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escapetodreamworld · 3 years

Text

I’ll protect you. Angie x fem!reader

Request: Can you write a one shot where reader saves Angie from the Collins? Requested by anon.

Words 4,259

Warnings: Angst Hurt/Comfort Character's we don’t care about die.

Thank you to the groupchat, we really do share a mind sometimes, you'll know what I'm talking about. There's also i little nod at the end about something we talked about.

A special thank you @arewecoolio who helped me a lot with this story. Thank you for hyping me up when I thought this was going to be a terrible fic, thank for giving me tips to help it run more smoothly. Ily.

You didn't even think twice when your powerful hearing picked up on her cries. You pushed yourself off your knees where you were scrubbing the tile floors, and sprinted as fast as you could through the manor. You finally reached the servants quarters, and didn't bother knocking on her door, barging right in. What you see makes your heartbreak and anger rise and burn in your throat.

Angelique’s curled into a ball sitting on the floor in between her bed and dresser. Tears rolling down her face, as a big bruise forms on her cheek, dried stream of her blood running from her lip down her chin.

You enter her room, closing the door behind you, you take a few steps towards Angelique before stopping. You drop to your knees and crawl the last couple feet towards her, stopping a foot away. Angelique hasn't acknowledged your presents, so you're careful not to touch her, you don't want to scare her.

"Angelique." You say softly, trying to get her attention. She continues to stare ahead, straight through you. "Angie, please, talk to me." You try again, voice cracking. You used your nickname for her, hoping it will snap her out of her trance.

She continues to stare at nothing, after a few moments of silence she speaks, so quiet that someone with normal hearing would have had a hard time understanding it.

"Master Collins caught me staring at Barnabas"

"Is that why you got that bruise? Because you stared at his son." You ask, your voice so low it comes out more as a growl. Angelique nods. "Angie, you can't keep doing this, the man is going to get you killed." You explain, hoping she finally listens to you. She doesn't.

"I just need to get his parents out of the way, then we can be together." She says, completely ignoring what you said. She stands up eruptly, moving through her room, grabbing a spell book from her hiding place. she turns back to you, her bruise and dried blood gone from her face. "Cover for me?" She asks.

You want to say "No way!" Tell her he's not worth it, tell her she's not thinking clearly. But you don't, you just nod your head. She grins and leaves the room, leaving you completely alone. Just like every other time she ditches you for Barnabas. You used to be inseparable, always following each other around, well you followed Angelique around. But there wasn't a day you weren't together.

At least until Barnabas Collins started showing interest in Angelique, after that, they were always sneaking around, doing things that could get Angie beaten if anyone found out. And you had to just sit there, praying the day they get caught would never come. A small part of yourself, hopes they do get caught, because then Angie would have to stop seeing him, and spend time with you again. You hate that part of yourself.

You admitted to yourself a long time ago that your feelings for Angie went way beyond friendship. Many times you catch yourself watching Angie while she watches Barnabas. Wishing she'd look at you like that. That intense stare, following wherever he goes.

It makes your blood boil knowing he doesn't love her, he only uses her, and Angie is to blind with love to see it. If they ever got caught, nothing would happen to him, he would go about his life like nothing happened, never sparing Angelique another thought.

And his parents, they would see that Angelique disappeared, you'd never see her again. And it would be all his fault, all because he was a man whore. The time that they get caught will come sooner or later. Angelique's right, his parents have to go. It's the only way she'll be safe. You can't wait for Angie to find a way, it could take days, weeks even, and the chances of getting caught are higher every day. You have to help her, you can't stand the thought of never seeing her again.

You sit there, on Angie's floor, trying to think of ways to ensure Angie's safety. There's only one thing that comes to mind, and you hate it, it disgusts you, makes you feel ill, but it's the only way, you'll have to kill them yourself, tonight. during the full moon.

Rising from the floor, you leave to find master Collins and lady Collins. It's getting dark, and the full moon is starting to rise. And every night master and lady Collins take an evening stroll. Everything's coming together perfectly. You would never do what you're about to do, but it's for Angie, you tell yourself. You hide in the trees near the manor, all you have to do is wait. And try not to chicken out.

The moon finally reaches peak position, you realize with dread. You step further into the shadows, letting the transformation take its hold on you. You've learned not to fight it, it only hurts if you do. After a few moments it's done, your legs and feet are longer and you're covered in hair.

A noise alerts you to two people approaching. the Collins on their walk, You crouch down to not alert their dog, and wait for them to get closer. Oddly before they can get close enough, a giant seahorse gargoyle falls onto them, killing them. You stand there, shocked before realizing Angelique must have found a way of getting rid of them. You run further into the wood, knowing the sound that statue made will make a servant or two investigate.

By the morning when you transform back into your human form, everyone knows of master and lady Collins passing. On your way to bed you're practically tackled by Angelique, she throws her arms around you. You're surprised but hug her back, when she finally pulls away she drags you into her room.

"Where were you last night? I came to your room last night to tell you something important but you weren't there." Angelique asks. Worried.

"Oh, I was out again, you know, watching the stars and full moon. I fell asleep out there again." You lie. You're a terrible liar but you know how to distract Angie so she forgets about it. "What did you have to tell me?" You ask quickly when it looked like Angelique was going to comment on your lie.

It works. Angie forgets, she immediately starts grinning. "I did it, I killed them." She whispers, so proud of what she's accomplished.

"I thought you might've had something to do with that accident." You say, even though you knew she had everything to do with it. Her grin gets wider.

"This means Barnabas and I can be together." She says, excitedly. Your heart drops, you forgot why she wanted them gone, so she could continue sleeping with Barnabas. Your heartbreaks, you don't hear what Angie's saying, it all sounds underwater to you. But you do notice that she starts to leave, practically skipping to the door. She turns around to say something else to you before she leaves.

"Oh, and (y/n), maybe don't fall asleep outdoors anymore. There could be werewolves." She says, jokingly. Before smiling and leaving you alone in her room once again. Her joke ringing in your ears, you never told her what you were. You didn't want her to know, the thought of her ever seeing you in that ugly form disgusts you. You feel bad for hiding it, but it's for the best.

Despite two of the Collins dying, everything continues on like normal, do your chores, then do whatever you want as long as you're not in the Collins family's way. Of course, it's only Barnabas now. Which means more freedom, but it comes at a price, that price for you is you never see Angie, and when you do all she does is complain that Barnabas isn't spending time with her. You want to be annoyed, but at least you're seeing her when she's complaining.

That's how it goes for weeks, only seeing her when she complains to you about Barnabas not sleeping with her. You're getting mad about it, all she does is tell you how she threw herself at him again and he just sends her away. But today is different.

She storms into your room while you're reading, she's angry, something about seeing Barnabas with some girl. How they were kissing and confessing their love for each other, you know Barnabas told Angie he didn't love her, you can see how mad Angie is. It makes you angry, but not for the reason she wants.

"Maybe you should just let him be happy, he clearly loves this girl." You snap, you couldn't hold it in anymore. All that anger is finally coming out.

"Excuse me! I tell you he's cheating on me and your suggestion if I let him!" Angelique yells, her anger now focusing on you. You don't care, you're going to say what needs to be said anyways.

"He's not cheating on you! He was never courting you! He was just using you, and you let him!" You yelled, frustrated. Why couldn't she just see that he doesn't love her.

"Whose side are you on?" She asks, angrily. You growl and grit out "yours" "are you sure? Cause it sounds like you don't care about me." She says, and that weakens you. Your shoulders slump, and you try your best to take deep breaths, releasing all your anger.

Once you've calmed down you address her. "I'm sorry Angie, I do care about you. It's just, miss you, i never see you anymore." You say sadly, look down at your hands, hoping she accepts your apology.

You hear her sigh, and feel her hand on your face, lifting your head up to look at her. Once you look at her she rubs her thumb over your cheek. You close your eyes, relaxing into her touch. "I am sorry too, you must have felt abandoned. I promise not to do it again. I just need to figure out how to get rid of this whore that's trying to take Barnabas away from me." She says, still rubbing circles in your cheek.

"I don't know Ang, push her off a cliff." You say, not really thinking about it, still caught up in the feeling and her warm hand on your face. But when she stops drawing patterns in your face, you open your eyes. Angelique has a wicked grin on her face, you've never seen her like this before, it scares you.

"You're a genius, my dear." She says, and you blush at the praise and pet name. But before you can say anything, she's withdrawing her hands and walks away. Once again leaving you. You sit there, staring at the door, you can't believe it happened again. She left you again, after promising. You close your door and cry.

You don't leave your room for two days, And no one checks on you. You know you'll have to leave your room before tonight, you can't risk changing into a werewolf while in the manor. But you stay in bed till you know you can't wait any longer, finally you sneak out, towards the servants staircase. But when you hear people on the stairwell, you quickly decide you don't want to see anyone and get asked questions, so you turn on your heels, heading for the main stairwell.

You hear a commotion from below, it sounds like a man shouting. You peer over the railing, listening to what was happening. You can't see anyone but you can hear them.

"You're a wretched woman, you're vile and evil, you killed the woman I love, you cursed me to be this monster, and you have the audacity to try and place your lips upon me!" You hear Barnabas shout, and he finally comes onto view. You're shocked by what you see, Barnabas is paler than you've ever thought possible, his fingernails are longer and sharper, almost like yours when you change. And the most terrifying part about him, he's covered in blood. "What did you do Angie?" You whisper to yourself.

You see Angelique following after him, a frown on her face, she grabs Barnabas's arm, spinning him to look at her. "Don't you see, I did this for us. So we could finally be together." She says, touching his face. Just like she did with you. A growl tries to escape your throat, you clasp your hands over your mouth. You realize in horror that you stayed too long, that the moon has risen. Backing away from the railing you hunch over, transforming, you try to stop it, hold it off just a little longer, but it's too strong.

Suddenly you hear a crash coming from below. Rushing back to the railing you see Angelique crumbled on the floor, on the complete opposite side of the room, from where she stood earlier. Barnabas slowly approaches, glaring down at Angelique, it's clear what happened, Barnabas threw her off of himself.

Barnabas lifts Angie up by her throat, you can see her struggling to breathe. And the next thing you know you're running full speed towards the two of them, slamming into Barnabas. You and him go tumbling to the floor, you hear Angie drop to the floor behind you, coughing and gasping for air.

You and Barnabas get up quickly, he stares at you in shock, you glare back. Your tense, ready to attack, "(y/n)? What has this witch done to you?" Barnabas asks, looking you over, deeply concerned about the state you're in. He reaches out to touch You, you growl and he pulls back. You can hear the coughing subside behind you, then a strained voice.

"(Y/n)?" Angelique says, shock clear in her voice, despite how rough it was. You send Barnabas another glare before turning to Angelique, dropping to your knees before her.

"Angie, are you alright?" You ask, carefully reaching to touch the bruising on her neck. You ignore Angie's eyes burning into your face, and focus on searching her for broken bones.

You touch her wrist, feeling for breaks. Angelique clasps her hand around your wrist, not painful, just enough to get your attention. you look at her, and you wish you could look away. "Why didn't you tell me?" her eyes bore into you so intensely, almost searching your very soul for the information she wants.

"I, I didn't want you to see me like this." You say, finally breaking eye contact. Staring at her bruises instead, until the familiar feeling of her hand on your cheek pulls you back in.

"I could have helped you." She says sadly, eyes showing the hurt she feels. You shake your head, pulling her hand away. "No spell can fix me Angie, you know that." You tell her, crying. Saddened by her concern for you. Stepping away from her, you turn back to Barnabas.

Barnabas was still standing there, watching your interaction. You send him another glare as you slowly advance on him. You can see the concern in his eyes, concern for his safety. He starts talking, rambling about what Angie did, how she deserves to burn for her crimes. You strike, your back hand to his face sends him into the wall. You ignore the gasp you hear coming from Angelique. You advance on him again, this time, once he gets back up, the fear in his eyes is gone, replaced with hate and determination.

He charges at you, and you're in a fight of teeth and claws, both trying to rip the other apart. You'll be damned if he's the survivor of the battle, you'll be the one winning this, even if it means Angelique never looks at you again, at least she'll be safe.

Barnabas throws a nasty punch to your stomach and in your moment of weakness, he grabs you, throwing you across the room. You hit the floor, sliding, you use your claws on the tile to slow you down, the sound is terrible but it stops you from hitting the wall behind you. Your back up, running at Barnabas, he charges you too, you leap up, striking in from the air. The blow causes him to be knocked over. You are on him, hands wrapped under his neck, trying to get it to break. He shoves you off, pushing you away a few feet, you run back towards him, only to get kicked. Thrown into the statue pillar, a sickening crack is heard and you're not sure if it came from you of the statue, too disoriented to tell.

You struggle to your feet when you hear Barnabas approaching, but he's next to you before you can, lifting you into the air by your throat. You struggle, trying to pry his hands away with your own, kicking him. You know the kicks hurt but he stays strong, choking you out. "I'm sorry about this (y/n)" he says, remorsefully, squeezing tighter. It's become very hard to see, you really just want to close your eyes. You can barely make out the scream coming from somewhere in the room.

"ENOUGH!"

Suddenly you drop to the floor, pain shooting through your knees from the impact, you gasp for air, struggling to inhale any. Your vision slowly comes back, you're able to see Barnabas, floating in mid air struggling to get out of the invisible hold he's in. You continue taking deep breaths, focusing your very limited vision on Barnabas, worried he'll drop at any second.

You flinch when you feel someone touch you, you jerk away from the touch, only to be pulled back into it. The smell of vanilla, and the unmistakable stench of magic hit your nose, you relax into it. Welcoming the touch you've been pulled into. You finally take your eyes off Barnabas, and focus on Angie. Taking in the tears on her cheeks, and the slight quiver of her lip.

"You idiot, you almost got killed, why should you do something so stupid?" Angelique asks, furiously. But you can see the concern all over her face. You smile, sheepishly. "You're welcome." Angie didn't like that answer, not one bit. Glaring at you, her way of saying "Don't joke." You stop smiling, You clear your throat, wincing in pain when you do. Angelique frowns, moving her hand over your throat, barely grazing it, you flinch when you feel it, causing her to pull back slightly.

Angelique carefully moves her hand back towards you, keeping eye contact. You don't flinch when she touches you this time, your neck feels tingly, then the pain in your throat is gone. "Now, tell me why you thought fighting a vampire was a good idea." Angie says, sternly. removing her hand from your throat.

"He hurt you, I couldn't stand by and watch him choke you to death." You explain to her, causing Angie to sigh. "So you thought you'd kill him. Sweetie, that's not like you." Angie says, running her hand through your messy hair, you wince when she touches a spot on the back of your head, both of you realizing you must have hit it, Angelique starts healing it. "I would do it for you, I would have killed his parents that night if you didn't beat me to it." You say, revealing that information caused Angelique to frown.

"You were going to kill Barnabas's parents for me? Why would you do something like that for me?" Angie asks, her brows scrunching in confusion. "Why are you so willing to hurt people or get hurt for me?" She questioned, and you realize this is the best opportunity to tell her.

"I would do anything for you, I love you." You tell Angelique, looking at every little detail on her face, memorizing it. When you meet her eyes you shiver, she's looking at you the way she does Barnabas, that intense possessive stare, the look you always wished was directed at you. You can help looking at her lips, Angie notices, her lips forming into a smirk.

She uses the hand still holding the back of your head to slowly pull your head towards hers, you're so excited, you're about to kiss the girl you've been dreaming about. But before you can press your lips to hers, you remember something and pull back. It confuses Angelique, but you quickly explain.

"My teeth are a lot sharper in this form, I could hurt you." You tell her, showing her your sharpened teeth. She looks at them and laughs. "I'll be careful." She says, leaning back into. You pull back again. "That's great but I might forget and cut you. Maybe we should wait till the sun rises?" You say, glancing towards the window. Angie pouts but nods, understanding your concern.

"Thank gods, I didn't want to see that disgusting display" you hear Barnabas growl. Angie's and your heads snap up to Barnabas, glaring daggers. You growl back but Angie acts quick, Barnabas is slammed into the ground, the tile shattering upon his impact. He's then thrown into the wall opposite the two of you, and finally he's positioned again in the spot he was hanging from earlier, his unconscious body above you.

Your eyes are brought back to Angie by the always familiar hand on your cheek, you lean against her hand, a content sigh leaving your lips. Angie smiles at you. "I love you." She whispers, kissing your cheek, very close to your lips. You're so happy, but one fear looms over you, along with his body.

"What are you going to do about Barnabas?" You ask Angie, you're deeply worried about her response. Her soft smile turns into a wicked grin, the same one you witnessed after telling her to push that girl off a cliff, it's worries you but gives you hope at the same time.

"I think the town's people would be very interested in knowing about our local vampire." She says, eyes wild. She grins at you then sneers at Barnabas's body.

The plan was simple. Angie tells the town's people about Barnabas, leads the angry mob to the manor, and you stay hidden so no one sees you, and she'll be back to you by sunrise. So far it's went well, they came for Barnabas dragging him out of the house, you've been hiding in Angie's spell room, the one place no one can find, unless Angie wants them to find it. The sun is almost risen, you'll turn back soon, but Angie isn't here yet. You're worried, what if Barnabas told everyone she was a witch and they believed him, what if he broke free and killed her. What if she just doesn't want to come back to you.

You've paced the room for what feels like forever, worrying yourself into a panic. You're about to sneak upstairs to see if there's any sign of Angie when you hear footsteps echo down the stone steps. The latch on the door clicks open and the door swings open, Angie strides in, a smirk plastered on her face. She closes the door behind her with a flick of her wrist.

"I'm sorry, those idiots wanted to try stoning him first, they didn't realize it would work, finally, they decided to bury him deep in the woods in a chained up coffin." She explains, washing the dirt from her hands in a wash bowl. "I marked the place he was buried, just to make sure we remember and so no one can unearth him." She continues saying.

You've listened silently, just content on watching her. You're so relieved she's back, safe, not one scorch mark on her. She turns around, catching you staring, she smirks and winks at you. You blush at being caught. Angelique stalks towards you, like she's hunting her prey. As she reaches you the sunlight shines through the window, basking the room in a golden color, all you can think about is how beautiful the color makes Angie look. But her grin makes you know she's thinking something very different.

Angie reaches out, grabbing your skirts pulling you closer to her, you gasp at the feeling of her body pressing against yours. Angie leans in to whisper something in your ear. "As cute as you look in the other form, this one's my favorite." She says, then kisses below your ear.

You gasp, both at the feeling of her lips and breathe on your ear and because you forgot what the sunrise meant. You're human again. You pull back so you can see Angie's face, and you can tell she can't hold off anymore. You lean forward, and Angie surges forwards meeting your lips, it doesn't take long for a whimper to leave your lips, but Angie swallows it, pressing further into you.

It's bliss, pure bliss, you've never been happier than in this moment, and you know, it'll feel like this for a very long time to come. You'll do anything to keep Angie happy, and in the following centuries, you do just that. Sure Angie is happy with you, your relationship hasn't lost any if it's intensity or love. But you're in love with a devious little witch, and she thinks it's fun to mess with the Collins family, she even asks you to help sometimes, so when she begs and seduces you into going to bite the Collins kid. You do it.

#angelique bouchard x reader #dark shadows #angelique bouchard

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entitynumber5 · 3 years

Note

omg Hannah!! if you feel so inclined, maybe "things you said when you were crying" for jonmartin? no pressure tho ily

aaaahhh thank you so much for this prompt, friend!!!!! i’m sorry it’s been a while!!! i really hope you like this!!!! ily <3

Content warnings: illness (they both have the flu), depressive episode (mentioned), Martin’s mother (mentioned), the Lonely, disassociation, swearing, compulsive behaviour, self-depreciation.

things you said when you were crying

Perhaps it’s testament to how wonderfully mundane their lives have become, that Jon’s first thought when he wakes is: Martin’s doing the god damn laundry.

It’s not an unreasonable assumption. Martin had spent the annual leave he’d taken to align with Jon’s reading week nursing Jon through a nasty bout of flu. During the three worst days, when Jon was barely conscious, he hadn’t seen Martin sleep or eat or leave their bedroom except to linger by the landline—a sign perhaps that Martin had caught what Jon had earlier than he’d let on, since they rarely used the relic—and debate calling the out of hours service. Jon had just about weathered the worst of it when Martin was properly struck down, requiring another week and a half and counting off work. Of course, that didn’t stop Martin’s restlessness even as the flu drained everything from him. He would lie on their bed, pale and panting, barely awake, bordering delirious—and still mumble to Jon that he’d do the laundry in a minute, don’t worry, I’ll get it done soon, I’m sorry it’s such a mess, I’m sorry.

So Jon doesn’t mean to be angry, when he wakes up to an empty bed after an evening of Martin’s temperature finally staying below 38. It’s not even Martin he’s angry at, not truly.

Perhaps their lives aren’t mundane after all. Is it mundane not to be able to leave an overflowing laundry basket eleven days into the flu? Jon doesn’t know, or Know, but he has two theories: 1) Martin’s mother, the spectre to his half-formed anger. And 2) the state he recalls finding Martin’s flat in after leaving the Lonely, but before they’d set off for Scotland, and how neither of them had said it but Jon recognised well enough what a depressive episode looked like.

Jon reaches for his cane, folded and ready against the bedside table, and gently leverages himself up so he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. The change in elevation makes him dizzy, and he lets the cane ground him, digging into the carpet between his feet, as he breathes. It’s been nearly a week since he’s had a fever, but the flu has caused a flare-up of his pain and fatigue. His department are letting him teach remotely through the rest of November. Martin’s boss had been sympathetic too, when Jon phoned in for him, although there’s not much a paramedic can do from afar and Martin is insistent he’ll be back by the end of the week. In four days. Jon rolls his eyes pre-emptively at the conversations he knows he will have with Martin about who had it “worse”, as if it matters.

After the static has cleared from his vision—always an uncomfortable comparison, and he shoves down the panic that bubbles inside of him at the thought, because Martin needs him—Jon stands. He goes through the same process, leaning on his cane, breathing, waiting, until he feels steady enough to make his way into the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” Jon asks from the kitchen doorway, unable to keep the disapproval from his voice, when he finds Martin crouched in front of the washing machine.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Martin shoots back. The sarcasm of his reply is lessened significantly by how out of breath he sounds, and the way he’s clinging to the countertop above the washing machine with one hand while the other is splayed against the tiled floor like a shaky tripod—a pose that hints at an attempt to stand, aborted halfway through.

Jon sighs, biting back an unkind retort: exactly the opposite of what you should be doing. He allows himself to think it without trying to push it away in sudden, desperate shame, like he’s been practicing with his therapist, until it no longer sits so bitterly on his tongue.

“Come back to bed, Martin,” Jon murmurs, “Please.”

Martin sighs too. It sounds stuffy, almost crackling with the way the flu still clings to his lungs and throat. “I—I’m not sure that I... can.”

Jon opens his mouth to speak, but Martin interrupts: “I know, I know, I shouldn’t be—and my fever’s probably up again and—and I—”

“Martin,” Jon cuts in, as gently as he can.

“Fine. Fine. This can wait to go out on the—” Still breathless, still barrelling through his justifications, Martin uses the hand on the countertop to pull himself upwards.

It goes terribly. Jon isn’t sure what forces are at work—gravity, exhaustion, pure bad luck, all of the above—but Martin is barely up for a moment before his legs fold, and he’s down again. Jon can’t move fast enough to stop Martin corkscrewing in an odd, 180-degree motion so that he all but ducks beneath his own arm, twisting it in his socket in an attempt to continue clinging to the counter, and knocks his spine against the harsh, circular face of the washing machine with a resounding thud.

“Fuck. Ow,” Martin groans, his voice slurring slightly, “Tha’s embarrassing.”

Jon tries to follow Martin, to kneel beside him on the tiles, but Martin snaps: “No! No, Jon, p-please don’t. You’ll hurt yourself.”

Jon hovers, one hand fluttering uselessly near Martin’s hair while he clings to his cane with the other. Martin breathes, and breathes, and breathes—the sound heavy and laboured in a way that breaks Jon’s heart. It takes some time for him to steady himself, and then lean almost imperceptibly towards Jon. Jon lets his fingers brush through Martin’s hair, not caring, in the moment, that neither of them had showered for what feels like weeks. When the knuckle of his forefinger brushes across Martin’s temple, down his cheek, Jon feels the heat sitting on his skin again, the climbing fever.

“Oh, Martin,” Jon murmurs.

“I hate this,” Martin says, his voice quiet and sharp and bitter.

“I know,” Jon soothes, brushing his knuckle once again over Martin’s flushed cheek. “I know.”

Martin closes his eyes and leans his head again Jon’s knee. It’s the sort of exhausted display of love and trust that Martin rarely allows himself, unless he’s feeling truly unwell. Jon places his hand on the crown of Martin’s head and leans on his cane and waits for Martin to be ready once again to talk or rest.

Until very quietly, Martin begins to cry.

“Oh,” Jon murmurs, almost to himself.

Martin’s breath trembles, in what Jon knows is an attempt to hold back the tears, to pretend it’s nothing. He hides his face from Jon when he cries, even now, after all this time. A long-learned shame that always finds its way back into their house, no matter how many times they’ve turned it out and barricaded the doors.

“Martin,” Jon says, quiet but firm, “Please come back to bed.”

There is a long, breath-held moment when Jon thinks Martin is going to refuse, to insist. So painfully stubborn, his husband. Jon braces himself for it. But Martin just nods ever so slightly against the soft plaid fabric of Jon’s pyjama bottoms.

It takes some time, and a great deal of false starts, to get Martin back on his feet. He’s wearing fluffy socks—Jon remembers putting them on for him, when he’d been shivering even in his sleep—that slide on the kitchen tiles, and Jon’s fighting against his own dizziness, which comes and goes in waves when he changes position, to lend Martin purchase. At last, they’re both standing. And although it likely doesn’t help much, Martin lets Jon slide his arm around Martin’s back as he guides them towards the bedroom.

The bedside lamp is on its dullest setting on account of Martin’s persistent illness, and there are blankets and tissues and medicines thrown at random intervals around the room. Jon leads Martin towards the bed, not letting him stop to correct the mess, to try and restore some order to it. If this is how their lives have to be for the next few days—or weeks—so be it. Jon won’t sacrifice Martin’s recovery for this.

“Sit down,” Jon tells Martin, right before Martin gracelessly throws himself onto the edge of the mattress, listing towards the—thankfully padded—headrest.

Martin is still crying, but in that slow, distant way that makes something deep in Jon ache. It’s almost like the tears don’t belong to Martin. Like he is crying them on behalf of someone else. He stares across the room, half sprawled on the bed with his socked feet languid against the carpet, as the tears fall uninhibited down his face.

Carefully, Jon leans down just enough to pick up Martin’s legs, one at a time, and lift them onto the bed. He’s out of breath by the time he’s managed to get Martin lying down fully, still leaning against the headboard and staring vaguely at the wall opposite the bed. There is a picture hanging there, of them both outside the courthouse where they’d gotten married, but Martin seems to be staring through it.

“I’ll be right back,” Jon promises. He doesn’t know if he’s reassured or terrified that Martin simply lets him leave, barely reacting beyond the briefest twitch of an expression.

In the bathroom, Jon fills up a pint glass of water and wets a soft green flannel beneath the tap. He takes a moment to breathe, to drink some water as well, to swallow some ibuprofen for his aching joints, before he carries his small gifts back into the bedroom.

Martin is exactly where Jon left him. Jon sits next to him on the bed, and when Jon hands him the large glass of water, Matin takes it instinctively. But he doesn’t drink from it, holding it in his hands as if it is yet another thing that doesn’t belong to him, that he will carry unflinchingly for the time being—like the tears. Like the pain.

“Please drink the water, love,” Jon says. He touches one of his hands to Martin’s, where he’s holding the glass, and Martin’s eyes flicker briefly to his. Jon nods in encouragement.

With trembling hands, both closed around the large glass, Martin lifts the water to his lips and drinks. He doesn’t manage much—a few sips before his mouth tightens with nausea, and he has to lower the glass and breathe. But it’s a start.

“That’s good, Martin,” Jon soothes, as he takes the glass from Martin’s hands and places it on their bedside table. “Do you want to lie down?”

“Jon,” Martin tries to say.

“Shh. It’s alright. Lie down, just like that, that’s it.”

Martin reclines against the pillow, restlessness warring against exhaustion, until he looks almost settled. Jon tugs the blanket from the end of the bed and covers Martin with it, smoothing down the edges with extra care. Martin watches him, turned slightly on his side so he can look up at where Jon is still half-sitting against the headboard.

“I hate this,” Martin chokes, and blinks fresh tears down his cheeks. “I feel like—like everything is wrong.”

“In what way?” Jon asks gently, keeping his eyes on Martin as he reaches for the wet flannel sitting on the bedside table next to the three-quarters full glass of water.

Martin closes his eyes. “I’m so—I’m so tired, Jon.”

Jon lowers the flannel to Martin’s face, wiping first beneath his eyes, where some of the tears have collected and soaked into the begging of his laughter lines. “I know.”

Martin’s face crumples with something like grief. “That’s just it, though. This is—it’s nothing. Nothing compared to—to what you... And I’m just—making more of it than it needs.”

“Martin.”

“This isn’t—before, with Mum, I’d just—I’d keep going because—”

Martin frowns, sentence finishing abruptly. Jon pushes down the urge to correct, to intervene, and instead, with every ounce of patience and love he feels for Martin in this moment, continues to draw the flannel over the planes of his warm, weary face.

“I can’t stop,” Martin whispers at last, opening his eyes. “If I stop, then I’ll—I won’t ever start again. Like with the—the Lonely. Every time you reached out, I knew if I just stopped even for a moment, I wouldn’t be able to go back, and it would all fall apart. I’m not meant to stop. I can’t. I’m not resilient or, or the kind of person who can get knocked down and get back up again. It’s just—it’s keep going or...”

Jon drags the flannel along Martin’s jaw, down his throat, wiping away the remaining tears where they mingle with fever sweat. He focuses entirely on his task, a perfect excuse to carefully consider his next words. A separate part of his mind is processing that his theories had been right, in some way, and how he aches for Martin—the predictability of it doesn’t ease the pain. But Martin needs something other than that right now.

“Martin.” Jon starts, of course, at the beginning of all things. With love. With a reason. “There are moments in life when sometimes we need to stop. Think about it like... like an orchestra. In an orchestra, there are times where an instrument, or even an entire segment, will be given a break within the music or by the conductor—because it’s needed and it’s necessary. The performance is better for it. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

Martin blinks up at Jon, slow and exhausted but comprehending. Jon continues his task, wiping the cloth across Martin’s forehead now.

“You are the most resilient person I know, Martin. I would be lying to you—and I think you know that—if I said I’d never seen you get knocked down. But I have watched you get back up again and again and again,” Jon continues. “If this time, it takes a little longer—if this time, you’re not sure when you can begin again—that’s alright. You deserve rest. You have nothing to prove, except perhaps that you can stop—or pause, if it’s easier to think of it that way—and the world won’t collapse around you.” Jon removes the flannel from Martin’s forehead and replaces it with a gentle kiss. “I won’t let it.”

Jon lets his lips linger before he lowers his head onto the pillows to face Martin. Martin is still crying, eyes bright with tears and fever both, but there’s something less dejected in his expression. Something less lost.

“I’m sorry,” Martin whispers, “For the crying, and—”

“There’s nothing to apologise for.”

“Not even the laundry?” Martin’s voice is so small, still trembling with tears. But there’s the briefest glimpse of a smile at the corner of his chapped lips.

“Not even the laundry,” Jon agrees, although he puts on a begrudging front.

Martin closes his eyes and leans forward, so that his and Jon’s foreheads are touching in the small gap between their two pillows. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“And I—I want to believe you.”

Jon feels himself smile, and he hopes Martin knows it is all for him. “Thank you.”

Jon knows they will talk about this again. He knows this will be something understood and folded into the fabric of their lives slowly, piece by painful piece. But for now, as he watches Martin’s tears slowly ease, replaced eventually by sleep, and as Jon himself begins to follow, he thinks at the threshold of his dreams that next time might be just a little bit easier. A little bit kinder. And that is always enough.

#cw illness #cw depressive episode #cw disassociation #cw swearing #cw self-depreciation #cw compulsive behaviour #i hope this is okay <3

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httpsohnpouts · 3 years

Text

𝐩𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧. | 𝐤𝐢𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐧.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: royal!younghoon x lady’s maid!fem reader

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄: angst but not really + fluff // enemies to friends

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: younghoon’s a bit sassy/socially awkward but nth too extreme

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1.5k

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: happy (belated) birthday my beaby @chaoticdeobi, ily endlessly, i hope you like it! i hope you had a great day!

the hall was grand, to say the least. the walls painted in the finest mix of white tie and matchstick; but to any common eye, the paint was just simply cream. portraits of the family’s ancestors hung perfectly on said walls, golden plaques engraved with their names and the years from birth to death, situated just below them.

you could say the hall was the largest part of the building but yet, younghoon was always found hiding away in the undercroft. his time well spent at the very end, paintbrush in hand as he delicately placed the brush onto the canvas, an elegant piece forming in its wake; finding comfort and solace in the peace that he got, a break from his reality, hence why his father had gifted him the space and the utensils for his twelfth birthday.

a slight sigh left younghoon’s slightly ajar lips of concentration, brows knitting together as he couldn’t quite get the right angle of his paintbrush, “it won’t work if you’re holding it so awkwardly.” it took the man by surprise, spilling his water pot over his fresh set of white trousers, nobody ever wandered into his space during the day as the staff working in the castle feared him and his intimidating gaze nor did they ever sneak up on him upon knowing of his tendency to become scared easily.

fury burning in his eyes as his fresh whites absorbed more and more of the tainted water as he sat there, whipping his head in the direction of the voice who stood behind him, arms folded and they leaned against the porcelain walls, legs crossed in a way that just screamed arrogance.

“excuse me, who the hell do you think you are sneaking up on a royal, did you not see the ‘do not disturb’ sign?” with a sigh, younghoon scurried to wipe off his trousers - not that it would do anything considering fabric isn’t waterproof and the damage was already done - huffing again, “oh, forget it. clean this up, i take it you’re a maid? now if you excuse me.”

it was dinner time now, and everybody knew that the king wanted the whole family to sit around the dining table together, occasionally discuss important business him and his wife had to deal with, or something they wanted younghoon to participate in against his will; but in his eyes, it was all apart of the family bonding.

“where’s mother?” younghoon asked as he adjusted his newly fixed hair, the constant puffing of breath out of his lips having messed it up. watching the kitchen staff busily prepare the table for their meal.

“one of the cleaning workers knocked over your mother’s glass of wine and it went all over her new gown. she’ll be down in a few- oh look, she’s coming here now.”

placing her palm upon her husband’s shoulder, younghoon’s mother took her seat at the dinner table, a familiar face following behind and standing to the side of the room with the other staff, you. you were his mother’s lady maid. if it were anybody else, he would’ve apologised for the tone he gave you earlier when he mistook you for part of the cleaning staff.. but what right did you of all people have spying on him in his private space?

“son? are you listening?” his father called to him, realisation hitting younghoon that he hadn’t stopped gaping at you since you walked in the room. adjusting his collar before prompting his father to continue speaking.

“as i was saying, your mother and i have to leave the country for a few days. you are in charge of taking care of your sister whilst we’re gone as well as the staff. we trust you with this son, don’t disappoint us,”

“oh and y/n, you will be staying here for the time being, your services aren’t necessary on this trip. you’ll be in charge of our daughter when younghoon is busy, understood?” whilst younghoon’s father was a kind and generous man, he definitely wasn’t the most respected man in the castle for no reason. his striking and powerful demeanour spread for miles, no one dared to disobey the king, not knowing exactly what he’s capable of but not wanting to find out either.

younghoon’s parents were gone for most of his childhood, along through his teenage years and then into his early adulthood. so it’s safe to say he grew up isolated and alone for most of his life. his only source of socialisation was when his sister was born seven years ago, when he was seventeen. they’re practically attached at the hip, wherever younghoon went, his sister followed and vice versa. his sister was mature for her age, much like younghoon himself, she had to learn how to take care of herself from an early age; that included knowing how to dress appropriately, know how to do her own hair and makeup for any special occasions the family hosted or attended to as well as the basics on how to behave as a royal should. the only difference between the siblings was that now, younghoon had responsibilities he had to take care of- preparing to be king once his father passes or if he steps down from the throne, maintaining a clean record as well as the constant fear of practically falling apart at the seams.

it wasn’t and still isn’t the ideal life for one to live, seeking his father’s approval and permission for pretty much everything he does. the burden weighing upon his shoulders just itching to make his knees buckle and collapse, making it hard for him to do pretty much anything “normal” like making friends or doing typical things you’d do in your twenties; it wasn’t that he liked people keeping their distance from him, nor the fact that everybody in the castle had their own misconceptions on him and his behaviour, all of which turn their topic of conversations onto him whenever he walks into the room.

it was a couple of days later when younghoon found himself sitting on the top of a hill just outside of the castle gates, observing the vast and majestic view that clouded the sky. the blue replaced by a faint red hue whilst the clouds floated aimlessly. the only sounds heard consisted of younghoon’s breathing, the small flow of water beside him and the odd bird that flew by every now and then. he can’t remember the last time he felt pure peace. everything being far too fast to keep up, like a black hole or a tornado, something you’re quickly swept up into until you completely disappear and break.

“they’re going absolutely mad looking for you in the castle, sir.”

you.

without sparing you a glance, younghoon let out a sigh, his shoulders tensing slightly at the thought of going back to the place that causes far too much stress.

unpropping yourself from a nearby rock, settling a comfortable space from younghoon, staring out at the landscape that looked like it just came out of a painting.

“what’re you doing here?”

“i came to find you, duh. they’re going sick at the thought of you having fled the country or something.”

“no, seriously. what’re you doing here?”

“contrary to belief, sir, but i actually want to be your friend. not your foe, regardless of how hard you try to push me away. don’t you ever get lonely in that big place?”

younghoon snickered at that, “you think you know me huh?”

“not at all. that’s why i’m saying i want to, i know what it’s like to have my childhood swept from between my feet, floating between self-doubt and uncertainty of what i’m going to do with my life and how i’m even going to do it on my own. i know far too well what it’s like to be alone my whole life, my parents either too busy preoccupied with work or too tired to spend time with me when they get home at the end of the night.”

for the first time, it felt like someone wasn’t pitying him, or mistaking his standoff-ish personality for something for malice and ill-intended. for the first time, he felt heard and understood.

“how about a restart?”

“huh?”

younghoon was turned towards you now, his hand extended to you, “hi. i’m younghoon. not prince younghoon, not sir, just younghoon.”

“nice to meet you, just younghoon, im y/n. i hope we can be great friends.”

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iturmom · 3 years

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mitsuki and boruto feelings

have i mentioned how much i love boruto lately? maybe a lil?

i have so many thoughts, some of them that i haven’t rambled about in these rants yet so bear with, all of the 2 people who read these! (ily btw)

boruto, is kinda.... a shitty person? like, his nindo is to never leave a friend behind, right? like he hasn’t claimed a nindo yet, but that is regardless, his ninja way. and he does that, and he does do some pretty selfless things, most of the time. but he uses evil means to accomplish this goal sometimes. like i just can’t stop thinking about how he lied to his family to go chase sasuke around and cause problems. none of that was selfless at all, until he got the mission from gaara, but that’s beside the point. originally, it was a totally self-serving purpose. and mitsuki is always looking at boruto with the cute grin he always wears with fucking stars in his eyes while boruto is saying some fucked up shit. i guess it’s like the whole “don’t tell me my fave is a psychopath. i’ve seen what he’s done, and i like it” thing. idfk what mitsuki’s damage is at this point. which is a good segue to

mitsuki. deserves. better.

he. is. just.

themostpreciouscinnamonbuntoogoodforthisworldtoopure goodestmoonboysnakeboycatdad he is such a good character. everything about him is perfect. and yet, his whole purpose is to swoon over boruto and to save his ass because that’s his boyfriend and no one is going to hurt his boyfriend. how many times has mitsuki actually sacrified himself to save boruto, offered to sacrifice himself to save boruto, or swooped in to save the day and save boruto? i have lost track at this point. and after his disappearance arc, boruto was all “i’m gonna take the time to get to know you” and then mitsuki has never been so on the backburner as he has been since he went on that secret infiltration mission. he deserves better. the audience deserves some boruto and mitsuki bonding time. WE deserve better. but idk i think honestly at this point in the series if we get mitsuki and boruto bonding time it would probably legitimately turn romantic there’s no way around it because let’s fucking face it every word that comes out of this precious snake boy’s mouth is just dripping with pure admiration for boruto like boruto is his world boruto is his nindo boruto is his everything BORUTO’S FACE IS RIGHT NEXT TO MITSUKI’S HEAD WHILE THIS POOR WHIPPED BOY SLEEPS and i just don’t think a romance between them would be possible because idk if mitsuki is even able to directly confess his feelings and i don’t think boruto would reciprocate them, and i don’t think the writers would want gay shit idk if mitsuki is queer baiting or what someone solve this problem for me please, someone convince me that mitsuki is straight i’m begging you because this is eating away at me mitsuki will never get his boy and i don’t think he even really cares he just wants to die for boruto he doesn’t want anything else in life and i just can’t handle it. when is the last time i used punctuation? this is what boruto and mitsuki is doing to my brain ugh. how do i sort this out? it’s also probably lack of sleep tho i’m planning on sleeping right after i post this it’s been a lil while tbh.

more mitsuki thoughts before i move on to more rational thoughts. these are just wandering thoughts. mitsuki made a good prison boyfriend. high key. and mitsuki is LEGITIMATELY boruto’s ride or die. boruto is like “we’re gonna stage a prison break” and mitsuki’s like “of course we are boyfriend i’ll follow you anywhere” and idk about you but i kinda feel like mitsuki loved every second that he was whispering in boruto’s ear and plotting and scheming with his boyfriend and just generally being so close to him. i mean, he said so himself on their way home, he liked being in prison. and what did he do in prison? stick to boruto like glue the entire time. when he rushed to care for boruto when he fell ill from eating the poison fruit even though they both knew it was going to happen he was still so sad his boyfriend was sick and I was sad. also sarada told boruto he owes her a caramel machiatto when they ditched their mission to save his ass and sidetrack but that kinda felt like a slap in the face when she said caramel machiatto but anyway. mitsuki took a rain check on his iou from boruto. i believe from the bottom of my cold dead heart that what he wants more than anything is a hug like this poor boy is sprung. and when he said, with stars in his eyes and his cute lil grin “that’s so like you, boruto” i immediately said “wow, that’s so like you to say that, mitsuki” because how often does he say that? when is someone going to say that to him please someone tell me someone says that to him at some point that’s all i want spoiled please just tell me.

okay i think i got that all out of my brain. now, rational time. boruto finally awaked his karma and that’s finally become a plot point and i still have no fucking clue what karma is but guess who was THE ONLY PERSON TO NOTICE IT besides sasuke but sasuke was there and nothing gets past him tbh. oh, you guessed mitsuki? yeah i know cause duh mitsuki noticed it he’s like “oh you got that after you fought momoshiki” and i’m like of course you know that mitsuki even though you were in the hospital for all of that BECAUSE YOU SACRIFICED YOURSELF TO SAVE BORUTO. but of course you know. (i thought i was done with mitsuki SIKE this was the perfect context to bring it up so) but anywhomst, i’m really happy that boruto finally awaked his karma i think that’s what it is. and i noticed in the new opening theme, kawaki is there and i am not ready. is he coming in this arc? i have been anxiously awaiting him because i’m so scared i will hate him and he will unravel the whole show and tear apart everything that i’ve grown to love so much and i just am anxious about kawaki. and also, i noticed that mysterious figure in the opening theme, does anyone know who that is? i think it’s older boruto? why is he there? am i getting that far in boruto? i feel like i’m almost caught up and i’m sad because i’m going to run out of episodes but i’m happy because the newest season is updating NOW but i’m sad because the newest season will probably end on a gutwrenching cliffhanger maybe idk. because i’ve just been binging it so i haven’t gotten a feel for how they wrap up the seasons so i don’t really know. i just. have a lot of boruto feelings. this is becoming a regular thing for me. thank you for coming to my ted talk.

#boruto #boruto mitsuki #i forgot how to do read more sorry friends :)#i fucking love boruto #someone hELP I NEED A LOBOTOMY MY FAVE IS A DISASTER GAY WHO WILL NEVER GET HIS BOY #someone hELP THESE SUN AND MOOD GOOD BOYOS ARE RUINING MY LIFE #but they are the goodest boys #sun and moon boyos uwu #uwu #but also plEASE HELP THIS PRECIOUS CINNAMON BUN BOY MOON BOY SNAKE BOY CAT DAD IS RUINING MY LIFE #BECAUSE HE'S A DISASTER GAY AND HE WILL NEVER GET HIS BOY PLEASE HELP #maybe i can just watch good omens season two when it come out is it already out? and just hope that aziraphale and crowley become canon #yes that will fix me #no what will fix me is SLEEP I NEED SLEEP MY BODY LITERALLY REQUIRES IT AND IT HAS BEEN SO LONG HELP #this post has gone down the shitter #i must be really tired #but just keep in mind i've been meaning to post these thoughts like all day THESE ARE MY THOUGHTS they're just fucky cause am sleeby #why did i make the same typo twice? what is awaked?#awoked #woked #he awoked it #srry ^^

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the-hopeless-haze · 3 years

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Somebody Hurt Me Too Deep (Being Alive Ch 14)

Previous Chapter

A/N: I AM BACK omg ok like I’ve been through it in the last month..... yeah. This was of course based on “Being Alive” but also “champagne problems”... thank Taylor Swift for any emotional distress I cause :)

CW: talks of mental illness, brief mentions of past trauma and car accidents

Taglist (thank u all for reading ily): @caked-crusader @thatesqcrush @law-nerd105 @blackeyedangel9805 @moon-river-drifter @the-baby-bookworm @dianilaws @xecq @lv7867 @arabellathorne @teddybluesclues @averyhotchner @houseofthirst

“Carino? I’m home,” Rafael says as he steps through the apartment door, placing his briefcase down on the recliner. It was only 3pm, early for him to be finished with work for the day, but he had been getting out earlier recently to accompany you to physical therapy appointments. You were doing well, at least physically. It had been a long six weeks, but today might be the appointment that cleared you to go back to work full-time and maybe get out from behind the desk a little.

Mentally, though, it was a mixed bag. Some days were easier than others, and that was to be expected, but it was hard to tell the squad you were doing better when you couldn’t even bring yourself to text them back. Still, he pleaded otherwise, said every day was a new day and carried on even if they didn’t believe him.

Today, though, today was the turning point, he could feel it. You were doing so well, and eventually, your brain would have to catch up with your body. So tonight, he booked a reservation at a restaurant… not any restaurant, but the Cuban restaurant he took you to the night you asked him out and he barely used your first name and he swore he hated you with nearly every fiber of his being.

Right. As if he hated you even then.

You’re in a good mood, albeit not as elated as he hoped, but the physical therapist approves you for work but to “take it easy” and you’re laughing at his wry remarks and squeezing his hand in the back of the taxi on the way to the restaurant. His nerves almost dissipate, but they don’t. And maybe that should’ve been his first sign that tonight was not going to go as planned.

Rafael was never a superstitious man, but you order the same dish you ordered the first time he took you out, and he can’t help but think this is a sign to push forward.

“Oh, fuck it,” Rafael murmurs, a surge of anxiety overcoming him. “I was going to wait until after dinner… but…. I have something I want to ask you.”

And just like that, your face falls, but Rafael can barely take that in, he just keeps talking, his mouth moving faster than the neurons in his brain that tell him to stop, now isn’t a good time.

“I love you so much, (y/n), and I know these past few months have been so hard, and this isn’t the way either of us have wanted this year to start, but… we got through it together. I never thought I’d be in a position in my life, with someone who I love… that I’d be willing to do this, but… (Y/n)... will you marry me?”

You don’t say anything for a few seconds, but it feels like hours, days, months. “Can you get up off the floor, Rafael? You’re embarrassing us,” you finally say hollowly, and it’s true, the whole restaurant is stopped in their tracks staring at the two of you. Rafael couldn’t possibly care less, though, he couldn’t comprehend anything that was going on - he was just thinking “well, she hasn’t said no…” and then you’re getting up, throwing your napkin on the table, shaking your head, saying “I can’t do this.”

Rafael gains some of his senses back, enough to follow you outside into the tempering late February air. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, Rafael, I don't,” you say stiffly without turning around to face him. “I’ll get my stuff in the morning. I need to be alone right now.”

“I just… I didn’t know you weren’t happy,” Rafael says, his voice breaking, and that gives you enough impetus to turn around.

“You didn’t know I wasn’t happy? Goddamn, Rafael, do you even live with me? I’ve been unhappy for months.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why didn’t you know?”

“Jesus, (y/n), maybe because I’m not a fucking mind reader?”

“Right. You honestly thought we were in a good enough place to propose tonight?”

“Obviously! Or I wouldn’t have done it!” he snaps. “You honestly think we’re in a bad enough place that you couldn’t say yes?”

“Obviously! Or I would have done it!” you throw his words back at him, and god do they sting.

“You never told me anything. You just withdrew.”

“Yeah. Maybe that should’ve been a sign. Look. I’m moving back home. I was going to tell you tonight.”

“What? Is that all it was? (Y/n), if you want to move back, I could work something out--”

“No. No, you can’t, Rafael. You’ve never been able to work anything out in your life because you’re too scared to! You just operate on fear - and this is no exception. You thought I was going to die six weeks ago and that’s the only reason you’ve been acting this way, and I’ve been slipping away recently and you’ve just been trying to consistently deny it so you just get on one knee and think that’s going to solve everything, think that’s going to make me stay. That’s not how it works! I’m not happy. I need to go home.”

“Oh no. You know what it is? You’re afraid. Don’t try to put this on me. You’re the one who’s walking away. You’re the one who’s running back home.”

“Fuck you, Rafael. Your family is all here. Mine isn’t. My brother’s getting a job for the first time, my mom just got on disability, I miss my dad… I’ve spent too long here. I’ve spent too long with you.”

“What happened? What the fuck happened?”

“What the fuck happened every other time, Rafael? You’ve gone through this plenty of times before.”

Rafael scoffs, shakes his head, leans against the outside of the restaurant. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m fucking sick, Rafael!” you’re screaming now, your cheeks turning red, your eyes leaking angry tears. “All this time, since the accident, I’ve been fucking drowning and you didn’t even notice!”

“Sick?”

“Depressed, Rafael. Anxious. Liv wanted me screened before I came back and the therapist said so. AGain. For the fucking umpteenth time in my life. But this time, I thought I had someone who cared--”

“How the fuck was I supposed to know if you didn’t tell me?”

“Couldn’t you see?”

Rafael shakes his head slowly, but now it comes back to him, all these subtle signs, the days you wouldn’t make it out of bed until 3 pm, all the days and nights you spent staring listlessly at the walls, the inability of anything he said or did to make you feel better. But it came and went, and Rafael just took it as you being upset sometimes at the limitations placed on you by your injured leg. Never did he think there was something more serious going on. Or maybe he just didn’t want to think that, and he ignored every signal.

“I’m sorry, (y/n),” he whispers, but he knows that’s too little, too late. Both of you were at fault - that was clear to him now - but was it clear to you? “I really didn’t know.”

“Evidently,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest.

“But you can get help. We can work this out.”

“I just… Rafael. I’m not ready. You of all people should have some sympathy for that.”

Ouch. You were going for the jugular now, hurting him where only you could, rejecting his proposal, leaving him crestfallen on one knee in the middle of a restaurant, but somehow your words hurt worse. Anyone could reject a proposal. Only you could psychoanalyze him and hurl the worst remarks his way, things no one else would be able to come up with.

“Then okay,” he sighs. “We won’t get married yet, or ever, if that’s what you want. But you really want to throw this away entirely?”

“I don’t know, Rafael. I don’t. Look, I’m sorry too. I just… I can’t deal with this right now.”

“Do you think… do you think maybe--”

“I don’t know,” you say firmly. “I don’t even know if I really want to go back home. I just know I don’t want to live like this anymore, just waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“But it isn’t going to drop. I just fucking proposed. I’m in this for the long haul. And fuck it, if you want to go back home, I’ll work it out.”

“This fake optimism isn’t you.”

“This lack of optimism entirely isn’t you! What happened to the woman who got through some of the worst shit imaginable and landed on her own two feet? You got into a car accident, (y/n). You lived! You should be thankful, not sitting here sulking like your world’s gone to shit.” Again, his mouth moves too fast to register the look on your face as it falls, and tears start to stream down your face. He can’t stop but push it further, hurt you in retaliation.

“Seriously, Rafael, how insensitive can you be? I tell you I’m struggling and you invalidate my feelings? Fuck off.”

“I didn’t mean--”

“Why’d you say it then? You know what, I’m done. Goodbye, Rafael.”

“But--”

“No. Give me space. You owe me that.”

He does. And god, it hurts to watch you walk away, his abuelita’s ring burning a hole in his pocket when it should be on your finger. But maybe.... maybe this isn't the end. Maybe all you need is space.

Maybe Rafael's wishing on a pipe dream. He doesn't know anymore. All he knows is the sting of this pain.

-----

You walk alone in the dark, your leg still aching slightly, and you just feel like utter shit. You can’t remember ever feeling quite this low, but you can’t remember feeling rage like this, either. No one’s hurt you like Rafael.

But that’s because you loved him enough to let him.

You still love him even now, but spending day in and day out with him coddling you, you couldn’t handle it. And maybe you should’ve acted like an adult and told him and stopped pretending everything was fine when you knew it wasn’t. If only you weren’t so fucked in the head, right? Just how it always went, your life, cycles of feeling fine and cycles of feeling like you’re scraping at the bottom of a barrel for a will to go on. And yeah, sometimes even you would question why you were taking this so hard - so what, it’s a car accident, you were lucky to have lived - but Rafael didn’t understand and you didn’t know how to make him. How were you going to get in a passengers seat again without having a panic attack? Would your leg ever fully heal? You’d wasted six weeks staring at the walls of Rafael’s apartment, doing menial paperwork for Olivia that anyone could have done. How could you not feel entirely worthless? And then for Rafael to make it seem like you were overexaggerating like you should just get over this… you hated him.

But you didn’t, really. You know deep down he’s just angry the night didn’t go the way he wanted it to, with you promising to be his for the rest of your life. Still, rage is a truth serum of sorts, like cheap wine, and it makes you wonder how deep that resentment runs. How could he not notice you were upset, though? That’s a hell of a blind eye to turn.

At least back home you had Ben if nothing else.

But here, you had everything else. The squad, your career, Rafael… You couldn’t even begin to think about marriage right now - Lord knows Rafael isn’t ready either - but did you really want to throw in the towel? How do couples move past a rejected proposal, though? Hadn’t you hurt him deeper than anyone else could have? And would he ever figure out how to propose again?

Maybe to someone else, you think, someone who didn’t have all these fucking issues.

Before you know it, you have a cigarette in your mouth and a lighter in hand and you’re leaning against the side of a convenience store, watching girls walk by in stilettos hanging on to their men or giggling with their group of friends, the taxis blurring past. Then you realize you broke the first promise you made to Rafael: you bought cigarettes in New York.

Had he really wanted to collect on that promise? It wasn’t like you were addicted, it was just a stupid habit you started in high school to take the edge off, but you supposed some people had the inclination to start and never stop, but you always could when you wanted to.

Your vice wasn’t cigarettes, no, it was love. You gave all you could to whoever would take it because you were so used to people wanting nothing to do with you since you isolated yourself due to your past trauma. Once you got to college, you refused to hide in the background, and you took chances you weren’t used to taking and loved in color, you loved until it made you blue when the boys would cheat or your so-called friends would find different cliques.

You were still like that, albeit in so much a desperate way, and you had been loved in return, now, not just by Rafael but by the squad too - even if you had your squabbles. You loved them to death and back.

But friends were easier to keep than lovers.

Maybe it is scary to think Rafael was going to be the end. That he’d be the last man you ever kissed in love or passion. That you’d be the last woman standing in his long list of ex-lovers - the only one who didn’t get crossed off.

How do you love someone that much? You always said you wanted that, but the thought always terrified you anyway, and maybe it’s why you did push people away when they felt too close because you felt like you didn’t deserve it, like you were still atoning for some sin you didn’t remember committing but you still feel guilty for all the same. You wonder if Rafael feels just as guilty.

You inhale the smoke, feeling the familiar, carcinogenic burn in your throat, causing yourself pain to cause Rafael pain only to cause you pain in return; an endless cycle of hurt.

With ambivalence, you put your cigarette out and hail a cab, and tell him to drive you to your apartment which you haven’t seen in weeks. There’s dust on every surface, it’s freezing as hell, and you don’t know how you’re going to sleep tonight, alone, so you light up another cigarette, sitting solitary with your nerves running haywire underneath your skin. What the hell were you going to do now?

#rafael barba x reader #rafael barba x you #rafael barba

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musedblues · 4 years

Note

Hello my love, I’m here with my first request 😌🥰 How about slow dancing with Brian, perhaps even teaching him? I keep picturing his adorable smile and I’m a goner 🥺😩 hope you’re doing well, ily 💞💞

Oh, Sofie dear this is so sweet! Thank you for sending this lovely idea my way, doll! I’ve been in quite the Bri mood as of late, so this one was very fun to write.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

You were in the middle of the best part of any wedding- enjoying the cake. John and Veronica were stopping around at every table, chatting away with the family and friends who planned to spend a few more hours celebrating the newlyweds. And since their first dance was done and over with, Freddie was off leafing through record selections to play over the loudspeakers, always eager to take any party into his own hands.

You finished your cake around the time some loud thrilling song rang out and Freddie forced everyone from their seats to get up and dance. You went to toss your rubbish and find a drink before any such fun could be had; you weren’t about to miss mucking about with your friends. And as you went about weaving toward the dance floor, you noticed Brian.

He was among the very few left sitting in their assigned seats, watching the mass of dancers throw themselves between one another. Besides Veronicas grandparents, there was Bri. Sat with his legs crossed, sipping the thin layer of alcohol left in his glass.

“Why do you look like you’re not going to budge from this spot, hm?” You stood in front of him, crossing your arms and giving him a small grin. Brian looked at you like he hadn’t expected to see you here tonight at all.

“Because I’m not.” He reasoned eventually. From the table just behind him, you noticed Veronicas grandparents slowly standing, and shuffling to turn toward the dance floor.

“You don’t want to be the only one left out from all the fun, do you?” You tried. Brian rose a finger and promptly responded,

“I’m not.” But as soon as he spoke, he caught a glimpse of the elderly couple making their way toward the dance floor. Brian put his finger down, stole a glance over his shoulder and looked back up to you as if he knew he didn’t have a choice.

“It’s not torture, Bri. Come have some fun.” You reached out to him before you could think of stopping yourself. He gapped at you while you wrapped your fingers around his wrist, and he floated along before you could even pull him with you. Despite the horrified look on his pretty face, he followed along with ease… until you got to the edge of the dance floor that is. He stalled, causing you to do the same.

“I don’t know how to dance.” He whispered in a hiss, casting his gaze out over the sea of people. And of course, like in all the movies and books and daydreams, the song changed just then. To something painfully slow. And despite the way your heart beat heavily, and the way Brian’s eyes grew wide with worry, you pulled him along all the while.

“I’ll teach you.” You declared, like you’d planned to all along. Like you weren’t just as nervous as he seemed to be.

So you turned to face Bri with all the confidence you could pretend lived in you. You told him where to put his hands and tried not to melt when his long fingered crept around your side. And even though there was a sliver of space left between the both of you, it was the closest you’d ever been.

“What now?” Brian whispered, letting out the sweetest little chuckle you’d ever heard. The sound set you at ease as you explained that you’d lead the way.

You didn’t move very far, and at first you couldn’t hear the music past the gentle instructions you gave the wild haired guitarist. And after looking down to watch where his feet moved, Brian looked up to you once more, and grinned. Then his eyes stayed focused on yours as you moved, like you were just as good a guide without saying a word. And you looked at him, and still couldn’t hear the music with the way you were lost in thought, soaking up every last detail of the way Brian danced with you. His hands keeping a gentle hold on you. His feet following yours. The feeling of his ill fitting velvet suit jacket beneath your touch.

When the song faded away and couples slowly parted, you and Brian did too. But he stood before you still, while you kept your eye on his all the same. When another bass heavy rock song rang to life and all your friends started jumping about, you and Brian stood. He smiled, and so did you. Then he laughed and you followed, until you were both caught up in chuckles, over what exactly, you had no clue or care.

Roger started calling his bandmates names from the mini bar, and the blondes raspy shouts caused Brian's eyes to roll away from yours. But his smile was even softer when he glanced back. Before he turned all the way away, Brian studied you for a beat.

“Perhaps I’ll lead the way through another dance before the night is up.” He said, so softly you nearly couldn’t hear him. But you did, and you gave him a quick nod.

Brian bit his lip and followed the sound of Roger’s voice. And you made a stealthy dash toward the dj, determined to jot down the name of the prior song. Because no matter how many more times you might be lucky enough to dance with Brian, the first was a time you’d never dream of forgetting.

Almost 600 Celebration Blurbs

#brian may x reader #brian may #Almost 600 Celebration

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theravencawsatmidnight · 4 years

Note

Yoooo that talk of Dragon King Bakugou got me THINKING A scenario where DK Bakugou saves a human girl who’s being hunted down by her fellow villagers cause they think she’s an evil witch (I’m not creative 😫)

STOP YES YOU ARE ILY .🥰

For The King...

You lived in a tiny village , it was a tiny community . No real problems with outsiders or animals. Although you heard dragon cries every now and then. You were a botanist and you enjoyed picking and growing flowers , you practiced healing herbs too. Every few nights the villagers would see some kind of colored smoke coming from youre house. When you were questioned you polietly explained you were mixing berries with flowers to create some kind of body wash to make you smell nice.

The villagers were skeptical and it was not long before the rumors started. Someone said you were creating potions to bring the dead to life. Others said you were a witch and you were creating concoctions filled with poison to let loose on the village.

One night you were sturring a pretty red liquid, you lifted the spoon to youre lips and beamed with happiness.

“Its perfect! I made Cranberry Jam!”

You scooped some of it up in youre clay cup and heard a bang on youre door. You twisted the cap on youre cup and went to the door opening it to see pitchforks and torches.. and the villagers

“Witch!!!”

“Harlot!”

“Get out!!! Before you summon the devil or worse!! That dragon king!!!”

You stepped back and they followed you in .

“What..! Im .. making jams ..”

“Lies!!!” They all shouted running in .

You grabbed youre bag shoving cups into it and ran out the back door into the cold dark forest. You ran into a couple trees, you couldint see . But you could smell the river. If you could get across youd be in His territory. They wouldint follow you if you got across.

The smell was getting stronger, you followed it and pushed some brances out of the way to see the blue water shining under the full moon. You stepped and fell to youre knees. “Fuck ack..!!!” You held youre bag up above youre head walking across the water. The villagers caught up but stopped right in their tracks when they saw you in the water .

“Cmon.. cmon..” you pushed through, slipping a couple times. It was cold.. so cold.

You fell onto the land looking back . They were turning back . Slowly you pushed youreself up shivering looking around. It was still dark but you could smell smoke mixed with water. You followed the scent and heard talking.

“Hah?!? If you dont want it ill eat it!!”

Rrooiaaarrr

“THEN EAT IT. Who cares if its burned!!!”

You peered over a tree seeing him. The dragon king and his dragon. He was sitting on a rock staring at the fire, his knees up with his arms on them . He was chewing a bone. The dragon was eating a pile of fish. He was beautiful , his cape his necklace his tattoo his-

“You having fun over there ? Peasant?”

You yipped falling forward into view. You cowered grabbing youre bag but a cup fell out. The dragon started to get up but he put his hand up. He got up snatching the cup before you could grab it , He opened it snuffing it.

You got on youre knees clinging to youre bag , youre body was trembling .

He drank a bit of the inside and the dragon growled as if he did not agree with what his Master did. The king kneeled down not bothering to wipe his mouth , he grabbed youre top yanking you forward to his face.

“What is this..” he took another sip .

“Cran...berry jam... i made it....”

“Hmmm.....” he exhaled through his nose with smoke coming out . He shoved his arm into his cheek wiping the jam from his face .

“I.. i didint mean to tresspass . My village thinks im a witch-“

“Shhh........” he stood up taking you with him

You stumbled into his bare chest trembling .

“A witch huh..? Give me one ...” he pet youre head. “Good reason why i shouldint bring you back for them to kill you”

You flinched under his touch . “I-... that jam.. i can make more.. for you i- “ his petting got rougher. “I make medicine with herbs and body wash too.......” you flinched under his touch like a very moody cat.

“Mmm.. i think i could use a herbalist .. what else do you do?”

“Botany.. i grow flowers, plants..”

He spit his bone out and clicked his teeth. The dragon got up and the king picked you up climbing onto the dragon. Before he took off he stared down at you holding youre neck.

“Youre my new medicine girl. Youll make me jams and anything else you can think of. Youll also.. comply with everything i say. In return you get to live.”

You gulped grabbing onto his cape making him smirk. The smirk crept up his face when he heard you agree to his terms.

“Wonderful.. lets go to youre new home.. peasant..”

#for the king #bakugo #dragon king bakugo #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo

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soft-baby-dobrik · 5 years

Text

ridiculous // david dobrik

a/n: hi :( sorry y’all i’ve been super busy and just kinda out of it, and my laptop broke so i’m saving up for a new one so ill be writing off my phone so pls don’t be mad!!! ily all and thank you for all the love in my absence :’) ALSO the request was vague so i got the idea and ran w it so i hope you like it :) side note: not sure if this is what you wanted and it didn’t turn out as good as i wanted but i’m rusty and typing on my phone SUCKS so pls don’t hate me :(

request: Can you write something about when David filmed with the Dolan twins ☺️

summary: david films with the dolan twins and friends and gets a little jealous (BC ANGSTTT) ((pre-relationship))

masterlist

follow my instagram (david page) <3

Everyday was a crazy memory or adventure when being friends with the vlog squad. Although you weren’t a big vlogger yourself, you had found a home with them. All the time was spent with reckless decisions and lots of laughter. Today was no different, except there was a slight colab happening. David was gunna shoot some footage with the Dolan Twins. No girl in their right mind could not find them attractive, so of course your excitement was stemmed a bit from their looks. Since joining the friend group, you had meant countless people, but never the Dolan’s and today was the day to meet them. When a text was received from Zane to be ready for David to pick you up, you didn’t hesitate to rush out of bed and get ready. Without being too extra, you threw on a cute outfit and did your makeup.

Waiting on David felt like forever. Of course, you weren’t going to make a move on them or anything, but meeting a celebrity crush, or two, was kind of a big deal. David texted you once he pulled up and you bolted to his car, flopping into the passenger seat.

“Well someone’s excited to see me,” David teased, laughing loudly. You faked a laugh as Zane responded:

“No I know that excitement, because i’m feeling the same amount. It’s the Dolan excitement.” An actual laugh cackled out of you as you shook your head.

“What are you talking about?” David asked as he peeled out of your driveway. You shrugged, not wanting to discuss your silly crush.

Zane answered for you, “Are you blind? The twins are attractive ass guys, so of course y/n is gunna get all cute and shit.”

“Or you guys could have just left it alone. Maybe I wanted to dress cute bc he’s recording? You don’t know,” you shrugged, facing forward, trying to hide the slight flush to your cheeks.

“I doubt they’ll pay any attention to you anyway,” David said, tensely. Your head whipped to look at him, clearly offended. David shot you a look, regret written on his face. “No I don’t mean that, just that-well we’ll be filming, so-“

“Fuck you,” you muttered, turning away.

“y/n,” David began before you rudely cut him off.

“It wasn’t that big of a fucking deal. I never said I was gunna make a move. I think Ethan is cute and didn’t want to look like a slob, but don’t worry, it won’t ruin your fucking vlog, since he won’t notice me anyway right?” you snarled, angrily. David knew that trigger. You grew up in a school where you were never noticed or valued all of high school. Boys wanted you for your body and would text you gladly and ignore your existence in person.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean it-“ he started again, but you crossed your arms over your chest.

“No you did, I’m not some gorgeous vlogger, so why would he pay me any attention. It’s not like I’ve had a guy since I’ve been here. But don’t worry about it, I’m used to it by now,” you snapped. After this, David drove in silence. Zane didn’t dare speak either. You sat there, so angry and hurt, tears welled up in your eyes. Even if he didn’t mean it that way he had no right to judge you or feel any way about it. For months you had tried for David and dropped hints of flirting, and he never payed you any mind. Now, he’s got something to say about you putting a little more effort for another guy? Ridiculous. The rest of the car ride was silent. You turned as far away from David as you could and watched the scenery changed until David parked. Zane climbed out of the car, glad to rid of the tension. You immediately followed, slamming the door shut.

A small smile was on Zane’s face as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder. “He didn’t mean it that way,” he said, softly.

“It doesn’t matter, he’s being a jerk,” you murmured.

“Well let’s go introduce you to some sexy men, so smile,” he teased, making you shake your head as you both walked into the building. It was a big space with some skateboarding ramp, you weren’t too sure. It was brightly lit and you smiled. After a deep exhale, you calmed your nerves and anger and focused on walking in sync with Zane. An outburst from Zane broke your focus for you to see Grayson and Ethan walking over.

“What’s up?” they called, walking over to you both, meeting you in the middle of the room.

“Nice to see you guys,” Zane smiled, hugging them both.

“Hi,” Ethan smiled over to you. Internally you felt yourself scream and externally you felt a slight blush.

“Hi, I’m y/n,” you smiled back.

“He’s knows, he watched David’s new vlogs and asked if you were coming,” Grayson smirked, watching Ethan roll his eyes, clearly not embarrassed. You bit back a smile as you fangirled internally. As you were going to say something, you heard David’s loud laugh.

“You ready to shoot?” David called, grinning. Sighing, you glanced over and saw his smile falter slightly.

“We’re always ready,” Grayson said. Before you knew it, the guys were all doing dumb stuff and laughing and you sat back, just laughing at them. You watched as they messed around and relaxed on a couch near them. Your relaxed state returned to nervous as Ethan approached you, sticking out a hand. Quizzically, you looked up at him.

“I’m gunna teach you,” he smirked, showing the board in his hand. You laughed loudly and shook your head, signaling no.

“I’m not trying to break a bone or my neck,” you laughed, remanding seated.

“See but that’s why I’m here, to break your fall, and hold your hands,” he smirked as he saw your cheeks flush slightly.

“Tempting,” you teased, debating his offer.

“Sounds like you need more convincing,” Ethan said, pursing his lips in thought before a smirk returned. “Any injury you get, I have to kiss better,” he proposed.

“Guess I’m gunna have to fall face first,” you mumbled, taking his outstretched hand.

“I might push you in that case,” he replied, tugging you up. Your face flushed at the fact he heard you. “Alright, let’s get you set up.” His other hand dropped the board and you climbed on, understanding the jist of it. His other hand grabbed yours as he began to pull you on the board, slowly.

“What are y’all doing?” Zane screamed, making the flush on your face deepen.

“I’m teaching princess over here how to ride a skateboard,” Ethan smirked, looking at your fake shocked face.

“You never offered me personal lessons,” Zane pretended to pout, making you laugh. Your eyes glanced to see David standing there with a scowl.

“Grayson can teach you!” you called, making everyone laugh slightly. David remained unmoved, glaring.

“Alright do you wanna try to push yourself?” Ethan asked, looking down at you.

“I’m okay,” you laughed, continuing to hold his warm hands. You watched as Zane tried the ramp and laughed loudly as he fell on the ramp, making both you and Ethan distracted. With no attention being paid to the board, Ethan’s foot rammed into it and caused you both to fall on the ground, only making you laugh more. Your leg was scraped up a little bit, but you payed it no mind.

“Are you okay?” Ethan asked, laughing with you. You nodded. “Guess I owe you a kiss,” he added with a smirk.

“Oh you totally made us fall on purpose!” you exclaimed, giggling.

“Me? You’re the one who was supposed to be paying attention!” he teased back. Suddenly, David’s loud steps made you both turn.

“Ethan what the hell?” David exclaimed, looking down at you. “You hurt her!”

“David, we fell, it was an accident,” Ethan said, looking up at David with a confused expression.

“It’s not even bleeding,” you added, confused as well. David tugged your body off the ground, calling Zane over to leave.

“I knew you shouldn’t have come,” David snarled, starting to pull you towards the door.

“David what the fuck?” you said, stopping abruptly.

“I’m gunna take you home,” David said, annoyed.

“Why? I’m fine,” you asked, lost on where this anger came from.

“No you’re hurt and you will get hurt here,” David said, sternly.

“What the hell are you talking about?” you asked, ripping your arm away from him.

“Ethan is just going to try and sleep with you, and then you’re gunna be devestated,” he said, glaring at you. To say you were confused was an understatement.

“We were just flirting. I never said I was gunna go home with him!” you exclaimed, angrily. “And if I did it’s not any of your business.”

“He’s talking about kissing you and then let you fall off the skateboard!” David shot back.

“David we were barely moving and I scraped my leg. Why are you losing your shit? And you’re not gunna tell me when to go home,” you said.

“Fine then I’m going to go the fuck home, get a ride from Ethan or something,” he replied before heading out the door. Your mouth hung open before the anger hit you. Without another thought, you were rushing out the door and towards his Tesla, walking after him. The bright sun shone down on you as you called after David.

“What is your fucking problem?” you screamed. “You’re pissed for what reason?” He continued to ignore you. “Okay, fine, don’t talk to me and be childish,” you screamed, going to turn around, but the sight of David angrily turning to face you stopped your movements. You stood near the trunk of his car and his body whipped around and left no space between you two.

“Childish? I’m childish? You’re flirting with one of my friends and wondering why I’m pissed. Then he hurts you and you don’t care? Like are you that easy, a smile and some flirting makes you melt? I’ve been trying for months to get your attention and he swoops in and you’re just about to kiss him?” he yelled, placing your body in between him and the car. You stood there, eyes wide at him.

“What are you talking about?” you asked, quietly.

“I have wanted you for months now and you show no interest in me. I try to drop hints and you don’t show a care. I’ve been trying for months and then you’re just gunna go after one of my friends?” he snaps, running his fingers through his hair, roughly.

“You haven’t tried anything? You’ve been nothing but friendly to me. You never made a move and you have all these beautiful girls surrounding you and you want me to believe you wanted me this whole time?” you said in disbelief.

“I never wanted went after anyone else!” he exclaimed, still angry.

“Fuck you for playing with my emotions right now,” you muttered, going to move away from him.

“Playing with your emotions right now? You’re the one all flirty and shit with my friend!” he yelled, clenching his fists.

“Because you never showed you cared more than a friend, and I’m sorry I didn’t want to sit around and wait for you to like me the way I like you-“ you rambled before being interrupted.

“Like,” he said, calmly. His eyes looked away from you for a second.

“What are you say-“ you again were cut off by David as he spoke:

“Shut up, y/n,” he whispered, leveling his face with yours. Anger had left you as you felt the air being taken out of your lungs. He stood there, looking over all sorts of your face before speaking softly, “You’re fucking ridiculous,” he breathed. That’s when the anger came back over you.

“I’m ridiculous? You’re fucking ridiculous, fu-“ Before you could finish your angry tangent, David’s body collided with yours. His lips pressed against yours, roughly. Immediately, your body relaxed and your hands grasped his shirt. His body pushed you against the car as he guided the kiss, digging his fingers into the kiss. Your mind became hazy as you couldn’t think of anything besides how good his lips and body felt against yours. He licked and tugged at your bottom lips making you sigh into the kiss. Months of craving this moment and it was finally here. You let your fingers tangle into his wavy hair, running through it and tugging on the ends ever so slightly, making him deepen the kiss. All his pent up anger he was letting out in this kiss, showing you how frustrated you had him and you wanted to moan at the feeling. Right as you parted your lips, Zane’s loud cackle halted the continuation.

“I knew this shit would happen,” Zane smirked, looking at both of your disheveled state. A blush came over your cheeks as your hands dropped to your sides. David remained standing exactly where he was, his grip not loosening on your hips.

“Zane, I need you to leave right now,” David breathed, laughing lightly.

“Without a thank you? You’re fucking welcome. I set all of this up so one of you dumbasses would make a move,” Zane replied. “You’re fucking welcome.” With that, Zane whipped around, adding, “I’ll grab a ride from someone else!”

You and David stood, looking at each other. Your mouth was parted in confusion and David’s had a big smirk plastered on his lips.

“What just happened?” you asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“y/n, shut the fuck up, I’m over your mouth today,” David said, smirking as your face changed to anger.

“Um excuse me I-“ you began once again, and of course were cut off.

“I have waited months for this moment and after today, I need my girl to relieve some of my stress that she caused me,” he breathed, leaning down to let his lisp hover over yours.

“Your girl? You never asked me to be-“ you shot back, tugging your face away from his, only have his finger lace around the back of your neck.

“Yes my girl, I like you and you said you like me and I’m not wasting another minute arguing with you,” David rushed out, leaning down to connect your lips again. You leaned into this kiss, letting his body support yours before he pulled away abrudptly. “I mean unless you don’t wanna be my girl, I’m sure Ethan would love to-“ he smirked.

“David, shut up,” you whispered, shaking your head.

“Hmm, I’ll make us both shut up,” he mumbled, leaning down to push you against the car and kiss you once again.

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hoe-imaginess · 5 years

Note

First of all let me thank you for taking the time and energy to run this blog, it legitimately makes my day when I see a new post. Alright so this request is for the Founders trio. Let’s say they made a political decision that’s not so popular with some powerful people and they try to poison them in retaliation but end up poisoning s/o. Non-lethal poison but one that causes violent illness. Thank you and have a nice day!

thank you love ily

Hashirama

•Hashirama is not fond of political unrest and even if he’s made a decision that he knows is unpopular, he doesn’t ever think he’s going to be assassinated for it or anything like that. It’s probably just his positive, wishful thinking

•So he takes a break from all the drama and tries to just enjoy a night with his s/o. They open a bottle of sake and try to relax. His s/o takes a drink first, and once they collapse, Hashi goes into panic mode immediately

•He doesn’t even immediately think it’s poison, he just doesn’t know what’s wrong. Did they choke? Are they having a seizure? Can medical jutsu fix them or does he need to rush to the hospital?

•He’s probably so scared that he doesn’t trust himself to help. So to the hospital it is. Or at least, he’ll call for a medic to come right away

•Even once he finds out it was a poison, poison meant for him, the first thing on his mind isn’t revenge or finding the culprits. He just feels guilty for putting his s/o in a vulnerable position. He feels naive. He should have known better than to sit idly and hope for peace, should have known better than to think his enemies wouldn’t do everything and anything to get to him

•He’s really a mess for a while. His purpose is to protect, and he can’t even protect the people closest to him. So what is it all for? He’s extra protective from that point on

Tobirama

•Tobirama makes so many bad political decisions that it’s no surprise someone is out to get him lol. So he’s always cautious and knows anyone at any moment can lash out

•That doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s constantly worried about assassins or poison in his food and drink, and whatever else is possible—but he’s always careful. Never too trusting. Always a skeptic. But maybe he doesn’t feel that he needs to be that way when he’s home, when he’s comfortable and at ease with his s/o

•Maybe that night his s/o convinced him to really relax, sit at home and eat dinner and worry about the now. Sometimes his s/o is able to do that if Tobirama is feeling lenient that day. Still, he noticed that something felt off from the first but didn’t know what exactly. It was just a feeling. An intuition. If his s/o noticed that he was a little on edge, they would again tell him to relax, just writing it off as his “I should be working” anxiety

•And he maybe he listens, tries to enjoy dinner and forget about everything else for the first time in a long time

•And then it backfires. He should have been vigilant, should have known something was wrong, shouldn’t have been so worried about something going wrong outside the walls of his home instead of forsaking what trouble could creep in right under his roof. He should have taken all of these things into account long before his s/o started acting funny and fell to the floor

•With his medical knowledge he could very well identify that it’s a poison affecting his s/o right away, and tries to use what home remedies he’s able to think of if he thinks it will be effective. If not, he’s using hiraishiin to get them to the hospital

•He’s ridiculously angry, and goes a little overboard trying to find the would-be assassin. Makes investigations, does his own, creates momentary chaos in the Leaf Village trying to find the perpetrator because he is not going to let the fact that someone put his s/o in danger slide (it takes him a while to accept that he’s partially to blame because of his political choices)

Madara

•He understands and accepts that he can’t make everyone happy, so when he makes a controversial decision, he has to stand by it. He expects loyalty from his followers. He knows he won’t always get it, so of course he needs to keep eyes and ears open to detect any sort of unrest, but sometimes he doesn’t catch them in time

•Besides, he would always have particular security for his s/o, less so if he was presiding over the Uchiha and only the Uchiha, more so if this was say… Konoha, which housed other clans whose intentions he didn’t 100% trust. So Madara at least has some ease at the back of his mind knowing they’re safe, especially when he’s around

•But maybe they get poisoned while he’s out? He’s working, they’re at home, or even doing their own work. Suddenly someone is running into his office to tell him that his s/o fainted, isn’t responding, etc

•Madara rushes over, demands that a medic accompany him and give his s/o immediate treatment

•All the while, Madara is gathering details. How it happened, who was with his s/o when it happened, why wasn’t someone paying attention? He’s especially adamant on that last part. Who was supposed to be keeping an eye out for suspicious behavior?

•First his s/o needs to be taken care of, needs to be medically examined and cleared. Madara needs to know that his s/o is going to be okay, albeit ill, before he worries about finding the one who poisoned his s/o in the first place

#madara #tobirama #hashirama #hashirama senju #tobirama senju #madara uchiha #naruto imagines

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white-spirit-of-darkness · 5 years

Text

Fate’s Design, Chapter 2

Chapter 1| Chapter 2| Chapter 3

Summary: A long time ago, a single drop of sunlight fell from the sky. For several centuries the magic of the sun went undiscovered, until the kingdom of Corona needed a miracle to save their most precious treasure.

When the only son of the King and his Consort is stolen from them, it seems like the magic of the sun is lost to the world once again, until that very same magic brings together two completely different people, changing the course of destiny forever.

AO3: This chapter | From the beggining

Pairing(s): Logicality (background) / Prinxiety

Warnings: (General warnings) child abduction, manipulative Deceit, villian Deceit, mentions of homophobia and light angst. Each chapter will have individual warnings if necessary.

Chapter warning: Mentions of child death, angst. Please let me know if there’s anything else that need to be tagged.

Hey, @imtherealjose, this is dedicated to you, ily.

(Almost) Eighteen years earlier

People, Patton noticed, seemed to think that tragedy was best when lived in advance, if the depressing black banners hung up around the town square were an indication. Everywhere he looked there was a sign of mourning, even if the death to be cried had not yet come to pass. Children fell into a hush as he walked by, surely attending to stern instructions given by their parents, and none of the street musicians that he had longed to hear had made an appearance in their usual busking spots. Despite the warm weather, the sidewalks were mostly empty, with the few passersby he encountered looking tired and sorrowful.

He knew it was partly due to his presence in the town; he’d had reports of the usual activities taking place as normal during the previous days, even if the general mood has been described to him as “mournful” by his adviser. It was so strikingly different from his last visit, when he’d walked among a much busier marketplace, and people had a smile on their faces upon seeing him. Now, it was as if the eyes of every citizen were his very own; the eyes he avoided in the mirror every morning, as if to shield himself from the ugly and unfair truth.

Somewhere in the castle workshops, someone worked on a little wooden box that would take Patton’s heart with it, should it be needed. Every physician had given the same diagnose, the same dark look as they checked the eyes of the child.The baby had been sick for a fortnight already; and no one had been able to stop the burning fever that caused his wretched cries. Even adults didn’t always survive such a strong sickness; not even his husband had much hope left, and neither did any of the members of the court. The rumors followed him anywhere he went in the citadel, all the people who wondered if they would try to have a child again, if perhaps King Logan would be wiser and take a wife, if this wasn’t a sure sign that traditions were sacred and should have been respected from the beginning.

Patton had to stop as a sudden burst of fury made him almost dizzy. He must have walked out of the main road a while ago; even though he recognized the little park he was currently standing in, he couldn’t quite place it in his mind. The shadows were closer to the ground and the air was somewhat colder. Sunset was rapidly approaching.

He sat down on a bench, facing a small but well tendered fountain. His eyes stung as he forced himself to hold back tears, the same he’d been doing for two weeks already. Logan had cried every night, silently, but Patton had refused to even shed a tear. How could he help anyone if he let himself be overwhelmed by emotions? His son needed him more than ever, he couldn’t be a mess, crying and wailing and being useless. Logan needed him to rule the kingdom, there were important matters to attend. The world hadn’t stopped moving just because they were suffering. There were orphans to be fed and homeless families to house. Even if Patton was unable to save his own child, there were hundreds of others he could still help.

A broken laugh left his lips, a sound so full of bitterness that in a different time Patton would have been shocked. Save others? Right. No one even trusted him with his own child, how could the court be convinced that he was the best option for anything? He’d never felt more exhausted in his entire life; every day he was constantly reminded that he wasn’t enough. His family was falling apart, and people were blaming him. Of course they were; he wasn’t even the parent of the baby. No, people were far more concerned about Logan losing his only heir, and how he couldn’t have another because he’d married a man, people were wondering what the real mother thought of her baby dying because she’d been forced to give him up. People loved to talk, to whisper behind his back, and Patton pretended he couldn’t hear them. He’d been pretending for a long time, since the moment he and Logan had announced their relationship. He’d thought that he could handle anything. It turned out that watching his baby boy slowly die was far worse than anything.

“Are you okay?”

A little voice interrupted his spiraling thoughts. There was a child looking at him across the fountain, his big wide eyes full of concern and barely hidden curiosity. For a moment Patton wondered what had prompted the boy’s question, until he realized that there were tears running down his face.

“I..” he started, uncertain of what to say. The boy looked young, barely past toddler age, and Patton was about to ask him about his parents when a young woman approached them. She was wearing an apron over her dress, and there were traces of soap on her arms. She looked tired and worried; the little boy must have escaped towards the park, with her following him. Her dark hair was pulled back, and for a second Patton was reminded of Saphira. Another painful memory. They hadn’t been able to save her, either, and now the child she’d helped bring to the world was suffering from the same illness that had consumed her. .

“Your Highness? I’m sorry if my son interrupted you”

Patton shook his head, unable to speak because of the heaviness in his throat. The woman grabbed the little boy’s hand, but the child was still staring at him.

“Mom, why is he crying?”, he asked. The woman swallowed, looking lost. Patton realized that she didn’t know what to tell to her child. How do you explain a tragedy to a young person? Patton gave the boy a weak smile, before nodding lightly at the woman.

“Someone I love very much is very sick, and I’m sad because of that” he said after a moment. The boy opened his mouth, but offered no reply. He seemed stunned, as if it was the first time he heard something like that. The mom tightened her grip on her son’s hand.

“And who is sick?” he finally asked. The woman sighed.

“Virgil, love, those questions are too personal”. She didn’t sound angry, almost as if she was used to dealing with an inappropriately curious child and was merely reminding him of an old lesson.

“No, it’s okay” said Patton. The boy looked guilty for a moment and Patton didn’t like the way his little face fell. “Virgil, right?”

“Yes! My name is Virgil and I’m three years old” he declared proudly. Patton chuckled, despite the pain in his heart. Would his son ever make it to three?

“Well, Virgil, I have a baby, and my baby is very sick” he said, reaching up to push his glasses on his nose. Virgil now looked a little sad, too. “He is very little, and we’re all worried about him.”

“Oh” said the child. Patton tried to give him a smile, but he couldn’t. He was too tired, and the woman must have seen it, because she pulled the boy aside.

“Go home, love. Soon it will be dinner time, your mom will be looking for you”, she whispered, loud enough for Pattom to hear above the rumor of the fountain. Little Virgil nodded and started running towards the other side of the park, but before the woman or Patton had time to react, he turned around and ran until he was right in front of Patton.

“The magic golden flower can save your baby!” he half screamed, looking back and forth between his mother and Patton.

“Virgil, go, now”. The woman ordered, looking severe for the first time. Virgil ran away, this time non stop until he disappeared down the street.

“What is the magic golden flower?” Patton asked. The woman turned to him and sighed.

“It’s a legend, your Highness”, she answered quietly. “My wife, who’s from the other side of the kingdom, told our son the story of a flower that came from a single drop of sunlight, ages ago. It’s said to be able to heal anything, even the passage of time.”

Patton felt numb. Something that could possibly save his child, even if it was a legend, was too much. The woman was staring at him with sadness in her eyes, but he didn’t care.

“Tell me the whole story, please” he begged. She gave him a worried smile before sitting next to him.

“It’s only a legend. Are you sure you want to hear it?”

“Please. Anything helps, I promise” he was desperate, and he knew it, and he knew she knew it. However, she just sighed once more and looked at him,

“It all starts with the sun”

Taglist:

@depressed-lgbt-cat

@ukuleleanomaly

@heartfelt-piece-of-trash

@dead4sevenyears

@im-a-giraffe666

@journalanxiety

@mycatshuman

Let me know if you want to be added!

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfic #prinxiety #logicality #ts deceit #roman sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #my writing #sanders sides tangled au #thomas sanders

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qqueenofhades · 6 years

Note

ACK. Hilary I need your thoughts on all this "Lucy is the Heir of Rittenhouse" reveal. Why did they cut it? Do you think it will come up again? How would Flynn react? Etc.

Welp.

I’ve only had a brief skim over reactions, etc, so if I say anything that anyone else already has, well, that’s just how that goes. But also I’m shook because… that is a fairly major info tidbit to drop as a deleted scene, and because it didn’t actually appear in an aired episode, it has a negotiable status as canon. Either we can take it as something Lucy knows and has (for obvious reasons) decided not to talk about, or something that has not yet happened. I’ll personally take it as the former, and that we’ll have it dealt with when she tells someone about it in season 3. Carol is dead, so there’s not really any way for her to learn it again or in another context. Supposedly they cut it for time, which is a little iffy to me, because it’s not a long scene, it’s a major reveal, and it would have added a whole new complexity to Lucy’s actions throughout the season and what she’s keeping back from the rest of the team. So yes.

I wrote several metas early in the year and then after 2x10 about how Lucy was leaning into her Rittenhouse heritage/being willing to use some of their same tactics, but in the exact opposite purpose. This, as we’ve pointed out, adds a whole new context to 1x10, 2x01, and 2x10 at least, as well as arguably 2x02 and 2x04 and other moments where we see Lucy really dead set on “we need to do this and I don’t necessarily have time to play nice and I’m entirely cool with possibly dying if so.” Especially in the jail scene with Flynn in 2x02 and then the jail scene with Carol (where Lucy is imprisoned in Salem) in 2x04 and so on. This also answers the fairly major plot hole of why future!lLucy wouldn’t just tell Flynn that David Rittenhouse was one man in the 18th century and have it end right there. (It doesn’t answer why our Lucy doesn’t know about David Rittenhouse anyway, since he was a fairly well-known intellectual figure and she would definitely have heard of him, since she knows even obscure people/events, but anyway.) She can’t tell Flynn that, because her entire existence depends on it, and they need to find a way to beat Rittenhouse without erasing her – which is hella difficult since she’s descended directly from the dude. After all, if you kill David and John, maybe Rittenhouse doesn’t exist, but neither does Lucy, as well as God knows what else. That also doesn’t stop David’s followers, and anyway, yes. So that is a clever way to answer the obvious question of why they couldn’t just go there and kill David right away.

Also, I’d just like to point out that in terms of Lucy’s relationship(s) with Flynn and Wyatt, this is a revelation that is directly important for… well, only one of them. It doesn’t really make a difference for Lucy’s relationship with Wyatt if this is the case or not. Indeed, we have seen Wyatt explicitly know that Jessica was Rittenhouse, and still choose her/beg her to come back with him. Stopping Rittenhouse is not personal to Wyatt. It is the job he’s been recruited to do and has maybe become a little more personal after what happened with Jess, but that still didn’t stop him from wanting Jessica as long as she was an option, Rittenhouse ties or otherwise. He only attempted to go back to Lucy with the ill-advised ILY after that had been ruled out, and after making further efforts (telling Flynn not to shoot Jessica) to preserve the possibility of a reconciliation. So honestly, as it stands in canon text, if presented with Rittenhouse or Lucy, Wyatt chooses Rittenhouse. It’s even the case with him not shooting Emma or Carol when he had the chance – yes, it had to do with his feelings for Lucy, but both times, it’s clear that Lucy’s opinion was that she wanted him to go for it (she wanted him to shoot Emma in 2x05, she tries to do it in 2x10, she’s clearly dismayed when Wyatt tells her that her mother got away in 2x06 – she doesn’t want Carol dead, but she wants her stopped). Wyatt and Lucy care for each other, but they have a fundamental disconnect on what they are willing to do to stop RH, and Wyatt has explictly or implicitly chosen Rittenhouse over Lucy at repeated moments. (Oh hello, Shawn Ryan mentioning that Flynn understands Lucy on a deeper level than Wyatt does.)

In contrast, Flynn knows that Lucy is Rittenhouse on both sides of the family, but he doesn’t know that she’s descended from THE Rittenhouses. Stopping Rittenhouse has always been intensely personal for Flynn and at the core of his character motivation; indeed, in season 1, he went for the “stop Rittenhouse” option at the expense of repeatedly messing it up with trying to get Lucy to join him. That is what makes it more narratively significant that he has increasingly moved to choosing Lucy over that vengeance quest, and when given the explicit opportunity to do in 2x10 what he failed to do in 1x10 (and seriously, this makes the parallel between these episodes EVEN MORE than it was), he doesn’t. There is no question or ambiguity in the narrative: when presented with the chance to kill Emma or comfort Lucy, Flynn doesn’t hesitate an instant in choosing the latter. I mentioned in one of my earlier metas that Flynn and Wyatt physically and emotionally switch places in Lucy’s life in 2x03, when Flynn struts into the bunker and Wyatt runs out to Jess. This is also the case here. In season 1, Wyatt chooses Lucy over Rittenhouse, mostly implicitly because he doesn’t know what the major picture is until near the end of the season. In season 2, Wyatt chooses Rittenhouse over Lucy. In season 1, Flynn chooses stopping Rittenhouse over Lucy as a person; in season 2, he EXPLICITLY chooses Lucy as a person over stopping Rittenhouse. He doesn’t kill Emma in 2x07 and 2x10 directly because of Lucy. Lucy is never a second choice or a lesser focus for Flynn in s2 (as she is for Wyatt all-post 2x03).

Once again: in season 2, Wyatt chooses Jessica (who is/represents Rittenhouse) and honestly, has no real major character reason to do otherwise. Flynn chooses Lucy, who is also Rittenhouse genetically, but represents a complete repudiation of them, and does so despite having a major character reason (the death of his wife and daughter; his entire vengeance quest) to do otherwise. Furthermore, Wyatt and Lucy don’t agree on what kind of danger Rittenhouse is and what they’re willing to do to end it/the personal price they’re willing to pay. Wyatt isn’t willing to really sacrifice anything at this point whatsoever, whereas Lucy was prepared to wipe her entire family and identity (and life!) from existence by blowing up the Mothership in 2x01. Flynn has known from the start the danger that Rittenhouse is, Lucy has come more and more around to his view, and they agree on the sacrifice that will be necessary.

In short, textually, Lucy is moving closer and closer to alignment with one of these men, and away from the other (not hate, but just a simple reflection of how both dynamics developed in season 2). Wyatt has (mostly indirectly) refused to NOT choose Rittenhouse over Lucy, and has done so to support his interests. Flynn has directly refused to NOT choose Lucy over Rittenhouse, and at cost to his interests. That is a more important/weighty decision, character-wise. So as noted, this is a major piece of character/plot information (that Lucy is the Heir of Slytherin) and it deepens and twists and fleshes out her connection with Flynn, and the importance of him choosing her, despite her heritage and the pain that Rittenhouse has personally caused him. It doesn’t really do anything of comparable importance to her connection with Wyatt, and if anything, weakens it. This is Lucy’s entire family and existence at stake, but she’s still willing to give it all up, whereas Wyatt is not willing to give up anything, even this alt-version of his wife after he explicitly learns she’s Rittenhouse and always has been. (And again – this isn’t hate and I don’t think he should have just dropped his fight for Jessica, since that’s been his character motivation since the pilot, but it’s… right there in the text.)

Now that Carol is dead, Lucy is in fact (as far as we know) the only living heir of the original Rittenhouse bloodline. That’s… a lot to deal with. She is in fact the princess, as Emma keeps calling her. At some point in season 3 (WHEN NBC? WHEN?) that will need to be dealt with. It doesn’t really change or develop her connection with Wyatt (as I said, if anything, it puts them on even more unequal footing in what they’re willing to do/commit) but with Flynn? …. Yeah. He loves her, but he’s gonna be startled by it, and it adds a whole new dimension to all their past interactions (especially 1x10 and 2x10) and their development and their partnership to take down Rittenhouse (the literal princess/last blood heir and their greatest nemesis), the symbolism of that, the decisions that they have made in that interest, and for their characters both together and apart, and honestly. That is the kind of romantic conflict/angst spanner I’d expect/that makes more sense for the couple that’s going forward, not back.

#lucy x flynn #garcy #wyatt critical #timeless meta #i am not sure if this makes sense?#but anyway yes #welp #anonymous #ask

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imyourliquor-youremypoison · 6 years

Text

Hjem(løs) - Ivar x OC - Modern AU - Part 3

Hjem(løs) = Home(less)

Synopsis: It’s Juleaften and Silje walks home from a late Christmas shopping spree. On her way back to her apartment, she makes an unexpected encounter.

No warnings, this is me serving you comfort and love <3 Y'all are sex-driven maniacs in the Heathen Army, ily but you need some fluff and holy water.

Word count: 6.1k

MASTERLIST

Part 2 <<< >>> Part 4

The least she could say was that Ivar did things properly. He wasn't even out of the knee brace yet when he was out there searching for a job – any job. He looked for a week before landing a small rookie job at a local bar, helping with the unloading and the loading of the trucks of the bands that came to play every night. Silje admonished Ivar from dawn to dusk when he told her the news because it was such a physical job and he only recovered from his beating.

“It's irresponsible!” She pointed out, her fingers poking his chest.

It wasn't that easy to argue with him now that he stood tall, towering over her. She wasn't even that short.

“I'm not cut out for desk work or anything like that, I need action,” Ivar argued.

“I'm a man of action, I need to do a manly job to show off my man strength,” Silje said, mimicking his voice to show him how ridiculous he sounded. “If your knee cap pops again, I'm going to knock your head against that wall-” she threatened, pointing at the wall. “And then I'll call Ubbe and he'll smash it right through.”

“You're threatening to injure me because you're worried I might get injured at my new job?” Ivar asked with a scoff.

“It's how I express affection!” Silje burst out, pushing Ivar back with both hands.

The guy barely seemed to notice despite Silje using all of her strength, which infuriated her a little more. Although she had to admit he looked strong. He put on a bit of weight since she took him in and it suited him well. Not to mention that Ivar had been pestering non-stop about going for a run.

“Really?”

There was a drastic change in his tone and she wasn't sure she liked where this was going. A smug smirk made a guest appearance on his face and he crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes were trained on her as if he tried to see through her and that damn grin showed no sign of fading.

“Of course you dickhead! I've been taking care of you for weeks, I don't want to do it again!” She scoffed, trying to pass this off as sheer annoyance but obviously failing. “Don't look at me like that!”

“How am I looking at you?” He asked.

He knew the answer but he wanted to hear her say it. She was aware of that, but she was cornered. In fact, he looked at her with even more intensity after asking her that. Silje couldn't take it anymore and turned around with a defeated huff.

“All right, go ahead mess up your knee again, I don't care,” she exclaimed and busied herself with some meaningless house chore only to avoid looking at him.

“Silje, please-” Ivar called her. She felt him following her around the apartment but she kept on running away. “-Sil... come on, stop- come here.” He finally managed to catch her after jumping over the couch.

“See! That's what I'm talking about!” She burst out. “You act like a fucking child!”

“I've been laying on your couch for weeks, can you blame me if I want to stretch my legs now that I can?” That wasn't the right thing to say, he understood it by the way Silje shot lightnings at him. “That's not the point though- listen Silje. I get that you're worried, I know you can't help it, you worry about everything.”

“That's not true!”

“Please,” Ivar began, tilting his head and raising his eyebrows. “I've seen you get worried for a cat who bumped into a French window. Stop making me digress now.”

“I'm not making you do anything,” she protested, stepping back only to hit the wall. He was so close to her, she couldn't think straight enough to have this conversation with him. Her brain was screaming to abort mission.

“What I'm trying to say is that it's only a part time job a few nights a weeks. I'll be careful, and I promise I'll find another job if it's too much.”

Silence followed his statement. Silje refused to admit that it soothed her nerves in the slightest. She stayed quiet and glared at him – probably not hard enough since Ivar cracked a little smile and gently pushed her hair behind her ear. The voice inside her head told her that this wasn't something friends did but she shut it up.

“Peace?” He asked, his voice full of hope.

“Fuck!” Silje swore under her breath and whispered to herself, “You're so damn attractive.”

“Did I catch that right?” Ivar wondered out loud, a laugh escaping him.

“You win every argument because of this!” She accused him, taking a step forward in a hopeless attempt to intimidate him, except Ivar did not step back as she expected.

Now they were even closer to each other and Silje even more unable to form a coherent thought. It was a wonder they managed to make it through the first few weeks of cohabitation when she had to help him in the tub.

Ivar couldn't fight off his huge grin on his lips and Silje was torn between slapping it right off his flawless face or kissing him. Before she could walk farther down this road, Ivar interrupted her train of thought by throwing his arm behind her shoulders and pulling her to his side and he led her to the couch.

“And here I thought it was my compelling arguments who made a difference. Is that also the reason why I always win at our board games?” He teased her. Silje groaned and threw her head back against Ivar's arm.

Silje opened her mouth, ready to blurt out some nonsense and maybe even challenge him and tell him something stupid like 'I let you win this whole time' that she would regret saying later because she did not, in fact, let him win, but by some kind of miracle the door bell rang at this precise moment. Her shoulders relaxed and she had to hide her sigh of relief when she walked past Ivar – who very purposefully stayed where he was, right in the middle of the way with his arms crossed over his chest – taking pleasure in bumping her shoulder against his to show that she was still mad and this conversation wasn't over.

Silje would bet her life Ivar was smirking to himself. It made her hand itch to slap that cocky smile off, or maybe kiss it away. The person behind the door was a mystery but she was willing to hug them whoever they were. Ivar shrunk on himself when she reached the door, trying to make himself smaller than it was – an impossible task honestly. Ivar's Viking lineage was painfully obvious, he was broad and tall, not to mention a little boorish and ill-mannered when he was in a foul mood.

Speaking of tall Viking...

“Hvitserk!” Silje exclaimed incredulously when she opened the door. “Oh gods, it's you!”

They both laughed and hugged on the doorstep; the two siblings were happy to see each other to say the least.

“Hey little one,” he greeted her with a warm embrace and a kiss on top of her head. “Missed your stupid face.”

That was big brother language right there. It made Ivar snort slightly, causing Hvitserk to look up and see the stranger in his baby sister's apartment.

“Hey man,” Ivar took the lead and greeted the newcomer with a little hand gesture. Hvitserk let go of Silje and went to shake hands and give him a quick pat on the back – a much friendlier welcome than Ubbe's.

“I assume you're Ivar?” He asked and received a nod. “Yeah, I've... heard about you,” he said after a short hesitation, glancing at Silje.

“You have?” Ivar's eyebrow met his hairline while he shook hands with Silje's brother and made eye contact with her. “I can't imagine all the good stuff Silje must have told you about me.”

“What good stuff?” Silje sassed and joined the boys – she had to step between the two of them, this handshake had lasted way too long already. She turned her attention to her favourite brother.

“She tells me in our weekly calls that there's an infuriating parasite named Ivar living on her couch, and that he always beats her at board ga-” Hvitserk was interrupted in his sentence when Silje elbowed him in the stomach, making him bend in two.

“I did not say that!” She assured Ivar who didn't know what to say at this point. “Anyway, when did you come back?” She changed the subject and turned back to her brother, ignoring the daggers he glared at her. When his ego recovered from the blow his gaze softened.

“This morning. I crashed at Ubbe's after my night flight and I came here as soon as I woke up I wanted to surprise you,” Hvitserk told her and draped his arm over her shoulder, side hugging her. “Now will you offer your hungry brother something to eat or are we just going to stand there all night?”

It prompted a series of reactions ranging from protest to agreement but all in all they managed to find a solution even if Silje wasn't in the mood to play housewife with these two and Hvitserk insisted on having a celebration feast for his return to Copenhagen – they ordered pizza and Hvitserk was paying because he showed up unannounced, while Silje provided the beers. Ivar didn't utter a word during the siblings' negotiations but Silje knew that it made him uneasy. As soon as the order was placed she made sure to change the subject.

“So Ivar, now you have met the nicest of my brothers, I have to warn you that it can only go downhill from there,” she joked. “Is Sigurd back too?” She asked Hvitserk.

“He's coming back next week,” he told her. “And how am I the nicest? Have you met me?”

“Well you didn't try to crush my hand while shaking it, so there's that,” Ivar told him. “Though Ubbe sort of saved my ass so I feel like he's taking the lead in this race.”

“I'm buying pizza!” Hvitserk pointed out, his finger pointing at Ivar as he said it. “It counts for something, I'm reaching out here man.”

“Appreciated, though I gotta admit it's suspicious, in my personal experience no one hands out pizza for free.” Ivar's sentence made Hvitserk lean back against the couch and look at Silje.

“Suspicious? Sil do you believe this? Are you going to let him talk to your beloved brother like this?”

“You're totally weird, I'd be suspicious of you too if you weren't my brother.” Silje paused before sitting down and placing the beers on the coffee table. “Wait, I take that back. Actually I am suspicious of you especially because you're my brother.”

She held up her beer to cheer with the boys. Ivar was the first one to react, his infamous boyish grin that drove Silje crazy plastered on his face, and grabbed his beer, popping it open against the edge of the coffee table. The first time he saw Silje do this he was stunned. Girls usually were the first ones to shriek in indignation when someone tried to pull this off on their furniture. But she told him that teeth marks on the edge of a wooden table were the sign of good times.

Hvitserk's look of offence faded and finally grabbed his beer.

“Skål!” They all said at the same time and drank together.

Out of habit, Ivar put her arm across the back on the couch behind Silje – that was just what happened when you live with someone, you start to get cosy. Hvitserk began to tell tales and funny stories about his time in the military, recounting the late evenings and dirty jokes between him and his fellow soldiers.

“You look like the army type too, why don't you join?” He asked Ivar out of the blue. “It would be a good solution to your problem.”

“My problem?” Ivar scoffed. “Yeah, whatever man. I guess Ubbe warned you before you came here?”

“Actually no,” Silje cut in. “I told him, right after Jul. I have no secrets for Hvitserk.”

She could tell that Ivar wanted to protest but the surprised caused by her little confession bought them enough time to speak up again.

“I don't care anyway,” Hvitserk assured him, shrugging and taking another sip of his beer. “Like, who's to judge? I've been homeless too once.”

Ivar's eyebrows disappeared under his hairline and though he didn't say anything, he leaned back and waited for them to elaborate on that – but not before shooting a glare at Silje, gently signifying her that a heads up would have been nice.

“First weeks of university – before I dropped out to join ranks – there was some issue with the place where I was supposed to live, water damage of whatever,” he explained, fumbling with his beer. “I was already nervous about how to announce to my family that I wanted to drop out so I didn't want to give them another reason to worry and didn't tell them anything. So-” he stretched the syllable and glanced at Silje. “- I slept on the streets. It was only late August, it wasn't too cold and it wasn't too bad an experience all together, now that I look back on it.”

“None of your siblings helped?” Ivar finally spoke.

“I was sixteen and living with our parents,” Silje pointed out. “Not much I could do without raising suspicions.”

“The others don't know, and I'd appreciate it if you could keep it to yourself,” Hvitserk confided, looking at his hands. “Silje is the only one I told, I was too embarrassed to ask the others for help. Besides we all had other things going on. Ubbe was still in military school, Sigurd was having his punk phase, Bjorn has a family.”

“The important this is that everything worked out in the end! His landlord called him as soon as the damage was repaired and he moved in after four weeks of homelessness, and no one ever learned the truth!” Silje said cheerfully, obviously trying to pass a message to Ivar and his brooding self.

“I'm serious about the army thing though!” Hvitserk insisted, not taking the hint when Ivar rolled his eyes.

“Hvitserk, just drop it, it's none of yo-”

“-none of my business, I know but think about it.” There was a relatively long silence after that and Ivar set his half drunk beer on the table before leaning back against the couch again, not uttering a word. “Hey, it- it's not a bad idea!” Hvitserk tried ease the tension in the air but failed and turned to his sister for help.

“Dumbass!” Silje scolded her brother and smacked him upside the head.

“I was trying to help!” He protested and rubbed his head.

“Don't listen to him, Ivar. He's an idiot. A well-intentioned idiot, you have to forgive him, his mouth runs far ahead of his brain most of the time.” She was swift to elbow Hvitserk in the ribs when she saw him open his mouth, no doubt to complain about what she just said – even if it was true. The silence in the room grew thicker until Ivar decided to break it.

“I thought about it, okay? I wanted to join the army,” he admitted just when Silje was about to lose her composure. Only this time she almost regretted the silence when he broke it, and she sat a little straighter than necessary, suddenly feeling all tense and uneasy.

Ivar kind of hated it when it was tense between Silje and him; they got along on most subjects and had light, entertaining conversations, but sometimes they bumped into a touchy subject. Her heart dropped a little – hearing that he was thinking about leaving without even telling her didn't sit well on her stomach.

“Don't give me that look. I'm not going anywhere. I got rejected.”

It was Hvisterk's turn to stop Silje from asking more questions and he changed the subject. He complained about the pizza guy taking his time and turned on the TV to see, quote, 'what was happening in the world'. He had never had trouble making himself home wherever he went.

“Silje told me you spend a lot of time working out, maybe we could hang out and exercise one of these days. I mean- I don't have a gym membership-” Ivar asked out of the blue, not particularly comfortable with the subject of money.

“Relax, Ivar-” it was strange hearing his name coming out of Hvitserk's mouth. “I don't have a membership either, I run around the park, I do push up and pull ups in my apartment. No money for this shit, and what does a soldier do with a gym membership when he's gone for most of the year?”

Ivar smiled at that and the boys drank.

“Hey, speaking of- how's Inge doing? Why didn't you sleep home?” Silje asked, nudging her brother. She was so relieved that they weren't threading on thin ice anymore – she could only handle so much sensitive talk. Ivar listened with great attention, frowning each time he heard something that intrigued him.

“Inge is doing great,” he smiled as he told her, happy at the mere mention of her name. “She and the kids are at her parents' house this week, I wanna surprise them when they come home.”

“The kids?” Ivar asked, not getting what this was all about. This guy was barely a year older than he was, surely he could not-

“Hvitty here has two kids,” Silje confirmed his suspicions and it made him lean back and stare in shock. “You can be surprised yeah, he started pretty young.”

“I'm literally sitting right next to you,” Hvitserk reminded them. “What can I say? I'm irresistible.”

“More like insufferable! He couldn't keep it in his pants, is what happened,” Silje laughed, poking Hvitserk's cheek and making him roll his eyes.

“Okay, enough about me,” Hvitserk decided, glaring at his sister and hoping against hope that she would get the message and stop embarrassing him. “Question!” He exclaimed and turned to Ivar. “Why do you have the exact same haircut as I usually have? Does she have anything to do with this?”

He dismissively nodded towards Silje as he spoke to Ivar who proceeded to tell him in extreme and exaggerated details how Silje forced him to sit still and threatened him of bodily harm while she cut his hair against his will. Hvitserk kept nodding in sympathy and ended up giving Ivar a compassionate pat on the back when he finished his twisted retelling of event. Then he pursed his lips and shook his head at his sister, giving her a look that she interpreted as 'you monster', faithful to his dramatic nature.

“You two can't team up against me, I won't be disrespected in my own home!” Silje was quick to argue, pointing a warning finger at them both.

“Or what?” Hvitserk provokingly asked her, sticking out his torso.

“She'll make me sleep on the couch,” Ivar snickered in his bottle of beer with a smug little grin. His answer caused Hvitserk to choke on thin air and burst in laughter while Silje gave them the stink eye.

“That's my man,” Hvitserk congratulated him, raising his hand for a fist bump.

The clock struck midnight by the time Hvitserk called it a day and decided to go home.

“I would offer you to stay here tonight but the couch is already taken,” Silje said with a pout and an innocent shrug. Ivar who was leaning against the wall behind her smirked as Hvitserk rolled his eyes.

“I'm not conservative Sil, I would let you sleep in the same bed as your boyfriend, you know,” he teased her, earning a punch that hurt more than he expected.

After that last joke – because Hvitserk Ragnarsson could not simply walk away without cracking one last dumb joke – he finally left with the promise to come by again and meet up with Ivar to work out and have some man talk. What even was that? Silje wondered. Boys talking about their preferred choice of condom brand? Endless conversations about monster trucks and beer?

“He always knows exactly when to leave to avoid cleaning up,” Silje said to herself as soon as she closed the door behind her brother.

When she turned around most of the mess had already been taken care of by Ivar though, and she realized in this moment that this is what he did. Constantly overdoing everything in an attempt to pay her back for everything she does. She didn't even know what exactly she did for him, but it must be huge. More than simply giving him a place to sleep. She tried to tell him to leave it be until morning but he didn't want to sleep next to this mess, and Silje had to admit she wouldn't either. Instead, he told her to go to sleep if she was tired, but she shook her head.

After a few more attempts, Ivar convinced her to go to her room while he took care of everything – which Silje would never accept in normal circumstances, but she really was physically exhausted, as much as her mind was awake, her body was giving up on her and she needed to lie down. It wasn't long until she heard a soft knock on her door.

“Come in,” Silje said, her eyes fixed on her laptop screen. When she looked up she saw that he changed into the sweatpants he slept in and was holding two steaming cups of what she guessed was tea. He held one up for her and she took it with gratitude. “Sweet!”

She was lying on her stomach across her bed and Ivar plopped down next to her, grabbing her laptop from her so she would stop browsing through her social media and pay attention to him.

“Twitter, facebook, Instagram, my, my, who are you stalking?” He asked her.

“No one that matters,” she sighed, holding her cup with both hands to warm up. “Hope tonight wasn't too much for you, if I knew Hvitserk was back I would have planned to meet up with him somewhere else.” Silje winced at the thought of all her overbearing brothers showing up one by one at her apartment without so much as a little heads up.

“Nah, it felt good to speak to someone else,” Ivar said with a shrug, earning a slap on the shoulder.

“Say it if I'm boring!” Silje exclaimed in fake outrage.

“You're not boring, you're a girl,” Ivar told her, not realizing he was digging his own grave until she glare at him. “Not the best answer,” he decided. “I mean- you see... fuck it Silje, you know what I mean!”

“Yeah but it's so much fun to watch you wriggle like that,” she said with a grin her face. “Did you want anything other than bring me tea and spy on my internet activity?”

“Yeah- no- I just wanted to make sure that we're good. I know I became all snappy and stiff when your brother mentioned.... you know, my problem and the army thing.”

“Speaking of-” Silje trailed off and sat up to face Ivar who had put her laptop on the floor and was now leaning against her gigantic pile of pillows. “-what happened exactly? I know it's none of my business, you can tell me to bug off if you don't want to talk about it, bu-”

“You're rambling again,” Ivar pointed out, his smug smirk all over the place like every time he caught Silje in one of her awkward moments. “'s okay, I don't care. At this point I don't see why I would hide anything from you.”

“Oh.” Silje paused for a second and then asked with the biggest smile, “Do I know all of you deepest, darkest secrets yet?”

“Most I'd say. I'm keeping some of them so you don't get bored of me,” he laughed.

If there was one thing Silje noticed the last couple weeks, it was that Ivar was so much less angry than the first time they talked. Back in December he was bitter and mad at the world for the way it treated him. Now that his life had a bright side again, he smiled more, she didn't catch him frowning and glaring at the empty space every time he thought she wasn't looking.

“Why didn't join the army, Ivar?” Silje asked him, sitting Indian style next to him.

“I tried, almost as soon as I realized that I would be evicted. It was the easy way out and I'd always been an athletic person so I was sure it'd work.” He shrugged. Another thing Silje noticed about him was that he never shrugged when something wasn't a big deal, she learned to see it as the sign that, on the contrary, it was a major deal to him.

“Got rejected?” She guessed, Ivar nodded in response. “Why?”

“That's the tricky part,” he said, suddenly embarrassed and avoiding Silje's eyes. “Try not to freak out.”

“Okay.”

“Say it,” he insisted.

“I won't freak out,” Silje vowed, raising her right hand like they did in court on American TV.

Ivar hesitated. Whatever he was about to blurt out must not be something he liked to talk about or wanted people to know. Every second of silence worried Silje a little more but she promised she wouldn't freak out.

“Because of my legs. They were fucked up way before I got beat up.” He saw Silje open her mouth, no doubt ready to fire a bunch of questions he did not want to answer so he gave her a short version to satisfy her curiosity, for now at least. “It's my bones, they are too weak. Even if I had money or insurance it's fucking incurable.”

“What kinda shit karma do you have?!” Silje burst out, nearly spilling over both of their cups of tea – a first degree burn was the last thing Ivar needed. Then she breathed slowly to try and collect herself. “Weak how?”

“Weak like they don't heal as well as most people's. Weak as in going to the gym or for a run is fine but participating in a several days trek in the wilderness while carrying over 60 pounds worth of military gear is not.”

“What about your knee then?”

“What about it?”

“Well, are you going to be okay? Is it healing all right or have you been withholding information? If you don't want to tell me that's fine, but at least tell Ubbe,” Silje reprimanded him, giving him a scolding glare.

She could understand that admitting to her, of all people, that he was in tremendous pain could be a blown to his ego – however stupid it was to place one's ego over one's health – and she knew that Ivar was proud and liked to appear as strong. Silje knew it wasn't just a façade and that he was one of the strongest person she had ever met, but he felt the constant need to prove himself anyway. However, someone needed to know and help him, and if he was too prideful to tell her then he had to go to her brother and current doctor since he still didn't want to go to the hospital.

“What on earth would it change if I whined to you all the time?” He snarled, shrugging again.

“Fuck you, Ivar! How many times will I have to tell you that I do not pity you?!”

“Oh c'mon, you're whole demeanour screams 'oh poor little Ivar',” he replied.

His voice was calm and steady, he didn't say it with any malice but what hurt the most that that he didn't realize how hurtful it was to her. Silje had done nothing to let him think that she took pity on him, not once during all the weeks he spent living with her and that was how she was rewarded? Mistrust? Disdain?

“I don't wanna talk about this with you, okay? Enough with all the pitying me, I can't stand it.”

This struck a nerve and Silje could feel her right brow twitch in anger.

“Get outta here!” Silje tried to push him off her bed but it was about as successful as trying to move a brick wall.

“Hey, hey, calm down! I didn't mean it like that!” Ivar protested. “Don't be angry, I'm the one who should be angry, not you.”

“Oh but I'm not angry,” Silje told him in bad faith. “I'm tired, I want to sleep now so get out.”

“No.”

“What do you mean no? I said get your ass out of my bedroom!”

“Don't be mad. I'm sorry if I offended you,” Ivar tried to make peace.

“Apologies accepted,” Silje snapped and grabbed the nearest book to pretend she was busy and to show she was done with him. “Now leave.”

“You're still mad at me I can hear it. I can't leave if you're still mad.”

“Sure you can. You stand up, walk out, and close the door behind you,” she instructed, her eyes not leaving the book in her hands. Gods help her, she didn't even know what book she had grabbed, much less what the page her eyes were set on was about.

Ivar ignored her attempt at being a smart-ass, and shifted on her bed to move closer to her, his hands running through is freshly cut hair as usual when he was nervous. It was a lot better now, Silje hadn't lied when she told him that she knew what she was doing. She allowed him to keep his hair rather long. He now sported a clean undercut and went to his job interviews with a man bun. She teased him for being a hipster.

“Silje,” he said, gently removing the book from her hands. He could tell she was angry and hurt and not in the mood so he did what he promised himself he wouldn't do: he dropped the subject. This required a change of strategy.

“I already told Ubbe,” he confessed in a sigh, and saw Silje's eyes drift to him for a split second before going to her lap now that she didn't have her book anymore – which she had been holding upside down.

“Oh?” That shut Silje's mouth faster than he expected.

“So now we forget about this and we move on to something a little less depressing. Also there's no reason why you should always be the one asking all the questions.”

Her jaw clenched and unclenched, her eyes set on him as if trying to read his mind – she must have liked what she found because she shrugged and said a low little, “fire away.”

“Your brother has a wife and kids?”

She fought back the smile that threatened to split her face and put tremendous effort into glaring at him instead of giving in to her good mood. She was mad at him, she couldn't be smiling just because he mentioned Hvitserk's family.

“He has a fiancée and kids,” she corrected him. Unpon seeing the astonishment on his face, she added, “Yeah, I know it's crazy. Can you even imagine having a family at his age?” Silje gave in rather easily. If possible, she always tried to not go to bed mad at someone so she might as well try and forget their argument.

“God no, I can't even imagine owning a plant right now,” Ivar chuckled. “How did it even happen?”

“Well-” Silje started, a look of mischief painted on her face. “When two people liked each other very much, they-”

“Not that, gods Silje!” Ivar protested, nudging her and making her laugh though he almost spilled his drink on her bed.

“Okay then, he was in High School, always quite the charmer. I mean, you met him so you can easily imagine now. Anyway, he had a girlfriend back then, Inge, bless her soul she still puts up with him, and he got her pregnant during senior year. Our parents were out of their minds,” Silje kept on filling in Ivar without any consideration for Hvitserk's privacy.

To be fair, she would have told this story earlier, while her brother was sandwiched between Ivar and her if he hadn't interrupted her.

“It was really hard in the beginning, especially when he lived in the streets for a few weeks, his girlfriend pregnant and living with her parents still. He had a bit of trouble convincing them that he would make a good father to their grandchild. Now six years later they are still together, they have two little boys, and he still hasn't made her an honest woman.”

“So what you're saying is that in order to be a respectable member of society, a woman has to be married?” Ivar teased her, making her blush in anger.

She should have seen this one coming, she made a poor choice of words. Ensued a ten minutes argument that Silje won eventually.

“How old are they?” Ivar asked to change the subject.

“Six and two. Boys,” she told him. “I think... I think Hvitserk is going to leave the army.”

This caught his attention, as did the worried crease barring her forehead. Ivar turned his chest to better look at her. They were now both lying next to each other on her bed, their arms touching.

“Why are you saying that?”

“Now that Ubbe is a civilian again and doing fine, I think he's considering it. I know that he barely sees his boys, he feels terrible about going away all the time, he's hardly home anymore, he doesn't see them grow up like a dad should. And he misses Inge, maybe even more than she does him. I tease him all the time about his not being married, but he might actually grow a pair and pop the question too.”

“Do I get to be your plus one at the wedding reception?”

“Ivar! If I didn't know better I'd think you're using me to get free food!”

“If being homeless taught me one thing, it's that you never know when your next meal will be,” he tried to convince her by using his old wise man voice, but Silje's eyebrow merely had a tremor as she glared at him, half amused, half dismayed. “And I want to see your brothers' faces when they see us together.”

“Oh Ivar,” Silje cooed this time, placing a hand on his arm and rubbing soothingly. “There are less painful ways to go if you want to finish yourself off.”

He let out a dry laughter and grumbled something about this no being funny, though Silje was pretty sure it was very funny - at least it was to her. Ivar pretended to sulk and turned his back to her but Silje was having none of it and poked his side and nudged him until he gave in and turned back around, facing her once again. She promised him his favourite cake if he stopped frowning and so the conversation was back on track

For an hour or so it went on and on, the discussion moving from one subject matter to another, their voices growing faint and sleepy. Nonetheless Ivar and Silje fought to keep their eyes open, until one of them finally gave in to their exhaustion and the other one gladly followed. Neither of them found it difficult to fall asleep huddled against one another on Silje's bed – in fact, it would be the best night's sleep they had in a while.

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