in turn, trying to keep her wobbly legs from completely collapsing under her.

“I owe you an apology,” said Kara, raising her gaze to meet Lena’s.

“Can you two do this later?” said Alex. “We’re on a mission, here.”

Lena swallowed, hard.

“Yeah. Let’s go find Sam.”

They did find Sam, eventually, but the plan went sideways. After they were thrust back into their bodies, Supergirl -Kara- curtly told her to help Brainy while she and Alex rushed off.

So Lena helped brainy, until it was time for her to leave. Eventually, she made her way back to her penthouse, and to a glass of single malt, neat. She savored its subtleties as she stared out at the stars.

She knew this would happen sooner or later, so she wasn’t surprised when Kara touched down on the balcony, looking utterly stunning and brave and dashing in her fancy suit. She motioned to knock at the glass.

“It’s not locked.”

“Hi,” said Kara, stepping inside.

Lena looked up. “I can’t believe I didn’t see. You’re just… you, in a different outfit.”

That wasn’t exactly true, Lena knew. As she walked into Lena’s living room, Kara had neither the mousy, retiring way of Kara Danvers nor the brash swagger of Supergirl. It was like she was seeing a third person, one who’d been fully revealed for the first time.

“I’ve been going back and forth in my mind, trying to decide what parts of our friendship were real.”

“All of it,” Kara said.

“If my brother were here, he’d say that you befriended me to spy on me and use my resources and genius for your own ends.”

“That’s not true.”

Lena took a sip, and breathed in through her parted lips after swallowing to savor it.

“I know. He said the same thing about Jack, actually. Lex always tries to convince me that anyone else in my life is just after my name or money or body.”

Kara said nothing. Lena looked up.

“Just because he’s a madman who wants to gaslight me into being a supervillain doesn’t mean he’s always wrong. Does it?”

Kara swallowed, hard.

“You’ve been very insistent on being my friend,” said Lena. “You practically barged into my life and broke down all my barriers with your earnest kindness, but you were keeping yourself behind another one.”

“The first time I ever saw you, I knew in my heart that you were nothing like him,” said Kara. “I remember every detail.”

“In my office, with Kent.”

“No. In the helicopter. That was the first time I saw you.”

Lena swirled the dregs in her glass. “Oh. Right.”

“I just had to know you. You were compelling, and the way you treated me in your office that day was a huge part of that. You seemed so… I don’t even know how to describe it. I just knew I had to be close to you.”

A fit of pique moved her arm before she could contain herself, and Lena threw the glass. Kara snatched it from the air and placed it on the table without spilling a drop.

She was closer now, standing within arm’s reach.

“You can’t just say things like that to me,” Lena almost hissed, her voice loosened by the whiskey and the one before and the one before that.

“Why?” said Kara.

Lena looked up, swaying slightly.

“You told me your name.”

“I should have sooner. We could have worked together. We could have done a lot of things.”

“Fuck,” Lena snapped. “You’re doing it again! Knock it off?”

“Knock what off?”

“You goddamn well what,” said Lena. “Or maybe you really don’t.”

“I’m sorry,” said Kara. “I just don’t understand. Can you… do you want to tell me what you mean?”

“I… sit down.”

Kara swept her cape aside and sat primly in a side chair, folding her hands in her lap, worrying at the back of her thumb with her other thumb. God, she even had Kara’s mannerisms.”

“I’m gay,” said Lena.

Kara swallowed. “But… you were with Jack… and James… and you really seem to like the letter J,” Kara said, lamely.

“It’s called bisexuality, Kara. It’s a thing.”

“Oh, I um, I don’t really get ‘sexualities.’ On Krypton, we didn’t have sexual preferences. We didn’t choose our partners at all, everything was arranged.”

“That sounds awful,” said Lena.

Kara looked away. “It was our way and it worked. We had stable families, and most people had a kind of love. My parents loved each other.”

Lena sighed. “I wish I could say that. One of my parents didn’t love anyone but himself. Your sister is gay, Kara. How can you not understand it?”

“I understand that. I just find the whole thing confusing, and overwhelming. I keep looking for this spark that everyone talks about, and these ‘gut feelings’, but every time I think I’ve had it, it wasn’t right.”

“It seemed right with Mon-El. Oh. Oh Jesus. You banished your own boyfriend from Earth.”

Kara shook her head. “I know it did. I thought it did. I just never… it was the idea of him. I was checking a box. I was with him to have a boyfriend, not to have him. We’re really different people.”

“Why are we talking about this again?” said Lena.

Kara suddenly looked nervous, and thus even more like herself.

“I don’t know. It just seems to have happened. Kind of like our whole friendship. I never made a plan to be your friend. I never had an agenda. I just needed you in my life without knowing why. You just bring me joy.”

Lena wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry, she wanted to scream.

You big indestructible goof, that is the spark!

“I should have told you about me after Medusa. I should have trusted you then, but Alex talked me out of it. I didn’t push past when it counted. I know you doubt how much you mean to me now, and I’m so sorry I did that.”

“I’d never hurt you, ever,” said Lena. “Even if you weren’t Kara. But I could never hurt her. You.”

“I know.

“For what it’s worth,” said Lena. “I felt it too. That pull, that need to know you. That’s why I allowed you to get close to me instead of being bundled off by my security. I felt it from the first, that day you came to my office. I might have felt it a little during the helicopter crash, too.”

Kara nodded.

“I feel like there’s something we’re both not saying.”

Lena licked her lips.

“I have to stop the worldkillers. I have to save Sam. I have to fix it all. I just needed to talk to you first. See you first, see you again, just the two of us.”

Lena nodded, swallowing.

“I guess I should go.”

Lena wanted to tell her not to. To ask her to spend the night, change out of that ridiculous suit, to just be Kara and stay with her, but it dawned on her now that it could never be quite like that again. Kara was Supergirl and Supergirl had to be shared with the world.

“I want to help. I’ll come to the DEO.”

“Okay,” said Kara. “I’ll see you there.”

She stood up and walked to the balcony, pausing before she opened the door. She didn’t turn when she spoke, as if she was afraid to face Lena, to face the answer.

“Do you think, when this is over, we can try it again? Try to fix it?”

“Is that something you want?” Said Lena.

“That pull is still there.”

“I know,” said Lena. “I feel it too.”

Kara’s shoulders rose and fell, as if she’d just rolled a great burden from her back.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay. I’ll see you back at the DEO. Goodnight, Lena.”

“Goodnight, Kara.”

She slid the balcony door open and stepped out, pausing for just the briefest second before lifting off, sending a gentle gust of chilly night air rolling into Lena’s penthouse.

Lena let the breeze flow in for a while before she stood up and went to the door, meaning to close it. Instead, she stepped outside, leaning on the railing as the chill raised gooseflesh on her arms.

“I feel it, too.”

#supercorp #supergirl fanfiction #supergirl #supercorp fanfic #lena luthor #kara danvers #kara x lena #karlena #supergirl fanfic #ficlet #angst #they’ll get together eventually give it time #Alex is the best and worst wingman #angsty fic #supercorp angst #a little bit of hope #supercorp endgame #they’re soulmates but idiots about it #kara lacks gaydar even for herself #mon el was a mistake

[rippersz]

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐃𝐨𝐠𝐬

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Fem!Named!Reader x Larissa Weems; (Fluffy, romantic, ships in the night, angst) (8K word count)

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Why are you here?

Why are you here if you’re so tired? So exhausted? So bored?

Why are you looking for meaning in a foreign country? And why can’t you find it? Don’t you know passion isn’t found in the street? Don’t you know it doesn’t just exist beneath the light rain and cold wind? Your shaking body won’t get you anywhere but across the cobblestone bridge - and even then, you must trudge. Wade through the distinct desire to fall asleep.

Why are you trying so hard to stay awake?

You have come here for a reason - for an escape - and yet, you are plagued with the same thing that haunted you back home. It is inescapable, this distinct feeling of emotional helplessness. You feel too much or you feel too little. You explode with desire, with sadness, with anger, or you are cool and detached. You cannot find an in between. You cannot find a warm, soothing balance. You walk the line of extremes and get upset when the grey areas cease to exist.

So you run away to France and think that you can find yourself in what? Hm? In the Eiffel? In the lights? In the love? Please. You have not felt love. You have not felt real love. You have not felt anything beyond passion and lust, and even then those feelings were artificial. Forced, almost. You have looked at men and you have seen their shoulders and you have witnessed the bobbing of their throats and the easy fluff of their hair and you have been thoroughly unimpressed. For what exists for you there? What is in their strong arms? What is in their DNA? What lies in them that cannot be discovered elsewhere? Why are you expected to view them and want them?

Why are you expected to love?

So many questions, not many answers. They swirl around inside like the milkiness of an oatmeal bath, opaque and bottomless. They swirl and you watch. Utterly mesmerized. Hypnotized until you feel the distinct desire to fall asleep. Constantly tired, you are. Always so exhausted, dragging your feet along the pavement. Blindly clutching the collar of the black coat that covers your arms and back. Its hood leaves your face bare for the elements. Wind sweeps and rain smacks and you are certain you’ll get sick from walking out so late at night in the cold.

What on Earth came over you? Who could ever be so stupid?

Shivers run the length of your body. You feel like a wet dog thrown out in the street, proving far too difficult for the family to continue dealing with. Too loud and too needy and too caked with mud everytime you walked into the house, so they had no choice but to discard you. It is better, after all, than having a defective animal. No one wants a dog who cannot love. No one wants a dog who cannot be understood. No one wants a stray. And no one-no one-wants a shivering pup walking slowly on unsteady legs. No one wants that. No one wants you.

Except for the sign in the distance, blurry and far away - past the stoplight and across the street. A golden light flickers brightly above an evergreen background, and you can just barely make out, through squinted eyes, the bold gold lettering. ‘Madame: A 1920’s Brasserie’. You can’t help but think that it’s a rather silly name. Madame. Can’t get more French than that. And, it appears, can’t get more authentic. The restaurant stands out in a way that borders on tacky. It is all dark mahogany, golden accents, and small details of matte red and green. The sconces on the walls glow like mini-fires, and you find yourself… drawn. Intrigued. It is inviting and it is late. The windows are dark; the world inside is its own. And you need an escape. A proper one. None of this wandering shit that leads you to nowhere but a random spot with aching feet and the distinct feeling of dissatisfaction. None of this waiting around emptiness.

You are cold and it looks warm and you are just an abandoned dog. How can they expect you to deny yourself some peace?

–

The very moment your boot slides over the threshold, tapping down lightly on a dark wooden floor, your body is changed. A veil of something different flows over your shoulders, draping behind you, and suddenly you feel as though you’ve stepped into another world.

Have you? Or were you just hit by a car in the middle of the road and slipped into the Afterlife?

If that had happened, and you were indeed dead, then the Afterlife was an absolute treat. It seems like a small speakeasy, with a stage at the very back of the restaurant - lit up by a few spotlights and otherwise empty aside from a single microphone stand and a piano. In the dark corner beside it, there’s a cello, a trumpet case, and a deconstructed set of drums. The lights are dimmed so intensely that only the flickers of tabletop candlelight and a few burning wicks by the bar help you squint through hazy darkness. It feels like a dream as smoky hands curl into the air and caress your lungs as you breathe, creating something intoxicating when paired with the heady scent of mixed perfumes. Mixed perfumes that all seem to belong to women. Only women. It’s not crowded but a few souls linger. Couples leaning into each other at their booths, their pupils melting into hearts. Friends sitting lazily at one of the center tables, toasting to something you can’t hear. A group of flirts. A lonely soul or two nursing martinis by the stage. A woman at the bar. The bartender. One server drawing in a notebook, tucked away from the rest of the world. All women. All… dated. Old fashioned. It feels like you’ve stepped into the 1950’s - or something like that. You’ve never been very good with time. But they are different. Wearing dresses with pulled in waists, collars, square necklines, bateau necklines, coats and hats and heels and gloves. Not a phone in sight. Some are in suits, too. Marlene Dietrich type suits. Tipping The Velvet type suits. Very dapper. Very clean. You’re overwhelmed.

Distantly, somewhere, the gentle keys of piano jazz fill the buzzing room - and you feel lightheaded. Dizzy with warmth. The rain purrs against the windows, blowing with the wind trying to get to you. But you have reached safety. Nirvana. And you find yourself itching to shrug out of your coat and disappear into a glass of something tangy and sweet.

“Amaretto sour,” you murmur to the lady behind the bar, sluggishly pushing back the hood from your head.

“Choose somethin’ else, sweetheart.”

The response is immediate. And annoying. You pause, halfway out of your coat, and look from the polished mahogany of the bar’s surface to the amused glint in the bartender’s eyes. There’s a cloth thrown over her shoulder and a dark loose vest sitting tight against her button up. White. Sleeves scrunched by the elbows. A smirk on her lips. Your gaze melts into a glare.

Stop looking at me like that. I’m just a dog. I don’t want whatever smiles you have to offer.

“I don’t know,” you growl, tugging the coat from your body so harshly it nearly tears your arms off.

But she doesn’t seem to mind your irritation, and better yet, she doesn’t really seem to care. Her eyes only track the way you throw your coat over the back of your chair and push yourself onto the high-top stool. You reason your anger is probably out of place in such a dreamy world, just like your choice of alcohol, but you’re too tired and cold to bother giving her a smile. And being kind has proven to be more and more exhausting as the days go by. It’s not like she deserves it anyway, being so casual with you. Standing so tall, with such confidence, not even the slightest bit weary or weathered from the long day. You don’t even know what time it is - only that it’s late. Past the twinkling stars kind of late. Way past sunset kind of late. So late that you think the restaurant may be closing but you’re not even sure. No one has left. The women are still happy, buzzed and delighted by the concoctions in their glasses. Still all lonely by the stage. Still knee-deep in the quiet place of Madame.

Still a silly fucking name.

“Bailey’s Colada then,” you drawl, running a hand through your messy curls. “And an extra shot of pineapple juice. I dunno.” You shrug, leaning into your hands as your elbows press into the wood of the bar. They’re cold, covering your eyes. Damp. Tense with the chill from the rain you just escaped. And eager to feel something grounding.

Too bad the bartender is still a bitch.

“I’ll give you one more try.” She thinks she’s so clever, smiling at you like that. She thinks she’s so charming.

You want to rip her happy eyes out.

You want to sleep.

“Just. Get. Me. A. Fucking. Drink.” Your gaze shoots daggers, piercing her right through the heart between the gaps of your fingers.

If you were any more aware of your surroundings, instead of just appreciative, then you’d notice that the only liquor they serve is the kind produced during the 1950’s. The popular drinks back in the day. True to the time. Devoted to the piece. Overall very good with details. But details are not something you have the energy to notice. And there’s not a damn thing on Earth that can tear you away from the drugged feeling of your eyes slowly drooping. Growing hazy with fatigue. Vision blurring. Body shivering, still dripping small beads of water from your coattails onto the floor. Distantly, you hear the bartender speak.

“Hey- are you okay?”

No, you want to say. No, fucker. Can’t you see I’m not okay? Just get me a damn drink and-

“If you don’t mind my interrupting,” a voice - deep, English, breaks through your haze. “I suggest a Tom Collins.”

Great. And I suggest you shut the Hell up.

“That work for you, princess?”

You want to reach across the bar and strangle her so bad that your cold fingers twitch, but something stops you. No- someone stops you.

“She’s exhausted, Leslie. Leave her be.”

Yeah. Finally a person who has a fucking clue.

You want to speak, and perhaps tell the person to go away, or throw your hands up in the air and yell ‘Halle-fucking-lujah!’, but before you can open your mouth, the seat next to you squeaks. It spins around, dragged lightly by a white-gloved hand, before it moves to accompany a figure. A figure with a lot of misplaced confidence and a lot of audacity. A lot of self importance and a lot of gall. A lot of… oh.

You swallow.

A lot of height, as well. A lot of height and a lot of elegance. She slips into the chair with practiced ease, placing her hands in the right places and her heels on the right rungs, tugging the chair to spin around and face- you. You. Of course you. You, who are the odd one out. You, who waltzed in from 2024. You, who are not one of them. You, an abandoned dog and you, who are cosplaying as a content human. Of course the stranger turns to face you. And of course she is beautiful. All pale skin and shining blue eyes and snowy curls pinned extravagantly atop her head. A jawline that is softer than fresh downy pillows and could cut glass if it grows tense. Long arms. Long legs. Red lips. A scar-so faint you have to squint-but a scar nonetheless. You wonder where she got it from. You wonder why you wonder.

“It’s palatable,” the stranger speaks. The tip of her nose moves with her words. It’s cute. She has a very distinct face. Sharp features. Eyes not too hooded but not too wide. They don’t look at you directly, and instead focus on a spot near your hand. On the mahogany, where it’s (thank god) clean.

The bartender turns her back to make the drink and you take that moment, away from her bastard prying eyes, to speak.

“I hope so.” It’s ruder than intended, but doesn’t seem to offend. Those red lips quirk into a smile, and she looks at you- finally- from beneath dark lashes. Her makeup is fresh. Her skin looks warm.

“The Amaretto Sour and Bailey’s Irish Cream only rose to fame in the 1970’s,” her covered fingers run along the smooth wood, “The Mai Tai, Tom Collins, and Sloe Gin Fiz, on the other hand…” She tilts her head, shrugs one shoulder, and flicks her eyes from you to the bar. It’s endearing, annoyingly enough. And you’re sure that for a second, the blush on her cheekbones is a figment of your imagination.

For some reason, you shoot her a wry smile.

“Lemme guess… popular in the 50’s?”

An auburn eyebrow ticks up, splashing feigned surprise across that pretty face.

“How did you know?” Her tone is pitched a bit too high as she gasps. A bit too hysterical. It makes you roll your eyes and look away, taking a moment to glance at the dark floor beneath your feet. You shake your head.

Maybe it’s her beauty. Maybe it’s her humor. Maybe it’s the fact that she understands you’re so tired you could fall asleep right there where you sit.

“Tom Collins,” the bartender steals your attention. The glass is full, sliding across the bar at top speed, and you can barely hope to reach out and catch it before the stranger’s white glove is stopping it from tipping right over the edge. Only a splash of the sweet drink spills onto clean leather. You watch. You get the distinct urge to lean over and lick it clean.

Just like any other mutt. Eager to lap up the scraps. Even when they’re not yours.

“Shouldn’t you be finishing up, Leslie? I thought the bar was closed.” Leathered fingers curl around the tall glass, squeaking lightly beneath the strength of her pressure.

“And why would you think that, Larissa?”

Larissa. Name fit for a dream.

The bartender doesn’t look too happy. There’s something acrid in her expression, something that pulls at her lips in a way most unpleasant. She looks sour. Jealous. Of her? No. No, not of her.

Of you?

Yes. Absolutely of you. You can see it in the way her green eyes shift- running from your face to Larissa’s and back again. Upset. Betrayed. Let down. It makes you want to smile. Larissa seems kind. The bitch behind the bar isn’t, you’ve decided. Not fucking kind at all. And you’re happy when Larissa’s pretty red lips stretch into a bright smile. The very lingerings of derision hide in the sweet lines beside her mouth.

“It’s a quarter after midnight, Leslie. And you close at-”

“11:30, yeah I know. Whatever.” And with that shit attitude, Leslie tugs the cloth from her shoulder and walks away; leaving you to your precious company.

Your precious company who takes the glass from the bar and holds it out to you, completely unphased by the cold condensation wetting her glove. It’s later than you thought it was, but you don’t have anywhere to be, do you? No. No, you don’t. So you hide your surprise and stare into Larissa’s eyes instead.

“A peace offering?”

Her smile, this time, is genuine. Wide and perfect, showing off those white teeth and the delightful little scrunch of her nose.

“Yes,” and the warmest chuckle rumbles up from her pale throat, “a peace offering.”

You nod and take the glass. It’s very cold, but you don’t feel it. Not when she’s looking at you like that. Watching you raise it in a silent toast and a quiet thanks. Her eyes follow you when you bring it to your lips, when you drink, and when you allow your expression to scrunch up only the tiniest bit. She lets out a loud laugh at the sight of that, and brings a large palm up to cover her open mouth, probably finding her exquisite joy to be too unladylike. You almost tell her to take it away, to allow herself to cackle freely, but it’s not your place. You’re just a dog. And you’re too busy swigging down more ‘zesty lemonade’ to pause and perhaps mention that her bright laugh is something to be marveled at. To be joined in.

You’ve never felt this way.

This way… what is this way? Amusement? No. You’ve felt that before. Happiness? No, because it’s not that. You’ve felt that - a long time ago. Contentment? No. You don’t feel safe. You don’t feel like you want to stay forever. In fact, you kind of want to leave. It suddenly feels too stifling. Too… romantic. Ah. That’s it. Romantic. Looking into those twinkling blue eyes and finding genuine intrigue there. Interest. She is beautiful and you want more. More conversation. More of her voice. Because there she sits, waltzing over to your spot, making your eyes widen, and giving you a drink. One that isn’t too bad either - after getting over the initial tartness that sort of stings your tongue. And she just sort of expects you to be okay with it? To not want more? And more? And more? You are a dog and you want to tell her that.

I am a dog, Larissa. I have learned to be desperate. I have known what it is to want for more. Can you give me more? Just another smile for a sweet stranger?

“I don’t mean to laugh,” her voice is gentle, becoming clearer once she takes her hand away from her mouth, “but your face was- it was…”

“What?” You lick your lips, tilting your head. “What was it like?” And you can’t help but pull another face, exaggerating it, crossing your eyes and frowning, smoldering, and sneering all at the same time. Thank goodness it seems to do the trick as in the next moment, you hear a surprised stuttering laugh fill the air. It makes for the most beautiful harmony with Madame’s soft piano music; lilting and light and gorgeous. A silver lining. A golden undertone. You follow in her beautiful steps and join her in laughing.

“Was it like that?” You grin, taking another sip. “Just like that?”

“Yes,” Larissa gasps and nods, pressing a hand to her chest, “Precisely.”

Your combined chuckles eventually fade and silence falls like the rain outside. Softer, now. A light brush against the windows - like the storm decided to calm as soon as Larissa sat down beside you. But that’s a silly thought. Storms don’t bend to the actions of women.

Except, you ponder, watching Larissa pick invisible fuzzies off of her beige coat, they may make exceptions.

“Where are you from?” You say it so quickly you don’t even realize it comes from your own mouth. Just your luck that your inner thoughts betray you.

But Larissa only looks charmed, and possibly grateful for a conversation starter. She straightens up in her spot, giving you her full attention. It is excruciating. It kills the shivering you’ve been indulging in since your outside excursion - and fills you with something just short of… giddy.

“The United Kingdom originally, but Vermont is where I stay now,” she responds, resting her palms along the bar’s edge.

Vermont? Odd.

You raise an eyebrow.

“Long way from Vermont, aren’t you?”

Those red lips twitch with the ghost of a smile. True, you think she says in her head. Very true.

“Indeed,” blue eyes sparkle, “I figured I needed a holiday.” She tilts her head and you know the question is coming. “Are you a long way from home as well?” It’s a wonderful question. A good question. A perfect question, truly. You want to tell her yes but you’re not sure if that’s the truth.

“I-” Well. Abandoned dogs don’t have homes, Larissa. Can’t you see that in me? Can’t you recognize it? Don’t you know?

Apparently not. Her beautiful face is still open and inviting, unshaded by judgment. Unperturbed by your unfamiliarity. You don’t know how to react to that. How to respond to her kindness. Her patience. She is unknowingly opening a can of worms and you are knowingly staring at her, mouth flapping open and closed, trying to conjure up words that don’t sound like I have no home.

“Please don’t feel obligated to answer,” Larissa waves her hand in the air, “I understand it’s quite personal.”

Oh. How sweet you are to a stray.

“No, I just… I’m a little lost right now,” you admit with a sigh, tipping the glass back until you can swallow the rest of the liquor in one smooth gulp. Something shifts in Larissa’s expression while you lose yourself in the feeling of alcohol sitting in your throat. It’s a miniscule difference when you look at her again, but you spot it anyway. Sadness. Melancholy. Understanding. Pity. All scuttling around in the depths of her eyes and the furrow of her brows and the downturn of her lips.

Normally you hate pity. Normally you despise it. Normally you figure it isn’t for you. You don’t deserve it. You’re just a person with no wind and no destination and no path. You’re just a dog overdue. So why do you need pity? Why do you have it? Why do you get so angry at anyone who wants to give it to you? And why is Larissa any different? She’s still a stranger. Just one with a pretty face. And beautiful hair. And the most gorgeous voice…

“Doing a bit of soul searching then?” Her tone is intentionally light.

“Yeah,” the glass makes a small ‘clink’ against the bartop, “I guess so.”

Kind of. Sort of. Yes? And no. Whose soul are you searching for? Which life do you want? Why are you so lost, when they say that everyone has a place on Earth? Where is your place?

Do you have one?

“Why France?”

“Good question,” you shrug, not really knowing the answer yourself. “City of lights, I suppose.”

“Hmm,” Larissa nods, drumming her fingers against the wood. “City of love, as well. In case you haven’t heard.”

Yes. She’s right. Very right. You lick your lips and nod along. City of love, indeed. City of love with the way that dress looks on her, for sure. City of love with the way she looks at you, too. City of love with the way she smells. Like vanilla and jasmine. Strong, intense, a cologne that probably costs a million dollars - for a woman that looks like a million dollars. City of love. It’s written in the piano that fills your silences. In the air that breathes between your bodies. In the bubble of privacy that lives on when Leslie disappears from behind the bar with a heavy clang of its trapped door. She throws the cloth onto the wood, shoots one last glare at the two of you from over her shoulder, and fucks off into the dark of the stage area. Probably to pick up some other sad woman that’s just as lost as you.

On any other night, I may be the person she takes home. But right now I’m with Larissa. And that’s where I’m gonna stay.

“Not for her,” you snark, watching Leslie retreat before turning back to your company.

Larissa hums, but her eyes don’t follow the bartender like yours did. Instead, they stay on you. Glued to the side of your face, then to the full of your features when you give her a small disgusted expression. You’re rewarded with a light chuckle. “Yes, except for her,” she clears her throat. “Unfortunately, Leslie has always been…”

“Rude?” You start, putting an elbow on the bar and leaning on your palm, “Annoying? Flirty? Shitty? To name a few,” you roll your eyes, flipping your hand in the air.

Larissa only closes her eyes and snorts. “She has always been… eager? I guess that’s the right word. Eager.”

You don’t like the sound of that. Eager people are desperate people. Desperate people are loose cannons. They’d do anything for- well- anything. And Larissa is not an ‘anything’. Larissa is not a reward. And you are not a desperate, eager person. You are not a loose cannon. You’re just a lost one. A rusted lost contraption that was thrown off of the side of a pirate ship. Silly loose cannon, searching for land. No reward.

“For you?” The disapproval that colors your tone does not seem to surprise Larissa. In fact, it only makes her nod.

“Yes, I’m afraid. Though I can’t imagine why,” those broad shoulders of hers shrug, “I’m not nearly as fascinating as half of the women that grace this bar.”

That’s what you think.

“I beg to differ.” It comes out so confidently you kind of want to punch yourself in the mouth. What the fuck do you mean you beg to differ? What would you like to follow that up with? What would you like to say? Oh no, Larissa. You are WAY more fascinating than the people that ‘grace this bar’. You are WAY more intriguing. Leslie has good taste, sure, but a shit attitude about it. I can imagine why she fancies you. I can imagine why anyone would. Yeah right. You can’t say that. But you’re still curious, so instead of giving her a moment to register and respond, you ask the burning question. “How long have you been on holiday if you’re so sure?” But really the question is: How often do you come here?

The pink in porcelain cheeks has deepened. You’re sure it’s from your comment, but you refuse to allow the buzzing of your heart get any worse. It’s already filling your ears, drowning out the piano, and you yearn for the safety of contentment. The same contentment you didn’t feel before. Is this still romance? Or was this never romance at all?

“About three weeks. An extended stay. Though I must admit, I’m nervous about returning to work. I fear I’ve left it too long,” she frowns, twisting her lips in a way that says ‘But what can you do?’.

“Three weeks! What do you do for work?” If there were some more drink in your mouth, you probably would’ve spat it out by accident. Three weeks? Sort of a long time. A long time to be away from work and a long time to be alone.

Unless she isn’t alone… to which you’d actually like to leave right now if that’s the case.

There's hesitance in her eyes. "I'm... a school principal," she says slowly, looking away. “But I needed it. Prolonged stress isn’t good for me. Or for anyone, really.” Her voice softens, carried away by the music as she glances down at her hands. You get the strange desire to hold them. It pops up first as a soft urge in your mind before barrelling forward and pressing hard against the front wall of your thoughts. Reach out and hold them. Hold them. They are soft. They are the kind of hands that reach out and pet the strays. Feed the strays.

But you’re too scared you’ll bite.

“Preach,” you murmur, unsure of how to continue. What are the duties of a school principal? “But- ya know. Good for you I guess. Are you returning to Vermont soon?”

“My flight leaves at seven tomorrow. I’ll get back at approximately half past five in the morning if I’m lucky.”

“Hm. And if you’re unlucky?”

Another small smile.

“Then I’ll never get back.”

You find that to be quite interesting. She’s not worried about her job in a way that speaks to severe anxiety, but in a way that speaks to nervousness regarding her passion. Regarding the children she has to look after. The parents she has to (no doubt) reassure. The world that she is important in. The oil that runs through the machine. She keeps them going - and she has been gone for three weeks. You’re rather curious about the aftermath, and about the scene she will return to upon arrival, but it’s hopeless and misplaced. You will not see what happens. You will not spot the relief on her face. You will not know how life continues for her. Because she is leaving, this beautiful stranger, and she has a home. And you are a stray dog. Abandoned. Hungry. More, more, more. She does not want. She is satiated. Larissa has lived out her dream here, her relaxation, and now it is time to turn around and face the music. Return home. And be part of the family again.

How does that feel? Family?

“How long do you plan on staying?” She asks, looking just as curious as you feel.

A sigh rattles your bones as you lean your head back and push out your chest, relishing in the pops that run down your spine. Exhaustion is creeping again. You didn’t even notice it was gone.

“Probably… forever?” It’s not the truth.

“That can’t be true.”

“No,” you groan, “it’s not. So I don’t know. Maybe forever. Maybe I’ll leave tomorrow, too. We’ll see, I guess.”

That pretty gaze burns into the side of your face. It is full of questions, even when you’re not meeting it, and you’re suddenly sort of scared to look at her again. Scared that she’ll know everything. Scared that she’ll realize what you really are. Not just lost, but hopeless. No way of being found. Because what will you do and where will you go? Nothing and nothing. That seems to be the answer these days. Nothing.

“Do you have any family you’re traveling with?”

Her voice is soft again. Colored with feeling. What is she feeling? Is it still pity? You glance at her, out of the corner of your eye, just to check. No. Yes? No. Maybe. Could be. Or it could be something else. Could be hope. Could be sadness. Could be something better. You can’t clock it, so you return with a question of your own. It stings you to say it- embarrasses you to wonder- but you can’t help yourself. You’re just a dog. You need more.

“Do you have anyone that will be waiting for you at 5 in the morning?”

Her eyebrows twitch for the smallest shade of a second. It’s barely there, but you see it anyway. You see how she frowns and recovers. Maybe that was too far. Maybe that was too blunt. Maybe you should just hold your fucking tongue and stop digging into other people’s business-

“Honestly? No. I’ll probably have to grab a taxi from the airport.”

Oh.

For some reason that’s worse. Worse than if she said yes. Worse than if she started to go on a tirade about a lover waiting for her. Worse than if she mentioned a gaggle of friends or even a coworker. How can she just have- that? That? A taxi? You can’t hide the way your face falls. You just can’t. And you can’t contain the way your heart breaks a little. Crackling like a burning fire, pounding away behind the frailness of your chest. Dropping pieces all over the floor of your innards as you see Larissa get lost staring into space. Probably looking over the different types of liquor bottles as she figures out how best to get a cab from the airport with the least amount of trouble. You kind of want to reach over and shake her shoulders. Take her out of her own head. Insist that it’ll be okay. But of course it’ll be okay - she never said it wouldn’t. She never made any indication that being alone was something she didn’t like.

However, she did walk over to you, didn’t she? And she did sit down next to you. And she was alone at the bar. So maybe the isolation is getting to her. Maybe she needs to go back home. Maybe you need to go with her.

Maybe you need to shut the fuck up.

“I don’t have any family,” you respond, figuring it’s only fair. “So it’s just me.”

Larissa gives you a distracted hum before she takes her eyes away from a place over your shoulder and moves them to your face. To your eyelashes and your eyebrows and your cheeks and your nose. You don’t know what she sees. Hopefully not a dog.

“And no prior commitments? No one waiting for you either?” She seems hesitant to ask, but you know it’s just because she doesn’t want to be impolite.

Oh, Larissa. You can’t offend dogs, Larissa. Others can but not you.

“No. No roots, if that’s what you mean.”

She nods. “I see.”

“Do you?”

A long leg goes sliding up to cross over the other and for a second, you’re lost in the smooth length of them. Her calves and thighs are gorgeous. The hem of her dress falls below the knee. A little restricting but classy. She is very beautiful. And slowly, as the night progresses, you’re beginning to fear what will happen when she leaves. Which is silly, because she’s still a stranger. She doesn’t even know your name. And she has a home to return to and you’re doomed for the rest of your life.

“I believe I do, yes.” And that’s enough of an answer for you.

From that sweet point on, you fall into silence.

The ambience of Madame hasn’t shifted in the slightest. The earlier smoke only renewed itself once certain cigarettes ran out - and the piano looped into another song. Probably playing over a speaker system you couldn’t see or a record player somewhere in the dark. No one takes center stage. No one leaves. It’s still empty drinks, empty hearts, empty heads, and full laughter. Easy chatter. Women getting closer. Women holding hands. Women with their palms on each other’s thighs. Women with lipstick marks on their cheeks. Women with perfectly pinned hair, like Larissa’s, are left with loose curls and messy ends - easily destroyed by a wandering hand or a particularly heavy kiss. You refuse to blush at the sight of that when you turn around and make eye contact with a woman at a booth, but your body doesn’t listen. Your body finds it scandalous. Your body finds it exciting.

There are no threats. There are no men. No shouts, no loud drinking, no busy football games, no beer-stained tables and hugs that hit a bit too hard. There’s no gag-worthy cologne and no clumsy feet stepping on the toes of ladies and no drunken asks for a number or company home. There’s only peace. Sweet and fragile, not even broken by the wind and rain that beats and floats against the windows. You wonder when the place closes if it’s already so late.

You wonder why there’s so many women.

“There was no um-” your throat grows hoarse before you clear it, putting a hand up to your mouth while you look at Larissa. She’s waiting patiently for you to continue. “There was no… advertisement? I guess? That said this place was- is it like… a lesbian… bar? Or something?” You sound more and more childish the higher your voice goes but Larissa’s smile is gentle.

“There’s no advertisement needed. Everyone knows Madame in Paris is a place of community acceptance. However, it’s apparently more popular in the Spring. Tourist season and all that.”

“Oh.” Oh.

Larissa’s brows furrow. “Something wrong?”

Well, yes. Sort of. Kind of. Uh…

“No I just- it’s not Spring now?” You frown, lifting your elbow from the bartop and putting your arm in your lap. What does she mean?

“No,” Larissa shakes her head slowly, stopping the light drum of her fingers. “It’s Autumn. November, actually.”

November? But…

“Huh,” you blink, “must be more lost than I thought. Weird.”

The very beginnings of a frown pull at those red lips, giving away her worry; and for some reason, you’re hasty to reassure her.

“But it’s probably just the exhaustion or something,” you huff out a self-deprecating smile, “No biggie. Maybe I’m like- too buzzed to comprehend. Or too hungry. I don’t know,” you gesture to your head, waving off the concern that she was going to show you.

But it doesn’t work.

“Perhaps you need dinner then,” Larissa tilts her head, looking at you from beneath her eyelashes.

In that moment, she’s perhaps the most glorious thing you’ve ever seen. Lit by low candle light. Shadowed by her own form of mystery. You kind of want to lean over and kiss her - which is weird, because her lips are just like any other person’s lips, and you’ve never wanted to kiss someone so badly before. But dogs change sometimes, don’t they? Just like any other creature. Dogs change. And instead of wanting for more, they want for something different.

“Yeah. Perhaps I do.”

Your company takes a moment to look behind you, running her gaze over the interior of the restaurant. You see her blue eyes flit from couple to couple and group to group and crying woman to the next crying woman. You see her nose wrinkle when she spots all of the cigarettes and you see the twitch in her kitten-heeled foot before she’s uncrossing her legs and moving to stand. Every nerve in your body jumps to stand with her. To follow her lead and let her whisk you away. But you don’t know if that’s what she wants - and you don’t want to assume just to be let down. You don’t want her to look at you like ‘What the fuck are you standing up for?’ so you stay in your seat and watch her fix up her coat, straighten her gloves, and grasp the purse on the back of her chair. Everything about her is so elegant. Smooth. Maybe you’re hallucinating and she’s only a dream.

“I know a place nearby. Do you want to join me?”

You look from her hands to her face, caught frozen by the timber of her voice. Do you want to join me?

“Is- are you sure?” Your heart is screaming.

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?” Larissa gives you a small confused smile.

You lick your lips. “You don’t even know my name.”

“Alright. Do you want to tell me on the way?”

No one ever asks. Everyone stopped a long time ago. There’s no need to wonder, to know, when everyone understands that you’ll just disappear sooner or later. Abandoned dog with an abandoned mind. But here she is asking - and it would be rude to ignore her.

“Sure.”

—

The weather is still brisk when you step outside. The rain is not as harsh and the wind not as bad, but the chill is just as strong. It seeps through your coat rather quickly and you have to shove your hands in your pockets to hide the way they shake. Larissa seems to be faring much better, walking along at a steady pace and adding to the clicks your boots leave behind on the pavement. Despite the dreary weather and the dark sky, threatening to break with another downpour at any moment, the streetlamps are beautiful. Guiding you both through the midnight haze and the swiftly settling fog. You feel like a ghost, floating along there by your company’s side, trying to keep yourself from staring up at her. The bar’s seating apparently did her no favors as when she stood up and led the way outside, you nearly tripped over yourself upon noticing the height difference. She is… she is something extraordinary. You wonder why you’re the one there beside her. Maybe Leslie had a better chance. Maybe you’re just a placeholder until she leaves.

“Are you going to make me guess?” She says eventually, pausing mid-stride to look down at you.

There’s only a few inches difference. Maybe a near foot. You’re not sure. You haven’t asked. But you want to. Curious dog.

“Sure,” you shrug, amused by the way she sighs and continues forward. “It’s not that hard.”

“Elizabeth,” she starts.

Cute.

“No.”

“Emily.”

“No.”

“…Erin?”

“No. What’s with all the ‘E’ names?”

“Would you prefer I start at ‘A’?”

“Might make it easier.”

“Nothing will make this easier.”

The walk feels like it goes on for ages the more she speaks. One name after the other after the other. You smile at the ones that are close and snort at the ones that could never suit you. Larissa only rolls her eyes and tries again. It’s silly and fun and lighthearted and you feel something inside you lighten. Though maybe it’s the Tom Collins, finally kicking in after a day of no food and one boozy drink. Larissa doesn’t seem to mind your occasional giggles and huffs - she even joins you, especially when you almost trip over your feet walking along the curb and she has to reach out and tug you back from the street and the ground. Her coat is cold but her body feels warm. There’s a small droplet of rain that hangs off of a strand of white hair behind her ear and you’re desperate to brush it away, but you don’t. You can’t. Can’t gather the energy to reach out. Can’t gather the energy to get your hopes up. So you move away and the game continues.

Down the street, along this turn and that, through rights and lefts and around lamp posts and street lights and intersections and parks. Far far away and all over the place. You walk for so long your legs begin to twinge - and then she says it.

“Jasmine?”

“Nope.”

“Lilith.”

“No.”

You’re waiting for a stoplight to turn red, but Larissa breezes past you. Head held high. Strides long. Back straight. The world does bend for her. And so do you.

As soon as you reach her side, she takes a steadying breath.

“Iris.”

Why your heart decides to take that moment and skip multiple beats is something you’ll never understand. Maybe it’s just the way she says it. The way it tumbles off of her tongue and slides from between her teeth and disappears into the ether. Maybe it’s the look she gives you and the way she stops when you’re a bit too quiet for too long and the corners of your mouth can’t help but quirk up. You’re not proud of her - that would be silly - but she certainly looks proud of herself. If that slowly spreading grin is anything to go by.

“Iris. Is that it?”

You nod and watch as her nose scrunches up with joy and her gloved hands make little muted claps in excitement. You think you can get used to the way she says it. Like it’s something to be cherished - something delicate and soft. Iris. Eye-riss. Iris. Slow and measured. Careful. She wants to take as much caution as she can when she says it. And when she finally goes to resume your walk, she lets out a little hum and glances down at you from the corners of her eyes.

“It’s a lovely name.”

Oh, Larissa. You’re killing me here.

“Larissa is nice, too. Very… elegant,” you respond, trying desperately to take the attention off of you. It’s been so long since you last heard a compliment like that, you’re unsure how to react. How to be normal about it. How to stop yourself from circling her body and pulling her close and pushing your head against her chest to listen to her heart. To see if she’s real. Because only fake people pay attention to strays - and she’s too wonderful to be anything aside from a figment of your dear imagination.

“That’s very kind of you, Iris.” Oh say it again. Please god, say it again.

But she doesn’t. And you don’t push it. And you don’t look at her for fear of bursting into flames. And you continue your walk until you come across a park bench and you sit down - drawing her attention and luring her back over to stand while you rest your legs.

“Feels like we’ve been walking forever! Where are you taking me?” You glare at her, all playful looks and pouts.

“To my lair. Are you scared yet?” She shifts on her white heels and you can’t help but give her a small chuckle.

“Me? Scared of you? Yeah, right. In your dreams, blondie.”

“Oh you haven’t seen anything yet. I can be quite terrifying when I want to be,” Larissa defends, crossing her arms and cocking out a hip.

“Yeah. To school children maybe,” you grin, spreading your arms out over the back of the bench to sit comfortably. “But not to me.”

“Hm. Not yet, anyway,” her tone is airy, making you blow air out of your nose with amusement.

“Uh huh.” You pause, close your eyes to bask in the chill that bites at your skin, and then open one to look at her. “How tall are you, anyway?”

She towers over you there - standing beside the wrought-iron arm of the bench while you sit and crane your head back. Outlined in the soft glow of the park lamps, you begin to wonder if Larissa is not an imaginary friend or a ghost but instead an angel. She certainly looks the part. You really wouldn’t be that surprised if huge ivory wings sprout from the defined lines of her shoulder blades.

“How long have you been wanting to ask that?” Oh, she’s teasing me now. You roll your eyes.

“Since you first stood up.” The truth is always best. And it makes her smile softly.

“Six foot, three.”

Your lips part, falling open before you catch yourself. Six feet and three inches?! Jesus, woman. You swallow around your delighted shock and push yourself off of the bench - bringing yourself to your full height on the backs of your heeled boots.

“There’s no way,” you snark, crossing your arms.

“Oh really?” Those red lips grow into a smirk and never in your life have you wanted to feel something more. Never.

“Yeah. Really.”

And of course that’s how you sign your heart away - for a split second later, there she stands. So close you can smell the old wine on her breath and see the individual lines in her face. It’s only half lit by golden light, but that doesn’t matter. You’re beginning to think your eyes were made for seeing her. And you’re beginning to think your body was made for standing so close. She smells like the rain now. Like the rain and the stars, which twinkle brightly behind her head as you resist the urge to step back and look at her. There is no backing down from this. There is only matching her height head-on, even though that’s impossible. But that’s the joke. So you move to stand on the tips of your toes and get into her personal space and only when you do, do you realize your mistake. She’s even closer. And her blue eyes have gone wide. You see a deep black abyss take over the oceans of her irises and suddenly, you think your name is very inadequate in comparison to the gorgeous cerulean of her gaze. To the way it envelopes you and electrifies you and warms you all at once. She is a vision. She is everything you want to look upon. And her eyes dart between your own, carrying shock and admiration with them. You don’t know what to do. You don’t know what’s happening. This doesn’t feel like romance anymore. This isn’t contentment. You don’t know what this is. You don’t know why you want to lean into her and fall.

And you don’t know why she decides to pull away.

“I’m sorry,” she says so quickly, so quietly, you think it’s just a whisper of the wind. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

Her eyes are still wide, but they’ve been captured by something terrible. Something sad. You open your mouth - to say what? - you don’t know. But she’s taking a few steps back and you close it. Her hair is still perfect, but there’s one strand loose. It flits wildly in front of her ear. A sign of her loss of control, perhaps. A sign that someone got through. She’s not a guarded woman and yet she is. She’s not private and yet she is. You didn’t have the deepest talk of all time and yet you did. You don’t know what to do. You don’t know what to say to get her to stay. So you just say her name.

“Larissa-”

“It’s been very nice to meet you, Iris,” she murmurs, interrupts, clears her throat, and adjusts the purse on her shoulder. Those blue eyes glance around madly, like she’s scared of being caught. “But I’m afraid I have to go now. I have a busy day tomorrow.”

“Your flight leaves at seven.” You don’t know why that’s the thing you say. You don’t know what that’s going to do - but before you can even hope to say anything else, she nods and looks at you again. With unwavering strength. With a hint of an apology.

“Yes. It does.” Her lips press together firmly. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

And with that whisper, softer than the distant break of your heart, she’s turning around and walking off into the rain.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Lazily waves my hand around before walking away. - Rip x

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

TAGS (please keep in mind Tumblr won't allow me to tag certain accounts): @oddball21 @kaymariesworld @bloommushroom @readingtheentrails @thegoddamnfeels @theonefairygodmother @theflashesoflove @sweetderacine @opalthefrog @gwensfreak @shyladyfan @erablaise-blog @bellatrixsbrat @sunnyanon @emilynissangtr @lex13cm @sugipla @hasthebaconinhispants @deongocrazy @nocteangelus15 @eveymay @one-pining-queer @azu-zu @niceminipotato @hopelessly-sapphic @barbarasstar @enchantressb @syrenacrainn @im-a-carnivorous-plant @willowshadenox @aemilia19 @ladylarissaweems @scarlettssub @ladysdraga @willisnotmental @gela123 @h-doodles @zillahofviolets-bayolet @weemssapphic @the-bearr @amateurwritescm

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

#rippersz #fanfictionwriter #fanfic #fanfiction #larissa weems #larissa weems x reader #wlw fanfic #x reader fanfiction #fanfiction author #larissa weems wednesday #larissa weems x y/n #y/n #gwendoline christie #principal weems x you #larissa weems x you #angsty fic #fluffy fic #principal larissa weems #larissa weems x female #larissa weems x fem!reader #fem!reader #reader insert #reader insert x larissa weems

[bloodycassian]

Bow + Scrape, angst. TW - cheating/mention of bodily harm/groveling

Anon Req. "in the mood for angst lol what about cassian x reader, marriage in crisis, grovelling etc"

Thanks anon, this was a bit therapeutic

A deep, soul level crack had been leveled inside of you when you’d seen Cassian being bounced on by a petite female at Rita’s.A server off her shift, likely half as drunk as Cassian was, and a horrible dancer as she leaned up against him and shook her body at him. A deep well of unnerving feelings erupted from the canyon in your being, followed by a cold, calm fury that overlapped all else. 

You watched for a long while, sitting across the bar, debating if killing your partner would land you in a regular trial or if you’d be dragged straight to the prison beneath the mountain by his brethren. 

His eyes half closed and dazed could only half focus upon her as she twirled and stomped to the beat the band played. His hands rested upon her hips, but didn’t move from there while she swayed to a slower song. The hands that had done everything from wipe away your tears to make you squirm while he was making you come. The ones that now betrayed you, that took your trust and care for the male and tossed it into the abyss of your heart as it split wide. 

He slammed a handful of coin into the females hands at one point, and began stumbling through the crowd. You slipped out the door before he could notice you there, racing back to your apartment. The burn of cold air against your lungs a welcome distraction from the hatred and disgust that roiled in your stomach. 

You slept beside him that night, cringing away from his hands and flushed body. Your eyes were wide, staring out at the glow of streetlights through the sheer curtains. Planning, curating your hurt and betrayal into something tangible. With every small detail that fell into place, it made it more bearable to be at his side, at least for one more night.

The tears came silently, but profusely in the bathroom. You mourned, you pleaded to wake up from the nightmare, but there was no end. The only relief from the hot, overwhelming grief was the chilled tile against your cheek when you passed out in the bathroom.

In the morning you cooked his favorite breakfast, and ran down to the shops to get his favorite coffee. You plated everything, then particularly loudly began doing dishes. He emerged shortly after, rubbing at his face and groaning. He sighed when seeing the bevy of food, and began eating immediately. No good morning, no thanking you, not a single acknowledgement. 

Your rage began anew. You gripped a butter knife, stared at the small serrated edge, and scrubbed viciously at it’s surface.

Your love for him had been replaced by the cold bitterness that you’d honed into a million different words, different jabs and arguments to hurl at him now. Killing him wouldn’t give him the same suffering he’d offered you. Death was too easy, living and knowing he’d hurt the one who loved him most was a much better alternative. 

Once the dishes were done, you sat across from him, where half the plates sat empty and a small drip of coffee marred his white shirt. His head rested in his hands, nursing the pounding in his head. Your excitement to make him hurt was ungodly. 

“Tell me what you did last night.” You demanded. There was no room for conversation in this. If he didn’t tell you on his own, there would be no point in trying further. It was your sign to get out.

He cradled his head in one hand still, gnawing on a piece of bacon. “Huh? ‘Dya mean?” He breathed, scratching at his tangled hair.

“You have two chances to answer me Cassian. What did you do last night?” You said the question slowly, allowing him to hear the rage in your voice.

“You know where I was, we talked about this before I went out.” His tone sharpened, and he looked at you with a frustrated expression. It only fueled your fire. You wanted him to worry about this, you wanted him to stress. You wanted to see your pain tenfold be unleashed upon him. A vengeful, dark part of you wanted his penance to be unending. You’d given him everything, every part of you without limit, an unending well of love and he so easily went and… nausea made your stomach clench in disgust at the memory of his hands upon her, the way he’d watched her.

“With Azriel, right? At Ritas… So who else was there?” You spat, wishing you had something to hold on to, somewhere to place the tension that seeped from every fiber of your being.

He froze, his face going paler than it already was. His mouth popped open, then his brows pulled together. “Did I-” He began, then the food fell from his hand. “I-” He stood, the chair scuttling out from under him when he did. 

You watched, cold and furious as he recalled exactly what he did. 

“Baby I-” He went to you, making the distance in two long strides of his muscled legs. He stopped though, his hands reaching for you. He knew better. He knew just what kind of injuries he’d end up with if he tried touching you when you were angry. He’d had to learn the hard way more than a few times, but never to this extent. 

He’d never done this. You’d never expect him to do anything quite like this. It certainly wasn’t predictable by the way he treated you normally.

“Holy shit.” He buried his face in his hands, his voice going muffled. “Holy shit honey, baby- I’m….” His head moved back and forth slowly, and when his hands moved in front of him, in a praying motion, his eyes were glassy, wet marks appearing upon his cheeks. “I am so sorry- no… Sorry doesn’t begin-” He sighed, and a fresh wave of tears washed across his face.

You couldn’t help but smile at them. At his hurt. At the same time, the part of you that cared for him - the part that was locked away behind a frozen door at the moment - reached for him, cried with him and wanted to hold him and make him better. That part of you, the portion of you that loved him that he’d torn to pieces, and you weren’t sure if it could be fixed.

He reached for you, and when you did not move he placed a hand upon yours. You were frozen, stuck between the strange sense of wanting to go to him and wanting to crucify him. “I thought- no… I- I’m-” He struggled for the words, his other hand pulling hard at his hair. “I’m going to fix this.” He said, his eyes meeting yours. 

“How? I dont think they’ve made a potion to erase memories yet, Cassian. I guess unless you get as drunk as you did, then that counts as one.”

“I know I- I’m a fucking idiot. I… There are no excuses. There’s not a thing I can fucking say to justify it and-” He stood suddenly, then went to the bedroom. You waited, nearly getting up when he came back with his weapons belt. He went back to his knees before you, laying out the items, different knives, small tools, a blunt hammer, the black stone you’d gotten him to sharpen his blades with. “Take your pick. Do what you’d like.”

“I wont-”

“I’m deserve it.”

“I know. Hurting you like this isn’t even close to the pain that you’ve made me feel, though.” 

He crumpled at that, tears rushing down his cheeks as he paced the dining area, his hands upon his head as he took deep, choked breaths. He wasn’t used to this kind of anger from you. He was used to the yelling, to the easy hot and fast arguments that left your voice raw and made wanting to slap him so easy. 

“She didn’t even look like me Cassian-”

“I know, I was drunk and fucking stupid and thats all I have as an excuse.” He managed, his voice wavering. 

“Did you want to fuck her?” You asked calmly. 

He bit his lip, eyes squinted shut and shook his head. “No.” He breathed. 

“Or you already have, and I just caught it before it could happen this time?”

“No, nothing like that- not ever. I have no reason. Not when I have you.”

“Had.” You corrected quickly. 

He hung his head. 

A long silence passed, the pale sunlight painting the dining area in blues and greys. Children outside laughed and screamed as they played in the puddles left overnight. Your mind flashed to the instances when you and he had discussed children, how he’d held your belly, imagining it round with his child. The hands that’d held the hips of that barmaid. 

He went to the pantry, and came out with several bottles of his various liquors. A tendril of his siphons power popped the corks on several, if not cracking the glass mouth entirely. He then laid them all down in the sink and went to you, grasping your hands in both of his own. 

“I am going to fix this. Look-” He moved his head to catch your gaze. “I’m going to do everything. I’m going to make this right, if you want me to burn Rita’s to the ground I’ll make it happen. I’d defy the mother to make it like it never happened. I can’t change that it did, I can’t take it back but gods above I would if I could. If you’d give me the chance to though, if you’re willing to allow me to try -” His voice caught, his chin quivering before he continued. “to make you love me, make you trust me again. If you’d have me.”

Your eyes swam, your cold demeanor, your will to see him suffer cracking beneath his words. 

The hurt still roared beneath it all though.

But if he was willing to try… if he still wanted you, if it’d been a drunken mistake- 

“Nothing you ever do can make this go away.”

“I know, I know baby.” He brushed his thumb over your knuckles. “I don’t expect it to.”

“You’ll never be away from this, from your fuck up- are you saying you’re okay with hearing about this for the rest of your existence?”

He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that hadn’t truly stopped since you’d left the bathroom. “Whatever it is, the answer is yes. If it lets you tolerate me, then yes. As long as I can still be with you.” 

You sniffed, unable to hold back the burst of hurt, of fear and sorrow any longer. He held you, rocked you and gave you your space when you wanted it. He bowed his head and nodded when you screamed at him. He went to his kees and clutched your legs when you were nothing but a statue before the window. 

Your heart ached, your body and soul ached by the time the sun crested over the city and fell behind the ocean. 

Cassian watched over you while you slept on the couch, passed out mid conversation while he tended the fire. He watched you all night, taking in every inch of you while he could, because if when the sun rose, and you decided he was no longer yours, he’d need the reminder that something as exquisite as you was worth living for. 

#reader x cassian #cassian x reader #acotar #acotar fic #cassian fic #angsty fic #angst fic

[eclecticpatrolroadlawyer]

Illicit affairs (chapter 1)

Summary: Bucky and Y/n are in arranged marriage. Bucky is having an affair. This is all it is about... Let's see where Y/n's fate lies... Should we?

Pairings: Bucky x reader, Bucky x Dot ...

Genre: angst, affair, unrequited love

'Love' The word floats between all of us on a soft gust of air. 'Deep, abiding, unconditional love. You want it so much you're willing to live for it' Most people think the greatest sacrifice they can make is to die for something. They are wrong.

The truest act of love someone can make is to live for something- to allow it to consume you and turn you into a version of yourself you never recognize.

It is a tale of 4 souls twisted and helpless in their love lives. It is a narrative that contains some heartbreaks, the bitter taste of unreciprocated affection, and one that dared not to unveil itself- which takes courage to love for so long from a distance.

This is a story where one soul offered everything at love's altar, a vulnerable sacrifice, while another callously exploited that very vulnerability, sowing discord where passion once blossomed...

Y/n's pov

The room feels colder than usual as I stare out the window, my heart sinking with every passing minute. The anticipation is suffocating, and my patience wears thin. "Again," I whisper, the word heavy with disappointment.

I watch the street below, searching for a familiar figure that is yet to appear. The seconds drag on, and my anxiety intensifies. The lump in my throat grows, making it harder to swallow. A sigh escapes me, a mixture of frustration and hurt.

"He is late again."

I can't help but clench my fists on the curtains, the fabric bunching in my grip. The emptiness in the room echoes the ache in my chest. Tears threaten to spill, and I fight to hold them back. I bite my tongue, tasting the metallic tang of frustration as I try to steady my trembling emotions.

I force myself to look away from the window, taking in shaky breaths to regain composure. Each breath feels like a struggle, a battle against the rising tide of disappointment. I look up, my eyes blurred with unshed tears, and will myself to find strength.

Deep breaths. In and out.

I wrestle with my emotions, fighting the urge to crumble. It's a lonely battle, and the weight of unspoken words hangs heavy in the air. The silence is deafening, broken only by the echoes of my own heartbeat.

half an hour later

The sound of the door knob rattling pulls me from my thoughts, and I turn to see him entering, supposedly from his so-called 'jogging' session. His disheveled hair and the hickey marks on his neck don't escape my notice, but I keep my gaze down, focusing on chopping the ingredients for breakfast. The rhythmic slicing helps channel my frustration into the task.

Silence hangs in the air, heavy with unspoken words and the weight of disappointment. I clench my jaw, determined not to let the emotions bubbling within me overflow. Why me, I wonder.

I put on a fake smile, a mask to conceal the turmoil beneath the surface. Breaking the tense quiet, I decide to confront the reality before me, choosing words carefully as I break the uneasy silence.

"How was it?"

The question hangs in the air as I continue chopping, my hands steady despite the storm raging inside me. The tension is heavy as I await his response.

He seems startled, caught off guard by the unexpected interruption to your silence. Nervously, he stammers a response.

"Huh? W-What?"

"Jogging... You went jogging, right?" I press, my eyes focused on the task at hand, but my peripheral vision catches his every move. I put down the knife, turning to face him with a fake smile plastered on my face.

"Oh, jogging... Yes, jogging... Yeah, it was good... good," he replies, the words rushed and accompanied by a forced smile. The tension lingers, hanging in the air like an unspoken truth, and I maintain my fake smile, masking the hurt that hides beneath the surface.

The question hangs in the air, a carefully veiled inquiry concealing the knowledge I already possess. "Bucky," I murmur, the weight of the question palpable in the room. "how many years has it been since our arranged union? One or two?" I lock eyes with him, searching for a flicker of guilt, a hint that he might confess to the secrets he thinks are well hidden.

The room feels heavy with the unspoken truth as I press on, my voice carrying a subtle undercurrent of accusation. "You would never hurt me, right?" I ask, knowing the answer even before the words leave my lips. His eyes betray a hint of unease, a fleeting glimpse of a man caught in his own web of betrayal.

I turn my attention to the task at hand, my fingers gripping the edge of the counter as I continue, "It's just, sometimes I wonder about our arranged marriage. Do you?" My words linger in the air, a calculated challenge, as I maintain a facade of innocence, masking the storm of emotions that swirl within me.

Bucky shifts uncomfortably under the weight of my penetrating gaze, his eyes momentarily faltering before regaining composure. "Uh, yeah, it's been two years," he answers, attempting to sound nonchalant. His attempt at a casual demeanor betrays a hint of unease, a subtle acknowledgment that he senses the underlying tension.

I maintain my facade, the corners of my lips twitching into a semblance of a smile. "And you'd never hurt me, right?" I press further, watching for any subtle changes in his expression. Bucky hesitates, a fleeting moment where the truth seems to hang in the air. "Of course not," he replies, the words lacking the conviction they once held.

As I turn back to my task, the air between us crackles with unspoken truths and concealed betrayals, creating a rift that neither of us dares to bridge.

Bucky's POV

Bucky's response hangs in the air, a weight on his conscience that he can't shake off. As I turn away, the guilt tightens in his stomach. He can't escape the unease, knowing he's betraying not just the arrangement but the person at the center of it.

He sighs, heavy with remorse, as he heads for the bathroom. The sound of running water becomes a feeble attempt to drown out the turmoil in his mind. Bucky leans against the cool tiles, steam clouding the mirror, mirroring the fog in his thoughts.

"What have I done?" he whispers, the weight settling in his stomach. The jog's facade crumbles, revealing the truth of his choices. The affair, the lies—it's a web tightening around him, and he's not sure how to break free without causing irreparable damage.

Under the shower's cold stream, Bucky stands, his hand braced against the tiles. The water pounds against him, a feeble attempt to wash away the guilt. As each droplet falls, he confronts the consequences of his actions. The arranged marriage, once a distant pact, now feels shattered. Bucky closes his eyes, trying to block out the guilt threatening to consume him. In the cascade of water, he faces the mess he's made, uncertain if there's any way to salvage the delicate threads holding their union together.

The cold shower beats against Bucky, a stark contrast to the heat of his thoughts. His hand tightens on the tiles as he battles the storm inside. The water's steady drumming echoes his emotions, a chaotic mix of regret and confusion.

"What am I doing?" he mutters, the words lost in the shower's noise. The images of his mistakes play on a loop in his mind—the marks on the neck, the messed-up sheets. It's a vivid reminder of betrayal.

The truth is undeniable. The affair breaks trust, a breach of the commitment he made, even if reluctantly, in this arranged marriage. As the water rushes over him, Bucky tries to wash away not just the physical traces but the guilt staining his conscience.

The fogged-up mirror reflects a man in conflict. His guilty eyes meet their own gaze, and for a moment, he doesn't recognize himself.

"What have I become?" The question lingers, unanswered, as he stands beneath the unrelenting water. The bathroom isn't a refuge; it amplifies the loneliness. Bucky is stuck in a silent struggle, torn between duty and desire, unsure if he can find a way out without leaving everything shattered behind.

Dot's POV

(girl with whom Bucky is cheating with)

"He is gone again," I murmur to myself, my gaze fixed on the fan dangling from the ceiling. The bed beside me feels emptier than usual, a constant reminder of his absence. The weight of silence settles in the room, and once again, I find myself engulfed in loneliness...

Every day, it's the same struggle. A battle between the promise I make to myself and the undeniable pull he has on me. "Every time... every day. I let him in," I admit in the quiet of my thoughts. The bed, cold and untouched, bears witness to my internal conflict. It's a routine of surrendering to a love that should never have blossomed.

"I can always stop," I tell myself daily, a mantra of resistance that crumbles with each passing moment. The realization hits hard — I'm ruining myself for him. The weight of guilt presses down as I acknowledge the gravity of my actions.

"I am so bad," I confess silently, my heart heavy with self-loathing. I'm entangled in an affair with a married man who has a loving wife. The reality of my choices echoes in the hollow spaces of the room. "I'm so sorry," I whisper to no one but myself, a futile apology to the shadows that witness my moral descent.

"I hate myself... I hate it," the thought echoes, a painful admission of the self-destructive path I tread. Love, tangled with regret, becomes a poison that seeps into every corner of my being. Yet, despite the self-flagellation, the ache for him lingers, a bittersweet melody that refuses to be silenced.

The room, my safe place, now shows the mess inside me. I turn from the fan's spin, lost in the shadows. The secret love has left marks, stains that no apology can wipe away. As I try to understand this mess of feelings, I wonder if I can ever fix the pieces of my self-respect that have shattered.

The words slip out in a hushed murmur, barely audible in the quiet room. "I am sorry." The weight of the apology hangs in the air, a fragile attempt to mend the fractures that linger between us. It's a simple phrase, but it carries the echoes of regret and a longing for forgiveness. The weight of regret settles in, and I can't help but wonder if these simple words will ever be enough to mend the fractures I've created.

The illicit affair has left its mark, a stain that no amount of whispered apologies can erase. As I search through the wreckage of my emotions, I'm left to wonder if the fragments of my self-respect can ever be pieced back together.

Not everyone gets the same version of me.

One person might tell you I'm an amazing beautiful soul.

Another person will say I'm a coldhearted bitch.

Believe them both, I act accordingly.

-love

Chapter 2

Note: Hey guys! Hope you like it. English is actually my second language so if there's any mistake you can inform me by messaging me privately. And PLEASE REBLOG AND DON'T STEAL MY WORK. Please like and comment too so, that I can know your views. Thank you for reading guys! Have a nice day and please comment if you wanna be tagged in.

Taglist: @angstysebfan @cjand10 @learisa @themorningsunshine @binkszamsstuff @dreamerglassesgirl @winterslove1917 @perfectpieslimeprune @nikkivillar @bethexo07

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #y/n insert #bucky barnes angst #james bucky barnes #bucky angst #bucky barnes blurb #bucky barnes cheating #bucky barnes incorrect quotes #bucky barnes x omega!reader x alpha!winter soldier #bucky barnes x single mom!reader #bucky barns imagine #bucky imagine #cheating angst #james buchanan barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #james barnes #angsty fic #angsty #angst #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #bucky

[adrunkskeletonsduck]

hey bestie bae <3 how are you doing? I was wondering you if you could write an neteyam x twin!sister!reader where they are best of friends and did everything together and is heartbroken when he is injured, maybe she saves him or maybe she doesn’t. That would be great! <3 please keep up the great writing and have a great day! <3333

I found this a bit funny bc I actually have a twin brother and we’re pretty close. Not attached to the hip typa close but still close.

Oɴᴇ Lɪғᴇ Eɴᴅs, Aɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ Bᴇɢɪɴs

➜ Pairing: Neteyam & twin!sister!reader

➜ Summary: Two peas in a pod. You couldn’t imagine your life without your twin brother in it, he meant the world to you and there was nothing you wouldn’t do to keep him safe. Including give your life for his.

➜ Warnings: Death, mentions of blood, heavy angst

➜ Word Count: 2.0k

➜ Notes: I almost cried writing this, so respectfully I hope it rips your hearts out &lt;;3

Aᴠᴀᴛᴀʀ Mᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

All your earliest memories included Neteyam, there were very few that he wasn’t in, even the more recent ones. The two of you had pretty much been glued to the hip since birth. Two peas in a pod. You couldn’t fathom a life without him, and he couldn’t fathom a life without you.

One of the earliest memories you had was your fourth birthday. You and Neteyam were sitting together, grinning stupidly as your family (which only consisted of you, Neteyam, your parents, mo’at a baby Kiri and Lo’ak)  sung ‘happy birthday’ around you. Then when they’d finished, Mo’at scooped the two of you up, easily balancing the two of you in her arms and smothering you both in kisses. The ticklish sensation throwing both you and Neteyam into a fit of giggles, while Mo’at continued to pamper you.  

“How big and strong my grandchildren are becoming!” she’d said, smiling at the two of you as she set you down. You remembered the matching wood carved charms she’d gifted you both that birthday; you’d clipped them onto your songcords, and then run off into the forest together, Neytiri following behind you both closely.  

You grew extremely close over the years, almost never leaving the others side as you learnt the ins and outs of life together. You told each other everything, and you could still remember the first secret of yours you’d entrusted him with.  

You’d run up to him grinning wildly, a few teeth of your missing like they would have been for a eight-year-old. You’d plopped down in front of him, whispering – or trying to – to him that you had a crush.  

“But you can't to tell anyone!” you’d exclaimed immediately after the confession, looking at him very seriously. His eyes had widened, nodding in affirmation to his next statement.  

“I won't,” he’d promised like it was the most important secret in the world. At the time it very well might have been, and to this day he hadn't told a soul.  

You built the trust between the two of you through wordily affirmation and experiences until you could confidently say you trusted him with your life, and he intern trusted you with his. You knew, that if there was a need, you’d give your life for his without a second thought, although you hoped it would never come to that.  

But sometimes people just aren't so lucky.  

“Go!” You could barely hear his voice over the deafening berate of gunfire as he yelled the order. Bullets clattered against the metal of the ship as you pressed yourself into the wall. Lo’ak and Spider were quick to comply, running to the railing rimmed pool and diving into the water, but you stood firmly next to Neteyam. Two peas in a pod, you wouldn’t leave him behind.  

He glanced over his shoulder as he ducked further behind the wall.  

“What are you doing here? You need to go tsmuke!” you shook your head, stubbornly.  

“I’m not leaving you!” you screamed over the gunfire. Neteyam grunted, shifting the gun in his hand. There was no use trying to convince you to go by yourself, that would just waste time. The one thing you didn’t have. Neteyam glanced down at the gun in his hand, there wasn’t enough ammunition in it to cover the both of you properly if you made a run for it separately anyway.  

“Okay we go on my count,” you nodded, pushing yourself off the wall and getting ready to run.   

“3,”  

“2,”  

“1.” Neteyam turned sharply, using the last of the ammo in the gun to fire in the direction of the Avatar shooting at you, before discarding it and bolting towards the pool.  

You saw it in slow-motion as you looked back, the sound of gunfire amplifying tenfold and mixing with the ringing in your ears. Bullets whizzed past the two of you, and something in your gut told you he wasn’t going to make it in time. All you knew in that moment is there was no way in hell you were going to let anything happen to him. 

Just as he jumped to dive over the railing, you reached out almost instinctively, pulling his body to the side so you were in front of him as you dove into the water side by side. You felt something collide with you, something small, and fast. You didn’t even have time to understand what had happened before red-hot pain, bloomed right above your breast. 

Your scream of agony was muffled as your body hit the water and searing hot pain overtook your senses. It was blinding, only being amplified with every shift of your body as you pushed your body to the surface. Your brain scrambled to grasp reality, through the feeling of burning nerves and weight of water pushing you down.  

“Neteyam!” you gasped, breaking to the surface and doing your best to stay afloat. One hand cupped your chest that was bleeding profusely, turning the water around you a deep shade of red.  

He turned at the sound of your voice calling his name, and his heart dropped, eyes widening at the sight of hazy red water that surrounded your struggling form. He rushed to your side, eyes raking over you looking for the source of your bleeding until his eyes landed on your hand, right over your lung and panic overtook him.  

No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. He thought, he couldn’t lose you; he needed you.  

As a child he would sometimes find himself imagining a life without his twin sister, he remembers the way his stomach would churn at the mere thought of it, and his mind would move on to happier thoughts. Those same nights dreams of losing you would haunt him. He would wake up with a thin sheen of sweat coating him, before his eyes would settle on your sleeping form and his heart would slow its raging pace. He’d lay down, shaking the contents of the dream away and drifting of to sleep again. 

 He hoped this was just another nightmare that his mind had cooked up to screw with him. He’d wake up and you’d be right there, sleeping soundly by Neytiri and Tuk across the Murui pod like you did every night. Your chest rising and falling steadily against the threaded sea grass top you’d made with Tsireya. No one came to wake him though, and no matter how hard he hoped his mind didn’t pull him out of his sleep, because there was nothing to wake up from.  

“She’s shot! Help me!” He called to Lo’ak and Spider frantically, hoisting you onto the ilu. You hissed in pain as they moved you. Tsireya helped pull you up, holding you against her as you took shallow breaths.  

You couldn’t really focus on anything as the ilu sped away from the Demon Ship, lost to your faint thoughts of death and slow mind.  

Your body slid against the rocks, jagged edges scraping against your skin uncomfortably as they push you onto the sturdy surface. The waves crash against the rock, a sound that you would consider soothing if not for the circumstances. Your face is pale, breath shallow and rapid, your ears are ringing and your adrenaline is starting to fade. Everything is slippery, wet and somehow sticky and even now, when you're bleeding out and dying it makes you feel gross.  

The soft breeze is chilling to your wet form, and the gentleness of it is unfitting for such a scene. Your head bumps against something as your set down, and you hear the screech of an Ikran infront of you, feel the rough wind its wings bring as it lands, and see its head peeking out into your field of vision. Then its gone, replaced by your father's face as he rushes over to you. Your eyes shift to Neteyam who sits next to you looking helpless, and you reach out to him, looking for his hand. He gives it to you, clasping your hand in his.  

Your wound screamed as Jake moved you, curses falling from his lips before he set you back down on your back. You're struggling to breath, eyes unfocused as the dart to each member of your family, desperately trying to memorize their features before you go. The older sister in you notes that Kiri and Tuk are missing but you can't focus on the thought to much. You don’t have the energy.  

“Why would you do that?” Neteyam whispered, and your barley hear his words. If you had the energy you would smile, squeeze his hand and tell him that you didn’t regret any of it, because you don’t. But you can't. So instead leave him without an answer and focus on your breath, focus on the pressure of Lo’aks hand over your wound, and the feeling of Neteyams hand in yours, focus on your mothers' eyes and your fathers worried expression. You can sort of Tsireya in the back, a frown on her lips, just like all the rest of them and you focus on that to.  

You want to tell them it's going to be okay, that there's no need to worry, but you're not a lair, so you opt to something more truthful.  

“I want to go home,” you whimper through grit teeth. Even your own words sound faraway now and you realize this was how you were going to die. But you didn’t to die, you had so much to live for, so much to experience. You had just begun to settle into life with the Metkayina, just begun to learn the ocean and the reef, just begun to make friends. You were only 15 years old; you had your whole life ahead of you, you didn’t want to die. You weren't ready. How was that fair? 

“We’re going, we’re going,” Your father reassures. He sounds helpless, broken. You think he’s lying for a moment, but then they’re faces start to fade from your field of vision and you’re truly to weak to care. Only able to think about the fact that you aren't ready yet. That you don’t want to die, not like this. 

The world fades, all sensations put to a halt and it's like a weight is lifted of your shoulders, despite your reluctance you can't help but feel relief. The heaving of your chest stops, and your nerves aren't burning with pain anymore, and there's no more crashing of waves, there's no bitter chill biting at your skin or sticky blood coating you. 

There's only a blinding white behind your eyelids, accompanied by the chirping of birds, a sunny warmth that touches your skin and warms your soul as soft grass caresses your skin. You feel a deep sense of peace take root in your heart, and you don’t question it as your eyes flutter open to be met with the lush forests of Pandora and clear blue skies.  

“Y/n! Y/n!” A childish voice calls to you. You turn at the sound of your name and rustling of leaves pushing yourself to sit up. Neteyam bursts through the underbrush, young and bright, and smiling like he always was. He’s waving at you to get up.  

“Common!” he says urgently, “I wanna show you what I made!” And then he’s dashing off in the direction he came again, leaving you to run after him with a giddy smile. 

 You were home again.  

Taglist: @cherridile @aonungmybf @aurora-starwars

#adrunkskeletonsduck #asks answered #avatar requests #neteyam x reader #the sully family #sully!reader #neteyam sully #neteyam #avatar twow fic #avatar way of water #avatar #avatar fic #avatar 2 #neteyam x you #neteyam x y/n #neteyam fic #neteyam angst #neteyam fanfiction #angsty fic

[nburkhardt]

Inspired by this

Because the movie has wrecked me.

Eddie wakes up and blinks a few times, glancing around and a smile tugs on his lips before resting his head back on the pillow and snuggling into it, closing his eyes; content with being held.

He manages to fall back asleep.

Steve doesn’t know what happened, they were happy and he was in the middle of saying ‘I love you’ when Eddie stops him with a kiss. That night they fooled around and the next morning, he woke up alone.

No note, no goodbye kiss, nothing.

He doesn’t understand what happened. Their trip was amazing, just the two of them against the world. He really thought they had something, that Eddie cared for him just as he cares for him. That they were on the same page.

Tries calling, tries asking his friends and gets rejected by them too, asks Robin to help and finds out something new about Eddie.

He shuts down sometimes and there’s no knowing when he’ll come back around.

That doesn’t stop him, Steve refuses to let that stop him actually. Mind made up, he gets the only person he knows that can help.

~

“Ed! I’m going out, don’t wait up!”

“Why would I wai-“ Eddie stops, eyes wide and takes in the view in front of him, “Steve”

Steve stands there nearly soaked from the rain, “I’m not sure what I did for you to leave and ignore me.”

He shakes his head, “you didn’t do anything, it’s- you should leave”

“No,” Steve is glaring, moves closer towards him “I thought we were something and then suddenly, the man I love is gone, not answering my calls. Ignoring our friends, ignoring me. I love you, Eddie and I tried telling you too. Tell me what happened, tell me where I went wrong.”

Eddie’s eyes are stinging and he sets his jaw, hoping to keep his face from breaking. Turning around, hoping to put space.

“You- I, it’s not you.”

“That’s a load of shit,” Steve huffs a laugh and moves closer, “I love you, Eddie. Why can’t you let me? Why did I have to go through hoops and trick you into talking to me again? Why spend all that time with me, falling in love just to rip it away with nothing? Am I not enough? Or was it too much? Am I too much?”

His hands are shaking and he feels the tears rolling down his face as he closes them, too afraid to turn around but forces himself anyway. Opening his eyes, Steve’s right there red face and his cheeks are puffy, eyes red with tears. He can’t handle it, knowing that he caused it.

Shaking his head, running a hand over his face before gripping his hair and stepping towards Steve again, “No- no. Steve, it’s- really me. It’s me, i’m- I’m afraid, so afraid of this- whatever this is”

“Whatever this is?”

Eddie nods, taking another step and wanting to reach out but still refusing, “I’ve never had something like this before and when you tried saying it that night, it scared me. So, so I left and shut you out,” taking a deep breath before finally, grabbing hold of Steve’s equally shaking hands.

“Sweetheart, I’m so damn sorry for being a coward, I just, this is scary and my feelings for you scare me”

Steve’s eyes are locked on their hands, “feelings?” It’s a whisper and shaky.

Despite his gaze not being on him, Eddie nods and squeezes Steve’s hands, “yeah, because I love you so damn much, honey. So so damn much that it scares me and I ran, hurting you in the process.”

It’s silent in the trailer besides their shaky breathing and Eddie doesn’t know who moves first, next thing he knows their crashing together into a rough kiss. He does know who pulls away first, it’s Steve and he rests his forehead against his. Eyes closed and lips swollen from the near bruising kiss, “Eddie, baby, I’m afraid too, but I love you so much that I’m pushing forward anyway. I love you and I want you in my life”

He closes his eyes and leans to press their lips together once more in a simple kiss, letting go of his hands only to wrap them around him. Steve quickly wraps his own around him and holds him close, “let me stay, please baby, let me stay. Let me keep you”

All words caught, all Eddie can do is nod against Steve’s shoulder and press a lingering kiss on his shoulder.

Steve wakes up slowly, blinking the last of sleep away and eyes meet the beautiful view of a kiss shaped bruise forming on Eddie’s naked shoulder, he smiles as he squeezes the wrist in his hand and lets his head fall back on the pillow.

“Good morning, Love.” He hears and realizes that Eddie’s awake too, “can you let go?”

“Should I?”

Eddie doesn’t respond, instead tries wiggling around before Steve finally lets it go and all Eddie does is turn around to wraps his arm around Steve.

“I love you and I don’t want to run away anymore, I love you so damn much”

“I love you so much, Eds”

~

Had thoughts and this came out. Went a little differently than the movie.

Also: just so you know the very start and end take place after the middle. The start is Eddie’s pov of the next morning, he woke up before Steve. The end is Steve’s pov. Hopefully that wasn’t confusing!

Idk where to put the read more soo it’s hiding the tag list instead 😅

@spectrum-spectre @itsfreakingbats @mysticcrownshipper @artiststarme @thereindeerlady @justforthedead89 @ronniescontinuum @freyaforestafay @littlewildflowerkitten @estrellami-1 @gregre369 @zerokrox-blog @bookworm0690 @flustratedcas @carlprocastinator1000 @marvelmwah @solliesolesito @navnae @i-less-than-three-you @grimmfitzz

#steddie #steddie fic #steve x eddie #nburkhardt writes #angst with a happy ending #stranger things fic #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie fic #angsty fic #it was…supposed to be a little happier my bad #yet again posting at the worst time but it’s fineeee

[clockwrkpendrxgon]

when the fic has letters in it >>>>

#red white and royal blue #henry fox mountchristen windsor #alex claremont diaz #rwrb #rwrb movie #rwrb on prime #nicholas galitzine #taylor zakhar perez #firstprince #rwrb fic #firstprince fic #angsty fic #angst with a happy ending #firstprince au #rwrb film #rwrb book

[creative-heart]

"My thoughts will echo your name"| Esteban Kukuriczka

Chapter five: “In the dark, we’re barely hanging on”

Lucia’s notes: We finally getting rid of Lucas! yaayy, so in advance, this is gonna be kind of a sad chapter, also, we’re approaching the end of this wonderful fic, only 2 more chapters to go. The section that is completely in italics are Y/N’s memories.

Playlist:

Happier than ever- Billie Eilish

Atlantis- Seafret

Lose you to love me- Selena Gomez

Somewhere only we know- Keane

Traitor- Olivia Rodrigo

Flicker- Niall Horan

Bigger than the whole sky- Taylor Swift

Content Warning: Break up, angst, sadness, drinking (not too heavily).

Word Count: 1.9k

After that night with Esteban, Y/N knew exactly what she needed to do, the blonde had to admit that this was a decision long overdue, it had just taken her to get to this point to realize it. Mastering all the courage she had she called Lucas “Hey, can you come to the apartment? we need to talk” she said as soon as she heard the phone click when her boyfriend picked up the phone.

“Hello, what is there to talk about?” Y/N rolled her eyes at his reply “just come over Lucas” she hung up pacing around the living room her bags already packed by the couch, she was decided to leave, where to, she had absolutely no idea, it wasn’t like she was going to go back to her parents, that door had closed long ago, she couldn’t turn to Amelia either, they might be friends, but she was Lucas’ sister at the end of the day. Y/N kept pacing around until she felt the turn of the keys in the door and stopped in her tracks taking a deep breath before he saw the guy’s face walk into what used to be their shared home.

“Well.. I’m here, wanted to talk? talk, I’ve got plans” Lucas crossed his arms over his chest. Y/N took a deep breath facing him and raised an eyebrow trying to keep the best poker face she could master.

“I think we need to break up, I’m done and tired of feeling like a fly on the wall for you, you haven’t turned to look at me all but twice in the past year almost. You think I don’t know how you’ve been talking to Alma all these years we’ve been together? and no, before you say anything, I didn’t need to go through your phone, but you’re way too obvious. You’ve never let me be myself, whatever I did was wrong, wasn’t good enough”- damn it- she cursed at herself internally when she felt the tears brimming her eyes through her well rehearsed speech. The girl looked away to wipe at her eyes before turning back around. “I deserve more than this, I don’t deserve feeling like the last option on your life, like you’d rather be anywhere but home with me, I’m tired Lucas, I loved you, damn it, even if you don’t deserve it, in some stupid, sad, twisted way I still do. And I do thank you for everything you gave me when we got together, you showed me who I could be, I don’t know what changed, but it’s too late.” Y/N looked at the tall guy frozen in his spot, absolutely gobsmacked blinking slowly “We’re done Lucas, I’m leaving, pease don’t come after me” she whispered grabbing her things and walking out the door as her keys to the apartment rested on the table beside the door.

The brunette turned around looking at her back “wait….Y/N, we can work through this, I’m sure” he said softly, not that he really cared about her, but his family thought she was wife material and her trustfund was pretty steep. Y/N the Hazel eyed girl turned around once more and he knew, he knew then and there that there was nothing left in there for him, she felt nothing. 

Y/N walked out dragging her luggage after her and started walking down the street, not too sure where to. She just knew she needed to get as much distance between her and that apartment as humanly possible; as she walked her mind alternated between playing over images of her relationship with Lucas, how the whole situation had unfolded over the years.

Y/N had just transferred universities to go to law school in the big city, coming from a small town, this had been the plan since she was a kid, she wasn’t too sure if it was hers or her parents plan, but it was the plan. As she walked into her first class, she saw a handsome guy, slightly older than her standing at the front of the room and she headed over “excuse me, is this criminal law 101?” she said barely above a whisper. The guy looked at her, gorgeous brown hair paired with piercing blue eyes, she felt the air escape her lungs. “Yes it is, take a seat, we’re about to begin”, handsome eyes turned out to be the student teacher assistant, Lucas was his name. 

After a few months of just looking at each other across the room in class, he walked up to her after class and smiled “would you go out for a drink with me?” and that’s where it all started. Sweet nothings whispered in her ear wherever they went, holding Y/N while she cried after her parents told her that she would no longer be their daughter if she dared drop out of Law School to pursue photography, he had  held her up when she thought she was gonna fall to her knees.

Y/N didn’t know when, or how, but she had started crying again her tears falling freely down her cheeks, but she wasn’t sure why, she knew breaking up was the right move, she was better off without Lucas. The blonde didn’t realize how she had made her way to Esteban’s building, she looked at the doorbell panel and saw his name pressing the button hoping he’d be home and he’d be available.

“Hello?” she heard his sweet voice over the com and her heart skipped a bit “is anyone there?” shit, she hadn’t replied “Kuku, it’s….it’s me, Y/N” she hiccuped into her end of the com “are you busy? can I please come in?” she whispered.

“Sweetie, are you crying? oh god, of course, come on in” he buzzed the door opened and once he heard the click of the door closing behind her he went and opened the apartment door waiting for her. As soon as Y/N stepped out of the elevator, suitcases behind her and eyes red with tears he frowned and went over hugging her “Hey hey, what happened babe?” the older man said quietly walking them back into the apartment taking the luggage with him, he walked them both to the couch before going to get a cup of tea for Y/N  “what happened Y/N/N? wanna talk about it?”

Y/N looked up at the brown eyed man for the first time since stepping out of the elevator, tears still streaming down her cheeks like rivers and she hated herself for crying like that. She nodded softly “it’s over” the younger whispered “I finally broke up with Lucas” she gulped thick pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes as to suppress the tears to keep erupting. Kuku couldn’t help but feel relieved and almost happy for that to be over, he knew it wasn’t okay, he could tell Y/N was suffering and he wanted to take that away from her, but he was happy about her being single as he handed her the tea and sat down “I have nowhere to go now Kuku” she whispered taking a sup of the tea “I left the apartment, cause it was his name on the lease, and I can’t go to Amelia’s obviously, I can’t go back home to my parents, another of my friends isn’t in a place to take me in, I don’t know what I’m gonna do” Y/N said looking down into the mug swirling it gently.

“You may think this is a bit out there and crazy….but you could always stay here, I don’t mind, you can take my room, I can either sleep here on the couch, or even go to one of the guy’s places, maybe Mati or Fran” Kuku smiled sheepishly “you can stay as long as you want or need to get back on your feet” Y/N didn’t even dare looking at him, she knew too well what kuku’s eyes did to her on this short time of knowing eachother, not like she was in the mood for much right now, but he melted her heart away. Y/N stayed silent for a while, she really liked the idea of sharing a place with this sweet man, but she knew it was way too risky, after what seemed like an eternity for the sweet eyed man, she looked back up to him.

“I don’t wanna be alone tonight, but I would really appreciate it if you could…please don’t feel imposed, go to one of the guys places after, if you don’t want to, or can’t just let me know and I’ll for sure get another place to stay” Y/N downed the rest of her tea as Esteban shook his head “nonesense, you stay here as long as you want” he smiled softly rubbing her back and his touch felt like a warm blanket over her, it always felt so protective and she could stay like this forever. Y/N looked at him and smiled softly “Thank you so much, would it be possible to take a warm shower? I got kinda cold” the older man nodded and pointed her to the bathroom.

That night, after Y/N fell asleep in his arms while watching a movie to try and help her distract herself from the events of that day, Esteban stood up carefully picking the petite girl in his arms walking to his bedroom to lay her down as he tucked her in and kissed her forehead he stood back to his full height grabbing a few things to go settle on the couch for the night and he heard a sleepy voice say quietly “sleep with me please?” God every new thing he discovered about her drove him even more insane, that sweet soft sleepy voice and how angelic she looked while sleeping, he could never say no to this woman and so he laid down with her still fully clothed, he didn’t want her to get the wrong impression as she nuzzled back against him he kissed her head closing his eyes letting her always drunkening scent to wash over him lulling him to sleep.

Four days had gone by and he had been staying with Mati and Male to give Y/N some space, but today, encouraged by the pair he decided to go check in on the blonde girl taking some comfort chinese food with him, if she was anything like Male had suggested, she was probably not eating much. Esteban made his way to his place and knocked ont he apartment door. Soon enough Y/N opened the door, messy bun in her hair, pjs consisting of an old scooby doo t-shirt that was way too big on her and some baggy sweatpants, her eyes widened when she saw the guy standing at the door and she tried fixing her hair “kuku… I …I didn’t except you to come over, come on in”. The guy chuckled softly walking into his place and looked at her “No, you clearly weren’t, sorry to come unannounced, I just wanted to check on you, I’ve brought chinese takeout, and we can order some ice cream after if you want, I know how much you like salted caramel and chocolate” Y/N turned around smiling for the first time in days, how did he remember that? they’d only had ice cream a couple of times. 

As she made some place on the coffee table she looked at the guy again “pick out something to watch? I’ll go get something to put the food in” she took the bag from the tall man and disappeared into the kitchen. If Esteban wasn’t mistaken, the smile she gave him right then wasn’t the same she always had, this was different, and he really wanted to discover more behind it, with no one standing between them, he knew he had to start acting soon, but he didn’t want to rush her into something she wasn’t up to. This was definitely screwing with his head.

P.S: I cringed so bad at this chapter god, so sorry, but it was necessary. Also credits to @cafekitsune for the awesome scene dividers.

taglist:

@madame-fear  @cyliarys-starlight @castawaycherry @luceracastro @espinasrubi @lastflowrr @koiibiito @candycanes19 @nperoconelcositoarriba @lxdyred @deepinsideyourbeing

#esteban kukuriczka fic #esteban kukuriczka fanfic #esteban kukuriczka x reader #lsdln cast fanfic #lsdln cast fic #lsdln x reader #lsdln cast #fanfiction #fic #esteban kukuriczka #angsty fic #reblog

[starchasersunseeker]

Us @beautyoftheships planing angst and constantly saying "poor ___" as if it's not us deciding to add things that will make it more angsty ahahahah

Especially to Jamie... he is really going through it in our convos 😭💔

Fic: Sweet Like Cinnamon

The fic is set in omegaverse and it is about the polycule James / Regulus / Barty / Evan

With James being an omega and the other three are alphas

#fic: sweet like cinnamon #sweet like cinnamon #jegulus #rosekiller #starchaserrosekiller #james x regulus #james x barty #james x evan #angst #angsty fic #not really tho #its got lots of other things to balance it out like #smut #lots of smut #fluff #omegaverse

[rippersz]

ᴀ ꜰᴏᴏʟ'ꜱ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ

---

---

(Brienne of Tarth x Named Reader; Angsty; Hurt/Slight Comfort) (TW: Suic*de attempt; Suic*dal ideations/thoughts; Slight Romanticization of mental illness)

---

“An autumn whisper between the maples kept urging: Die with me.” ~ Anna Akhmatova

---

A Fool’s Death.

That’s what they call it.

A Fool’s Death. You’re a coward if you do it. You’re a lazy bastard if you live with thoughts of it. You’re a selfish prick of a soul either way.

There’s no winning and there’s no losing. There’s no talk of it. Not even a mention. Not even a whisper. And if there is, you are spoken of. Judged. Scrutinized until The Fool’s Death becomes your death. Until the village and its people and everyone in your family are forced to spit upon your narcissistic bones and claim you disowned even though there is nothing left to claim and nothing left to disown. Just a corpse that is cold and dull and useless.

Cold and dull and useless.

You think that’s how you’ll do it.

Winter has already carried her snow and chill and winds into the region, laying it all upon the land like a warm blanket around a small child’s body. Painting everything white and leaving it to glisten to sludge beneath the eventual heat of the spring sun. A perfect time for rebirth. A perfect time for death.

—

Your hands shake as you slowly pull open the door to your quarters, wincing while it creaks and groans, forcing you to stop every time a noise rings out into the empty hall. Your heart, pounding away in your ears, ruins your sense of hearing while you stand like a statue within your own doorway. Anxiety slips through your bones. Fear pulls at you. The last desire you have is to wake everyone in the castle and call attention to yourself. No, having eyes and ears on you while you lay in the snow and wait for the freeze to set in is less than ideal. A Fool’s Death, after all, is never A Fool’s Death if done with company.

So once you decide that the corridors are empty and you can slip out through the back entrance into the kitchens, you do exactly that. A singular torch is lit, burning away within its stone perch, nearly beckoning you closer with its dancing flame. You trail toward it and stop there, watching it for a moment, reveling in the last bit of warmth that your skin will ever feel. You know that some hours later, when the moon is long gone and the clouds block the sun and the stars keep themselves veiled, you will no longer be able to feel fire. You will no longer be able to feel ice. You will no longer be able to feel the breath in your lungs leave you in short pants. It will all bleed into the same numb feeling. And you will freeze until Mother Nature tells you to thaw. And once your body has been revealed to the changing air of the seasons, once the earth’s creatures start to take advantage of your indirect kindness, you also know that your frozen flesh will not be mourned. Because no one will cry for you. And no one will beg the gods, both old and new, to bring you back. And no one will waste another precious breath worrying about who you were.

You, who were just another soldier out of an army of hundreds. A faceless woman. A person easily replaced. Inconsequential in every sense of the word. Your family was dead, your acquaintances were no more than good mornings and good nights, your position would be filled as soon as you broke rank. And no one would notice your absence. The Lord Commander wouldn’t even blink. The royal family wouldn’t even spare a thought. Though then again, it wasn’t like you deserved their thoughts, their sympathies, their prayers anyway. You weren’t a war hero and you weren’t important and you didn’t do anything beyond follow orders and live your life. Well- that last bit would change, of course. As soon as you pull yourself away from the torch and get going.

The chill of night is a harsh contrast from the few minutes of firelight, but you find that your body, already shivering and slow beneath the thin white nightgown, doesn’t take true notice of the cold. You’re only propelled forward by a distant urge. A previously agreed upon understanding with no one but yourself: This was necessary. This is what it was going to come to anyway, whether you died a fool sooner or later. This was the way of the world and you were just another pawn amongst the masses. Going to war, front of the line, hoping to die in glory.

But there was no glory there. There was no glory in your measured footsteps and there was no glory in your sagging shoulders and tired expression. And there was no glory in your desire. How could there be? How could the good gods ever wish to touch you after your blasphemy? How could you hang your soul out to dry and still expect to find your place in Nirvana? They will call you a coward. They will call you a fool. They will call you a rotten whore and they will say that they wish you’d done it sooner. They will walk past your nonexistent grave without a wandering thought as to what your name was. You could’ve saved everyone the trouble, they will say. Could’ve saved them the breaths. Spared them of your quiet awkward presence. Making everyone uncomfortable. Leaving the men to tease and toss aside the idea of censoring themselves just because you were a woman. Not the only woman, but a woman nonetheless. Of course they held their tongues when The Lord Commander walked past, or sat at the table, or existed and breathed in their general vicinity, but that didn’t matter. Brienne of Tarth was not always around to control them nor comfort you - not that she did the latter anyway. You weren’t important enough for that.

And the universe seemed to agree. The path was laid out before you, lit by the silver moon, traced by the glow of the white ground. You’d decided on your resting place only a few days ago. During a morning patrol with some of the newer trainees, you came across a spot of smooth Earth. Two logs, parallel to each other, framed a large empty patch of snow. From where you stood, it looked like a beautiful painting that had yet to be finished. There was no subject- no goal- no lesson to be learned- no deeper meaning and no unintentional intentional wicked talent. But before that could be rectified, before it could be completed, it would have to be ruined. Once you’re long dead, you’ll find the time to apologize to Mother Nature, but as you trek over the last hill, you’re more focused on becoming one with the frozen ground.

The site of your death is far enough away from civilization, near the edge of a tall cliff, so any wandering strangers won’t bother to come too close. Well that’s what you tell yourself, living in hope as per usual; but in reality nothing is stopping another living creature from stumbling across your frozen corpse. The snow is thick, yes, but not thick enough to hide all of you. And the sun is only some hours away from rising. Oh well. It won’t matter anyway. You’ll be passed out by then, icicles hanging from your eyelashes and blue coating the lining of your lips. Your heart will be quiet, weak, in your frozen chest. Your hands will be limp. And the rest of you will be blanketed by the sweet tasty frost of death, creating a home for its festering teeth. Teeth that will bite and gnash and taste and tear - but their attacks will be in vain. You will be numb. So wonderfully, perfectly, fatefully, numb.

And your fingertips, for what it’s worth, are already tingling with the beginnings of it.

The beginnings of it.

‘It’ being your end, of course.

‘It’ being the thing you want. Desperately.

‘It’ being the Fool’s Death you were born to have.

Oh so poetic it was…

Oh so… lovely.

…

…

You blink suddenly, forcing the chilled tears out of your eyes. Damn wind… so cold… so refreshing… Your knees bend to crouch into the snow, slow and exhausted like the sluggish looking of your eyes. ‘Hello’ the snow grins- beams- smiles so cheerfully up at you, ‘come to see me again, have you? It’s only been a few days. But I have missed you so much. We all have missed you so much.’ And you glance up to take in the ‘we’; the looming trees and the deep blue sky and the twinkling stars and the sweet bright moon, and you nod to yourself. Yes. This is how it is. This is the perfect atmosphere.

This is the glory of a Fool’s Death.

This is the peace of a Fool’s Death.

This is salvation.

No loud men and no flickering fires and no furs and no royals and no company and no messy thoughts and no sleepless nights and no terrifying dreams and no days of forced starvation and no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no hope, no love, no happiness, no reason, no reason, no reason no reason no reason to live live live live live live live- live!

The thin white slip on your body shields you from nothing. Your palms sink into the soft fluff of the ground. Instantly, upon laying down, you’re soaked to the bone. Water finds itself languishing along your body, playing games and laughing while it gathers in your scalp and dances on your fingertips. And the snow, whispering near your ear and beckoning you to salvation, stretches its hands and says ‘Come, dear friend. Come rest here. I am soft. I will give you everything you want.’ So you rest. And you give in. And your body relaxes; your muscles unclench and the tension slides from your shoulders as a sigh bubbles past your lips.

Is it one of relief? One of stress? One of defeat? You’re not sure. You don’t know. Your heart is shuddering- pulsing- with excitement, but it’s a mystery as to why. Death is not supposed to feel good. Death is not supposed to feel powerful. Death is not supposed to feel like you’re finally grabbing life by the balls and saying HAH! THIS IS IT! THIS IS MY MOMENT! THIS IS MY DEATH! MY END! AND YOU CAN NEVER TAKE THAT AWAY FROM ME.

… So why does it feel that way?

Why does it feel so good?

…

…The night is quiet. It does not have answers for you. The moon looks on with unblinking eyes. You feel yourself grow heavy.

But the deed is not over yet. There is still one thing left to do. Slowly, the snow falls away as your limbs stir. They move on autopilot, not drawn by the thoughts in your head but again pushed by that faint desire.

Heels digging, nails running blue, curling into the snow, pushing it away - only to drag it back five minutes later; hastily working to complete the masterpiece. Desperate to become one with the Earth and fall into oblivion. A deep, bone-cold, quieting oblivion that will leave you shivering before it leaves you dead. Even beneath the blanket of snow that caresses your skin, that lays over your bare legs, that nuzzles the sensitive parts of your body, you begin to shake. And you begin to think.

The thoughts, interestingly enough, don’t freeze like the rest of you does. Instead, they grow. Swirl like a winter’s storm. Obsessive and rough, they pull you under like they always did.

This is great, isn’t it?

No, you think in response to yourself. It hurts, actually.

Oh stop whining. It will be worth it.

Why? How?

For years, it has been worth it.

That doesn’t answer anything. How has it been worth it? Is that why I’ve been hurting so much? For the sake of worthiness? Or something else?

Well you never felt worthy of anything else.

But I feel worthy of this?

Death? Yes. Everyone is worthy of death. Even The Lord Commander.

…What does she have to do with this?

You know what.

Your hands grasp at the snow, mindless and desperate. Pulling and pulling and pulling - clawing at the crisp white so it can cover you until no part of you is left to the air. Shielding you from the hatred of the universe. From the angry eyes of the gods. From the venom of the men. From the disinterest of the women. From the world… and its lack of care for you. And its lack of positivity. And its rude- disgusting- vile- way of treating you. And its overwhelming desire to kill you before you could kill yourself.

Too late now. We’re at least one foot deep in the ground! This is it. Keep digging. Keep digging. Keep digging! No stopping here! No energy left. Nothing left, actually. Not a goddamn thing. Nothing. Nothing at all.

Nothing at all….

Nothing.

At all.

Your eyelids flutter shut.

—

It’s two hours later when Ser Brienne of Tarth starts to wrap up her last duty of the evening.

A quick patrol of the furthest border is something not necessarily reserved for The Lord Commander, but is more of a safety measure she enforces upon herself before retiring for bed. Exhaustion pulls at her before she sets out, yes, but sometimes the nightmares… the white walkers… they leave her paranoid. Expectant of an attack that will never come. Worried about an enemy that no longer exists. Thus, she does it alone - and with only the royals’ knowledge.

It’s always a quiet affair, drawn along quickly by her and her steed Valour. They work with sharp eyes and a torch through the dark, stopping every few paces to listen for threats. There aren’t any, of course, but that doesn’t stop her from clip-clopping along the terrain with tense shoulders and keen senses, looking through the din of the torch’s fire in her hand. She has to be careful not to set her furs alight, but it’s not a hard task. Keeping it level, shunting it toward the ground and out toward the trees, proves to be more difficult. There’s no use in a flame if it can’t illuminate a damn th-

HUFF.

Valour’s hooves press into the snow, leaving them to stop - suddenly, quickly, with a jerk - as hot breath puffs from her nostrils and curls into the air. She’s tense, Brienne realizes. Tense and alert, with white ears twisting to take in sound. They stand in silence. Blue eyes watch as the animal’s head turns - first to the left and then to the right. But aside from the night and the usual rustle of the world, there is nothing. Nothing to hear, nothing to notice, nothing to fight or defend. Nothing to… find?

With one last sweep of the flame, she catches something quick. It’s nearly unnoticeable. Buried beneath the snow, but not one with the ground. It’s foreign. Out of place. A mere lump with no distinct beginning and end. Brienne chances a glance down at the horse, interest and apprehension dancing through her veins once she sees Valour’s eyes have caught the same thing. The same… intruder. The same issue.

When she slides off of the horse, half expecting to see the thing rise from the ground, one hand shoots to her sword. It waits. Curls around the hilt. Stretches beneath her glove. Twitches with adrenaline.

But there’s nothing. Not even a tremble beneath the dirt.

“Stay,” she whispers to Valour, moving the hand from her blade to gesture, palm facing the ground, for the horse to stand in wait.

And as cautiously, as quietly, as she can, Brienne approaches the mystery. She rounds one of the logs, taking notice of the odd placement, and tries not to wince each time her boots make a small crunch in the silence. Footprints will no doubt be left behind, but that doesn’t seem to bother her much as she catches sight of another pair in the distance. They’re small, the knight notices. With no distinct shape if not for a slight curve. The snow is kicked up, forced from its smooth blanket. Hurried in their demeanor. But slow in the amount of distance between each print.

Human, she thinks.

Human indeed, the snow hums; bearing all to see as it glistens beneath the firelight of her torch and brings Brienne to her unsightly treasure.

Frosted skin. A soaked nightgown. Arms and legs bitten by the chill.

Dead, she thinks.

No. Alive. The snow breathes.

—

Someone is taking off your clothes. They’re cold, sticking to you, and little grunts follow as bits of your nightgown rip with the effort. Your body is shocked, shivering so hard that the stranger can’t keep you still and isn’t quite sure what to do. Eventually, a mind is made up and you’re stripped completely - then covered with woolen hose. At least two pairs- both of which are too big for you and hang by the feet and are quite loose around the waist, but the dresser doesn’t seem to care. Trousers are next. How many pairs? You don’t know. Then shirts. And furs. And even a pair of leather gloves that droop at the fingertips and gape at the wrists - but they’re warm and lined with wool and you can’t feel your body but that’s okay. You didn’t want to anyway. More grunting and growling and small whispered curses follow until you’re very much tucked into a bed far bigger than your own. It’s warm. Good. You’re numb and half-dead, but it’s good. Lovely, really. And the outside world doesn’t call your name as you close your eyes.

Waking up was not on your agenda.

It wasn’t even in the cards.

And you don’t really want to - but the universe never cared for your opinion. And it did what it wanted whenever it wanted anyway. So you have no choice.

Thus, your eyes flutter open and your lungs expand with breath and suddenly the world comes flooding back in one confusing twist of fate. Nausea wastes no time in tearing you down; instantly going to churn in the pit of your stomach and curl in the back of your throat and pound against the skin of your temples. A deep groan slips from between your chapped lips. The lining of your skull feels as though it’s been replaced with cotton.

The snow really took its chance, didn’t it? Brutal. Ruthless. At least the Earth doesn’t lie to you. At least the Earth doesn’t save you.

But someone did. Someone has.

They’re actually shuffling over; measured footsteps sounding like big loud stomps in your head. You close your eyes. Everything is too bright. Everything is too much.

“Morning.”

Hm. The voice sounds familiar. A bit wonky, like it’s far away, but familiar. You don’t have the energy to respond so you just let out a grunt and allow it to taper off into a weird rumbly hum.

“Hey,” there’s a sudden clicking noise near your ear, making you jolt and snort when your eyes flick open. There are fingers - long pale fingers snapping beside your head, falling silent when you glare up at the offender, only to find-

“Lah Commandah?!” Your tongue and throat are stiff and achy, keeping your speech limited and your voice strangled. You grimace at the sound and instantly try to growl the discomfort away, but she cuts you off.

“Don’t do that- you’ll just make it worse.” It comes out in a huff and silences you with ease.

She doesn’t look or seem very happy, which in turn makes you frown. It was a shot straight through the heart when the Lord Commander was in a bad mood - which surprisingly wasn’t always. In fact, she’d grown a little softer over the years. The tales talk of her unwilling attitude and stubborn pride, but sometimes she’s full of wit and humor. And on the best of days, she’ll give the most successful troops a small smile and a bow of her head. The only sign of ‘You did well’ that anyone would ever get from her. You’d never gotten a reaction like that before.

I wonder why she didn’t leave us out in the snow.

“Can you sit up?” Glacier blue eyes run over your face.

You’re not sure what you look like but you suppose it doesn’t matter. She’s seen worse.

“Dun-no, Lah Commandah,” you breathe, trying to do exactly that.

After the fifth try of shifting your arms and legs and quickly running out of strength, she seems to get the hint and suddenly large strong hands are sliding under your arms and tugging you up, then pushing you back. It’s done in one swift movement, leaving you dizzy while you rest your head against the wooden headboard of-… of a bed that certainly isn’t yours.

No, you’re definitely not in your own room. The layout is completely different. It’s more… it’s not pretty but it’s better looking than your own. Complete with greys and blacks and silvers and even a hint of red here and there. The fire that’s been crackling steadily in the background is clean and well-kept, where your room doesn’t even have space for one at all. And the curtains are drawn over the windows covering the right wall, leaving the place shrouded in a darkness that would have existed there anyway even if the curtains were open - it’s nighttime, pitch black outside, and suddenly you’re very much aware of the fact that you’ve kept your Lord Commander- The Brienne of Tarth- out of her own bed for more than a day.

By the time you blink yourself out of your dizzy distracted haze and try to find her form again, she’s already busy doing something else. Wringing out cloths over a bowl… and then returning to your side. Your lips, chapped and still tinged blue, open in an effort to say something- anything- but then a soft hot cloth is draped over your forehead, covering your temples, and suddenly you don’t have a damned thought left in your mind. The feeling is so nice. So blissful. You could stay like that forever.

If only the universe showed you mercy.

“It’s been two days since I found you,” the Lord Commander says, placing the bowl down gently on the side table beside the bed. Her eyes glance over your coverings, making sure the furs and gloves and shirts are all still in order. They are. She was very thorough before. She would not have made a mistake. There was no room for error.

But there’s room now for judgment. Judgment and disdain, and you’re terrified of those things and you really don’t want to have to hear her tell you that you’re a stupid wench and that the rest of the troops will forever make fun of you for your idiocy, so you swallow and wince and your hands twist together in your lap. The leather of the gloves is soft, well-worn, and the wool is only the tiniest bit matted - and you can’t help but admire the craftsmanship as you bring them up to your abdomen. They’re obviously not your gloves, just as everything else is not yours either, but you don’t know what to do first: apologize or thank her.

Honestly, you don’t really want to thank her - because she ruined your plan - but at the same time, she saved your life. Whether you wanted to end it or not doesn’t matter… because she would’ve helped you no matter what. And perhaps you’re selfish for being a little bit angry about it, maybe you’re being self-centered and dumb, but you can’t help the feeling of bitterness creep into your heart. You wanted to die… and she took that from you. She wanted you to live.

It was a duty. She doesn’t want anything. Anyone would have done it.

But that’s not true.

The men would have left you. Or hurt you. Or anything else.

But there she is, having gone through the trouble of saving you… and she’s looking down at you with a frown on her handsome face and a furrow to her light brows that seems like it never leaves and you wish so terribly that you could just tell her-

“I-m sorr-ey.” It’s a pathetic rasp of an apology, but it’s out of your mouth before you can catch it.

She blinks. You don’t know why her expression changes, why it softens into something less stern and concerned, but when it does you feel your breath catch in your throat. How anyone could see her as anything less than glorious is something you’ll never understand.

“Why were you out there.”

It’s a demand.

You look away, baring your eyes to the fire.

“…I sl-leep-wa-lk someti-”

“Bullshit.” She spits, one hand reaching down to curl into the bit of blanket that drapes over the side of the bed. Her expression has twisted back into one of anger. “Don’t you dare lie to me.”

But what other choice do you have?

How could you be honest?

Why did she, of all people, have to find you? And why like that? Why couldn’t she have walked into the bathhouse during the few times you’ve wept your eyes out in the steamy silence? Why couldn’t she have caught you staring at your horse, dread in your eyes as you fantasized about running away and never looking back? Why couldn’t she have stumbled upon your vulnerability when you were still willing to live?

Why did it take a Fool’s Death to finally grasp her attention?

You want to tell the truth… but you can’t.

You can’t.

So you lie again.

“Was out- on a s-strollll. Got- um- lost.” You try not to cringe at the sound of your own bad grammar. Turns out not having full feeling back in your mouth does indeed prohibit being able to speak properly.

The Lord Commander doesn’t seem to care much. In fact, she doesn’t seem to be focusing on that at all. Instead, her face has grown slack - and she’s looking at you hard. Leaning both of her hands on the side of the bed, broad shoulders going up near her neck, eyes peering through light lashes - like she’s using her stare alone to dig holes into your soul and she doesn’t need to say anything in order for you to understand that she simply doesn’t believe you. And why should she? Your lies are so obviously half-baked; only muddying up the truth; ruining what little of it can be said.

Still. She doesn’t let up. Her gaze starts to burn. Shame tugs at your cotton-lined skull. Guilt claws its way to the surface.

Pink lips, scarred on the top right, part slowly. There’s a soft inhale. You brace yourself, clutching your warm hands into fists.

“You were buried,” the Lord Commander says, barely even blinking as she looks at you. “Covered with snow.” She shakes her head and allows it to fall to her chest, letting out a scoff so quiet you had to strain to hear it. “One of the smartest soldiers I have… and you expect me to believe that you got lost on an evening stroll?” Her head comes up, eyes pinning you in place with such dull ferocity that you can’t look away. “You can’t be serious.”

It’s at that exact moment when you realize that you’re sweating. It is the amount of warm things covering your body? The clothing and the furs and the gloves? Or is it your Lord Commander’s attention? And the fact that it’s never been placed on you like that before? With such… such focus. Such- dare you even think it- care?

You swallow against the nervous lump in your throat.

‘One of the smartest soldiers I have…’

Well if you were as smart as she thinks you are, you’d be fucking honest, wouldn’t you? Yeah. You’d tell her the truth. You’d admit that you’re a coward.

But you can’t.

You can’t.

She spends all of that time training you, keeping an eye on you, making sure you’re fed and well-rested and looked after in her own roundabout Lord Commander type of way… and you repay her with…with what?

With suicide?

So disgraceful.

So horrible.

So shitty of you.

How terrible can a person be?

How-

“Are you crying?” Your Lord Commander gapes, certainly caught off guard by your sudden emotion.

“N-no?!” You stutter, just as shocked to find yourself reaching up and smearing salty tears along your cheeks.

Oh how embarrassing-!

You stupid girl!

This is why you wanted to do it in the first place!

Because all you do is just fucking embarrass yourself-!

“N-no? No- s-sorr-y La-Lor-d C-Com-”

“Enough with the Lord Commander,” she admonishes, cutting off your bumbling apology with a swift tsk. “In private, it’s Brienne.” Then she hesitates before letting out a sigh and taking a seat next to you on the side of her bed. “…I’m not your superior here.”

All you can do is blink.

I’m not your superior here.

So what are you?

That’s all you want to ask.

What are you to me then? What is this now?

But even if you did find the courage, you’re not sure what she’d say.

“Okay,” you sniff, trying your damnedest to stop the tears.

But they’re a direct result of your aching heart. And aching hearts have veins that scream in agony, wishing for nothing but silence. Utterly tranquility. The very absence of tension-filled life. And you can’t get rid of aching hearts and screaming veins without getting rid of yourself…. And your only chance to do that was destroyed. Trampled upon. Interrupted.

I just wanted to die. It rests on the very tip of your tongue but never spills out into the air.

Brienne is so clearly unsure of what to do; she’s sitting rigid in her spot and staring at a mark on the floor. You want to tell her it’s okay. You want to tell her that she doesn’t have to comfort you. You want to tell her to just let you go back into the woods again… let you find yourself back in the snow. And she can go on with her life and forget it ever happened.

But you can’t.

That’s not how it works.

That’ll never be how it works.

Foolish girl.

“…Why were you out there, Anya?” Brienne’s voice is softer than fresh lilies.

You know why.

You know why.

“…I c-can’t- I-”

Her head turns. Midnight blue eyes trace a line from your neck to your face, taking in the exhausted circles beneath your eyes and the blue-ish tinge to your skin and the utterly defeated look that blooms behind your expression. A war happens in you, taking place in the span of a moment, and you can do nothing but blink through lingering tears and stare at her.

“I can’t.” It’s a whisper. A confession all on its own.

I can’t… because you’ll think I’m a coward. And you’ll hate me. And I already hate myself enough for the both of us.

Brienne’s lips form a hard line, but she doesn’t say anything. She just peers back down at the floor and allows silence to creep into the room and lay between you both like a tired direwolf on its last legs.

The fire burns in the background. The sweat on your body cools. The dizziness in your head subsides.

It’s going to be okay, some part of you speaks. It’s going to be okay.

But you’ve told yourself that before, haven’t you?

And look where that got you.

It has to be at least 30 minutes later when Brienne finally speaks.

“There was a girl I knew once, in my early youth,” you watch her mouth move, enchanted and confused. Where was this going to lead? “She was older than me by two years. A pretty girl- like you.” Your heart trips over itself, but you don’t have time to dwell as she continues. “My father saw that, out of the very rare few, she was good to me - and so we were allowed to play often. For her it was ‘horsies’ and ‘hide and seek’, for me it was ‘swords’ and ‘knights’.” There’s a soft smile on her face, half hidden by the natural shadow of her body facing away from the hearth and half lit by the fire that lived there. Her lips twitch and she begins again. “We did everything together. She was a village girl but that didn’t matter… until it did. Time eventually caught up to us and we were forced to live our lives on our own. No more days of play and no more sharing stories.”

A soul-deep sadness settled into her eyes. She had yet to look at you. Maybe because it would make her too vulnerable… maybe because she didn’t want you to cry again. Either way, you felt yourself frown. Why was she telling you this? What happened?

And as if she could read your thoughts, she continues.

“By the time I was old enough to decide that I wanted to leave, she was already married. Kind husband, even though I only met him once. It was when I stopped in to say goodbye. I wanted to tell her that I’d write, whenever I found the time and place to do so.” Her hands, you notice, are fidgeting - running over and pulling each other quietly within her lap. The natural lines in her face grow darker as she falls back into her memories. “…I didn’t know she was struggling. I was so busy with my own life. My father’s wishes, my training, my fights with the men who challenged me… our communication grew slim. So I didn’t- I-… well.” Brienne swallows. “Her husband answered the door and when I asked after her, he burst into hysterics.”

Your heart stops.

She- no… She didn’t….

Brienne’s head goes up, her eyes turning to look at the ceiling - keeping her tears in her eyes, resistant in letting them fall. Resistant in being weak. You want to hold her and let her cry, but you know it’s not the time. She sniffs and her chest heaves with a sigh and it takes everything in you not to start sobbing. Tears build, they fall slowly, but your throat aches with held back sounds of distress.

“…She ended her life two days before I arrived.” A pause. Then- “A butter knife…,” she scoffs out a laugh and shakes her head, still pointing her face skyward - as if the gods have all the answers to her grief. “… I didn’t know what to do with myself. I didn’t know what to do with her husband. So I gave him my condolences and I left. Cried in the woods for as long as I could and kept going. And since then, I haven’t stopped.”

Despite her efforts, tears still creep over her eyelids and race down her cheeks. They mirror the ones on your own face - warm and sad and annoying in the stiff little trails left behind.

And you sit like that for a while, silently crying. Her gaze stuck to the heavens, thinking about the friend she lost; and your gaze stuck on her, thinking about the possible metaphor behind her actions. Behind the full circle-ness of it all. She couldn’t save her friend but she saved you. What did that mean in the grand scheme of your lives? What did any of it mean? How would you continue to train everyday after seeing your Lord Commander cry? After witnessing her care?

She saved us. She saved us. She saved us.

“Thank you,” comes your hoarse whisper- the first in-tact thing you’ve said since waking up.

The sound of your voice tugs Brienne out of her stupor and draws her eyes to your sad face. You don’t have the energy to give her a sympathetic smile, so you settle on a soft look. If it says all you need it to say, she doesn’t show it - but she does look away quickly and reaches up to brush the tears away.

“What for?” It’s rough - hard - a sliver of the tough Commander she’s used to being.

No no no - don’t go back to that. Your heart is safe here. I won’t judge you for your tears.

“…Saving me.” It’s more courtesy than anything as you say that, but it’s fine. You’re not magically going to wish for life again after Brienne shares a sad story with you… though it already has your heart struggling against its achy confines.

Brienne shakes her head, the gold of her hair catching the fire’s light so beautifully that you have to take your eyes off of her in order to catch your breath. If we were her friend in her youth, we would have surely fallen in love with her.

“You shouldn’t have gotten to that point,” her voice is watery- muffled with the lingerings of sadness. “No one should.”

You nod. What else is there to say? What else is there to admit? Clearly she knows. Clearly she understands. And yet… you’re still curious…

“…Why do-n’t you hate me f-or it?” Your words come out in a squeaky whisper, but you don’t care. You just need to know. You just need to make sure that you’re not reading things wrong- that there’s a chance she may actually care- and that perhaps there is a reason to stay…

Brienne doesn’t respond immediately. It’s clear that she takes a few moments to bring herself back to the present. To clear her throat and wipe her eyes again and sniffle a few times and then turn back to you. She’s tried so hard in clearing herself up, but the eyes have never lied. And you see the sadness breeding there. Festering. Sadness is wicked. You don’t know if you’re the cause of it.

“You’re strong, Anya." A pause. "Training wouldn’t be the same without you.”

But you know she means to say Nothing would be the same without you.

---

Something I've been working on for a bit. It's not as good as I hoped it would be, but I'm tired and my back hurts so whatever. I hope you're all doing well.

And if you're not and you need some help, here's the National Suicide Hotline: 988 - And the link https://988lifeline.org/

It's gonna be okay, my friend. One second at a time. - Yours, Rip x

---

#rippersz #fanfictionwriter #fanfic #fanfiction #brienne of tarth #brienne of tarth got #brienne x reader #ser brienne #ser brienne of tarth got #ser brienne of tarth #angsty #angsty fic #mental health issues #mental health problems #mental health issues tw #be safe #I love you #brienne of tarth x reader #brienne of tarth fanfic

[veraberaxx]

I need some angsty…. Zutara with some smut…. I’ve been reading too fluffy. Any recommendations?

#zuko x katara #zutara #zutara fic rec #angsty fic #enemies to friends to lovers #hate love

[eclecticpatrolroadlawyer]

Illicit Affairs

Masterlist

Summary: Bucky and Y/n are in arranged marriage. Bucky is having an affair. This is all it is about... Let's see where Y/n's fate lies... Should we?

Pairings: Bucky x reader, Bucky x Dot ...

Preview

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

A/n (Author's Note) : I think this series is gonna be short and I am gonna finish it cause I have all the things ready for it... And also before that DON'T JUDGE A BOOK BY IT'S COVER... after reading the first chapter, don't judge... That's all I am gonna say... Hope you guys are gonna love the series though.

Note: Hey guys! Hope u like it. English is my second language so if there's any mistake u can inform me by messaging me privately. And PLEASE REBLOG and DON'T STEAL MY WORK. Please like and comment too so, that I can know ur guy's views. Thank u for reading guys! Have a nice day and please comment if u wanna be tagged in.

Taglist: @angstysebfan @cjand10 @learisa @themorningsunshine @binkszamsstuff @dreamerglassesgirl @winterslove1917

#bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x dark!reader #bucky x reader #college!bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes blurb #bucky barnes x fluff #bucky barnes x reader #bucky masterlist #bucky barnes smut #bucky imagine #bucky barnes x omega!reader x alpha!winter soldier #bucky barns imagine #chubby bucky x reader #college bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky x you #bucky x female reader #winter soldier!bucky barnes #winter soldier #taylor swift #winter solider x reader #winter soldier x you #winter soldier x y/n #winter soldier x reader #angsty fic #affair fic

[black-moon-bunny]

The Prime Mover

They announced that he was going to get married. But she wasn't his Prime Mover. Her heart broke in a million pieces. There was more to the story that just a simple betrayal.

Pairing : Terzo x Female reader. (Goes wrong.)

Word count: 6k.

Warnings: Use of Y/n. Angst. Feels. Hurt no comfort for now. Terzo acts like an asshole. Also, sad terzo. Arrange marriage. Reader is completely heartbroken.

A.N : Well, I wrote this while being in a dark place for a couple of days. I'm planning on making this a Three piece story, and yes I will give it a happy ending because I'm not that cruel. I made my self cry while writing this. A special thanks to @hauntedboobees who has been supporting me all week with her wonderful coments 💕 I love this community so much 😭 💕

She woke up feeling like something bad was going to happen, the whole week had been an emotional torture for her, first the fight between her and Terzo at the begging of the week, then the cold shoulder and useless attempts of talking and lastly the fact that he hadn't called her to his room in all week. They were not lovers...but everyone in the ghoul den said that they were, this "friends with benefits'' arrangement had been going for a whole year, and since maybe five or six months the ghouls decided to call them Mr and Ms devile ( Yes as in Cruella devile ) after they matched a black and white outfit for a party once. They always joked about how much of a couple they were and how Terzo seemed to be "tamed" by her. She played off like a joke each time, she was good at lying to herself. She knew that she had a lot of feelings for him, and before the fight she could swear that he felt something for her more than lust. Her heart weighs a ton inside of her right now, she knew that it was stupid to catch feelings...but no one saw how he behaved with her , how much he seemed to care about her, how sweet and loving he could be when they were alone resting in his bedroom....She wanted to believe that her feelings were not one sided.

As she dressed she found a necklace that he gave to her for her birthday, a golden inverted cross with an amethyst in the middle, the purple and gold combination that was completely him, a piece of him to make her company when he was away. She put on the necklace and left the room before her roommates. Omega sent her a message about meeting to talk before the morning mass in the chapel so she went a bit early.

As soon as she arrived, omega approached her, he had a worried expression concerned about something.

— Y/N ...We need to talk... I want you to understand that no matter what happens today you will always be a part of the ghoul den, you can come and go around as much as you want to...And that we are going to be by your side if you need us...—His voice tone seemed a bit agitated, and he was talking like there's something horrible going on.

— What's going on Omega...you are scaring me...—She tried to brush off the feeling in omega with a sweet smile. — Oh come on if you say it because of the fight between me and ter..I mean, Papa. It's fine at some point we are going to talk about it, we always do...And I'm not mad at him he had been acting weird that's all...

— Please...promise me that whatever happens today you will come to us if you need support...we are your friends too ...—He couldn't brush off the feeling so easily, she was so clueless...

— Support in what? Come on Omega spill it, you are acting weird too...I swear if it is just because the fight that we had is getting a bit too much....

— ...y/n...Today at the mass they are going to announce...

—OMEGA! —Terzo's voice echoed in the chapel. The ghoul turned around to face him, his expression was a mix between sadness and anger towards the man he calls not only boss but also friend. — You should not be alone here with the sister, morning mass is about to start and you need to prepare the equipment...

— Oh come on...What's going on between you two? ...And you are going to ignore me today too? ....it wasn't that big of a fight...come on...—She went to touch his hand but as soon as she touched him, he grabbed her hand and moved it away from him, without any word.

— Sister, you should be preparing yourself for....—His eyes darted to the necklace in her chest, his heart ached so hard that he needed a moment to keep talking.— If you have time for being so early here, you should be helping your sisters arrange the seats and cleaning before the mass don't you think?...—He looked at Omega — and you, follow me...

— Terzo this is...—The ghoul protested , but a fierce look of his boss shut him.— I'm so sorry y/n....—He left with the head of the church , she felt her heart stinging. What's going on? He was so mad at her that he was going to break their friendship over a stupid fight?...

She went to help as he told her, the hour went by and mass was ready to start, but this mass seemed weird...Everyone was there, Cardinal Copia ( who she believed was the most charming shy man she had ever met.) Papá Nihil, Papá Primo, Papá secondo, the upper clergy and Sister Imperator, there was another sister in the front with the rest, seated next to Terzo. She had seen her a couple of times during the last three months, she was from a congregation in Italy, maybe she was close to the Emeritus family or something and that's why she was seated there. A family friend.

After the beginning of the mass and the morning sermon from Primo, sister imperator went in front and spoke to the congregation.

— Sisters and Brothers in sin...You know how hard the work of our dark lord is, you know that in this path of sacrifice and hard work we need to help our community to grow, the Emeritus line also needs to grow along the community...So, I want to give everyone of you the great news, Our beloved papa Emeritus the Third had finally found his Prime Mover...Sister Verona, from our congregation in Italy...

She felt the air in her lungs escape without a sound, her stomach dropped and her heart felt crushed by a ton of stones. His prime mover...his future wife, mother of his children....the engines in her heart began to work, it was this the reason behind his behavior last week, she knew that they did not shared an exclusivity contract or something like that...but she also knew that he had not engaged in anything with other sisters since they make that agreement of friends with benefits, she couldn't call him unfaithful but she could scold him for not telling her? He was going to make it seem like she doesn't exist just for his future wife? Even their friendship?

The roar of applause and screams of joy brought her back to reality. She looked right at him, he couldn't even look at her. He went to the microphone and thanked everyone in the chapel for their congratulations. He gave a speech about how love was important among the brothers and sisters, the bond they shared together and how they met.

— And since three months ago I knew that she was the one for me...

And that was the final straw...she felt how her heart fell in pieces inside of her, her chest ached, her mind was running wild with memories about them in the last three months, the kisses, the softness, they late night conversations, the movie nights at the den...her hopes of him feeling the same as her. Some sisters looked right in her direction, they shared the same sad look on their faces towards her. They were her roommates, the friends that knew about her deal with him and knew how much he meant to her. Omega also looked at her along with the other ghouls, even Primo and Secondo seemed shocked by the news and looked at her for a moment. Everything that she could hear was white noise, her surroundings became blurry as the tears stung her eyes without falling, she was not going to cry...not in front of him, even if he didn't even look in her direction. Her body felt stiff, she was shaking a bit, the sister who was seated next to her asked softly if she felt alright or if she was a bit sick. She took the opportunity...she said that she felt a bit sick and stranded up slowly, terzo looked right at her at that moment, their eyes locking for a moment. Her heartbroken expression, her eyes filled with tears. He looked away and looked at his Prime mover, in a quick movement he kissed her, right in front of everybody. She looked away as soon as their lips touched, she couldn't handle it anymore...she left the chapel quickly, without wanting anyone to look at her.

As soon as she was outside the chapel the tears began to fall, she wanted to scream. To yell to Lucifer if her fate was fair, didn't she give enough?... didn't she deserved to be happy along the one she loved?...She felt betrayed...all was a lie, all of the sweet words, all of the late night kisses and cuddles, all of the nights in them both confessed their deepest fears, when he calmed down after a meltdown , when she gave him strength after a huge fight between him and his dad...She felt stupid. A stupid girl with stupid feelings...how could she have been so dumb? How did she think that he could really fall in love with her?...She was nothing special, even since the first time he flirted with her she had her doubts. But after so many nights in his arms, letting herself go into lust and pleasure guided by him...alongside him she started to believe that she was indeed desirable and beautiful. He looked at her with such adoration sometimes that she felt like the eighth wonder of the world. But that also felt like a dirty lie right now....She was so stupid, so incredibly dumb.

Inside of the chapel Omega moved his feet impatiently, he saw her left, he knew that she most probably was in incredible pain right now. He needed to go and see her, she was his friend, the rest of the ghouls were asking themselves what happened, how did this happen? Who was she? Why did Terzo lie all this time then? Why when they both seemed so good together? And the poor sister...her face when they kissed it was the most heartbreaking thing to watch. They were all mad at him at the moment, how could he? Omega looked right at Terzo, he catched a glimpse of sadness in his eyes as he looked to the door....

She walked without a specific direction...she saw the big entrance door and thought for a minute in fleeing away...but where? She had no one...she only had the church, she couldn't leave. She kept walking, her crying made echo in the empty halls of the church, she felt crumbling slowly, her cries were getting more and more emotional, less controlled, she looked at the hallway that went to the ghoul den..and she walked straight to the door and entered, she knew that no one was going to be there. No one entered without the ghouls permission, but she was so used to going there that she didn't mind being found inside, she went to the living room of the den and let herself rest on the big sofa. She cried for what seemed hours until she fell asleep from pure exhaustion.

Inside the chapel, as soon as the mass ended the ghouls went looking for her in every room of the abbey, her room, the garden, the second chapel, the practice room, even terzo's room...but she was nowhere to be found, they became progressively more worried as the clock went by. Omega went to Terzo's office and entered just to find him there, looking at the window with no expression at all.

— I hope you are happy...—He spit in anger— You broke her Terzo...She loved you! Did you even look at her!?

— ....What did you wanted me to do?...It's the way that things are...I never expected her to put such a show in front of everyone, I never expected her to caught feelings...that was her mistake not mine....— He was doing his best effort to not break in front of the ghoul, the weight of his lies and his aching heart were making everything more difficult

— Don't fucking lie to me, you were the one that told me how much you wanted her to be only yours, how did you have this big travel prepared just for the two of you. What the fuck...

— I was going to make her life miserable!! I was trying to save her!! Do you think that they care about me being Papa!? Do you think that I have any real power here!? I'm their fucking puppet!! I'm just a piece of their game! I'm just a fucking marionette being pulled by my own father and Imperator! I don't have a fucking choice!! ....—He snapped, his rage was big, as big as his pain. His eyes burned with tears that could not fall out. — ...they were going to make her life a living nightmare....

— You are exaggerating Boss.....I know that you would do anything to protect her but this is too much..

—.I'm not exaggerating....Verona is part of an old family like ours...her family has enough money and influence in the Vatican city, enough for us to steal the sacred books that we need...it's a fucking arrange marriage...once again , I'm just useful if I'm being manipulated by my father...

— Why you didn't say anything?...about this marriage being a fucking power move from your family?....You are my boss but...we are friends Terzo...we could have tried to find another solution...

—There was no other solution Omega...This is something that I had to do quickly...make sure that everyone knew that we were going to tie the knot..

— That's why you kissed sister Verona in front of y/n?...I got the arranged marriage part but...you totally broke her with that ...

—....I did it because I want her to hate me...if she hates me it will be easier for her...it will be easier for me to not lose my mind and go to her room begging for her forgiveness...begging for her to be with me...If she hates me , I can love her from far away knowing that she will never look at me in the way that I crave ...—He looked at his desk, in one of the drawers there was a little Jack Skellington plush that she gave to him for his birthday. He recalled how she told him that it reminded her of him, how happy she was when he kept him in his office. He grabbed the little plush and placed it on his chest, close to him. It still smelled like her...like the woman that he truly loved but could never have.

— .... Please terzo...there has to be something that we can do, they cannot force you to marry her...

—They can, and believe me they will.....can I ask you one more thing? Not as your boss but as a friend....please take care of her.

— You need to tell her the truth....

— I can't....I can't....No one can ...Imperator would kill me if she found out I fucked up her plan..—He left the plushie on his drawer carefully, as it was now his most priced possession. The only reminder that she loved him and that he loved her— ...leave me alone...

— Terzo....—Omega disobeyed and hugged him, he knew now that he was going through the same pain and heartache. He left the youngest of the Emeritus resting in his chest, he didn't hear him cry, but the way in which his shoulders shivered was the clear signal of his emotions.

No one said a word, it wasn't necessary, for Omega this was the time that he needed to be there for Terzo, not his boss, his friend...the one who was always so flashy, so flamboyant and a master of sweeping sisters and brothers of their feets with just one look, one smirk. The always so confident Terzo, behind doors was another human being, not so confident, filled with rage and anger, filled with self hatred that followed him as a dark cloud, he felt useless most of the time, the massive amounts of pressure, the relationship with his family, the void left by his mostly absent mother... There were only a few beings on this planet who knew the whole Truth behind the confidence of the young emeritus, Copia and Omega were his closest friends, the ones that tried to make him avoid the fall each time he was closer to break. For omega this was so painful to watch, he never thought of seeing his friend and boss so heartbroken. He needed to do something...he knew that the pain could drive both of them crazy.

Outside the office the ghouls still looked around trying to find her, Mountain went to the den to look for his comfortable shoes in case he needed to go up the hill outside the abbey to find her, that's when he found her. Curled up in a ball on the sofa , her face was puffy and red...He knew that she had been crying her eyes out. He called the rest of the ghouls, no one wanted to wake her up, Mountain took her to his bed and let her rest there, covering her with some blankets as the other ghouls talked in the living room.

— ....She is in severe pain...—Sunshine sighed— I can feel it... completely heart broken...

— ....Why did Terzo do that?...He seemed so in love with her some weeks ago....— Cirrus replied looking to mountain who had a concerned and thoughtful expression.

— There is something really sketchy going on...We know that our boss is a womanizer, but he seemed really...in love with her...This is completely out of character even for him...—Mountain replied and took a seat. — Our priority is her right now...Sunny, can you take care of her? Let's make her stay a couple of days here...

— It's okay...I will take care of her, but what are we going to say to Imperator if she starts looking for her?...

—She is sick, that's all...Do you think Copia knows something about this? He is also close to terzo...Secondo and Primo seemed as surprised as us...

—....You don't have to do anything guys....— Y/n entered the living room, she seemed small, her always bright and big personality was nowhere to be seen, she had puffy eyes , and his nose was still a bit red. She tried to brush her fingers and fix her robe before walking to the door. — I'm sorry for...crashing here, I'm going to my room...

— Stay here... Sweetheart you are wasted, we can go to look for your things right cumulus?

— Yeah...Cirrus and I will bring your things here so you can stay for a couple of days...

— I'm fine...just....Don't pity me, it's stupid....I'm just a stupid girl who let a complete womanizer make me believe that it was worth the try...—She responded with no emotion at all.— I'm going to my room, I need to sort something out...and please, don't try to do something....It is what it is...

— Please y/n...we know that...it's too much too soon...but we are here for you if you need us...stay here at least tonight, we can watch movies and eat something tasty...— Sunshine hugged her, she let herself rest a bit in the ghoulette, after a long breath she smiled a bit, defeated but honest.

— Thank you guys.... really, I will...I'm going for a couple of my stuff and then after dinner I can come to stay the night...I just need a moment...

— We get it....—Mountain kissed her forehead, they all had a soft spot for the sister, she was kind and always treated them with respect and care. To everyone in the den,seeing her like that was a worry. A huge worry.

She went back to her room and began to pack a couple of things in a small backpack, her pajamas and some clothes. Her roommates understood her decision and decided to help her do her chores for a couple of days. She undressed and changed her clothes to something more casual and comfortable. As she moved some things around she looked herself in the mirror, the necklace adorning her neck was a reminder of broken promises and lies. After packing and organizing some stuff she left the room, took the necklace off and went to his office. She was going to return the piece of jewelry to its owner.

As she made her way to Terzo's office her heart felt heavy, she was nervous but she needed to let it go as fast as she could....and that was a start.

— Excuse me Papa...—She entered without knocking, not that she cared anyway.

He tensed up seeing her. What was she doing there?...He could not let his feelings control him, he needed to be strong, he needed to be cold towards her. He needed to protect her even from him.

— What are you doing here?....I guess that by now it is pretty obvious that our arrangement is over. —He tried to not look at her eyes directly, his expression was stoic. Even when his insides were burning.

— I know....That's why I came. —She walked to his desk and left the necklace on top of it. — This is yours....Your precious future wife is going to look amazing with it.

— It was a gift...there is no use in getting it back. It belongs to you...

— I don't want it anymore...If you don't want it either throw it in the trash...—She was trying her best to be calm and show little to no emotion, but slowly it was breaking. So many times in that office seared on his lap, kissing and talking, working together...eating together sometimes when the work was too much to get out to eat...She was about to leave everything in that office forever. Starting with him.

— ...You are leaving?....—He saw the small backpack and the way in which she was dressed. His heart ached by the mere thought of her leaving...his egoist desire of keeping her at least in the abbey, the masochistic desire of torturing his soul looking at her from a distance...

— Something like that, not that you care....it seems that you never did anyway....

— ...y/n....

— No no, I know I'm being petty....and I know for a fact that I was stupid. Stupid enough to believe in your fucking lies, stupid enough to believe in your words....— Her feelings ended up slipping, she couldn't hold them any longer. She needed to let the pain out in some way. — Stupid enough to believe that you were interested in me... —Her voice broke as tears fell slowly from her eyes to her jaw, her hands shook a bit as she looked right at him trying not to scream or throw something. The rage of feeling betrayed, the pain that she felt in her heart for losing him, the feeling of being used.

— I'm not a liar... — He felt how the guilt and pain sunk his heart. He wanted so badly to hug her, to make her stop crying and tell her that he loved her, that he was doing all of this because he wanted to protect her. That it was all a scheme , a plan...that if he had any chance of living another life with her he would do it....

—....You are....And you know what it worst than you being a liar? Me believing in everything that you did...The kisses, the nights making love to each other....I loved you....that is what hurt the most...I fucking fell in love with you against all odds of the two being something some day. I wanted to believe in you!....—She raised her voice a bit, and immediately after she stopped talking. She took a deep breath and let some of the anger flow again inside of her, she was not going to make a scandal there, she was not going to give him the chance to see her completely broke. She just turned around and walked towards the exit.— I'm not going to return here, so don't worry about me. I will not tell a soul of this...and I hope that you have a happy marriage, and that all of the things that you did were worth it....Goodbye Terzo. —She left the office and went walking again, she lighted up a cigarette she stole from Dewdrop and got outside to the garden, as soon as she sat she began crying...she felt so defeated.

As she was crying her heart out in the garden, a soft woman's voice approached her, seemingly worried.

— Are you okay?...— As soon as she looked up she realized that the one asking for her was sister Verona...terzo's prime mover. She wanted to scream at her for a bit...but she was not guilty, most probably she didn't even know about her existence.

—....I'm just heartbroken...don't worry about me...

— Piccolina, you seem like a train went over you, it had to be the biggest heartbreak huh?....I'm so sorry, is there anything that you need right now?

She was so beautiful....and so nice. She was sure that she would become a great prime mover, a great mother, a great companion for the leader of the church. She felt envious, how could she ever stand a chance competing with someone like her?...

— Don't be...I'm going to be fine....

— You sure will! Look at you woman...you are beautiful, and you seem nice. I'm sure that you will meet the one, as our dark lord guides your path...

— I'm sure I will....— It was cruel and comic at the same time, the irony of being comforted by the woman that is going to marry the man that you loved, the poor thing without even knowing that you are crying for the man she is going to make a life with. — You already found yours, haven't you?....Papa nonetheless...

— Oh...yeah....how charming isn't it?....—Her demeanor seemed sarcastic when talking about him. She was about to talk a bit more until she looked at the clock in the entry of the garden. — Oh merda..I have a meeting and I'm already late....take care sweet girl, and don't shed tears for an asshole who did not appreciate the wonderful woman that you are...Good bye sister....

— Y/n...sister y/n....— She replied as she saw how she was trying to guess her name.

Verona could swear that she had heard that name before, and she seemed quite familiar...But she couldn't get quite there yet to remember where or with who.

— Goodbye sister y/n!..

Verona walked fast to Terzo's office, she was pretty tired but wanted to finish all of this misery business as soon as possible...A arranged marriage, in this era..

It was stupid. She adored Terzo...as a friend. She never felt anything for the guy more than friendship and a sweet care, they had meet each other years ago in Italy when the man was a boy and he was studying for becoming a priest in the church of Satan...Being son of the Emeritus bloodline was a lot of pressure, and she understood him being herself subject of big pressure by her own family name and fame.

The friendship grew easily, they got along well....but an arranged marriage was too much. But what could she do?....her family was hoping for a marriage...

— Terzo are you there?....—She walked in the office, he was seated holding something in his hand, totally lost in his thoughts.. — We need to talk....

— About what?... How are we going to name our future kids or what?...—He replied harshly, he felt bad in doing so, he knew that it wasn't her fault either...

—....We cannot marry and you know it...we are never going to work , and it's stupid....our families are friends if they need the books so much they just need to ask...

— It's a plan by our fathers and you know it...—He sighed and left the necklace on top of some papers. — ...at least it's you...it could have been a complete stranger...

— Yeah....it could had been...—She looked to the necklace, and then it hit her...The girl crying, it was the same one that she saw in Terzo's office a couple of months ago, it was the same girl that was on his backstage when she was talking with Copia...the owner of the necklace. — You know...there was a sister crying in the garden...—She looked at him and took the necklace — She told me that someone broke her heart...the poor thing was crying her eyes out while smoking outside...

—....Yeah?...— He tensed a bit, it could be her?..— Poor girl....

— Yeah...Sister y/n......The owner of this piece of jewelry... isn't it?....— His eyes opened in surprise, she tied the loose threads so easily, she saw behind his masked emotions with such ease— Oh terzo....you broke her heart?...are you the one she is crying about?...this is...because of me?....

—This is not your fault Verona...it's mine...I was a coward and....pushed her away...

— She doesn't know that this is arranged? ...what did you tell her?...

—I planned a fight....then I just ignored her until today....— Confessing this to her felt so relieving and at the same time made him feel so ashamed— Did you talk with her?....

— I did! Now I felt terrible....poor thing...Me there trying to cheer her up and I'm one of the reasons she is crying!...How could you possibly not tell me that you were with her!?....and how you possibly could have done that to her! Terzo....you are better than that....

— I'm not...I'm just a puppet in this play...

— That's it....I'm tired of this bullshit..—She put the necklace in her pocket and before he could stop her she turned around and looked directly into his eyes. — You are a fucking grown up terzo, you are papa! Do something!...Don't let her go if you love her you idiot...

She left the room and went again to the garden, hoping to find her, but she was nowhere to be found.

She was outside the building, she went for a coffee outside, alone. She looked at the buildings that were close to the abbey, could she ever leave the church?...She was going to be able to live with him and his image lurking over her everyday?...She didn't knew what to do, she wanted to leave but had nowhere to go, she wanted to stay but she knew that seeing him every day was going to kill her slowly...

As she walked to the coffee shop she felt someone calling her from a car, she got closer to it to reveal the sweet Cardinal Copia. Dressed much less formal and elegant, he looked casual and comfortable.

— It's freezing, do you want to go for a ride instead?....—They both laughed a bit, she got up in the car and thanked him. — No worries...How are you feeling?...— She knew that he was aware of the situation, she could trust him.

— Honestly?....I felt like shit. Like someone stomped on my heart and broke it in thousands of sharp pieces...

—....I know this gorgeous place , it's a bit far from here...Let me make a call and we can go if you like...they have an amazing Italian coffee....

— I would love to....Thanks Cardinal....

— I'm a bit down also, we could use some good company don't you think?...—He called Sister Imperator. — Sister, yeah...Oh no no, don't worry I'm okay, I'm going to take a bit more. I'm going to look for some things....Si Si, church things....Si, do you want a cinnamon roll for your noon coffee? Si , si...Thank you sister, byeee...—He looked at her with a smile.— Well...off we go, put in your seat belt please...

— Thank you Cardinal...for real....—She smiled at him and let her head rest on the window. Looking outside, the day was beautiful, but to her it seemed toned down.

— There's nothing to thank sister, you need to clear your mind...Sorry if I overstep but...Did you talk with Terzo?...

— Well...No, yeah.... something like that, I just.... yelled at him and left....I can't believe that I was just a fool...

— You are not... You are in love Piccolina, and ...I believe that he is in love with you too...Hear me out, please....This could sound a bit weird but, Verona is not interested at all in him, and this feels too rushed...even for Terzo. Something doesn't fit well...

— Oh Cardinal...you are just trying to cheer me up....

— Piccolina, I'm not. I swear, Verona has been my friend since we were kids, if she was going to get married I would have known....Secondo and Primo didn't know either...This seems off to everyone...

—Well....maybe he just didn't have the balls to tell me about it...Either way, We are nothing at this moment...He is going to get married and...I will have to live with it....

— Do you really love him?...

— .....I do....It's stupid, we were just friends...and then we thought that it was a great idea become friend with benefits ... But oh cardinal...he was so sweet with me...He helped me so much, he held me in his arms so many times when I couldn't sleep at night, I was so in love with him...my heart is so broken...—She couldn't hold the tears, he kept driving but had one of his hands on her shoulder, comforting her.

— ...I can't promise that I will make things better, but I'm going to try Sister.... let's go for that coffee, you will love it.

They went for coffee, to the place that Copia has bragged so much, she saw from the window the abbey getting smaller and smaller in the distance. She tried to get her mind focused on other things, the beautiful greenery from the hills, the music that the Cardinal had in the car, the small talk between them.

She was determined to get over him, or die trying.

A.N: Heeey, I hope you enjoyed it. 💕 I know, it's sad and hurts a lot. But,.I wanted to change the focus of this type of fic in which they use the other woman as a threat or make her evil, in this story I wanted to make sister Verona a likeable character, to make clear that she is not the enemy or wants to hurt the reader. Again, thank you so much for the support and love 💕 And remember! Eat well, drink water and get some rest 💕

Tag list : @yuk-for-president @hauntedboobees @onedaughterofman @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @serene-sun @jbcalway If you want to be added to the tag list comment or reblog and I will add you 💕

#terzo ghost #ghost fanfiction #ghost the band #ghost bc fanfic #the band ghost fanfiction #papa emeritus fanfiction #terzo angst #terzo x y/n #terzo x reader #terzo x reader angst #angsty fic

[doctorwhocreations]

You tolerate it.

A/N: hello!! Well it certainly has been a while since I have created any form of fan fic like this! However me and my bestie @whodoyoudo just exploded with idea’s one day and together we have co-written this piece! So please do enjoy! ✨

Warnings: mentions of heart failure, angst! Lots of angst, feeling unwanted, mentions of near death?? I guess? (I think that’s all! I do hope, I am uploading this at 23:48 with very tired eyes so please correct me if I should add more warnings) happy ending, fluffy end 💕

I was sitting underneath the control room of the TARDIS. Knees tucked into the chest, hands completely covering my face as I cry into them. Hiding away in the tiniest nook I could find (and get myself into) of this somewhat secret little compartment of the room.

I knew I couldn't hide forever, like a child avoiding a sibling or parent after an argument. It felt like he hadn't even noticed my absence, I immediately got up once the Doctor retreated to his room. My mind was swimming with thoughts as I packed my bags. "He doesn't care. He is going to ask you to leave, so leave before he has the chance."

My heart hurt in my chest, why did I have to care? Why did I have to fall in love with him? I was an idiot, clearly he would never feel the same.

I knew we still hadn't taken off yet, we were parked not far from Cardiff (the Doctor always seemed to like it there). So I walked out the TARDIS doors and didn't look back… well at least that was the plan, until I heard footsteps and my name being called

in the distance.

"Y/N!!!" A familiar voice echoed.

I kept my back turned. I didn't want him to see me cry, so I wiped my eyes quickly. But the tears just kept coming out.

Words I couldn’t form, only stifled silent cries. So quiet the Doctor didn’t even notice.

What he did notice when he finally entered the room though was all of the bags I had packed to take with me the very first day he asked me to become his companion. (I always hated being called that though, because I always saw him as so much more than just his companion.) Snapping out of his flashback the Doctor asked in a very serious voice, his eyes laid on me.

“What’re you doing?” Raising an eyebrow as all I could do was face away from him, while continuing to now frantically pack. He continued with the questions, “Do you want to leave? Is that why you’re packing?” The Doctor now asks in a more upset manor. Building up some form of courage I finally respond back, “Well.. I can just tell.. you don’t want me to be here anymore” Looking over my shoulder ever so slightly only to look at the Doctor’s converse shoes, the glossy eyes and tears evident on my face as I continue, “Because…why would you?”

Those words cut through the Doctor like a knife. His eyebrows knitting together in complete confusion, he responds “Why wouldn’t I want you to be here?”

I build up enough courage now to finally get my words out. I now fully turn to face him and say “Isn’t it obvious? You never look at me, we haven't had a proper conversation for days! Even when we’re on adventures together, lately it’s like being with a tour guide rather than with-” I paused as I hated to say the word but I say it anyway “...with a companion. You can’t even bare to touch my hand."

My face began to blush, I smiled sadly, "Like I remember how your hand would brush over mine when you taught me how to use the control panel. But now.."

I sighed, "But now you avoid me like you’re allergic to me.. So I thought I best just go, it saved me giving an explanation, since it was, and still is too painful. So I saved you the time, so you wouldn't need to ask me to leave, I got the message crystal clear.”

His eyes now locked with mine, my heart sank. To see him standing there with so much confusion in his eyes like he doesn’t even know But I know he does. I know he just doesn’t like me anymore and he is too polite to admit I’ve overstayed my welcome.

He just stands there and says “What!?” He shakes his head slightly, baffled by what I had just told him. Though I thought it was the reality of what was happening.

The Doctor walks a little closer to me, but not very much.

“I just..can’t believe you would even think that I don’t want to look at you!” He was clearly deflecting having to finally explain his true feelings and the truth. Getting very irritated by him in my mind denying the obvious I loudly erupt with “Oh Doctor just admit it, will you!!” Tears now streaming from my eyes, a snotty tearful and emotional mess standing before him. It was so frustrating that I had to spell it out to him, the so-called ever so intelligent Doctor, he knows everything about everything. Except THIS. “You’re so much older and wiser and I…” I look down as if to be ashamed of myself, for even thinking that he would even like me back, let alone LOVE.. The same way I love him.

“I’m always taking up too much space or time.. So I’ll just go.” I tell him in a stern tone. I frantically continue to pack my things, wiping my nose with my sleeve as I do.

“It's okay, I'd rather know where I stand, then have you keep putting up with me. I know you’ve just been tolerating me.” I say crying a little harder than I wanted too whilst saying that. This is exactly why I wanted to sneak off without confronting the Doctor, I knew I'd be a weepy mess.

The Doctor just stayed frozen still. Tears now forming in his eyes, I am slightly taken back, I had never seen the Doctor like this before. He gently touches my arm to pull me to face him, as things now get heated up with emotion. I look up at him now with the tears still streaming, “You’re wrong. So.. SO wrong. I couldn't bring myself to tell you the truth. About how you can spend the rest of your life with me, but I can’t spend the rest of mine with you. That’s the curse of the Time Lords, Y/N.”

I look at him baffled. “What do you mean, Doctor?”

“You grow old Y/N, you wither and you die! Imagine seeing that happen to someone you…” He paused. Bringing himself to say the words he so desperately tried to suppress.

My heart throbbed, “What Doctor?”

"...Someone you love. Someone I love! I wasn’t looking away from you or avoiding you because I didn't want you around anymore. It's quite the opposite." He ruffled his hair, I had never seen him so open and honest before, I noticed his face turn a rosey shade of pink, "I have been suppressing my feelings for you, failing to stop them from becoming any deeper because I can’t bare to see you hurt because of me.. I can't stand the thought of watching the woman I love wither and perish.”

The Doctor now in floods of tears, he didn’t even expect to be telling you all this. But it had to come out, for he couldn't stand by and watch you leave with those very same bags, of things you brought along on a day with so much happiness. Now reminding the Doctor of that hurt look on your face that has been burnt into his memory.

I stare as one final tear falls down my cheek and crash lands on the tip of the Doctor’s converse. I am speechless, I drop my packed bag and fling my arms round him, holding him close, we stand embraced in silence for a little while.

"I love you too, Doctor." I finally confess, he squeezes me a little tighter.

We finally wiped our tears and sit at the end of the bed together. He placed his hand in mine, the other gently caressing my cheek. "So are you going to stay?"

My heart sings with joy and I can't help but find myself kissing his lips.

I smile playfully, "Does that answer your question, Doctor?"

The Doctor winks at me and with a smirk answers “Yeah, I suppose it does.”Only seconds after the moment of pure bliss shared between me and the doctor, my heart begins to race. A sensation I have never experienced before.

I stop, frozen in the one spot as the sensation continues. The Doctor is in a sudden panic. “Y/N what is it?? What’s wrong!? What’s going on!?”

"Something doesn't feel right, my heart beats.." The Doctor placed my head between his hands and looked me in the eyes. "It's okay, just take deep breaths."

He walked away to grab a stethoscope, he placed it on my chest, he was suddenly very quiet. “Doctor, what is it? You scare me when you go quiet.”

He looks at me with a face I have never seen before. A look of fear that he has never expressed to me. “Well…y-you’re.. You’re going into cardiac arrest."

"WHAT?! Doctor! You're scaring me! Am I dying??" My eyes begin to cloud with tears. "No well.. maybe.."

He rushed over to the control panel and to check the monitor, "Just scanning your antibodies now for any anomalies."

As the scan was completed, "No that can't be possible." The Doctor quickly runs his hands through his hair. Unable to take in what he is seeing on the monitor screen. Images flashed through my mind, I felt slightly out of breath. Sparks began to shoot into the air from my body and a gold mist floated from my mouth. The Doctor quickly kissed me, as the energy surged through my body, it suddenly died down and my heart beat returned back to normal. I felt slightly weak and fell into the Doctor's arms.

"Y/N! Stay with me, are you okay?"

I was in a slight daze, "What.. What just happened?"

The Doctor sits me up not letting go of me until he knows I am fully capable of supporting my body. When he does he gets up and rushes back over to the monitor and begins to unbeknownst to me run a plethora of tests and scans on my body that thankfully the TARDIS can undertake in less than a minute. The Doctor smiled towards the console, "She’s great isn’t she, old girl!”

He turned to me, “I’m just running a few scans and tests, you okay? How’re you feeling?”

I gently rub the side of my head and wait a minute as I slowly regain my vision after it became blurry.

“I-I think I’m alright actually, what’re you running scans and tests for exactly?” I look up at the Doctor with a slightly scrunched up, confused expression. The TARDIS monitor then makes a ding noise. “Ahh! Here we go!” The Doctor quickly exclaimed before he began quickly reading out what it says. His smile drops as a blank yet serious expression crosses his face, he gets out his sonic screwdriver and slowly begins to circle round to scan me.

“Doctor?! Please tell me what is going on!? What just happened to me?!” I half shout out of frustration and fear. Watching as he scans me all over with that bloody annoying screwdriver! The noise only heightens my anxiety.

“Well…” He begins as he holds up the sonic screwdriver to his eye level. “It appears you have just experienced..Something I can’t quite believe to be real. As it is impossible.”

I folded my arms, “Are you quite done yet?”

“Oh sorry,” He lowered his sonic screwdriver and put it back in his jacket, “Your body cells have rejuvenated from spending so much time (he winks at you because of the pun) in the TARDIS.. So basically that means, somehow you’ve become part Galifreyan.”My mouth hung open, “I.. I.. I what?? I didn’t know that was a thing.”

“Neither did I until now.” The Doctor broke into a grin and picked me up into his arms, “You really are something!” At the sudden swiftness of the Doctor lifting me up, spinning me around once into my arms it was as if all my fears and worries just evaporated. I smile and hold onto him like I’d never let go. “So now that I’m part Galifreyan does this mean I can regenerate?” Thinking about it for a split second I quickly answered myself with “Ah yes but only if necessary it would seem.” The doctor cheekily smirks as he places you back on your two feet. “It looks like you get twice as smart too” ;) I playfully shake my head at his remark with a matching cheeky grin.

#doctor who #bbc #doctor who imagines #doctor who imagine #10th doctor #10th doctor imagine #imagines #doctor who creations #doctor who fan show #tardis #bbc doctor who #10th doctor x reader #doctor who x y/n #10th doctor angst #angsty #angsty fic #back to the tardis

[you-heard-what-i-meant]

Triple Frontier - Breathe Again

Just a little cute brotherly thing with the Miller Boys!

Posted on AO3 Here!

When Reader / un-named original female character (referred to only as "she" or "her" throughout) has an asthma attack, Will does his best to help her until Benny can get her inhaler. The Millers think about their unhappy childhood and how it's made them who they are today. Happy Ending!

Trigger Warnings: Asthma Attack. Character struggles to breathe. Reference to anxiety attacks, child abuse, domestic abuse, death of parents, alcoholism, drug abuse and a near death experience for both of the Miller boys.

I don't own the Miller boys unfortunately, and as usual my work is un-beta'd so my apologies for any mistakes!

Please don't repost, reproduce, sample, or lay claim to any of my work - I pour my soul into these works (and yes, it's cheaper than therapy!), and it's heartbreaking when people do these things!

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Breathe Again

It’s lucky that Will’s hands are twice the size of hers and he’s still built like a soldier - she’s gripping his hand with surprising strength, and a less robust person would be feeling their bones screeching in protest. His other hand is rubbing large, soothing circles on her shaking back as he crouches in front of her, wishing they’d found somewhere more comfortable for her to sit than the stony concrete they were running on. Will’s clear blue eyes are alert and monitoring constantly, but his smile is soft and encouraging. Somewhere in the haze of panic and oxygen deprivation, a thought drifts into her chaotic mind - no wonder the Miller boys could have their pick of the ladies… and the men.

Will is grateful she’s not wearing lipgloss, or any makeup at all, so he can properly assess the pink creeping from her cheeks into the whites of her eyes, and the grey-blue tinge just barely visible around her mouth and through her lips. Her free hand is clutching at her ribs so tightly he can see the bones of her knuckles shining pearlescent through her skin. 

At some point he’ll need to make a judgement call - ambulance or not - and no matter how many brothers he’s held as they bled (his real brother unfortunately included), he never shakes the fear that he’ll make the wrong call or make it too late. 

“Hey-“ his soft voice filters in through her ringing ears, her eyes snapping up to meet his. “ - Breathe with me, c’mon.” He manages to loosen her grip on his hand just enough to press her palm flat against his chest with his own hand over the top, and starts to take exaggeratedly slow, deep breaths. He focuses on keeping his heart rate as slow and steady as he can - a skill that he’s finely honed in his years spent behind a rifle.

Their eyes are still locked, his face relaxed despite the tension of the situation, his blue eyes crystal clear. There’s always something almost mischievous in his eyes, a kind of twinkle like he’s about to make a joke or flirt with you.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she starts to register the steady, strong thumpa-thumpa-thumpa of his heart under her palm, the flexing and relaxing of the firm muscles of his chest as he breathes. And he’s so warm. It’s captivating, and for a moment she’s not so focused on the way her lungs are convulsing and seizing inside her or the feeling of a strap being pulled painfully, crushingly tight around her ribs, or the immediate fear of oh God I’m suffocating I’m going to die. No doubt this was Will’s intention, as he notices the tiny change in her and murmurs soft affirmations that fan his breath across her face. 

The almost intoxicating spell is broken by Benny’s running footsteps as he approaches from Will’s left, and the next second the younger man is dropping to a crouch beside them. His voice has a barely-detectable frantic edge under the steady exterior that’s been trained into him by the military - Will is better at hiding his emotions, controlling his fear, keeping his voice absolutely calm and even.

“The bag was in the locker like you said, took me a minute to find this though-” he’s holding out a small plastic inhaler, shaped like an “L” and with her name and date of birth identified on the printed label on the side. “- this was the only one in there.”

“Great, can you-” Will begins, but Benny is already yanking the cap off the inhaler and holding it out. “- Thanks. Alright…” 

Will’s hand leaves her back and takes the little device, giving it a hearty shake for a few seconds, before holding it out towards her. Her hand shakily releases its grip on her ribs and grabs the inhaler, Will’s long fingers curling around her own to steady it as she forms her lips around the mouthpiece. As she depresses the little canister protruding from the top, both Millers watch her intently. The hiss of the inhaler is somewhat lost in the rasping pull of her breath as struggles draw the medicine into her lungs. Will’s fingers tighten slightly on her own and gently pull the inhaler away from her lips. 

“Try and hold it in -” she manages maybe 2 seconds before her breath huffs back out in a rush, immediately replaced by another gasp of air and a round of coughing. “- Ok, let’s give it a few seconds to start working before the next one, ok?” She barely manages to acknowledge his words with a tiny nod of her head, so focused on trying to draw oxygen into her spasming lungs. 

Benny’s eyebrows are drawn into the slightest frown of worry as he watches her continue to fight for breath. He’s holding the cap of the inhaler carefully in his large hand, making sure to only touch the outside as his free hand occupies itself by taking up the soothing motions on her back that his brother had been administering moments before. A few more ragged breaths pass before Will is guiding the device back to her mouth again. “Ok, one more time. Breathe as deep as you can-” click, hiss, inhale, “- great, hold it as long as you can.”

This time when Will pulls the inhaler away she manages nearly 5 seconds before her breath is leaving her in a whoosh again. He manages to wriggle the device out of her grasp and drops it into Benny’s waiting palm. The younger Miller drops his hand from her back just long enough to deftly click the cap back on before he returns to his gentle ministrations, inhaler gripped tightly in his other hand. Will still has one hand holding hers to his chest, but the other is now cupping her face as his thumb gently glides back and forth along her cheekbone. 

“Great - you’re doing great.” The blonde murmurs encouragingly. Benny’s alarmed by how bloodshot the whites of her eyes are, but his anxious glance at his brother receives the tiniest shake of the head - Will’s silent acknowledgment of Benny’s communication and a response of ‘not now’. 

Their unbreakable bond and  “strange” silent communication is what had made the brothers the US Military’s most in-demand special ops team. They’d always been able to communicate in an odd, non-verbal way. It was almost a form of telepathy they’d developed as Will had essentially raised his baby brother alone, their father killed in combat when Benny was eight and Will was 13. Their mother had collapsed into a pit of grief that quickly led to violent drink-and-drug fuelled rages.

It had finally claimed her life a few months after Will’s 18th birthday. He’d joined the forces, and it had pushed her into a drugs binge so extreme she’d OD’d. Benny was 15 when he’d found her on the kitchen floor.  

Will was legally old enough to be his brother’s legal guardian, and he was lucky his CO saw the potential in him - pulling strings to make sure Will could start his military career and still look after Benny. 

But Benny had spiralled - causing trouble at school, fighting, doing illegal shit, getting arrested, fucking, drinking, drugs (both taking and dealing)… anything to quiet the demons in his head. 

When Benny was 17 Will had found him unconscious and barely breathing on his bedroom floor after a drink-and-drug-fuelled-bender of his own. His instincts and brand-new training had kicked in and he’d flipped his baby brother onto his side, pounding his back and stopping him choking to death on his own vomit just in time. In the quiet, broken aftermath on the bedroom floor Benny had confessed to feeling relieved when they no longer had to sneak around their mother, lest she fly into a rage and Will take a beating to protect him. Will had softly, achingly admitted he was relieved that he no longer had to fear what she would do to Benny while he was at school or work, but that he would always, always take the hits to protect him, forever. He’d had a new danger to protect his baby brother from, but this time he couldn’t take the bruises in Benny’s place. They talked until the sun rose, and that afternoon Benny cleaned himself up and they went to meet Will’s CO.

They’d rapidly risen through the ranks of the forces together, making it to top-tier special ops in just three years. Will made good on his promise to protect Benny too many times to count, but especially 5 years later when he took 2 bullets that were destined to send Benny to meet their parents again. As Benny quietly cried next to his brother’s hospital bed - a sadly familiar situation in their childhood - he realised it was the first time he’d had cause to do so since their mother died. 

Now, with his gaze entirely focused on her face, Benny feels the moment Will starts to relax. A second later there’s an audible change in the sound of her breathing as her chest finally starts to unlock, the strap around her ribs loosening and her lungs falling back into a shallow but steady rhythm. Benny trusts his brother - and his judgement -  unquestioningly, and allows himself to start to climb down from high alert.  

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Will’s hands have moved to her shoulders. With every ragged breath she seems to slump more and more, almost as if bearing her own weight is getting too tiring, and what started as a comforting tactile connection is fast becoming a grip to keep her upright.  

Benny shuffles to sit beside her on the stony concrete, his side flush against hers. He’s blessed with a body that works impeccably well, but knows from experience how exhausting an anxiety attack can be and expects that an asthma attack would feel similar. After all, they’re called “attacks” for a reason. 

He’s used to them from his own perspective, but to watch someone he loves so much fight not to goddamn suffocate… It’s always prickled at the back of his mind that it must be awful for Will when Benny has his anxiety attacks, but now, with the flayed-raw feeling of terror, adrenaline, and helplessness, he suddenly has a whole new appreciation for his big brother. 

She leans into him, and without hesitation Benny lifts his arm and loops it around the back of  her shoulders, tucking her securely against his body. Will slides his hands down her arms and grips both of her hands in his own, folding himself to sit cross-legged on the ground in front of her. He finds himself suddenly captured by her surprisingly steady gaze, intent clear in her face. After a few seconds she speaks. 

“Thank you. For looking after me.” It’s the first thing she’s been able to say since she came to an abrupt halt halfway through their run together, and her rasping voice is achingly sincere. She holds Will’s gaze for a moment, then twists to catch Benny’s eye too. 

Will’s heart squeezes in his chest, and he has to swallow hard around the lump in his throat. He waits to catch her gaze again before he speaks. “Always, sweetheart.”

Benny finds himself unable to speak when she looks up at him again, his insides suddenly crowded with so many feelings that he can’t express them. He’s not entirely sure they’re all his, certain that some of it is the empathetic absorption of what she’s feeling, what she’s projecting. Fear. Relief. The echo of pain. 

It occurs to him that this is how it feels to have a younger sibling. The responsibility. The terror when something’s wrong and you don’t know if you can fix it. 

Their gaze holds for a long moment before he has to close his burning eyes, and he presses his lips to her forehead until he can push down the tight feeling in his throat. As soon as his lips leave her skin her head droops, coming to rest in the joint of his shoulder with his pec muscle holding her in place. He notices her hands squeezing Will’s in some unheard rhythm, feels the slight tremors that run through her body. 

They stay that way for some time, until Benny’s ass has started to go numb and he’s wondering if she’s fallen asleep. He glances up and catches the glint in Will’s eyes - no doubt reading his mind again, and probably sympathising with his own numb ass. After a few seconds of unspoken communication, Will gives her hands a deliberately firm squeeze and Benny feels the weight of her head lift from his chest. 

The older Miller sibling tilts his head slightly to see her face better.  He can see the exhaustion in her features, the way she seems to struggle to focus on him like her brain keeps zoning in and out. He’s seen it before in so many situations, not least with Benny’s anxiety attacks. 

 He smiles softly, waits for her eyes to focus on his own, and gently inquires “How’re you feeling?”. 

“Yeah, fine.” She answers far too quickly. A conditioned response. Will raises an eyebrow and holds her gaze with his trademark raised-eyebrow-smirk. She relents under his stare with a huff.

“Tired. A bit weird, y’know? My chest and my legs. But I’ll be alright after a shower.”

Will’s nodding, as Benny adds “You should probably eat too, and drink some water.”

She nods jerkily and drops her head again. Will catches his brother’s gaze again, and he hesitates a moment, clearly considering his next words carefully. 

“... I know we were going out to eat with the guys tonight, but -” 

Her head shoots up from Benny’s chest, almost colliding with his chin. “ - No, no, I’ll be fine. I just need to get myself sorted -”

Will rushes to reassure her “ - no no no, I’m saying that I’m more than happy to have an excuse to stay in.”

She doesn’t immediately shoot him down again, but neither does she agree. Benny can practically hear the cogs whirring in her head as she weighs her options - not wanting to be the one who craps off their night out, but ludicrously tempted by the idea of a more casual evening with their friends. 

Will exchanges another look with Benny before giving her another get-out-of-jail-free-card.

“Frankie was making noises about getting take out and watching the new Mission Impossible movie on Sky. To be honest it sounds much better than a crowded, noisy bar.”

Benny jumps on the bandwagon. “Oh man, I was praying someone would take him up on that. I’m in.”

Will smirks, keeping with the easy banter. “Why didn’t you then?”

Benny shrugs just enough to slightly jostle her. “I know you old folk don’t get out much anymore, didn’t wanna get in the way of your retirement-club day trip.” Benny fires right back.  

“You’re technically retired too, y’know.” 

“Yeah but we all know I had to do that so the military wouldn’t notice I was letting you take all the glory for my genius.” 

Will outright laughs, and Benny feels the slight tremor of her giggle through the side of his body as he beams at their success. 

His grin softening, Will ducks his head to catch her gaze again. 

“You ready to head back?”

When she nods and starts to untangle herself from Benny, he jumps in to assure her.

“Hey now, there’s no rush -“

“-Nah my ass has gone numb.” She murmurs, gratefully accepting the two pairs of hands that help her to her feet and steady her when she sways slightly, her eyes going unfocused for a moment. 

“One of us can carry you -“

Benny never gets to finish his sentence. “- no no, I can walk.” She smiles sheepishly. “Thanks though.”

They both nod, but neither completely let go of her as they begin a steady trudge back to the Gym they set out from God only knows how long ago.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Thanks for reading!

There may or may not be an alternative version of this scene in which we learn a lot more about the original female character, but it's currently banging around in my head and my spicy brain takes months to actually work through these things, so please keep checking back!

#triple frontier #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fan fiction #triple frontier fan fic #william ironhead miller #benny miller #charlie hunnam #garrett hedlund #angsty fic #emotional whump #angst #whump fic #whump

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

Eddie’s no stranger to slamming doors.

In fact, he’s fairly familiar with the sound of the screen door clapping against the wooden frame on the trailer across the street. He tries not to be nosy. Tries to mind his business as best he can.

But he somehow always knows when a certain blue Camaro is parked in the weeds.

He’s seen the Mayfields a handful of times since they moved in. Has changed the tire on Susan’s car before when she had a flat and teased Max a few times when she’s practiced kick flips in the street. He’s not a mechanic by trade or even a skater, but he was more than happy to lend a hand in both cases.

He hasn’t, however, had many chances to interact with the third, honorary Mayfield: Billy. Eddie isn’t sure where he goes when he’s not in the trailer park, but he only stays a handful of nights out of the week. Tends the yard, maintains the house, and, from what Eddie understands, helps pay some of the bills. Which all seems oddly generous for someone who doesn’t even live there full-time.

Especially when that someone is Billy Hargrove.

When the screen door slams across the street, harder than normal, even for one of Max’s distasteful moods, Eddie can’t help but peak through the blinds.

What he sees is enough to make his blood run cold.

There’s a car he’s never seen before parked haphazardly out front, the driver door slamming shut before it peels off down the street, leaving a cloud of dust behind.

At the bottom of the steps is Billy. Clutching onto the rail with an unforgiving grip, legs wobbling before he buckles forward. The door flies open and Max is at his side in a matter of moments, dipping under his arm to try and support his weight, only to stumble down the steps when he loses balance and lurches forward.

Eddie is sprinting through his trailer when he sees the guy heave and nothing but red comes out. Drips into the dirt and creates a sickeningly dark, crimson mud between his boots.

He’s not a nurse. Or a doctor. Or even a friend to these people, but he doesn’t think twice about slinging the blond’s other arm around his shoulders and taking on the bulk of his weight. Up close, the reality of the situation only eludes Eddie even more.

Billy’s left eye is swollen shut, his lip is busted, and he walks with a definite limp that doesn’t at all fit his normal sturdy gait. His breaths are labored and he gasps when Eddie presses too hard at his side, which is not a good sign. Susan’s frantic voice emanates from inside when Max opens the door, and the two boys almost trip over the clutter that fills the entryway.

A box of stuff has been spilled, no— thrown onto the floor. Glass has shattered. Tables have been tipped. Eddie tries to focus on getting Billy to the sofa.

Finds himself catching the tail end of Susan’s conversation over the phone in the kitchen.

“—no, no, I need you to do something about this, Chief Powell, he’s dangerous,” she says. Voice strained, like she’s been shouting. “He hurt my boy, Cal. He came and he—“ her voice breaks, and Eddie catches a glimpse of her with a hand on her face as he lowers Billy into the couch. “He threatened my son’s life, for Christ’s sake. I don’t care how many officers you have on-hand, I need someone here now.”

“Mom, we need to take him to the hospital,” Max rasps.

Her face is streaming with tears that she wipes away with her sleeve. Cards a gentle hand into Billy’s hair and keeps his head upright when it lolls back.

Eddie’s not sure what exactly he’s getting himself into, but he knows that the box of things on the floor doesn’t belong to either of the girls. That no one from school, not even Jason Carver, is capable of doing this to Billy. And that terrifies him more than anything, confusion or not.

“I can drive him,” he blurts.

Max’s bright green eyes fix on him then.

“I’ll go with you.”

“No, no,” Billy grumbles. Furrows his brows. “You stay w’ Susan. Can’ leave her alone.”

Max looks like she wants to protest for a moment, but then she looks away. Clenches her fist against her pant leg.

“Fine.”

“C’mon, big guy,” Eddie says. “Let’s get you out to that fancy car of yours.”

“Ding my baby ‘n I’ll kill you, Munson.”

It’s easier going down the steps than it was going up. Eddie helps the blond into the passenger seat of the Camaro and winds up having to pry the keys out of his hand before he climbs in and starts it. Listens to the familiar purr of the engine that he’s come to be so fascinated with these last few months.

“Buckle in, I fully intend on running every stop sign,” Eddie says.

He throws the car into reverse. Can’t help but smile when Billy laughs hoarsely and thumbs the new wash of crimson away from his mouth.

“Thanks. For, y’know.” The car peels down the street similar to the one that left mere minutes ago. “Didn’t want them to freak out anymore than they already are.”

True to his word, Eddie runs the first stop sign he comes across. Thinks back to that box that spilled on the floor. About how he saw Metallica records among the pile, and about how he’s heard Max rant about how much she loves pop. About how For Whom the Bell Tolls is thrumming through the speakers in the car right now.

Eddie realizes now that he doesn’t have to be anything special to offer his help. Doesn’t need a medical degree, to know how to build cars from the ground up, or own a skateboard to try and be a good person. To do what’s right.

Because Billy Hargrove Mayfield isn’t anything special either, and yet here he is. Worried about his mom and his sister like he’s not suffering from broken bones and internal bleeding.

And, on top of everything, Eddie suspects that the Camaro won’t disappear from across the street anymore after today. That makes a grin split across his face as he presses his foot down harder against the gas.

“Isn’t that what friends are for?”

#mungrove #eddie munson #billy hargrove #billy x eddie #max and billy #susan mayfield #n*el hargrove #angsty fic #fluff fic #tw abuse #tw blood #hurt/comfort #this is very rushed and I’m tired #I was intending for it to be a sort of pre-relationship drabble but idk #interpret it however you want #ficlet #my writing