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xx-state-of-mind-xx · 1 year

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She Wore A Thousand Faces All to Hide Her Own

Lesso opens up to Dovey about why she has her cane

*TW* Panic attack*

Dovey’s POV

I knock softly on the Evil Dean’s door. A strip of yellow light shines through the crack between the floor so I know she’s in. Normally I wouldn’t disturb her this late at night and in her rooms at that but this is urgent – some Never broke into my office and stole the plans for the Unity Ball right off my desk.

“Hey, Lesso?” I call out. “Can I come in?” I knock again louder this time and I’m starting to get worried. Taking a breath, I push the door open. The Evil Dean’s room is a mess as usual with books and clothes spread over every visible surface. It’s even worse than the last time I set foot in here with a candle dripping wax onto an open book and the bedclothes in a tangled mess at the foot of her magnificent four-poster.

“Leo, you in?” The bathroom door is shut, and I have to wade through several layers of God knows what just to reach it. I knock once again and pause for a long moment. The realization of how stupid I’m being hits me – what a fool I am, practically hunting down my partner, she’s probably in her office. I scoff and turn to go, trying to smooth over the uneasiness I feel in my stomach. All of a sudden, I freeze. That was definitely the sound of something smashing. I turn back to the door and call out her name.

“Leo? Is everything all right in there?” I press my ear to the door and hear a sound of scrabbling from within.

“Yes, I’m fine, everything’s fine! Can’t we talk later?” Lesso’s tone is sharp as usual, but her voice is unusually high-pitched and sounds slightly muffled. I raise my eyes to the heavens and gather up my skirts.

“Ok, well, I’m coming in.” I unlock the door with my fingerglow. At first, the spacious room appears empty, and I am faced with walls of black marble, lined with flickering candles and my own face blinking back at me from an enormous ornate mirror hanging above the sink. Finally, I spot a few red curls sticking up from between the vanity and bath. I walk slowly toward Lesso and crouch down in front of her, careful not to make any sudden movements. The other woman is wedged in the gap in her underwear, knees pulled up to her chin, shoulders rising and falling rapidly.

“Oh, Lesso,” I whisper. Even though we’ve been together for a few months now, I am still so unused to seeing the figure I’ve come to associate with everything strength and elegance showing weakness so crippling it reduces her to a quivering heap.

“Hey, can you come out of there for me?” I grip her arm softly and am suddenly struck by how small and frail she looks in that moment, like a small bird with a broken wing. I help her coordinate her long limbs enough to scoot forward and lean against a cabinet. The silence is only broken by Lesso’s rapid breaths and the periodic drip of a tap.

“Please just leave me alone,” she whispers and buries her face in her arms. Frustration mingles with the sadness that swirls in my stomach.

“No.” I reply softly, “I’m not going anywhere.” I place a hand on her back, feeling her heart beating erratically. “I’m not going to leave.” The taller woman leans into my side, and I breathe slowly and deliberately and Lesso copies. After a few minutes, she finally looks up and lifts a gentle hand to my face. “I trust you more than anyone else, you know that, right?” I nod and press a kiss to her temple. “Thank you for staying. You make everything a little easier.”

I smile, rocking her from side to side in my arms and rest my head on her shoulder.

“What happened just now?” I ask softly. Lesso sighs.

“I don’t know, it just came on. I was about to take a bath when I got so dizzy, it just happened. No trigger.”

“Just one of those days, huh,” I sigh.

“Just one of those days,” Lesso agrees. We sit in silence for a few more minutes until the Evil Dean’s breathing finally slows and she’s able to take a deep, clean breath. I smile into her neck before sitting up. She barely seems to register the movement and is staring unblinkingly at something only her eyes can see. The smile fades from my lips as I watch her for a few moments before nudging her softly in the ribs. Fear flashes across her face and she jumps at my touch but soon settles back into her usual sharp expression bar the softness that creeps into her eyes when she is with me.

“Did you want to have your bath?” I ask, pretending not to have noticed her lost in thought.

“Ah, any excuse to see me naked huh, Dove?” Lesso teases, a smirk playing across her face. I laugh. “But no, thank you. Maybe tomorrow.” I nod in understanding, and we fall back into a comfortable silence before the Evil Dean reaches behind her and grips the cabinet. “Let’s get out of here.” I get to my feet, watching as Lesso struggles to pull herself up.

“You could’ve just asked for help you know,” I say, frowning.

“Now where’s the fun in that?” She replies dryly, shooting me a pained smile. I roll my eyes and I can’t stop myself from peering at her leg. It always strikes me as odd that there are no visible marks or scars on Lesso’s bad leg – or any other part of her body for that matter.

“Now, I know it’s part of the great mystery of Lady Lesso, but what did happen to your leg?” I ask lightly. She opens her mouth to respond but I raise a hand to stop her. “And no lies.”

Lesso’s shoulders slump and she casts her eyes to the side. “Ok,” she says finally. “But you can’t be angry.”

I frown. “Never.”

The Evil Dean closes her eyes and shakes her head impatiently. “No.” She takes a breath. “I’m going to show you something, something I should’ve shown you a long time ago. But you can’t be angry, understand? Promise me, Dovey.” Lesso fixes me with a purple gaze so fierce I am powerless to do anything but nod. “Ok.” She takes a few steps back, bare feet slapping on the marble. I take in her body, scantily clad in a simple black bra and underpants, more toned than more than a few Ever boys. Yes, Lesso has lost weight. She’s so thin, I could count all of her ribs if I wanted to. The Never brushes a few stray curls out of her face and I resist the urge to go over and tie them back for her. I watch as she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. A shudder passes over her and her pale, smooth skin seems to bubble and melt before glowing almost translucent and fading away. I can’t stop the gasp that escapes my lips. What was once flawless alabaster is now littered with scars and a light dusting of pale freckles.

Most of the scars are old and long healed, but there are a few fresh ones as well. But one draws my attention the most: an angry blood-red mark stains her leg starting just below her knee and curling inwards at her hip. Strange swirling pink markings cover it like a strange, twisted tattoo. A sob rises in my throat, and I press my fingers to my lips.

“Why?” I whisper.

Lesso laughs bitterly. “Don’t worry, most are just souvenirs from my travels. Like this one,” she points to a deep red line extending from the base of her ribcage to her naval. “That was from a wolf a couple of years ago in an inn in Bloodbrook, just a case of mistaken identity.” She grins manically at me and turns around revealing dozens of thin white stripes crisscrossing her back. “But these? Let’s just say I was… well acquainted with the Doom Room.” The Evil Dean laughs again but I see the pain in her expression. I pick up her thin arm and trace over the grooves of scars clearly self-inflicted. Finally, I look up into her face. She’s staring at the floor with all the air of a bad puppy awaiting punishment.

“Hey,” I say softly, my voice hoarse from the effort of holding back tears. “Look at me, my love. Please.” She inhales shakily and shifts her purple eyes to my own. I search her face, the shame and self-disgust evident in the crease of her brow and her bloodless lips, for once devoid of makeup. “You’re still beautiful. You’re still beautiful to me.” I press my lips gently to hers before pulling her into my body, cradling her in my arms as she clings to me as if she would never let go. A ragged sound unlike any I’ve heard before tears up Lesso’s throat, a sound of pure agony that goes straight to my soul. I hug her tighter.

“You’re a fool, Leo,” I whisper into her shoulder. “A fool.” A single tear slides down my cheek and drips onto her bare shoulder.

“‘m sorry, Dove. I didn’t mean to make you cry,” Leo murmurs.

I let out a choked laugh. “Oh, my dear, if I had a dollar every time I cried for you, I’d be a rich woman.” I pull out of the embrace and hold the other woman at arm’s length and look into her glistening eyes. “You know this doesn’t change anything, right? I wish you had told me sooner and I wish you don’t feel as though you have to hide away or pretend to be fine – because this is not fine, but I still love you. No matter what.”

Lesso smiles at me then, a soft smile. No more than a slight quirk of the lips but it was filled with such love, such gratitude, that it was like the sun itself beaming down on me.

“Blood Magic,” she says suddenly.

“Sorry?” I reply frowning.

“Blood Magic. My leg. It was blood magic that did it.” I stare at her incredulously. I know what blood magic is of course, after the whole debacle with Sophie, but I can’t comprehend how on earth the Evil Dean could’ve been injured by it.

“Sorry, that wasn’t very clear.” Lesso takes a moment to collect her thoughts, twirling a lock of hair in her fingers absently. I back up a little and perch on the edge of the bath. It’s full of water, long gone cold, with no soap, and no bubbles.

“You know the consequences of Blood Magic, what it does to the user, how it eats away at their soul.” I nod in assent, and she starts pacing back and forth. “Well, it turns out that if Blood Magic is used on a person consistently over a long period of time, it gets too much. The body and soul are too weak to hold such power and so it has to manifest somewhere. It starts as a small mark but spreads like oil on the surface of a pool.” Lesso gestures to her leg. “It’s rotten. All the way through. Blood Magic was not made for this world and certainly not for the likes of us to use.”

I nod slowly, taking in her story. “Rafal did this, didn’t he?”

She stops pacing. “Yes, he did do it, he didn’t know though. He didn’t know it would create lasting marks. He was mad when he found out about my leg, especially when I was too weak to even walk on my own.”

“What did- what spells did he use on you?” I ask carefully. Lesso’s shoulders tense and her fists clench tightly before she takes a deep breath and forces herself to relax.

“He practised the spells he invented as well as ones from a book he found on me. Some were tolerable but others were awful. There was one he favoured the most, one of his own invention, that one was absolute torture, I can’t even describe the pain – it was like, it was like a thousand knives stabbing me from the inside, turning my skin inside out but a deep bone-crushing ache at the same time.” By the shake in her hands and the way her feet are planted, I can tell she’s starting to crumble again and so I change the subject quickly.

“What are all the patterns on it?”

“Oh, I have no idea.” Lesso traces a particularly intricate swirl on her thigh. “I suppose it’s just part of the magic. It moves, though, on a bad day it’s like there are snakes under my skin and I can feel them crawling and squirming, changing the pattern.” She sighs and resumes her restless pacing.

“Does anything help it?” I ask, trying to keep the horror out of my voice.

“Usually just rest, although the cane helps a lot. I’ve tried to heal it, but magic just aggravates it and… and I’m too afraid to ask a Healer.” She spits out the last part like acid.

"And why... why the glamours?"

The Evil Dean shakes her head, red curls bobbing like flames. "I couldn't stand seeing myself like this, I was ashamed and disgusted. I hated everything that makes me human, that makes me weak. I can't risk anyone seeing me for what I am." We sit in contemplative silence until Lesso stands up and regards me warily before offering me an arm.

I take it and look her square in the eyes. “Thank you for telling me this, I know it was hard. Thank you for trusting me.” Lesso gives me a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes and tugs me gently towards the door. She pulls it open for me and does a small bow that is still far more elegant than many of the Ever boys could manage. I bob a curtsey back and step daintily out of the room.

“My god, Lesso, your room is a pigsty. It looks like a small bomb exploded,” I stare around the room that’s every bit as messy as it was when I came in. I guess miracles only happen in fairy tales after all. The Never just rolls her eyes.

“I’ll fix it in the morning. Stay with me?”

“Of course,” I reply. I magic my gold gown into a comfortable silk slip and make the bed quickly with my finger glow. Lesso slides between the luxurious black sheets in her underwear and motions for me to come. I climb in with her and survey the wreckage that is my counterpart’s room, a vast contrast to the neatly made bed.

“Look at this,” I muse. “Our own little island amidst a sea of chaos.”

“Enough poetry,” the other woman yawns, pulling me down to lie next to her. I settle down in her strong arms and it is mere minutes until she’s asleep.

I gaze down at her face, more peaceful than I’ve ever seen her before and it occurs to me that I don’t know her age. In this moment, Lesso looks almost girlish, an expression of serenity on her unpainted, freckled face. Without all her layers of clothing and makeup, the Dean for Evil is far from the formidable force that terrorises the corridors, here she is laid bare to me and I see a glimpse of all she has been. Here she is humanized – beautiful and broken but so wonderfully, terribly mine. I press a kiss to her temple and find it wet with tears. I stroke her soft hair tenderly and whisper into the velvety darkness of night.

“You are an enigma, my love. A mystery…”

#lady lesso #clarissa dovey #sge #sge fanfic #rafal #lady lesso's cane #the school for good and evil #ao3 #hurt/comfort #panic attack #late night conversations #angst fest #angst

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pollyna · 2 years

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Once upon a time Bradley, now Rooster, had a speech all written in his head about what he was going to say the day he was going to confront Maverick, uncle Pete, about pulling the paper and about him knowing he could have never done it alone and Admiral Tom fucking Kazansky, uncle Tom, was as guilt as him. Once upon a time Bradley was angry, he still fucking angry, and ready to punch everyone in the face if they even tried to ask a single question about Annapolis.

And oh, he says his bits, the bits about Maverick crushing and nobody crying for him because he's alone as the day his mother died, but it shouldn't have been like that. Not when they're going to die in less than a week and Jake looks at him like he did the night they broke up, heartbroken and fucking miserable, and not when he didn't say everything that came first. Almost fifteen years on preparing himself for that moment, for it to die on his lips, blinded by his own rage and mistrust. His mom used to say that if he was going to come up as his dad he was going to break a lot of hearts: he is sure neither of them were supposed to be his uncles or Jake's.

He's going to leave the room, he has to before he says something else he doesn't mean to say, when Cyclone and Warlock walk in, serious expression on their faces and Warlock says he passed and Cyclone adds we're sorry for your loss. There's no amount of hate he can feel for Mav that would have shield him from realising who they're talking about: Mav's hand is closed around his dogtag and the ring everybody knows he wears around his neck and he's looking around like the information is there but it can't be processed.

Uncle Pete? he asks and it's the first time in years he calls this man in this way uncle Tom is alright? because he can't be dead. He can't be. He was okay last time they talk and- and it had been almost twenty years since the last time they spoke. Twenty years and all he can think now his wanting to find the man, hug him and just let himself be hugged back, a hand in his hair and every problem magically solvable now. Uncle Tom was the person who took them both home and he was there when Maverick was deployed, who came out with him when there was the parents day and Pete had a broken leg and was so high on meds he calles him Goose enough time to not being funny anymore. Uncle Tom was a constant for years, picking him up for school, from practice and reading his essay before he had to turn them over, teaching him how to drive because Uncle Pete didn't know how, and how to make a knot to his tie, because I won't send my kid to the prom with a fake tie Maverick! Over my dead body! Uncle Tom tall has life herself and impotent in all the comfortable ways that made Bradley want to be sure of he was and what he would have become. Uncle Tom who used to call him Baby Goose and it made Uncle Pete laugh every single time. Uncle Tom that is gone and he didn't even know why.

Wha-what happen? he finds himself asking to Maverick and an empty room. Cancer came back six months, chemio didn't work this time. Six months ago Bradley was walking on a beach, laughing at something Fanboy was saying, just weeks before receiving the call to Top Gun. Six months and a couple of days later when Maverick tried to call him for days and left messages on messages in his voicemail that he had never listened to. Six months on twenty years of not talking to them sounds a so small period of time and yet it would have mean the entire world because the last thing he had said to Uncle Tom it was you're the second person I hate more in this world. I'm so glad this is the last time I'll see you. Uncle Tom who won't be hear to give them one of his famous speeches before they leave and won't be there for the aftermath.

There's a mission out there that waits for no one, a funeral to arrange and a life time to get use to people talking about Admiral Thomas J. Kazansky in past tense. There's so much outside that door and yet uncle Pete stays where he is, hands still clenched around the necklace, looking at the sky and murmuring things he can't understand. Bradley sits, just a couple of inches away from him but they feel like miles and miles, while he tries to remember the last hug they exchange and how regret is never really going to leave him alone.

#i hate this so fucking much :)#you can say many thing buT NOT THAT I'M COWARD EVER WE TAKE OUR ANGST RIGHT IN THE CHEST #idk why i'm talking in a pluralia maestatis way but eh who knows #angst fest #(sadly) canon complain #tom iceman kazansky dies #rooster and hangman break up #bradley will never have the chance to make ammend with ice #uncle tom and uncle pete #tom iceman kazansky and pete maverick mitchell are married #bradley rooster bradshaw #pete maverick mitchell #complicated family #top gun: maverick

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the-pale-goddess · 2 years

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Compound Fracture - Ethan Ramsey x MC

Tiffany and Ethan meet again, joined by the ghosts of their past.

Conclusion to my Drunk Lord Ethan AU aka Tiffany finds out about Ethan’s drunken encounter whilst in the Amazon AU.

Rating/Category: Explicit (+18) / mini series, completed

Warnings: language, mention of alcoholism, explicit adult content (the short explicit part is separated by red tape if you’d wish to skip it)

Author’s note: I’m waving my problematic fav goodbye with tears streaming down my face. Huge thanks to everyone who followed us on this painful journey! Your wonderful support brought us here and I’m immensely grateful for every comment and message ❤️

Without further ado, I invite you for the messy last ride through this Angst Town!

____

“Doctor Addams?”

The sound of her name whizzes through the air like a bullet trying to reach her flesh, but Tiffany dodges it, too mesmerized by the breathtaking Boston skyline to trade the old friend for a willful shot in the heart.

The city she once called home spellbinds her with sophisticated vibrancy; blinding lights blend into familiar colors and shapes, redolent of the intensity of her olden days. For the briefest moment Tiffany forgets about the pinprick of memories, inhaling the brisk April wind. For a minute she's still that young bright thing, all fired up about the new chapter in her life. For just a second, her lungs fill with long-forgotten hope.

“Excuse me, Doctor?” The relentless waiter forces Tiffany to give up the last moment of peace before diving into the pond of her chequered past. He nods at her apologetic smile and points at the door across the hall. “Right this way.”

Dressed in the finest silk stained with qualm, Tiffany heaves a deep, steadying breath and follows the directions.

Perhaps she should know better. She should be stronger, wiser. Mind her business and thrive in the confines of the life she’s built.

But it’s too late to turn back now.

The crowd takes notice of her presence; faint whispers and knowing looks hedge her in as soon as she steps into the gallery. Her shiny black dress floats gracefully with every stride, unshakeable, armor-like confidence protecting her.

There’s a rumor claiming that Dr. Ramsey was offered loads of money to dash off a memoir of his work in The Amazon, but she knows him better than any of the jealous wolves spreading false information.

Knew. She knew him once. Or she never knew him at all.

Nonetheless, anyone with at least one operational brain cell could attest that Ethan Ramsey has no interest in material possessions. Whatever his reason for writing Into The Unknown was, it had nothing to do with money.

The unpleasant churning in her stomach is the ultimate warning—this Boston trip down memory lane proves to be courting disaster. The successful doctor is well aware of the fault in her logic, but trouble seems to find her wherever she hides.

A tray of sparkling straw yellow liquor flashes nearby, and Tiffany doesn’t waste the opportunity to snatch a glass when the waitress moves past her. In essential preparation for what may come next, she drinks her fill, hoping to wash away the forbidding feeling.

Trouble found her busy in the heart of The Big Apple. The copy of Ethan’s book she received bears a deeply personal inscription, an elegantly scribbled admission inviting chaos to her neatly organized life once more.

Of all the lives that needed saving, I couldn't save ours.

Every word pulses under her skin like poison running through her veins when she finds the trouble she’s looking for tonight.

Ethan is trapped; he's frowning at a swarm of doctors Tiffany's passed in the hallway before, blatantly unconcerned with their lively chatter.

A wistful smile stretching across her face is a treachery of reason, but she can't stop it from spreading at the sight of him: stern and rigid, with edges as sharp as his jawline. Time might have been a pitiless mistress, but Ethan hasn't changed one bit—only a splash of grey in his mocha brown hair twinkles as a lasting testament to another year added to the score.

Her heart quickens all of a sudden, revisiting a nostalgic memory of the sassy intern thrilled to talk to her medical hero, playing the idolatry card to tip the scales to her advantage. Time might have blurred the sentiment, but it hasn't dimmed its power.

She tries to contain the fire, trap the uncomfortable feeling inside her chest and take control of the situation. Despite her bravest effort, it’s all in vain: she can’t take her eyes off Ethan, having the hazardous warmth spill over.

“New York looks fantastic on you, Doctor Addams.” A familiar voice puts an abrupt end to her lurking. Come what may, she doesn’t even flinch.

“Long time no see, Doctor Carrick.” Tiffany’s wide grin greets the elegant intruder scanning her face with intent. “Wish I could return the compliment, but I’m willing to bet a lot of money you haven’t changed your ways.”

Tobias grins back, his smug expression inseparable from his cocky attitude. “I’m the whole package, darling. Why change something that’s already perfect?”

“Your package could use some humility.” Tiffany quips, raising a brow.

“Humility doesn’t blend well with my charm.”

“You’d have to try it first to know for sure.”

Defeated, Tobias shakes his head before sinking his lips into the glass of bubbly, and Tiffany immediately follows suit.

A few sips later, he swirls to a less lighthearted topic. “I must admit, I didn’t think you’d show up.”

“You clearly don’t know me very well.”

“I know someone who does.”

Tiffany doesn’t seem fazed by the casual remark, her dense lashes sweep the crowd with airy nonchalance as she takes a long sip of her champagne. The subtle blot on her deceit flashes in her gaze for one split second, catching the unlooked-for attention.

But she’s always been a masterful actress, and Tobias has always lacked the instinct for precise observation.

Before he makes a feeble attempt at grasping the nuance of her reaction, the moment is gone forever, forcing him to rely on the skill he's more proficient in: improvisation.

“How does it feel to be the muse to one of the greatest minds of our generation?”

Though the comment provokes a flurry of interest demanding him to elaborate on the notion, she rolls her eyes. “It feels like I need more alcohol before engaging in a conversation with you, Tobias.”

“Listen, I’m not trying to manipulate you into leaving your husband. I’m simply curious what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

“Why would I share my innermost thoughts with some random guy at a work event?”

“Some random guy?” Tobias clutches his chest theatrically. “You’re hurting my feelings, Morticia. I thought we were making progress here.”

Suppressing the urge to snort with laughter, Tiffany scrunches her face up, letting her amusement shine through. “Why does Ethan tolerate you, again?”

“I know some of his secrets and I’m hilarious.”

“The latter is all hearsay.” Ethan’s deep, smoky voice cuts through their banter.

Tiffany’s eyes are instantly drawn to his, emerald and sapphire alight with matching intensity that puts the crystal chandelier above them to shame. The small, private smile these two old lovers share is charged with sentiment and trepidation neither of them tries to conceal.

“Great, you’re ganging up on me. Luckily, I have an escape plan.” Tobias waves an empty glass and pats Ethan’s shoulder as he moves past him. “Have fun without me, kids.”

Ethan and Tiffany barely acknowledge his absence, wholly absorbed in the staredown.

Her hand extends as if in greeting, but lands combing through her chestnut locks instead. It’s an odd feeling—to have your heart hammering in your chest, desperate to break free from the cage, and withhold any evidence of the silent yearning.

“You look good.” She blurts out, her spontaneous compliment lights up Ethan’s face with a mysterious smirk.

“You look better.”

Their eyes seem to carry a separate conversation; the palpable undertones of excitement in the pleasantries are no match to the thrill sparkling in their gaze.

Not allowing the frisson to impair her judgement, Tiffany attempts harmless small talk. “Congratulations on your book. Who would’ve thought we’ll be getting an eye-opening memoir from The Ethan Ramsey.”

“Certainly that someone wouldn’t be me.” Ethan’s eyes never leave Tiffany, brazenly studying her face. “The WHO Foundation wished to use my Brazil journals. I figured it would be best to crystallize their medical worth myself.”

“Control what you can control.” A winsome grin sneaks in unbidden, and she’s thankful for the power of make-up covering a tint of flush blossoming her cheeks.

“Precisely.” He nods imperceptibly, pleased at the reference, then glances sharply over the crowd. “Where’s, uhm, Brett?”

“Brian.” She corrects him, the mischievous glint storming in his eyes a convincing proof that the innocent mistake was there on purpose. “He’s closing a deal in London.”

His brows waggle slightly, a momentary flash of surprise crossing his features. “You’re here all by yourself?”

“I don’t need a supervisor, Doctor.”

“That’s not what I—” Before he gets a chance to finish the thought, a short, panicked redhead almost jumps at him.

“There you are, Doctor! We need you for a quick photoshoot.”

„You need me for what?” Ethan winces.

“We have to send some pictures to the press. Please, Doctor Ramsey, it’ll take just a minute.”

Her pleading looks don’t work on Ethan—the crease on his forehead only deepens, announcing his hardline stance against any buffoonery in front of the camera.

Tiffany chuckles to herself, deciding to help the poor woman and try out an old trick.

“Go.” Her alluring voice casts a spell on him just as she grabs his forearm, squeezing gently. “Find me when you’re done schmoozing.”

Her unexpected gesture seeps away Ethan’s grimace. “All right. I’ll find you later.”

The electrifying glance passing between them seals the promise, only sowing Tiffany’s confusion. She scrutinizes his tall, imposing frame until he’s lost in the huddle of guests.

“You're Tiffany, right?”

She turns around upon hearing her name, cheerful and unprepared.

Like a sandcastle swept by the tide, Tiffany's smile falters when her gaze meets battleship grey—cold and majestic, all but forgotten after years of recurring nightmares about the very same pair of eyes.

The crimson on her lips is not bold enough to challenge the nauseating churning in her stomach.

“You look just like I imagined.” A distinctive Portuguese lilt rings in her ears, inducing a persistent headache of memories she's buried deep with no intention of reawakening. But they're back, uninvited, flooding her with an overfamiliar torrent of destructive emotions.

The meaning of the casually uttered statement finally dawns on Tiffany, twisting her features in shock. Though she knows the answer, she asks as if to smother her own delusions. “And you are?”

“Gia. Gia Macedo.” She announces with a short giggle, the high-pitched sound splitting Tiffany’s head in two. “I was helping the team led by Eth…Doctor Ramsey in The Amazon.”

“I'm sorry, why would this concern me? What is your business with me?”

“No business other than curiosity.” Gia declares, the intention behind her playful smirk unfamiliar. “I was wondering what you’re like. He was obsessed with you when he wasn’t working. Such a fascinating man, huh?”

“Fascinating, right.” Tiffany’s best fake smile strains her muscles while she struggles to offer a coherent reply in this raging chaos. Leaping to the safest form of defence, she pursues a spontaneous plan. “Now that you’ve seen what I’m like…Excuse me.”

Unceremoniously, Doctor Addams spins on her heel, leaving Miss Macedo alone in the crowd.

A secluded balcony on the other side of the gallery becomes her temporary shelter. Gut-wrenching feelings bubbling up inside of her evaporate with every deep breath when the fresh, chilly wind calms her nerves.

Past has no control over Tiffany anymore, she’s learned to ignore the ache. Barbed wire surrounding her heart protects her from its detrimental impact. But no matter how convincing her inner voice sounds, the old wounds itch all the same when she returns to the party.

The bar calls her in for another glass of liquid mettle. Half-way through the room, Ethan’s impeccable navy suit catches her attention, but she instantly curses at the spontaneous reflex to spy on him.

The man of the hour is deeply engrossed in a discussion with a group of fancy strangers. However, to his left, there is one person Tiffany has just got acquainted with.

Thousands tiny splinters of the past hit Tiffany at once, cutting through her flesh. Her mouth falls open in horror, entire body freezes on the spot as the sanity leaves her, completely unnoticed.

Her first instinct is to run, but she’s frozen to the spot while her eyes bore into Miss Macedo beaming by Ethan’s side.

Tobias is watching the scene from afar, and though he has no goddamn clue what petrified Tiffany, he suspects that his best friend must’ve been involved. Before he makes sense of the mess unfolding in front of him, Doctor Addams is already on her way to the exit.

„Fucking donkey.” He grumbles to himself and quickly sends out a text.

Your Cinderella is running away. I’d suggest taking the stairs.

* * *

Tears blur Tiffany’s vision the second she’s outside the building and within seconds, a waterfall begins to rain down her skin despite her best effort to block it out. She feels pathetic for grasping at the scraps of the reverie that brought her back to him. She knew that preserving a fickle illusion was a mistake, but apparently she had to let her silly little heart shatter again to realize just how disastrous.

The next thing that follows seems to be just another delusion: her name drifts in the air like an arrow, almost stopping her dead.

She speeds up upon Ethan shouting her name again, frenetic steps combined with sky-high stilettos almost trip her over, but she doesn’t let any obstacle slow her down.

“Tiffany, wait!”

The older doctor doesn’t give up; she’s no competition to a runner as excellent as him. He catches up with Tiffany, trying to block the way with his stately body, but she ducks away to avoid crashing into his arms.

She finally looks up, presenting her moonlit features in all their heartbreaking glory.

He’s taken aback by a cascade of heavy tears and mascara falling down her alabaster cheeks violently. This miserable occasion marks the first time she’s cried in front of him and the sight pierces him as deep as her words when Tiffany’s voice manages to rise over her muted sobbing.

“You lured me here with your long overdue poetic bullshit remorse just to punish me?”

“What?” Shell-shocked, Ethan inspects her face twisted by distress.

“Do you talk about me before or after she gets you off?”

“For fuck’s sake, Tiffany, what the hell are you talking about?”

Her chest rises and falls with rapid breaths as she hisses. “Your fucking Amazon girl.”

In utter confusion, Ethan recollects all faces he’s seen today—all random, meaningless—until a flash of recognition provides him with the image of the woman he anticipated to never meet again.

The tie around his neck gets too tight all of a sudden and the urge to drink himself into oblivion splashes in his brain for the third time today.

“I didn’t invite her. I didn’t even recognize her in the crowd.” His firm reassurance only elicits a peal of lunatic laughter from Tiffany.

“She sure as hell recognizes you. She came up to me, knowing exactly who I am.”

“Tiffany, please, can we…”

“You told me it was a one time thing.” She interjects, her eyes are closed as she rubs her temples.

“It was. I haven’t contacted her ever since that trip.” He gasps for air, unsure whether his sincerity can back him up at this point. “I didn't know she’d be in attendance. You have to believe me.”

His mistakes and misconceptions pay him a visit, keeping company with his demons, the unsparing team weakening the resolve he’s built to endure his silent despair.

“Can we please talk somewhere private?” Ethan pleads.

“And where would that be?”

Through the eyes of his mind Ethan sees his old self cowardly leaving the scene, but the man he is today knows better than to let the stench of the past overpower him now.

“We could drive to my apartment.” He offers, his candid voice giving no sign of the internal struggle.

There’s a glint in Tiffany’s eyes far stronger than his will, a glitch in her fury helping him arrive at a realization he didn’t expect.

Under Ethan’s expectant gaze, she lets the proposition marinate in silence until her breath evens slightly and she shrugs her shoulders in defeat.

“Fine.”

* * *

Ethan’s Back Bay condo appears to be identical to Tiffany’s dim memory of it; her feet carry her to the bathroom through the dark on autopilot.

Bright mirror lights reveal the aftermath of her uncharacteristic display of rage while she stares into her reflection: streaks of mascara and glitter smudged all over her eyes and cheeks, eyelids all puffy from crying. Swallowing another wave of tears, she steals one of the cotton wool pads from the nearby shelf and starts cleaning up the mess.

With a skillful touch-up, her make-up could at least pretend to play the part. And so could Tiffany.

When she emerges into the living room, Ethan waits by the window, his wistful gaze fixed on the limitless horizon.

“Do you want anything to drink?”

“Hit me with a glass of Redemption.”

Ethan hangs his head. He assumed the brutal truth would sooner or later join their conversation, but it wouldn’t stop his bruised heart from naively hoping for the latter. “How about something non-alcoholic?”

Before Tiffany strikes him with a well-aimed mockery connected to the telling name of the bourbon company, he cuts to the chase.

“I’ve been sober for five months. Having liquor around isn’t safe.”

The revelation drains color out of Tiffany’s face and puts a lump in her throat. Braving through her horrified gaze, Ethan decides to address the issue directly.

“I was in rehab twice.”

The vastness of her dismay broadcasts in her glossy eyes and parted lips almost too frightened to utter a sound. A long, quiet moment later, a barely audible whisper breaks through. “Do you think that…Maybe if you didn’t…”

“No, Tiffany.” He steps in to alleviate her worries, knowing the exact shade of her thoughts. “Not coming to meet you in LA wouldn't change anything. I have only myself to blame.”

Her emerald eyes shift the focus to the exquisite view behind the window, clearly skeptical of Ethan’s reliability.

“How are you feeling?”

“In all honesty, it’s been difficult. But I’ve managed to regain control of my life. Naveen and Tobias harass me daily just to make sure I’m fine.”

“And are you really?”

Her voice, thick with concern, echoes in his head asking the same words over and over again, and though the answer is dreadfully obvious, he feels obliged to frame it differently.

“I’m doing my best.” Ethan’s weak, stilted smile offers no reassurance as the silent horrors of his struggle gnaw at Tiffany. “It has to suffice.”

Her own misery dissipates in collision with his experiences, filling her mind with niggling worry. Her own scars and resentment drown in it, allowing a new shade of regret to spring up the surface.

She sniffles, strangling all treacherous ideas forming in her head along with the hopeless need to comfort Ethan.

Ethan sizes her up, noticing a seemingly irrelevant detail that triggers a wave of hidden memories dawning on him at once. He picks them up like evidence and sets apart, searching for clues. Big sapphire ring and elegant wedding band announcing her marriage a year ago in Los Angeles, her manicured hand clutching the bag like it was her lifeline. Her humorless laugh at that balcony. Her hesitation back then, her tantrum tonight.

A violent adrenaline rush fuels him, and he runs with it, allowing the madman to emerge from the prison of his mind.

“What does it feel like to move on?” He asks, peeking at Tiffany’s hand. Impressive ruby coruscating in the light taunts him, but it’s not a sound reason for a direct confrontation.

“Move on?”

He calculates the risk, quickly realizing that he has nothing left to lose. “My therapist told me I should let you go. But I don’t want to.”

At that, Tiffany freezes, holding her breath for a dreadful second.

„You let me go years ago.” She swiftly schools her features and sneaks a furtive glance at Ethan, her studied numbness convincing enough to stir his blood. “I was never yours to begin with.”

“I wanted you to be mine.” He asserts with a sigh. “I still do. I always do.”

Tiffany lets the weight of his words sink in, her defence still up high, keeping her afloat. To get in, Ethan needs to drag her underwater.

He takes a step in her direction, the shy movement getting a side-eye from Tiffany. “I should’ve fought for you when I had the chance.”

“We can’t cling to the past forever.” A ghost of a smile followed by her soundless sigh are not exclusively reserved for him, and that subtle difference in her tone pushes him over the edge.

“Why did you come to Boston?”

“I—” She trails off, blinking furiously. “I wouldn’t miss your book launch.”

“Is that why you’re here? To support your mentor?”

She scoffs, half-amused, half-irritated, twisting the ring on her finger nervously. “Why else would I be here?”

Tiffany’s cryptic answers vex him in a similar manner. Though Ethan is vaguely aware of the consequences, he decides to express his mounting frustration, firing another question like a missile aimed at her heart.

“Are you happy, Tiffany?”

Her award-winning smile dims like stage lights at the end of a play and a genuine, unfiltered expression finally shines through her act.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” She retorts in voice as steady as a sinking ship. “I have everything I could possibly need.”

Dissatisfied with the reply, Ethan challenges her again. “It’s a simple question. Are you happy with your life? Your husband?”

She stares at him with a deadpan expression for a silent moment. Soon, her empty stare is replaced with blazing fury as she fights to keep her composure.

“I have everything I could possibly need.” Dewy-eyed, she repeats the sentence through gritted teeth.

He should take pity on her and cancel whatever devious plan he’s manically hatched, but the tears streaming flawlessly down Tiffany’s face have only proven there is no way back now.

Ignoring the painful twinge of shame, Ethan probes into Tiffany’s facade further. “Does he know the real you? Has he ever seen you at your lowest?”

Another attempt proves to be successful. “This absurd interrogation is over. I’m not going to take part in another one of your games.”

At last, Tiffany goes ballistic, vehemently rushing towards the door with hands balled into fists. Showing no mercy, he chases her down the hall.

“Have you ever told him how it feels to bust a gut trying to save someone’s life with an outside chance of succeeding, but fighting nevertheless, only to end up losing the battle? Has he ever seen you torn apart? Have you let him in, Tiffany?”

The series of questions makes her snap. She turns around, looking daggers at Ethan, her lip quivers as she fumes. “Spare me the therapy session and save your talents for someone who actually needs your fucking charity.”

But the session isn’t over yet.

“Has he ever made you weak at the knees?”

Tiffany remains silent, though the forest in her eyes goes up in flames, and it’s the scrap of an answer Ethan requires to draw his robust conclusion.

Driven by the storm inside of him, the diagnostician takes another dangerous step and goes for the throat, the question mirroring his own anguish. “Have you ever ruined the best damn thing that happened in your life?”

“I have fucked it all up.” She roars, tears scalding her witch-bright eyes as she tries to wipe them off.

Silence consumes them whole as the unbearable tension exacerbates, and yet, it’s not enough to break the forlorn stare keeping them locked in the heated space.

Tiffany finally spoils the ominous muteness, muttering as if to herself with misty gaze tumbling down. „Me and Brian are separated.”

Ethan’s heart threatens to pound out of his chest, his diagnosis steering towards the final confirmation. “Why?”

“He’s not you.”

All of a sudden, he’s excruciatingly close, almost invading her space. She refuses to look up, to admit defeat, to give him the satisfaction of throwing her out of gear and spreading wide open, to let him see how much she still wants him.

But he already knows.

Ethan reaches out to her face tentatively, afraid she’s going to shatter. His touch is given unspoken permission and the gentlest brush of his fingertips follows up and down her cheeks, her neck, across her jaw, before he tilts her chin up, forcing Tiffany to look him in the eye.

Their frustration takes a different form, pent-up tension verges on erupting, imploring eyes ablaze with a new purpose.

Unsure who moved first, the distance shrinks even further—their faces merely inches apart now, the dizzying closeness and hot, heavy breaths inviting them even closer.

With extreme caution, Ethan’s lips brush the corners of her eyes, kissing the tears away. She doesn’t protest, doesn’t move, doesn’t even breathe for a good second. His feather-light kisses trail down until their lips meet at last, gliding over each other ever so slightly.

The dainty brush fulfilling the long-held dream makes the dam burst, their emotions threatening to overflow when their lips connect in a bruising kiss—salty and sweet, lipstick mixed with tears, pulling them into a crushing embrace.

Starved tongues and hands join them with reckless abandon as the kiss deepens, their hearts screaming louder than the scars they’re used to hide.

Breathless and intoxicated, they part for air, only to be seized by another wave of sizzling need. Their mouths overlap in a frenzied dance again, letting the moment devour them completely.

Then, unexpectedly, Ethan retreats.

Like a sinner seeking repentance, he drops to his knees, resting his forehead against her belly with hungry, penitent lips planting fervent kisses wherever they reach. His careful hands thread through the layers of her dress, hiking the material up for Tiffany to drape it around her waist.

She shivers at his touch; his fingers burn her skin as they move up her thigh with devotion, eager lips follow the same path, his beard deliciously scratching cashmere-like skin, only adding to the overwhelming sensation.

A groan of approval escapes him when he’s finally near her lacy thong. He nuzzles her folds, all soaked because of him, but doesn’t go beyond subtle teasing—not without her permission.

“Can I taste you?” His voice trembles much like her entire body.

She is at his mercy just as much as he is at hers.

The reply is immediate: she hastily pulls her panties down, using Ethan’s help to get out of them completely. Once she’s fully exposed, he groans again, as if to remind himself that this moment isn’t a figment of his imagination.

Wasting no time, he hooks her leg over his shoulder as she steadies herself against the wall, and dives between her legs.

His tongue begs for absolution with every persistent flick, eliciting ardent affirmation from Tiffany; her moans reign in the room, inspiring Ethan to work her up, licking and sucking with expert precision as her hands keep his head deliciously trapped between her thighs. His eyes are shamelessly locked with hers, witnessing how gracefully she welcomes the piercing thrill taking hold of her body.

Two glorious fingers bolstering the pleasure finish Tiffany faster than expected; she comes hard and loud, panting his name in awe, her trembling legs struggling to stand on the ground—Ethan’s lips still savoring her don’t help the cause.

“Come here.” Tiffany purrs, urging him into her arms.

Slightly out of practice, they move onto the bedroom as their impatient hands clumsily peel off all layers of clothing in haste, abandoning any pretence of restraint. Soon, they’re skin on skin, focused on frenzied licks and kisses while their fingers are occupied with keen caress.

The scene is strikingly similar to their first time: a glint of devotion in her lust-hazed eyes spurring him on, the most erotic gasp escaping her parted lips when his throbbing cock sinks into her slowly, quiet desperation pulling them into hypnotic rhythm as they give in to the yearning.

He drives deep into her and she takes him all in, with nails digging into his flesh and eyes half shut. The sublime, pleasure-driven melody of their moans floats in the air to the accompaniment of the rhythmic slapping, the sound as obscene as it is sacred.

Unable to separate himself from Tiffany’s mouth for even a second, Ethan drinks up every wondrous sound off her kiss-bitten lips. Her hands and legs draw him as close as possible, basking in the heavenly feeling of his weight on top of her.

An incredibly rare, wide smile breaks through, lighting Ethan’s face up as his thrusts become slower, more relaxed because he’s finally home.

He’s been lost, but he’s home now.

Tiffany comes first; the way she unravels into his arms as she arches her back, tense and out of breath with bliss flooding her cheeks with siren-red, reminds him that she’s real.

The enthralling sight of her orgasm ignites his own. With a gravelly groan, he fills her up, feeling her legs tighten the grip around his hips. The ripple of pleasure passing through them cements the unity of two bodies melting into one, their violent heartbeats delightfully in-sync.

Refusing to mangle the airtight space binding them together, they share a drugging kiss as the embers of the rapture burn down on their glistening skin. The reality seems dimensions away—there’s just this moment and this bed, their tangled limbs and racing pulse. No past, no future, just two lovers seeking reunion instead of definitive closure.

Despite the uncomfortable weight of the unspoken issues eating them alive, they bask in the afterglow, allowing their bodies to do all the talking.

Tiffany takes Ethan’s hand in hers, the difference in size curls their mouths into languorous smiles. The bliss quickly fades away when Tiffany’s alert eyes notice a scar stretched on his palm. She trails her finger up and down the long, thin line with genuine concern.

“What happened?”

Ethan gulps at the question. The blurry memory of the night he reached his rock bottom clouds his features. “I, erm, don’t want to spoil the mood.”

“It’s okay.” She whispers as she presses Ethan’s palm to her lips, peppering the damaged skin with a series of lingering kisses. “You can tell me whenever you’re ready.”

Her soft touch and reassuring smile subside the tension in his chest with ease, replacing the grim flashback with the comforting warmth of her presence.

The ever vibrant Boston skyline glimmers in glorious emerald when he stares into Tiffany’s eyes, the evanescent glow making him realize he hasn’t seen the full variety of shades yet. Inevitably, guilt creeps up at him again, prompting to disturb the intimate silence.

“I’m sorry for ruining your marriage.”

Dumbstruck, Tiffany raises her brows and snorts with laughter. “No, you’re not.”

“But I am.” Ethan cups her cheek, emphasizing the magnitude of his statement. “I didn’t mean to disrupt your life. All I ever wanted was for you to be happy.”

“Want to hear the truth?” The query sounds like a threat, but Ethan only nods and Tiffany averts her gaze before proceeding. “I could never move on from you. I tried…God, how much I tried. But I failed every time. I forced myself into believing that one day I’d be able to return the love Brian offered to me.”

Her wickedly bittersweet smile feels like a punch when she looks him in the eye again. “But how could I when my heart was still bleeding for you?”

Overwhelmed by emotion, Ethan closes his eyes, trying to keep his tears at bay. His arms lock Tiffany in a strong embrace as her story continues.

“So I’ve decided to put you in a cage to stop the pain from spreading and, at the same time, prevent you from disappearing completely.” A pensive expression transforms her angelic face, her finger tracing mindlessly along his collarbone during the short pause.

“All my good memories of you, my love, everything I had left of you...You set it all free in LA. I couldn’t delude myself anymore. I couldn’t lead him on with a promise I wouldn’t keep.”

In a surge of sympathy, Ethan twines his hand with Tiffany’s, placing a loving kiss on each of her knuckles.

„Both of you are free now. He must know you didn’t mean to hurt him.”

Tiffany lets out a mirthless laugh, nodding slowly. An everlasting connection between their eyes offers consolation when green meets up with soothing ocean blue.

“Do you think we can move on from the past? From our mistakes?”

“It depends.” Ethan muses, brooding over the words that slip through his mouth next. „Do you think you could ever forgive me?”

“I’ve forgiven you a long time ago.”

“Then we’ll be fine.” His smile holds the vow Tiffany chooses to believe in. “I want to be better. I intend to dedicate every day to proving how much you mean to me, if you’d let me.”

Despite years of repressed feelings and the catastrophic damage to their history, some semblance of a new beginning seems to be within their reach.

“Are you asking me for a second chance?”

“I am. I wasn’t ready then, but I’ve learned my lesson. I am ready now. I want to be with you.”

Even though she doesn’t verbalize her thought, the irresistible beam dancing on her lips conveys the message quite vividly.

She nuzzles Ethan’s neck. “Look at us, talking about our feelings like we’re not fucked in the head.”

For a change, Ethan lets out an unrestrained snort. “We’re a work in progress.”

“Is that what they tell you in rehab?”

“Will you mock me if I confirm?”

“I’ll kiss you first.”

The innocent peck on the lips turns ravenous at a stroke of their tongues, only whetting their appetite anew. Renewed excitement is hindered by a muffled ringtone coming from Ethan’s phone vibrating on the floor.

“That must be Tobias.” He murmurs into Tiffany’s mouth, reluctant to pull apart. “Who else would be calling in the middle of the night?”

Her soft giggle and the dimples it creates only encourage him to stay in her arms. “Let me remind you that you ditched your own party without a proper goodbye. Pick it up.”

Groaning in annoyance, Ethan untangles himself from Tiffany to reach for the jacket carelessly swept under the bed and fishes out the phone. When he answers, he’s immediately greeted by a relieved sigh loud enough for both of them to hear.

“I don’t have to drag you out of some shitty bar, do I?”

“No. I’m, erm…” Ethan’s voice cracks when he looks at Tiffany snuggling up his side with a content smile. “Home and more sober than ever.”

“Thank fuck.” Tobias all but shouts. “Have you found Addams?”

“I have.”

“Is she with you now?”

“Affirmative.”

“She’s a married woman, Ramsey, don’t you have any shame?” The fake reproof in Tobias’ voice is immediately overshadowed by a wolf whistle that makes Tiffany dive under the blanket. “Just kidding, I orchestrated this. Play it safe, buddy.”

Tiffany’s contagious laughter takes over the room the second Ethan finishes the phone call. “Of all people, you’ve chosen this guy to be your friend. Oh, sweet irony.”

„That’s the thing, I haven’t.” Ethan joins in, unsure whether he’s laughing out of sheer joy of being around her and seeing her this relaxed or the fact that his turbulent friendship with Tobias might have just saved his miserable life.

The reality slowly sets back in, gradually silencing the fervent commotion.

„Speaking of…” Ethan clears his throat. “Is your divorce scheduled yet?”

“Yeah, the process starts in two weeks.”

“Would you like to go out with me then?” He asks without hesitation.

Her mouth falls open for a single moment, then a hint of a smirk sprawls across her plushy lips. “Maybe.”

“Have a dinner with me, Tiffany.” Ethan murmurs into her neck, lightly biting at her silky skin.

“Aren’t you greedy?” She chokes off a moan with a chuckle, her fingers rake through Ethan’s hair. “Some time to grieve my marriage would be appropriate.”

“I just made you come twice. We’ve already crossed the line of propriety.” He states, the matter-of-fact tone of his voice melts within seconds when another emotional confession follows. “I don’t want to waste anymore time.”

A thought occurs to Tiffany, inspired by the clearest blue gazing at her fixedly like a beacon of hope.

Maybe moving on is accepting that some things are meant to be broken, and some other are worth fighting for until the very last breath. Maybe it’s learning to differentiate between the two.

After a long pause, a pout twisting into a tentative smile precedes her final answer. “All right. I’ll go on a date with you.”

Her skin is hot and smooth beneath his fingertips as he brushes a damp lock off her forehead, then kisses the spot, his lips trailing a path down to meet hers, both of them failing to hold in a smile.

This is real.

#ethan ramsey #open heart #ethan x mc #guest appearance: tobias carrick #ethan ramsey x mc #angst fest #open heart fanfiction #ethan x tiffany

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histypeisnice · 2 years

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slight angsty thought but i would be behind (for a few scenes) Kinn actively pursuing Porsche now, trying to be all cute and romantic while Porsche tries to inforce some goddamn distance between them

cause Kinn got hurt for Porsche and Porsche needs to make sure it never happens again

#hehe #angst fest #kinnporsche #kinnporche the series

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bjurnberg · 9 months

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One of my dwindling financial safety nets just got taken away and I want to cry scream throw up scratch bite bite bite bite bite bite bite gnash my teeth and sob until I go numb

How can such hypocrisy exist that a person in power can say “I want you to work hard to stop being poor” while simultaneously removing the only means to save money?

#I’m drowning #and he wants to take away the log raft I was given by someone else #oh but surely you know how to swim?#yes sir I can swim #but I’ve had to tread water for years #and I’m tired #so very tired #this raft is helping me regain strength #and he wants to take it away #I so desperately want to live and I’m not being allowed to #angst fest #personal #bjurnberg

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elmundodeflor · 2 years

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Margaritas - Levihan Oneshot

-Corazón roto, diagnosticó el médico. - había sentenciado Onyankopon, con expresión sombría, sobre el té del desayuno. - Dice que, a veces, los males emocionales provocan efectos adversos en el cerebro. Como la pérdida de memoria.

Después de la guerra, Levi decide entregarse a los velos fantasmales del olvido para proteger intacta su alma. Pero, en el frío de la oscuridad, sólo puede ver a Hanji Zoe. Una y otra vez.

――――――――

Un relato que entrelaza pasado y presente, en el que las líneas de recuerdo y realidad se esfuman difusas y Levi Ackerman, perdido en las tinieblas profundas de sus propios fantasmas, abre las puertas para finalmente dejar salir a sus sentimientos más vívidos.

ENLACE AL FIC COMPLETO: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41956140

Holaaaaaa! Como anda mi genteee? Por aca vuelvo con un escrito que habia estado pensado para el dia 5 de la Semana Levihan: Memorias (si, hace casi dos meses). Pasaron cosas en el medio y.... bueno, aca estoy. Porque mejor tarde que nunca, no? JASKSKS no me maten, prometo escribirles mas seguido!

Este escrito es muy muy especial para mi (si, llore TRES VECES mientras escribia), asi que espero que les guste mucho! Queria darle un GRACIAS gigante a @itsshailam por haberme dado el puntapie para la idea final. No se que haria sin vos y tu apoyo constante! Sos lo mas de lo mas y significas mucho para mi, bb <3 Tambien muchisimas gracias a todos por la paciencia, el cariño y por leerme! De corazon, repito, espero que esto les guste! (Y si no, siempre me lo pueden hacer saber) Les quieroooo <3 <3

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redflagsandbanners · 2 years

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What if Robin, Nancy and Steve develop terminal illnesses due to the radiation exposure of their time in the Upside Down?

#why would my brain do this?#ANGST FEST #🚨🚨🚨#wee woo wee woo #this slammed me during half time air and i immediately backed away from the laptop because nOPE NOT DOING THIS NO SIR #stranger things 4 #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #steve harrington #update; little will too #i am going to throw myself out of a window

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fabulous-fic-quotes · 2 years

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Nothing about them has ever been normal, Sirius likes to think—even though it's a lie, because they used to be inseparable, they used to be okay, they used to be brothers. It had been them against the world once, but that was long ago. It seems to him that ages, a thousand lifetimes have passed. He'd once thought they'd go deeper than the ink, beneath the skin of their tattoos; he'd thought they'd be kings ruling the world.

Where our ghosts live - AllLivesMatter

#harry potter #sirius black #regulus black #fic quotes #fic recs #marauders era #black brothers #angst fest #it hurts so good...

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zoe-oneesama · 5 months

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If you haven't been keeping up with the Dad Villain/Viceroy AU by @bigfatbreak then you are asleep at the wheel because it is everything U_U. Someday I'll draw Tom/Viceroy, he's just so haaaaard! (Chloe over here trying to just get on with her dead mom jokes but Kim just won't let That Day go and she's about to have to make it a double body count just so he SHUTS UP-!)

Ko-fi | Patreon

#dad villain au #viceroy au #bigfatbreak #my art #marinette #adrien #kagami #chloe #ml art #miraculous ladybug #alternate universe #ml au #nooroo #seriously get into it it's an angst fest #and I love it

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lovebugism · 9 months

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eddie x shy!reader , she asks him on a date by giving him tickets to a concert and he thinks its a joke til she walks away feeling rejected & he realizes she’s like dead serious & goes up to her

thanks for your request! i sorta broke my own heart with this one — the one where eddie rejects you and immediately regrets it (shy!reader, hurt/comfort, 2.6k)

bug's summer fic fest ♡

Robin tells you that he’s nice. She says he won’t turn you down because he loves Mötley Crüe too much and he’s called you pretty too many times. Robin Buckley is many things — a dork, a polyglot, and your best friend, to name a few — but she’s never been a liar.

She wouldn’t lead you to the slaughter that way. She wouldn’t just let you get your heart broken. More than anything, though, she knows Eddie far better than you do — partly because she’s actually able to talk to him.

So despite your lingering worry, you swallow her words like a shot of vodka and maneuver helplessly through the bustling crowd of the Hawkins High lunchroom.

Eddie Munson sits alone at the Hellfire Club table — the smallest one in the very back corner by the large square window.

Instead of eating a real meal (even though the hamburgers might be horse meat instead of cow), the boy eats crumbled-up pretzels from a worn ziplock bag. He pinches them into his mouth blindly because his chocolate syrup gaze is trained on the well-loved book folded in his left hand.

J.R.R Tolkien’s, The Hobbit.

It makes you smile softly to yourself. You hope one day you’ll have the courage to tell him you’ve read that book so many times you could recite it in your sleep. You hope that day comes soon.

“Eddie?” you call softly to him when you reach his table. Your sweaty fingers fidget with the concert tickets you clutch between them.

He just thinks he hears his name at first. It’s barely audible over the sounds of muddled chatter in the cafeteria. He glances up from his book, not expecting anyone to be there, and gaping when he finds you standing in front of him.

His cinnamon eyes go wide. The boy blinks owlishly at you once, then flits his eyes behind you like he’s expecting to see someone there. When he doesn’t, he blinks at you again.

“Hi…” you waver with a trembling smile.

Eddie grins back, still obviously confused. “…Hi?”

“I, uh… I don’t know if you heard, but— well, obviously you heard, that’s… that’s stupid,” you laugh at yourself, shaking your head with your eyes squeezed shut. You’re already stumbling all over yourself, and you haven’t even managed a full sentence yet.

“Mötley Crüe is coming to Indianapolis in a few days, and a friend of mine was selling tickets, so I bought them. For us. Potentially. You know, if you wanted to… to go… With me.”

Your offer lingers and hangs in the air between the two of you.

A smile quirks at the right side of Eddie’s pink mouth. It isn’t a kind one, though. It looks more cynical than anything else.

His head juts back. He’s almost peering at you from the corner of his eye as though you were some suspicious thing he needed to analyze. A laugh sputters from his lips. “Did Buckley put you up to this? Is that what this is?”

Your faltering smile fades entirely. Your features crumble in disappointment.

This worse he could say is no, Robin had told you.

You hadn’t prepared yourself for this.

“…What?” you wonder, voice fragile like a wilting flower petal.

Eddie chuckles to himself. He sets the book down to give you his full attention, though you’re not sure you want it anymore. “You know, I knew she was upset about me trying to set her up with Vickie and all, but this is a… whole new low.”

“Vickie…?” you murmur through a tightening throat, brows pinched in confusion. “I don’t understand—”

“Look, sweetheart… Tell Robin that this was a real funny joke, but I’m not interested, alright?”

Your chest aches with an empty feeling. You think your heart might be breaking. “J—Joke?”

“—Actually, tell her that this was very not metal of her, and that I will get my vengeance,” Eddie says with a sardonic laugh deeply rooted in his chest. His smile looks almost like he pities you as he shakes his head, eyes twinkling with pessimism. “I’m sorry she sent you to do her dirty work, but… You should probably go now. This is, you know, the Hellfire Club table and everything, so…”

You swallow thickly, then nod.

Eddie doesn’t want you here. Eddie doesn’t want you at all.

“I’m— I’m sorry if I…” The words get caught in your throat. You clear it and blink back burning tears. “I was just… I thought that maybe—”

“Eddie!” a boyish voice calls from across the cafeteria, only halfway drowned out through all the noise. A group of guys in Hellfire shirts walk towards the table.

You take that as your cue to leave. You don’t want to burst into tears in front of your crush and all of his friends.

“I’m sorry,” is all you manage to choke out before turning on your heel and walking away.

He’d been smiling up until that point — like it was all a big joke to him — because it was.

The girl he’s been fawning over since junior year comes out of nowhere with tickets to see one of his favorite bands? That was the kind of shit he dreamt about — the kind of plan only someone as vicious as Robin Buckley could concoct to hurt his feelings. And after spending so many years being the brunt of bullies, Eddie was tired of being embarrassed.

And at first, he thought you were just a really good actor. You did look almost genuinely confused when he’d snuffed out the plan so quickly. But those wide, glassy eyes you looked at him with — he doesn’t know if a person can fake that sort of heartbreak. That looked real.

Eddie had been close to commending himself for not letting Robin win. He thought he was a genius for not allowing Buckley to use you against him. Now he knows he’s the same dumbass he's always been.

“Hey, man…” Gareth wavers as he sits at his designated seat adjacent to Eddie’s. The boy’s forlorn and faraway gaze doesn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the club. They all share looks of confusion, but the sandy-haired boy is the only one brave enough to speak up. “You okay?”

Eddie keeps his gaze trained on your figure as you maneuver through the crowd. Robin looks happy for you when you reach her, but the puppy-like excitement washes away when she notices how sad you are.

He feels like someone’s shoved a knife between his ribcage. He wonders if this is what a broken heart feels like.

“I think I screwed up,” he answers, laughing cynically at himself. “Like, big time.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time, right?” Dustin jokes before popping a fry into his mouth. He laughs, but no one else joins him. “…Right?”

Eddie glares at the boy.

He cowers. “…Kidding. I was kidding.”

—————

He stews over it all day — your offer and what he said to you and how sad you looked after he said it.

He pictures your pinched brows and big, glassy eyes and his chest starts to burn a little. Everyone always thought he was some raging asshole just because he had crazy hair and a crazier taste in music. Now he feels like they were sort of right about him.

Whatever chance he had with you has surely turned to dust by now. It wouldn’t surprise him after he shrugged you off like he did. But after waging a nearly four-hour war in his mind between lunch and dismissal, he knows he has to make sure.

He has to know if he’s ruined things entirely or if there’s a glimmer of hope he can hang onto.

He comes to you at the end of the day, dripping in metaphorical blood from the mental carnage he’d endured. He stood across the hall from you for five whole minutes as he tried to come up with something to say. He walks to your locker empty-handed and just blurts, “I thought you were joking,” like a total idiot.

Through the muddled conversation in the bustling hallway, you hadn’t heard him coming. You didn’t know he was there at all until he was right next to you. Seeing someone so suddenly close to you makes you flinch — hard.

And it’s not totally Eddie’s fault. You’re jumpy and too easily frightened at times, but he can’t help but feel like he’s messing things up more than he already has.

“Oh…” you deflate with a sigh, eyes still wide and swimming with something he can’t quite place. You look like you’re almost relieved to see him. Almost.

“Sorry— shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to…” The boy stumbles over his words, then trails off when they don’t come out the way he wants. He shakes his head and finds it in himself to smile. It’s bitter, though, filled with self-abhorrence. “I wasn’t trying to scare you.”

With one hand still clutching the door of your locker, and the other gripping a stack of textbooks, you peer at him through your lashes. “I know. It’s okay. I just— I wasn’t expecting it…”

He grimaces. “Sorry…”

“’S okay,” you repeat.

“I, um, I only came in so hot ‘cause I wanted to apologize— you know, for earlier. In the lunch room,” he stammers and puts his fidgeting hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. He tries to laugh, but it comes out more as an insincere puff of air. “Honestly, I thought you were joking.”

Your brows pinch. “Joking? Why would I—”

“I sorta locked Robin and Vickie in the old chemistry room in the east wing a few days ago,” he confesses, bouncing his shoulders. “Just because I know they both like each other and everything, and I thought maybe they’d finally admit it if they were alone together.”

“Okay…?”

“Well, they didn’t. And Robin was pissed. So I thought she was using you to get back at me.”

“Using me?” you echo.

“Yeah. ‘Cause I’ve kinda been into you since junior year and everything,” he admits with a nonchalant shrug. The corner of his rosy mouth quirks into a half-smile. “It’s, like, the one card Robin could use against me that would actually hurt, you know? If she did try to get me back.”

Your heart swells so much it hurts, almost — the same kind of hurt you'd felt in the lunch room earlier. It feels fiery, like someone’s taken a match to your ribcage and lit your heart aglow. But it’s different now. This is a good hurt, a happy hurt.

“Really?” you squint at him, your voice high and light. Your lips twitch like you want to smile, but you don’t let yourself — lest this all turns out to be some kind of elaborate dream. Or a joke.

“Since we had Mr. Kaminsky’s together, yeah,” Eddie affirms with a slow, confident nod. His chocolate eyes flit up to the water-stained ceiling. “Let’s see… We were learning about reproduction, and Tommy Hagan made some stupid joke about using you as a real-life model instead of the pictures in the textbook—”

“I remember,” you nod, trying not to shudder at the memory that still haunts you.

“And I told him that he was making it real obvious that he’s never seen an actual vagina before and that the one in the textbook looked a lot like his mom’s,” the boy recalls with a soft laugh. “And you looked over at me, and you smiled, and I… have been a goner ever since.”

He looks down at you again, all sheepish like he isn’t gluing your broken heart back together again. His chocolate eyes twinkle in a way you’ve never seen before. They sparkle in their softness. You have to look away before it turns you into a puddle at his feet.

You smile widely into your locker, pursing it off to the side in attempts to conceal its brightness.

“No one’s ever stuck up for me like that before,” you confess quietly after a few moments, peeking at him from the corner of your eye. “I’m pretty sure I gushed to Robin about it for days.”

“Yeah?” Eddie hums. He can feel his hopes getting too high.

“Yeah. I told her all about the pretty boy in the back of the room that finally got Tommy H. to leave me alone.”

“Oh… You think he’s pretty, huh?” the boy teases despite his pink cheeks.

You nod — made much braver by his previous admission — though you still have a little trouble looking him in the eye. You drag a notebook from your locker as you tell him, “I think he’s very pretty.”

“Well, I have it on good authority that the boy you think is pretty is super sorry for being such an asshole to you earlier,” Eddie murmurs, his nose scrunched and head tilted. “And that he’d really love to go to that concert with you— if you haven’t found some other schmuck to go with you, that is.”

Your eyes light up like a Christmas tree as you beam at him. No one’s ever looked at him that way before now.

“I’d like that,” you nod, then shrug. “I don’t think I’d wanna go with anyone else, anyway…”

“So, it’s a date?” Eddie asks, just to make sure. His raised brows disappear behind his fluffy bangs. His chin tilts to his chest as he smiles hopefully down at you.

You nod, and repeat it more softly than the loudmouth boy. “It’s a date.”

Eddie can feel himself grinning like an idiot. His cheeks ache with how wide he’s beaming at you, but he's too lovesick to stop. Like squinting into the sun, smiling every time he looks at you is muscle memory by now.

And what did a freak like him ever do to deserve a date with the freakin’ sun?

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