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yougavemeyourheartyouknow · 8 months

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On thin ice (Hockey player! Miguel O’Hara x Figure skater! Fem! Reader)

A/N: Hiii Im back from my mini break :) I wanted to write more, but I wanted the next chapter to begin a certain way so I’m making this one short hehe. Excuse any typos and grammatical errors. Miguel probs being ooc

(Y/N)- Your Name

Cursing, funny little hehe drama, Miguel being Jealous, ansty (?) (Like, If you squint)

Word count: 1k

Series Masterlist

Chapter 9: Until I fall asleep, spilling drinks on my settee.

—

It’s been 3 weeks.

It’s been 3 weeks since you were in that practice room with Miguel O’Hara.

It’s been 3 weeks since you kissed Miguel O’Hara.

It’s been 3 weeks since you started to avoid Miguel O’Hara.

You didn’t do it on purpose, at least not at first. The day after the very overdue make out session, you told yourself that you would wait a day or two before you talked to him about it, in an attempt to get all your thought in order. Then, that day or two turned into three… then four, then a week, then 3�� and at this point, it would be too awkward if you finally decided to face him. What were you even supposed to say after ignoring him for 3 weeks? “Hey Miguel, sorry I basically ghosted you after we made out, even though I said I’ll talk to you afterwards.” You’d rather die of embarrassment. So now you found yourself purposely avoiding him, and although your boy problems should be the last of your problems, they wouldn’t leave your mind.

As you came out of the bathroom, tossing your hairbrush onto your semi-messy bed, you let out a heavy sigh as you saw Kate finish fixing the whiteboard calendar that hung in your dorm room for the new month of October, on the third Friday, she had wrote “MIDTERMS,” in big red Expo marker, and on the following Friday she had written “REGIONALS” in the same way. The two words made your stomach twisted, and for once in the past three weeks, your mind was finally off the topic of the hockey player you had kissed.

“You know staring at the board won’t make those words go away.” Kate said, snapping you out of your thoughts as she capped the Expo marker, you let out lips curl down into a frown and your thumb’s fingernail started to tap repeatly on the surface on your ringer finger’s nail, a habit you've developed when you're nervous, because you knew she was right.

“Can’t you let me pretend at least?” You were joking of course, before making your way over to where you had your gym back half-hazardly thrown at the foot of your bed, zipping it open and checking of all your skating gear was in the bag.

“You’re overly stressed, what is it? Midterms, Regionals, or Miguel?” She asked with a head tilt, hey eyebrow going up with the question.

“All the above…” you mumbled under your breath as you finish rummaging through your bag before zipping it close and throwing it over you shoulder.

“You’ve got this.” Kate sent you a sympathetic smile, which you returned before leaving your shared dorm.

—

You told yourself no skating on the weekends as an attempt to keep yourself from over stressing yourself, but here you were, in the middle of the rink on the first of October, on a Sunday. To be fair, you weren’t practicing, you were just going to practice some jumps and spins, holding to get your mind off everything that’s been transpiring in your messy life. It was honestly a miracle that when you arrived that the rink was empty. You were in the middle of going over your triple lutz, each time you came back down on the ice your landing was wobbly, that is if you landed it. Most of the time you couldn't land it at all, it’s a move you’ve been trying to perfect for months now. Hoping to have it down before coach Kavinsky could have choreographed the long program in hopes to get more points from the judges, but unfortunately you still had too much trouble with it. It would have been a risky move to put it in the program.

“You should probably take a break from that move before you end up black and blue.” The voice rang out through the empty rink, causing you to lose concentration and fumbling the move again.

“Fucking hell, Logan. You should know you can’t do that shit…” you groaned as you slowly gathered yourself to get your body off the ice after falling. Logan chuckled and shook his head, his hands going into his pockets as he walked towards the entrance of the rink, taking the guards off his skates.

“Sorry, sorry, you’re right…” He mumbled with a small smile as he helped you up, “I just wanted to check on you. I know you like to come here when you’re stressed.” He added in a more serious tone.

“Yeah I’m…” your words trail off, a heavy sigh leaving through your nose instead. Logan, already knowing your answer just gave you a sympathetic frown, rubbing your shoulder before pulling you into a hug.

—

“She’s already told you that she’s not dating Logan-“

“I don’t care Peter.” Miguel growled, leaving the stadium, shoving past the front doors and angry stomped to his car in the parking lot. Peter followed behind him. While you and Logan were in the middle of your beautiful friendship moment of reassurance, neither of you noticed Miguel nor Peter making their way to the ice with their gear on and hockey sticks in hand. But upon seeing you embracing your skating partner, he quickly turned back around and made his way back into the locker room, changed back into his regular clothes, then (quietly) storming off and out of the building. “You expect me to believe that bullshit!? She’s all over him, like she wasn’t all over me 3 weeks ago!” He yelled as he throws open his back car door and angrily throws his bag and hockey stick into the back seat, Peter also putting his stuff in the back, but in a more calm manner.

“Miguel, that’s her skating partner. Not to mention her best friend.” Peter tries to reason with his friend as they both go into the car. “Obviously they’re gonna be close. If she was dating Logan, do you really think she would have let you kiss her? Let alone return the kiss?”

Miguel didn’t respond to Peter’s question, instead just letting out a small huff of air and a grunt. His hands gripping onto the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles began to turn white.

If you wanted to play that kind of game, then fine. He’ll play. He’s the best player on the team after all, this little cat and mouse will be easy for him.

—

Taglist: @tayleighuh @cowboylikeevie @coralineyouareinterribledanger @jukioku @loser-alert @migueloharaspookiebear @serpentstarr @littlexscarletxwitch @darksidescorner @sukioyakio

#miguel o hara fanfic #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #on thin ice fanfic #spiderman 2099 x reader #astv miguel #astv spiderman 2099 #miguel o’hara au #figure skating au #hockey au #miguel spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 fanfic

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dwonfilm · 3 months

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“Come hell or high water.” | Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Looming over the Winchesters and [Y/N] is the war between heaven and hell. Dean will ultimately be faced with a choice he’d never be able to make. What will happen?

This will be a multi-part story, not necessarily set in a specific season but around 4-5 would be the best fit.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Mentions: Sam Winchester, Castiel, Micheal and Lucifer, Bobby Singer

Warnings: none, will provide for each chapter as they’re written.

Part I:

Michael and Lucifer had both been impatient, each showing up at various times and places—both wanting the same thing; more or less. Each wanted their designated Winchester brother to simply say yes.

Three days earlier.

Sam, Dean and [Y/N] were sat in their shared motel room in New Orleans, Louisiana. Sam was on his laptop, browsing for cases on different news websites. [Y/N] was flipping through the local newspaper to see if anything stuck out in the reports there, but she wasn’t having much luck. Dean was.. well, in true Dean fashion he was chowing down on a burger that he’d brought back from the local diner. “Your food is gonna get cold, or I’m gonna eat it, the entire world isn’t gonna fall apart if you two take a damn break.” Dean spoke, mouth half full of chewed food. Sam sighed and looked over to [Y/N] who finally closed the newspaper. “Fine, you’re right.” He spoke up, closing the laptop that had been in front of him for at least two hours. Turning his attention towards [Y/N] Dean would clear his throat (after having swallowed the mouthful of food) and gently squeezed her shoulder. “C’mon sweetheart you haven’t eaten today.” She’d sigh knowing her boyfriend was right, placing her hand on top of Dean’s and giving it an affectionate squeeze. “Alright, alright. This goddamn newsprint is giving me a headache anyway.” [Y/N] folded the newspaper back up and tossed it onto the table. Grabbing the brown paper bag, she pulled out what would be Sam’s usual and handed it over to the younger brother. She pulled out her own food and carefully unwrapped the burger, quickly picking it up and taking a big bite. Now that everyone was a little more focused on the food, Dean would continue to eat himself.

“I dunno man, everything I’ve seen has been completely normal. It’s like all the evil in the world has gone radio silent.” Taking a bite of his burger, the younger of the Winchester brother was clearly frustrated. “That’s what scares me, when things tend to be normal on the crime side.. it’s never a good sign.” [Y/N] replied, tucking a loose strand of [Y/H/C] hair behind her right ear. “There’s gotta be something, I’m sure we’ll find it but there’s no use finding anything if we aren’t fit to do the job.” Dean spoke up again, verbally nudging the two most important people in his life to continue eating. “All the sons of bitches can’t have just ran into hiding.“ He’d conclude, grabbing the bottle of beer he’d set aside and taking a swig. “It’s just weird, Dean. Normally it doesn’t take us so long to find something to at least check out. There’s nothing online at all that’s raising even a little suspicion.” Sam answered, looking extremely concerned when he locked eyes with his brother. Dean’s eyes were sympathetic and truthfully—he was worried too. Everything both Sam and [Y/N] were saying was true but he also couldn’t afford to let them see any hint of the fear his heart carried. Not only because it made things more real but he was too busy anchoring them, keeping them from spiralling because then they’d be no good to anyone once evil rears its ugly head. [Y/N] finished chewing another bite of food before adding another thought. “I haven’t seen anything local either I mean, that was the third paper I’ve scoured from front to back and everything just seems.. normal. It’s weird.” It took the chiming in of the eldest Winchester to calm the noise of the impending chaos again. “Hey, look, we’ll just take a break and see if anything comes down the pipeline. Right now I need you two to eat before I start force feeding you.” Sam and [Y/N] both looked at each other before chuckling softly and for the first time in the last couple of hours, the stress of it all faded away. Dean was the first to finish his food (no surprise there) and so he silently asked to use Sam’s laptop, the younger brother nodding as he continued to eat. [Y/N] had finished her food, not realizing how hungry she’d actually been. Of course Dean knew because he knew her like the back of his hand, which was why he’d been pushing her especially to eat since he brought it back to the room. She smiled to herself for a moment as her gaze moved to where Dean sat, scrolling on the computer. Those strikingly beautiful green eyes scanning the screen to see if he could find anything to ease the worries of the trio. Sam was of course the final person to finish his food and when he had, [Y/N] began to grab the garbage that had become scattered across the small table in their room. She stuffed everything back into the brown paper bag it came in before throwing it into the trash can. Rubbing at his temples, Sam slowly pushed himself up from his seat. “I’m gonna shower. Let me know if you guys find anything yeah?” He spoke, walking over to his bed and grabbing the go bag with his clothes in it. He saunters towards the bathroom and closes the door, both [Y/N] and Dean heard the door lock. Dean’s eyes moved to look up at his girlfriend with an expression that seemed exhausted. Noticing this, [Y/N] approached the table again, this time taking the chair closest to her green eyed baby. Leaning her head onto his shoulder, he managed a half smile with his gaze moving from the laptop screen to his beautiful lady. Her [Y/H/C] locks framing her face perfectly, not to mention her [Y/E/C] eyes that always brought his soul some peace. Everything about their world was utter chaos with something even worse looming overhead, yet just by looking into her eyes he’d find a calm like he’d never known.

[Y/N] had met the Winchesters as a child, her father one of the many hunters that John had worked with in the hunt for the yellow eyed demon. Unfortunately her father met a cruel fate at the hands of a shifter and that left her alone in the world. Naturally, via the connection, Bobby Singer would end up taking [Y/N] into his home and that’s where she’d spend time with Sam and Dean. Years on end would see them meeting a handful of times and enjoying various activities and days with Bobby while John hunted. Of course when John and Bobby had their big blow up fight, [Y/N] went a while without hearing from the brothers. Dean had gotten in touch a couple years later and kept in touch through texts mostly, which was surprising but [Y/N] wasn’t complaining. Sam would email every once and awhile but it was very sporadic. Which [Y/N] learned years later was because Sam had left hunting and gone to Stanford—basically ignoring the hunting life and everything supernatural. It was actually during this time where Dean and [Y/N] would begin doing hunts together. Off and on of course, sometimes very rarely with John but usually just the two of them. Often times these cases required them to, as they called it, ‘bend the truth’. This involved posing as different forms of authority to gain access to information that they normally wouldn’t have. Many times, both Dean and [Y/N] had to pose as a young couple in love. Newlyweds or happily engaged—various forms of in love, gaining them favor amongst the community or with other authority figures. This went on for months, both seemingly having feelings show themselves but it went undiscussed. Dean wasn’t about flirting with women to get further on a case, which of course [Y/N] hated but she could never really say that. It caused a little tension at times until finally it came to a head on a hunt for witch.

“Dean, will you just stop and listen to me?!” [Y/N] yelled as she followed the man into their shared motel room. Dean remained silent, anger written across his features. [Y/N] huffed out a breath of frustration and ran her hand through her [Y/H/C] hair and looking toward the eldest Winchester boy. “Dean.” She tried speaking again, yet he still ignored her and aggressively unzipped his go bag. Sifting through its contents he was looking for something, growing more irritated when he couldn’t find it. “What are you looking for?” [Y/N] asked, there was more silence for a second before he finally spoke. “Credit card.” Straight to the point and with a tone that had [Y/N]’s eyes rolling. “You told me to put it in my bag because your wallet needed to get fixed.” She replied, dipping her hand into her bag she’d pull her wallet out and slipping the card into her hand. She’d slowly walk over to Dean and tossed the card onto the bed. This time it was his turn to sigh before turning towards [Y/N]. “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I lost my temper, what you do is none of my business.” He said, which seemed genuine for the most part. “I just am lost, I don’t react like that when you flirt with a girl to get information or a bump in the line to meet with someone.” She spoke, though she mumbled under her breath. “Even though I want to..” Dean heard her and felt a sense of confusion wash over him. “Why would you.. [Y/N] why would you want to get mad over that?” Dean’s eyes had found themselves locked onto [Y/N]’s, waiting for her to answer. Throwing her hands up in frustration [Y/N] shouted. “For the exact same reason that you got mad today and punched the receptionist in the face, Dean! You and I obviously have feelings for one another but we don’t talk about them so we just circle the never ending drain of getting jealous and sad and mad in secret and letting it build up!” Immediately after the words had left her mouth she gasped and covered it with her hands. Dean was just as shocked as [Y/N] seemed to be, frozen just staring in her eyes. Moments later after pure silence, Dean turned around and drug his hand across his face. “Dean..” [Y/N] spoke, her tone much softer than it was moments ago. She took a step forward and slowly placed a hand on his shoulder, lightly gripping it. Dean turned with a quickness and crashed his lips against [Y/N]’s while his hand came up to cup her face. Naturally she was stunned, but began to kiss him back.

Ever since that day, due to some kind of truth hex, Dean and [Y/N] had been inseparable. It was the one good thing in Dean’s eyes that came from dealing with a witch. Moving his finger along the touchpad of the laptop, he’d close the website he was on and look up another. There had to be something somewhere.. there just had to be. “Should I get back on the papers?” [Y/N]’s voice broke the longstanding silence that had hovered over them. Dean pulled another half smile before turning and pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “No sweetheart, it’s alright. I don’t think there’s anything in ‘em. You’d have found something by now if there was.” His gaze again fixated on the computer, scrolling through masses of crimes being reported. He was about to scroll again, but something caught his eye and he needed to reread the blurb. “Wait a minute..” he spoke in a soft tone, causing [Y/N] to sit up. “Did you find something?” She asked, looking at the screen now too. “Not sure, maybe.” He replied, clicking a link that brought up a fuller article. “Well I’ll be damned.. this one might be vamps. Animal attacks, puncture marks on the necks.. hell there’s nothing else remotely sticking out so I think it’s worth the drive.” Dean added, the lock on the bathroom door clicking open and soon enough the younger Winchester came back into the main room. Steam came flowing from the bathroom as Sam continued to dry his hair. “Hey Sammy, think we got something.” [Y/N] spoke with a soft tone and there was a look of relief on his face. “Wha.. where?” Sam asked, looking at his brother. “Tucson.” Dean answered, turning the laptop around so that his younger brother could look at the article himself. Now [Y/N] was the one pushing herself from her seat. “Hopefully you didn’t use all the shampoo and the hot water.” She joked, making her way to the bathroom in order to shower.

After everyone had showered and changed into their pyjamas, the trio had settled down for the evening. It didn’t take long for quiet snores to be heard from Sam’s bed, his back turned towards the couple who were sharing the other bed. “I’m glad we found a case, but I still don’t have a good feeling about this..” [Y/N] spoke, keeping her tone on the quieter side as to not wake up the younger Winchester. She was snuggled into Dean’s side with her arm draped across his lower abdomen and her head on his chest. Dean pressed a kiss to her temple before sighing in a low manner himself. “I don’t either, it’s bugging me but we can’t just ignore the situation on feelings.” He spoke, his own tone mirroring hers in keeping on that quieter side and both sighed. “It just feels like this case fell into our laps and it feels like it’s a trap, but I can’t pinpoint from who or why.” She aimlessly began drawing shapes on the end of Dean’s T-shirt and he could see that his off feeling wasn’t as strong as the one that [Y/N] was having—she only drew shapes in that manner to calm her mind down. “Hey [Y/N/N], something’s really bugging you about this.. what is it?” He asked, gently turning her chin upward so [Y/N] would meet his gaze. [Y/E/C] hues met the beautiful green eyes that Dean had, searching them for something. “I wish I knew. Dean, it just feels.. too easy. There was nothing for what? Two days? Now all of a sudden there’s one solitary case and we’re supposed to believe this isn’t a set up? It’s not making sense. I know we can’t just ignore a possible case, but it just feels like something is going on and nothing good.” [Y/N] sighed again, knowing that so many things were up in the air right now and so many things couldn’t be resolved in quick manner. “Maybe we’ll pray to Cas tomorrow, either before we leave or while we’re driving. See if he knows anything.” Dean offered, squeezing [Y/N] and bringing her closer to his body. “Yeah, okay. Sounds good.” She replied, snuggling into her boyfriend and slowly closing her eyes. Dean himself would adjust the covers and slowly close his eyes. “Goodnight, D.” [Y/N] whispered. “Goodnight, [Y/N/N].” He whispered back.

#dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester #supernatural #fanfic #Dean Winchester imagines #spn #spn imagines

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corazondebeskar-reads · 7 months

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well it's love, make it hurt - chapter two

well it's love, make it hurt series

two: watch you hang on every word

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: The Mandalorian teases you on a hunt, and you get your revenge.

Warnings: established d/s relationship but only undertones present here, dirty talk, teasing, bounty hunting, reference to alcohol, mild canon-typical violence, sometimes reader can have a turn being a menace as a treat

Originally written for Kinktober 2023 - Day 11: Exhibitionism/Teasing, inspired by @absurdthirst’s Kinktober 2023 prompt list

also on ao3

3 ABY - Summer

“Got eyes on the quarry yet?” you murmur into your drink, taking a tiny sip to keep up appearances. The cantina is a small, but airy, wooden dome. The heavy tarps had been rolled up to let the breeze through the windows, unfortunately also allowing the swollen afternoon sun to shine in right in your line of sight, unable to see more than black shapes at the entrance.

“No, but I’ve got eyes on something else,” Mando says from on the roof across the path, sniper rifle poised and the sun at his back.

You roll your eyes exaggeratedly, knowing he had a good enough view of your profile to catch the movement.

It was your third day staking out the target's alleged watering hole, and coming back another day would be pushing it. Nobody stayed here for long without a reason, and you were running out of them. It was bad enough that you’d had to actually make notes about the local flora to keep up appearances.

“This is, like, my least sexy disguise,” you say. It was also one of your usuals. Nerds, as it turned out, were on the same page as hunters about practical clothing with plenty of storage. You had the requisites for your cover: binocs, glass tubes, tissue samples from various bushes and sprouts, small clippers, and an assortment of tools for gathering specimen. The less obvious pockets had explosives, a switchblade, smoke grenades, and more.

The rusty orange vest and dark olive shirt hung loose enough around your torso to conceal the blaster tucked into your waistband. A commlink is nestled in the ear facing the wall, behind a curtain of your hair.

“I don’t know,” he muses. “Those shorts are pretty short.”

“What has gotten into you today?” You already know the answer. You don’t fuck on hunts, too wary of getting distracted. But the two bounties before this were on the same planet, and now it’s been over a week since you had touched him. And maybe you had left the fresher door open this morning, hoping he would come in, but he didn’t.

He definitely watched, though.

You, at least, had your drink and your datapad. He had nothing to do but watch, and his mind kept replaying filthy memories from between your thighs.

“Like you aren’t thinking about it too,” he says, voice low and rumbling. “I bet you’re starting to soak through those little shorts.”

You don’t respond, swirling the drink idly in the cup and trying to focus on the botanical database.

“I can see your nipples through your shirt, cyar’ika,” he says. “Is it cold in there?”

“Shut up,” you groan. Every time you responded, you had to take a little sip as a cover. At this rate, you were going to end up actually getting drunk.

“So you’re not thinking about what I’m going to do to you when we get back to the Crest?”

“No, I’m thinking about getting off this damp ass pit of a planet.”

“Hmm. That’s too bad.” He wasn’t actually lingering on you through the scope. He was doing his job, keeping watch, and fastidiously ignoring his half-hard cock. “I was going to help myself to something sweet before we left.”

You cursed through gritted teeth. “Behave,” you hiss.

“That’s my line.”

You could hear the smirk through the crackle of the commlink, so you stretch a hand up to scratch the back of your head, middle finger extended.

He laughs, and even through the double distortion of his helmet and the line, it makes you smile.

“Hey, shit, here—” he cuts off, static buzzing.

Your smile wilts as fast as it had sprouted, but you hold your body in the relaxed slouch over the datapad, still idly twirling the cocktail in one hand and annotating something in meaningless shorthand.

The line clicks twice, and you move to stand. Another being comes around the corner of your booth, and you stumble right into them, knocking the violently green remains of your drink over their tan shawl.

“What the hell?” they begin to unwrap it from their neck.

“I’m so sorry, here; please, let me help,” you tell the tall Pantoran woman. You reach for your little napkin on the table and grab for her shawl with the other, tugging her to you with it. The hand that went for the napkin comes back with a blaster, pressed between her shoulder blades where the shawl hung down.

She freezes.

“C’mon, let’s go,” you murmur in her ear.

She turns her head side to side, looking with pleading eyes to see if any of the other patrons had noticed her predicament. If they do, they know better than to care.

“I can pay.” She still isn’t moving.

You nudge her with the nose of the blaster. “Outside.”

In the alley behind the cantina, Mando leans casually against a wall. He has one leg bent, foot against the wall, arms crossed. “Took you long enough,” he says when you shove the bounty toward him.

She stumbles and screams when she sees him.

You cover her mouth with your hand, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, he’s a big, scary Mandalorian. Shut up about it.”

Mando forces her arms behind her back and claps the binders on tight, magnetizing them to the side of a stack of crates.

“What’re you doing?” You try to ask, but he crowds you against the wall in seconds, gloved hands running down your sides.

“Need you,” he huffs.

“Are you kriffing kidding me?” the quarry yells.

Mando puts one hand on the holster facing her, and she falls silent.

“C’mon, baby, please.”

You go to push him off and roll your eyes, but at the last minute, decide to wrap your fingers into the cowl of his cape instead. “You need me now, huh? Got yourself worked up?”

He squeezes your waist in warning, but lets you move him so your positions were switched. Well. He cooperates when you tug on his cowl. You aren’t stupid enough to think you could actually move him when he was in full beskar. He was like a broken repulsortank.

His head falls back against the wall when you sink down to your knees in the filthy alley. The quarry tries very hard to look anywhere else. You palm him through his trousers, and he groans, clenching a gloved hand in your hair.

You nuzzle your face against him, pressing kisses through the fabric. He reaches down to pull his cock out, but you wrap a hand around his wrist and use it to pull yourself to your feet.

“Where’re you going, sweetheart?” He tries to pull you closer, and you duck out of his reach, laughing.

“We’re on a job, Mando, where do you think I’m going?” You call over your shoulder, already walking out of the alley and leaving him to grab the woman.

“Gonna pay for that,” he warn.

You spin around and grin. “No, I’m not. We’re not home, sweetheart.”

You turn and keep going, missing the way he stops for a moment, jerking the bounty in the process.

Home. It rings in his head, ricocheting off the helmet and his boner-addled brain.

“Should have just shot me. Then I wouldn’t have had to see that,” the bounty grumbles.

He snaps, “Shut up,” and gives her a harsh shove forward, following your leisurely path back to the Crest.

*title from "Sink Into Me" by Taking Back Sunday

#din djarin x reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x f!reader #dom din djarin #kinktober 2023 #make it hurt verse #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian fic

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robotlesbianjavert · 3 months

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what would you say are horikoshi's biggest strengths as a writer and what are his greatest weaknesses?

ooh that's a really good question that i've had to think a lot about. it's difficult cuz while i've read his tenko oneshot and the original my hero oneshot, i haven't read his other two multi-chapter works (oumagadoki zoo and barrage) (though i have seen the raw scans of his other oneshot shinka rhapsody thanks to @codenamesazanka). boku no hero academia is obviously his work i'm most familiar with, and it's difficult to use mostly that as a metric for his skills overall.

on the other hand, bnha lasts for so much longer than his other works and is also so much more recent, so it's the main work that has to show off how growth or lack thereof as a writer, as well as his biggest challenges due to how punishing the manga industry can be and how it would have forced him into situations he may not have experienced with his past works. so in a way, bnha kind of has to be judged a biiit separately from the rest?

anyways with those caveats aside. his greatest strength is always and forever his art, which in manga is at least half of the writing. he has this special little touch with physicality and emotion that like. it's hard to describe how exactly it's different from other artists, who are also often great with physicality and emotion! but horikoshi's art often has that extra bit of weight to it that really sells it to me.

like i've said previously, i also think that he does have a knack for character writing that shines best when he's working with complicated, rough around the edges characters who aren't straightforward goody-two-shoes. shigaraki and bakugou i've already said are great examples of this. endeavour can get more difficult to talk about in this context due to the baggage around him, but i'd maintain that a lot of the series best writing does go to him, shouto, and the rest of the todoroki plotline (although it struggled a bit at the end there). twice, while ultimately a really nice guy, is still a very complicated criminal who gets theeeeee best development in the series. obviously there's toga, normal cute girl of all time.

a lot of that extends to horikoshi's affection for his minor/side characters as well. while i don't think he always nails it with integrating them into the story (fucking shouji. also vigilantes honestly did parts of this better), he does obviously put a lot of thought into them even when he doesn't get to use it. this is part of why i adore spinner so much, because he's that very typical minor side character who could easily be written out but instead gets a fleshed out and evocative role of his own.

i also think that horikoshi has a really strong instinct and potential for great horror/horrific material. again, this is where shigaraki proves himself horikoshi's best character - everything from his initial character design with the hands, the hints and insinuations about his backstory dropped over the first and second acts, all culminating in the beautifully gruesome shimura family massacre that just hits every single fuckin time. i honestly think it's one of the greatest payoffs in the series, basically bar none. (i know people try to give that title to the dabi reveal, but i keep getting taken out by how abrupt that particular instance is) it's the horror moments that make his art especially shine, he comes up with great scenarios, and honestly when he mentioned wanting to try his hand at a horror work after bnha i'm like, all in.

but that kind of segues into my biggest criticism of his writing - he holds back. he gets meek, he doesn't go all in. he had some interview where he admitted that the yakuza arc took a lot out of him because of how dark it got,

this extends to the entire series, especially in how the third arc has shaken out. deku and all might are really big victims of this, where there is absolutely a lot of complex development and criticism you can do with the way their characters are set up, but the story backs down from that to go "well maybe they're just. too heroic sometimes. self-sacrificing. that's an issue right." the 'dark deku' arc is a joke because while deku does extend himself beyond his limits, he never gets to the point of causing real harm to himself and those around him before class 1a swoops in.

i also have my conspiracy theories about hawks and how the fallout of his murdering twice was soooooo weak, where i think the popularity of hawks and his status as a hero scared horikoshi off of doing anything more critical with him, instead feeding that overwrought backstory as a distraction and giving the whole "government sponsored murderer who is wracked with guilt and bitter about the hypocrisy" to nagant. who again he didn't go hard enough with because then deku would have like, something outside of shigaraki to actually deal with. and would have to question the society that he's protecting. whatever.

he's also been so half-assed with the critique and deconstruction of hero society that he's set up, only to hastily and clumsily reconstruct it because superheroes are too cool to reeeaaaaaally say anything about, and also hero society has too many parallels with real life modern society, which might be awkward to critique in a youth magazine meant to satisfy as broad an audience as possible.

and then there's the heteromorph arc. goddamn the heteromorph arc. if you follow me you've probably read this but @stillness-in-green's conclusive write up of heteromorph discrimination as it's been laid out throughout the story and how that arc failed, which i think really signifies either the ways that horikoshi doesn't dig as deep into the concepts he brings up as he should, or doesn't realize how deep he needs to go with them.

i don't know if part of the way that horikoshi holds back or lands on the most boring resolutions for some of the ideas the story brings up is in part due to not wanting to rock the boat culturally, if he doesn't want to accidentally turn readers away after he's worked so hard to get to where he is now as a mangaka, or if it's the workload wearing him down, but it leaves the story half-formed.

i also think his other greatest weakness, which is a brutal one for shonen, is that he kind of fucking sucks at interesting fight scenes. like how much stuff ends with deku giving a big punch. it is my honest and greatest opinion that it should have been iida fighting muscular and uraraka fighting stain either alongside or in place of deku - their characters just had so much more to gain there. but i can also imagine all the fanboys who only care about power stats sneering and asking what iida and uraraka could have possibly done, which i think really speaks to a lack of creative thought not just in the fanbase, but in the writer. horikoshi can spin up all these cool and unique powers, but struggles to do anything really engaging with them. given that shonen fight scenes double as big character moments, it leaves a lot to be desired. big punches can only be inspiring so many times.

anyways. there's probably a lot more i can say. but that involves retreating more of the story than i am willing to do so right now. so alas.

#bnha bloggin

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bettsfic · 1 month

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hi it’s me again! i finished the kennedy book half an hour ago and i am still reeling.

you weren’t kidding about the last chapters. like the farewell party is a bittersweet anecdote, but then the epilogue is just absolutely crushing. what a brutal note to end on. the true endpoint is the paragraph in the acknowledgements where he thanks his coauthor for freeing him from the emotional prison he was in. phrase practically verbatim. like oh my god.

that thing you said about what’s not said really did nail the sort of very careful sidestepping of….giving his opinions, maybe? there is just a very deliberate sort of distance with which he describes any events, and so you really notice the barest hints of something more. (more than anyone can ever know, mr. hill? care to elaborate??? it’s the implication that they kept many secrets together and also his enduring loyalty to her that keeps us from learning hardly any of them.) i was reminded of the perception of the kennedys as american royalty because he really talks about her like she was a queen. jackie kennedy through his lens is beautiful and gracious and willful and truly given the royal treatment.

speaking of the royalty metaphor, aristotle onassis is two steps from being a mustache-twirling villain hoping that our brave knight clint hill dies a watery death under a yacht??? unprompted??? like, man. come on. honestly there’s a fascinating emotional thread in here about how he can only fully express feelings of protectiveness when they’re expressed by the president first.

anyway. this is a long ask. sorry. i feel like i should have something profound to say about the assassination chapters because of how significant the event is in history but i don’t yet. i probably sound unhinged but man. this was real life and this is how he chose to tell this story. what even was that.

THANK YOU.

re: last chapters: i want to look into what happened between him and his coauthor (they're married now!) but i haven't yet. i'm still feeling my feelings about the whole thing. can you imagine not reading the acknowledgements?? the acknowledgements that provide the only ounce of comfort amid the hurt of the last third of the book??

re: "MORE THAN ANYONE CAN EVER KNOW": i purposefully haven't shared that quote because divorced from its context you don't get the impact. to me that says he either totally had a thing with her but won't talk about it because he's an honorable man, in the same way he won't offer any kind of "no yeah the warren report was bullshit and the shots came from two different directions" confirmation, or he wants us to *think* something happened even if it didn't. i mean it's not like it was a secret that JFK and Jackie had affairs with other people. a great many of those people have written memoirs specifically about boning one or more of the Kennedys. so many in fact that it's basically a subgenre.

also there's some irony in the way he depicts Jackie. she didn't like to be written about. at all. ever. and there's more than one instance where he's, you know, an 80 year old man being a bit patronizing (in an otherwise very sensitively and thoughtfully written book), with all the mentions of mischief and little-girlishness. and so i keep thinking about how Jackie would have felt about this particular depiction, which despite the glossy nostalgia over the whole thing and I Love Lucy-esque antics, is a pretty nuanced depiction, at least compared to others i've read. he manages to revere her, nearly worship her, but still portray her vices, not as faults but as even more reasons he loved her. i don't know, man. it just feels weird to stumble upon a true story of what i thought were fictional feelings.

re: "he can only fully express feelings of protectiveness when they’re expressed by the president first": HOLY SHIT YOU'RE RIGHT. i'm still thinking about that scene where he takes the film out of that photographer's camera and JFK is just like, "ummm we can't make it seem like we're denying the press access to us, so we're gonna have to blame you," which prompted Hill to question his professional loyalty to the president against his personal loyalty to Jackie, and also it made me think, what would happen if he had to shoot someone? would he get blamed for that too? was he really only there as a human shield, able to protect but not truly defend?

re: "what even was that": WHAT EVEN WAS THAT.

#i'm still not even a little bit over this #dazzle

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lamaery · 2 years

Photo

earlier this year I started collaborating with @thirdchildart on a visualization of the first chapter of Way of Kings... with both got caught up in other work though so for now at least we set it aside, with the hope to get back to parts of it one day. So here are some of the ideas for the main ball room of the Kholinar palace. It has been very interesting to practice surroundings and scenery since it is venturing out of my usual comfort zone... image descriptions below the cut:

[image description: various sketches for the layout of a very spacious ten-sided, almost circular room with several rises platforms and a surrounding balcony. The first image is a drawing of the king’s platform, stars leading up to a raised area under a tent-like canopy falling down from the ceiling and being propped up by the pillars and connecting arches that surround the rim of the plateau. Next to the staircase are small pools of water illuminated with sphere lights. Under the canopy the light of big chandeliers falls on the people and tables below. The lower half of the image contains schematic bird views of both the kings platform and the big ball room with its layout and three version of little nooks for sphere lights which are set into the stone pillars. The second image is a digital sketch in soft grey depicting a high overview of the big ballroom, showing the kings platform framed by to smaller ones for men and women. All three of those have similar canopies. There are two lower platforms joined to the smaller ones, with several staircases leading down to the dance floor. The schematic layout of the room is repeated in the lower right corner. It also shows the location of several fire pits distributed in the room. In the upper right corner is a small close-up of alethi lighteyed women chatting next to a geometrically shaped (bit like a ten sided dice) lamp on a stone post. The third image is a page full of sketches done in yellow colour pencil and ball pen, with digital shading on top. It has two images of the balcony lining the room and the walkway underneath. All shapes are very bold and angular with a tendency towards 60 degree angles. The big stone pillars that support the circular balcony thin out towards the ceiling. The solid broad parts on the bottom are decorated with rows of inset nooks for candles or sphere lights. triangular portions of the balcony walkway venture out into the room and the pillars. Over the heads of the people sitting and promenading on the balcony carved stone work wings out from the pillars back to the walls which are arching into a domed roof. Long vertical flags hang from the stonework, presenting the glyphs of the princedoms. In the right hadn't upper corner there is a lighteyed couple displaying the current altho fashion. The details on the woman’s havah repeat the angles of the architecture. The man wears a long dark open coat with a skirted vest underneath. He holds a glass in his hand and sports a beard on his face. There is a written note next to his head reading “If king Gavilar wears a beard they are probably in fashion”. Below are different designs for vine glasses and goblets. ]

#concept art #concept sketches #roshar #ballroom #WoK #way of kings #stormlight archive #fanart #sketches #feast hall #described

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mycurrent-hyperfixation · 2 years

Text

Take A Chance On Me - Chapter Two (Eddie Munson x Reader Series)

Series Summary: Corroded Coffin is lacking only one thing that could help them win the upcoming Battle of the Bands; original songs. So when a new band comes to town with a lead singer that looks all too familiar and a repertoire of original songs up their sleeves, Dustin concocts a plan that will get you to spill of your songwriting secrets to Eddie. It’s just a few dates, right?

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Masterlist

Word Count: 4.1K

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Reader, Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, 10 Things I Hate About You AU

A/N: Okay so the first chapter kinda flopped but that is okay, we shall persevere. I’ve already written half the chapters so there’s no going back now. Thank you so much to those who commented and supported the last chapter, I’m so glad you liked it. Let me know if you want to be added to either the series taglist or my main taglist!

“Well, well, well,” Robin began as soon as you walked into the video store. “If it isn’t my favourite customer.”

“You might want to cool it a bit there, Buckley. Vicki might get jealous,” you retorted, a blush instantly erupting onto Robin’s face at the mention of her crush.

“Have you still not asked her out?” Steve called from where he was re-shelving video tapes in the ‘new releases’ section.

“It’s not that easy, Harrington, she does have a boyfriend, remember? Plus, last time I checked you were just as single as I am.”

“Woah, woah, woah, why are we attacking me now?” Steve approached the counter, smiling as he saw you. “Hey, Y/N. You guys were really great last night.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that? I am in the band too in case you’ve forgotten,” Robin said.

Steve rolled his eyes. “I didn’t want the compliment to go to your head. It’s already big enough.”

“Says you.”

“I saw you talking to a pretty girl last night, Steve,” you interjected. “Any luck finding the love of your life?”

“Oh yeah, Samantha,” Steve reminisced. “I don’t know. She’s pretty, but I just don’t know if she’s for me, you know?”

“It must be so hard for you,” you responded with a smile. “Having to reject girls left and right. Should I get you a stick so you can beat the hordes away?”

“Excuse me for taking my love life so seriously. It’s not all about sex for me, you know.”

“How chivalrous of you,” you said before wondering over to a nearby shelf. “Do you guys have anything new in? I feel like watching something different.”

“You? Different? Please,” Steve responded. “I’ll recommend something and you’ll still take out something you’ve already seen.”

“Ghostbusters?” Robin interjected.

“Hmmmm,” you said.

“Sixteen Candles?”

“Hmmmm,”

“Back to the Future?”

“Oh, yeah!”

“You’ve seen that film like 8 times!” Steve protested.

“You just need to be more in tune with the customers,” Robin teased as she rung up the tape for you. “What are you doing tonight? Did you wanna come to the movies with Vicki and me?"

“No can do,” you said. “I’m working tonight. Plus, I refuse to third wheel.”

“It’s not a date!” Robin quickly clarified. “At least I don’t think it is.”

“I promised Henderson I’d drive him somewhere,” Steve added.

“You two are boring!” Robin whined.

“And I thought I was his babysitter,” you said with a smile.

With a roll of his eyes, Steve flipped you his middle finger which caused you to let out a loud laugh just as the bell above the front door chimed.

“Speaking of the devil,” Steve said as you turned around to see Dustin, Mike and Lucas entering the store.

“Y/N!” Dustin exclaimed.

“What do you want?” you responded with a quirked eyebrow.

“Am I not allowed to be excited to see my friend?”

“You’re never excited to see me,” Steve interjected. “And I’m the one volunteering my time to drive to Eddie’s place tonight.”

“Stop being a martyr, Steve,” Dustin said before turning his attention back to you. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Working. Why?” you said suspiciously.

“By yourself?”

“I’ll be with Meg for a little bit but I’ll be closing by myself. Why?” you asked again.

“Oh no reason. No reason at all,” Dustin said as a wicked grin spread across his features.

“Is it just me or did that sound super sinister?” you asked, turning back to face Robin and Steve.

“Oh yeah, definitely,” Robin responded. “I’d prepare for your shift to be eventful.”

“I swear to god if you guys rope me into another one of your prank wars I will not show mercy this time,” you said, pointing a finger at all three of the boys. Mike and Lucas turned to look at each other, something close to fear passing between them.

“No, no. Nothing’s going to happen, I promise,” Dustin said. “Just another boring night at the record store, I’m sure.”

You squinted your eyes at Dustin suspiciously. “You’re a weird kid, Dustin.”

He simply smiled back.

---

As much as you didn’t want to, you had to admit that Dustin had been right; your shift was indeed exceptionally uneventful.

It had been tolerable at first when Meg’s shift had overlapped with your own, for even though the girl was not the chattiest of people, you had grown to find comfort in the long stretches of silence that would often ensue when you were in her company.

“Did you read over those lyrics I gave you?” you asked, calling across the empty store to where Meg was tidying by the door.

“Yeah,” she called back. “I like them, but I made a few changes so that they fit in with this chord progression I’ve been working on.”

“Cool. You can show me at practice tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

And then the silence was back, interrupted by the sound of the record that was turning slowly on the record player by the counter. It was the first album of The Smiths, the melodic tune of Morrissey’s voice flowing throughout the store. You hummed along as you reorganised the sale’s bin, your finger tapping away subconsciously to the beat as it skimmed over each record.

“I’m off,” Meg said suddenly from behind you, causing you to jump slightly at the sound of her voice.

“Jesus! How do you walk so quietly?”

Meg shrugged her shoulders, her face emotionless.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay and keep me company? I’ll be ever so lonely here by myself,” you continued.

The corner of her mouth lifted slightly. “Sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yeah, you’re right, I’m not,” Meg responded with a curve of her lips that could almost be considered a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow at practice, though.”

“Ugh, fine then, leave me to my loneliness!” you cried as Meg exited the store with a half-hearted wave.

The music continued to float lazily throughout the store as the sun continued to set, the little bell above the door periodically chiming every now and then as customers wandered in. You assisted the ones that looked lost and left others alone, their ears usually covered by the headphones of a Walkman so that it was clear they didn’t want to be disturbed. When the store was empty you allowed yourself to linger by the counter, lazily flipping through your notebook. The cover was black, the book looking wholeheartedly uninspiring from the front but containing almost all of the songs you had ever written. With a pen held in one hand, you idly scribbled within its contents.

When The Smiths album had finished you searched through the racks for something more upbeat to finish off the night with, pulling out an album whose cover had been worn down from excessive use. You smiled before pulling the record free, placing it gently upon the turntable before guiding the stylus into place. Freddie Mercury’s voice filled the store as you found yourself unable to stop from swaying to the tune. You looked towards the clock that sat just above the desk and smiled; merely half an hour left of your shift to go.

As you began packing up the store, you sung lazily here and there, oftentimes glancing around to make sure no customers had somehow wandered in unnoticed. With the broom in your hand, you made your way throughout the aisles, pulling the bristles along with you as you slowly began to accumulate more and more dust. At the familiar notes of the opening of one of your favourite songs, you couldn’t help but smile.

“Can anybody find me somebody to love?” Freddie’s voice sang, resounding throughout the store.

In one swift motion you leant the broom against one of the racks and hastily made your way over to the counter, hoisting yourself up and over it so that you could just barely reach the record player. With a twist of your wrist, the volume was turned all the way up, the music now blasting throughout the store.

“Each morning I get up I die a little,

can barely stand on my feet.

Take a look—take a look in the mirror and cry,” you sang, trying to cover all the different parts and failing as you meandered your way back over to your broom and picked up sweeping where you had left off.

Whether it was because the volume on the record player was turned up to its maximum or whether it was because you were completely consumed in the song, in the end it didn’t really matter. Either way you still failed to hear the chime of the bell above the front door.

“I work hard—he works hard—every day of my life

I work till I ache in my bones.”

The sound of shoes tapping against the floorboards was again drowned out by the sound of the music as a figure drew closer to you, the footsteps slow and hesitant until they eventually came to a stop a few feet behind you.

Eddie couldn’t quite help the smile that erupted onto his features at the sight of you. He thought it wise that he should probably make his presence known to save you any more embarrassment than you would likely already feel. But then you were singing once more and Eddie could no longer bring himself to do so. Your back was to him as you swept, your pulls of the broom languid and half-hearted so that you missed several spots upon the floor. And although Eddie could not see your face, he knew that you were smiling.

“I get down on my knees and I start to pray,

‘til the tears run down from my eyes.”

You continued to sweep as you sang, slowly making your way backwards as you dragged along your pile of dust. You were getting closer and closer now, Eddie realised, although as much as he knew he should, in that moment he seemed incapable of moving. It could have partly been because his legs had slightly turned to jelly now that he was back within your presence, but it could have also been because, somewhere in the back of his mind, he wanted you to run into him, if only to feel you against him for the briefest of moments.

“Lord, somebody, ohhh, somebody.

Can anybody find me somebody to love?”

You were belting the note now, smiling as you did so, quite positive that you would have sounded far better had you taken the time to warm your throat up properly. But you couldn’t quite bring yourself to care as the music blasted throughout the store. Banging your head to the beat, you pulled the broom backwards quite forcefully this time to gather the mound of dust you had accumulated.

“Oof!” sounded from behind you as your elbow connected with something.

The sound that left your throat was somewhere between a scream and a choked cough that was wholly embarrassing as you scrambled away from the figure. Your heart was pounding now, thumping so loudly and so forcefully that you had to hold a hand up to your chest to make sure it didn’t rip right through your skin. Your eyes were wide, your breaths ragged and heaving as you glanced to the figure before you who was bending over, clutching at their stomach.

The mane of hair was the first thing you saw, and then it was the large brown eyes staring up at you from under it, paired with what appeared to be almost an embarrassed grimace.

“Hello,” Eddie said, his hands still clutched to his side where you had undoubtedly elbowed him.

And then it was your turn to be embarrassed as a heat crept up onto your cheeks.

“Jesus…fuc–sorry! I didn’t…you weren’t…the bell, I-”

You couldn’t quite bring yourself to look at him, your heart still pounding, the urge to bring your hands up to cover your face almost overwhelming. Instead, you rushed quickly past Eddie and headed towards the counter, scrambling quite unceremoniously over the top of it until you reached the record player and moved the stylus until the music stopped. When you turned back to Eddie, the corner of his mouth was curved slightly upwards.

The silence was deafening.

“I-” you tried to begin again, the heat from your cheeks having in no way lessened. “I didn’t hear you come in. The bell…I didn’t hear the bell.”

Eddie was failing quite miserably at hiding the smile that threatened to consume his features as he watched you stumble, quite thankful that you wouldn’t meet his gaze lest you think he was laughing at you. He watched as you shook your head slightly to yourself, bringing your hands up to rub briefly at your temples.

“B-but anyway, sorry for all the trouble but we’re actually clo-” you began, looking up at the clock only to find yourself stifling a groan.

8:55PM.

You sighed, forced a smile onto your face before finally bringing your gaze up to look at Eddie.

“Can I help you find anything?”

Eddie swallowed a laugh as the tone of your voice changed; rising in pitch with a hint of fake enthusiasm mixed among it. But then he noticed that you were looking at him quite expectantly and he realised that although he had extensively prepared himself for this meeting, he had not quite thought this far ahead.

“Ugh…yeah! Yeah, I’m looking for...” Eddie’s gaze scanned the store. “I’m looking for…Metallica. Yeah! They’re new album!”

You furrowed your eyebrows slightly at Eddie before turning your gaze from his.

“That’ll be in the rock section,” you said, before rushing off unexpectantly so that Eddie found himself scrambling to keep up with you. You weaved expertly through the aisles before stopping abruptly, your fingers instantly coming up to flick through the rows of records that sat before you until you eventually found what you were looking for. “It’s a good album. Got some great tracks although the last two songs aren’t my favourite.”

“Are you joking?” Eddie questioned, not being able to help himself. “They’re the perfect way to end the album. They’re like the fusion of the savageness and beauty of all the other songs.”

Your eyebrows furrowed once more just as Eddie’s eyes went wide, the realisation of what he had just said hitting him all at once. He averted his gaze from yours, bringing a hand up to rub at the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“That’s…ugh…that’s what I’ve heard anyway,” he quickly tried to rectify.

“Uh-huh,” you responded to break the silence that had erupted between you. “Soooo…do you wanna buy it or…”

“Um,” Eddie stumbled again, not knowing what to say. He did not particularly feel like paying for an album he already had sitting upon his shelf back at his trailer. But then he looked up towards you once more, the record still held within your hands, and he could not quite allow himself to be weirder than he had already been. “Yeah, I’ll get it.”

“Cool. I’ll ring it up for you at the counter,” you said before rushing away from Eddie once more. Eddie followed you to the counter, watching as you concentrated on the large computer before you, clicking away absentmindedly on the mouse and periodically typing something into the keyboard. The silence between you had returned now and Eddie so wished you hadn’t turned off the record player even if you had been playing Queen.

“I’m, ugh,” Eddie said hesitantly as he tried to break the silence. “I’m Eddie by the way.”

“I know,” you responded, not looking up from the computer. “I was in senior year with you. We had Mrs Click’s class together.”

Now it was Eddie’s turn to furrow his brows. “You remember me?” he blurted out before he could stop himself.

Your gaze looked up towards him, suddenly serious. “Of course I do.”

“I-I just thought,” Eddie stuttered, feeling a heat begin to creep up his cheeks. “I don’t know.”

You turned your attention back to the computer a small smile perched upon your lips that Eddie found himself unable to look away from. “You’re a hard guy to miss, Eddie Munson.”

Eddie’s breath hitched, his blush now so vibrant he had to turn his head downwards in an attempt to get his hair to cover it. He cleared his throat and forced himself to stand up straight as he looked at you.

“I saw your gig last night,” he tried to say with some semblance of confidence.

You smiled again. “I saw you at my gig last night.”

Eddie shrugged his shoulders, trying to act nonchalant. “You guys were alright.”

You scoffed, turning your gaze back towards him. “Alright?” you questioned, acting offended. “That’s quite the scathing review.”

“Yeah, well, if you limit yourself to ABBA covers I can’t really rate you any higher.”

“What’s wrong with ABBA?”

“Oh, I don’t know, their music.”

You smirked upwards at Eddie now, crossing your arms in front of you as you leaned onto the counter; leaned closer to him. Eddie tried to keep his composure as the scent of your perfume suddenly encompassed him; something sweet and yet smoky that for some reason had his mouth starting to salivate.

“Just because somethings popular, Munson, doesn’t mean it’s bad.”

“Oh, I beg to differ,” Eddie said, bending down so that he was also leaning on the counter. For just a moment, he swore he saw a tint of red appear on your cheeks, but then you were rolling your eyes and turning away as you returned your attention back to the record that sat between you.

“So I suppose you think these guys are musical geniuses?” you questioned.

“Of course they ar-”

“Why?” you interjected.

“W-well,” Eddie fumbled, trying to think of a response. “They’re manipulation of music is legendary. They create art.”

“Art. I like that,” you said so softly it was almost a breath, another smile encompassing your features. “Do you want to know what I look for in the artists I choose to listen to?”

“Is it whatever’s on the popular rack at the time?” Eddie said with a smirk. He nearly laughed as you rolled your eyes, pulling away as you began to place the record into a bag.

“A story. Music is just another form of storytelling, and I think the addition of instruments only enhances the story more when it comes to the listeners emotional response.”

“Emotional response?” Eddie scoffed as he unfolded himself back to his normal height.

You looked up at him. “Have you ever heard a song that makes you want to cry?”

Eddie furrowed his brows at your sudden serious tone. “No.”

“Well then you’re missing out on the real beauty of music.”

Eddie found himself at a loss for words as he looked down at you. He thought he should probably say something profound, maybe disagree with you whilst he was at it. But as he opened his mouth nothing came out.

“That’ll be $15.”

Eddie blinked. For just a moment he wasn’t quite sure whether the conversation had even ensued between the two of you as you smiled at him, the bagged record extended towards him. He grabbed it tentatively.

“R-right,” he said, reaching into his back pocket to extract his wallet. As he handed you the cash, he made sure to do so in a way that would have your fingers brushing against his. And even though he was expecting the contact, he couldn’t quite help the racing of his heart as your soft skin brushed against his.

You hesitated slightly as you took the money, and as you realised what you were doing you tried to compensate by hastily shoving the money into the till. A silence settled between the two of you as you continued to look up at Eddie and as he continued to look down at you.

“Were you guys entering the Battle of the Bands?” Eddie questioned.

“Ugh, yeah,” you said. “Took me a while to convince the others since they’re pretty sure the judges won’t score us high cause we’re girls but-” you paused, realising that you were rambling. “Were you?”

Eddie’s eyebrows shot upwards, surprised that you were even aware of his band.

“Y-yeah! We are!” he exclaimed. “I guess I’ll see you there.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” you responded. “So what does that make us then? Enemies?” you said with a laugh.

Eddie smirked. “I suppose it does. We probably shouldn’t be seen fraternising with each other then. Some people might think I’m giving you tips.”

You scoffed. “Who said we needed tips from a mediocre rock band?”

Eddie shot his hands towards his heart, pretending to be wounded.

“Mediocre? Now that’s a low blow.”

You shrugged, trying to act nonchalant.

“You said we were alright.”

“That’s still better than mediocre.”

“Well that’s because we are better than you.”

Eddie leaned down towards you tauntingly. You refused to pull away.

“Well then, I guess we’ll just have to let the competition decide.”

Eddie smirked down at you and you smirked back.

“May the best band win.”

And then you were pulling away, leaving behind the scent of your perfume that had Eddie urging to follow you. He inhaled deeply before leaning back himself, slinging the bag of the record over his shoulder.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, Munson. We did technically close three minutes ago and I have places to be.”

Eddie smiled, walking slowly backwards towards the door. “You know I might just have to start coming here instead of the store across town.”

You smiled back. “And why is that?”

“Well, here I get great service and a show.”

A deep blush crossed your face, your smile dropping. “I swear to god, Munson, if you tell anyone what you saw tonight, I’ll murder you.”

Eddie smirked. “Next time if you switch the broom for an actual guitar I might leave you a bigger tip.”

“Next time it might be the broom I hit you with!”

Eddie couldn’t help the laugh that erupted from him.

“Night, princess. Have fun with the sweeping.”

And then the bell was chiming above him as he left.

---

Eddie couldn’t quite wipe the smile from his face as he walked back to his van with a skip to his step, a record he already owned held within the bag slung over his shoulder. A mop of brown hair stared at him through a pair of binoculars from the front seat of his van as he walked, a toothy grin situated upon Dustin’s face as he noticed Eddie’s smile. At the sight of him, Eddie’s smile faltered, remembering all at once the purpose of the outing.

“So it went well then?” Dustin asked with a wiggle of his eyebrows as Eddie hopped into the driver’s seat.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Eddie mumbled half-heartedly.

“So she said yes?”

Eddie turned to look at Dustin, confused.

“What?”

“When you asked her out? She said yes, right?”

“Ugh,” Eddie stammered. “No. Well, not yet. I didn’t actually ask her.”

Eddie turned his keys in the ignition and backed out of his spot with slightly more speed than was strictly necessary.

“What?” Dustin exclaimed. “That was the whole point of this mission!”

Mission. Eddie flinched.

“Yeah well, it didn’t feel right.”

“It doesn’t matter if it didn’t feel right. The competition’s a week away! You don’t exactly have time for everything to feel right.”

“Well then we’ll just do a cover for the first round. It’s not the end of the world.”

Eddie kept his gaze fixated on the road, his hands gripping the wheel so hard that his knuckles went white. Dustin, noticing the silence in the car, turned his attention to the bag that sat beside him, the label of the record store clearly printed on the front.

“Ohh, what did you get?” he questioned, not waiting for Eddie to answer as he opened the bag and rummaged through. “Wait,” Dustin hesitated. “Don’t you already have this album?”

“Shut up.”

---

Songs Used:

- Somebody to Love by Queen

---

Main Taglist:

@alicetweven @juggernort @theh3aven @manamitoyota @mimiluvsualot @cherrypieyourface @kaqua @c0untryclub @goldencherriess @emotionaldreamer @givemethesleep @milkiane @miscreantsnopossoms @legendaryfestsoul-blog

Series Taglist:

@grungegrrrl

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #stranger things #season 4 stranger things #stranger things season 4 #stranger things s4 #steve harrington #dustin henderson #robin buckley #mike wheeler #lucas sinclair #joseph quinn #Joe Quinn

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myheadsgonenumb · 2 months

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Bite and Prejudice: Ruination

Just posted chapter 22 of my Pride and Prejudice and wolfstar fic:

Remus had been a good deal disappointed in not finding a letter from Lily on their first arrival at Lambton; and this disappointment had been renewed on each of the mornings that had now been spent there; but on the third his repining was over, and his sister justified, by the arrival of two owls, each bearing a missive of their own, and Remus could not be surprised that the second had caught up with the first, as the first had been carried by Erroll - the Weasley’s owl - who was elderly and prone to getting lost, or collapsing mid flight.

They had just been preparing to walk as the birds arrived, pecking at the window to be let in; and so his uncle and aunt, leaving him to enjoy Lily’s letters in quiet, set off by themselves. The one carried by Errol must be first attended to; it had been written five days ago and must now be outdated, but was the only place to start. The beginning contained an account of all their little parties and engagements, with such news as the country afforded; but the latter half, which was dated a day later, and written in evident agitation, gave more important intelligence. It was to this effect:—

“Since writing the above, dearest Remus, something has occurred of a most unexpected and serious nature; but I am afraid of alarming you—be assured that we are all well. What I have to say relates to poor Mary. A Patronus arrived at twelve last night, just as we were all gone to bed, from Colonel Dearborn, to inform us that she was gone off to Scotland with one of his officers; to own the truth, with Lockhart! Imagine our surprise.

I am very, very sorry. So imprudent a match on both sides! But I am willing to hope the best, and that his character has been misunderstood. Thoughtless and indiscreet I can easily believe him, but this step (and let us rejoice over it) marks nothing bad at heart. His choice is disinterested at least, for he must know our guardians can give her nothing.

Madam Pomfrey is sadly grieved. Dumbledore bears it better. How thankful am I, that we never let them know what has been said against him; we must forget it ourselves. They were off Saturday night but were not missed for a few hours. The Patronus was cast directly. My dear Remus, they must have passed within ten miles of us.

Colonel Dearborn gives us reason to expect him here soon. Mary left a few lines for his wife, informing her of their intention. I must conclude, for I cannot be long from my poor guardian. I am afraid you will not be able to make it out, but I hardly know what I have written.”

Or start from the very beginning

#marauders #wolfstar #jily #remus lupin #sirius black #james potter #lily evans #regency era au #pride and prejudice #bite and prejudice #in want of a werewolf

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cocrante · 4 months

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I Start Over With You

[SOLANGELO FANFIC]

summary: After the great battle against the forces of Gaea, Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter had formed a long-lasting alliance. Everything had gone well, and everyone was ready to start anew. This included Nico, who, after confessing his feelings to Percy, was prepared to open a new chapter in his life—perhaps the happiest one the Fates had ever written.

note: the chapters will be updated every Wednesday. If you want to read upcoming chapters of the fanfiction in advance, I invite you to follow me on Patreon. Subscribing is not necessary, these chapters will be added for free on the platform on Mondays and Fridays. Following me there is just a kind and free gesture to support my work c:

Reblogs are highly appreciated c:

[CHAPTER 3]

AT FIVE O'CLOCK, Nico arrived at the bay and besides some of the other campers, Will hadn't arrived yet.

He sighed. His head was full of a thousand questions and insecurities. All day he had been asking himself if accepting a date with a son of Apollo was really the right thing to do. "You can always leave" a little voice whispered in his head when he was already close to the beach. That thought brought back all those times when he had run away, choosing to distance himself from the problems of life, fleeing from anything out of fear of being abandoned again. He bent down to pick up a smooth stone, passed it a couple of times between his hands, and made it skip on his palm a few times. He bent his knees a little and with a sharp flick of his wrist, he threw it at the waves, which calmly died at the shore. The pebble had made four jumps before being swallowed by the water, and as soon as it disappeared, Nico bent down to pick up more, to pass the time and distract those annoying butterflies in his stomach.

He bounced two more well-polished pebbles against the waves, and as he prepared to throw a third, a noise behind him brought him back to the real world, causing him to drop the stone he had in his hands. "I thought you were going to stand me up" Will joked, approaching Nico and picking up the stone he had dropped. "A little longer and I would have left" Nico replied, maybe a little too serious, unable to take his eyes off Will's sky-blue ones. "They held me up. Someone from the fifth house got an arrow in the butt" he said, twirling the white stone between his bronzed and tapered fingers. "You know" he cleared his throat. "I've always wondered how to skip stones" he confided, holding the stone in his hand. Nico raised an eyebrow, finding it absurd that a son of the god of arts didn't know how to make a stone skip on the water. "It's pretty simple" he began, looking for some polished stones on the ground. "First of all, you need stones that are flat enough so that they can slide better on the water's surface" he explained, putting five of the stones he had found in his pocket. "Then you bend your knees a bit, extend your arm, and throw the stone like this" he gave him a quick demonstration, this time making almost five skips. Will watched his every move, trying to understand how to move and consequently imitate him. He tried immediately after Nico's throw, but instead of making at least a couple of jumps, it sank directly underwater. "Close" Nico said, stifling a laugh, giving him another stone, and explaining more closely the position he should take. Will tried again, not wanting to make a fool of himself in front of Nico, and indeed, the second attempt went a little better.

"How did you learn?" Will asked, as soon as he finished throwing the third stone. When Nico was asked that question, his face darkened a bit. "I don't remember" he revealed, tossing a white rock into the water. "I think it was before" he lowered his gaze, as if looking at the source of his problems. It was no secret that Nico did not belong to that time, everyone knew that both he and his sister Bianca had spent a long time at a certain Lotus Hotel. "Don't you have any memories from before?" asked Will, trying to be as delicate as possible. Nico shrugged. "Sometimes there are fragments" he replied with a grimace, letting another white rock slip onto the water's surface. "But I don't know if they are products of my imagination or if they are real" he explained, twisting his lips to the side. "I have blurred memories of the school I went to, the games we played in the courtyard" it was the first time he had talked about it with anyone, and after saying it, he let slip a slight smile that did not go unnoticed by Will. "You can always have new ones" Will suggested, tossing the last rock he had in his hand. Nico snorted, putting his hands in his jeans pockets, rocking on his heels in place. "Maybe, but for now I don't have much nice memories to hold on to" he tried to be self-deprecating, but it didn't work out very well for him. After that sentence, there was a brief moment of silence. Will didn't know exactly what to say, after all, he was just a teenager who often took on problems much bigger than himself, and that, he was sure, was one of those problems. He had only partially become aware of what had happened in Europe, and of what little he knew, they were only poorly informed rumors. "Anyway, I haven't had a chance to thank you yet" Nico said after a while, interrupting the silence he had created, his gaze turned towards Will. "It wasn't even my intention to disappear" he apologized, lowering his gaze feeling guilty. "I know" Will chuckled, turning his attention to the ocean. "Listen—" he cleared his throat. "Do you want to go canoeing?" the boy proposed, turning to look at Nico again, spreading one of his radiant smiles. The son of Hades looked at him uncertainly, raising an eyebrow: he wasn't a big fan of water, he preferred to keep his feet firmly on the ground, but he thought it would be rude to refuse. "Sure, why not" he accepted, trying to see the positive in his offer to spend some time together. At his words, Will was enthusiastic, that day in the infirmary was not a lie, he really cared about getting to know Nico Di Angelo like no one has ever done in that camp.

The two boys took the remaining two hours, before the call of the conch, to talk about simple things, to gossip, and Will was really good at that. The son of Apollo spoke for almost the entire time, leaving the exclamations and questions to Nico, who was not very interested in knowing that Jane had kissed John to make Smith jealous, who couldn't remember what he had done. However, Nico listened politely, and like those days spent in the infirmary, he didn't care about taking part or getting into the thick of the conversation, he simply wanted to spend time with Will, who didn't know exactly how he did it, but when he was around him, he emanated a strange and pleasant warmth. Will's monologue ended at the exact moment the conch sounded, calling the campers to go to the central pavilion.

Both boys climbed up the little hill that separated the field from the beach and together — laughing and joking together, their spirits lifted by the simple pleasure of each other's company — they arrived at the camp mess hall where they parted ways, each going to their own table.

[CONTENTES]

1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 • 12 • 13 • 14 • 15 • 16 • 17 • 18 • 19 • 20

#🖇️ : fanfiction #i start over with you ☀️☠️#solangelo #will solace #nico di angelo #riordanverse #percy jackson #pjo #pjo fanfiction #camp halfblood

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magicalyaku · 1 year

Photo

After the first week of February I decided I would only read sequels. I made true on that for a few books until my library app fucked me over and didn't download Simon Snow 3 which I intended to start reading during my break at work (where I have no internet). I was so mad! 8D I was sulking afterwards and started a different book once I got home and the resolution was broken. Instead the theme of the month can easily be "I have never read so many books with adult characters in a row."

Das Verbotene Kapitel / The Lost Plot (The Invisible Library 8) (Genevieve Cogman): I honestly wasn't too invested in this. I was like for the first two days, but the writing style of this series always takes so long to read for me. I used to like it, but right now I just lack the patience. Also, it's the eighth volume. High time for it to end, really. Halfway through I switched to the audiobook to listen to while gaming and well. I'm not good at listening while doing other things. Maybe I'll pick the book up again in a few years to give the second half a proper read. I was content though with what I heard of the end.

The High King's Golden Tongue (Tales of the High Court 1) (Megan Derr): I said "I need more fantasy buhu *sad face*". And then I looked at my TBR and realised that out of 50 books only 3 have absolutely no magic, ghosts, different worlds or planets or whatsoever. Uhm. Well. Errr ... That didn't stop me from going through this recommendation list for queer fantasy books. uAu" Found this book. Sounded alright. Read the preview pages. Sounded alright. Looked it up in the library, uhuh available immediately! Borrowed it. Read it for the remainder of the day and a few hours of the night. uAu~ I can safely say I had fun reading this book. It's not fantasy with magic and creatures, just old kingdoms full of queer people. The worldbuilding is good, with all the different regions and languages being a major plot point. I liked the adventure, the characters (Sarrica's and Lesto's friendship is great), the pining. Good times!

The Pirate of Fathoms Deep (Tales of the High Court 2) (Megan Derr): The follow-up to Golden Tongue! I was unsure at first if I wanted to read the sequels (there are of 5 volumes in the series at the moment), but vol 2 is about Lesto who was my favourite character in vol 1, so no choice. It's like that 5.5 chapter of a boys love manga though. In the 5 chapters of the main story everything is tame until the bonus 5.5 chapter where they can finally do things. In High Court 1, there's exactly one smut scene. In vol 2, there's a million. And the book is only half the size! D: There is a small adventure going on and given the setting it makes sense that it progresses the way it does, but the 3 books afterwards are full length again, so why is it only this one character who gets the short one? u_u He's happy in the end, so all is well, but I would have liked a little more. I guess I have to continue reading the next volumes in the hopes to get a few glimpses. u3u

Husband Material (Forever Material in the German edtion) (Alexis Hall): After two books with middle-aged man and their (amourous) adventures, we slowly inch back to the younger generation. From end-thirties to mid-twenties! Books written by adults for adults, you know. Adult problems. Brrrr. At least, it's funny. Silly even. Was the first one this silly? I think, Oliver and Luc did well sorting through their various issues. I enjoy Luc’s narrative voice. And I loved the ending! xD It must be such a sore point for many people but I was like HELL YEAH!!!

Out of Nowhere (In the Middle of Somewhere 2) (Roan Parrish): I already read the first and third volume of this series, so reading volume 2 was inevitable even though Colin was not the most likeable character in vol 1. And well, he has issues let me tell you. Daniel of vol 1 was a mess but he managed to get a new start and build something for himself in that place. Will of vol 3 may not have the healthiest lifestyle but he was not unhappy with the direction of his life before meeting Leo. Whereas Colin is absolutely miserable and has no idea what to do about it. It was intruiging to read how he and Rafe managed. You know, there's this thing about this kind of books where the characters meet exactly the kind of person they need to survive and to thrive. Even with all the shit going on in this particular one, it's still comforting. xD

Wayward Son (Simon Snow 2) (Rainbow Rowell): The gang is 20, so it doesn't break the streak! I had fun reading this. Curiously, I liked it better than volume 1. Not quite sure why. (Maybe because of Suffering Boys.) Volume 1 was interesting in the way it felt like the 8th season of a series you haven't seen any episodes of before. Now this is the rare look at what happens to the heroes after the series ends and I'm here for it. I also found it remarkable how Baz was described as that utmost evil and ruthless being at first and turns out now he is the most loving and patient boyfriend of all times. xD

Pictures of You (Tina Winter): German author here. It's very basic in the theme and kind of predictable. But in a comforting way. Sometimes it's nice to know where everything will go so you can just lean back and enjoy the ride. The characters were pretty good and the setting was well illustrated. I mentioned last month that my visualisation abilites are not very good but I had no problem seeing the photos the protagonist takes which was pretty neet! I also very much appreciated how all the important conflicts actually happen and are resolved! That’s not a given. xD

Ring of Solomon (Aden Polydoros): I like Mr Polydoros' other books and I appreciate very much how all his books are different from each other. This one is contempory middle grade with a touch of magic. It was pretty okay, but I think it could have been a little bit deeper, a little more ambitious or challenging or complicated. Just more. Yes, it's middle grade but kids are always smarter than adults give them credit for, right? I feel, if you really want them to adore a book you have to give them something challenging that is a little bigger than themselves so that they can grow into it.

Reforged (Seth Haddon): Another gay king+knight story that made me realise I very much have a weakness for this kind of setting. xD Which is so weird because when I look through YA books and see a heroine who is a queen or princess fighting for her kingdom I immediately click away ... Well. This was a solid book. Not quite as joyful as A Taste of Gold and Iron or The High King's Golden Tongue but still solid (also it's a debut). The author clearly put thought and love into his main characters and probably the worldbuilding. Sometimes it was just written in a way that confused me at first, because the actual thing was named late. There's that other paladin guy who works alongside our hero. When he's introduced, it's written "They never got along." and then 90 pages later: "Now that XX was dead, he was his closest friend" And I was like "What?! I thought you hate each other? Did I read wrong? Let me leaf back real quick!" I mean, there is the possibility that among all those people he doesn't get along with this one is still the best but ... that's kinda sad. 8D So, there's small things like that. But the overall story and intrigue was well done I think.

Keeper of the Lost Cities 2: Exile (Shannon Messenger): I stayed at my parents's place for a few days to take care of the cats and thus my commute to work was twice as long as usual, so this came in from the library at just the right time. I listened to the audiobook though, so it was still a struggle for the first 8 hours. I'm so bad with audiobooks. 8D But the beginning was also very slow. It picked up speed around the halfway point, I'd say and also Keefe is my favourite character so I appreciated hearing more of him. I still find it a little odd how some of the characters' attitude towards Sophie is. Guys, she's only thirteen and didn't know about her powers for the longest time! How do you expect her to be perfect at everything and solve everything this very second? Geez. I'll probably continue with the 3rd volume at some point but I should really think about reading it instead of listening. :'D

On to the next month! As of writing this I already have read the best book of March, I swear. xD I’m possibly still high enough to even make a fanart happen.

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indelibleevidence · 1 year

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Broken Wings, chapter 1 (Reller, M-rated)

Author's Note: Also on FanFiction.Net and AO3! Updating on Saturdays, because I made sure to actually finish the fic before I started posting it, to ensure I didn't consign it to WIP hell like my other WIPs. XD

Wow, this is going to be a lot of explaining, but here we go! First off, if you haven't read Strikethrough, Crossroads, and the Damaged Goods summaries for the rest of the fics that I haven't written in between Crossroads and this one, go do that first. There's also a one-shot called Stalling that's set a month or two before this fic, but it's not necessary reading to get what's going on here.

This fic contains suicidal ideation, suicidal distress, and a depiction of Remi at rock bottom. If you're in a bad place, it might be better if you don't read this right now. (And I hope you feel less terrible soon.)

Remi is a lot different from the Remi in Crossroads. She's got pretty much all of her memories from her Jane years back now, and is a little bit softer and less sweary, until she's provoked, and then she reverts to 'fuck you' mode. Much like Jane's 4x15/4x16 self in canon, she's overwhelmed by the weight of her past mistakes, as Remi and as Jane. She's definitely not on the 'yay, law enforcement' train, and is still mostly ACAB in nature, but she knows that at least Kurt and his team are well-intentioned, and their eyes are open to the corruption within the system (mainly because of the first set of tattoos). By this point in my timeline, she also has accepted the fact that she's in love with Kurt, but she'd die before she'd ever admit it to him.

Jane is referred to as a third person throughout this fic, because neither Remi nor Kurt are at the 'Jane and Remi are just two time periods sans memories for one person' stage of acceptance. Also because it's easier for me, as a writer, to differentiate between those different time periods and mindsets by just using the names she was going by at the time. I do think that in another year down the Damaged Goods timeline, both Remi and Kurt will stop referring to Jane as a separate entity, but Remi kind of needs it right now, and though Kurt is further down the line as seeing Jane as a part of Remi, he's still getting there too. So things might seem a little bit disassociative identity disordery, and I apologise to anyone who might stumble upon this who actually lives with DID and hates what I did with this. But Remi is compartmentalising a LOT, though interestingly enough, now she's seeing Jane as the better person, whereas before, she loathed Jane with the fire of a thousand suns. The difference a few memories can make...

This fic is complete, so I'll post updates on Saturdays, I guess. This is my first time actually finishing a multi-chaptered fic before starting to post, but I really didn't want to start posting another WIP that was going to hang around in limbo (I'm sorry, Remember to Forgive and Taken for Granted fans! I will get there, I hope!).

Lastly, I really have to thank nachosandcheeze for her enthusiasm for this AU, and her encouragement for me to keep writing for it. She's not the only one who's been lovely about it (and thank you to everyone who cares about my weird little enemies to lovers universe where Jane never quite made it back to her brain - really, you guys are fantastic!), but she's been pretty consistently poking me with metaphorical sticks, and making Remi gifsets, and squeeing over Reller, etc. - to the point where I showed her the half-scene I had written from a fic several fics away from where I'd left off with Crossroads, just to get it out of my brain. And she loved it so much that I wrote a bit more, and a bit more, until over 16k later, I ended up with this. So thank you again, nachos. You're proof that nagging a fic author for more story does actually work, sometimes! :D

Absently tracing the carving on the stone with her finger, Remi glanced over to the small vial of clear liquid on her nightstand. It sat on top of a small, leatherbound booklet—El Libro de la Eternidad—which she’d smuggled out of Peru, along with the stone brick from Machu Picchu. Maybe she should feel guilty that she’d stolen a couple of pieces of Peruvian history from its citizens, even if one of them was a loose brick, but after all the things she’d done in her short fuck-up of a life, her conscience was way past that. And the brick contained a carved message for her: RB 4 RB, Roman Briggs for Remi Briggs, along with binary code that pointed to Roman’s data caches, and a message that had made tears sting her eyes.

Hey, sis.

I got you something. I never solved this one.

I hope you can. I did my best.

May you outlive this… for both of us.

Your brother, always,

Roman

Even during his bitter feud with Jane—Remi still flinched to think of him ZIPped and claustrophobic in his FBI cell, even though she now remembered Jane’s reasons, and her anguish at her brother’s state—Roman had still been looking for a cure for her. He’d had his own, the one she’d stolen from Dr. Roga and used to cure herself—after all, Roman had died before he’d had the chance to benefit from it. But still, he’d hunted down more Stanton cells, which meant that now, Remi had a cure for ZIP poisoning all lined up.

She had everything she needed. If Roman’s cache intel was right, New York billionaire hypochondriac Ken Lee would trade El Libro de la Eternidad for the Stanton cells. Dr. Roga could synthesise a new cure, if Kurt approached her. And Remi would need that cure, because the ZIP on the nightstand would be going into her body, as soon as she laid the plan out for Kurt.

There was just one more thing left to do.

Setting aside Roman’s carving, she accessed the video recording setting on her phone, and held it up so that her face was visible. She’d made a video for her future self once before, to further Phase One of her grand plan by introducing Jane to Oscar, and verifying his trustworthiness.

And you know how that turned out, her internal critic whispered.

Swallowing hard, Remi made herself focus on the task at hand, ignoring the guilt gnawing on the synapses at the back of her mind. How was she going to start this thing? Saying hello seemed redundant.

“I know you’re suffering right now, and I’m sorry for that. You don’t remember your old life, and that’s intentional. Please, trust me when I say you shouldn’t go hunting for the finer details. I’m sparing you a lifetime of pain and futility by taking the ZIP, even though you might not be able to appreciate that.”

She sounded whiny as hell, but how else could she put it? She had to make future Jane understand that this was for the best.

“The only options, as I see them, are suicide or ZIP. I’ve got enough here that I should be able to wipe out any trace of my old memories. You might get a few flashes, but I hope you don’t. You don’t need to go through this again.”

If you weren’t such a coward, you’d just put a shotgun barrel in your mouth and pull the trigger. Maybe Jane would think she was cowardly. But she wasn’t afraid to die. She just didn’t want Kurt to have to suffer, knowing his wife was dead along with Remi.

“I’m doing this, instead of killing myself, because you have good people around you, people I’ve already hurt enough, and don’t want to hurt any more by making them lose you. You have loyal friends. A husband who loves you very much. Things will be hard for you at first, but you’ll build a life again, like you did before. And this time, you’ll know who did this to you, and why, and you won’t have me telling you to disregard your instincts and undermine the people you care about. I was misled, and betrayed, but I made bad choices, too. I was too stubborn to see it for so long, but the first time we were ZIPped, Jane found happiness, and a new purpose, and even though I still don’t think law enforcement is the shining star of morality… If you’re working with Kurt and his team, you’ll be working towards good things. Hold onto that.”

She took a breath, picking up the ancient Peruvian brick again.

“The one thing I want to tell you about is my—our—brother, Roman. Or Ian. That was his birth name, just like yours was Alice. Ian Kruger. Later, Roman Briggs. He wasn’t perfect, as I’m sure Kurt will tell you. But he was a follower his whole life, not a leader. He followed me, and our adopted mother, because he loved us, and didn’t want to be rejected. Jane hurt him too much, and he turned on her, and on Kurt, but deep down, he was a good man. He just wanted a loving family, to belong somewhere.”

She held the brick up in the camera’s sight. “I want you to keep this. Take care of it. This points to his last message from him to me, on his data caches. To Remi, I mean. Not the old version of Jane.” How did things get so confusing? “I have the actual message saved on my phone, so you should be able to see the message itself there. As for the brick, I took it from Peru, along with something to bargain with for a cure for your ZIP poisoning. Roman was looking for a cure for me, even while he knew I—the old Jane—was working to bring him down. He just wanted his sister back, I guess.”

If she kept this up for much longer, she was going to get too damn emotional, and there was no way she was willing to break down and cry on video. She had to cut this short. “Roman and I went through hell together, and that’s one of the things I don’t want you to remember anything about, so I won’t go into it. But we survived our childhood by relying on each other, and then our teenage years were the same, in a different way. We used to pass a South African rand coin our parents gave us back and forth, giving it to each other as a gift. It wasn’t worth much back then—and it’d buy even less now—but its symbolic value for us was priceless. For Roman, it was a comfort object. Jane buried him with it, so I don’t have it now, but I wanted you to know about it.”

She dug her fingernails into her palm, a technique she’d first used at the orphanage to keep outwardly calm, while a torrent of emotions churned within her. The pain centred her, making the grief easier to bear.

“Things went so wrong, but I never stopped loving Roman, even as Jane. And he never stopped loving me.”

She sighed, knowing she should say more, should give Jane more closure, but knowing she’d never be able to get through it on camera. Maybe she’d write Jane a letter, before Kurt ZIPped her.

“I hope you can build a life again, and find happiness. You sure as hell couldn’t do worse than I did. Please, look forward, not back. There’s nothing here but pain. Good luck.”

She threw down the phone and buried her face in her hands, breathing deeply, striving for the numbness that could get her through the final days of this life. Soon she’d fly to New York, and wipe the slate clean.

The end of my memories can’t come soon enough. I can’t do this anymore.

Three days later…

Kurt stared from the vial and hypodermic needle to his wife, a rapidly growing pit in his stomach. What…is happening here? What the hell, Remi?

“It’s okay,” she said, shrugging as though this was a foregone conclusion, a logical end to everything they’d battled through on their way to this moment. “I’ve made my peace with it. There’s nothing left here for me now. This is Jane’s world, and I don’t belong in it. At least…at least this way, you can get her back. Or as close to it as it’s possible to get.”

“It’s okay?” he finally managed to say, his throat choked with an intense mass of emotions that he couldn’t even begin to analyse right now. “Your identity is what makes you you, Remi. You’ve fought to defend it so damn hard, it nearly drove us apart for good. You’ve spent over a year getting so many of your memories back, and now you want a clean slate again? I know you remember how hard it was for you after Times Square, and after Cape Town.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, still not meeting his eyes. “The first time, you didn’t know who Jane was. Nobody knew. This time, everyone will. And she’ll have you, and your friends. It’s…easier that way. Even though I hated you when I found out what had happened to Sandstorm, at least I had…” She shook her head. “Anyway—Jane will adjust quickly. You can get the woman you married back, as she was.”

The words shook him, in so many different ways. He rubbed a hand over his face, floundering to make sense of everything.

To get his Jane back…it was everything he’d dreamed of for so long. During those ten months that Remi had gone off the radar, he’d been desperate to find a way to bring Jane back to the forefront of her mind. Aside from Bethany and work, it had been all he’d thought about, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel a spark of hope for that outcome now.

But it was all wrong. It was a fairytale. Jane had been a product of the situation she’d been in, from the bag in Times Square to not knowing who she was, to thinking she was Taylor Shaw and then discovering she wasn’t, to being tortured by the CIA—and then discovering she used to be Remi Briggs, daughter of the leader of a terrorist organisation. She’d become who she was because of the way things had been back then, the way her new life had unfolded, and there was no way to know how much of that would be replicated in a newly ZIPped Remi.

Remi. God… I… He swallowed hard, something akin to grief seeping into his bones.

“What about you? This is like…like mental suicide for a huge part of you. You really want to kill yourself that badly? Why not shoot yourself in the head? Jump off a building? Overdose on pills?” His voice was harsher than he meant it to come out—demanding, angry.

Terrified. He was goddamn terrified.

Remi flinched at his tone, finally looking into his eyes. “Because you don’t want to live without her. And if I did one of those things, you’d have to face that she’d never come back.”

He rose from the couch abruptly, the twister of conflicted emotions within him too much to handle if he stayed still. Tears filled his eyes as he stalked over to the kitchen, and he rested his palms on the worktop, his back to Remi, as he tried to breathe.

“So you really want to die?” he managed to ask.

“There’s nothing left for me. My mother, my brother, my friends, my cause, my convictions… Everything is gone, Weller. There’s no point in trying to rebuild. I’ve spent the past year not knowing what to do with myself, fucking things up…”

He turned on her, snarling, “There’s nothing left for you? Then what the hell am I? Why do you keep coming back? After everything that’s happened, you don’t care enough to stick around?”

She got to her feet, crossed the room, her eyes sad. “The only thing I care about in this life is you, and I hurt you constantly, just by not being Jane. This way, it kills two birds with one stone. My empty life goes away, and you get Jane back. You get to be happy, and I get to…forget.”

A tear slid down his cheek, and he dashed it away impatiently. “Remi…”

She reached up to brush another tear from the corner of his eye, her fingers gentle. “I don’t want either of us to hurt anymore. We’ve suffered enough.”

Staring down at her, he finally put names to the emotions within him. Fear and pain had been easy to identify on their own, but they were joined by a surge of something else, so strong and fierce and breathtakingly real that he could hardly bear it.

Remi… Fuck, I can’t lose you. I need you.

I love you.

Despite everything she’d done to him, all the mental torment she’d put him through, the bitter arguments they’d had, the misunderstandings and deceit that had shredded their trust in each other…he’d fallen for the whole of her, just as hard as he had for the Jane part of her. Remi was Jane, intensified. She’d called herself damaged goods, and he couldn’t disagree, but so was he. Remi understood him in a way Jane never could have on her own.

And he was suddenly, powerfully certain that she loved him just as much.

Unable to control himself, he pulled her into his arms, giving her a crushing kiss that seemed to shock the breath from her, even as she returned it just as ardently. Part of him wanted to reject this whole conversation, carry her to bed, fuck her until they were both too exhausted to do anything but fall asleep in each other’s arms.

But this was too serious to hide from, even temporarily. He had to make his position clear.

Wrenching away from her, he stalked over to the table, picked up the small bottle of ZIP and brought it to the kitchen sink. Unscrewing the lid, he poured the contents down the drain, then dropped the bottle and turned to Remi, who was staring at him as though he’d gone mad.

“What the hell?” she demanded.

“Listen to me,” he told her, his eyes locked on hers. “I will never use that stuff on you. Ever. It doesn’t matter to me that there’s a cure for ZIP poisoning all lined up. There’s no going back for us. I can’t just inject you and turn you back into the Jane you used to be. It wouldn’t work like that.”

She sighed, looking down at the splashes of ZIP remaining in the sink. “Better the devil you know than the angel you don’t?”

He cupped her face in both hands, making sure she couldn’t look away from his face. “You’re my devil, and my angel, and everything in between. Remi, the thought of losing you scares the hell out of me. You’re my wife, and you may not be the way you were when we got married, but you’re still the woman I fell in love with, deep down.”

She was frowning, shaking her head, and he rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes as she drew in a shaky breath.

“I love you, just as much as I did when you were Jane. You didn’t make it easy to get to know you, but every time you let me in a little more, I fell for you even further. I need you to stay you.”

“What?” She breathed the word, and he opened his eyes to find her visibly trembling. Her expression was a study in contradictions. Fear. Hope. Anger. Longing.

Kurt smiled sadly. “It’s too late. I already know you love me, too.”

She tore herself out of his arms, stepped out of his reach. “Stop it. This has gone far enough, Weller.”

“No. It hasn’t gone anywhere near far enough. You’re so scared of making yourself vulnerable, of being hurt again, that you’re hurting yourself so that I’ll never have that power over you.” He took a step closer, and she backed into the living room immediately.

He’d once mentally compared her to a trapped animal, defensively clawing and snarling out of fear. He saw that same distress in her now, and ached to hold her, even though it would only make the situation worse.

“I thought we were over this,” she said, her voice brittle. “I’m not Jane.”

“No, you’re not Jane. You’re Remi. I see you, the whole of you. I know exactly who you are, and I love you.”

She eyed the apartment door, her fists bunched at her sides and her jaw set.

“Don’t run from this. Please.” He took another slow, careful step, and though she backed up again, her eyes were on him once more.

“You never took off your wedding ring, even when you were telling me you hated me. You’ve opened up to me more than once. You’ve trusted me to keep you safe, and you’ve forgiven me for mistakes I’ve made, and I’ve done the same for you.”

She pulled at the ring on her finger, trying to remove it. “You can believe what you want to believe, but it’s not true. It was just about sex and anger, and then we became friends with benefits. That’s it.”

He caught hold of her left hand and held it between his, before she could take off the wedding band. “You didn’t even want to admit you wanted me, back when we first realised we still needed each other. Even when you were halfway to coming. Is it gonna be the same now?”

She snorted, but didn’t try to yank her hand free from his. “What, you think you’re gonna fuck a confession of love out of me? It’s not the same thing, Weller.”

“Is that what it’s gonna take?” He couldn’t pretend he was surprised. They’d resolved so many of their other issues through arguing their way into sex. Why would this be any different?

Her jaw trembled before she firmed it, glaring at him. “No, because it won’t work. It’s not true.”

With anyone else, he’d take that as their final answer. A rejection that he’d have to accept and move on from. But with Remi, things had never been straightforward and simple.

She tested him at every turn, refusing to take anything he said at face value, and this thing with the ZIP was likely a part of it. He wanted to believe that was all it was—a manipulation, a shock tactic designed to scare him into laying all his cards on the table—but his gut told him otherwise.

She would never have risked him saying yes to her offer to ‘become Jane again’ if she hadn’t been prepared to accept the consequences. She was too proud to back down from something she’d said she’d do. And that meant that she really was at a desperate end point, unable to find a way to move forward from the ruins they’d left of her pre-ZIP life.

Kurt needed her to see that he could help her find the path, if she’d only trust herself to walk it. But first, she had to know he wasn’t going anywhere, that he wasn’t just settling for a doppelgänger until he decided to stop clinging to Jane’s memory.

And they both had to be clear where they stood with each other.

“Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me.”

Remi stared at him, for a moment seeming completely taken aback. Then her protective bravado and anger kicked in. “You say ‘jump’, I say ‘how high’? No!”

Even as he understood her reasons for refusing—knew she was just trying to protect herself—her words still stung.

“I love you, Remi.” He shrugged, standing straighter as he laid out his challenge. “If you don’t feel the same way, I need to know. So come on—break my heart.”

God, this is going to hurt.

He believed that she loved him. But whether she’d ever admit it to herself, let alone to him, was another story entirely.

#broken wings #damaged goods #reller #blindspot #blindspot fanfic #canon divergence #really hope this posts coherently #the post editor is weird today

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maybestoryideas · 2 years

Text

A Letter in the Story - Twisted Wonderland + Reader

Author's Note: I started the day listening to "Hungover in the City of Dust" by Autoheart and ended it with "The Story of My Life" by Bon Jovi. It's kind of crazy how little things can change your whole mood. I truly hope you like this. Warnings: References to depression and anxiety Word Count: 1.7k

“(Name)? C’mon, we’ve gotta get moving.”

The second you opened your eyes, you knew it was going to be one of those days.

The idea of going back to sleep and falling into another harmless dream sinks its claws into your shoulders and ties you to the bed.

How much time did you have before you inevitably had to leave the comfort of the not-really-your room and make the slough to class?

You grab your phone from the table and check the time; one hour until class starts.

Thirty minutes to get ready, plus another fifteen to get to class, and that’s if you’re ready to hurry and skip breakfast in the cafeteria.

Which you’re not.

It takes ten minutes for you to peel blankets off and crawl out of bed. The bell rings just as you step into the classroom.

“Hey, (Name)! Grim!”

You both look over and spot Ace and Deuce waving you down. Grim crawls up onto the table while you take a seat beside them. The textbooks hit the table with a clatter that makes the other students jump.

“(Name)?”

“What’s wrong?”

You chuckle and rest the top half of your body onto the table

“Do you want the long answer or the short answer?”

Professor Crewel enters the room before either of them could respond, already shouting orders and announcements to everyone. You push yourself back into an upright sitting position, giving Grim the perfect opportunity to take a seat on your lap. He’s warm and heavy.

Like a weighted blanket.

One hand pets his fur, smoothing out the occasional knots in his fur, while the other opens up your textbook.

Class drags on, and less than half of what Professor Crewel has said registers in your head.

Not that it really matters.

It’s not like you’ll ever use any of the information on magic.

Can't use it.

Can’t do anything with it.

“(Name)!”

You nearly jump out of your seat, startling Grim awake and making him jump back onto the table. Despite being at least a good three feet above him, he still manages to stare you down like an insect.

And now the rest of the class is staring at you.

Great.

“Perhaps you’d be willing to read the next chapter?”

You sigh. “Fine.”

Tap-tap.

In the corner of your eye, you see Ace pointing to a block of text in his book. You quickly flip the page and start to read aloud. It’s a wonder how you manage to make yourself sound so lively.

Minutes turn into hours. First period turns into second, then third. You trace shapes and squiggles on your notes; the written words might as well have been in a foreign language.

You’re going to have to review all of the day’s classes later, aren’t you?

Great.

How long is that going to take? A day? Two days?

And for what?

Just so you don’t get kicked out of school you never enrolled in.

What a joke.

“(Name)?”

Deuce is standing beside you.

“Are you coming? We’re going to get lunch now,”

“Oh.”

You gather your papers and books, and follow behind the group of students shuffling out of the room. Ace, Deuce, and Grim bantered back and forth over random topics. Food, classes, club activities. The usual. Sometimes they look back to you and ask a question or make a remark.

“Okay, sure.”

“I guess so,”

“Huh, yeah…”

“Um, I dunno.”

It goes on and on. While you enter the cafeteria, wait in line, gather plates of food, and find a table to sit at. It’s only when they start eating that the conversation dies. Not that the room gets any quieter. You take a bite out of your lunch.

At least the food’s good.

“Hey, guys.”

The four of you look up to see Epel and Jack standing with their plates.

“Got room for two more?”

You all shuffle down a little to make room for them.

“That’s all you’re having?” Jack asks, looking down at your plate.

“I had a late breakfast,”

Grim’s too busy gorging himself to hear you.

“You’d better get something to eat between classes…”

His irritated sigh draws a smirk out of you.

“Oh yeah, that reminds me,” Epel begins, “Apparently the Mostro Lounge is having some kind of special. Drinks are worth double points today; why don’t we head there after class?”

“I guess a drink wouldn’t hurt.”

“Tch, you guys are still trying to take the easy way out?”

“Ooh, (Name), we’ve gotta go! I’ve almost filled out my point card; please?!”

When Grim looks up at you, the shining in his eyes is only matched by the bright blue flames. Behind him, the other first-years await your answer.

“I don’t know; I’ve got a bunch of stuff I need to take care of,”

“That’s fine! We can fill out a card and get a consultation with Azul!”

“I’ll think about it, okay?”

Epel just smiles, “It’s okay; we can always go another time if you’d like.”

You nod.

Next time.

There’s homework, there’s chores, and there’s next time.

You finish off your lunch and grab an apple before going back to class.

The rest of classes continues at a snail’s pace. You jot down notes that you’d have to redo in your free time, and listen to lectures that you’d no doubt forget by tomorrow. At least you didn’t have any hands-on classes; today was not a day for cleaning up messes and putting out fires.

Or maybe it is. It’d be nice to turn your brain off and deal with something so simple.

As the final class of the day wraps up, you glance at the clock hanging above your head.

How much time until you have to go to bed and start the cycle over again?

How much time can you afford to spend?

To waste?

You shove all of your papers and books together into a stack and hurry out of the room.

Just make it through the day.

And then what?

Another day. Then another day, and then another.

How many days until you finally find the way home? Or until someone finally tells you it’s impossible? Until you finally have an answer?

How much time is left until something finally happens?

The books in your hands feel heavier with each step. You could always make something happen right now.

You’re on the second floor. Just find the nearest window, open it, and throw it all to the sky. Watch it all fly through the air in one massive burst before falling to the ground below. It’d be a beautiful sight. Of course, the teachers would be furious with you, but you probably wouldn’t care about staying in their good graces at that point.

“Hey, (Name)!”

Kalim walks up to you with a smile, while Jamil watches you with a blank expression.

“Need a hand there?”

“I’m fine,”

“Are you sure? That’s a lot of books. Here! Let me help you!”

He lifts the stack of papers and first two books right off the top and smiles.

“So where are we headed?”

The original plan was to go back to Ramshackle, but you’d rather not make them trek all the way. The second plan…

“The library. I need to return a few things.”

“Alright, let’s go!”

Kalim’s already running off ahead of you, leaving you and Jamil to watch.

“Does he even know where he’s going?”

Jamil smirks. “Generally. We should keep up, just in case.”

You walk side by side, with Kalim a distance ahead but still in clear sight.

“If you need help studying, I’m sure Kalim wouldn’t mind the extra company at our next session.”

“Oh, um. That’s okay. I’m just… having an off day.”

“I see.” he paused before taking another book from the stack, “Well, I hope you realize the offer still stands. Especially for ‘off’ days.”

“Okay, Azul.”

He puts the book back in your arms.

“Hahah! C’mon, that was funny. Admit it.”

“Heh, whatever.”

You part ways once you get to the library, taking the books and papers from Kalim and waving them off with a little smile. You pass the shelves, stack of books in tow. The thought of everything you missed today still elicits a sense of dread, but not quite as badly as before.

Just get through the day.

You repeat the mantra as you start putting the books away, trying your best to ignore the lingering feelings.

Or perhaps it’s better to tackle them head on? How would you even begin such a thing?

You sigh, putting away the last of the books. One thing at a time. And since you’re in the library, you might as well complete today’s work.

A lone desk sits by the window invitingly. Compared to the bustle of the cafeteria, and the droning of today’s lectures, the silence in the library was a welcome change.

Unrelated questions and answers pop into your head.

Are you doing this right? It feels right. But there’s a difference between feeling and being. It’s all you can do, isn’t it?

You shake them away. Slowly but surely, you finish the assignments. The notes are still a mess, but you’ll have to deal with that for a later day.

Though you really should take care of those now.

The sun hangs low in the sky, and your hand hurts from writing so much. A quick glance at your phone shows that it’s getting late; too late for drinks at the Lounge.

Next time. You’ll go next time.

With that decided, you gather your belongings and prepare for the trek back to Ramshackle.

On the way back, you get a few messages from some more students. Friendly questions and offers to study or hang out. Also a warning that Floyd’s in a mood because, ‘Koebi-chan didn’t show. TT_TT’. You either have to visit the Lounge very soon, or avoid it altogether.

By the time you get back to Ramshackle, the sky’s gone from a pale red to a dark blue. You open the door and flick on the lights. Grim’s probably already asleep, so you move as quietly as possible up to your room.

When you open the door, the first thing you see is the little monster asleep on your bed.

The second thing you see is an unopened can of tuna on the bedside table, with a little scrap of paper on it.

‘For Henchman’

You smile and gently pet him before taking the can. A sandwich sounds nice right about now. You’ll have to take him to the Lounge soon.

#Twisted Wonderland #Reader Insert

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olsenmyolsen · 11 months

Text

The Chicken Pt. 2

Part 34 of On The Inside With Elizabeth Olsen

Word Count: ~6.3K

masterlist

I'd like to send a big thank you to Theblackdalialived for their help on improving this chapter!

TW: Hospitals and everything to do with them :) Mentions of broken bones and bleeding. Panic attack.

I think the ending of this chapter is one of the cuter things I've written 💛

Liz POV

"Sorry to keep you all waiting. Hi, I'm Dr. Connor Cameron..."

I watch a blue-eyed, tall blonde with a curly bob make her way into the center of the room. She glances her eyes around the room quickly at each person until she lands on me. At first, I think she knows who I am, but that thought stops only after she takes note of the ring on my third finger.

I'm not Elizabeth Olsen.

I'm Robbie Arnett's "wife."

That's wrong.

I briefly look away when Dr. Cameron looks up at me. Instead, I look to Y/N, the person I'm actually with.

"So you seem like a bunch that just wants to hear it straight up, so why don't we just get right into it." Dr. Cameron looked down at her clipboard and flipped through some pages before they started going down a list. "...has suffered a concussion, broken left arm, two fractured fingers, bruising, whiplash, of course, tendon repair on the right leg, 13 stitches, four above his left eye perpendicular to the temple with four more on his chin and the last five on his torso. Finally, he has cuts all over him due to the glass from the accident." The Doctor lifts her head slightly before she lets out a little "Oh." "I'm sorry... Mr. Arnett also appears to have a major blow to the skull, leading to some head trauma."

Couldn't lead with that?

Dr. Cameron lets the papers fall back into place on her clipboard, which only begins the silence in the room.

With my eyes down, I can practically feel the heat from the twins staring at me. Max and her brother are probably doing the same to Y/N.

Dr. Connor Cameron gently and politely clears her throat in a "hey, I'm still here" kinda way, making me and Y/N look up at her. "Any questions?" All eyes on me.

That caring part of me wants to open my mouth and ask just about every question under the sun. How is he doing now? Is he in a coma? Can we see him? How did the accident happen?

But...

But..

There's that other part of me. That other half of me that's just itching at my insides with the question, why. Why are we here? Why did this happen? Why did he leave? Why.. why should I car-

"Where is he?"

I glance to my left at Y/N, who appears to be the only one to have spoken up so far. Doc looks from me to my girlfriend with a smile. "He's resting in his room in the hospital's west wing. And when I say resting, I mean we had to put him under for surgery, and now it's a waiting game until he wakes up."

A little hmm escapes from Y/N.

"What- what happens when he wakes up?" I stumble over my own words. The lady in the coat gives her head a slight tilt to my question. "What do you mean?" I clear my throat. "I mean, you said he had head trauma. So is he in a coma, or is everything okay?" I point to my head in quite possibly the worst way to convey what I'm trying to explain; thankfully, everyone in the room, including the doctor, knows what I'm talking about. "Yes." She nods. "I did say he has head trauma, and no, he's not in a coma, but frankly, we don't know how okay he will be until he wakes up. He was unresponsive when the paramedics brought him in. So aside from tests and blood work, we're running right now. We truly don't know what state Mr. Arnett will be in when he wakes."

Her string of words brings little comfort to me, but at least he's alive. I still nod to her words as I look at my Y/N.

Shouldn't she be my priority right now?

I made a promise for a reason.

"What happened?" Y/N speak up to the doctor. I look over at my girlfriend, and I see her clenching her hands on her knees once again, so without another thought, I bring my left hand down and intertwine it with her right. She softens at my touch and shoots me a thankful smile before she focuses back on Dr. Cameron.

There's only been a handful of times I wish I had the Scarlet Witches' powers. One time was so I could be gone all of the fucking squirrels in my garden. Another was this time at Whole Foods because of this- *sigh* never mind.

The point is.

I wish I had them now for Y/N. I can see the pain in her body language. The way she clenches her hands. The way she flicks her eyes across from the tile by my foot to the one by hers. I know, I know she is trying to break through her past trauma about her father, Davey, right now to be here for Robbie, but I want her to know that I'm here for her in more ways than one.

Because let's be honest.

The second that phone was in my hand, and the news hit my ears, it hurt. It did.

But the longer I sit here, the clearer it becomes that walking into that coffee shop months ago was the best choice I made in a long time. It brought me something new. It brought me hell. It brought me the warmth of a new shade of color to my life. It brought me Y/N—someone who, at this moment, doesn't realize what they bring to the world.

My world too.

So the longer we sit here, the clearer it becomes that this. Robbie. And that wanting to drop everything for them can't fully exist.

And looking at Y/N... I look at the puffed-up skin under her eyes. I graze over her slightly red cheeks and onto her beautifully sculpted nose. Just below that, her pink lips thin out to almost a razor's edge just at the corners.

And what I see is that.. that maybe she doesn't have to carry the weight that she is putting onto her shoulders. Robbie isn't Davey.

"Mrs. Arnett?"

I only tune back into the conversation when Y/N turns to me. However, before I question it, I've made a final decision in my head. Something that I've known for a while.

Yes.

Y/N is my priority now.

Obviously.

Whatever it takes. Nothing is getting in the way of that.

"I'm sorry?" I say, turning to meet the curious blue eyes of Robbie's doctor. She glances between Y/N and myself with a quiet chuckle before repeating what the room has already heard. "I was just saying that we don't know the specifics of the accident but that an off-duty police officer was by when it happened. According to one of our paramedics, he called it in. He's actually here now. Don't worry. As far as I've been made aware, he's not some crazed fan. It seems like it was a right place, right time kinda deal."

"So... is there anything else?" I ask. The doc shakes her head. "Not unless any of you have any questions?" Y/N looks at me, causing me to shake my head. I genuinely don't have any questions. At least none for my girlfriend. Looking into her eyes, it appears to be the same answer.

So with a quick pan around the room, no one has anything else to ask.

"Okay. Good." Dr. Connor Cameron relaxes her body just a tad with a smile. "If the wife and sister of Mr. Arnett would so kindly follow me, I can lead you to his room." The way she said wife and sister and between her glances tells me she knows the real deal of what's going on between Y/N and me. "I'm sorry to the rest of you, but visitors aside from family aren't permitted at the moment, but come sunrise, you should all be free to check in on him." Dr. Cameron makes eye contact with everyone else to let them down easy with the news.

However, when Y/N and I don't immediately rise from our seats like she was probably expecting, Doctor Cameron makes an executive decision. "Tell you what, why don't you two.." She says, looking at my girlfriend and I. "..gather yourselves and everything else you need to do before I come in about five minutes. Okay?" I watch Y/N nod her head. "And if you feel like heading to the west wing without me, it's room 237." With that, the blonde with the lab coat leaves the room.

Y/N POV

Looking to my right, I see her already looking at me with a glint of something I can't decipher until she squeezes my hand and says to me, "Can we talk?" Before I can shake my head or nod because what the fuck does that question mean? Max speaks up.

Bless her.

"So I guess we'll see you guys tomorrow? Or..?" Max looks at me. I mean, she, along with the twins, flew out here to support me and to see family, and now I'm sitting in a hospital room for the first time in years for someone who's not even my family. I don't want to be alone. I mean, I know I have Liz, but now she wants to talk?? Talk?? What do we have to talk about? Didn't we do that after the show??

I lift my eyes up to Max, who is busy looking at the twins. Ash nods in agreement with Max and then peers her eyes to Liz. While Mary-Kate lifts herself from her phone and looks at me. "Y/N?.."

I want to open my mouth, but my body is fighting my mind right now. I can't speak.

"Yeah, we should go," Ash says, rising from her chair before shooting me a sad smile that turns into a face of concern.

Can't I just have a typical fucking day? Speak Y/N.

"Y/N?"

Liz?!?

SPEAK NOW!

"You're leaving!?"

Liz POV

Y/N practically jumps out of her seat. I knew it was coming, but she wasn't feeling my touches or listening to my words.

She glances at me and then at my standing sisters. All of us see them. Her watery eyes. Shining in the bright white light of this drafty room. MK slightly tilts her head to the side before shaking it. "Y/N..."

"Why?"

Mary-Kate looks to me for help and as a way of saying, "What is going on?"

"Why?" This time Ash asks my crying girlfriend. She's crying, and she doesn't even realize it. Y/N nods her head and darts her eyes quickly to each one of us. I do as well and see that everyone but James is standing.

I try to speak to Y/N again, but I can see her actively ignoring my words this time. Okay. Ouch. So instead, MK goes to speak, but before a word comes out, what I was trying to prevent happens Y/N bolts out of the room. Over the course of our on-again-off-again relationship, we've both seen us go through these attacks before.

I go to chase after Y/N but get stopped but two things.

One. The stares from my sisters.

Two. Max.

As quickly as I make it to the door, she does as well. "Max-" "You both have a lot going on at the moment. Let me. We'll come back when she's ready."

"What?!" I snap to my older former actresses of sisters as Max slips out of the room, leaving behind a look everywhere but the Olsens brother in James, along with Aubrey, a strong woman who is up at my side for support.

"I don't understand.. what happened?" I drop my mouth in shock at their stupidity right now. "She's having a fucking panic attack. Why are you acting like this isn't something we've all dealt with?!"

"I didn't know Y/N did."

I roll my eyes at what my favorite sister says. "Clearly, you don't know a lot, Ash." "Hey!" Mary-Kate snaps at me. "What's your problem?!" I sigh and ask, "My problem? Why are you leaving?" MK stops herself from rolling her eyes. "Because it's Robbie!"

"You don't think I know that!"

This is no longer a conversation.

Silence hangs in the air between my sisters and I. Mary-Kate grabs Ash by the arm and takes a step toward me. "Look-" "I know who is in that room, okay? But right now, I don't care who it is because Y/N needs us, me, to be there for her." Aubrey places her arm around my shoulders in an excellent way of comfort. "So if you're going to leave for any fucking reason, then go ahead and do it, but if you see MY girlfriend on the way out, give her your support and some words of comfort." I eyed my sisters with a tired look from this talk of ours. "Okay?"

Nothing but a turn away from MK and a tiny nod from Ash.

I want to move my feet to go out into the hall, but I get stopped. Ash is the first to move toward me and the first to wrap me up in a hug. I'm shocked, but I welcome it by returning the hug. "I'm sorry." The words sound choked, coming out. "Me too." I feel another set of arms squeeze their way around Ashley and me. "You really, really love her." Says Mary-Kate. "Are you serious?" I teasingly ask without lifting my head, making the question sound muffled. The twins laugh. "No."

A beat.

"It's just you never publicly snapped at us for someone else before." This time I lift my head to meet MK's sea-colored eyes. "I'm glad you have her." I see a shimmer run its course through her eyes. "Me too."

"Now, if only they can stay that way." Aubrey chirps up once again, earning a chorus of nose-filled laughs, even one from James, who I forgot was here. The twins unfurl themselves from me, allowing me to turn and slap Aubrey on the arm, hoping to leave a mark. "Shut up. We've been on more dates the past couple of weeks than you have in months." Aubrey laughs before I turn back to the twins, who are again looking ready to leave. I go to speak on it, but Ashley beats me to the punch. "We'll give her our love on the way out. Text us if you need anything. We'll be at moms. We love you, Lizard." "Love you, sis." Aubrey hugs the twins' goodbye while James shakes their hands and quickly comments on how much he enjoyed their performances in New York Minute. "Bye!" We all call out to each other before the door closes, leaving myself, Aubrey and James behind.

Once we find ourselves seated in the plastic chairs from hell again I-

"She did put on one hell of a show," James says, looking at me. "Like I knew she could play an instrument, but- wow!" I can tell James is doing his best to try and keep the room light and to focus on the good things from tonight. Aubrey catches onto this. "She did, didn't she?!" Aubrey nudges my arm, causing my lips to crack into a smile. "She was amazing." "She IS amazing." I correct the former NBC star. "Simp." "Whore." I fire back instantly, earning a gasp from said whore followed by some laughter that quiets down soon enough.

"How are you, though, really?" I turn to Aubrey and then to James, who seems just as curious to know my answer. So I will give an honest answer. "I think I've surprised myself, but how im actually fine?" I tilt my head. "I think.. I.. hmm.. I just want us to be us." I nod to my own words. "No bullshit. No outside world peeking in. No more missed dates or calls between us because we weren't together. After this. I just want to be with Y/N. I want us to have what I caught a glimpse of those very first few days with her in New York. And again after our beach date here." I laugh, looking at the promise ring on my left hand. "Where I gave her this."

"It'll come soon enough," James says to me. "Y/N isn't the most stubborn person I've met, but when she falls, she falls hard, and then she'll fight. She has that look with you. I saw it tonight. I mean the whole show, while yes being for her. It was also for you." James lets me breathe in the words. "At least that's what she told me." He quickly adds with a kind smile. Whether Y/N did say that or not, I wouldn't know.

"Ew."

I turn to see Aubrey making a gagging noise and face. Bitch. "Yeah. Yeah. You'll get all your fluffy cute shit soon enough. You can be gross on a beach somewhere or in your fucking garden." Then her eyes go wide. "Or you can be fucking in your garden!!"

"Oh, God," James mumbles as he turns away. "Oh God is right!" Aubrey wiggles her eyebrows at me with a smirk. "Y/N, do me on the blueberries!" Aubrey begins to mock my voice with a higher breathy one. Almost pornographic. "Oh wait, a snail, let me kill it. Oh yes, yes!"

Thankfully the torture ends when the door swings back open.

Y/N POV

Everyone needs a friend like Max.

She knew what I needed and gave it to me.

Space. A moment to breathe.

Followed by another moment to help me breathe when my body wouldn't let me. That's how we spent the last, I don't know, five, ten, thirty minutes? Hour? I don't know. I'm pretty sure I saw Dr. Cameron walk by at one point, but I didn't bother to lift my head to double-check. But then Max started talking.

It was for me and to me.

"Remember freshman year at Syracuse?" With my arms on my knees and my head against the hospital's white walls, I roll it to my right to Max. "Don't." "Don't what?" I close my tired eyes. "Max, I just had a panic attack. This isn't like that time at Bailey McCanns house party."

"I didn't say it was. What I am saying is that you got paranoid while high and locked yourself in her bedroom closet and wouldn't come out unless-"

"Unless you talked to me through that piece of shit door and convinced me that everything was fine. And that, yes, I did try to attempt my best Australian accent in front of Paula Ashborn. And no, I did not do well. Yes, I remember." Embarrassingly. Max smiles. "Not what I was getting at again." I shoot one eye open and look at my redheaded friend. "What I'm saying is that you talked to me. You let it out." I sigh and let my shoulders slump as I listen to Max. Eyes and ears open.

"You told me that your first job was working at your local frozen yogurt shop because two years earlier, you swore you saw the prettiest person walk into that store. You opened up to me about your struggles with being states away from home, even though that's what you wanted. You told me how much you hated Mr. Borno and his fucking class." Max laughs, thinking about my rant about his stupid white-haired face causing me to laugh.

"So Y/N. My lovely best friend. For hopefully the last time." I roll my eyes and give her a shove. "What are you thinking?" Max asks me. I open my mouth before closing it to find the right words. "I'm just tired. I- I just want a normal week with Liz. I want Robbie to wake up. I want it all to be fine. I want us to be us. After knowing Robbie is okay." I swallow and let my course throat feel the pain. "That's what I'm thinking." It's crazy how different your life can be given a few years.

Max nods to me. "I didn't mean to run out of the room. I couldn't bare to sit there anymore." "Hey, that's alright. I'm sure everyone understands."

"We do!"

Max and I snap our heads to our right and see the twins enter our space. "Sorry, we just caught the last bit. Y/N..." Mary-Kate pauses. "We're sorry." Ash nods and speaks up this time. "We didn't mean to add any more stress or uneasy feelings onto your plate."

"It's okay." "We also wanted to stop by before we leave and give you our love and support. If we can leave now?" The four of us laugh as Max and I stand up to the twins. "Don't forget that you performed the hell outta that stage tonight." She whispers into my ear before breaking the hug allowing for Mary-Kate to easily slip right in."You can't let this hug last more than three seconds, or Witchy will have problems. Again." I hear Max snort very loudly to my right at this most likely true statement.

The hug ends precisely three seconds later.

"If you or Lizzie need anything, please let us know. Talk to us. Talk to her. We love you."

"I love you guys too." I awkwardly mumble to the twins, which seems to satisfy them based on their smiles. "Call us soon. Bye, Max!" "Bye, Maxine!" The twins bid the two of us farewell before disappearing down a hallway. I let out a long exhale before balancing out my breathing.

"Hey!" As soon as I step into the waiting room again, I feel Liz's arms wrap themselves around me. Both of our heads resting on our shoulders. "I'm okay," I answer to her whispered worry.

I take a look over her face once out of the hug. "You're beautiful." I could tell my worried girlfriend wasn't ready for that to come out of my mouth due to how quickly she blushed and her eyes darting to the new people in the room. "Is that why she's now married to Robbie?" A joking voice forces me to turn around. It's Marlana with Graham in tow. I was wondering when they'd show up. "Hey, how long have you guys been here?" I greet both of them with a hug. "About ten minutes or so. I don't know how it happened, but we got sent to another hospital instead of here. Anyways the doctor came in not too long ago. Like the professional, she was, she wouldn't tell us what was going on without you present other than to tell Lizzie that Robbie is now awake." I nod my head along to the new information. He's awake. "Anyways, his wife over here filled us in on what's going on once the Doc left."

"Please stop saying his wife," I beg of Marlana. She playfully rolls her eyes. "Just let us know how he is when you get done."

"I can text you if you want to go home. I know it's late, and we had a long day." I try to pitch that idea to the people in the room who didn't ride with me. The only one that bites is James.

After a goodbye, Max walks him out while Liz and I head toward Robbie's room.

Liz POV

"Y/N.." I squeeze her hand as we near the room. "Can you look at me?" She turns her head to me before I stop us in the middle of the hallway. "I love you. You're gorgeous and smart and so caring." Y/N's cheeks go red. "But.." She tenses in my hands before I pull my own out from hers. I slip off the ring I gave to her and put it back onto her hand. I didn't mean to put it happened to go on the left.

What can I say!? Her face can be very distracting!

"Don't forget to put yourself first when you walk in that room. Okay?" She lifts her head to me. I see now that she wasn't expecting that. "Thank you." She leans into me and places her soft lips on mine. "For it all." She bites her lip and opens her mouth again. "When this is done." She removes her hands from mine to gesture to the hallway. "I want us to be us. No more running or missed chances. Just you and I."

I smile, hearing her say the words I want to say.

"I couldn't agree more, Y/N Y/L/N." I quickly pull her hips to meet mine and plant a rougher kiss than the last one onto her lips.

Needing to breathe forces us apart. Well, that and we began to hear loud footsteps approaching us. "Arnett family?" Y/N and I look at a familiar-looking white male in brown boots, jeans, and a blue button-down. It isn't until I see the badge on his belt that I understand who he is supposed to be.

"Officer North," he says as he greets us.

I look over his face as he begins to talk to us about what he saw from the accident. It wasn't Robbie's fault. He had a green light but was T-Boned in the middle of an intersection. However, according to his eyes, he felt like Robbie was going well above the speed limit. He also says he did the best he could to limit the injuries Robbie sustained.

"I just wanted to stay behind and have you all hear this from me personally. I'm sorry this has happened to the two of you." He offers us a kind smile. Y/N and I both thank him for all he's done. "Now, I won't keep you waiting." The familiar-looking man steps around us and begins walking down the hall until he turns out of sight around a corner.

"Was it just me, or did he look like Castle from Castle?" My eyes go wide as that's who Officer North looked like! "Yes! I was wondering why he looked so familiar!" Y/N and share smiles and a look as it seems like she's avoiding the room a bit more than she just was.

"Hey." I pull her arm and have her look at me. "He's your friend. The accident wasn't anyone's fault but the person that hit him. Robbie's fine. Now go see him." I gently push her toward the room. "I'll be in the waiting room with the others. Okay?" Y/N nods to me and says it for the first time since she mumbled it in her sleep.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

Y/N POV

Liz's steps retreat until I don't hear them anymore. I'm now standing in front of the door. Should I knock? No?

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Is it rude if I don't knock?

Ring. Ring.

I mean, It's a hospital room, not his teenage bedroom.

"Huh?" I look down and finally hear and feel the vibrations from my phone.

Caller ID: Mother.

Fuck. I never called her after the show like I said I would. I promised Nick that I'd called once a week and especially tonight.

"Mrs. Arnett?!"

I jump at the voice coming next to me as my phone slips out of my hands and collides with the floor. Putting an end to its ringing. "Oh Gosh, I'm terribly sorry!" Officer North bends down and picks up my now cracked phone. It turns on, thankfully. "I didn't mean to startle you. I thought you heard me." I look over the Castle lookalike and take my phone from him with a kind smile. "No. Sorry, I didn't. But it's alright."

Wait? What did he call me?!?

"What did you say- I- uh, before-" "Mrs. Arnett?" I slowly nod. "How- why?" I give a confused look back to him. He opens and closes his mouth before pointing to my ring finger.

Why is there a ring on that finger!!?

Omg, Liz! I'm mentally slapping her and myself for not catching this earlier.

"Once again, sorry about what's happened to your husband." Ew. Ew. No. "Thanks. Again." I smile. "Is there something you needed or..?" Officer North makes an "oh right" face. "Now, I didn't want to mention this to anyone except you...

"Okay..."

"When I pulled Mr. Arnett-" "Robbie. And I'm Y/N. Please." "Right. When I pulled Robbie from his car, based on the smell from him and the evidence of glass around, it was clear to me that he had been drinking."

Step 1 - Shock

I'm sorry?

"Now-" "Wait." "I haven't made the report yet and-" "Officer!" He stops talking and sees my face in denial.

Step 2 - Denial

"Robbie doesn't drink. He doesn't do that. I mean, he used to, but that stopped months ago." "Are you sure?" "Yes, I'm sure!" Lie. I'm not at all. "Are you sure?" I bite back like it's a fourth-grade schoolyard comeback.

"100%." The sad smile this man is wearing deepens. "The toxicology reports will back me up too. I'm sorry. I thought you should hear it from me before-" Before everyone finds out. "Yeah.." and "thanks." 'Are all I say.

I close my eyes and sigh and sigh before it's just me in the hall.

Step 3 - Anger

"Get up!" I yell and let the door swing back close behind me as I pinch his blanket-covered toes. "Ow! What the fuck, Y/N?!"

I look up to see his eyes looking back at me. Yeah, they're in pain. Only he knows what kind. I look over his face and then his body. Stitches and gauze. Casts for his broken parts. Visible cuts that were small enough to leave alone.

And I almost feel bad. Almost.

One final look that ends with the monitors beeping his life with ups and downs, I turn to him with a pointed finger and say, "How long, and don't you bullshit me, Arnett!"

"What?" "How long!" "What are you talking about?" "Don't play Robbie come on."

His face has only changed to clench his jaw and become stone-like in his defense, whereas I'm staying true. Showing my emotions. He scoffs. "What do you care."

I turn away, running my hand through my hair. "You can't be serious right now. I'm your friend-" He scoffs again.

"Stop that!" I turn back to him with my arms raised. "Stop doing that. I care about you. I'm your friend, so what the fuck is happening right now, Robbie." Robbie shakes his head. "Get out."

"Dude-" "Get out!" "No! How long!" "Y/N-" "Robbie!" He turns his head away from me.

Stalemate.

I glance to his monitor, which shows a spike from our fighting, and then look at his one moveable hand. Squeezing and releasing the blanket.

"You want the truth?"

"Of course."

He turns his head to me and looks me right in the eyes. "I started a week after you came here." What.. "I was never tired or just having an off day. I was hungover and aching to have another drink the second you were gone. Because that's what we were doing was doing to me."

I swallow the lump in my throat and take his venom. "Okay, Robbie... Fuck you. You don't get to just say these things as if I've been awful to you. I've been your friend—someone there for you. And you've been mine! What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I didn't ask for a fucking friend Y/N!"

"Then what the hell have the last few months been?"

"I did it as a favor for you because you were nice, and I knew it wasn't your fault Lizzie left me." "What?? So then what. What happened!?" "I couldn't do it."

"So you're fucking blaming me?"

"Yes."

I can't fucking believe him. I can't wrap my mind around this. I shut my eyes and rub the sides of my head. "So now what?" I sigh. "This is it?? You're such a fucking selfish asshole right now that our friendship is just done. Hmm? It wasn't real?" I look at Wal-Mart Jesus. "It's not like I didn't try.." He speaks. "Try?" I question. "Try what? To be my friend?" He shakes his head no. "To move on. I did, or at least I thought I did. Until as of late."

He turns to me and grunts in pain as he rises against his pillows.

"She'll leave you too."

I have to laugh at this. "No, no, she won't, Robbie. But God, if she ever does, it won't be because I stopped loving her. Because, unlike you, I would never stop." Tears are brimming in my eyes, but I do everything to stand my ground and stop them from falling. "I hope you do better in the future. Goodbye and fuck you."

I'm out the door before he can even get another word out.

"That was three months ago, and I still haven't heard from him..."

"Do you want to?" I bite my lip in thought. "This is only the fourth time you've brought Robbie up since you've started seeing me." I lean back against the sofa and stare into my laptop, huffing. "I didn't realize you were keeping count?" She laughs. "I don't keep this notebook for pleasure, Y/N."

Now I laugh at my therapist of two months, Sofia. "Umm, no, I don't think I do? I don't know.." Sofia jots something down before looking at her watch.

"Well, I hate to do this, but it looks like it's that time. But before we go, I'd like for you to think of five positives excluding Liz, Max, and, if you have any with him, Robbie." She smiles at me, and I nod, returning one. "Okay. Thank you for today."

"Of course, Y/N. See you next week, and let me know if you need another session before then, alright?"

"Will do. Thank you." Sofia nods. "Enjoy your time in Texas." The Zoom call ends shortly after. I close my laptop and set it on the counter in the kitchen as I go to pull out a salad I made this morning prior to arriving on set—my new iPhone chimes as I start digging in. I smile and send a text back, and two seconds later, the trailer door swings open.

"Hiii!!" Liz's body collides with mine. "I promise I wasn't listening in. I was just outside for the last fifteen minutes and guessed when you'd be done. So thankfully, I was right." I set my salad down and wrap my love into a tight hug! "Babe, I texted you!" She pulls out her phone and laughs.

"You said: "Sofia gave me homework come save me or I'll die!"

"It's true! You saved me!" I cheer, leaning down to kiss her lovely lips. Tasting her wiped-off lipstick from today's shoot. "Is that the salad you made this morning I taste?" I fake confusion. "I have no idea what you're talking about." She giggles and falls into me.

Liz POV

"It's my pick for a movie, right?" Y/N yells out from the kitchen to where I am in the trailer's bedroom. I try my hardest not to stay in these, but filming this show for HBO has been running an early toll, so it's easier sometimes. Plus, Y/N doesn't mind hanging out in it when she doesn't want to see me act.. Well.. Like a murderer.

"I believe so!" I yell back as she steps into the room with a bowl of popcorn. "Good! Close your eyes." I immediately shut them as a handful of popcorn gets placed in my mouth. "Hold on. Keep them closed." I hear the TV clicking and the sound of Netflix loading up. "Okay, annnnddd open!"

Mama Mia starts playing on screen, much to my girlfriend's delight seeing me squeal in happiness! "You said you had never seen it before, and since you've been humming ABBA for the last two weeks, I figured tonight was the perfect opportunity."

"I love it!" I pull her waist closer to me and plant a kiss on her temple. "And you."

"I love you too, Liz. Now shhh, get ready to have your life changed for the better."

"What?" I cock my head to my right as I see Y/N casted in the blue glow from the TV in the room. She laughs to herself. "Sorry, I just thought of a stupid joke."

"Well, you know the rules." I grab the remote from her lap and pause the movie on Meryl Streeps beautiful face. "Enlighten me."

Y/N picks at the comforter. "Why are chickens so good at drumming?" She quietly mumbled her way through the "joke," but I heard it. I smile brightly in the dark of our room. "Why?" She looks up to me and sends me a cheesy smile. "Because they have drumsticks."

I throw my head back and laugh like a little kid, as if it's the first time I heard it. It's not, but it's said from someone who I love and who loves me.

Twitter

Lizzie Olsen Daily @DailyLizzieOlsen

October 28th, 2021

Lizzie Olsen has been spotted taking a break from filming her latest show Love & Death, in Austin, Texas, today with her musician girlfriend and rumored assistant(?) Y/N Y/L/N.

According to a fan who waited on them at a local restaurant, they said the two were the kindest and funniest customers they have ever had. When asked for a photo, they very apologetically said no.

All of this to say she's out of her cave!!

Sokvian Fortune Teller @user8 Omg, she's out!! Date night!??

Ellie ❤️ @Hole4TaylorSloane Ahhhhh I saw them at the restaurant!!!

Wanda's gf @OlsenMyOlsen @Hole4TaylorSloane What did they get?? I KNOW it's weird but I gotta know

Ellie ❤️ @Hole4TaylorSloane @OlsenMyOlsen From what I could see Lizzie got a salad but Y/N got tacos that Lizzie kept stealing bites from 🥺🥺🥺

Kenzie Greene @happywandaplease Y/N and Lizzie are having a date night while i'm alone with my cat i'm gonna kms

Dalia @scrunchnoselizzie I need Y/N to start having mother outside of her cave more pleeasseee

A/N Who's ready for Y/N and Lizzie's future?!

Part 35

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recurring-polynya · 6 months

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Writing/Art Update 11.14.2023

This week started off a little sticky, writing-wise. I mentioned in last week's update that I wasn't sure if the outline I had for Chapter 4 was going to work, and I decided very shortly afterward that it was not. I really didn't have a good feel about how to make it work, so I just jumped in and wrote some scenes that I knew would either work in Chapter 4, or would go elsewhere if I didn't. I would write them about 80% through, because endings are hard and also because I wanted to leave space for them to join up with the next part. (wtf, scene endings are interfaces, no wonder they're so hard and also so important, why did it take me so long to realize this?)

In any case, out of six planned scenes, two are done, two are mostly done, one is done but I'm not sure I like it, and the last one, which is supposed to be short, is not done at all. It's currently at 8,300 words, which is right in line with the other chapters, which range between 8,300 and 9,500 words. Last week, I said I thought it would take two weeks to write Chapter 4, and I feel like I'm on a good path to that.

Current word count: 35,221 (+6,259/~3800 new)

I've been doing an ask meme about this fanfic, and it's been pretty helpful in being able to peek back at what I've written so far from between my fingers. Once I finish Chapter 4, I think I'm going to be able to go back and read the thing from the beginning. Maybe this is jumping the gun, but after 5 months of half-heartedly poking at this trash heap of disconnected scenes, in the last 5 weeks, I've kicked it into a solid First Third of a Fanfic. I'm also a little intimidated, because now I have to move into The Rest, which is, in some ways, like starting this process all over again. On the other hand, at least I'll feel like I have something under my belt, which is psychologically very helpful for me.

I still haven't drawn anything, but I think I'm going to try hard to this week, even if it's just a tutorial or something. This week is only the second one out of the last eight weeks that my kids have had a five-day school week (and the week before that was the one we all had covid), so maybe I can make something out of those extra six hours.

#writing update #art update

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night-garden-fic · 7 months

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Chapter Two: The Pressed Leaf of the Past

(Read on AO3)

"But then again, I was always an awful soldier, wasn't I?"

Chapter Two: The Pressed Leaf of the Past

Russell never really understood why having read every book in the Library should be seen as something so remarkable.

After all, he was a lifelong avid reader, and lived in the building besides. To him, having read everything was a simple inevitability. It was a large number of books, true. But the collection wasn't limitless, and his appetite for words was—or at least felt, to him—approximately so. All things considered, it didn't take him very long to burn through the entire backlog.

Indeed, "burning through" was an apt description for his reading habits in those lonely early days in Kardia.

Russell had arrived in town a stranger and a fugitive; war-battered and disgraced, with little respite for his mind outside the comforting familiarity of ink on paper. Dazed and half-shattered, he found himself falling into the pages harder than ever before, the agonized weeks and months passing by in a hectic, ink-scribbled blur.

It wasn't until he was finally somewhat ready to integrate into village life that Russell realized he really had read everything there was to read, sometimes twice over. And, knowing no other way to live, he kept up the habit even as his mind began to settle; reading every book that came his way, and returning to his old favorites for the third, forth, or fifth time over. It remained a precious escape from past and self when he found he still needed one, and served as the ultimate fulfillment of a dear old dream.

And of course, on a more practical level, it also helped him keep up with the slow, steady trickle of new material. Having at least a broad familiarity with all the books and their contents, Russell figured, was an essential part of the job. And, given his passing interest in nearly everything, it was probably the part of the job that he relished most of all.

But all people have their preferences, and he was no exception.

If one knew Russell well enough, it was probably less surprising to learn that he had read every book in the Library than it was to find out that there were some—indeed, many—that he hadn't particularly enjoyed. It was something of a source of guilt for him, but it was nonetheless true.

The most obvious examples were technical manuals concerning advanced, unfamiliar trades, which he generally found inscrutable, and often merely skimmed.

Then there were the romantic stories written for a juvenile—or perhaps excessively timid—audience; the kind that always conveniently ended before anyone got up to anything interesting, leaving Russell feeling cranky and unsatisfied as he wondered, for the hundredth time, if he should just start skipping these. Each one seemed identical to all the others, and no one but Tori ever seemed all that interested in checking them out.

But, if given a choice, Russell knew he would rather read a thousand carpentry texts and a million treacly chaste romances than a single tome of military history.

In his youth, he'd found it as dry and esoteric as the most complex of those vexing manuals, and could never quite create a picture in his mind of what was supposed to be happening. Surely, there was some coherent story to be found, behind all those far-away dates and names and landmarks. But, try as he might, he could never get it to emerge.

And, if it was bad then, it had somehow become even worse.

Back in those tumultuous early days of indiscriminately reading everything within arm's reach, Russell assumed having a bit of personal experience would help, but it never seemed to properly apply, leaving him more confused than ever. Though he now understood a bit of the jargon, he still found that these texts seemed to talk right past him; telling a story in which, even now, he seemed to have no real part.

It gave him the strange sensation of being flattened to nothing in those pages. Like a dry autumn leaf, carefully pressed and promptly forgotten, the blood-vibrant colors of his life slowly fading away

Still, Russell had read every book in the Library. And, inevitability or no, it had become something of a point of pride.

Just get through it, and you can read that nice big natural history encyclopedia you've been staring at.

A new shipment had arrived the previous week. And—confusing, unsettling, or otherwise—Russell couldn't just not read one of them. So, when he unearthed yet another ponderous volume on Norad's seemingly endless border conflicts, he figured he would just go ahead and read that one first, to get it over and done with.

Unfortunately, this was proving surprisingly difficult, mostly owing to the tome's recent publication.

For one thing, the spine was stiff, and Russell had to make an active effort just to keep it open in front of him. Of course, this got easier upon reaching the halfway point, but by then he was seeing descriptions of locations and practices that he actually recognized, which made his mind wander uncontrollably.

Why can't I put it all together?

(I remember everything.)

Just yesterday, he'd read the description of a certain ambush technique, and lost the better part of an hour staring into space, running through the procedure in his head; surviving, dying, surviving again, and only grudgingly allowing himself to move on once his mind finally stopped letting him live.

If you can't save yourself, have the sense to let it end.

There were several such incidents, and they all made Russell feel as though he'd never get through the damned thing. But still, as in most areas of life, he supposed he was making a stilted kind of progress. He only had a quarter of the book to go, and was back to having to pin it open; a welcome, immediate annoyance.

Having reached the end of another laborious page, Russell carefully flicked to the next, preparing himself for another dense and thorny, but mostly uneventful bramble of words he'd have to hack through.

Not five seconds later, he felt his hair standing on end with the realization that he'd found something else entirely.

This can't be history.

Russell's brain snapped in electric recognition; breath caught in lungs that still held a faint rattle, heart feeling like it could have beat its slick way out of his mouth.

At first, it was just an infantry number and a span of dates, somehow as strangely meaningless as any of the others. But the page also contained one of the volume's few illustrations.

It only took about a second to realize what, exactly, he was looking at.

(Tin cups. Mud puddles.)

(My grave.)

A scratchy woodcut reproduction of a photograph; one that he had never actually seen, though he could remember the day it was taken as though it were just last week. The kind of day that your mind holds onto not because it was particularly important, but more so because no other day had yet bothered to dethrone it.

Far right end of the second row from the bottom. It won't be hard to find. Just take a look.

Russell's eyes tracked across the page. And, sure enough, there he was, right where he'd left him: the vague image of his eighteen-year-old self. He stood at the very edge of the group, spaced slightly too far from the young man at his side and looking almost tacked on as an afterthought.

The expectation was that he would either feel either a deep crushing sorrow, or nothing at all. But, to his surprise, Russell actually found it slightly funny. The photograph had been a formal affair, with everyone standing at attention and holding the camera in a steely gaze. Meanwhile, that distant teenage Russell was, to all appearances, simply trying his best.

Gods, this poor kid.

He wore a round pair of glasses back then, and the glare on the thick lenses must have been such that the artist decided not to bother with his eyes at all, instead rendering the frames opaque. This gave him an unreadable, somewhat hollow look, which made him look even more out of place. And, upon closer inspection, his posture was slightly hunched, shoulders just a tad bit lopsided. That, he supposed, could have been the misery of his new life settling into his young, green bones.

Poor, poor kid.

(You wretched little killer.)

But no, Russell remembered that day well. He'd been assigned to help with digging a trench the day before, managed to tweak something in his back in the process, and simply couldn't handle standing up straight for as long as it took to get everyone in position and process the photograph.

Even now, over a dozen years later, he could feel it—if only vaguely—as he slumped at his desk. The weight of his tired spine worrying at that frayed cord, a reminder of everything else inside him that had been pulled to near-snapping over the years.

Despite it all, he had to laugh. It came out as an awkward, breathy bark, followed by a slight cough, but it was laughter all the same. Of course, the Library was nearly silent, and Russell had spent the last two hours sitting all but motionless, face set in a light scowl, so this drew the attention of the entire room.

Which, thankfully, was just Tori and Cecilia. And Lynette, he supposed, but she was stood against the far wall with a book propped in one hand—as was her way—and quickly decided that this didn't concern her.

(Doesn't it, though?)

His daughter and assistant, however, were a bit more curious. Tori looked up from the card catalog that she had been sorting through, nervously fiddling with the end of one long, yellow braid.

"...S-something funny?"

Russell laughed again, more quietly this time, and shook his head.

"Not really, I guess... Mostly just surprised. I'm... I'm in this book."

Tori tilted her head quizzically, and Cecilia craned her neck over the desk to get a better look. Russell beckoned Tori over, and moved the book aside so Ceclia could settle herself on his desk. He carefully held the pages open with one hand while gesturing at the image with the other.

"See the one on the end here? That's me."

Those two words, spoken aloud, turned to ash on Russell's tongue, drying his mouth and making his throat feel slightly constricted. He swallowed painfully, and watched as they took him in; the bad posture, the bad glasses, the daydreamy, serious face.

A face that, he began to realize, hadn't changed much in all these years.

It was starkly recognizable, even in this miniscule, ink-lined state. This was the face that still met him every day in the mirror; though by now it had grown into itself a bit, and there were a few faint lines coming in around the eyes, breaking up the general blankness.

Surprisingly, Tori was the first to speak up.

"You l-look smaller..."

Russell shrugged.

"Well, there's a lot of us in one picture, so I guess we all do. But I wasn't quite done growing until I was twenty, so you're probably right."

Cecilia placed her own small hand next to her father's, leaning in for a better look.

"What were you all doing?"

What, indeed?

"We... Well... I had to fight in a war for a while. It was before you were born. I guess they wanted a picture of everyone, in case someone wrote a book like this someday."

Russell supposed that was technically true enough, and hoped she wouldn't press much farther. Suddenly, it occurred to him—with some mild shock—that this was the first time they'd ever discussed his past. Somehow, it just hadn't come up.

And who made sure of that, hmm?

Cecilia studied the image for a moment more, then tilted her face towards him.

"Were you scared?"

Another hard, painful swallow. Russell had to clear his throat before he could continue.

"Sometimes I was. It could get scary."

Cecilia looked grave for a moment, then smiled.

"You were brave."

That had nothing to do with it.

Russell forced a smile of his own.

"I think I mostly felt tired... I like being here with you a lot more."

Somewhat awkwardly, with his one free arm, he pulled his daughter into a hug. She wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulder for a moment, then hoisted herself off the desk and scampered off to the remainder of her carefree afternoon.

Sweet girl. You're braver.

(You don't even know.)

"...Gods, those uniforms are like street clothes."

Lynette seemed to be curious after all, and had joined Tori in hovering over the desk, regarding the image inquisitively with a single crimson eye. Russell startled slightly when she spoke, gathering himself a bit before he could reply.

"Yeah... They weren't great. We had some other gear to layer on for active combat, but it probably wasn't much better."

He didn't know why he felt the need to explain this to Lynette, of all people, because she certainly already knew. Still, there was a slight disbelieving note in her voice.

"...I frankly don't know how any of you are still alive."

Well, for starters, a lot of us aren't.

Russell readjusted himself in his seat. His clothes were sitting funny across his chest, the friction causing faint pins and needles. Still, he let out another small laugh.

"I got lucky, I guess."

That I did.

By way of reply, his chest ached.

Did you? Really?

~*~

Russell always found it funny how, even when you considered the obvious, the easiest way to tell that Cecilia and himself weren't blood relations would be to watch both of them try to go to sleep.

Specifically, the way Cecilia never had to try.

That night, as was their routine, he'd read her one of her favorite picture books; this time the one about an old tree in an even older forest, and how it gave life to all the birds and insects living in its leaves, wood, and branches, and the worms in the soil at the roots. She kept herself awake just long enough for him to finish that familiar tale, then seemingly turned off her little body and mind like twin lamps as soon as he turned the last page.

"Goodnight, Ceci."

He kissed the crown of her head, then lay there in her small bed for a few moments, legs hanging awkwardly off the mattress, listening to her quiet breathing. In the dim light of the room, he took in all the chaotic flotsam of his daughter's messy, miniature life. The stones on the headboard, the feathers sticking out of an old jam jar on the nightstand, and the colorful crayon drawings that already papered the folding divider they'd installed in their shared room just a day before.

Perhaps Cecilia's restfulness was contagious. Maybe her body contained some naive wisdom that his tense, overgrown form could learn from.

But, of course, there was no such luck. Russell stumbled to bed, crawled under his own covers, and began the nightly waiting game.

On the good nights, an hour or two of reading would be enough to lull him into a shallow but reasonably refreshing sleep. A sleep that, by its very shallowness, would remain dreamless and blank.

Somehow, as soon as he'd extinguished the lamp, Russell knew that this would not be a good night.

I guess I should have figured.

The previous night hadn't been very good, either. And nor—at least when it came to sleep—had the night before that; lying awake and bruised in Lady Ann's soft bed, watching the falling snow through the window. And neither, come to think of it, had the night before that.

If he kept on looking back and back, Russell could follow this span of bad nights for weeks, spooling out beyond the horizon of recent memory.

And now he had a new addition to the torrent of images that flooded his mind the instant he closed his eyes: the younger self, rendered rather carelessly in stark, black ink.

It's not even the real picture.

Russell wondered why the artist—who surely could have taken liberties if they'd wished—had bothered to include his crooked posture. It was subtle enough to ignore, and surely, it would have been easier to just render everyone the same, as that had been the goal in the first place. But no, there it was, the time he injured himself while clumsily shoveling mud in a trench, forever immortalized in print.

Just as it was, he remembered again, in his own body. The subtle ache in the tendon was bothering him, and he shifted again, trying to get comfortable.

It's never going to be over, you know.

It already is. It's literally in a history book. I need to sleep.

Arguing with himself, Russell knew from experience, never got him anywhere good. But what else did he have to do, lying there alone in the dark?

You're okay. It's just been a rough year.

Russell blinked hard, and more pictures rose to the surface to replace that bespectacled boy, frozen in ink.

Cecilia, lost in the volcanic depths of a cave, terrified and alone. Himself, sitting in the dirt at the cave's mouth, mentally brutalizing himself for not being the one to go in and save her, for being such a poor caretaker that this even happened in the first place.

For scooping her up off that battlefield, just to walk her straight into other dangers.

No, she walked there herself.

(She's too brave for her own good, is all.)

Time had already ground a few sharp edges off the whole incident. But, deep down, Russell still blamed himself. Still woke from nightmares of a small girl's keening screams, of walking into pillars of fire.

You've been keeping a better eye on her lately. She'll be okay.

Will I be, though?

As usual, Russell couldn't give himself an honest answer. Especially not from where he was right then, cold and alone in the dead of night.

...Not if you don't sleep.

Then I guess I won't be. Who the hell can sleep like this?

Almost reflexively, He thought of Sabrina.

The warmth of her body next to his own, and the silly conversations she would distract him with when he was too wound up to sleep. Her hands, which never seemed to sense the contamination he could feel coming off himself in waves.

And how almost surreal it seemed when she and Neumann reconciled that spring, seemingly out of the blue.

Russell was happy for her, but had to admit it took the wind out of him.

In truth, he wasn't even sure why. They had only been exclusive for a few months, before which Sabrina and Lady Ann had been content to amicably pass him back and forth, with no hard feelings or jealousy that he could ascertain. Hell, for all he knew, they were messing around with each other in addition to him. But that was one of the many, many things that just seemed to never come up.

No hard feelings or jealousy from me now, either.

They remained close friends, as they had been since not long after Sabrina first arrived in Kardia. And she seemed genuinely happy, which was all Russell could reasonably ask for. But it had been an adjustment, and after the whole mess with Cecilia had taken so much out of him...

(I almost lost my mind.)

...Well, his capacity to adjust was a bit compromised, to say the least. Every empty bed seemed emptier, every lonely night seemed lonelier, and every unspoken fear threatened to physically corrode him from the inside.

And so, when the tanks rolled in with the summer, was it any wonder that Russell felt fully prepared to face them head-on himself?

~*~

It was an unseasonably hot, dusty-bright, uncanny afternoon, when the worst finally happened.

For months, there had been an escalating whisper of siege and invasion that kept Russell steely-spined and frightened; painfully alert by day and restlessly wakeful by night, nerves crackling and ready for danger. At first, it was only hearsay and rumor, which he couldn't fully believe.

Told himself, again and again, that he wouldn't believe.

But even so, whatever was left of the soldier within him still knew it was best to be prepared.

Having spent so long trying to silence that malignant sliver of self for the good of the whole, the only thing Russell had ever been entirely unprepared for was the day when the paranoid whisper in the back of his mind finally spoke the truth.

There were tanks lining up on the edge of town.

And, when he began to hear the distant, familiar grind of heavy treads on gravel, he knew exactly what he had to do.

With that brave young warrior-farmer down in the thick of things, there was no one left but Russell to defend the heart of the village. It was all on him, and he was more ready to die for the cause than he had ever been in his soldiering days. This wasn't some abstract fight for honor and country. This was for his home, his neighbors, his daughter's future.

What was his life, really, in the face of all that?

Once he had made up his mind, Russell moved quickly. He raided Leo's empty shop, borrowing a dull old sword, an ill-fitting iron chestplate, and a dented helmet with a creaky face guard. Having outfitted himself as best he could in other people's damaged gear, he ran down to Raguna's field and grabbed as many fist-sized stones as he could carry.

He knew well that it wasn't enough, but it was what he had. There was nothing left but to station himself under the first arch of the main road, and wait.

Sabrina tried to reason with him, tried to get him to abandon his self-appointed post and shelter in the sturdy stone cellar of the de Sainte-Coquille manor with her and all the others. She reminded him of Cecilia, and Edward, and herself, and all he had to live for. Cool and numb, as though he had just broken through the splintered surface of a frozen lake, Russell could only explain that he was thinking of Cecilia.

"What else do I have to fight for?"

Realizing that reason was getting her nowhere, Sabrina grabbed Russell by the wrist and started pulling; screaming at him that he was insane, that he would die, that there was nothing to prove here. She was surprisingly strong for her size, and definitely the more athletic of the two, but Russell had received a good deal of formal training in how to plant his feet and hold his ground. He wouldn't budge, and eventually Neumann took Sabrina's hand, shouting many of the same words that she had just been shouting at Russell.

And then they were gone; dragging a sobbing Cecilia with them, leaving Russell alone to meet thirty tons of steel with a tarnished sword and a pile of stones.

For a moment, he thought Camus might assist him. The sturdy young farmer ran down the lane with his builder's hammer in hand, clearly filled with adrenaline and ready to see some action. Russell couldn't understand his mindset, but was grateful to have some help.

That is, until Edward realized what was going on and burst out of the Clinic in a fury.

"What the hell are you doing!?"

"I'm not just gonna let them destroy us!"

"You can't fight a tank with a hammer, Camus! You need to go and shelter with the others!"

"You're staying behind!"

"There's a difference! I have to stay at the Clinic in case someone gets hurt! You don't have to fight some machine that can crush you in an instant!"

"Russell's gonna fight!"

"Russell is crazy!"

Not yet crazy enough to begin insisting that he wasn't, Russell simply watched their argument with half-hearted interest.

And then Edward—a strong man in his own right—grabbed his strapping son by the collar and began dragging him towards the manor. For a moment, he looked at Russell as though he wanted to grab and drag him, too. But he must have thought better of it, for he quickly turned and left, with a protesting Camus in tow.

Edward, after all, only had one free hand. Russell was armed, driven, and—yes, perhaps—crazy.

One would have better luck fighting a tank with a hammer.

Or with some stones and a rusty sword.

Alone.

Alone, boiling under the unforgiving summer sun, the borrowed armor hanging loose and crooked around his frame and digging heavily into his shoulders, Russell spent the better part of a day standing at attention in that first archway. With everyone else in hiding, Kardia was deathly still, and he found he could hear nothing but the far-away rumble of tanks and the ringing clatter of his own thoughts.

Mostly, he thought of Cecilia, and wished he had thought to bring a pen and paper, to write her a proper goodbye before he was ground to nothing where he stood. He wondered how it would feel to be broken under those heavy treads, almost grateful that the fate he'd run from had finally found him.

It was a chance to get it right.

Russell wouldn't run. Not this time.

He would stand tall. He would do his best.

And yes, he would be brave.

Then, hopefully, it would all be quick.

Though the plan was to hold his ground until the very last, for Cecilia and everyone else, Russell had—just as he had countless times before, during the fighting years—already accepted the likely outcome.

And, same as before, the end never actually came.

Raguna and Ivan, it turned out, had worked some strange Draconic miracle, and the tanks were stalled in place, held to the Earth with sturdy vines and roots. There would be no invasion. There would be no destruction. Kardia would hold strong, with or without Russell and his pile of stones.

Utterly exhausted, nerves fried from too many hours on the brink, he felt his legs give out beneath him and fell to his knees on the cobbles.

A minute or an hour later, Sabrina and Cecilia returned, embracing him right there in the street.

Russell knew they were speaking to him, a frenetic stream of teary gratitude, but he could hardly hear them over the empty roar of his white-noise mind. They held him tight, but he still felt himself drifting backward, staring at the horizon for so long that he too felt collapsed into a flat, distant line. Eventually, Edward emerged from the Clinic and helped him to his feet. Russell nodded a weak thank-you, then staggered numbly into the Library.

I guess it happened again.

Once more, Russell was left to face the sort of world he could never imagine.

A world where the horror had passed, but he somehow had to keep on living.

~*~

My eyes blink open to the loathsome summer sun, and I realize how ridiculous I'd been, in thinking it had all ended so neatly.

That was no miracle.

It was only a dream.

And I'm an awful soldier, falling asleep on my feet like that.

But then again, I was always an awful soldier, wasn't I?

(All those lives you cut down, and for what?)

I tell myself that I still have time to be better, if only by dying an honorable death. The tanks rumble in the distance. Terrable circles overhead. I wait; though whether it's for a miracle or a catastrophe, I can't be sure.

I wait only, perhaps, to be needed.

I wait, always, for it all to be over, whatever that may mean.

And then a munition whizzes up from behind the distant treetops, knocking the great Native Dragon from the sky. The ground shakes. Trees crack. The world is thrown off-balance.

(It really is on you now, isn't it?)

I adjust the armor to stop its painful digging into my hips, get a better grip on the sword, and take up a stone. I listen as the rumbling grows closer.

I wait.

The sun overheats my brain inside the helmet, and I suddenly remember that something isn't right here. I shouldn't be hot. I should be freezing. But maybe I'm just thinking of my years in the trenches; which, in my mind, seemed to take place in a perpetual winter.

(But surely, even then, it must have been summer at least some of the time?)

(I try not to remember.)

Luckily, I don't have time.

The tanks emerge from the treeline and crash through the farm. I plant my feet wide apart and square my shoulders. I hurl my stone, and my aim is true. It glances off the helmet of the unfortunate helmsman, but the impact still rung his bell pretty good, and I watch him slump forward in his seat, unconscious or dead.

Then the tank keeps on rolling, and I realize the horrible truth.

He was never in control.

Neither was I.

This machine was always going to crush me.

So I drop my sword and let it happen.

(It's only more waiting. You can do this.)

(I'm sorry, Cecilia. I never had a choice.)

Mercifully, I don't have to wait very long.

The steel behemoth barrels toward and over me, making its vile destructive way into the town beyond. I failed. I was always going to fail.

This was how it was supposed to end, and I was a fool for thinking I could ever escape.

(It's okay. Just as long as she can.)

At least the chestpiece isn't hanging on me anymore. The pressure of the treads crumpled it into my body, drove jagged dented metal into my collapsed ribs. I can't take a breath, and I guess that's fine. I don't have much use for air anymore.

(It's over. Finally.)

And that's all I can think: "finally."

Until, that is, I start wondering why I still have an intact head to think with at all.

~*~

Russell woke with a start, hands flying over his ribcage in a panic.

You're all right. It was just another stupid dream. Calm down.

His chest was certainly a site of some genuine distress—lungs heavy with congestion, rib muscles achey from the persistent nighttime cough that had bothered him since autumn, scarred nerves sizzling in the wake of his hasty exam—but it was a far cry from the wreck of twisted metal and pulverized bone his half-dreaming mind had lead him to expect.

Relieved, Russell sat up, coughed heavily, then collapsed back on the pillows. He wasn't ground to a pulp in the street. He was only right here; curled in a ball, blue moonlight, empty bed, daughter drifting peacefully on the other side of their divided room. The dream had exhausted him, but he was too afraid of a repeat performance to chance sleep again.

Not tonight, I guess. I give up.

Russell crawled out of bed and padded downstairs to the Library, where the thick book was still open face-down across his desk. He lit a candle, flipped it over, and stared into his own younger, obscured face. What, he wondered, would he tell him if he could?

First, he tried it Cecilia's way.

You're being so brave.

As before, it rang hollow. So he decided to try something else.

I know what you're going to do. Hell, I know what you've already done. You make me sick.

He tasted bile on the back of his tongue, felt his vision begin to shiver. For a moment, Russell felt as though he was about to pass out from sheer white-hot rage, and was indeed so exhausted that it would have been welcome.

Suddenly, a third thought; another message trying to propel itself across time, to leap into the illustration as through a magic portal.

I know you're tired.

Somewhere—perhaps buried in his own flesh, like a shard of jagged shrapnel—that lost boy must have heard, because Russell was overcome with something that felt too massive to name or express.

He lay his head down on the cool scarred wood of the desk, and silently wept until dawn.

#rune factory #rune factory 1 #rf1 russell

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