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theheartsmistakes · 4 years

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The Last Night: Part XIX

A/N’s at the end:

Parts I-XVIII:

Here is Part I

Here is Part II

Here is Part III

Here is Part IV

Here is Part V

Here is Part VI

Here is Part VII

Here is Part VIII

Here is Part IX

Here is Part X

Here is Part XI

Here is Part XII

Part XIII

Part XIV

Part XV

Part XVI

Part XVII

Part XVIII

.XIX.

Earlier that evening…

After seeing his mother to her room for her afternoon nap, Alastair retired for the remainder of the evening in the Institute library. It was the one room in the house, other than the unbearably small closet sized guest bedroom that the Herondales so graciously gave to him, where he could be alone.

After the past week of excruciating pain while the runes and Silent Brother’s magic repaired the bones in his leg, the damage to his head, waiting for Cordelia to wake up, and answering the barrage of questions from anyone with a tongue to speak, he craved the precious minutes he could find of peace. Charles, unfortunately, conducted most of the questioning, which often left Alastair with a headache worse than the one he’d woken up with after being thrown by the demon and cracking his head on stone. Even when it was just the two of them alone, Charles remained callous and professional, only bothering to ask how Alastair was fairing, but he directed most of the questions to the Brother Zachariah rather than Alastair himself. It felt as if their relationship had been nothing more than a figment of Alastair’s feverish imagination. Alastair began to question if it all had, in fact, all been a dream.

Most moments of quiet were spent beside Cordelia. When his mother retired for the night, Alastair would take up her position beside his sister and watch her chest rise and fall like he’d done when his parents brought her home as a baby. She was so tiny then. As delicate, round, and soft as a baby bird with tufts of red hair that already curled around her ears. Only a year and a few months older than his baby sister, he’d sit next to her crib and watch her sleep. He’d listen to the small shushing noise her breathing made, until he’d fall asleep. At some point in the night, he would be placed back in his bedroom, tucked under the blankets, and left under the glowing stars his bedside witchlight made across his ceiling. It wasn’t until Cordelia was a year old, and he was nearly three, that he stopped falling asleep on her floor, but only because his parents made him.

When Cordelia was awake, he wasn’t much different. The first few months weren’t terrible. She slept most of the time except when she was hungry or needed a change. It wasn’t until she was four months that Alastair thought he’d keel over from anxiety. His irresponsible mother would just place her on a blanket on the floor where anything and everything could fall or step on her. Not only that, but as time went on she’d begun to put everything in her mouth from leaves that had fallen off the giant fern in the corner, to splotches of mud from boots, and pieces off of the rug. Alastair was always there to fish out the foreign object from her gummy mouth before she could choke. He’d give her a proper scolding and she’d respond with a toothless laugh and gurgle that made Alastair’s insides feel like mush.

Cordelia was the first word out of his mouth when he woke up from his injuries. He wasn’t certain, but he felt he’d dreamed about her. The remnants of nightmares lingered underneath his skin like he’d been submerged in ice cold water for too long and couldn’t shake the chill. When he woke up and found Cordelia being held in an induced coma while her body healed from injuries inflicted while he’d been unconscious, unable to rescue her, made it difficult for him to breathe or to think. He’d felt like that little boy again sitting beside her crib afraid that the moment he looked away, she’d stop breathing.

When she’d finally woken up, he’d felt a rush of relief. He needed a moment to compose himself in the hallway before he went through her door to find her sitting up in bed, smiling at him with her own relief. But she’d forgotten everything that happened to her since the moment they left the institute, since she broke her engagement with James after he’d properly humiliated her.

He’d meant to warn James against ever speaking to his sister again, but the boy was like a shadow. He slipped in and out of the Institute before Alastair ever had the chance. He visited Cordelia when Alastair was asleep or bathing or being interrogated. And now, she was off galavanting with him and there was nothing Alastair could do to stop it. He wasn’t about to upset his mother by demanding that Cordelia not go with James.

On his way to the library, he practiced the speech he’d give James when they returned. He may be able to worm his way into the good graces of his sister, but not Alastair. It would take a lot more than his pathetic sallow looks and natural wind blown curls to win Alastair over. After everything James has done, he didn’t deserve Cordelia and Alastair made it his mission to make sure that James knew it.

By the time he reached the library, his leg throbbed under his weight. He’d been trying to use his crutch less despite Brother Zachariah’s advice to keep off of it. The sound of his grunt echoed mockingly through the library as he pushed open the door with his shoulder and stumbled inside with a curse.

A fire burned behind the elaborate grate and already had a decent bed of coals forming underneath it as though it had been burning for some time. A stack of books sat on the coffee table that stood in-between the fireplace and the two wingback chairs.

“Christopher,” said a familiar voice. “Is that you?”

Alastair seized and turned for the door. He was nearly there when the library occupant emerged from the middle isle and stopped when Alastair came into his view.

“Oh,” said Thomas, closing the book in his hands. “It’s you. What are you doing here?”

“I thought the room was empty,” said Alastair, adjusting his weight to his good leg. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“How is your leg?” asked Thomas and tucked the book under his arm.

Alastair patted it with his hand. “It’s still there.”

“And your head?”

“Also there,” said Alastair. “The bandages itch something awful and I fear I’ll always have a slight pain in my knee when it’s about to rain, but otherwise, I am nearly mended.”

Thomas slid his hand into his trouser pocket. “Good. That’s good.”

“I never did thank you properly for coming to our aid,” said Alastair, braving a small chance at having a conversation with Thomas after not speaking with him since…well, since the night Matthew revealed Alastair’s deepest regrets. “I’m afraid of what would have happened if you had not come.”

“We did it for Cordelia,” said Thomas, without a note of sympathy in his tone.

“Right.” Alastair nodded. “Of course. Still, I offer you my thanks—“

“I don’t want your thanks,” said Thomas, turning his back to Alastair to return the book to the empty spot on the shelf. “I don’t want anything from you.”

“Thomas,” started Alastair as he braved a step closer. He felt as fragile as the thin ice that blooms on a lake at the start of winter. One wrong step and he’d break through. “I know what I’ve done to your family is unforgivable and if there is ever anything I can do to unravel the mess that I’ve created—“

“You can’t.”

“I understand but if there is—“

“My mother cried herself to sleep for months because of the lies you told,” said Thomas, calmly. “She locked herself in her bedroom and wouldn’t let my father in no matter how desperately he begged or how strongly he claimed the rumors were false. She made herself sick to the point where father left only so that she would come out of her room or let someone in to bring her food and water.” Warmth bloomed across Alastair’s face. He wanted to hang his head in shame and fall to his knees, broken or otherwise, and beg for Thomas’s forgiveness, but he did no such thing. Instead, he lifted his chin and continued to listen to the consequences of his actions. “She looked so frail when she finally emerged. Barbara was the first one she spoke to; the only one she spoke to. It took several more weeks before she’d even acknowledge my father. I think she had to convince herself that it wasn’t true before she could believe anyone else. I’m ashamed to admit that even I questioned the validity of it.”

Thomas took a deep breath, his eyes were rimmed with tears, and his mouth set in a hard line. “I just want to know why? Can you tell me at least that? Why attack me— my family?”

The truth dangled on Alastair’s tongue. The truth that would uncover every secret that Alastair buried deep inside and fought his whole life to remain unknown, to everyone, including his own beloved sister.

Because my father is a drunk.

Because I was afraid of anyone finding out the shame he’d caused my family for years.

Because the four of you: Matthew, James, Christopher, and you had something that I never had and would never have because I cannot allow people to get close enough to me in fear that they will be able to see the shame of my family; and they would see what I am. So I took the attention off of my family—off of me— and put it on yours and Matthew’s.

And I can never take it back.

“Tell me!” Alastair shuttered at the pain in Thomas’s voice. He’d never heard him shout, not once, even after Barbara died.

Maybe it was better if Thomas hated him. It meant his secrets were safe. In doing so, he’d keep Thomas from more ridicule and his family as well. Even if Thomas didn’t know it, he’d be doing him a favor. A small one that might cause more pain than redemption or forgiveness which they both seemed to be after.

So he’d let him hate him in hope that maybe one day the truth would be enough.

“I should go,” said Alastair, turning towards the door. “Cordelia should be arriving soon for supper.”

“You’re really going to walk away?” Thomas scoffed. “Are you such a coward that you can’t just tell me the truth?”

“What good would it do?” spat Alastair, the defense he’d carefully been building all of his life built up with even more strength. “You think there is some deep meaning behind my actions? Some explanation that will make me less of a monster. You were an easy target, the four of you. You were defenseless and weird and Matthew was the most irritating of you all. And I heard a rumor and I wanted to humiliate him, because I was bored, and because I could.”

Alastair’s chest ached as the tears spilled from Thomas’s eyes. He quickly wiped at them with his sleeve and when he looked at Alastair again, he recognized the hate that boiled behind his eyes. It was the same hate in his own eyes whenever he looked in a mirror.

“Get out,” whispered Thomas, his voice so low, Alastair almost didn’t hear him.

“Gladly,” said Alastair and pulled open the door. As he turned down the hall towards the staircase, he heard a loud bang hit the wall. He didn’t stop or hesitate, the tapping sound of his crutch hitting the wood flooring echoed through the hallway.

____

The door to the staff hall groaned open just as Alastair walked down the last step. Lucie Herondale, shaking the rain from her hands and muttering something to herself, looked up in surprise to find Alastair standing at the end of the staircase. Her elegant blue dress was stained black at the hem and discolored with rain. Droplets glistened on her skin as she came to a stop underneath a glowing witchlight orb hovering above her. He waited a moment for Cordelia to come in behind her, as she so often does, but when she didn’t his eyes narrowed on Lucie.

“Where is Cordelia?” he asked, subtly gone from his tone as he was far too tired to pretend any longer.

“She was just behind—“

He didn’t wait for her to finish. He had an idea that he already knew.

He moved around Lucie, still muttering her excuses, and pushed open the staff hall door. A few of the maids gossiping in the hallway quickly moved out of his way. Teeth clenched, Alastair followed the trail of rain droplets that Lucie brought in with her until they came to an end at the staff exit. Before he could stop to think for a moment, he grabbed the door handle and yanked it open.

A blind rage consumed him at the vision standing on the little porch. James Herondale with his hands around Cordelia’s waist and mouth consuming hers while her own hands were tangled in his hair.

They broke apart like two dropped links at the sudden intrusion of light.

A high pitched whistle filled his ears. With hands trembling, he reached out and grabbed Cordelia’s arm, wrenching her inside. When James attempted to pursue, he pressed the end of his crutch into his chest and pushed. “Haven’t you done enough to ruin my sister’s reputation?”

“Alastair,” said Cordelia, gripping the arm that kept her behind him.

After a few steps backward, James regained his balance, and smiled a malicious grin that was void of any kindness. “Haven’t you grown tired of causing other people pain?”

“Pain?” Alastair seized with disdain. “What do you know of it in your privileged little life? I’ve taken responsibility for what I’ve done. Have you?” He took a limp step out onto the small brick laid porch. The witchlight lantern flickered with the energy crackling between the two of them. “You may have beguiled her into forgetting what you’ve done, but I certainly have not.”

“Alastair,” cried Cordelia as a crack of thunder rumbled through the sky. He heard the pain and desperation in her voice and he ignored it.

“You’re toxic and dangerous,” continued Alastair as he stepped out into the rain, advancing toward James. “Everything you touch becomes ruin. Trouble pursues you. You use people for your own selfish gain. I may have turned a blind eye before when I knew the engagement was a farce to repair my sister’s reputation, but I will not allow my sister to come into an honest romantic entanglement with the likes of a half-demon sycophant who is only using her for his own selfish gain.”

James’s hands clenched into fists at his sides as he glared down at Alastair as though at any moment he would hit Alastair square in the jaw. Alastair wondered how much farther he’d need to push. What other buttons he’d need to press. “Walk away, Alastair.” James growled so low it was difficult to hear him.

“Or what?” Alastair met his glare. “Are you going to hit me? Go on then, do it.”

“I’m not like you,” said James as rain dripped down his face. “I won’t let you drag me down to whatever miserable level of hell you currently reside. I care about your sister and I’m trying to right my wrongs; I’ve made a lot of them I’ll admit, but I am trying. Can you say the same?”

The question shook through Alastair. The rain dripped down James’s face reminding him of the tears that spilled from Thomas’s face only moments ago because of Alastair’s words. It seemed the people he cared about were evaporating from his life, he wasn’t about to lose his sister too.

“Stay away from my sister,” said Alastair. “I won’t ask you again.”

“Alastair,” Cordelia hissed as he pushed her back into the house and closed the door before James could stop him. He clicked the lock into place as James jiggled the knob. With his crutch securely tucked under his arm, he grabbed Cordelia’s hand with the other. But before he could drag her along, she ripped free from him and pressed her back against the door.

“Don’t be stupid, Cordelia,” hissed Alastair. “You have to be smarter than this. Can’t you see what he’s doing? He’s trying to get back at me for what I did to him at the academy by hurting you!”

“I’m not stupid,” she spat back. Her hair hung in limp curls around her face. Her cheeks had more color in them than he’s seen in months. It irritated him further. “And he’s not. Unlike you he’s trying to move past all of that. You’re not children at the academy anymore, grow up! He cares about me and I care about him and neither of those things have anything to do with you.”

Alastair felt his chest explode, but only laughter burst from his lips. “He doesn’t care about you, Cordelia. He doesn’t. You don’t matter to him. You have to see that.”

“I do matter to him!”

“You don’t,” demanded Alastair. “I’ve seen the way he looks at Grace Blackthorn and it’s not the same way he looks at you. Have you forgotten what he’s done?”

“That was a misunderstanding,” said Cordelia, her eyes brimming. “He explained everything to me.”

“Did he?” asked Alastair. He pointed his finger at the door where James last stood. “How convenient that when he can’t have the girl that he’s actually in love with, he comes groveling back to the girl that gives her love so freely.” Cordelia’s cheeks bloomed red as she tore her eyes away from him. “He’s a liar and he’s trouble and you’re not to see him ever again, do you understand me?”

“You cannot forbid me to see him.”

“Yes, I can.” Alastair glared. “Because if I find out that you are seeing him, I will tell everyone that he was the one that burned down Blackthorn manor and the night we left it was he who was in Grace Blackthorn’s bedroom when you walked in.”

Cordelia looked at him as if he had struck her. “Why are you doing this? Why are you being this way?”

Alastair shook. “I am trying to stop you from making a horrible decision.”

“Stop trying to protect me!” Cordelia demanded. “I don’t criticize you for your choices on who to involve yourself with and I do not appreciate being told who I can or cannot love anymore than you do.” She smoothed the wet hair away from her face. “You promised. You promised you wouldn’t say a word of those secrets. How dare you throw them in my face to accomplish your own vindications. I will not be your pawn in this long standing war you have with him. If you say a word of those secrets to anyone, I will never speak to you again. Then you will truly be alone.”

She shouldered around Alastair, her skirts dripped water as she passed him, and this time Alastair didn’t reach out to stop her.

A/N: Good evening! I hope your October is going splendidly so far. I am experiencing some moderate to extreme anxiety due to work related issues. My job before quarantine has not asked me to return yet, so I found and started a freelance writing job, which in theory should be really exciting, but I have ZERO self-confidence in myself or my writing. So, I’m working through that. This chapter was a fun escape for me. I hope you guys enjoy it! Please hit that cute little heart, drop a lovely comment, and reblog if you feel so inclined. As always, be safe, take care of yourself, and stay healthy out there. Next update will be in two weeks, Nov 1.

#chain of gold fanfic #chain of gold #james x cordelia #james and Cordelia #james herondale #Cordelia Carstairs #alastair carstairs #the last night fanfiction #cassandra clare #the last hours #the shadowhunter chronicles #shadowhunters #lucie herondale #thomas lightwood #thomas x alastair #thomastair #thomas and alastair

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mycroftinthemindpalace · 3 years

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6, 20, or 44: choose whichever one inspires you :)

Prompt request from @daggery: I went with 20 - “D..did you just make that noise?” There’s a good chance I’ll come back to the other ones too. Thank you!

“Coming through!” Mal yelled, loudly enough that if the two students up ahead did not get out of her way and were run over, it was their own fault. Fortunately for everyone, the two kids dove in opposite directions seconds before Mal barreled down the staircase. She had spent way too long with helping Jane practice her spells, and she was definitely going to miss lunch, and if she missed lunch, there was no way she could get through an hour and a half of science that afternoon. They were doing lab, and the smell turned her stomach when it was full. On empty, she’d probably pass out, and Mal would die before she’d let that happen.

Two more floors to go before she reached the bottom, then a quick left turn out the door, a brisk run across the courtyard, and lunch was hers. She was pretty sure they were serving pasta today, and Hades help everyone if there was no pesto left by the time she got there.

“AAHHHH-EEEEEEEE!” Mal froze with half a staircase to go. Mal was used to people shrieking, but not in Auradon. If it were Jane or Melody, she’d have cared, but not stopped. If it were Audrey, she might have turned back just to laugh, but that girlish squeal had not come from very far away.

In fact, it had come from her dorm room, which meant it was Evie, which meant Mal was probably going to miss lunch because the piercing scream had not even ended before Mal was turning on her heel, darting back up the stairs (bumping into one of the two students who were not quick enough this time to avoid her), and breaking down her dorm room door.

She panted, out of breath in the doorway. Her eyes scanned the room for some signs of trouble. The window was closed, there was no blood on the ground, no shattered glass in sight.

As a matter of fact, there was no Evie in sight either.

The only thing out of place in her dorm room was the tall, brown-haired boy in a leather vest, standing on her bed, pressing himself against the wall, his eyes darting wildly around the floor.

“Jay?” She asked, closing the door behind her gently. Jay’s head shot up. Upon seeing her, his wild eyes stopped moving. Like a chameleon, his face changed rapidly from white to slightly green to dark, dark red. “D..did you just make that noise?”

“What noise?” His question would have been far more believable were it not asked two octaves above his usual pitch. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Uh, what noise?”

Mal set her backpack down. “The loud girlish squeal that just came from this room.”

Jay scowled. “I don’t recall any such noise being made.”

“Did you yell?”

“...yes. In a manly fashion.”

Mal smirked. “I’m pretty sure you shattered two downstairs windows with that note you hit.”

Jay’s shoulders relaxed as he slouched down the wall and plopped onto Mal’s bed, sitting cross-legged and cross-armed, and pouting like a three-year-old. “Did not,” he muttered.

“So what made you squeal?” Mal jumped up next to him and mimicked his posture. His lips twitched in a very obvious attempt to keep from smiling.

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

Jay hesitated, his eyes flickering back to the floor. Mal followed his gaze, then reeled backward as he jumped to his feet and adopted his previous position at the head of her bed, wide-eyed. He raised a shaky finger and pointed. Mal turned and caught the tail end of a tail, bolting across the room and beneath her dresser.

“A mouse?”

“Get it out get it out get it OUT!” Jay yelled, his voice rising once more. Mal stuck a finger in her ear.

“Chill, dude.” She hopped off the bed, grabbed Evie’s yardstick off her design table, and swept it underneath the dresser. The mouse raced out and ran directly into Mal’s backpack, perfectly positioned at the dresser’s end. Mal zipped it quickly, shot a wary glance at her friend, bouncing from foot to foot and wringing his hands in front of him. “Be right back.” And with that, she was out the door.

Jay immediately collapsed on the bed, a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead. He released a breath he had not realized he was holding in, and closed his eyes. The hellion was gone, but now he would have to deal with Mal. Mal’s mocking, Mal’s laughter, Mal’s incessant questioning as to why Jay, son of Jafar, had turned into a sniveling, trembling coward at the sight of a white rodent half the size of his hand.

He’d been nine, and Jafar had been angry. He’d brought back a lamp, thinking it might please his father and make up for the otherwise pathetic haul he’d gotten that day, but Jafar had taken the lamp as a personal insult. It was an ordinary lamp, one that might sit on a bedside table and plug into the wall if the Isle had any electricity to light it, not the kind from Jafar’s story. Of course, Jay didn’t know the difference, not then. When he’d proudly presented it to his father, Jafar had sneered. He’d called him stupid, and useless, and he’d broken the lamp over his head and kicked him out.

“Come back with something of worth or don’t come back at all,” his father had said, right before he locked the door.

Something of worth. What the hell did that even mean? To Jay, a pair of shoes that still had soles, and a sketchbook for Mal were things of worth, but to Jafar they were trash. He knew because Jafar had told him so. He’d been working for his father for four years at that point, and he still didn’t know what would earn him a place at the dinner table and what would be thrown back at him. There was no point in trying to figure it out either; what Jafar deemed worthy changed on any given day. And that day, Jay determined, nothing would please his father. Might as well find himself a dry place to sleep and try again in the morning.

There was a storm that night, and Jay was cold. The alley would be filled with goblins and rascals also looking for shelter, and Jay knew better than to sleep when they were around. The wharf was out too; he’d stolen a medallion off Harry Hook last week, and he doubted that the pirate had forgotten.

That left the woods. Jay crept through the muddy undergrowth until he found a shrub big enough for him to slip in. It wasn’t cozy, but there weren’t any thorns and the bush had kept the grass mostly dry. There was even something soft there for him to rest his head on. His head hurt from where the lamp had hit it, and it didn’t take him long to fall asleep.

He slept well, better than he usually did on the nights Jafar kicked him out. He dreamt he was in a castle, not a dark one like Mal’s, but one that was brightly lit and stocked with food he’d only seen on TV. He licked his lips, again and again.

And then woke to find that it was him who was licking his lips, but a fat, white mouse.

Jay screamed. He screamed and knocked the mouse off his face, and then flung one from his shoulder and pulled one out of his hair. He scrambled out of the bush, away from the woods, and back to Jafar’s shop. He ran in, even though his father had not yet granted him permission, and tore of his clothes as he went. Only later, when he went to retrieve them, did he find another mouse huddled in his sweatshirt pocket.

Jay shivered at the memory. He could still feel them, pulling at his hair, pawing at his clothes, licking his mouth. He ran his hands up and down his arms, trying to pull himself together before Mal returned.

She didn’t say a word when she came in, just shrugged her backpack off and pulled an apple out of her coat pocket. She held it out to him, and he accepted, taking a bite that was way too large for his mouth, but if he kept chewing, he didn’t have to talk. She’d brought one for herself as well, and pulled out her sketchbook as she ate. She balanced it on her knee, keeping it tilted at just the right angle so Jay could not see what she was drawing. Probably him, standing on her bed, screaming in terror. He internally groaned.

“Mal,” he started as soon as he’d finished the fruit. “About the mouse. It’s...”

“The spawn of the devil,” Mal said without looking up. “I would have killed it, but I figured there was, like, a 60% chance that it was related to one of Cinderella’s mice, and I never would have heard the end of it if I’d murdered Jacques second cousin or whatever.”

Jay blinked. “Yeah, I guess that’s true.”

She snapped the sketchbook closed and stuffed it back in her backpack. Hopping off the bed, she held out a hand to him. “Walk me to chemistry?”

He smiled. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”

They were halfway there when Mal asked him if he’d ever considered going out for choir, noting that, if his tourney dreams didn’t pan out, he’d make a great soprano.

#daggery #disney descendants #descendants fanfiction #prompts #jal #jay son of jafar #mal bertha

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playitaagain · 4 years

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i still love you (with all the little pieces of my heart)

Happy Mayward Week 2020!

Day 7 - October 10th: Free choice

[I literally did no research on this fic so if medical stuff is wrong I apologize. It’s fanfiction. There are mentions of blood, broken bones, scars, vomiting, and hospitals. Limited editing.

Thank you @ronnieweasley for inspiring me to write more Mama Heyward.

Thank you for all the support during Mayward Week 2020 everyone! Just giving you a heads up that this fic is over 17k. Please enjoy! Read on ao3]

“It’s funny how someone can break your heart and you can still love them with all the little pieces.”

Pope lets out a sigh as he steps onto the bus. It smells like a combination of sweat, urine, and weed and is nearly filled to the brim. The people along the isle are all leaning a little too far in and Pope has to walk sideways and hold his bag at shoulder level to get by. The only seats available are the ones by the bathroom and he scrunches his nose at the smell, plopping down in the nearest seat.

The little prayer before the ride seemed to work because no one asks him to move over and he’s able to rest his bag on the seat next to him and then rest his head on the bag, eyes tired and wishing for sleep. It doesn’t happen as the bus jolts him around, coming to such a sudden stop a few times he nearly falls onto the floor.

Needless to say, it is not going to be a pleasant day.

He’s only a few hours into the ride when his phone rings. Pope fishes in his pocket for his phone, frown tugging down his lips when he doesn’t recognize the number. It’s rare to get a call and usually the only people who call him are his parents or Kiara. He thinks about letting it go to voicemail, is sure they would leave a message if it was important, but something in his gut is telling him to answer so he swipes the phone and holds it up to his ear.

“Hello, this is Pope,” he states, voice cracking a bit awkwardly as he uses it for the first time today. The line is silent for a moment and he can hear a bit of shuffling on the line, papers moving.

“Good Morning, Mr. Heyward,” the voice says, oddly pleasant. The words have him confused as he tries to figure out who this might be, going through a list of people that would possibly call him Mr. Heyward. He can’t come up with any. “We are calling on Mr. Maybank’s behalf today.” That left Pope even more confused. Who was Mr. Maybank?

“I’m sorry, but who is this?” He asks, eyebrows furrowed as he shifts to look out the window, folding his leg under him just so he can change positions for a bit.

“Sorry, it’s The Outer Banks Hospital. It says here that you are John Maybank’s emergency contact.” Pope nearly drops the phone, shock coursing through his system as he tries to process her words. He’s barely heard from JJ for the last year and a half, the most has been second hand information from Kiara, and now she’s telling Pope that he is JJ’s emergency contact. Not to mention the fact that the hospital was calling him.

“What happened to him?” Pope finally says, because the shock shouldn’t be with emergency contact, but with the fact that JJ was in the hospital, clearly injured enough that the hospital had to call on his behalf. JJ couldn’t call himself. “Is he okay?”

“John is currently in surgery. He has a broken leg, arm and a few broken ribs. There were indications of a concussion when he was awake, as well as some bleeding. The doctor is doing everything he can to help Mr. Maybank.”

Pope’s heart stops at the words, breath caught in his throat. JJ was in the hospital. JJ was in surgery right now. What the hell had happened? “What happened to him?” He asks, voice soft and shaking. He goes to reach for his bag and notices his hand shaking, knuckles turning white as he wraps his fingers around the handle to help ground himself. “Is he going to be okay?”

“He was in an accident. We are doing everything we can.” The words hurt, cause an ache in his chest as he listens to this person. They can’t say if JJ will be okay because they genuinely don’t know if he will be. The accident was so serious that he could die. He could die and Pope hasn’t even talked to him in months.

Pope can’t help it when a tear slips down his cheek dropping from his chin and forming a perfect wet circle on his jeans. JJ was hurt. JJ didn’t have anyone to take care of him. He was completely alone right now. “I’m on my way home. I’ll be there tonight.”

The nurse hums on the other line, indicating that she’s heard him. “I’ll give you a call when he is out of surgery but feel free to call at any time for updates.”

“Yeah, thanks. I will,” he answers and the nurse says goodbye before hanging up on him, probably busy with other patients.

Pope holds the phone to his ear for a moment longer, heart pounding and fingers shaking as he processes this new information. JJ was in the hospital. He was in surgery and they didn’t know if he was going to make it. Pope was on his way home - which is so unusually lucky for the pogues - only to see his best friend lying in a hospital bed. Can he even call JJ his best friend if they hadn’t talked in months? If the last time he saw JJ in person, JJ had broken his heart?

Pope doesn’t get any sleep during the bus ride, fingers wrapped around his phone as he waits and waits and waits for it to ring with any news. He calls a few times for an update, desperate to know more. He hears the tears in his voice at each call, all ending the same. He’s still in surgery. They’ve had a few complications but he seems to be doing well. He gets weird looks as his fingers shake and his leg doesn’t settle, anxiety coming out in his rigid movements. He knows that people are staring at him. He even has another passenger come up and ask him what’s wrong. He can’t even answer. He simply shakes his head before he lets his head fall into his hands, shoulders shaking as he lets himself tear up at the prospect of JJ in the hospital, alone.

———————————

Pope almost walks out the door.

It’s hard enough seeing the boy who broke his heart again. It’s even harder to see the boy he still loves lying in bed, scattered in cuts and bruises, casts keeping his limbs steady, chest rising and falling with each stuttered breath, clearly painful.

Pope feels bile rise in his throat, pushes down the urge to throw up as he takes that one final step into the room.

It feels like his heart is shattering into a million pieces all over again.

JJ looks even worse than Pope imagined he would. The phone calls hadn’t mentioned the scattered cuts and bruises on his face, trailing like shooting stars up his arm and across his pale throat. The bandage on his arm covers what he assumes is more cuts as well as the cut they had to make for surgery, screws now holding his bones together. The cast on his leg leaves it immobile, not even a bend at the knee for what Pope assumes will be weeks. The other leg simply has a bandage around the ankle, twisting up his calf and already seeping with blood.

The hair across his head is lifeless, oily and flat against his forehead and Pope’s hand shakes as he moves to brush the strands from his forehead, heart pounding in his chest as he watches JJ take a breath, a groan leaving his lips as he tries to shift. He can’t though, can’t get his leg to move, can’t pick his arm up to lie it across his stomach like Pope knows he likes to do.

“Fuck, JJ,” Pope mumbles, lets his fingers slip down his cheek. JJ flinches in his sleep and Pope instantly pulls his fingers away, watches the frown that pulls down JJ’s lips, nose scrunching. He doesn’t look peaceful as his forehead wrinkles and Pope wonders if he’s having a nightmare. He used to have nightmares when they were together. Pope remembers the nights he used to have to wake JJ, hold him close with words of reassurance, fingers curled into blond hair. He hopes the drugs are strong enough to fade the nightmares though that would mean the pain is what is causing his obvious discomfort.

Pope lets out a breath when JJ’s forehead relaxes, taking the seat next to the bed as he watches the rise and fall of JJ’s chest, reminding himself that JJ was still alive. JJ wasn’t going to let this get him down. JJ had always been a fighter and Pope knows he’ll be able to get through this. Pope just doesn’t know who is going to help him. It wasn’t like he could go back to his dad’s. Kiara was off wandering around Europe while John B and Sarah were off doing their own thing, with little communication.

The groan catches his attention and Pope reaches out, gentle as he places his hand on JJ’s. It’s like JJ knows it’s him, like their hands are made for each other as his fingers twitch and Pope tightens his hold on his hand, watches the sigh that leaves JJ’s lips as he seems to settle into the pillow.

Pope remembers the last time he held this hand. He remembers his fingers threaded with JJ’s, warm and sweaty as they took the boat out. JJ had been so happy, all warm smiles and bright eyes. He had spent most of the ride with his chin on Pope’s shoulder, lips occasionally brushing again Pope's sensitive skin.

It’s in that moment that Pope realizes that he was going to be the one taking care of JJ through this. He was going to be the one by his side, holding him up, helping him get better. This was going to fall on him, yet Pope didn’t really mind, which was the problem. He didn’t mind that he was going to be the one helping JJ through this. The same JJ that broke his heart. The same JJ that was his best friend for so long. The same JJ that he missed more than anything.

Pope is just trying to figure out how he could still want someone who broke his heart into a million little pieces.

———————————

It hurts. JJ can’t even pinpoint what hurts more. He can feel his leg throbbing, the way his ribs ache with each breath he takes, the tingle in his wrist, the hand in his. The last thought has JJ pausing for a moment because that didn’t seem right. That didn’t hurt. That just felt warm, welcoming but he doesn’t know who would be holding his hand. He didn’t have anyone.

The only person who has ever held his hand so gently he chased away over a year ago, told him to live his life and forget him. JJ didn’t deserve to get off this island. He didn’t deserve Pope. He was too good, too pure for this world, for someone like JJ.

Pope is JJ’s one regret in life. He still hasn’t decided if that regret is because he started the relationship with Pope or he ended his relationship with Pope. It would have been safer if they had just stayed friends, never crossed that line. It wouldn’t have broken both of their hearts and JJ could have easily phased out of his life if he went off to college. It was hard to phase out of someone’s life when you had tasted their lips, heard the words that you longed to hear your whole life.

That year with Pope had been special though. It keeps JJ going. It gave him hope that there was something better in this world. It gave him hope that he could be something better, even without the aid of the boy he loved so much.

With that thought, that one ounce of hope he opens his eyes, a groan leaving his lips when the bright light is too much. He shifts, an attempt to cover his eyes, but there is a hand in one of his and the other hurts too much to move, throbs with his feeble attempt to pick it up off the bed.

He can feel the hand start to pull away then, memories of Pope’s hand falling out of his over a year ago, and he holds on tighter, doesn’t let go. He can’t lose that comfort even if he doesn’t know who is providing it. He needs that comfort as he tries to open his eyes again, threatened with too bright fluorescent lights and a white, lifeless ceiling.

He’s pretty sure he’s dreaming when his head tips to the side, eyes barely open as he finds a pair of dark brown staring back at him. It’s the same ones he watched tear up when he broke Pope’s heart, the same ones that used to be so full of love and warmth. They’re full of worry now, JJ can barely make it out in his hazy vision, but he knows it’s there, curses himself for putting that worry there. He was always causing problems.

“Pope,” he manages, mouth dry. He swallows, throat aching at the action and suddenly feels like he is going to throw up. The churning in his stomach has him shifting, vomit leaving his lips and falling to the floor. The hand moves to run over his back, water placed at his lips when the nonexistent food in his stomach is gone, replaced by burning acid as he sits back and swallows down a full cup of water.

He is tired though, everything taken out of him as he sits back, the pain in his chest suddenly taking front and center now that he isn’t throwing up. The simple act of pulling in air hurts more than anything he could remember. It has him closing his eyes, one last glance at that worried face he loves so much.

“I’m sorry, angel,” JJ mutters as sleep pulls him under again, Pope’s smile the last thing he sees as he falls into unconsciousness.

———————————

Pope watches those blue eyes flutter open. He watches as JJ’s breath picks up, as he takes in his surroundings, trying to process where he may be. It isn’t the first time he’s woken up, but JJ had been pretty disoriented the last time he opened his eyes, anesthesia still settled in his system. There was already a clearness to his eyes that told Pope he would be lucid this time, would be able to realize Pope wasn’t an angel.

Pope suddenly has the desire to run, to pull his hand away from JJ before he can notice Pope sitting next to him, register the fact Pope is actually here. If he left now, JJ would think it was just a dream. He could just go back to his parents’ house and pretend this never happened.

He suddenly doesn’t know why he’s here, panic settling into his system. Would JJ even want him here? Would JJ rather wake up alone than have Pope by his side? He hasn’t even seen JJ since they broke up. This whole thing was stupid.

He makes the rash decision to leave as those blue eyes come into focus, chair knocking a bit as he pushes out, makes a run for the door in his panic.

JJ catches his hand before he can even pass the chair, fingers gentle as they wrap around his wrist. Pope’s breath catches, memories flashing before him of gentle hands running over his skin, lips brushing against his, whispered words pressed into warm skin. “I missed you,” JJ breathes, words barely there for Pope to hear.

Pope sighs, gaze shifting over his shoulder so he can meet JJ’s blue, blue eyes. “You told me to leave, JJ,” he starts, words tumbling from his lips before he can stop them, “You told me to go live my life, not to look back. You let me go.” Pope should have fought harder but JJ is stubborn and it’s hard to get someone to answer the phone when you’re living hours away from them. “You made it pretty clear you didn’t even want me to try.”

There is a pause. Pope can tell JJ is thinking, trying to come up with something to say but Pope isn’t sure there is anything he could say. JJ broke his heart all those years ago. He let Pope go when Pope only wanted him, wanted a future with him. They had plans that he just brushed under the rug when it got too hard.

“I know I screwed up,” JJ finally settles on. Pope can see the emotions swirling in those blue eyes, watching as JJ contemplates his next words. “It was stupid and I’m sorry.” Pope has to admit those words are the ones he’s been waiting to hear for over a year now, waiting and waiting for JJ to realize he made a mistake letting him go. “I just want my friend back.”

Pope has never wanted anything more. When JJ broke up with him, he had lost his best friend. He had lost years of friendship and support that he built for himself. He had to start all over in school, lean on Kiara when he couldn’t find what he wanted out in college because what he wanted was the blond sitting in the bed, bruised and battered.

“That’s what I want too,” Pope says, meeting JJ’s gaze. He’s honestly a bit surprised by his words, but he can forgive JJ enough to be his friend. He can move past this, has had over a year to process. He wants his friend back.

(He wants a relationship too. He wants to hold JJ, kiss him. He wants to run his fingers through that blond hair and whisper words of encouragement. He hates himself a little bit for that. He hates that he could want that after JJ broke his heart, after over a year apart with little communication.)

JJ lets out a sigh at his words, fingers falling from Pope’s wrist. The skin is suddenly cold, goosebumps rising over his skin. Pope catches himself when a smile threatens to pull up his own lips, won’t give JJ that satisfaction yet. This is still the same boy who broke his heart, now a man in pieces lying in a hospital bed. He has no one though and Pope isn’t about to abandon him like this.

“Does that mean you’ll hang around?” JJ asks, hopeful. Pope remembers when JJ was full of hope, when they used to talk about getting off the island together, about living a life together. It hurts to think about the life they could have had.

Pope snorts, rolling his eyes as he finally turns back around completely, the chair scraping over the floor as he tugs it a bit further away from the bed, trying to ignore the temptation to clasp that hand again. “I don’t know who else will keep you out of trouble,” Pope teases and JJ’s smile lights up the whole damn room. Pope’s heart skips a beat at that beautiful face.

Pope has never been able to say no to JJ. Why would he start now?

———————————

Pope probably should have gotten his parents permission before he promised JJ he could stay with them, before he assured JJ it would definitely not be a problem. Pope is pretty sure it will be as he stares at his front door, shifting his weight as he tries to figure out how to ask his parents if his ex boyfriend, who broke his heart into pieces, can stay for a while. They knew how much JJ hurt him. They had listened to him cry for the boy sitting in the hospital. Pope wasn’t so sure they’d be as willing to forgive as Pope had.

(Pope isn’t forgetting though. He feels like he is at a place where he can forgive. He wants his friend back. He wants JJ in his life. He isn’t forgetting though. He isn’t forgetting the heartbreak. He isn’t forgetting the pain. He isn’t forgetting his hopes and dreams shattering like glass in front of his eyes as he watched JJ walk away from him. Pope was willing to give this friendship a try but it was tentative on his end. He had to protect his heart this time around.)

He shuffles a bit nervously, whipping his sweaty hands on the front of his jeans before he finally digs the keys from his pocket. He’s biting his bottom lip as he pushes the door open, greeted by the smell of dinner and Mama Heyward’s smiling face. “Oh, Pope, honey, you’re home,” she greets warmly and Pope instantly finds himself in Mama Heyward’s arms.

It’s been a long few days and he finds he instantly sinks into her touch. The last few weeks had been long preparing for finals and then the call about JJ had just been the last straw. He finds he could sink into Mama Heyward’s hug forever at this very moment, instantly curling his arms around her back and pressing his face into her shoulder.

She seems to understand that he needs comfort right now and pulls in closer, lets her hand rub up and down his back soothingly. He sinks into her touch, letting the tears finally leak from his eyes as he holds onto her for dear life.

It’s then he feels another hand on his back, not having noticed Heyward was home when he walked in the front door. He lifts his head just enough to catch Heyward’s worried gaze before he presses his face into Mama Heyward’s shoulder again, letting his parents comfort him as he cries.

He doesn’t know how long they stay like that. He doesn’t know how long he stays wrapped up in Mama Heyward’s arms with Heyward’s comforting hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t really care though, not when he starts to settle down and he feels like he can finally breathe for the first time in weeks.

He lets Mama Heyward lead them to the couch as he starts to calm down, sandwiched between his parents. The tears have slowed to a steady trickle as he pulls away to whip them with his sleeve, sniffling as he catches Mama Heyward’s worried gaze. She reacts forward to brush a tear from his cheek, Heyward handing him a tissue from the box next to the couch.

“Honey, are you okay?” The softness in Mama Heyward’s voice has Pope sinking into her side. He wants to cry again as he thinks about JJ, alone in the hospital. He doesn’t have anyone else. There is no one to visit him. There is no one to take care of him. Pope is it and it hurts to think about the fact JJ had spent the last year and a half basically alone.

(He doesn’t pretend to understand why JJ broke up with him, because he doesn’t understand. They had their whole future planned out. They had the next four years planned out. JJ was going to stay in the Outer Banks. He was going to save up money, live in Pope’s old room. He was going to move out with Pope sophomore year where they would live together as Pope went to school. JJ wasn’t supposed to be alone. He was supposed to be with Pope. He was supposed to be safe.)

“No,” Pope sighs, focusing on the hand on his shoulder. He knows he’s supposed to be strong. He’s an adult now, but he can’t help but seek comfort in his parents. “I’m not.”

He doesn’t miss the look his parents exchange and the way his mother’s arm tightens around his shoulders. “Sweetie, what’s wrong?” He missed his mom. He missed her cooking. He missed her love. He missed this house. He missed the comfort that his parents brought.

“It’s JJ,” Pope sighs. He can feel Mama Heyward freeze, knows her eyes are probably wide with shock as she looks at Heyward. He can feel Heyward’s hand squeeze on his shoulder. He knows he needs to explain further. His parents think he just got back from school, claiming his bus broke down and delayed his trip, not that he’s been at the hospital for nearly two days.

He continues to explain before his parents can start asking questions. “JJ’s in the hospital. I got the call yesterday on my way home. I wasn’t sure how to tell you so I lied and said the bus broke down,” he pauses as he thinks about JJ in the hospital, frown pulling down his lips as he goes to wipe at his eyes again. “I’m apparently his emergency contact. He’s in really bad shape.”

“Oh, honey.” He presses his face into Mama Heyward’s shoulder as he feels the tears threatening again. “I’m sure he’s going to be okay.” The reassurance doesn’t really work to ease his nerves. She hasn’t seen him yet. She doesn’t know what shape JJ is in. He can barely move at this point and that was with the addition of morphine, which he’s refused moving forward.

“He’s in really bad shape. I’m the only person he has to help him through this,” Pope cries, lets his parents hold him a bit longer as he tries to calm himself down.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” he can hear Mama Heyward repeating over and over as she rubs his back, Heyward’s hand still on his shoulder. He’s able to pull himself together faster this time, rubbing at his eyes again as he looks back and forth between his parents. “What do you need?”

“I know this is a lot to ask, but he doesn’t have anyone. I’m the only person and he can’t take care of himself. Would he be able to stay with us? Just until he can get on his feet again,” Pope asks. He knows it will be difficult. He still wasn’t over JJ. He still wanted him, but he can’t abandon him because he still loved him. He would do anything for JJ because he loved him, even if his heart was still trying to mend itself from last time.

“What about school?” It’s the first time Heyward has spoken since he walked in the door and he turns his attention to the other. He knows Heyward won’t like the answer.

“I’m on medical leave for the semester. Well, I’m almost on medical leave. My adviser said I should be good to go, but she’ll just need to get a few more signatures,” Pope explains. He watches the disappointment flicker on Heyward’s face. He watches the anger replace that soon after. The pride is unexpected though. There is a shine to his eyes Pope has only seen a few times. The last had been at his graduation when he graduated valedictorian of his class.

“You’re a good man, son,” he says, leans forward to wrap his arms around Pope. Pope returns the hug, relishing in Heyward’s arms, seeking comfort and reassurance that his father wasn’t mad.

“Honey, JJ can stay with us, but please be careful with your heart,” Mama Heyward adds, fingers brushing over his cheek. Pope knows they must be tear stained and blotchy. He probably looks like a mess. He doesn’t care though as he sinks into the couch, takes comfort in his own home.

“Thank you,” he says, glancing back and forth between his parents. “Will you come back with me to the hospital? I want to make sure I have all the information I need.”

“Of course, sweetie,” Mama Heyward says. She joins him as she sinks into the couch. The three of them sitting in silence as they process this new information. He knows his parents are probably worried about him. They know how much it hurt when JJ broke it off. Pope knows it hurts them too. The pair had treated JJ like a son for the year and a half they were together. It wasn’t just about Pope losing his first love, but them losing a son as well. This would be an adjustment for all of them.

“When do you want to go back?” Mama Heyward breaks the silence. Pope thinks for a moment.

“I just need to shower and then we can head back. He doesn’t have anyone. I don’t want to leave him alone for long,” Pope answers, finally pushing himself off the couch. He leans forward to give both of his parents another hug in thanks before he heads toward the stairs.

The last thing he hears before he goes to shower is Mama Heyward’s voice drifting up the steps, “It’s so hard to stop loving someone.”

Pope agrees.

———————————

Pope is thankful for his parents. It’s awkward at first. JJ doesn’t know how to act around them and ends up just stumbling over words and mumbling answers as he tries to avoid eye contact. Heyward puts him in his place though. He gets sick of the act and tells JJ to man up and talk to them properly. They were willing to move past their history if he was. It had only taken a moment for JJ to finally meet his parents eyes as they started to talk about the plans for the foreseeable future.

Pope could tell JJ was thankful. It was obvious in the way the tension seemed to ease in his shoulders. It was evident in the lack of frown lines on his forehead, now smooth from the reassurance from Pope’s parents. The anxiety JJ had clearly been feeling had eased, leaving the room lighter as Pope sat by his side, telling JJ about the last year and a half at school in a desperate attempt to entertain the other and keep his mind off the pain.

And the pain was bad.

JJ had refused painkillers. Pope didn’t understand why and JJ had kept his mouth firmly shut. He would refuse to tell Pope any time the other brought up the subject, any time Pope noticed how much pain JJ was in. JJ had always been good at hiding his pain (practice from years of abuse) but Pope could always tell. He could always tell when JJ needed that little bit of extra comfort and this was no difference. It was like they hadn’t spent the last year and a half apart.

(Pope is honestly a little scared how easy it was to fall back into things with JJ. It was always easy with the other. JJ could always ease his worries, quell his anxiety. They could read each other like the back of their hands. It was like they never separated.)

It was late when JJ finally let it slip.

Pope had tried everything to distract JJ. The pain was particularly bad today. The tears shining in JJ’s eyes had Pope’s heart twisting and aching as he watched the other. The only thing he could do was hold JJ’s hand, reassure him that it would get better, but he wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince himself or JJ. Pope hated seeing the other like this and he finds himself asking again, “Do you want me to call the nurse? I’m sure he would give you pain medication.”

“I’m not taking it, Pope. It’s bad enough they gave me morphine,” JJ groans, eyes squeezed shut. He’s curled in on himself and Pope thinks it looks more painful, but he doesn’t comment. “I’m sober. I can’t take pain medication.”

Pope’s eyes widen in shock as he watches JJ, waiting for any hint that JJ might be lying to him. He never imagined JJ getting sober. He feels like that would have been something Kiara would have mentioned on one of their many phone calls. He has to shake the thoughts from his head when the silence sits too long, reaching forward to brush sweaty blond hair from JJ’s forehead.

“I’m so proud of you,” he says, watching as blue eyes blink open. They’re not as dull as they had been the first few days. They’re starting to look like those same ocean blue eyes Pope used to want to stare in for hours, could probably still stare into for hours.

“Not a big deal,” JJ mutters, eyes sliding closed again. He squeezes Pope’s hand though and Pope knows he appreciates the comment. Pope wants to know more about the story, about why JJ was sober, but the other is panting, and Pope decides to just continue the story he had been telling JJ before, fingers moving to run through JJ’s hair again.

Pope doesn’t push it after that. He can’t, but it’s hard when he watches JJ shift in bed, pain etching his features permanently now. It only gets worse when the physical therapist comes in for the first official visit. She’s been in a few times before to assess his range of movement, but this time JJ was actually going to get exercises to start doing so he could start to gain his strength back.

“Hey, JJ!” She’s a little too excited, but Pope can’t imagine how taxing this job is on someone. It must be difficult to work with patients in the hospital, ones that oftentimes have lost hope. Pope can only hope that JJ hasn’t lost his hope. Pope was going to make sure they got through this. He was going to take care of JJ no matter how many pieces this boy broke his heart into.

“Just peachy,” JJ smiles, but it’s forced as he shifts to lie on his back, wincing when she places a hand on his ankle. The cut under the bandages had been healing nicely, but Pope could tell the other was still in pain when he moved it. He figures that it’s a good sign he can move it though because he can’t move his other leg, still snug in it’s cast.

“Well I’m happy to hear that,” she smiles, even though it’s obvious that JJ’s tone is dripping with sarcasm. She doesn’t let it phase her thought as she moves her hand to rest under JJ’s leg. “I’m going to go through a few exercises for your legs and your arms. We’re going to stay in bed for now, but I want to make sure you’re moving and keeping your strength up so you’re ready to get out of here as soon as possible.”

JJ simply nods, teeth grinding together as she helps him lift his leg. She explains each exercise as she does them, going over what muscles they use and how many seconds to hold each as well as how many sets. Pope ends up taking notes on his phone the whole time, watching JJ closely.

The other doesn’t seem interested in what she’s saying, but he lets her move his limbs around, nods when he needs to, but Pope can see some hesitation in his eyes. He frowns as he narrows his own, trying to figure out what that might mean as the physical therapist moves to his arms.

“Great! It looks like you’re getting the hang of it,” she smiles, hands on her hips. She looks happy, but Pope can’t really pinpoint why. JJ looks miserable. He was clearly in pain and Pope knew he was just saying things to appease her at this point. She doesn’t seem to notice though as she bids them goodbye and says she’ll see him next week to assess his progress, reminding him that the sooner he gains his strength back, the sooner he’ll be able to go home.

Pope watches JJ as she heads out the door, noting that the little bit of light that had come back to his eyes has dulled again.

———————————

JJ doesn’t do his exercises and Pope doesn’t know how to bring it up. He spends most of his time at the hospital and he has not once seen JJ do the exercises that he is supposed to be doing three times a day. It isn’t like he could do them in the time Pope ran to the bathroom or went to grab them shitting food at the hospital cafeteria. JJ could barely move so there was no way he could finish in less than five minute.

It’s Christmas eve when Pope finally snaps.

He’s spent every single day with JJ. He’s spent every single day with the boy who broke his heart into a million little pieces. He’s spent every day still loving JJ through all of this heartbreak, supporting him after everything. He can’t sit around and watch JJ just dwindle away. He couldn't watch JJ give up on his life.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Pope snaps, watching as JJ fiddles with a loose string on his sheets. He knows JJ wants his rings back, likes to play with them, but his fingers are still swollen and they won’t fit. The fact they had been able to save them to begin with is a miracle in itself.

The words shock JJ, dull blue eyes wide as he snaps his gaze to Pope. The fingers are frozen, strings nearly cutting off circulation as they wind around JJ’s fingers. “What-” He watches as JJ swallows, “What do you mean?”

“JJ, the physical therapist came days ago and I haven’t seen you do the exercises once. Don’t you want to get out of here?” Pope asks, trying to keep his voice even. He knows JJ is going through a lot right now and it wasn’t really fair to snap at him like that. It had come out of nowhere, simply filling the silence that had settled between them.

JJ doesn’t seem to know what to say for a moment, shifts his gaze toward the white wall in front of his bed. He lets out a sigh after a moment, shoulders sagging as he raises a hand to rub at his broken ribs. “I just-I don’t want to burden you,” JJ admits and it’s weirdly reminiscent of their break up a year and a half ago.

He hates that JJ thinks that he is simply a burden.

“That’s not what this is,” Pope reassures him, reaching forward to place his hand over JJ’s. It takes a lot of effort, but JJ pulls it away, rests his wrapped arm across his lap awkwardly.

“They wouldn't have even called you if I hadn't made you my emergency contact years ago. I didn’t want them to call you.” Pope’s heart breaks as he watches the other. It’s like the little pieces had finally started to put themselves back together only for JJ to crack them back to the original little pieces as the words leave his lips. That isn’t the only reason his heart breaks though. JJ has never thought he was good enough for Pope. He’s always seen himself as a burden and the fact he wanted to do this on his own rather than call Pope broke Pope’s heart.

“But I’m here and I’m not leaving, not this time,” Pope promises, reaches forward so he can place his hand on JJ’s thigh. The one closest to him has a cast up to his hip and it ruins the moment just a bit when Pope can’t brush his thumb over warm skin reassuringly, but JJ notices the action, letting his eyes flicker down to that hand.

“But what about school?” JJ finally looks up to meet his eyes again and Pope can see the anguish in his eyes. The other looks completely lost, guilt shining in his eyes.

“I’ve been on official medical leave for a few days now.” JJ’s eyes widen at the words and he moves too quickly, a cry leaving his lips as he falls back onto the bed. Pope isn’t really sure what JJ was trying to do, but he doesn’t think twice as he stands, helping JJ settle back into the pillows with a pained expression on his face.

Pope is still standing over him when JJ finally opens his eyes, taking in a deep breath before he finally speaks. “How could you do that? I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t have to ask,” Pope says, like it was obvious. He doesn’t understand why JJ thinks he has to ask people to do nice things for him. Even then, it wasn’t like he would actually ask. Pope can’t help but blame his father from the years of physical and verbal abuse. Pope only wishes he had known sooner, had been able to get him out sooner.

“Pope…”

“No, JJ,” Pope doesn’t let him finish. “I’m not leaving you like this. I don’t care what happened between us before. I don’t care that you fucking broke my heart and left me. I just care about the fact my best friend is lying in a hospital bed with no one to take care of him. I’m not leaving and I don’t care what you say. You’re going to start fucking doing your exercises and then you’re going to move in with me temporarily and when you’re strong enough to live on your own again, we’ll move you back to the chateau and I’ll go back to school. We can either go back to pretending the other doesn’t exists again when that happens or we can realize that we both need each other, we need this friendship and I’ll go back to school and you’ll fucking text me and keep me updated so you aren’t alone.”

The words seem to startle JJ as he stares at Pope with wide eyes, obviously trying to process what Pope just told him. It only takes him a moment though, before he finally seems to be able to form the words. “Okay,” JJ sighs, defeated.

“Okay?” Pope asks, wants reassurance that JJ won’t just run away this time when it gets hard. He won’t break Pope’s heart again, won’t push him away during this process.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll do them now. I know you took notes, Dr. Spock. Help me out.” It’s the first genuine, warm smile since Pope arrived that pulls up JJ’s lips as he looks at Pope. It’s the same way he used to look at him when they were young and in love. It takes Pope’s breath away.

He has to shove those feelings down, pretend they aren’t there. This was just a friendship now. He had to get over this whole being in love with JJ thing. It’s been a year and a half and JJ broke his heart. He shouldn’t love him as much as he does. He can’t seem to help it though. He can’t help the smile that pulls up his lips. He can’t help but pull out his phone and tease the other as he starts his exercises.

It really does feel like old times now. Pope isn’t so sure if that’s a good thing anymore, not when his heart flutters in his chest.

———————————

Christmas comes and goes and Pope finds it easy to lose himself in his days with JJ. He doesn’t understand how the two could spend so much time together and still have stuff to talk about. JJ’s mood has lightened and he is telling Pope stories from the missed year and a half. He insists Pope keep telling him stories about college, even going as far as to ask Pope about what he’s learning in his classes. JJ always listens intently and asks probing questions that shock Pope. The other is even more interested in Pope’s schooling than he had been when they were in high school.

Before Pope knows it, it’s New Years eve and JJ has gotten permission to leave the hospital. It’s made very clear that there will be strict rules, but after close to a month and the majority of his cuts and bruises healing, it’s simply some broken bones that they can take care of at home.

The doctor is very clear about JJ going home with Pope and he cannot walk on his leg. He can’t use crutches either and Pope is trying to figure out how well a wheelchair will work around the cut so he can at least help get JJ out. He hasn’t left the hospital bed in nearly a month, the four white walls are all that he has to look at other than the nurses and Pope’s face. They may have to wait a bit longer before they can explore, but at least he’ll be able to help JJ around the house so he can sit in the living room during the day.

Pope has never really appreciated the sun so much in his life. The second they walk out, JJ’s eyes close and he sucks in a breath of fresh air, letting it out slowly before he sucks another one back in. The castless hand outstretched, palm up, like he wants to catch a raindrop and Pope can’t help but smile fondly at the other. JJ has always been the type of person to be out and about. He’d live out on the beach if he could. He can’t imagine what it has been like to sit in a white room, with terrible lighting for days on end.

“My parents are expecting us for dinner,” Pope explains once he’s let JJ sit in the sun for a good ten minutes. It’s New Years eve and they had a whole night planned for JJ. It was JJ’s first night out and Mama Heyward made all of his favorite meals, including his favorite snacks for them to watch movies until the ball dropped at midnight.

“Can we drive by the beach?” JJ asks as Pope stops him next to the car. He locks the chair as he walks around the front, smile on his lips. JJ’s eyes look bright again, like the sun has put all of the shine back into those blue eyes, vivid and sparkling in the sunlight.

“I already planned to stop at the beach.” Pope knew it would be the one place JJ wanted to go the second he got out. Pope just wished they could actually get out of the car and sit in the sand for a bit. There was no way they could though. The wheelchair couldn’t work on the sand and with the casts, Pope was too nervous to carry him down to the sand. He also didn’t want to jar JJ’s still healing ribs too much. The other had claimed they didn’t hurt anymore, but Pope still worried. He notices the look of pain on JJ’s face if he moves just right.

The smile he gets from JJ has his breath catching, brown eyes meeting bright blue. He has to stop himself from leaning forward to kiss those waiting lips, cut long healed but scarring across the pink, forming a light contrast against his bottom lip. Pope wants to see if it makes JJ’s lips more sensitive. He can’t though. He has to shove those feelings down. Remind himself that JJ broke his heart and this friendship was still tentative.

(It isn’t tentative though. They’ve fallen back into their old easy ways. Pope had always found it easy to be around JJ. The other put him at ease, could calm his nerves with one simple word or a smile directed at him. Their friendship had been so strong before they got together that Pope isn’t surprised they fall back into it so easily, like they hadn’t spent the last year and a half separated.)

Pope shakes the thoughts away and helps JJ into the car. It’s difficult because he can’t bend his leg and they end up just lying him across the back seat even though Pope doesn’t like that JJ won’t be able to wear a seatbelt. He doesn’t push it though because JJ is so happy, excited to finally be out and about. Pope simply turns the music up at JJ’s request and drives to the beach.

Pope finds a spot along the edge, making sure that JJ can see out the window, but when he looks back, he finds JJ struggling to sit up. The cast on his arm doesn’t allow him to place weight on that arm and the other arm is still sore from the large gash that Pope could have sworn bleed for days, probably because JJ kept opening the stiches.

It’s a snap decision as Pope steps out of the car, hurrying around to open the door behind JJ’s back. The other shoots him a confused look and Pope just returns a nervous smile. “Scoot up a bit,” Pope instructs and JJ doesn’t argue as he pulls himself up with Pope’s aid. Pope allows himself one last breath before he ducks into the car, closing the door behind him so he can lean against the door and gingerly helping JJ lean back until he’s pressed to Pope’s chest, propped up enough to look at the ocean in front of them.

He can hear JJ’s breath hitch as they make contact and Pope flails a bit awkwardly when he realizes there is literally nowhere to put his arms except around JJ’s waist. It’s awkward as he finally decides to let his arms wrap around JJ, hands resting on his stomach as he leans over to catch sight of the view.

“It’s beautiful today,” Pope comments. The breeze is chilly, but the sun streaming into the window warms the pair as they both look out over the ocean.

“I really miss it,” JJ comments and Pope can hear the sadness in his voice.

“The second you can walk, we’ll be down there. I promise.” JJ nods, hair brushing against Pope’s cheek as he does so.

The silence sits for a moment as Pope watches JJ, can see that the other is trying to find the words. He seems to settle on something as resolve flashes across his face, turning to look at Pope. JJ apparently hadn’t realized they were so close because his eyes widen in shock, head shifting just enough that he hits it against the headrest.

“Um-” JJ wets his lips as he meets Pope’s dark eyes. “I just wanted to say thanks. I know this is a pretty shitty situation. The whole helping your ex-boyfriend recover after an accident, but I really appreciate it. I don’t think I could have done this alone.”

JJ had opened up a lot in their relationship with each other, but the other still hadn’t been great with words by the time they broke up. He wasn’t the best at articulating his thoughts. He was always an action type of person. Pope remembers the emotions JJ could pour into a kiss, but they don’t have that option now. The only thing they can do is use words, but JJ has clearly worked on articulating his feelings the last year and a half.

“It’s not a problem,” Pope answers, not able to rip his gaze away from JJ. The other is smiling softly at him and Pope could swear the other was leaning in to kiss him. He lets himself get lost for a moment, but then realizes that JJ is actually leaning forward and has to pull away. He couldn’t fall into this trap. He has to protect his heart.

He doesn’t miss the flicker of disappointment, but JJ doesn’t let it last long. He turns his attention back to the ocean for only a moment more before tapping the back of Pope’s hand. “I think I’m ready to go. I feel like this is just a tease.”

Pope nods, careful as he extracts himself from JJ, settling him back again and closing the door as he hurries around to the driver's side. The ride back to the house is quiet after that, music soft in the background as he finally pulls up to the door.

He can see his parents waiting outside the door when he pulls up. He doesn’t miss the grimace on JJ’s face, knows the other probably doesn’t want all the attention or help, but his parents are hurrying over to the car to greet him just as Pope pulls the door open. “I don’t need a welcome parade,” JJ mutters, so only Pope can hear. Pope can’t help the soft laugh that leaves his lips as he starts to pull JJ out of the back, thankful when Heyward grabs the wheelchair and opens it next to him.

“Oh honey, it is so good to see you out of the hospital,” Mama Heyward greets, placing a blanket over JJ’s lap as Pope tries to get him situated. It seems silly since the door is only a few feet away, but JJ doesn’t seem to complain as he wraps his fist into the soft fabric, letting Pope push him to the door. “We have everything set up in Pope’s room. I know the stairs will be a challenge, but the bathroom is on the second floor anyway so we thought Pope’s room would be better fit for you.”

“What about Pope?” JJ asks, flinching when Pope goes to move his leg in order to help him up the few front steps. He’s thankful when Heyward steps up behind JJ and slips an arm under each of his, allowing Pope to focus on his legs.

“I’m sleeping in the living room until you’re better,” Pope answers, watching his step as they make it up the stairs. Pope remembers a time they used to share the room upstairs. JJ had moved in after John B disappeared and at first it had been friendly, but as their relationship evolved and they went from best friends to boyfriends, Pope remembers curling up in that bed with JJ against his chest, or spooning with the other in his warm sheets. He can admit to himself that he misses it, but has to come to terms that it will probably never happen again.

“But-”

“There will be no arguing. We want you to get better and Pope is fine on the air mattress in the living room,” Mama Heyward says, voice firm and JJ knows not to argue with her so he simply nods his head, frown pulling down his lips. “Now, we’ve made your favorite and we have everything set up to celebrate New Years tonight.”

JJ’s eyes light up as they place him on the couch, pulling up the tray table so he can eat in front of the TV. Mama Heyward serves him his dinner and the four of them sit in the living room as they watch the first movie of the night.

JJ doesn’t make it to midnight, but he doesn’t seem to mind when Pope wakes up him just after, wishing him a Happy New Year and helping him up the stairs to bed.

———————————

JJ feels helpless. It isn’t a new feeling. There were a lot of moments in his childhood and teenage years that he felt helpless. He was helpless when his mother passed. He was helpless when his father hit him. He was helpless to the cruel words his father drilled into his head. These were all moments he could run away from. He could escape the cruel hands of his father at John B’s house. He could escape the cruel words, often repeating over and over in his head, with a distraction of his best friend and eventual boyfriend. This was a different kind of helpless though. This was one he couldn’t escape.

The cast on his leg is itchy but he knows he can’t reach the itch on his calf. He can’t even bend his leg into a different position. He can still barely move it from the one spot it was situated on the bed by Pope this morning. He’s doing his exercises but the cast is heavy and he’s still weak. Fuck. He hates being weak. He’s always hated being weak but having to have someone help him constantly is really eating at him.

The cast on his arm isn’t as bad and JJ scratches at the skin just above, pushing himself into a sitting position before he rubs his still aching ribs. They’ve healed up nicely, but they still twinge in pain sometimes if he moves a certain way.

He has to go to the bathroom and he knows Pope is downstairs. He doesn’t want to call him though. He’s managed to put off a shower for almost a week, which is nasty but the wipes by the bed are good enough for now. He knows he’ll have to take one either tonight or tomorrow though. He is dreading it.

The cast is heavy as he uses his hands to shift the cast off the bed. There is a bit of pain that shoots up his arm with the weight, but he ignores it as the cast hits the solid wood, frowning when it makes a louder sound than he’d like. He ignored it though as he pulls the wheelchair closer. He doesn’t want to use it but he doesn’t have crutches yet because of his arm and there is no way he can walk with the cast on his leg. He thinks he can do the wheelchair though.

It doesn’t work.

The casted arm isn’t strong enough and he forgets to lock the wheel chair so it slides across the floor. It luckily doesn’t go far. The room is small so the wheelchair hits the bedside table. It knocks over the lap but saves JJ from completely tumbling to the floor. It doesn’t mean his back doesn’t hit the bed hard though, his whole weight shifting and knocking the wind out of him as he sinks to the floor. It has pain shooting through his ribs and he groans, arms moving to hug his middle.

The fall seems to be the final straw because JJ suddenly can’t stop the tears from slipping down his cheeks, a sob leaving his lips as he drops his head into his arms. He can’t even curl up, can’t pull his knees to his chest because of the stupid cast.

The door slamming against the wall doesn’t even phase him as Pope hurries into the room. He stops in his tracks at the door, assesses the situation before he finds Pope’s hand on his shoulder, pulling him closer to rest against his chest.

“It’s okay, JJ. I got you,” Pope whispers, hand rubbing up and down JJ’s arm. JJ missed this more than anything. He missed having Pope wrapped around him. He missed the warmth that always spread through his body when the other touched him. He missed Pope. He missed him so much. He is not sure if he’ll be able to part with him again, doesn’t know if he’ll have the courage to let Pope go a second time.

Pope just lets him cry. He doesn’t say anything. He simply holds JJ and it’s the first time he’s been held since JJ left Pope a year and a half ago. It’s the first time he’s just been able to curl up in someone’s arms and let them hold him. He knows Pope won’t judge him either and that made it easier to press his face into Pope’s shoulder and let every worry he’s had the last year and a half flow out of him.

He doesn’t know how long he stays on the ground crying. He doesn’t know how long he has Pope’s arms around him. He just knows it will never be long enough as he pulls away, wiping at his cheeks furiously and rubbing snot on his sleeve.

“I’m sorry you're going through this JJ, but I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you,” Pope reassures, brushes his fingers over JJ’s cheek and catches a tear. He wants to hug the other, maybe press a kiss to his lips but he lost that privilege long ago and he’s just thankful he can have Pope as his friend again. This was his own fault anyway. He had to live with the consequences.

JJ nods, pulling himself away from the intimate moment. It’s too much especially because he knows nothing will come of it. “I have to use the bathroom and I think it might be time for a shower.”

Pope is smiling when he meets his gaze again, a teasing glint in his dark eyes. JJ could get lost in those eyes. He remembers when they used to be so full of love, love directed at him. He knows he’s only imagining the glint there, the love, and he squashes that hope.

“It’s about time, you stink,” Pope smiles and he’s clearly holding back his laugh. JJ only pauses a moment as he watches Pope break down in a fit of giggles in front of him and JJ smiles fondly, careful of his arm as he gives Pope a shove.

“Shut up you asshole,” JJ laughs, allows Pope to pull him up and help him into the wheelchair.

“So how are we going to do this?” Pope asks once he’s stopped snickering into his shoulder and the pair find themselves staring down the bathtub.

“It isn’t like you haven’t seen it already,” JJ mutters, bracing himself for an annoyed rebuttal from Pope but it doesn’t come.

“That is true,” Pope agrees instead, surprising JJ as he walks around to help him sit on the toilet. He exits the bathroom and lets JJ do his thing. He always struggles a bit but it gives him more independence this way as he indicates for Pope to come back in. He does so with a large trash bag and an elastic, “take your pants off.”

“What?” JJ’s gaze snaps up, eyes wide. Pope places the bag on the counter and rummages through the linen closet, pulling out a towel.

“Take your pants and underwear off and just put this over...” Pope gestures to his groan vaguely, “yourself and then I’m going to put the bag over your cast and we’ll get you in the tub. Actually, tub first and then pants. We will just fill up the tub while you're in it.”

JJ nods, lifting his arms so Pope can help him into the tub. They fumble a bit awkwardly and JJ wiggles out of his baggy sweatpants and bowers, putting the towel over his lap. He tells Pope he can turn back around and the other goes to pull the bag over his cast.

It’s an awkward affair. The cast nearly goes to JJ’s hip and he doesn’t miss the awkward glance from Pope as the elastic snaps against JJ’s leg as softly as possible without getting too close to his groin. JJ would normally flirt a bit, but he knows this isn’t the place. Pope was trying to help him and this friendship was still on the mend. JJ lost teasing rights a long time ago.

“Okay. Shift off,” Pope finally says, not meeting JJ’s gaze. He does as he’s told and tugs it over his head, tossing it aside. The removable cast has to be taken off his arm and JJ goes to do just that when Pope’s gentle fingers start to work the ace bandage off. He moves slow, wrapping it so it’s easy to get back on. The plastic mold is pulled off next.

The skin is sweaty and irritated. It’s paler than the rest of his body, because the skin looks so dull from being in the cast. The biggest difference is the glaring scar running down his arm. It’s still red and irritated but it’s healing nicely, screws holding his bones together now under his skin. He shivers when Pope runs his finger over the sensitive skin, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Does it hurt?” He whispers, brown eyes meeting JJ’s blue. There is so much written on his face and JJ can see how much Pope still cares about him. JJ doesn’t deserve it at all. He knows he broke Pope’s heart. He broke his own as well.

“It’s not bad now. My leg hurts more,” JJ answers honestly. There was still pain in his wrist but bearable. It was nothing he couldn’t handle.

“Is it bad now?”

“No. It isn’t too bad.” It’s a bit of a lie. He can feel the throb under the cast but he doesn’t want to worry Pope. He’s sure it will be better when he gets back into bed. This trip to the bathroom is really taking it out of him and he had done his exercises right beforehand too.

Pope is looking at him softly now, so much caring in his eyes and JJ has to swallow the lump in his throat, tear his gaze away as he points to the faucet. “Are you going to turn the water on?” His voice is a little raw. “I thought you said I smell.”

The moment is shattered as Pope forces a laugh at his words, reaching forward to turn the water on. “Just call me when you’re done and don’t try and get out yourself.”

“Aw, but I really wanted to fall again,” JJ teases and that earns him an eye roll from Pope, mood lightened. The other simply shakes his head as he pulls the curtain closed, a hand reaching in for the towel. JJ hands it to him and decides to just go for it. “Are you sure you don’t want to join?”

“Just take a bath, JJ.” He can hear the laugh in Pope’s words though and he knows they’re going to be able to mend this friendship.

———————————

They end up watching a lot of TV. It isn’t like JJ can do anything else. He isn’t much of a reader so that wouldn’t work so TV was the only real option when he still couldn’t leave the house.

(He did get to go back to the hospital twice for physical therapy but he doesn’t really count that. Pope had stopped at The Wreck to get them lunch but JJ hadn’t even been able to get out of the car. It had been nice when Mr. Cerrara waved out the door though. The other had started to tentatively like him when he grew closer to Kiara before she left for her trip.)

Pope is nice enough to sit around with him but he knows the other doesn’t enjoy the hours in front of the screen. JJ always makes off-handed comments about Pope going to read or study. Pope will brush them off but grab a book when he realizes he doesn’t need to entertain JJ by being engaged in the TV show. The books always ease the tension in his shoulders.

JJ is always tempted to ask Pope to read to him. The other used to do just that when they were together, fingers in his hair while JJ’s head rested in his lap. Pope’s voice had always been grounding for JJ and listening to the other read to him would lull him into sleep or simply allow him to focus on something other than his father’s voice echoing in his head.

Pope doesn’t seem engaged in his book today though, closing the cover after he marks his page and burrows into the cushions. JJ’s watching some shitty movie he hasn’t really been paying attention too. Why would he when Pope is so much more interesting? But Pope seems interested and JJ turns his attention back to the TV, trying to be subtle with each glance toward the other boy.

JJ knows Pope has to be sleeping when Pope’s head tips onto his shoulder, a soft snore leaving his lips due to the funny angle of his neck. JJ smiles fondly, adjusting so his injured arm is across the back of the couch, allowing Pope’s head to rest more comfortably on his shoulder.

JJ can’t help it when he lets his arm fall off the couch, wrapping around Pope’s shoulder as the other shifts closer to him. He looks peaceful as he adjusts, head now pressed into the nook of JJ’s neck, breath warm against his skin. JJ can’t help but watch the other, fondness settling on his features. He missed this. He wishes he could lean forward and press a kiss to his forehead but he knows he can’t.

“JJ, honey,” Mama Heyward calls his attention, eyes snapping from the boy next to him to meet her kind eyes. She looks sad though as she looks between the two of them. “You’re still in love with him.”

That had not been what JJ was expecting and the shock must show on his face because Mama Heyward moves to press a hand to his shoulder, that same smile on her lips. JJ thought he had been a little better about hiding his feelings but apparently not.

“Darling, why did you break up with him when you love him so much?” She asks. JJ knows she’s only asking out of curiosity, to know why JJ broke her son’s heart. JJ doesn’t want to explain though. The self- loathing that led to the break up is something he’s still working his way out of and he never wanted to hold Pope back. He doesn’t want to lie though. He can’t just tell her he never loved her son. It’s literally written all over his face even a year and a half later.

“I just-“ JJ searches for the right words, trying to figure out how he wants to word this. “I didn’t want to hold him back.”

JJ’s breath catches at the love shining in her eyes. He hasn’t seen much of the Heyward’s since the break up, can’t remember Mama Heyward ever looking at him with so much love and kindness, the same love that shines in her eyes when she looks at Pope.

“Love, you were never a burden.”

The words knock the breath out of JJ, tears instantly streaming down his cheeks as Mama Heyward moves to brush them away, keeping her hands on each as she looks at JJ with so much tenderness. He can't remember a time an adult looked at him like this, not even during his two years living in this very house. The fact she could look at him like this after what he did says volumes about her character.

“You are worthy of love,” she continues, brushing his hair out of his eyes as he cries. He tries not to jostle Pope as a sob leaves his lips. He hasn’t cried this much since he broke up with Pope. “You are worthy of kindness and compassion. Honey, we love you so much.”

JJ surges forward, cast be damned as he wraps his arms around her neck, relaxing as her arms wrap around him. He can barely make out Pope’s confused, tired look as he leans his weight on his hand, rubbing at his eyes. He feels bad for waking him but Mama Heyward is warm and welcoming and feels like the love he never had.

“He still loves you, you know,” she whispers into his ear. She’s running her fingers through the hair on the back of his head. JJ sinks into her. “And we do too. I hope you realize that you deserve to be happy this time around.”

She wipes his tears when she pulls away, frowning when JJ’s wipes his nose on his sleeve. The next look, stern and loving, has JJ nodding his head. He’s saying that he heard her. He’s saying that he knows. He’s thanking her. She smiles at him then, soft and warm. “I’ll cook up a nice dinner. I’m feeling soup tonight. It’s a bit chilly out today.”

She gives him one last smile as she hurries into the kitchen, muttering about chicken and vegetable as JJ sinks back into the couch, ignoring Pope’s curious gaze. Apparently Pope doesn’t like that though because he asks, “what was that about?”

JJ pauses. “Nothing,” he decides on because that conversation was just for him for now.

———————————

JJ is holding his hand. Pope can see the way his muscles strain under his long sleeve shirt, holding all of his weight because he can tell JJ is too scared to put any weight on his leg. The cast is gone and has been replaced with a removable air cast as well as the one on his arm.

Pope’s fingers are pinched painfully between JJ’s hand and the bar, but he tries not to think about it as he waits for JJ to place his foot on the ground. The other looks concentrated but nervous and the physical therapist is patient as she waits. (“It doesn’t always happen on the first try,” she had explained when they first started the session with some floor exercises.)

JJ’s been working hard the last few weeks to gain his strength. It’s like the conversation with Mama Heyward really gave JJ the push he needed. Pope doesn’t know what they talked about, but he isn’t going to prey, doesn’t want to mess with it since it’s led to JJ’s newfound motivation.

“It’s going to be okay. The doctor said you might have minimal pain from lack of use but it’s healed,” the physical therapist reassures. JJ glances up at her, before he turns his gaze to Pope.

Pope can see the worry etched in his features. JJ’s never been so open about his worry and fear and it has Pope giving his hand an impossible squeeze from the weird angle of their fingers on the bar. “I know you can do it,” Pope encourages. JJ watches him for another moment, eyes searching until he seems to find what he’s looking for.

“Please don’t let go,” JJ says and Pope smiles at him.

“My fingers are being crushed so I can’t move them even if I wanted too, which I don’t,” Pope teases, earning himself a smile from JJ. The other mutters an apology as he releases his fingers, instead indicating for Pope to place it on his shoulder.

The touch is gentle, weightless as he watches JJ finally place his foot on the ground, watching as the other takes his first tentative step forward. Pope can see the pain scrunching JJ’s face, eyes narrowed in determination as he takes another shaky step.

And then he’s walking across the whole rail.

Pope can’t help the smile on his lips as he watches him go. The moment only lasts a second though because JJ is going too fast, trying to do too much too fast and Pope pulls his hand away so he can catch JJ as he gets to the end of the bars, grunting when all of JJ’s weight barrels into his chest.

The other is smiling though, trying to steady himself with shining blue eyes. “Did you see?” He looks like a little kid who just rode his bike for the first time. It makes Pope’s heart flutter. “I fucking nailed it!”

Pope laughs, warm and bright and loud enough to draw the attention of other occupants in the room. “I saw you almost fall,” Pope teases and JJ smiles at him, eyes creased with happiness. Pope feels like he can’t breathe as he watches the other. He’s so proud of JJ. The other could have just given up, pushed Pope away. But he’s here, in front of Pope, taking his first steps.

And Pope can’t seem to stop himself from leaning forward to connect their lips.

He used to always kiss JJ when he was happy. The way happiness tasted on JJ’s lips. The way it sounded as Pope would press their lips together to muffle a laugh. The way those now scared lips would curve into that smile, so bright it could light the whole damn universe.

It’s a mistake though.

It takes everything in Pope to pull back, eyes wide in shock. JJ looks just as stunned, blue eyes swirling with emotions as he searches Pope’s face.

“Fuck. I’m so sorry,” Pope apologizes.

“No-“

But Pope stops him. He can’t do this again. That was a mistake. He had simply got caught up in the moment and he says just that. “No JJ. I just- I got caught up in the moment.” He sees the hurt flash across JJ’s face but presses on. “I can’t do this again. I can’t get my heart broken again.”

“I’m not-“

“Please JJ. Please don’t,” Pope begs because he can’t hear it. He can’t let JJ crumble his resolve. He could do a friendship with JJ but he can’t risk another heartbreak. What would happen when he went back to school? Would JJ just break up with him again because it would be too hard?

He can tell JJ wants to say more, but decides to simply close his mouth, nodding sadly as he allows his physical therapist (shit, Pope forget they were in such a public place) to help JJ to the seat resting against the wall.

———————————

“Mama, can we go for a walk?” Pope hasn’t been able to stop thinking about the kiss and it’s become awkward between the two of them. The fact Heyward noticed the tension was a sign that it had gone too far. He needed to fix this but he wasn’t sure how to do that.

Mama Heyward looks confused as she nods, tucking her knitting away in the little basket next to her chair and moving to pull a blanket over JJ’s legs. He’s sound asleep on the couch after a long physical therapy session and Heyward was in the kitchen puttering around for his lunch break. It was the perfect time to take a walk with his mom.

She doesn’t ask questions as the two of them leave the house, heading in the direction of the beach. He doesn’t really know where to start. He knows Mama Heyward can tell something is up but where does Pope start? Should he just dive right in and say he kissed JJ or should he start from the beginning when he first saw the other lying in the hospital bed and realized he still loved him with all the little pieces of his heart?

“Mama,” he starts, trying to find the words. She waits patiently, a small smile on her lips as the beach finally stretches out in front of them. “I’m scared.”

He’s scared that JJ will break his heart again. He’s scared that JJ isn’t serious about this. He’s scared that JJ will just go back to his life once this is all over, forget Pope and pull away. He is scared that he messed it up by kissing JJ.

“Honey, loving someone can be scary but it’s worth it in the end.” Mama Heyward’s voice is soft, understanding.

“I kissed him the other day and I told him to forget about it,” Pope explains. He can see the frown on Mama Heyward’s lips, watching as she tries to find the right words.

Pope takes the moment to stop and take his shoes off, digging his toes into the sand and letting the sun warm his skin. He sucks in a deep breath of salty air and it simply reminds him of JJ. They used to go on dates to the beach all the time. It was cheap, easy and they both enjoyed the water. That was especially true for JJ and Pope liked JJ’s smile around the ocean. It was more relaxed. It had this ease to it, like he wasn’t carrying the weight of the world when the waves were hitting his back or he was balancing on his board. JJ was nearly strong enough to take to the beach and Pope couldn’t want to see that smile when he did.

“Do you want him to forget it?” Mama Heyward has taken her own sandals off, matching Pope’s slow pace along the sand.

“No Mama, I don’t want him to forget it,” Pope admits. He wants to do it again and again and again. He wants to hold JJ close and bring him to school and never let him out of his sight again. But does JJ want that? Is JJ just going to leave again? Will JJ even want that anymore? JJ broke up with him. He claimed it would be too hard to do long distance but Pope could always tell it was something else. He doesn’t know what though. He doesn’t know if JJ still loves him.

“Why did you tell him otherwise?” He loved his mom but he wanted answers right now. He wanted to be told what to do. She was determined to let him get to his own answers though and Pope could never be mad about that.

“What if he doesn’t want the same thing? What if he doesn’t love me anymore? What if he doesn’t want to come to school with me? What if he doesn’t want to try this again?” The thoughts have Pope’s heart aching and this is why he still isn’t sure. JJ is hurting him without even knowing. “And I want to stay his friend. I don’t want to ruin it.”

“Oh honey, I think love is worth the risk.”

Pope pauses, dark eyes meeting the equally dark ones of his mother. She seems serious, a small smile on her lips as she watches him closely. Pops thinks she knows something he doesn’t. She looks like she does but Pope knows she won’t budge no matter what he tries. He’s had years of practice and his mother was good at keeping her lips sealed. He’s sure this would be exactly the same.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she answers and Pope thinks he may have gotten a hint at what was behind her look, at what she knew that he didn’t. She wouldn’t be so sure if she didn’t know there was a good chance it would work out. She wasn’t cruel, wasn’t going to break her son’s heart again if she didn’t know something.

“Okay, I think I’ll try,” Pope finally agrees, thankful he took Mama Heyward with him so they could chat. She always knew what to say. She always knew how to help. He already felt better, like a weight was lifted off his shoulders. “Now I just need to figure out when.”

He basically just told JJ he didn’t want to pursue this, to forget that kiss. How could he approach this again? How could he bring it up without it being completely and utterly awkward? He wasn’t sure how to go about this whole thing. It had taken them months of dancing around their feelings last time until Pope finally kissed JJ.

(Pope remembers it fondly. Of course it was at the beach. They had just gone surfing for the first nice day of spring. The water was still cold but the sun was warm on his skin. Pope didn’t think JJ had ever looked happier. At this point, he had been living with the Heywards for months now. He hadn’t seen his father since a few nights after the treasure hunt and he looked free.

Pope remembers catching the other waving excitedly from his board, throwing him off balance until he tumbled into the water with a laugh. The second Pope knew he was okay he joined, swimming over to meet him in the water, both sitting on their boards as the waves swayed them.

JJ’s happiness was intoxicating and Pope found himself leaning forward to connect their lips. The angle was awkward and the second Pope realized what he was doing, he pulled away only to tumble off the back of his board.

JJ isn’t laughing when he surfaces. Instead he’s standing in front of Pope, wrapping his arms around his waist and pulling him closer, not even allowing him to catch his breath before he connects their lips again. Pope figures he doesn’t need to breathe anyway.)

“You’ll know just the right moment. I’m sure of it.”

Pope believes her.

———————————

The tension is still there and Pope doesn’t really know how to fix it. He wants to start a conversation, but JJ brushes him off each time. It’s harder now that he can walk too. He doesn’t need Pope hovering around him anymore. Not that Pope isn’t happy JJ can walk on his own. He’s more than happy, especially if that kiss was anything to go by, but he felt useless sitting around waiting for JJ’s call.

He thinks about going back to work. Maybe JJ needed some time alone? But Pope just keeps imagining JJ falling, stuck on the floor until someone gets home, and he can’t seem to get himself to leave the house. He goes on short walks to get away for a bit, but only if he knows Mama Heyward or Heyward are home in case anything happens to JJ.

He’s honestly at a bit of a lose and he hates not knowing. He hates the uncertainty that has come with this new development in their relationship. He hates that he made it like this. He was the one who ruined their dynamic because he just couldn’t help himself. JJ broke his heart. How pathetic was he to still love him with each little piece lying on the floor? There was something though. He knows JJ feels it too. Mama Heyward wouldn’t encourage him to go for it if she didn’t think it would work out. She wouldn’t want Pope’s heart broken again. He doesn’t even know if it can break into any more pieces than it’s in right now.

He lets that glimmer of hope drive him. He has to do something to ease this tension, to make this whole thing right between them. He understands why JJ is pulling away. Pope kissed him and then proceeded to shut the whole thing down. He cut JJ off before he could say anything and basically ran away from his feelings. He probably would have run away completely if JJ didn’t need his help.

He knows instantly when that moment comes, the moment Mama Heyward was talking about.

JJ is at physical therapy. Walking has become easier. Pope can tell he’s a bit embarrassed by the cane, but he doesn’t use it outside of the house, though that has more to do with the fact that he doesn’t leave the house. He isn’t there yet. The stairs are still an obstacle and the physical therapist hasn’t given him the go ahead to do much more than a few short laps around the couch.

The short set of stairs has been pulled up to their normal spot and Pope can see the way JJ’s eyes light up. He knows the other has been itching to do the stairs, wants to be able to go up and down to the bathroom without having to lean on Pope. He really can’t blame him. He wants JJ to get better even if that means that he has to let the other go.

(He hopes he doesn’t though. He hopes he’s able to hang on, hold him tight, hug him close. He hopes he’ll be able to help JJ ease some of his worries and pain. He hopes that he’ll be able to lean on JJ, like he always wanted, like they had planned on all those years ago. He hopes he’s able to support JJ and be supported in return.)

JJ works extra hard and Pope hovers. He doesn’t really mean to hover, but he’s worried JJ might fall. He wants to be there to catch him if that happens. He always wants to be there for JJ so he can’t help that he stands a little too close to the steps. He can’t help when he reaches a hand out when JJ gets unsteady. He can’t help but pull the other into a hug when JJ does the few steps set up in the physical therapy room and gets permission to start talking short walks outside (and told firmly to only practice on a few steps and not do a whole staircase).

JJ goes a bit stiff in his arms, but seems to ease into the hug, allowing his arms to circle Pope’s waist, pulling him closer. He can practically feel the excitement exude off JJ as he holds him close and just allows himself a breath. He’s missed holding the other. He’s missed being this close to him. He can practically feel the tension shifting as he pulls away, knows that their friendship is clicking back into place.

JJ seems eager to get out of the stuffy room, but Pope promises to meet him in the hall as he watches the other leaves, turns his attention back toward the physical therapist. “Would I be able to take him to the beach? He’s been dying to go, but I’m not sure how he’ll do on the sand,” Pope asks. He wants to surprise the other. He feels like JJ deserves the world after everything he’s been through, how hard he has fought through all of this and the beach would be a good start to giving him the world.

“I don’t see why not. I would just make sure you take it easy.” Pope nods in agreement, shaking her hand with the reassurance that he’ll make sure JJ doesn’t go overboard and then he is off, meeting JJ half way down the hall with a smile on his face.

He doesn’t tell the other.

It only takes JJ five minutes to get suspicious.

“Where are we going?” he asks, eyes narrowed as he looks at their surroundings. Pope is taking him to the beach near the Chateau. It’s the same one that they shared their first kiss, but it also houses a lot of other memories for them. Tag with John B and Kiara up and down the beach. Beach clean ups Kiara used to force them into. Picnics in the sand with leftovers from The Wreck. Surfing the surge before each and every storm. It’s housed all of their good memories and Pope is hoping that it will house another one.

“Trust me, you’ll like it,” Pope smiles. He isn’t usually one for spontaneity, but he’s happy. JJ is getting better. He has his friend back. He can’t help but hope that this could turn into something more. This adventure had started out on a sour note, a phone call from the hospital, but Pope can’t help but be thankful that it brought them back together again. He doesn’t understand how he could live so long without the bright ray of sunshine in his life.

JJ gives him a suspicious look, but doesn’t push, turns his attention back toward the window. Pope can tell when he knows though. Those blue, blue eyes widen in shock, but it’s quickly replaced with excitement. Pope can see the happiness on his face. It’s pure and unadulterated. He hadn’t seen that look since they were teenagers in love. It makes Pope’s heart pound and his cheeks ache with his own smile.

“The physical therapist said we could do a small walk,” Pope smiles, putting the car in park. The beach is basically empty, which is good. He knows JJ is still embarrassed about the cane, but it doesn’t seem to phase him as he nearly tumbles out of the car in his excitement, the piece of metal the only thing keeping him up.

JJ uses his free hand to help him around the car, eyes never leaving the water as Pope steps out of the drivers side. He doesn’t hesitate to take JJ’s hand when he runs out of car to lean on, smiling at the other when he graces him with a quick glance, too excited about the ocean to dwell much before his eyes are back at the swirling blue water.

“Shit, I forgot how pretty it is,” JJ mutters, eyes wide as he steps onto the sand for the first time. He has his boots on, one an actual boot and the other a brace supporting his still weak ankle accompanied by a knee brace that barely touches the top of the boot. “I can’t wait to ride those waves again.”

He pauses just over the edge of the sand, glancing down at his shoes before his gaze meets Pope. Pope can see the question in his eyes, the pleading and Pope smiles, reaching down to undo his boot and help him out of it. He’s not able to take the brace off, but at least he can still have one foot in the sand. He leaves the lone boot by the car before returning to JJ’s side.

“The second you’re able, we’ll go out and surf,” Pope promises. He hasn’t been surfing in a while, not since he broke up with JJ. It had really become their thing and it hurt too much to be out on the water without the other boy.

“I’ll still beat your ass even with a bum leg,” JJ teases and Pope smiles, eyes bright because JJ is looking at him again and he swears he can still see the love shining in those blue eyes.

It just feels like the right time. Mama Heyward was right. He would know.

He leans in, meets JJ’s blue eyes and connects their lips again.

It feels right this time. There isn’t a panic that settles over him, makes him feel like he did something wrong. No, this feels like coming home. This feels like a warm blanket after a long day. This feels like the moment of relief when you finish a term paper. This feels like everything all at once.

But JJ is pulling away from him. The other is pressing against his shoulder, blue eyes wide and Pope can see the pain reflected in them, he can see the turmoil in those blue eyes.

“JJ-” He wants to explain himself. He wants to reassure the other this wasn’t a fluke. This is what he wanted. He wasn’t going to brush it off this time. JJ is stepping away from him though, letting go of his hand as he steps back.

“No Pope,” JJ says, sadness lacing his tone. It feels like an arrow has been shot through his heart. He didn’t think the pieces of his heart could break any more but he had been wrong. He can feel them cracking as JJ steps away from him. “I can’t play this game. I can’t do this back and forth.”

“JJ, no, that’s not what-” The other is backing away though. Pope goes to reach out, wrap his fingers around that newly scared wrist, but JJ pulls it away before he can, tears his gaze away from Pope as he turns away from him.

Pope let his hopes get too high, because he can feel the pieces shattering. There was a moment he thought his heart was going to mend itself, was starting to mend itself, but now it’s simply all over the ground, broken as he watches the other turn away from him.

“I think we need some time apart for a bit. Cool off,” JJ suggests and Pope watches him walk away. The Chateau isn’t far, but JJ wasn’t even supposed to walk long distances and he didn’t even have his boots. He was literally walking barefoot, so desperate to get away from Pope.

“JJ, you can’t go alone.” It’s a last resort. It’s desperation at this point, anything to get the other to come back to him, but JJ only glances over his shoulder. Pope’s heart breaks at the shattered look he gets.

“Don’t fucking follow me Pope.”

He doesn’t, but it takes everything in him not too.

———————————

“Mama, I messed it all up,” Pope says the next morning. The Heywards had been worried sick when Pope walked in the door alone, but they could both tell it wouldn't due to push Pope. He clearly wasn’t ready to talk about it. He simply went up to his room, opting out of dinner and curling up in his bed. It smelt like JJ, which didn’t help his dilemma at all.

“Oh honey,” she says, frown on her lips. She’s piling eggs on his plate, like she is trying to make up for the fact he missed dinner the previous night. “What happened?”

“I kissed him and he ran away,” Pope explains, because he wasn’t going to beat around the bush. This was important and he wanted to make it right. He had spent all night playing the moment over and over again. He wasn’t going to let JJ go this time around. He wasn’t going to let him drift away again. He knows JJ never felt like he was good enough for Pope, but Pope would make sure he knew it.

“Did you try talking to him?” Pope gives her a look, like she must be an idiot. She simply gives it right back, taking a bite of her own eggs while Pope leaves his untouched on the plate. “Well, did you?”

“I tried,” Pope explains.

“Before or after you kissed him?” She clearly knows the answer. Pope can hear it in her voice, but she wants Pope to say it because he’s clearly done something wrong. And yes, he probably should have talked to JJ first, but the other had been glowing in the afternoon sun and that smile was hard not to kiss. Pope misses the days he could just kiss that smile, feel it against his own lips.

“After,” Pope answers, shifting his gaze to the wall. He feels like a small child getting in trouble for something. He doesn’t miss the knowing smile his mother gives him.

“Well, I think you should try talking to him before,” she smiles, munching on a piece of toast. The crunch echoes in the quiet room as Pope gives Mama Heyward a confused look. She repeats herself, “Try talking to him first.” There’s a shrug and a knowing look. “And then maybe kiss him. Oh, but only if he’d like to.”

“What, Mama?” Pope watches his mother in shock and she smiles knowingly.

“Oh, I expect the boy will be eating dinner with us tonight,” she hums, moving to spread some jam on the other half of toast. “That boy really is such a sweet thing.” Pope doesn’t know what to say, but Mama Heyward doesn’t seem to have any need to continue this conversation as she shoos her son out of the house. “Now go. Stop sitting around. JJ is still injured and you need to check on him anyway.”

Pope doesn’t need to be told twice. He rushes to the car, thankful his father walked to work today and speeds the whole drive to the Chateau, anxiety building the closer he gets.

He wants to rush into the house, to pull JJ into his arms, but this is the first time he’s been here in years. The last had been a makeshift funeral for his then dead friend as each Pogue poured out a beer for him. It has memories stirring, flashing in his mind of a time before the rift between himself and JJ, before they slide past friendship and into relationship. It was a time with a lot of obvious touching and a lot of buried feelings.

But the swear from the house pulls him out of his memories, nearly tripping when he falls out of the car, not bothering to close the door as he rushes to the Chateau. He can hear more swearing as he gets closer and doesn’t even bother to knock as he barrels into the room, panting as he looks around.

JJ is nowhere in sight, but Pope can hear the groans coming from the bedroom and hurries over, eyes widening in shock when he sees JJ on the floor, clutching his ankle in pain.

Pope’s never moved so quickly in his life. He nearly skids on the floor as he lands in front of JJ, careful as he takes the other’s ankle into his hands. JJ flinches at the touch, but instantly relaxes when he meets Pope’s concerned gaze.

“I just stepped wrong is all. My brace was hot and I took it off and it fell off the bed,” JJ explains and Pope notices the discard brace lying by the door.

“How badly does it hurt?” he asks, pressing his fingers into the skin. The other sucks in a breath, but it doesn’t look painful as he watches JJ closely, trying to assess the damage. He doesn’t want JJ to be hurt again. He never wants to see JJ hurt again.

“It’s not bad. I think it was more shock than anything,” JJ explains, honest. And Pope decides that it is now or never.

“Look, JJ-”

“No, Pope, I’m-” Pope isn’t going to let JJ finish that statement though. He needs to get this out. He needs the other to know how he feels, how he still feels even after all of this time.

“Please, JJ, please let me talk,” Pope pleads, watching JJ’s eyes widen before he nods his head, allowing Pope to continue with the promise to not interrupt him. “I messed up, okay? I was scared. I’m still scared if I’m being honest. When I kissed you, I didn’t want to forget, but you broke my heart before. I didn’t want that to happen again, but I can’t go on without you knowing that I still love you, which is fucking stupid. You broke my heart and I still love you, but I can’t seem to help it. I can’t shake you and I honestly don’t want to. I understand if you don’t want anything more. If you don’t love me, I hope we can go back to being friends again. I miss having you in my life.”

Pope doesn’t look at JJ as he speaks, tries to focus on the words, tries to snuff the hope flaring in his chest in case this doesn’t go the way he wants it to go. At the last words he shifts his gaze though, allows himself to look into those ocean eyes and all he sees are emotions swirling. The loudest one seems to be love.

And then JJ is suddenly surging forward, connecting their lips in a searing kiss. The angle is awkward, JJ’s leg wedged between them and Pope’s fingers still wrapped around his ankle. Pope extracts his fingers, lets them fall into JJ’s hair and sighs against his lips, lets his fingers play with those strands of blond hair.

JJ doesn’t keep their lips connected long though, pulls away so he can look into Pope’s eyes. “I’m sorry I let you go last time. I thought I would hold you back, that I wasn’t good enough for you, but I miss you every fucking day. I don’t want to live without you anymore.”

Pope is pretty sure JJ is going to continue, but he can’t help but lean forward to connect their lips again. It’s a bit slopping, all smiling mouths and happiness seeping through. JJ giggles against his mouth as he pulls himself away again, eyes getting misty as he looks at Pope. “I still fucking love you and I will make sure you know that for the rest of our fucking lives. I’ll make it all up to you. I’ll spend the rest of my life putting those pieces back together and making sure you know how much I love you. I’m sorry for being so stupid.”

But Pope doesn’t think it was stupid. The break up hurt more than anything, but it allowed both of them to grow. It allowed them to mature and realize what they really wanted in life, what they deserved in life. Pope was going to make sure JJ understands that he deserved to have Pope, to have love in his life that is both selfish and selfless at the same time, love that is gentle and kind and hard, but worth every second.

“You deserve to be happy, JJ, you deserve to be loved, deserve a home,” Pope breaths as he connects their lips again, lets himself revel in this moment as he files this away into the good memories that he has shared in this little shack with all of his friends and the love of his life.

Mama Heyward was right. JJ would be joining them for dinner, hand held firmly in Pope’s under the table. She welcomes both boys with a smile. Pope doesn’t miss the fact that the air mattress isn’t in the living room anymore, pillow added to their bed upstairs.

@ronnieweasley @dreamypope @pope-obx @thistreasurehunter @midsommers @eddie-and-richie @robbingthebank @frenchmarshmalloww @lionhearttedgrrl @asteroid575 @drewswannabegirl @rainforestrat @loveop5500 @laorbust01 @hmspogues @babygirl-thewriter @verified-dumbass @spideymyluv @charlie-theduckgoose @walker-friendly @psycho-dork @katie-mcgreat @heartbelongs2zouis @ethereal-honeygold @shreckluver7 @elegantmail @shipperssafehaven @magmavee @kingnae @originalstarlighttiger @angelbeee @the-pogues @lemon-patches @halfkook @lil-italian-disappointment

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marvelslut16 · 5 years

Text

Immortal

Pairing: Hades x reader

Synopsis: During the curse that turned the Beast into, well a beast, his sister was sent to the Underworld to fall in love with Hades. But after he’s cruelly ripped away from her and banished to the Isle, will they be able to pick back up where they left off?

Word count: 1706 (it’s a short one today)

Warnings: Descendants 3 spoilers, obviously. There might be a swear word in there, I’m too lazy to reread the entire thing.

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a young prince lived in a shining castle. Although he had everything his heart desired, the prince was spoiled, selfish, and unkind. He had a twin sister who was not as easily persuaded by her surroundings. She became a bit cynical yes, but she was never cruel. She spent her days with the servants and the evenings partying with her brother and his guests.

But then, one winter's night, an old beggar woman came to the castle and offered the prince a single rose in return for shelter from the bitter cold. Repulsed by her haggard appearance, the prince sneered at the gift and turned the old woman away, but she warned him not to be deceived by appearances, for beauty is found within. The princess tried to convince her brother to let the poor old woman stay, but he refused to listen. And when he dismissed her again, the old woman's ugliness melted away to reveal a beautiful enchantress.

The prince tried to apologize, but it was too late, for she had seen that there was no love in his heart, and as punishment, she transformed him into a hideous beast, and placed a powerful spell on the castle, and all who lived there. Ashamed of his monstrous form, the beast concealed himself inside his castle, with a magic mirror as his only window to the outside world. The rose she had offered was truly an enchanted rose, which would bloom until his twenty-first year. If he could learn to love another, and earn her love in return by the time the last petal fell, then the spell would be broken. If not, he would be doomed to remain a beast for all time. As the years passed, he fell into despair, and lost all hope, for who could ever learn to love a beast?

The princess received a different fate. She was sent to the Underworld and forced to spend time with Hades. If the Prince couldn’t find love he was cursed to be a beast forever, but if the Princess found love she would gain immortality and stay with Hades forever. If they did not fall in love by the time of her twenty-first birthday, she would be sent back to live out her days with her beast of a brother in an empty castle. Who could ever love the God of the Underworld?

As the years pass, Hades starts to grow on the Princess, somewhere in their late night chats and him playing rock songs on the guitar for her, she fell in love. Believe it or night, it was a lot easier for the God to fall in love, which he did within the first few months. The Princess was never cruel to him, unlike the others, and she never judged him. She didn’t approve of some of his actions, which she would make known, but that never changed her view of him or how she acted with him.

The day they finally spoke their feelings was, ironically, the day before the last petal fell above ground. As soon as the words were spoken, the Princess felt lighter, and she had a glow to her. She was immortal, the Goddess of the Underworld, meant to stand by Hades side for all eternity. But that didn’t happen.

When her brother was finally turned back into a man, the Princess and Hades were magically transported to the castle to take part in the celebration. The Princess was happy for her brother, happy that he had matured and finally learned to love. However, the Prince was not at all happy with the God his sister had fallen in love with, and he vowed to find a way to separate them. He knew that his sister deserved better.

But all of this was years ago, so it’s water under the bridge, right? Wrong.

Ben had the commons sense and decency to start bringing the villain's kids over to Auradon. But that did nothing to heal your heart from the betrayal you felt from your brother. Nothing could stop the pain you felt in your chest when you looked in the mirror everyday and saw your ageless face.

But today was a day for celebration, Ben and Mal were having their engagement party. While others saw their proposal as rushed and too quick, you didn’t. You knew how strong a love could, and should be, and how fast that love could be ripped away from you. Mal was in the midst of a speech advocating for taking better care of those on the Isle, because being on a certain side doesn’t automatically make you good or bad. Go her.

“Without the help from Hades, my father,” whatever followed Mal’s confession, you never heard. You stumbled backwards and grabbed onto the railing of the balcony, the remaining pieces of your heart crumbling.

You look over at Beast and Belle, who were looking at you with sad expressions. There is no shock on their faces, they knew. They knew and they kept it from you! The love of your life, who they shipped off with little care for your feelings, had moved on. He moved on with, and had a kid with, Maleficent. You just weren’t evil enough for him, apparently.

Everything goes by so quickly when you don’t pay attention, because before you knew what was happening, that barrier was being taken down. I can’t do this, you think to yourself. I can’t see him happy with someone else.

But when he finally walked across the bridge, in all of his leather clad glory, the broken pieces of your heart started to race. He looked better than you remember, a little dirtier, but even more handsome.

You’re at war with yourself, your heart is telling you to go see him while your mind is telling you to run far away. You’re heart ultimately wins over, and your legs take you over to where Ben, Mal, and Hades are standing. You walk behind Ben, and Hades’s glare he was sending Ben instantly soften when he sees you.

“Hades,” you give him a small nod.

“Hades, this is my aunt (Y/N),” Ben introduces.

“Believe me,” Hades smirks. “I know. You haven’t aged a day sweetheart.”

“Well that’s what happens when your immortal,” you shrug like it’s nothing.

“What?” Ben and Mal ask in unison.

“I see you moved on,” you ignore the kids. “Mal is a lovely girl.”

“There’s a big difference between moving on and having things to do,” Hades defends.

“What are you two talking about?” Ben looks between you two.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about son,” you tense as Beast walks up behind you. “You know about my half of the curse, but you don’t know about your Aunt’s.”

“I was sent to the Underworld,” you turn and look at your nephew. “Your father was the monster someone had to fall in love with, and I had to fall in love with a monster. If we fell in love I would become immortal and get to spend the rest of eternity with Hades. We were enjoying our time in the Underworld until he was sent off to the Isle, and I was brought here.”

“We tricked them,” Beast admits..

“Who tricked them?” Belle frowns.

“I tricked them,” Beast corrects. “I told (Y/N) to bring Hades to a family dinner to catch up. When we were sitting down to eat, I had my guards handcuff him and drag him off to the Isle. He was the first one over there.”

“You didn’t even let me say goodbye,” you glare at your brother. “I would have never done that to you and Belle, you were still as heartless as when you got cursed.”

“Love,” Hades frowns. “You don’t really mean that.”

“I do!” you glare harder at your brother. “It’s all your fault Beast, I wanted a happy life. I wanted children! I wanted my own daughter, one that could have come up from the underworld and been good friends with Ben.”

“You still could have had children,” Beast defends, although he looks taken aback by your anger.

“How could I have done that?” you laugh. “The love of my life was shipped off to the Isle because of you. If I wanted to have a child with someone else, which I didn’t, the child would then be part mortal. There’s a strong chance that I would have outlived them, I would be forced to watch my child die because of their mortality.”

“You really wanted kids?” Hades slips his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side.

“Yes,” you look up at him through your eyelashes.

“With me?” he tightens his hold.

“Of course I wanted them with you, you big idiot.”

“We still could,” he has a dreamy look in his eyes, a look that you wouldn’t expect from him if you hadn’t spent years by his side.

“Maleficent-” he cuts you off.

“And I were never in love. Nobody could replace you (Y/N). They’d be stupid to even try.”

“I love you,” you admit softly, forgetting that there’s an audience.

“I love you too. And I’ll keep loving you until the day after forever,” you laugh, before grabbing his leather jacket and pulling him in for a kiss. The rush of feelings that swept through you, almost knocked you off your feet. Or maybe it was the fact that Hades always made your knees weak, either way his arms tightened around you and kept you close. Your hands ventured into the hair at the base of his neck, the flames tickled you fingers.

“Marry me?” Hades asks as he pulled back for air.

“You always said it was just a stupid piece of paper, that we didn’t need it,” you play along with his joke.

“Well I want it,” he admits truthfully, causing your eyebrows to furrow in confusion. “I’m yours and your mine, and I want it on that stupid piece of paper.”

“Yes,” you whisper through the tears you didn’t know were sitting just below the surface. Hades picks you up and twirls you around, everything was back to normal. Better even.

#descendants hades #hades #hades x reader #descendants #Descendants 2 #descendants imagine #descendants 3 #Hades imagine

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paper-whales-writes · 5 years

Text

Left Behind - Part 3

A/N: IT’S FINALLY HERE!!

Pairing: Mal x Reader

Word Count: 2,475

Requested By: A hell of a lot of people

You, alongside the rest of Uma’s crew, are sat inside Ursula’s eatery. All eyes transfixed on the TV screen that is displaying the Royal Cotillion live. After giving Uma the inkling to use a love potion on Prince Ben, you are keen to see whether she will potentially use your plan over one of her own.

“Uma better get one up on Mal.” you grumble under your breath; hands gripped around the chipped mug filled with dark dregs of coffee.

“She will Y/N. Uma is nothing but a crafty lass - if anyone can tear down Mal, it’ll be ‘er.” Harry replies, drumming his hook along the wooden surface of the bar.

“I sure hope so, Harry.” You sigh.

The screen is bright: awash with colours, fabrics and fashions that you and all those trapped on the Isle could only dream of. All of them, dancing and smiling; looking well fed and healthy. Unlike everyone in the room of the eatery: gaunt children fed on scraps; with hollow cheeks and intense gazes. Children who have to fight for everything they have. So, seeing the decadence and opulence played on a screen in front of you… it’s enough to make your blood boil.

Yet, it’s not just yourself who’s watching the screen with gritted teeth – most people in the eatery are. Even Gil. Who usually smiles through any pain… or at least tries to? But instead of trying to lift everyone through it, Gil is just slumped over the bar like Harry and yourself. It’s enough for you to pat his hand in lightly – the most affection the Isle will ever permit you to give.

“Are you okay, Gil?” you ask lightly.

He turns away from the TV to look back at you; complete with a small, dejected smile. “I guess I am, Y/N. It’s just… seeing it all on the TV.”

“I know Gil, I know. It never gets any easier. Being punished for a crime we did not commit.”

He nods along with you; placing his hand over yours. “But at least we are a team now. Right?”

“Right!” You reply, squeezing your joined hands.

Harry nudges you both; drawing your attention away from Gil and back to the TV. The announcer is proudly announcing the arrival of Mal – to which everyone in the eatery groans. Soon the disgusted huffs and groans are broken by a laughing splutter. Turning in slight shock, you are confronted by the sight of Harry nearly falling off his stool laughing.

“What even is that dress?! She looks like a failure of a bloody rainbow!”

Harry starts to cackle, hand slipping on his hook ever so slightly. “Why would you ever pair orange, blue and purple? I thought Evie had more fashion sense then that!”

As you smirk over at Harry, you notice many of the eateries’ other patrons are smiling and chuckling at Harry’s outbursts. But you can’t deny that Mal looks like a fashion disaster.

“I was expecting her to look prettier. She never particularly cared about looking pretty – but she would never willingly let herself look stupid.” You murmur, sobering up from your laughter.

“That’s what love does to you.” Harry intones.

With in seconds, the comments have stung – rubbing salt into your still open wounds. Was it obvious to everyone then? That you were head over heels for her; yet she barely felt a thing? Almost as if your relationship was a strategic move on her part, to get your brains and knowledge? To use against all her and her mother’s enemies? Maybe so, maybe not. But even so, it’s pretty clear that the years you spent as her companion – even just as friends – meant next to nothing as her.

As your facial expression hardens, Harry notices and seems to wince slightly. “Sorry, Y/N.”

“An apology from Harry Hook? Am I dreaming?” You laugh, having to brush off your stinging wounds with the ever-present blanket of apathy.

“Guys, it’s Ben and he’s with… Uma?”

From the sound of Gil’s confused voice, you and Harry turn away from each other and turn your gazes to the TV screen. There she is, Uma, arm in arm with Prince Ben and waltzing among the princes and princesses of Auradon. Doing you all proud.

The next hour or so is spent watching the events of the Cotillion. All with ‘oos’ and ‘ahhs’ as you watch Uma battle it out with Mal in their super-sized forms.

“Did you know that either of them could do that?” Harry asks you.

“Not. At. All.” You breathe, slightly awed at the majesty of both your ex-girlfriend and best friend’s powers.

But soon, the battle is over. Mal returns to the deck of the ship alongside cheers and shouts of being Auradon’s hero; while Uma delves down into the ocean’s depths. The former registers to you first; causing anger to surge through your veins. As if Mal gets to be the hero… even though she had the same plan that Uma did when she first came to Auradon. Yet, with Harry’s tight grasp on your arm, Uma’s disappearance dawns on you like a fresh wave of despair.

“Do you think she can get back?” You breathe.

“I don’t know…” Gil trails off, before Harry starts to pace.

“We have to find her, what if she can’t get back…” He mutters, over and over.

Standing up, you steer him to look at you, hands grasped firmly on his shoulders. “Harry, calm down. Let’s work out a plan, we can think of something. At the very least, you two start to look for her and I will deal with the crew and all these politics. Okay?”

He looks at you, desperate for anything rope to cling onto. “Okay.”

“Now go bring our girl home, no one in this crew gets left behind.”

The barrier is coming down. That's all you have been informed of, before being crushed in hugs from Uma, Gil and Harry. "We did it, Y/N! We did it!" Their celebrations cause a smile to light up on your face. When you were told of the boys' plan to find Uma, you happily stayed behind to look after the crew and maintain the territory. It was a task that didn't need all three of you, even though you were miserable away from all your friends. But not only have your boys found Uma, they've also managed to dismantle the political barrier of Auradon's distrust. "I'm so proud of you all!" You squeal, burying your yourself deeper into the group hug. "Come on, we need to get ready for it. We're saying goodbye to this barrier in style!" Almost like clockwork, Uma's command is enough to spur the crew to action. While members of the crew flock to spruce the ship up, Uma's hand grasps your shoulder as she tugs you towards her. "Not you. You've done enough work while I was away. We're getting new clothes." "New clothes?" You question, raising your brows. "Yes, no hesitating. Evie has given us fabric and supplies to work with... So no complaining! If Mal's going to be there when the barrier comes down, we're going to show her what she's missing out on." "Uma... I don't know." "Come on, Y/N! We both know how to sew!" Uma exclaims excitedly, squeezing your shoulder in encouragement. "Sails and tattered clothes, Uma. Not dresses." "Oh come on Y/N, you sew up wounds all the time! How can a dress be much different?" "They're wildly different, Uma! Can't we just go to Dizzy with this?" Uma sighs, stalking over to a chest that was brought upon deck when they returned. "How can you trust Dizzy with these?" She beckons you towards her. Inside the box is a cacophony of fabrics - edgy and bold just like the Isle. Uma's fingers are already itching towards a teal fabric that just screams 'open ocean'. Like a moth drawn to the flame, you start to root through the fabric until you find a lavender fabric, streaked through with silver strands and lace. Instantly, your attention is hooked. "You like it? Take it, it's yours. No strings attached." Meeting her eyes, you struggle to comprehend it. No one has given you something out of the goodness of their heart - even your place on this crew was procured through hard working and even being a snitch. Yet now, Uma is willing giving you something. "Thank you, so much." You breathe, throat clogged with emotions. The fabric is soft to the touch and with that, you're sold on Uma's idea. "Well, we better get sewing." You say meeting her eyes with a smile - You stand behind Uma, practically beaming as she sings to Mal. Somehow, some kind of magic maybe, has allowed all voices to carry across the space between the Isle and the shores of Auradon. You're still quite prickly over the fact she and Mal have seemingly buried the hatchet sometime their shared adventure. But maybe it's time to forgive Mal? She has ended up doing the right thing, even if it has taken longer than it should've. Well, that question can be answered when you'll inevitably see her... Singing along to the chorus of excited voices, you follow the others - through the cobbled streets of the Isle; across the barrier and all the way to Auradon. Even you know the barrier will no longer be in place - it's what you're all celebrating, of course - there was still a prickle of fear within you when it came to crossing from the Isle and onto the adjoining bridge. Nothing happened. Actually no, something did happen. You surged onto the bridge and into a celebratory dance with even more vigour than before. Yet, as all things do, the dance ends. With citizens from both ends of spectrum mixing together: talking, laughing and introducing themselves. A new life being made. As you gaze around at those in the crowd, your eyes land on Harry trying to give his beloved captain a kiss, causing you to grin from ear to ear. As soon as you joined the crew, you knew there was chemistry between those two - heck, even before then! But being in their close circle really allowed you to see it. Given time, those two can create their own love story that will rival even Ben and Mal's. Just as you start to walk over to them all, a hand shoots out to grasp your arm. While you flinch in reaction, the voice that sounds right behind you makes that flinch encapsulate itself into a grimace. "Can I talk to you?" You can see Uma's gaze shooting to you, concern dancing across her dark eyes. With a small smile, you nod at her, signalling that you are okay. Then, and only then, do you turn to face Mal. "I feel like this conversation has been overdue, don't you? Especially in light of recent events." "I agree." There is silence between you as you both walk away from the celebrations. Almost as if Mal is struggling to start her spiel of apologies and what else she's planning to spit out of her mouth. It's fun to see her struggle. Usually so suave, confident and powerful; yet now silent and cowering. "Look, Y/N. I don't really know what to say." Her works are stunted, awkward. So far away from your last conversation. "An apology for leaving me behind? For forgetting me? For moving on without me so, so quickly?" You smile dangerously at her. "I-" "Thing is Mal, I honestly thought we were still dating when you left. You never told me that we weren't. The only way I knew we were not was I saw you and Ben, kissing and making undying promises to each other." She bites her lip and from over her shoulder you can see Ben watching the both of you intently. There's no way the pair of you could ever repair anything you ever had, that's crystal clear now, even a cobbling a friendship back together would be near impossible. "I, I -" "Save it, Mal. An apology isn't genuine." Turning away, you start to stalk your way over to Uma and your crew. Your friends.on your way, you pass the rest of the Core Four who stare at you in sadness. "Don't give me your pity." You snarl as you pass, "Go back to your party." With your anger, you end up finding yourself standing on the shore of Auardon. Glaring venemously past the silhouette of the Isle and to the horizon beyond. The only way to get away from all of it is to go somewhere else: where you don't have to see any of their faces or be held accountable for anyone else. "Y/N!" Your name is called by a cacophony of voices: Mal, Uma, Harry and all of the rest of the Core Four including Ben. You merely stare at them all, a brow raised. "Y/N, I am sorry! I really am! You were just a victim of my selfishness - I was stuck in my own head, my own life... I forgot that other people depended on me. I'm so sorry, I never wrote and I never got back in contact... most of all, I caused you so much pain. I'm so, so sorry!"" Mal's voice starts to break, and she forces herself to take a breath to maintain her composure. "I know that I will be probably apologising for the rest of my life. But please, can we be friends? Come to Auradon and blossom into what you always wanted to be. Please, stay and let me make it up to you." Biting your lip, you struggle to formulate a reply. In this time, Evie also breaks her way into the conversation. "All of us are sorry Y/N, we left you. With the knowledge of what the Isle is - was - like and we still did it anyway." Jay and Carlos nod along, eyes intent on you. "Can you forgive us?" There. The million-pound question. Breathily, you run your hand through your hair before stealing yourself up to reply. "It will take me a long time to forgive you. But I will try." They all visibly relax. "But, I can't heal on the Isle or in Auradon." "Y/N?" Uma questions, walking towards you slightly. "I need to get away from here, find out who I am. Please understand." They all nod and, as if there is a switch within you, you feel yourself lighten. Smiling, you turn back towards the waves lapping gently on the shore. Gazing, in anticipation, out at the new horizon beyond. Your horizon. Your future. In which you won't just be the sum of your parents or the one that they left behind.

#mal x reader #mal x ben #mal bertha #mal descendants #descendants #disney descendants #Descendants 2 #descendants x reader #descendants 3 #descendants imagine #descendants imagines #uma descendants #harry hook #gil descendants #evie grimhilde #Carlos De Vil #jay descendants

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florafey · 4 years

Text

The Tipping Point - Snippet 3

This is just 4,336 words of me extrapolating on my characters and their personalities and a little more of the noble, upper-class culture they live in. We get full names, as well.

For clarity, this scene is set five years before the majority of the story takes place, so the main characters are quite a bit younger in this scene than they “actually” are. In this scene they are teenagers; they are anywhere from 19 to 25 in the “present time”. Let me know what you think! Enjoy!

Five Years Ago : 206 Annum Effugium (A.E)

The sun was shining, therefore the children were excited.

“Don’t run down the stairs, Wynona. You will trip over your dress and find out how hard that marble is.” Duchess Gallio prided herself on being the epitome of a perfect, well-bred lady of status, and therefore did not raise her voice at her young daughter. Winnie, barely six, did not yet care about being a lady and did not heed her mother. She knew a stronger scolding wouldn’t come, anyways.

Thea, arm in arm with Iona, was just as happy as Winnie about the weather, though Thea knew better than to run down the palace staircase without first lifting the hem of her dress. She watched with amusement as Winnie’s skirts caught around her ankles and made the girl stumble and slow down.

It was mid-April and the cold front had just broken. It had been a hard winter. Nearly seven months of snow, frost, blistering wind, and chilly drafts that occasionally seeped through even the palace walls. Thea hated the cold and everything that came with it. She preferred the spring dresses with their loose skirts that didn’t weigh nearly as much as she herself did, she preferred the street festivals she was allowed to attend and even those she wasn’t, and she much preferred day-long picnics spent outside in the sun. While Duke Kaiso spun the most magnificent tales in front of the fire, Thea would still take grass stained knees and bouts of wrestling that made her mother shriek.

Winnie amazedly reached the bottom of the long staircase without knocking her teeth out. When she spotted Thea, she grinned and didn’t slow her run into the other girl’s arms. Iona cooed at Winnie as Thea propped her on her hip and made her way out into the palace’s sprawling garden. The sun was out and so were the birds, the butterflies, the bugs, and the troublemakers.

“Now, Winnie, if you eat lemon cakes today, take care not to get any on that gorgeous dress of yours,” Thea said. She knew Winnie would attack the plate of lemon cakes the moment she saw them without any regard for her words, but she said it nonetheless.

“Momma says I won’t be allowed to eat lemon cakes today.” Winnie sounded distressed. Her little hands were tangled in Thea’s curls. Thea turned a sympathetic look on Winnie and said, “Well, then you’ll just have to spend the whole afternoon with me. How awful.”

Winnie squealed and clapped her hands, simultaneously tugging Thea’s hair. Iona laughed and steered them over to where the rest of the noble families were sitting.

It was a large picnic. Nearly every member of the seven noble families were there. The first picnic of the year was always the biggest, symbolizing unity between the houses and a celebration of the breaking of winter.

Thea’s parents, Duke and Duchess Fontaine were seated next to their closest friends and Iona’s parents, Duke and Duchess Tithonius. Iona’s older brother, Cicero, was nowhere to be seen. Judging from how the Duke Kaiso’s only son, Adonias, was also missing, Thea assumed the two were off somewhere beating teeth out of each other. They knew by now to take their arguments far from everyone else. The Tithonius’ cousins, the Anatolious family, sat under a nearby tree with their only daughter, Valerie. Valerie was speaking to Winnie’s older brother, Matthias Gallio, and was giving him a grin almost as sharp as her eyes. Twins Ruth and Wren Dexion were engaged in a playful game with each other and seemed to be trying to convince a young teenage boy to join them. Freiderich Augustus Quintilla was fourteen but looked twelve. He was only a head or two taller than Ruth, who was currently wrapped around his leg, cackling. Freiderich was clutching a book and looked for all the world like he might pass out. His pale skin stood out against his red-blond curls that only added to his youthfulness.

From besides Thea, Iona gave a shuttered sigh.

“Where is my brother?” She grumbled. “Father is going to tan him for not being here.”

Thea set down a squirming Winnie, who ran off to join Ruth and Wren in attacking Freiderich. “I’m sure Cicero had every intention of coming, Iona. Adonias probably caught him in the hall and started running that mouth of his.”

Iona couldn’t stop the smile that flickered on her mouth. “For having grown up together, you would think they would have learned how to get along,” she mused, taking a seat on the warm grass. Thea sat and stretched her legs out.

“I don’t pretend to understand them. Let’s talk about something else.”

“Yes, please. I can’t stand the two of them. Always at each other’s throats. When was the last time you were in town?”

“Not since I went with you last week. Why?”

“Oh, Madame Ahr-Yusa put out the most gorgeous display of dresses a few days ago in time for the new season. They’re to die for, you’re going to melt when you see them!”

The two girls fell into an easy stream of conversation over the next hour concerning the latest fashions arriving in the capitol with the spring season. After Madame Ahr-Yusa’s gowns were discussed it was the hats from Madame Ingrid and then the daggers from Master Quell’s shop, famous for their ability to never dull. Being trained to fight was a lesson the noble families of the Cerulean Isles did not fail to teach their children, for the palace could often be the most dangerous place to live. But while the young boys learned to fight with broadswords and fists, the young ladies were taught to take lives whilst in corsets and heeled shoes.

Thea, despite her mother’s wishes, had ensured her education was as well-rounded as she could. Upon hearing her wishes to learn how to swordfight, Cicero had handed Thea his broadsword, which she had quickly found to be much too heavy. So she had commissioned a sword to be made to fit her. It was thinner, lighter, and laid in her hand perfectly. It had taken her almost a full month to get even the most basic movements mastered whilst in a gown, but she was making steady progress. She subsequently felt as though she had provided Cicero with four weeks’ entertainment as he watched her struggle with the balance between her dress and sword. If she hadn’t thought his laughter had cracked a few of his ribs, she probably would have attempted to do it herself.

The girls ate with Valerie and discussed the upcoming festival, the first of the season. Valerie often took advantage of festivals to buy as many unique knives as she could, but Thea found herself drawn more to the entertainment and the music. Thea had seen Valerie’s collection of sharp rings, and was surprised to know that Matthias Gallio was still trying to court her. Val was currently wearing one of her weapons, a thin, strong piece of metal that glinted at her knuckle and exposed a razor-sharp blade when her finger curled in.

But for all her danger, Valerie Clementine Anatolious knew how to be a perfect lady. She could dance for hours in a tightly-laced corset and never lose her breath. She could balance a stack of books on her head while walking down the stairs. She could make her voice heard without raising it, and she could make Thea double over in laughter with the slightest quip. Thea liked her very much.

In the middle of the girls’ conversation about the festival in two weeks, Friederich Quintilla managed to finally slip away from Winnie and the Dexion twins and loped over in time to hear a few words.

“The Vernal Festival? The weather should be good, it seems. Unless we get an unexpected cold front in which case we may have some rain, but…” He was suddenly aware of all three girls staring at him and trailed off self-consciously, “...but it’s highly unlikely…” he swept his red-blond curls off his forehead but they needed a trim and fell back into his eyes. Friederich was three years younger than Thea and Iona, and four years younger than Valerie. Thea didn’t know him all that well; he took all his lessons with the prince and His Majesty’s private tutor. Duchess Quintilla, his mother, was a woman to rival Duchess Gallio. Prim, proper, fragile. Spoiled, overprotective, overbearing. Thea was often distracted whenever Duchess Quintilla was in the same room as her, the diamonds the Duchess wore were cut so sharply that they sparkled even at night.

To ease Friederich’s embarrassment, Thea inquired, “What book are you reading, Friederich? Let me see.”

The boy handed it over and sat in the grass next to her. Thea was delighted to see it was written by a man named Isaac Von Hue. A few of his novels sat in her own room.

“You read Von Hue as well?” She asked. “I only just finished The Paper Lantern. How did you come across him?”

“The prince, actually.” Where anyone else Friederich’s age might have boasted this, Friederich almost lowered his voice to draw less attention to the fact that he was so close with the young heir. “His Grace learned to read using books by Von Hue and Ryner and Pav...Pavlish…”

“Pavilishchev,” Thea supplied.

“Yes, thank you. Anyways, he suggested this one to me quite a while ago and I’m embarrassed to say that I never read it sooner only because it didn’t seem very intriguing.”

Thea had to laugh. “Just because he is the prince doesn’t mean you have to agree with his literary tastes.”

“Still, I was hesitant. I don’t fancy adventure novels or daring rescues.”

“Well, has Von Hue changed your mind? You’re nearly done with this book so it seems he might have.”

Friederich thought about it, then shrugged. “Perhaps. I’m not quite sure. What book of his did you say you had just finished? Maybe I’ll try that one next.” “The Paper Lantern,” Thea smiled. “It’s my favorite of his so far. There’s a lot to be said for the battling of wills between the ruling patriarchy and the strong minds of the women underneath it. When you’ve read it, I would love to discuss it with you.”

Val, only hearing Thea’s last sentence, leaned over Thea’s lap and said, “Don’t take her up on that, she’ll talk a whole day and night away.”

Thea made an indignant noise and shoved Val away from her. Val tugged on Thea’s hair with a sharp smile and went back to her conversation with Iona.

“I’m pleasantly surprised to find you read as much as I do,” Friederich said. “I’ll come to you when-”

They were interrupted a second time when two figures strode leisurely into the garden. One had short, fair hair, and a set of bright green eyes. He was tall and broad chested and currently spinning a wooden sparring staff in his left hand. A very familiar smirk was twisting his mouth into something arrogant and borderline rude. Adonias Montague Kaiso. Twenty years old; three years older than Thea and the eldest of all the noble children. Thea’s interactions with Adonias were limited to pleasant greetings in passing or during lessons, and the few times he picked arguments with her to either see how sharp her claws were or for an excuse to take Cicero to the ground again. Adonias had soon learned, however, that picking fights with Thea weren’t worth it; she always knew what he was doing and very rarely rose to the bait.

The young man behind Adonias was only two years his junior. He contrasted Adonias astoundingly, in both looks and behavior. This man’s hair was a red-brown color and hung in loose waves to his shoulders. Half of it was tied back with a strap of leather. His eyes were amber and his brows dark, his skin dark enough to show that at least one of his parents was not native to the Isles. He was slightly taller than Adonias and just as broad, but strode into the garden with his hands slipped casually inside his pockets. Cicero Caspian Tithonius. The second eldest of all the noble children and the instigator of half of all the fights between him and the eldest.

Iona seemed relieved to see her brother finally show up. Thea was relieved to see that neither man seemed to have been fighting the other as of late. It was a rare occasion that Cicero and Adonias had a civil conversation, but it did occasionally happen. Perhaps it was due to the formal clothing they currently wore.

Adonias propped his sparring staff onto his shoulder to bow to his mother and the Duchess Quintilla. He accepted the food they offered and Thea heard him smoothly apologize for his tardiness. Adonias was almost as adept as Valerie in walking the line between being an outright aggressor and a noble.

Thea heard Cicero acknowledge his father with a perfunctory, “Sir,” before moving to kiss his mother’s cheek and sit besides her. Duchess Tithonius was a stunning woman with bright eyes and dark skin. She had left Tasnia when she had met and married the Duke, and bore his children only months after their marriage. She was very nearly a second mother to Thea. Her accent was much thicker than either Cicero’s or Iona’s and she often sang in her native language, her voice melodic and winding and something Thea knew to be unique to her country’s people.

Winnie chose this time to get bored with the Dexion twins. “Thea! Come find rocks with me!” Her once-white gown was already grass stained around the hem. Thea didn’t know what Duchess Gallio had expected.

Thea held up Friederich’s book to show Winnie she was currently occupied. Winnie pouted and called, “But you promised!”

Thea had not, but she returned Friederich his book and went to join Winnie in the warm grass.

“Where is your puppy, Thea? Can she come play?” Winnie picked up a handful of rocks, deemed them unworthy, and threw them down again.

“Clover? She’s probably sleeping on my bed right now. There’s a lovely patch of sun that lands right on my pillow around noon.”

Winnie giggled. “She’s sleeping? But it’s not morning anymore.”

“Oh, she’s a lazy thing. Maybe after the picnic you can come with me to wake her up.”

Thea allowed Winnie to hand her the rocks she wanted to keep, knowing the girl would forget all about them the moment her mother called her over to eat. But it was Matthias who fetched his sister, not the Duchess.

“Come along, Winnie. Don’t you want lunch?” Matthias held his hand out towards his sister and she grabbed his fingers. Matthias Gallio was only a few months older than Thea and she was under the impression that he was the most proper young noble out of all of them. He was well trained how to fight but not to the indecent extent that Cicero or Adonias had been. He was just as likely to be dancing or reading or making sure his unruly little sister didn’t knock over anything valuable. Which, in the palace, was nearly everything you could touch.

Thea returned to Iona and Valerie to find they had saved her a few bites of lunch.

“I was thinking we could walk down to the river,” Iona said, looking that direction and shielding her eyes from the sun. “It isn’t too warm for a walk.”

Thea hummed in agreement around a bite of lemon cake. She understood why Winnie liked them so much. “I’ll go with you. Will you come, Valerie?”

“Oh, perhaps.” Val adjusted her silver skirts. “I doubt my mother would be pleased if I decided to steal Adonias’ sparring staff and go a few rounds with him.”

“I’d give anything to see that,” Thea said honestly. “My coin would be on you, too. Speaking of Adonias, we should ask the boys to come.”

“Let’s not,” Iona protested. “They’ll simply bicker the whole time.” “They aren’t that bad. And besides, it’ll be more fun with them.”

“We aren’t fun enough for you, Thea?” Valerie feigned hurt.

Thea rolled her eyes and stood up, brushing invisible crumbs from her bodice. “I won’t answer that.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to incriminate myself.” She left the girls and made her way across the lawn to where Cicero was engaged in light conversation with his mother. The Countess’ eyes lit up when she saw Thea.

“Theadora Dior, precious girl, come to me!” The Countess opened her arms and Thea couldn’t help but smile and run to her. The Countess was sitting on a low stone bench so Thea knelt in the grass and embraced the Countess. She breathed in the woman’s scent of sunshine and perfume, and allowed the Countess to kiss her hair.

The Countess Tithonius was the only woman apart from Thea’s own mother that sometimes referred to Thea using her middle name as well. But Countess Fontaine only used it when Thea was in trouble; Countess Tithonius called her with melody and happiness.

“Good afternoon, my lady. I apologize for not greeting you sooner.”

The Countess tsked. “None of that, girl. I need no special respect.”

Thea made a face. “Of course you do.”

From besides them, Cicero laughed softly. “You flatter each other.” He shook his head, smiling.

Thea ignored him for the time being. The Countess did as well. She ran a bronze hand through Thea’s hair and said, “What are you three troublemakers scheming up over there? I can tell you have something in mind. This warm weather is enough to bring the most out of anyone.”

“Troublemakers?” Thea smiled. She folded her feet more comfortably under her and rested her arms on the Duchess’ knees.

“My lady, I cause no trouble. You mistake me for your son.”

Cicero had been watching Thea and his mother’s interaction with half-lidded interest until Thea mentioned him. She could practically feel him staring at her.

“Careful,” he warned mildly.

The Duchess tsked again, waving a hand. “As I say. Troublemaker Fontaine, that is your name.”

Laughter bubbled out of Thea and soon the Countess was laughing with her. Her laughter, Thea thought, was one of the most beautiful sounds she had ever heard.

“We are only going to walk to the river. It won’t take us long. We should be back within the hour.”

“Don’t fall in.”

“No, Countess.” The two were still smiling.

“You came all the way over here to bid me farewell before leaving for only an hour?” The Countess knew Thea had not.

“I was going to ask your son if he would like to come with us, but I’m sure he would rather stay here with you.”

“I would,” was Cicero’s instant reply. He was spinning a needle-blade between his fingers, and shot Thea a honed smile when she looked at him.

The Duchess flicked her hair back behind her shoulders and regarded her son with a mix of disdain and disappointment.

“Son from my womb? Sometimes I wonder. Run along. I know it pains you to sit still for too long.”

Cicero smiled genuinely and the needle-blade vanished with a twitch of his fingers.

“As you wish, my lady.” He stood, kissed his mother on the head, and held out his hand to help Thea stand. Thea curtseyed to the Countess, who pressed a hand to her heart, and turned away with Cicero.

“It’s a wonder I can make myself leave your mother’s presence,” Thea mused quietly. “She’s a magical woman.”

Cicero made a noise of agreement. He placed her hand on his arm and she took it as a lady would whilst walking with a gentleman. Val and Iona had convinced Adonias to come along, but Matthias would stay with his younger sister and the young twins. Thea and Cicero were a few paces ahead of the other three but Adonias’ voice still rang out clearly from behind them.

“Is that why you two don’t get along?” Thea asked. “He’s loud and you’re so broody.”

“I don’t brood, Thea. And no. Adonias is only loud because he’s deaf in one ear.”

“Firstly, you do brood. And second, how do you know that? Which ear?”

Cicero raised a brow at her.

“See, that’s a brood,” Thea said. “I win. One point for Theadora.”

“You’re a child. And I know Adonias is deaf because he can’t hear shit if you talk on his left side. I asked him about it a few months ago and he seemed surprised I had figured it out. Nobody else has, apparently.”

Thea took in this information with interest. Then she shrugged and turned to more important matters.

“Are you planning on going to the Vernal festival in a few weeks?”

“I’ll decide that the morning of.”

“Ugh, how boring. How will you know what to wear?”

Cicero knew a joke when he heard one but the look of absolute incredulity that he gave Thea was enough to send Thea into a gale of laughter.

“You’re in a good mood.” He observed dryly. The river was almost in sight; they were picking their way over small stones that lead to the bank.

“How could I not be, it’s spring. Sometimes I think each winter becomes harder and harder to bear. I could just die from boredom and the awful cold.”

“Find someone to keep you warm.” Cicero’s smile was razor-sharp and simmered with bait. Thea felt her face heat, but she stuck her tongue out and said, “Don’t be lewd.”

“Then don’t ask for it.”

“I did not.” “Like a child asking to be fed.” Thea’s mouth dropped. “I- What does that mean?”

But they had reached the river and Cicero only laughed. Val and Iona had caught up with them, Adonias still spinning his sparring staff. The girls found a part of the river shallow enough to wade in if they held their dresses up but it was only a matter of time before Valerie splashed Iona, soaking her bodice, and Iona retaliated in kind. Thea’s dress was brand new and she didn’t want to spoil a wonderful day by having an argument with her mother, so she fled from the battle well before she could be dragged into it. She was content to place herself on a warm rock next to the boys and yell advice from the sidelines.

Adonias came to sit next to Thea. His presence was welcome until he looked at the two girls playing in the water, sighed heavily, and said, “That’s hot.”

“You’re a fucking pig, Adonias.”

Cicero let out a startled laugh. “Language, little Fontaine.”

“I’m serious. If there was a rock nearby big enough to kill you with, I would consider it. This is why Iona stopped sleeping with you.”

Cicero dropped the stone he had been sharpening his knife with. “Excuse me?”

Adonias sent Thea a poisonous glare. She simpered back, knowing what she had done. “Oh! I’m terribly sorry. You seem to have some explaining to do. A hasty mouth makes mighty trouble, isn’t that right, Adonias?”

Adonias was about to respond when Cicero seized his collar and hauled him to his feet. His blade winked in his hand. Adonias did not take well to being manhandled and was quick to shove Cicero’s hand off his neck. But Adonias was unarmed and the accused violator of a sister’s propriety. Thea stood, suddenly seeing how bad this could get.

Val and Iona turned at the disruption, and Iona was the first to call out. “Cicero! Adonias!” This was not Iona’s first or fiftieth time breaking the two apart; she knew how to get their attention with only her voice. She climbed out of the water and onto the riverbank, dripping from her hem but still somehow managing to look regal.

“None of that. I mean it. If you want to fight, you will go someplace else and not ruin the mood of this afternoon.” Her words were final.

Val broke the tension when she followed Iona onto the back, wringing out her short hair. “I’ll fight you, Adonias. If you promise to cry when I beat you.”

Thea scoffed out a laugh and was rewarded with Val’s wink. Cicero, thankfully, miraculously, dropped the subject but shoved Adonias hard enough to send him rocking back on his heels. Iona raised an eyebrow but kept silent.

Cicero came to sit next to Thea, who had taken up her perch on the sunny rock and was smoothing her skirts out and trying to look innocent. He used the pommel of his knife to turn her face to him and said, “What was that about a hasty mouth making trouble?”

Thea removed the knife from his hand and hid it in the folds of her skirt. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Lies sound repulsive coming from your mouth.”

Thea bit back a rather inappropriate quip that would have been more suited to Valerie’s tastes.

Adonias had fallen into smooth chatter with Val and Iona as the girls tried to figure out how to dry their hair and dresses as quickly as possible. Thea glanced at them and was amused to see Valerie using her skirt to polish her bladed ring. When she looked back at Cicero, he was leaning back on his hands, tilting his face up to the sun, closing his eyes. His hair was glinting a deep red in the sunlight and beginning to curl with the rising humidity. The tension had gone from his face and left in its wake a Cicero that Thea often never saw. His mouth was parted slightly, his breathing steady as he soaked up the warmth. But Thea’s heart had begun to pound so she forced herself to look away before she could notice anything else.

#the tipping point #original story #original character #florafey

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lord-of-weselton · 4 years

Text

Solo Para: I Don’t Need You Anymore

It‘s been months since he last came here. When the Isle had first been abolished, he had given himself the mission to come every week. No one obliged him to do so; it was just something he felt like he should do.

For weeks, he had continued to come, almost instinctively, and then he had stopped. Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t quite remember why. It had probably been a gradual thing- slowly, he was too busy, or didn’t feel like coming, didn’t feel like he needed to. For months, he had avoided coming here, and yet here he was now, sitting on the small uncomfortable chair of the rehab center, waiting for his dad to come. He wondered how many VKs still visited their parents in rehab.... he supposed not that many. Most of them didn’t have a good relationship with their parents, unsurprisingly. Dexter didn’t know if he was one of them or not. Sure, his father and him didn’t see eye to eye, and maybe the older man hadn’t been the most affectionate, or caring, or present parent out there, but he had stuck around and ensured his survival, and to Dexter, it was more than he could ask for. His relationship with his dad was much less strained that the one with his grandfather; at least his dad respected him and didn’t always tell him what he was doing wrong. At least he didn’t always feel like some kind of failure around him.

He wondered how his dad would react when he will see him. Even now, Dexter wasn’t quite sure why he was here. Maybe because he was hoping that if he started doing the small things he used to do, he’d feel like he used to. Maybe because if he had a talk with his dad, someone he trusted, he’d get himself back. Because he truly felt like he was losing himself. He felt like he didn’t know who he was anymore, like the vision of himself he had held onto for so many years was slowly slipping away, fading, only to be replaced with a new one he wasn’t sure he liked. For years, he had been known as the asshole, the guy with no emotion- and he liked being seen this way, because this was exactly who he wanted to be. He was so tired of constantly opening up to people, only to get hurt. He was tired of getting walked on by people he thought he could trust. Living this way ensured that his heart stopped getting broken every time. Pushing people away, acting in a way so despicable that people couldn’t stand him and stayed away..... for years it had worked. He never got attached, because no one got close enough for it to happen. He had “friends”, or rather partners in his eyes, and he did care about them, but he always made sure to not get too close. For years, he was fine... and then he came to Auradon. Suddenly, his methods weren’t as efficient. Suddenly, his attitude was seen more as challenge than a reason to stay away. “Fuck off” seemed to mean “try harder” in some people’s eyes. People seemed to presume that he needed friends, that he needed to open up. He had tried, tried so hard to keep them away..... but as time went by, nothing worked. They stuck by him like glue, no matter how mean he could get. God, he had fucking tried, but it wasn’t enough.... because then he started changing. All of a sudden, their presence didn’t bother him as much as it used to.... and that’s what he knew that he was screwed. He couldn’t help but think about Vanessa. “She grew on you, like a fungus, but she grew on you.” Stephanie’s words echoed in his mind. Yes, no matter how much he hated to admit it, she had grown on him. In the strangest, most repulsive way, he had somehow started caring about her and her wellbeing. He kept replaying the scene in the woods over and over in his head. The fact that he had knelt down next to her, comforted her, and made her feel better... it was disgusting. What repulsed him even was the fact that he knew damn well she wasn’t the only person he had seem to start caring about. In the past weeks, Dexter had definitely noticed the change in his relationship with the ones around him. No matter how much he didn’t want acknowledge it, there was no doubt: he was slowly going soft. It was subtle, and it didn’t really show on the outside, but he knew he felt differently. He didn’t push people as much as he did; it was as if their presence didn’t bother him as much as it used to. Maybe the reason why he had so much trouble calling people his friends was because he couldn’t bring himself to admit that this was what they were to him? Friends. He thought of the Mafia, who was more family to him than his actual family, excluding maybe his little sister. He thought of Margo... there was a time where he couldn’t stand her. They were in the same gang, and yet somehow, he remembered being annoyed by her very presence. As time went by, though, all of that changed. He remembered the first time she had called him Dexy, and how much it had annoyed him. Annoyance, however, had never stopped Margo from doing anything, and no matter how much he’d tell her to stop, she continued to use that nickname over and over.... until it had grown on him. He hated that it had, he hated that it didn’t bother him anymore, because it wasn’t supposed to be this way. He couldn’t get the curse, and what happened in the woods out of his head, no matter how much he tried. He knew that things changed after this day, he knew things would never be the same, and that he’d never be able to see her the same either, and god did he hate it. He hated it all. He was in dangerous territory, he knew that. Soon enough, he’d get attached to all of them, and it’d be too late.... but he didn’t know how to go back. How do you stop caring about someone? You don’t; you’re just stuck with it, no matter what. God fucking damnit. Maybe if he had been harsher from the start, none of this would’ve happened. Maybe if he had truly been an asshole, this could’ve been avoided. But Dexter knew that deep deep down, there was a small part of him that was still soft. And that soft side, that he despised, was the cause of his downfall.

He snapped out of his thoughts when he spotted a tall figure walking in his direction and sitting in front of him. His father looked far older than he recalled. His hair seemed to be greyer than before, his face more wrinkly, but most importantly, he looked exhausted. Dexter wondered what he did to occupy his days in rehab, what he could’ve done to be so helplessly tired like this. Deep down inside of him, he felt his insides twisting a bit. He cleared his throat.

“Dad” it was all he was capable to say at this point. Most of his life, he had always spoken his mind, and known exactly what to say, but today was special. Sitting here, in front of his father, Dexter had no idea what to say. He was feeling something he rarely did; he was overwhelmed, and he couldn’t pinpoint why. He wrapped his arms around himself awkwardly.

“Son.... it’s been a while” his father smiled tiredly, bringing a trembling hard to his gray hair. It was strange, how Dexter had spent years not really paying attention to his father. He remembered how eager the older man was to make sure all of them had even the illusion of a decent childhood. He remembered how badly he wanted to get closer to Dexter, and how he had pushed him away, as he always did. He had always assumed that his dad preferred his siblings to him, just like his grandfather, and had kept his distances. However, right now, staring into those sad dark eyes, he wondered if he really knew his own father as well as he thought. Suddenly, he felt guilty for how harsh he had been to him.

“Yeah... I’m sorry for... not coming more. School became intense and then there were a lot of weird stuff-“

“Dexter...” his father cut him off, shaking his head. “Don’t feel the need to apologize. I’m surprised you even came at all, even if it was just a few times. I don’t expect you to come every week. You.... you have your own life, it’s okay. I manage” even his voice sounded tired, it was almost like a whisper. Dexter remembered when he was younger, when he saw his father as this tall, confident, loud man with energy like no other. What had happened to this man? Maybe Dexter wasn’t the only one who had changed a lot over the years. Dexter looked down and started fiddling with his sleeve nervously. He hated feeling awkward like he did. It was as if he was a kid again, speechless around his father. What should he even say? Part of him wanted to voice his worries to his father- just like he used to as a kid. However, these weren’t the small “this guy doesn’t want to be my friend, what do I do?” This time, it was more like “Dad, I’m confused about who I am, what I want to be, and what I want” or “I’m feeling emotions I haven’t felt in years, how do I handle that?”

.... “I’m scared”

Part of him wanted to tell him, but this man looked like he could barely handle his own sleep schedule... he didn’t want to dump his existential crisis on his back. He was about to say something when he noticed the expression in his father’s face changing. He seemed to be staring at something that was behind Dexter, and the boy turned around to see what intrigued him so much. A strange woman stood at the entrance, kind of staring awkwardly at them. She seemed vaguely familiar, but Dexter couldn’t pinpoint why. He simply stared at this lady, who’s blue eyes seemed to be piercing into his soul.

“Uhm, can I help you?” His tone was loud, probably conveying his slight annoyance. He had no clue who this woman was, nor why she was visiting his father, but he wouldn’t let her take away his only visiting time. She didn’t reply to him, though, she simply stared at him, her eyebrows furrowing slightly. Dexter let out an annoyed sigh, clearing his throat loudly. “Hey! I’m talking to you, ma’am! Hello?” God, she was already getting on his nerves and she hadn’t even opened her mouth. The woman looked like she had been snapped out of her thoughts as she looked at Dexter with panicked eyes. She seemed so lost, and Dexter couldn’t help but wonder if she was even at the right place.

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry I was distracted” she looked so uncomfortable, it showed. Dexter simply rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, no shit.” There was a silence. A long, awkward silence. Dexter didn’t know why he could suddenly feel some kind of tension in the air. The woman couldn’t stop staring at him, and his father couldn’t stop staring at her. It was definitely not how he expected his visit to go.

“I uhm.... I’m here... to see Victor” she practically stuttered. There was fear in her piercing blue eyes. Dexter stood up from his seat, and walked towards her. She started taking a few steps back, as if she was intimidated by him somehow. People his age weren’t afraid of him, but this grown woman was.... how bizarre. He stared at this strange lady, and he frowned, crossing his arms. He had no idea how she knew his father, but he did not trust her. She had this look in her eyes, the look of someone who had deep regrets, the look of someone who had something to hide. And even if he hadn’t been present for his dad then, he was going to be now.

“Who are you, exactly? And, most importantly, why do you need to see my father?” At this moment, it seemed like the woman had stopped breathing.

“Your... your what?” Her face turned as white as the dress she was wearing. Dexter raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“My father. What, are you surprised that a guy like me still visits his father?” No response. She just stared, as she had for the past minutes. Then, she turned to Dexter’s father, her eyes wide open.

“Victor....”

“Janet....“

“Seriously? We’re doing this now?” Dexter threw his arms in the air, backing away from this “Janet” and turning to his father. “What the fuck is going on?” He takes a deep breath. “Dad, do you know who she is?”

“Dexter...” the look in his eyes had changed. The old man’s expression now mirrored the woman’s, as if they were both apart of the same conspiracy.

“D-Dexter?” Janet gasped loudly, contemplating him once again. “No, no, there’s no way....” she looked at this teenager, with dark eyes, who was slightly taller than him, before gasping loudly and clasping her hands on her mouth. “Oh my god!”

“I’m sorry, do I know you...?” he took a step back, now more confused than ever. Her reaction to the mention of his name, the look of pure fear in her eyes and the sadness in his father’s.... it was too much for him.

“You don’t... you don’t recognize me?”

“Am I supposed to?” He swore that she looked familiar, and it bothered him that he couldn’t explain why. There was something about her eyes.... it was as if he had seen them before. But where? She kind of reminded him of Jaime, but it was a simple coincidence right? This woman couldn’t be....

No. He was not thinking about.... about her. He didn’t want to bring back all those stupid memories. This Janet person was just a really confused person who happened to know his father. Suddenly, she started sobbing loudly, and Dexter took another step back, feeling extremely uncomfortable. Seeing people cry had to be one of the worse things ever.

“Dexter... it’s me...” Janet whispered, in between sobs. Dexter simply gave her the same confused look. “I know it’s been a long time but.... oh dear lord, you’ve grown so much! You‘re a handsome young man now and.... oh, let me hug you” she took a few steps forward to hug him but Dexter hardly pushed her away.

“Don’t touch me, what the fuck? I don’t know you, you don’t know me, you’re just mistaking me for another guy. I don’t know if I’m supposed to know who you are, but right now, you’re just creeping me out.” He yelled her, giving her a look. Somehow, it seemed to break her even more because she just continued to cry.

“I can’t believe you don’t recognize me.... my own baby...” she sniffled loudly. “I’m so sorry....” and there she went again. Dexter stared at her, blinking and feeling his heart drop at the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t because she was crying though, no, it was because of what she said. My baby.... the way she said it.... There was only one person in the world who even referred to him this way, only one person who had this voice.... he stared at her for a really long time.... and it hit him like a ton of bricks. The piercing blue eyes, the familiar name, the similarities with his sister, the fact that he could see his own face in hers.... he tumbled backwards as he took a few steps away from her.

“After all these years...”

“No, no no, it can’t be....”

“... I can finally stare at your beautiful face...”

“No, no, stay away!”

“... and see how much you’ve grown....”

“FUCK OFF!” Dexter screamed at the top of his lungs, bumping into the chair and using it to hold himself steady. He felt like he was about to either faint or throw up. His mother stared at him, looking more confused than ever. She had a hand that seemed to want to inch closer to him, but didn’t quite reach. Dexter was breathing loudly, almost trembling.

“Dexter? What’s wrong-“

“What’s wrong?” He let out a laugh that became louder and louder. Janet’s eyes widened, and she took her distances. “You left me! You left me a good, oh I don’t know, 12 years ago. You left me without any explanation when I was 5. And now, you’re here, here having the audacity to ask me what’s wrong! Now that I’m almost 18, you just pop back into my life, and you expect me to hug you?” Never had he felt more vulnerable than he did in that moment. Years of bottling up his feelings and building up walls to pretend they didn’t exist were coming back to bite him in the ass. It was as if they were all threatening to spill all at once. The walls that he had build over his emotions, that were already so fragile, were starting to collapse. His grip on the chair tightened, so much that his knuckles started to become white.

“Dexter....” his father started, but his mother interrupted him.

“No, he’s right.” Janet took a deep breath, wiping the tears off her face. “I.... I know I left... all those years ago. And I know this might have... been tough for you. I’m sorry about that... it wasn’t... it wasn’t my intention. But I need you to know...” she paused. “.... me leaving wasn’t about you. I‘ve always loved you, and I still do.... but your father and I just... it didn’t work out. I know you probably wanted us to be a united, happy family but...” she looked down, looking almost pitiful. But Dexter wasn’t falling for her, and her sob story. Instead of feeling sad for her, he was angry, furious even. He slowly let go of the chair, trembling as he stood straight. He stared right into her eyes, maintaining eye contact no matter how uncomfortable it seemed to make her.

“Oh, give me a fucking break. I’m not buying your ‘I’ll always love you’ bullshit. Do you think I’m still that dumb 5 year old kid you left behind? Because I’m not. Oh, oh no, that kid is long gone. If you thought you’d get him back, you were mistaken. Don’t you think I know that this whole thing isn’t about me? That’s not why I’m upset. Our family has been broken since the start, that’s not my problem. My problem....” he pauses because he feels like the emotions are rushing to the surface, like he’s drowning in them. It was at this moment that he realized how much everything hurt. “... my problem is that you filled me with hope. You told me that you loved me, that I was your everything, that I was special and that one day, you’d bring me to Auradon. You told me that we’d escape this hellhole that was the Isle, that we’d go to Auradon, and that we’d be happy. You promised me heaven- and the fool that I was believed you. You wanna know why I was so happy, even through my misery? Because I told myself that it was temporary. I told myself that one day, I’d get out of here and be happy. It was my reason to keep going. And then....” his voice started cracking. “You left in the middle of the night. You left me here, without any explanation. Actually, you left all of us. You left dad, you left grandpa, you left Jaime.... who was 3. You left, and I still somehow believed that you’d come back one day.... I believed that you’d come back for me, and bring me to Auradon like you promised. Everyone else ridiculed me for it, and yet I believed, I believed so hard, I held on to that thought every day. And you never fucking came. Do you know how much that hurt? How abandoned I felt? Yeah, this wasn’t about me, but I was a kid.... a kid that... that looked up to you and took it personally” Oh, dear lord, everything hurt, and his feelings were this close to taking over, and he swore he felt like crying.... but he wasn’t gonna cry, not in front of her. She couldn’t know just how much he was hurting right now.

“I’m so sorry.... I.... I had no idea.... I just... well, things kind of just... happened. Initially, my plan was just to find shelter somewhere else on the Isle, but somehow, I managed to find a way to leave. I wanted to bring you with me but.... I couldn’t. I thought of you every day though, and I missed yo-“

“Stop! Just stop!” Dexter put his hands on his ears for a moment, shutting his eyes. He didn’t move or speak, because he felt like if he did, he’d cry. He didn’t remembers when was the last time he felt this way. He took a shaky breath and opened his eyes, lowering his hands. “You’re such a... a liar! You’re trying to make me feel bad for you, make me feel bad for being angry at you, with your pity sob story, but it’s not working. You never planned on bringing you with me, I know that. You left us, because you were ashamed. You were ashamed that you married a villain and had kids with one. You tried to bury that past, so you left us stranded on the Isle to forget us. You’re acting as if you’ve been miserable in the past years.... don’t act like I’m fucking stupid. You have a new rich husband, and new kids.... better, richer and most importantly Auradonians kids” his mother’s eyes widened when he said that, and he couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. “Yeah, you thought I didn’t know, did you? You thought you could keep that hidden from me, didn’t you? Well, you should’ve known. It was all over the news when you guys got married. Bet that guy’s a friend of Adam or something.... We all saw it and it...” he shut his eyes. “When I saw the news, on the screen.... it made... it made me feel.... god, it made me feel so replaceable. As a 7 year old kid...” all he wanted right now was to disappear. “You have no idea how much you’ve hurt me. You have no idea how abandoned I felt.... but I can’t blame you. I get it, you were ashamed, you wanted to leave us behind and start at new, it’s okay. I get it. I fucking get it. It’s not about me, it’s alright, okay? I don’t care anymore. I respect your decision. But don’t pretend like that’s not what happened. If you missed me so much, you could’ve tried to send letters, to get in touch, anything. You didn’t do shit. You left me and the others without news of you all these years. Jaime.... my sweet little sister grew up without a mother, because you couldn’t assume your responsibilities, you couldn’t assume your decisions. I was 5 at the time, and I’m gonna be 18 next month. Don’t fucking tell me you tried, because you didn’t. Just tell me that you wanted a new family. Either way, I already know that.” The words were spilling out of his mouth without much thought. He didn’t know what he was doing anymore, his emotions had almost completely taken over at this point. He opened his eyes and met her gaze, blinking back a few angry tears. His mother had dropped the pitiful look, instead looking guilty. She walked closer and tried to put a hand on his shoulder

“Dex...” she started, and something inside of him snapped. It was violent, like a shock that he felt all over his body. He kept pushing her off, and she didn’t seem to get a hint.

“Don’t.... don’t call me that!” He took her hand before she managed to touch him and didn’t let go. In the anger, he started unconsciously squeezing it, making Janet yelp in pain. “You do NOT get the... the RIGHT to call me any nickname. You abandoned me when I needed you the most. You hurt me, and then pretended to care about me. You made a new family because you were ashamed of me and all of my siblings. I have said it before, and I’ll say it again- I hate nicknames. If I don’t let the people I actually care about call me nicknames....” well, 99.9% of people anyways. “... I definitely won’t let you.” Janet managed to escape his grip, a look of pure shock in her eyes. He glances slightly at her hand; it was red with the mark of his hand all over it.

“I’m.... I’m sorry! I didn’t.... I didn’t know-“

“You would’ve if you had stuck around!”

“Listen, I feel guilty enough as it is! But I want to make it up to you... I want....I want to get back into your life!” She wants to get back in his life. He remembered how he used to dream about this day, about the day that she would come home and hold him in her arms like she used to. If this has been a few years ago, he would’ve been thrilled. But this isn’t a few years ago. This is now, and he isn’t sure if he can let her back in. He knew that this whole situation was ridiculous, that he shouldn’t still be mad, practically 13 years later. He knew that this wasn’t his fault and that he should just let it go. His rational side was screaming at him to forgive her, and stop all this hatred. No matter how rational he could be though, there was still this little kid inside of him that missed his mommy. There was still this little kid, who saw his mom leave and thought he was to blame. There was still there little kid, who got told he was special, only to be left feeling miserable, this poor confused child who got his heartbroken and had to grow up without his mom, who had to pick up the broken pieces she left behind and rebuild himself. There was still this kid who cried for days and days because he felt like he wasn’t good enough, because mommy didn’t love him anymore, because mommy had better kids who weren’t complete losers. There was still this kid who got hurt. And even if this kid was big now, even if he built walls around himself and changed completely.... there was still a part of him that was broken and who remembered the pain he went through. Seeing her right now just brought back all those bad memories, all those moments he had tried to forget for so long, and he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. Hot tears started to appear in his eyes, and he had to shut them to stop himself from crying.

“I’m.... I’m sorry, but I can’t let you do that.” He was now trembling and his voice cracked. “You.... left a mother sized hole in my heart, a hole I had to fill all by myself. I’ve waited years for you and you never came- now it’s too late. Now, I have friends, who... who are like family to me, I have people who care about me. I.... I don’t need you anymore. It’s clear you don’t need me either, so why don’t... why don’t you go back to your beautiful Auradonians kids, and leave me be”

“Dexter...“

“I SAID GO!” His voice echoed through the small room they were in. Dexter slowly opened his eyes, and everything seemed blurry because of the tears. He could still see how hurt his mother seemed though, but he didn’t care anymore.

“I love you....” there they were. The words Dexter had been waiting to hear for years. The words that scared him, and somehow the words he hadn’t heard enough in his life. They hit him like a hurricane. In normal times, they should make him feel good, but it just made everything hurt even more. He wrapped his arms around himself and stared at the ground.

“Goodbye, Janet” and with that, Dexter left, not even looking back. He wanted to run, he wanted to go far far away from here, but he wanted to keep what was left of his dignity while his mother could still see him. He could hear her sobbing behind him, but he didn’t even turn to look. He just walked, and walked, until he was out of sight. He didn’t even know where he was going at this point, he just knew that he had to get out of here. Many memories came flashing before his eyes: the day his mom left, the days he’d spend at his window, staring at Auradon, and praying that he’d get there one day, the times he got bullied at school, the day he saw his mother on TV with her new husband, the days he would lie in bed all day, with nothing else but his own misery, the day he came in Auradon, the times he realized that maybe he didn’t have to constantly be miserable, his mother’s face when he first saw her at the entrance of the room.... it all passed by him, like some sort of movie of his life, each new memory just hurting even more than the previous. At some point, he just stopped in his tracks, realizing he had no idea where he was. It looked like he had walked into the forest, but he didn’t care that he was lost. His legs were trembling too much for him to keep walking; it was as if the weight of his emotions were pushing onto his shoulders. He felt like a volcano about to erupt. All these years of feeling nothing but anger and annoyance, all these years of repressing what he truly felt.... suddenly, everything was collapsing, and he couldn’t hold it in anymore. He fell to his knees, and started crying like he hadn’t in so long. He rolled himself into a ball on the ground and just sobbed. He cried, not just for right now, but for every moment he had held it in for the past 10 years. He cried for every time he got hurt and pretended to be fine, for every time he had felt worthless and miserable, but had put a brave face, for every time he had wanted to give up, and had picked himself up. He cried, because everything hurt, and everything he had worked for all these years was falling apart. But most importantly, he cried because he wasn’t okay, and he hadn’t been for a long time.

#more than just a greedy boy: solo para #he did what he could: dad #you mean nothing to me: mom #para: i don’t need you anymore #ooc: don’t mind me just casually sobbing my eyes out #ooc: enjoy...?

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thebestpersonherelovesbucky · 5 years

Note

I absolutely adore Of Broken Dreams; it was the fic that got me into Stucky, and it's my go to when I need a pick me up! I love all of it, but Christmas at the farmhouse is one of my favorite sections and I would love a little bit of a DVD commentary on your favorite bit of this section! (I can't decide which is my favorite bit XD)

Omg, yes, my dear Lords Rogers and Barnes. I miss them. I should write a one shot with them. anyway I’m gonna do this bit. It’s on the long side, but you need the whole thing for my feelings on it lol

And thank you so much! That is such a huge compliment!!

“You’re even the most popular one here.” Steve chuckles as he fixes the ends of the blanket with one hand so that it sits around him. The other hand’s holding a saucer and teacup. “I think they like you better than me.” He smiles and hands him the saucer. “Here.”

Bucky looks at it without taking it. “What’s this?”

Steve gives him a shy smile. “Your cocoa.”

“My…” Oh. Bucky’s tickled pink. He can’t believe Steve actually made him this. A giggle’s about to ripple through him. “I was only fooling, husband!”

“I know.” Steve chuckles. He shrugs and sits down, placing the cocoa in his hands now. “But I promised.”

“Is that where you’ve been?”

“Yes. I’m sorry it took so long. I had to wait for my chance at the stove.”

“Oh. I thought… maybe you… forgot about me.”

Not forgot, not truly lost from his mind. Became distracted and engrossed in deep enough conversation that Bucky was just a distant memory. The expression on Steve’s face though, those large eyes filling with worry and possibly bordering on the edge of panic, tells him his fears have been for naught, and Bucky feels positively absurd. He’s not quite sure he even understands himself anymore.

A year ago he could waltz into uncharted territory, date on his arm--lady, fella, it mattered not--room crowded with people whether he knew some of them, none of them or all of them, and the air would breathe contently around him. Bucky can smile with ease and make others blush with just a bat of the eyes. He’s sweet-talked his way into lots of bed before, taken great care to be the source of pleasure and tenderness to those he’s shared nights with. But this place, surrounded by the House of Rogers’ laughter, he feels small and timid.

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispers. “I didn’t mean to take so long. I should have come back to sit with you while the water boiled.” He leans in closer, scoots over enough that he’s able to slip his hand under the blanket and across his thigh. Gives him a tender, arousing squeeze. “Shall I show you how you’ve been on my mind, my Sweetheart?”

The cup rattles in Bucky’s hands. Steve stays them so he doesn’t drop it and spill cocoa all over his lap. Everything, everything, in his body is tight.

“No…” Bucky whimpers. Eyes frantic as they glance around the room to make sure no one has noticed. “Steve!”

His husband snickers and takes his hand back. “M’sorry.”

Bucky glares at him. Tries to anyway. He can’t really complete the expression, can’t fully conjure up the proper amount of heat when it’s too busy surging through the rest of his body.

“You really are mean, husband.” He sniffs. Turns his nose up. “I hope you realize you can no longer hide this fact from me.”

He laughs. “I know it. You don’t really seem to mind all that much.”

“I suppose I don’t,” Bucky sighs and glances down to take a sip of the drink he’s been given. He laughs before he can even bring it to his mouth. “Are there really seventeen marshmallows in this?”

Steve folds his smile in, blush sneaking under his skin as he peer through his lashes.

“That’s how many you asked for,” he says softly. Innocent, even pouty like. “And you were tickling me.”

“Oh boy.” Bucky takes a drink this time. Gives him a peck on the cheek as a means of a peace offer. “Maybe you’ll go easy on me when you find out how ticklish… I am?”

“Ah.” Steve lights up with this information and lets his fingers run along Bucky’s ribs. Bucky tenses and makes a funny, embarrassing noise, but Steve doesn’t wiggle into his side any more than that. “I can be nice, too, you know.”

“Nice?” Bucky muses. “I think you can be much more than nice, husband. But I still believe you’ll tickle me.”

“First chance I get.” He snickers.

Bucky whines. Lip pushed out and eyes big, round and puppy like. One of those illegal looks he knows Steve likes. Letting his eyes fall closed, Steve rests his brow against his, lips curving up.

“And you say I’m unfair,” he mutters.

A giggle rivers through Bucky. Soft and tranquil, and he’s about to run fingers through his husband’s hair when someone shouts. Loud, powerful and followed by a bursting round of laughter. Though neither of them were paying attention, Steve is smiling; gaze focused on the red-headed aunt that doesn’t seem to have use for an indoor voice.

Bucky watches him for a moment. His husband, here, comfortably surrounded by all these people, where it’s noisy and loud and there’re so many different things happening at once. Music is playing from the big phonograph and the children have taken to singing along. Stories are being shared by means of affectionate shouting. Not all that different from a club yet nothing like one at all. Something inside Bucky clicks.

He’s nervous around these people. Feels those knots tying inside of him whenever he thinks of them ignoring him, even tighter whenever he think of them talking to him. They’re sweet and kind, friendly and accomodating and every bit as easy to get along with as Steve. None of that makes being lost in the middle of all of them any less nerve-wracking. Because Bucky’s not here to put on a show.

Not like going to a club opening. There’s no flashy smile or flick of the eyebrows. No running his fingers through his hair and a cool, casual wink or witty remark that’ll win them over. This isn’t about Bucky. Or rather, not just about Bucky.

This is for Steve. This is Steve’s family. The House of Rogers is Bucky’s House now. And… Bucky wants them to like him.

“Are you okay?”

He hears Steve’s question. Looks at him and tries to offer a smile. There’s no real answer. Bucky’s as okay as one who keeps discovering new things of themselves lately can be.

“Okay, everyone!” Lord Rogers, Joseph, as he’s been insisting, just like Sarah, for Bucky to call him, announces. “It’s five minutes to midnight and you know what that means!”

The children hop up and down. Their little hands clap together and they cheer while some of Steve’s aunts and uncles whistle through their fingers. Only Bucky’s not quite sure what it means. Other than it being five minutes before the official start of Christmastide’s Eve, of course. He glances over his shoulder. Steve smiles at him.

“House tradition,” he whispers in explanation. “Dad’ll tell one ghost story before we open the parlor doors and we’ll all add one decoration to the tree.”

“Oh…”

Bucky can feel his face falling as quiet descends upon the room. The walls that once held a cacophony of voices are now hushed as they wait patiently for Joseph to begin. The electric lighting have been turned off, the children excited to make the atmosphere right. Shadows lick the ceilings and floors, hugging everyone as they dance out of the fire in the fireplace and along the wicks of the candles placed haphazardly around the room.

“Is that…” Steve tilts his head. Must see the apprehension growing in Bucky’s eyes even in the dimmed light. “All right?”

“Uh… it’s…”

Something he’s always been teased about. Always. Ghost stories are tradition even in the House of Barnes and from childhood to adolescence to adulthood he’s never outgrown his embarrassing fear of them. Fear of the unknown, of unseen creatures sneaking into his room in the middle of the night to make a playground of his privacy, of his life. Fantasy or truth, it matters not. As a child he’d crawl into his mother’s lap. When he got older, Rebecca would hold his hand. When he grew older still, she held his hand under the table where no one could see.

There’s no Rebecca this year. No sister to hold his hand in hers, fingers gliding over skin when he tenses at the parts that get to him most. No mother to kiss his cheek and offer to check under his bed when the stories have all been spent. A joke of course, but Winifred would’ve done it for him if Bucky asked. No father to clap an arm over his shoulder and remind him that they’re only stories. Stories meant to remind the living to live true and righteous.

“Bucky?”

“Yes,” Bucky whispers back since Joseph is clearing throat to begin. “I’m… fine.”

This story is one that Bucky particularly hates. It’s the outcome that gets to him most. The uncertainty of it. Does the school teacher live or die? Does he make it across the bridge? Does the headless man catch him or not?

Bucky’s trying to focus mostly on the cocoa that he has. Making heavy work of drinking it slowly. But not even halfway through the story the glass is empty and if he doesn’t focus enough, it’ll rattle atop the saucer in his shaky hands. The second time this happens, a pair of large hands cover both of his and the teacup and saucer. They appear out of the darkness and startle Bucky enough that he gasps.

From next to him, Steve, the source of the hands, of course, snickers. More embarrassment flushes through Bucky when he peers up at his husband. Even in this darkened room his eyes glow, piercing through the blackness like a lifeforce. He leans forward after setting the cup aside, mouth by Bucky’s ear.

“Are you scared, Bucky?” he whispers. “Do you not like ghost stories?”

He opens his mouth to answer. Nothing comes out though. All he can manage to do is give Steve a weak nod. Hope his husband won’t be too harsh with his teasing. Only Steve smiles at him. Smiles and then opens his arm out for him. There might not be a sister here tonight. No mother. They’re back on the Isle of Manhattan. No father. Lost to the world. But there is his husband. His Steve.

Bucky scoots closer, lets himself melt into Steve’s embrace. To help out even more, Steve gently cradles the side of his head, pressing a hand over Bucky’s ear so that his other is resting up against his chest. He can hear, even feel Steve’s heart. Beat, beat, beat. His chest rises up and down with his contented breathing, as though having Bucky so close provides some sort of extra comfort. Smooth, rhythmic movements that at first hide the small vibrations running through him. It takes him a few minutes longer for Bucky to figure out what it is. Steve is humming. Blocking out the sounds of the story even further by humming to him.

Not just any tune either. Bucky recognizes it immediately. Their wedding song. Steve is softly humming their wedding song.

I love this particular scene because of how much Bucky’s grown over the course of only three to four months. I think it was easy for people to forget that his life was literally upheaved. The rug was pulled out from under him after his father died and this was not the life he’d been groomed for. And, sure, we the readers know that Steve would never do anything to hurt him, but in the story, Bucky has no idea.

Bucky’s been in a spiraling depression since the night his father died and it’s around now that he’s finally seeing his way out of it. Not for Steve, though, but because Steve’s been shining a light for him and letting him climb out on his own terms and at his own pace.

No longer is Bucky wary of Steve’s touches. In fact, he’s so comfortable with him now that he misses him when he’s simply another room away. And because Steve is so much more comfortable here with his family, Bucky gets to see just how real and genuine he is. Steve is so kind-hearted and good-natured that Bucky is blown away by it.

This is also Bucky’s first holiday away from his family, people he’s not even supposed to consider his family anymore and even though he still mourns for what he’s lost, he’s able to take comfort in Steve.

And, Steve, well, Steve is just thrilled. They’ve been playful and teasing and touching. Exploring a whole new side of their marriage. Since they’re all pretty sure this will be Sarah’s last holiday with them, this is hard on Steve and having Bucky here with him is like a warm anesthetic pumping through his veins.

The children are all taken with Bucky, too. Even when he’s not trying, Bucky’s charming and sweet. It’s just part of who he is and the House of Rogers fully embraces him. Bucky’s always been popular and well-liked, but he actually wants Steve’s family to like him for who he is, not a song-and-dance for Society and their watchful eyes.

Fanfic DVD Commentary Asks

#astaraiches-oisinn #kellsreplies #obd love #thank you!#lovely people are lovely

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rgrimdawn · 4 years

Text

Ends & Beginnings

Rial Grimdawn surveyed the wending canyons of Orgrimmar in silence. Far above the city, perched atop one of the precarious stone pillars that lined the canyon walls, he could almost sense the tense miasma that wafted up from city’s inhabitants. Once again, the Horde has allowed itself to become divided. Once again, the Horde had nearly broken itself for nothing more than pride and prejudice.

Now, those people scurried about their day like so many ants, nursing raw wounds that were slow to heal. Rial had not arrived but an hour ago, and already he had witnessed a brawl that had broken out between a group of ‘forgiven’ loyalists, and the victorious rebels. Both parties had been taken away in chains for their troubles.

Beneath him, Erestraza stirred and issued out a short hiss. Talons long as swords gouged lines in the reddish stone before she stilled. Once a red dragon in life, in death the frostwyrm still retained some great deal of her flight’s intuitions. Erestraza knew why they had come to Orgrimmar and ruminating over the shortsightedness of its peoples was not that reason. Rial reached down and placed a hand on one of the wyrm’s exposed ribs, passing on his silent acknowledgement of the creature’s chastisement.

He told himself he was not procrastinating. The revelation that had brought Rial across the Great Sea from the Eastern Kingdoms had been wholly unexpected. Amongst his peers in the Ebon Blade, he was considered cautious; methodical in his approach to problem solving. None of the possibilities Rial had accounted for in his machinations included the chance that his wife had survived the scourging of Quel’thalas. That she had not only survived but lived to this day and had taken up the pursuit of unravelling the mysterious prophecy that had dominated his attention in life.

When the Blood Knight told Rial that someone else was on the same trail as he, he had been curious. When she provided a name, he had been skeptical. Rial made a small noise in the back of his throat. He had perished on the isle of Quel’danas, vainly attempting to defend the Sunwell from Arthas Menethil and his undead army. His wife had only been a few paces behind him when scourge steel had pierced his gut. In his final moments, he had watched a ghoul wrestle her to the ground. Even so, Rial was not the sort to leave coincidence uninvestigated.

He had spent a night and most of a day following up on the possibility. He paid a visit to the ruins he and his wife had once called a home. Amidst the ash and detritus, Rial had discovered a sheltered corner in what had once been the larder. Some empty crates had been repurposed into a makeshift desk, a barrel its seat. There was a cot in one corner, and the remains of a small campfire in the center of the space. The scent of smoke still lingered, the wax of the candles atop the desk still fresh; the signs of recent habitation unmistakable.

Hardly conclusive evidence, he had known. Between the wretched that still haunted Quel’thalas, and other unsavory squatters, anyone could have been living there. It was the scribbled notes strewn about the room, plastered to the wall that had once held shelves and foodstuffs, that provided the stronger evidence. He recognized many of the passages scrawled across the pages as his own research regurgitated and re-contextualized in a familiar script. Hers.

Rial spent a night in the broken husk of his former residence, sifting through pages that became increasingly frantic with time’s passage, reliving some of the very same frustrations and discoveries he had encountered in his own research. He found the hidden compartment, trapped and warded as it was, that contained the author’s most recent speculation and conclusions, and took note of those he had not drawn himself. By morning the evidence made the conclusion undeniable; Petrette was alive.

Rial sighed atop his saddle, ignoring the growing hunger that gnawed at his innards. The last time he had fed was prior to his visit to Silvermoon, and from there he had departed straight for Kalimdor. Even on the wings of a tireless, undead frostwyrm, it was a not a short journey. Distantly, Rial was aware of the chill that grew in the air as the sun began to slip past the horizon and the winds picked up. It was not that he could not feel winter’s breath cutting through the slim gaps in his plate armor, he was merely unaffected by it. With the dying light came another of undeath’s advantages. The growing darkness did not hinder Rial’s vision. In fact, his view of the city below became all the more acute in detail and focus.

He was not procrastinating. He merely needed a clear mind, free of the distractions and emotional extremes that came with an empty stomach. Fortunately, the city below was rife with lowlifes and thugs that no one would miss. As much as he might hate the curse of that hunger, he could not deny that there was a certain satisfaction that came with sating it on the deserving.

A few more hours until the darkness was complete. A few more hours until he could hunt. Then in the morning, hunger sated and thoughts unaffected, Rial would begin the search for his wife. To what end he could not be sure, but fate’s hand was surely at play, leading into the completion of a long circle and undoubtedly the beginning of the next. Cycles within cycles. Always the damn cycle.

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coldalbion · 6 years

Note

What is the story behind your username? Also, totally unrelated, do you have any favorite natural areas you enjoy?

I grew up in Cornwall, so I have plenty of places there. There’s this one layby which overlooks Watergate Bay where I spent too much time at peace growing up about 100 yards to the left of the image at this link. I love the Lake District, for its stone circles, and I have a massive connection with Wasdale Head/Wastwater for some reason I can’t explain. Neither could my Mum, but she felt it too.As for the username, well...It’s Cold Albion. What’s that?Read on:Never the Muse is absentfrom their ways: lyres clash and flutes cryand everywhere maiden choruses whirling.Neither disease nor bitter old age is mixedin their sacred blood; far from labour and battle they live.– Pindar, Tenth Pythian Ode; translated by Richmond Lattimore.

There is a land lost to history, slipping between the cracks and into the depths of mind’s dark seas. An island citadel surrounded by roaring waves and girded by sea-serpents; an Otherland of dark forests and hoary stones raised for mysterious purposes. Ancient kings and mad wizards rub shoulders with outlaws who live like wolves, and horned warriors dance amidst rumbling storms as ancient long-barrows glow with weird and eldritch light.Old gods linger at the crossing places and wild hunts careen howling across skies, all made of smoke and fury, while wise women stir cauldrons and fey folk emerge from hiding to play amidst the green. Mighty armies clash in battle, blood staining the hungry soil – earth now black with age and power as dragons coil about the hills and turn lazily in sleep, half closed-eyes burning with the light of the noonday sun.

Bottomless lakes and rushing rivers open their mouths to welcome wave after wave of newcomers, swallowing them up and softening their bones with moss and leaf-mould, nourishing ancient trees long gnarled with age. Deep holes are filled with metal blood and shining veins, their darkness anything but silent as subterranean spirits whistle and knock in the caverns of the deep below.

On the fringes of the world, at the edge of all things it lies – all unyielding. From the isle’s heart bubbles up a freezing draught so fierce in its bite that it stops the breath, and sends one down amongst the dead to learn their tales and their songs.

To some a sangraal, to others a cauldron and many more things besides, here and now we give it a name thick with meaning:

WYRD’S WELL

From this seed, this thing of root and branch comes a cold conception; a birthing nourished through the ages and aeons before language. Fetched forth from deep chthonic spaces, emerging through the labyrinthine pathways of the mind as a primeval force only discernible by obliqueness, by poetry, song and story.

It is a cold thing precisely because it can only be seen by absence; as temperature is measured in terms of heat, so coldness is only shown by its relation to heat. Yet anyone who has ever felt the cold knows that it is a thing in and of itself, alive and with its own agenda.

So it is with COLD ALBION, a kind of silent monolith amidst roaring seas of dream. It lives and breathes, populated with those things half-seen out of the corner of the eye, irrational and wild. If it has a language, then that speech is black and made of the tongues of birds, the whisper of the wind in the trees, the rushing of rivers and the howls and hoots of beasts. The slow creaking of mountains and the roar of waves against jagged rock is its tone of voice. Its secret names are written in the curtains of rain and iron-grey skies, in the damp green of leaf and thorns hungry for blood; the granite thrust up to break the surface in times long gone is abruptly revealed – born from the broken skin of sleeping giants.

From that wellspring come the weird words; the freezing waters which excite and chill – sending shivers up the spine, shocking us from the everyday. If the primeval tongue be unspoken and occult – hidden from normal eyes – then what are we left with except for the words which reveal it, and in some way become suffused with it?

Ordinary language becomes dismembered and rendered extra-ordinary – the evocative power of the sorcerer-poet in every word; the deep reflexes hidden inside humanity stimulated by a word or phrase. Stories, narratives, all born of those deep places from before ‘human’ existed.

COLD ALBION is indescribable and indirect. Its shape and borders are inviolate because they are incomprehensibly vast and small enough to be encountered through two words. Additionally, it is capable of sustaining myriad interpretations, and this means that it generates those interpretations on contact!

Its kiss against your mind is almost imperceptible, the seeds nestling there, passing all unremarked. Each movement engenders more, until their absence is keenly, terribly felt. Because of this, because of the fact that a hunger has awakened, is it it any wonder that you greedily accept it deeper into yourselves, as it alternately soothes and excites the craving?

Each mind that touches it may find itself co-opted, colonized and reawakened to the strange vitality which rests sleeping beneath the human world.

HERE BE DRAGONS

COLD ALBION is the land of the witch, the warlock, the werewolf and the giant. These were never human, always and ever something else. It is a land of “Once Upon A Time.” A land which exists in parallel to the human, and must do so because any other alternative is unthinkable, because otherwise it, and more importantly Them are already here and always have been.

To suggest such things exist amidst the world of humanity is heresy, almost an attack on reality itself. So such things exist in an ‘unreal’ otherworldly place, because they are themselves otherworldly, their existence becoming mythologized to the point that it is impossible for them to exist within the world of mankind.

But for those of us who draw draw strength and inspiration from such things, and have noticed that strangeness goes hand in hand with the impossible, we experience a fierce joy and exultation. Soaring as eagles, with shining heads and gleaming feathers, we burrow into secret places, wiser than serpents and nine times more venomous than wyrms.

Let us be clear as crystal, and twice as cold:

COLD ALBION is not within the lands of humankind. It is unbound and uncompromising, beyond any map or territory. Its vitality is incomparable and peerless, and those that feast upon its flesh and drink its mead are forever changed into things made hoary with newness.

To all but a few they appear inhuman and insatiable, inexorable and severe in focus. Are you aware, do you recall those times when some instinct screamed from a million years ago? When some familiar thing in life became strange and the unease that wrought upon you then, and now – as you realize slowly that you comprehend the implications of these words.

Or as it seizes you suddenly in daily life, when next you look in a mirror or taste the bitter tang, you are drawn back to the moment of understanding. It comes like a lightning flash, spoken in the voice behind the blackest of thunder as the wind howls and the rain lashes down, as the sun beats on your flesh or the cold begins to creep inside your bones and chill your skin.

When the unaccountable dread arises from nowhere, you can allow yourself the last comfort, a final hope that exists only for a moment, before being swept away by a raging torrent bursting up from realms before language and thought were ever born:

“This cannot be happening to me.”

#cold albion #Anonymous

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heirofworms · 6 years

Text

Part Three

After spending time with the Aldmeri Dominion. I was an ordinary Imperial serving the queen. The high elf didn't mind me being human, but she granted me citizenship to Summerset Isles.

But some didn't like the fact that an Imperial would serve under Queen Ayrenn. Razum-dar stuck up for me though. He's ok for a Khajiit.

He was protecting me from harm and made an excellent body guard. But there's reports about worm cultists in the city searching for me. Some weren't captured as they slipped away. They had a habit of doing that. I would know. I used to be part of it.

But I took up a hobby to take my mind off it. I began scrying for other realms. I had that ability. I wanted to be someplace safe. The dark brotherhood also aided me and worked in the shadows. Sithis preserve me.

One of the assassins came to see me and I had to speak with them in private. They posed as a citizen as they approached me. Raz has to come with me and make sure it wasn't a trick.

Razum-dar: This better be important. Why do you come to see this one?

Lisse: Listen, Mannimarco has been looking for you and already killed one of the initiates. We're taking a big risk in keeping you safe.

"Does he know where I am?"

Lisse: No. but we haven't broken yet. He's also torturing a few of our own to get a location. We're not giving in. Besides, what have you been up to?

"I took up scrying for other places. I don't know if Tamriel is safe for me anymore. I'm under a protection services, but what if he finds me?"

Razum-dar: If he does, we'll be ready. Have no fear my friend. Raz won't let anything happen to you.

"You're an Eye of the Queen--"

Razum-dar: As you are too.

He was right. No use arguing with him. For me being immortal and achieved Lich Hood, some wouldn't be strong enough to take me down. I was once a skilled assassin. But it's behind me.

Razum-dar: Alessia?

"Yeah I'm still here. Just that......"

Lisse: Alessiamarco, continue your research on what you plan to do.

"You never called me by my full name before. Usually when you do you know something bad is going to happen."

Lisse: Just go with your gut. We'll be watching. Sithis watch over you.

Then just like that, she disappears in smoke.

As days went by, I spent time underground forging things and fixing a special portal. After weeks of preparing it, I finally made a breakthrough. I used nirnroot, soul gem shards, bonemeal, and more importantly my blood. I created a portal to someplace and I caught a glimpse of it. It was a distant land.

It could be safe for me. I closed the portal and went to tell Raz about what I did. He was actually at my door.

"Raz! I made a breakthrough! But come inside first."

Razum-dar: Alright friend. -Walks inside and shuts the door-

"I made a portal but it would mean for me to leave Tamriel. For a while.

Razum-dar: Are you sure? I hope you plan to visit again.

"I do. I wouldn't want to leave you all behind. I'll try to come visit. Just I need time away."

Razum-dar: This one understands. Raz would miss you.

He gave me a hug and I hugged him back. We always got along well. I'll miss him the most.

"I should tell the Queen about this."

Razum-dar: Yes you should.

We set out at once to go tell Queen Ayrenn about my discovery. She seemed impressed as she stood there looking at me. She walked down from her throne and hugged me. She never hugged me before.

Queen Ayrenn: Please be safe and good luck. I understand you had a rough time. But hopefully you can start over. Just promise you would visit again soon.

"Of course, your majesty. I'll miss you."

And just like that, I walked out of the castle in Alinor. I headed for my house in that city and went to pack my things and my wealth. I earned enough gold from doing my work for the Queen.

I went to prepare the portal and it opened up to that other world. I walked through it carrying my things and my sword, Sithis' Sword, and went through it and and I fell down as I went through it. I landed on the ground and I looked around me. I could hear these weird sounds around here and I quickly got up and walked around.

Some strange vehicles almost hit me as I crossed the street and I ran for it as I made it to the other side.

I went someplace to trade in my gold which all coins are blank. They gave me a lot of money for them and wished me luck with it. They mentioned it's like I won the lottery. Whatever that means.

I went to purchase a place of my own and it was furnished already.

I tossed my bag down and laid there on the bed. For a while I thought of what I can do here now. Then I got up again and went out and locked the door. Always lock before leaving. I went to buy a device called a cell phone and they taught me how to use it. I then bought a computer and got internet.

I hoped to begin a new life here. Then I saw there was a university and got enrolled right away.

I went back to my place since I knew where it was by now.

I got food on the way home and brought it to my new home. This was nice. I ate my food after cooking it and went to sit on my computer. Well not really sit on it. I checked out music from everywhere and some are from the other side of the world. Amazing.

I think I'll enjoy being here.

#aldmeri dominion #worm cult #mannimarco #elder scrolls #elder scrolls OC

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geminimoonbeamx · 6 years

Text

Sweet Tooth: Part Two

A/N: Okay guys I’m SO into this story. I can’t wait for you guys to see what I have planned.

Word Count: 3k+

Warnings: Cursing. Like a motherfucker. Because this is a story about Lance Tucker. Mention of slight fat shaming. Drinking and driving (which is stupid, don’t even try kiddo’s)

Summary: Lance Tucker has come back to his hometown with his ego bruised and his look on life more tainted then ever. When he runs into Y/N; a vibrant plus size woman he went to high school with at her bakery ‘Cake Faced’, he leaves the shop with the taste of sugar on his lips and a hunger that has nothing to do with the cupcakes.

💘💘💘💘💘

It had all started a couple weeks ago.

When Courtney, your best friend of nearly two decades, had sashayed into the shop, a cup holder containing two Venti coffee’s in hand. She always did this, came and distracted you at some point in the day. She claimed if she didn’t you would get completely buried in your work and she’d never see your ass again. You defend yourself of course at the jab, but weakly. Because you knew she was probably(defiantly) right.

“Hey hooker” you greet from your place, adjusting the display in the window while the store seemed to have a quiet moment, only a few costumers scattered around the place. Your short frame was balanced on a step stool as you reached up high to

“Hello gorgeousness…Why don’t you come down from there before you brake your neck. Neck braces aren’t on trend this spring” She teases, because everyone whose ever met you knows how dangerously clumsy you are. You just huff and climb down. Courtney then hands you your drink and you give her an over exaggerated groan, holding your hand to your chest and telling her that she was too good to you before taking a sip of the sweet caffeine you had desperately needed.

Thank god for Courtney- that she knows you better then you know yourself. She took time out of her own day to come check on you and ask you how yours was going, yeah it wasn’t really out of her way seeing on how she worked up the street, but still. You appreciated her more then she’d ever know, even if she had ‘momed’ you since you guys we’re teenagers.

“So how has your day been?” She’s nibbling on a coconut cream pie scone. She claimed god himself had given you the recipe for them “It looks unusually dead in here”

“It’s been aright so far, nothing too exciting. The 4 o'clock rush hasn’t happened yet so I’ve just been fucking around. Yours? Your manager still harassing that new guy?” You guys end up sitting at one of the little tables, Shane assures you that he’s got who ever might come in.

“Yeah, Patty’s still earning herself one shiner of a Law Suit. Dirty ass old woman” Courtney shakes her head at the mention of her boss, the woman was a seventy year old former play boy bunny AND the dirtiest woman either of you had ever met. “But that’s whatever. I have some major gossip”

You can tell just by the tone of her voice that what she’s about to tell you is insanely juicy.

Fun fact, you never really grow out of gossiping. Thirty(well twenty nine) years old or not, when you live in a town as small as this one, it’s just a given that every one knows everyone’s business.

“Okay why didn’t you start out with that? Spill” You demand, leaning in closer to her, anticipating her next words.

“Okay so you know how Felix used to date Sarah whose best friends with Brooklyn?” She starts and you nod. Obviously “So I guess they’re sleeping together again. I know, big shocker, and Sarah told him that Brooklyn told her that Lance is moving back in with their mom” Courtney informs you of the tabgled drama between her coworker, his ex, and Brooklyn Tucker.

You gape at that for a moment. No way. Lance Tucker, Olympic gold medalist, LANce Tucker was moving back into his parents house. How?

“No way” You decide but she just chuckles and nods.

“Yes way, dude. I guess there was some huge scandal at that gym he worked at in California. Some coach got one of the girls pregnant or something? I don’t know all of those details but what I do know is Lance the mother fucker Tucker is moving home” Courtney cackles “How hilarious, right?”

Courtney was nice…to you. To everyone else she was a bit of a bitch.

“Hilarious isn’t the word I would use. Ironic though-” You cluck your tongue. Hadn’t he always hated this town? You remember even in middle school he had been so adamant about getting out of this “suburban shithole” and going somewhere he deemed worthy of him. Him and his shiny superstar ego.

“It’s fucking fitting I think. He was always such a giant dick. Now he’s living back with his mommy? Karma really is a vicious bitch. Ha” Courtney shakes her head with a smirk and you roll your eyes.

Yeah, he’d been a huge cocksucker to everyone- you included. But losing your dream? The one you’d spent years working on? You didn’t wish that upon anyone.

“It is but how…sad” You bite your thumb nail as you mull it over.

“Sad? I mean I guess- But he’s such an asshole. Don’t you hate him?” Courtney hates you and your big bleeding heart sometimes. That guy didn’t deserve your sympathy.

“No, Court, I don’t hate him…anymore” you cant deny, there was a time when he had made you see red “He’s not my favorite person in the world. Of course not, but I don’t know. I’m an adult now-” Courtney scoffs hard at that and you fling a cupcake wrapper at her “I just don’t see the point in holding grudges anymore”

“Yeah okay” Courtney rolls her eyes as she gathers up her belongings “You keep telling yourself that, Mahatma Gandhi. Like you don’t still hate Carlos Vance for accidentally hitting you with a pencil in the 6th grade”

“He really almost blinded me and wasn’t even apologetic about it at all. Fuck him forever” You’re dead serious and it causes both of you to laugh.

“My breaks almost over, I have to run. We’re still on for Margarita’s with the girls this Friday, right?”

“Of course” You kiss each other on the cheek and you pack her another scone “for the road” before she’s hurrying out of the door. You give her reciting frame a fond smile, but continue to mull over her words. Lance was coming back. You stomach felt unsettled at that- and you hated it. You hadn’t even talked, or much less thought about him in years.

So why we’re you so…so weird about the idea of him moving back? It was stupid, really.

So you do what you did best, and buried your self in your work.

It really did help, too. Your mind is completely free of any thoughts of people you hadn’t seen in ages-

Until a few days ago.

When he had walked into your shop.

He was still the same. The way his presence seemed to fill up the entire room. That smirk and those expressive eye brows. And, because you’re not a hater, of course you’d noticed that he’d seemed to be even more in shape now then he was back in high school. His broad shoulders strained against the material of his track suit. Jeeze, he was still wearing those. Didn’t he know it was a different decade now?

So you’d taken him personally, helped him choose a cupcake and rang him up. Just being professional, you tell yourself. that was all it was.

You tried to ignore how…tired he looked. Not physically, really…but drained. His demeanor drained. It wasn’t your business, right? So you try to keep it cool, keep your self in check.

You never did have the best self control. When he’s going to leave, you call for him.

“Welcome home”

Simple words, but you hoped they might have a little impact.

His grin is still ridiculously bright and handsome, you note mentally.

Fuck. Fucking fuck.

It brings up old- feelings. Memories. Adolescent adoration and hate. It’s annoying, there’s no place for it in your adult life.

“He seems like a real winner” Shane had dead panned “Hot as hell though”

You laughed at your younger employee. You loved Shane, he’d been working for you since pretty much the moment you’d opened this place and even though he was five years your junior, he’d become a close friend “What you don’t remember Lace the mother fucker Tucker? Olympic gold medalist and grade A dick wad?”

“Nah, I remember him. That tight ass of his though, that slipped my memory”

You’d swatted Shane’s shoulder as you laughed. Little shit.

You hadn’t seen him after that, though. Not that you wanted to. Not that your eyes maybe scanned the shop for a tall head of dark hair…

You didn’t expect him to come back. Him and his athlete ways. Back in high school you remember him and his grueling diet he’d been on.

So you go about your routine, the comfortable one that you follow without even thinking about it. The one that included waking up at the crack of dawn, feeding your dog, watering your garden. Tending to the shop as though it was your child. Bullshitting with your friends.

The usual.

Your usual is broken, though, by one phone call.

It’s not even a bad phone call, so you don’t know why it throws you off so awfully. Why you feel overwhelmed and hot and near panicky as you sit at your kitchen table. But you know that you need to remedy it. With wine. Lots, and lots of wine.

Which you don’t seem to have in your house. How we’re you completely dry? What kind of blasphemy.

So you drag yourself out of your house, muttering about “fuck your life” and “Courtney’s the antichrist” because you knew that alcoholic bitch was the culprit, the wine bandit who had left you with no choice but to go to the store. At 10 O'clock. In a pair of tight leggings, an over sized sweater and ugg booties.

You’re walking lazily through the brightly lit isles of the grocery store on main street. You’ve found your wine, have it popped open, as you stress shop.

You figure you might as well get some ingredients. Plus, you needed new dish towels- and oh, we’re those Fourth of July decorations? Might as well grab em’ even though it was only Mid April.

You’re so engrossed in your task, that you don’t notice you’ve been being trailed.

Lance needed to get out of the house.

Living with his mother and sister- and Brooklyn’s two daughters was driving him nuts. Did he love them all? Yes, very much. Was he going out of his fucking mind at the overwhelming amount of female energy he was being force exposed to? Absolutely.

He was already apartment hunting.

So he’d go on drives, long ones that would take the edge off of- everything.

Re-explore this town that he seemed to know every corner of. Get to know the few parts that we’re new. But even that was getting boring.

So he decides that the only way to get through this night is drunk. Or at least buzzed. The liquor store is closed so the supermarket is the only option. Lance takes long legged strides into the all but empty store. It’s late, so no one is really there, but the one cashier working and Weird Wallace, the towns hermit who only came out at night to avoid all other human life.

Lance tips his head at the man as he makes a bee-line for the liquor section, intent on buying a twelve pack of beer and hopefully drinking everyone that night.

He doesn’t expect to see you. He catches the sight of you out of his peripheral vision. You have a wine bottle tilted all the way back, taking a gulp, before going back to your shopping.

What were you doing at the store at nearly eleven o'clock? Lance wonders with an amused grin.

He should just grab his beer and go home. That would be the smart thing to do- Buuuut, Lance really wasn’t as smart as he prided himself on being.

He’s not following you.

Not even.

He just happens to be going in the same direction as you.

Not creepy at all.

Okay- kind of creepy. Especially when you bend over to grab something off a bottom rack. Your leggings go sheer as they hug your large, round ass. He can see the outline of the little lace g string you have on and he cant help but bite his lip.

What a sight.

You always had, had a nice ass. Wide and grab-able. His fingers still itched to dig them selves into the doughy flesh.

“Well, fancy meeting you here”

The sound of his voice sends you snapping up straight fast, you almost loose your grip on the neck of the wine bottle as your heart pounds and a gasp rips it’s self from your throat. You spin on your heels to face him and he’s just standing there. In a track suit, that look- his signature smug smile gracing his features.

“Lance, you dick!” You hiss at him, holding your middle as you regain your breath “You scared the shit out of me!”

His icy eyes could make the queens guards quake in their tall black, fluffy hats. They’re so…predatory. And sharp. And beautiful.

And bold, they look you up and down unapologetically.

You swallow the rush of self consciousness that raises in your throat.

“Sorry, sugar” He doesn’t sound sorry at all “What are you doing out so late?”

“It’s not even eleven o'clock yet, Lance. It’s hardly late”

He likes your snark, It suits you. You’d never had that edge before “My mistake. It’s totally normal for people to be going shopping for-” he gazes into your shopping basket “Red, white and blue tiki torches and chardonnay in the middle of the night”

“Being normal is vastly overrated” You shrug and shift on your feet “What about you? You going to a kegger?”

He grins “Nah, I just needed a breather… you want to join me?” He holds up the case of beer in offering and you roll your eyes at him.

Hard.

“I’ll pass” you dismiss him easily, turning back to your cart “You have a good night though”

You had a sense of self preservation and you absolutely would not get drunk with the man. Randomly. On a Thursday night.

Lance’s eyebrows stich together at how easily you shrug him off and that part of him, the competitive athlete one, pushes him forward. Because he never gave up, on anything. Ever. And who we’re you to just turn your back on him?

“Really? You’d rather drink your bottle of wine alone?” He presses on, keeping up easily with you so you’re standing shoulder to shoulder(well not really because he has a good near foot on you) with him. You convince yourself that it doesn’t unnerve you.

“Yup” you pop the ‘p’ dramatically.

“That sounds like fun" His sarcastic bite makes you bite the inside of your cheek “I’m offering you company. A good time and…good beer”

“I’ve never really been a beer girl” the sound he makes in his throat at your words is cute. You cant deny that “So again, I’m pretty sure I’ll pass”

“And here I thought we we’re friends”

“Really?” You give him incredulous eyes. Was he serious?

“Yeah- I mean we had that art class senior year and we were partners and” Lance recalls how close the two of you had gotten, how many hours you’d spend laughing and bullshitting and wasn’t that friendship? “I just assumed we we’re still friends”

“Do you not even remember what you said to me?” You don’t mean to say it, you really don’t. But you’ve taken one too many gulps of wine. The look of confusion on his face feels like a slap to yours.

“No?” He starts “Should I?”

You scoff at him so intensely it’s almost painful before you’re off, wanting to put some distance between the two of you.

Why wont he let you?

“Y/N” Lance insists on being the biggest pain in the ass ever to walk the planet “What did I say?”

“Just leave me alone” You’re almost through at the check out isle, the cashier is taking their sweet time though. You’d always loved La'tecia. The elderly black woman kept you in stiches, but you needed her to hurry the hell up.

“No. What did I say?” He continues to push, keeping up with you easily. He was fitter, his legs longer. You couldn’t out run him if you tried.

When you don’t answer him he can feel his annoyance spike at your antics “Why don’t you quit being a child and tell me so I can say sorry- even if I don’t really mean it- and you can get the fuck over it”

Oh.

Hell.

No.

He did not just speak to you like that. Your teeth grit in an attempt to hold your temper. Even if the store was dead it was still a public place.

“You know what, Lance? First of all fuck you-” He opens his mouth and your finger slices the air in front of you as you hold it up “No, I’m talking right now. You keep your mouth shut and listen to me. You want to know what you said to me? You told me that I might be, and I quote, actually pretty cute if I lost some weight. That you bet all the guys would be after me if I worked on my fitness. And that killed high school me. But adult me, whose obviously doing a hellva lot better then you in life doesn’t care. So there’s nothing you need to say a meaningless sorry for. But we are not friends” You’re pretty composed during the entirety of your little rant. Until the end. You hiss those words at him.

La'tecia just minds her business, and you give her your card, eagerly.

Lance attempts to absorb your words, you’d never seen him at a loss for words. Yeah, he remembers that conversation…but you were totally twisting his words! It hadn’t even gone down like that.

“Y/N-” He starts. but your bags are in your cart and your off. He intends on following you again but-

“Uh-uh. Are you going to pay for those?” La'tecia’s cutting voice asks and he sighs and takes out his wallet.

“Let me tell you, boy. You’ve always been heard headed. And loud as hell. But I never thought you we’re cruel, even with all that nonsense everyone always spoke about you” She starts, looking him right in the eye as she speaks “You’re a grown man now. Act like it”

Lance feels personally attacked. How had this night taken this route? All he’d wanted was some beers.

“Thanks for your words of wisdom. You should consider a new profession? Therapy maybe? Counseling? Telling people where isle four is, is obviously getting to mediocre for you” He sarcastically pans at the woman before snatching his beer and his card and stalking off.

He doesn’t know why he’d expected to find you outside, the lot is empty. Your long gone. He reaches for one of the beers, wrenching open the box before popping the can open an chugging. The drive back home is spent with him stewing and going over things he hadn’t thought about in…well ever. How was he supposed to know that him stating a simple face back so long ago would make you hate him forever? Hah, no, you didn’t even hate him. As you said. You just didn’t care about him. At all.

Like no one did.

His knuckles are white around the steering wheel as he sits outside the front of his house for nearly half an hour. Wondering what the fuck had just happened.

Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

——————

@huntressxtimelady @i-had-a-life-once @zombiewerewolfqueen @spookyscaryscully @adyseesbeauty @geekyweed @maximum-effort-minimum-life @peacefulwriter88 @pegasusdragontiger @papi-chulo-bucky @yslbucky @iamwarrenspeace

Okay so one of my Aunts from my dads side of the family was just over and I knew I needed to write in La'tecia because I love bold black women. I’m sorry it got to moody, but for there to be any realism in this story Y/N needs to first call him on his shit. Give me some feed back! Let me know if you want to be tagged! Love you’s guys!

Part Three

Part Four

#Lance Tucker #lance tucker x reader #lance tuckerxreader #plus size reader #the bronze #bucky barnes x plus size reader #smut #angst #Lance Tucker smut #sebastian stan #chase collins #carter baizen #clay appuzzo

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