#this took me forever to stitch the two pages together and even longer to get the right mood

[undedkat]

i coloured the usamamo dance panel because i love these two so much

Scan Credit: Miss Dream

#this took me forever to stitch the two pages together and even longer to get the right mood #also i've been taking a break from art but this is fun. less high stakes. i get to do the fun part instead of sketching and lineart #alt text provided #sailor moon #manga coloring #my coloring #usagi tsukino #chiba mamoru #mamoru chiba #usamamo #my colors / edits #kats popular posts #my colouring

[snelbz]

I'll Be Seeing You {4}

Nesta x Cassian, 1940′s AU

Collaboration with @tacmc​

Summary: After Cassian gets injured in the war, he’s taken to a war camp to be cared for until he gains enough strength to return to his battalion. While he’s there, he falls for a nurse that couldn’t care less about his title and doesn’t put up with his bullshit. Once he’s healed and the years pass by, he finds that there’s only one thing he wants to remember from the war, and she’s only a letter away.

Trigger Warnings: war

Chapters will be posted every Monday.

Word Count: 2429

IBSY Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist 

October 1940, The Autumn Court

Major Cassian Nazari was bored.

Nesta could sense it from where she was, back turned to him at the other end of the tent. It had also been a sign when she came in that morning and he was complaining, loudly, to Madja. I don’t see why I can’t get up and walk around. I’m fine. And bored shitless.

Madja, of course, had told him, Very well, Major. Do as you wish.

Cassian had taken two steps before a wave of nausea hit him from the pain, and he was throwing up his breakfast. After a dose of pain medicine, he had fallen asleep.

Now, he was awake, his pains were dulled, and he was loud.

Loud, and having a one-sided conversation with the unconscious soldier next to him about his favorite brands of whiskey.

He was just getting to the pros of living near a distillery, back in Velaris, when Nesta approached his cot. He glanced over to her and gave him a smile. A sleepy, drug-induced smile. “Nurse Nesta.”

“Major,” she replied, sitting next to his bed. “How are you feeling this afternoon?”

“Feeling great. Ready to get back out there.”

“Really now?” She asked, feeling his head for fever. He’d been warm after getting sick and she wanted to check and be sure they hadn’t missed some sign of infection setting in. His skin was cool as could be now. “So this morning was just a reaction to the breakfast porridge?”

He got quiet immediately and rolled his eyes.

“That’s what I thought.” She helped him sit up and checked the wounds on his back. They weren’t healing like she would have liked, but it was also likely he could have used stitches over a few of them. His burns were healing nicely though, even though she knew they still caused him quite a lot of pain. The broken arm and shoulder were the same.

Now that his shoulder was set correctly, it was all about keeping him still, which seemed to be a continual problem for him.

“I can’t sit here forever,” he claimed. “I’ll go insane.”

“You need something to occupy your mind,” Nesta said. “I’ll bring you some books.”

Cassian snorted. “Your romances? I’ll pass.”

Nesta huffed and shook her head. “Has anyone ever told you how difficult a man you are?”

“On many occasions,” Cassian noted. “Mostly women.”

Nesta sighed and helped him fall back against his pillows. “I’ll be back.”

“Good,” he muttered with a yawn as she walked away. After telling her fellow nurses she’ll be back in a moment, Nesta exited the tent and walked to the one just across the way from it, where the nurses slept. She strode to her tent in the far corner and grabbed an old western romance that he would surely read if bored enough, then pulled a suitcase from underneath her cot and popped it open.

The old, folded-up wooden chess board that sat inside had once belonged to her father. They used to play often, before the death of Nesta’s mother.

All the pieces were slightly dusty, but still in good shape. She picked up one of the ivory pawns, wiping it off with the apron tied around her waist, careful not to get any blood or antiseptic lotion on it. Without the dust coating it, the piece shined and she replaced it in its home before cleaning off each piece. She closed the suitcase, carrying it, the book, and a small, foldable tray back across the camp, and into the med tent.

As soon as Cassian saw her, he zeroed in on the case. “What’s that?”

“First,” she said, sitting down and holding the book out for him. “I brought you this.”

His face twisted with a twinge of pain as he reached out and took it, opening it and flipping through it. He paused on a random page and read a few lines. His eyes widened. “This is…explicit.”

Nesta’s cheeks reddened.

“It’s a romance,” he groaned.

“It’s an old western,” she defended. “It’s one of my favorites. It’s a very good book.”

Rolling his eyes, Cassian sat it on the side table, but pointed at the suitcase, which she had set down to unfold the tray. “And what’s that?” He repeated.

Nesta set it on the end of his cot and opened it. “Until I’m needed, we’ll play chess.”

Cassian stared at her for a moment before repeating, “Chess?”

She lifted a brow as she set up the board, on top of the tray. “You’re complaining about the forms of entertainment I offer?”

Cassian hesitated, and Nesta secretly liked that hesitation. For once, a comment made by her actually made him think. Usually, he was so quick on his feet. She liked it when he wasn’t.

“Fine,” he said, at last, clearing his throat. “But, it’s been a long time since I’ve played. You may have to refresh my memory.”

She suppressed her smile, moving the tray just next to his bed, so it would be within his reach. “I can do that.”

He nodded, grunting as he got himself into a sitting position. Nesta made a move toward him, but he held up a hand, letting him know he could do it on his own.

Even if it was just barely.

She laid out the pieces, almost reverently, but quickly and efficiently. She didn’t have to think about where the pieces went and before he knew it, the board was set in front of them. The white pieces sat on his side of the board, the black on her own. She gestured for him to make a move.

He reached for one of the pieces in the front, but then pulled his hand back. Twice, he repeated the movement, before clearing his throat and saying, “Ladies first.”

“That’s not how chess works, Major,” she chuckled. “White goes first, black second.”

He nodded and stared back down at the board. “Right.”

Picking up one of the pawns, Cassian moved it diagonally, as if it were a checker.

Nesta blinked, waiting for him to move it back or chuckle as if he were playing a joke. “That’s not how you move a pawn forward.”

His cheeks heated and she knew he was embarrassed. “Well not all of us grew up as well off as you were.”

Eyebrows raising, Nesta was unable to stop the surprised chuckle from bubbling from her lips. “Excuse you, sir?”

“I’m just saying, only spoiled, rich girls grew up playing chess.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but couldn’t bring herself to be angry at his words. “You don’t know how to play chess, do you?”

“I told you I would need your help.” He wasn’t looking at her, just the board and pieces.

“When’s the last time you played chess?” She asked.

He shrugged. “Never.”

Nesta stared at him for a moment, waiting for an explanation. “Never?”

Cassian’s head fell back and he groaned. “Nurse, are you going to make me ask you to explain the rules to me or do I have to make a fool of myself any longer?”

Nesta pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. “Very well.”

She went on to explain the rules to him, then just to make sure she was not setting him up for failure, she explained the rules to him, again.

The pawn can move one square, unless it is the first time they move, then they can move two. It can’t move backwards. They can capture pieces on either space, diagonally, in front of them.

The knight moves in an L shape. Don’t ask why.

Bishop is a bit of a roamer. It can move in diagonally, as many squares as it wishes.

The rook can move both horizontally and vertically, as many squares as it wishes, as well.

The Queen is basically the best, most important piece. She can move however she wishes, wherever she wishes.

Cassian stared at the board thoughtfully. “Hmm. And the king, again?”

Nesta chuckled, quietly. “He can move only one square in any direction.”

“And he decides who wins the game?” Cassian asked, head cocked to the side as he stared at the board, trying to imagine it all.

“More or less, yes,” Nesta said, watching him study the board. “When a player attacks the other’s king, it’s called a check. A checkmate, or the win, is what happens when the opposing king can no longer make any legal moves.”

“So you must protect the king at all costs, then?” Cassian asked. “That’s the purpose of the other pieces?”

“It is,” Nesta nodded.

“And that’s why the queen is such an important piece?” he continued, meeting her gaze. “Why she has the most freedom? To protect her king?”

Nesta narrowed her eyes. “Speaking like that, I cannot believe that you don’t admire a good romance novel.”

“I already told you, I don’t think women are meant to stay home and do nothing but become mothers,” he replied, reaching out and moving his own piece properly this time. “However, a boring book about two people falling in love? No, thank you, ma’am.”

“Falling in love isn’t boring,” she defended, moving her own piece.

He grunted in answer, making his move.

Nesta looked at him, gauging his non-reply. “Have you ever been in love, Major?”

“Now who’s asking the personal questions,” he muttered, waiting for her to take her turn. She did, silently waiting for him to answer. He picked up the piece, studying the board, though barely anything had been done to need strategy yet. “No. I haven’t.”

Nesta watched him for a moment before looking back down at the board. “Interesting.”

Cassian moved his piece at last. “Don’t worry, plenty of women have been in love with me, I just haven’t returned the feeling.”

Nesta couldn’t help but bark a laugh. “Of course you would think so.”

Cassian’s grin told her it was all just a joke, but Nesta had no doubt that Cassian had had his fair share of women throughout the years.

“What about you?” He asked. “I know about your ex, of course, but have you ever been in love?”

It was Nesta’s turn to be quiet, but she pretended to be thinking over a move. “Yes,” she finally admitted, moving one of her knights, which had finally been unblocked by her pawns. “At least, I think so, at least. Things with Tom were…complicated.”

“Complicated doesn’t sound like it’s a good thing,” he replied, mirroring her own move.

She narrowed her eyes at him, finally catching on to how he’d been playing. She said nothing about the game though, and continued on. “There’s a reason we aren’t together anymore, if you recall.”

Nesta moved another piece and he asked, “Would you go back to him? If you found out he’d been waiting for you?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, still staring at the board, if only to keep from having to look at him. “His family was much better off than mine, which was the reason for our engagement anyways. I came here to keep my sisters from having to do so.”

“That doesn’t sound like love,” Cassian murmured, taking his turn.

“And what makes you such an expert on the subject?” Nesta snapped.

Cassian slowly met her eyes once he set down his knight. He didn’t look offended by her tone. Instead, he remained quiet for a moment, then said, “I may not waste my time reading romance novels, and I may have never been in love, nurse, but I have plenty of experience in what love is not.”

She couldn’t place it, but she didn’t like why his voice became so…sad when he said it. “I didn’t mean to react in such a way,” she replied, not even paying attention to the moves she was making at this point. “I’m just not…accustomed to talking to anyone about these sorts of things. Especially a patient.”

He nodded. “I get it.”

Nesta nodded and broke his gaze as her eyes settled back on the board. After a moment, she moved her queen and said, “Check.”

Cassian blinked, eyes darting to the board, trying to find how his king was in jeopardy. Once he saw it, he tried to figure a way out of it, but after five minutes of thinking, he knocked his king down in surrender.

Nesta suppressed her smile as she outstretched her hand. “Good game, Major.”

He chuckled and shook her hand. “Nice lie, nurse.”

“Perhaps we can play again tomorrow,” Nesta asked, with a questioning tone.

Cassian met her eyes, and the edge in them softened as he said, quietly, “I would like that.”

She nodded and began putting it away as a few nurses entered the tent with big boxes in their arms. “Looks like we got some care packages from Velaris, gentlemen.”

Cassian’s brows rose, and Nesta chuckled at the excitement that flooded through the tent from those who were awake. In a war, it was the little things that made it all better.

Nesta placed the chessboard beneath Cassian’s cot and rose to help the nurses go through the boxes. With everything they pulled out, there was an announcement.

We’ve got candies!

Homemade breads and jams!

The funnies from the newspapers!

Tea!

Nesta reached into the box and pulled out a big carton and announced, “Cigarettes!”

That one got a round of applause, but nowhere near the number of cheers that the whiskey got. It went on for another few minutes, and then for the first time in quite some time, something that resembled joy could be felt in their little war camp.

As the goodies were dispersed, Nesta’s eyes kept trailing to Cassian.

She was surprised to find his eyes on her as well. Carrying one of the small bottles of the cheap whiskey that had been sent, she found herself standing beside his cot. She set the bottle down on the side table, along with a pack of cigarettes, and said, “Might not be the brand you prefer, but it’s better than nothing.”

“I’d drink anything right about now, brand doesn’t matter,” he chuckled. “If you could possibly get me some of that sweet bread and blackberry jam though, it might make it just a bit easier to go down.”

She shook her head, saying, “You’re unbelievable.” But she knew she would get it for him, she’d make sure of it.

Because his smile was the first thing that made her own appear without being forced in quite a while.

#i’ll be seeing you #snacmc ibsy #nessian ibsy #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #1940s au #period au

[massivedrickhead]

Could you write one where Beca has an accident and although Chloe doesn’t know her, she stays with her until she wakes up?

Trigger warning: suicide is mentioned

Read on AO3

“Oh my God! Are you okay?”

Beca’s vision flickered in front of her. The bright white sky was suddenly replaced by a pair of impossibly blue tear-filled eyes and red hair.

She was hurting. Everywhere. She wanted to move but she couldn’t. She wanted to speak but she couldn’t.

She was finding it hard to breathe. Every time she tried to suck in a breath she felt like she was getting stabbed in the chest.

“Shit, I’m so sorry! You just came out of nowhere!” 

Beca opened her mouth again, trying to speak. She could taste blood in her mouth and she was starting to panic

“No, no, no, don’t move! Don’t try and speak. I’ve called an ambulance, you’re going to be okay. You’re gonna be fine.”

“C-c-can’t,” Beca gasped. “I c-can’t- fuck…”

“You’re okay,” the woman said, forcing an air of calm into her voice that didn’t quite hide the fear. “Look at me. You’re okay.”

“I fucked it up…” Beca said, her breathing slowing. Calming. Her vision was fading now. She heard sirens in the distance and then the panicked voices around her got quieter.

And quieter.

Until there was silence.

Chloe paced the hospital corridor, her hands shaking, her stomach churning with worry. 

“Chloe? What are you still doing here?” Aubrey asked, adjusting the stethoscope around her neck. “I thought the police said you could go?”

“Yeah they did,” Chloe said. “But I have to make sure she’s okay, don’t I?”

“Chloe, you know I can’t let you in there,” Aubrey said with a sigh. “You aren’t her friend or relative or anything. And I know it was an accident but you literally hit her with your car. For all anyone else knows you could be a murderer here to finish the job.”

Chloe rolled her eyes and dropped into one of the uncomfortable plastic seats in the corridor.

“Can you at least tell me if she’s okay?” Chloe said, folding her arms.

“I’m not supposed to,” Aubrey said. 

“Does she have any family here? Anyone I could speak to?” Chloe asked.

Again, Aubrey sighed. “Look, I really shouldn’t be telling you anything about her. But, no. We called a bunch of people and no one answered.”

Chloe frowned. “I can’t leave her on her own.”

“She’s… Look, she wouldn’t even notice if you were there or not. She’s gonna be pretty out of it for a while,” Aubrey said. 

“I can’t just leave,” Chloe said, tears burning her eyes. “Not if she doesn’t have anyone. I need to… To at least apologise. I could have killed her.”

“It was an accident.”

“But it still happened,” Chloe said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

In the end, it took Beca a few days to wake up properly.

Chloe stopped by every day. She even brought her flowers and got Aubrey to put them in her room.

She knew she was bordering on stalker behaviour, but she couldn’t help it. She had to meet this girl. Had to apologise. 

Especially considering that, according to Aubrey, she still hadn’t had any visitors.

“She’s been asking about who’s bringing all the flowers,” Aubrey said one evening as they ate dinner.

“What did you tell her?”

“I told her they were from the woman who hit her with her car, who was also turning into a stalker and that I could get it to stop if it made her feel weird,” Aubrey said.

“Aubrey!”

“I’m kidding. I mean, I did tell her that, but I also said they were from my crazy but harmless roommate who really wanted to meet her,” Aubrey said. “So she said you could.”

The next morning Aubrey showed her to Beca’s room.

Beca was sitting up in bed. She was awake but seemed zoned out. She had one earphone in and she was staring off into the distance.

She had scrapes on her face and arms, and Chloe could see a cast on her wrist and stitches in a cut on her head. Her face was bruised where it had hit the ground. 

Chloe felt a wave of guilt knowing she was responsible for this, and nervously tapped on the door, hovering in the doorway.

“Hi,” Beca said, looking slightly confused as she removed her earphone. She grabbed a notepad and flipped through it. “Sorry, we haven’t met, have we?”

“No,” Chloe said. “Not… Not formally.”

Beca cocked her head slightly, still confused.

“I’m Chloe,” Chloe said. 

“Chloe,” Beca repeated, looking at her notebook again. “Sorry. I’ve been having um…” she trailed off, searching for the word she needed. “Trouble, remembering stuff. Like… retaining information. They, um, the doctors said it’s normal. When I hit my head I lost some… some um, memories and words. But they said it’s normal and hopefully not, uh, forever? Permanent. They said it wasn’t permanent.”

Chloe stepped a little further into the room and couldn’t help but smile.

“You said your name was Chloe?”

“Yeah,” Chloe said. “You’re Rebeca, right?”

“Beca,” she said, writing something in her notebook. “So what kind of, doctor are you Chloe? I’m gonna keep saying your name so it sticks in my head, is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Chloe said smiling a little wider. She liked the way her name sounded when Beca said it. “I’m not a doctor.”

“Oh, sorry,” Beca said. “I just assumed. I only see doctors and uh… nurses. Are you a nurse? You aren’t in the, um,” she tugged at her gown, trying to find the word, “scrubs.”

“I’m a vet,” Chloe said.

Beca just stared at her for a few seconds. “They sent in a vet? Okay… Sick burn I guess?”

“No! I’m not here to treat you,” Chloe said, laughing. “I’m… I hit you with my car.”

“Oh,” Beca said. “You’re the… the flower lady. Dr. Posen’s roommate?”

“Yeah,” Chloe said. “That’s me. I just… I really needed to apologise. And I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Right,” Beca said. “You don’t need to apologise, it was an accident.” Beca was looking at her intently. “Are you sure we haven’t met?”

“I spoke to you after I hit you,” Chloe said. “You were conscious for a couple of minutes. It was, um, pretty scary?” Chloe added with a nervous laugh, tears stinging her eyes. “You were all… bloody and you couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe. How are you doing?”

“They said I punctured a lung,” Beca said. “Broken ribs, cracked… um… pelvis. Fractured wrist and, um…” she gestured to her head, “a concussion. But, you know, still alive. So… all things considered.”

“I’m really really sorry,” Chloe said, taking a cautious step closer, tears brimming in her eyes, threatening to spill over. “If there’s anything I can do, please tell me.”

“Thanks, Chloe,” Beca said. She rubbed at her head, a headache starting to form behind her eyes. “It’s funny, I don’t really remember anything about that day. I don’t remember getting up that morning, or what my plan for the day was. I don’t remember where I was headed. I remember… I remember being in pain. So much it didn’t seem real. It couldn’t… pinpoint, where it was coming from. It was just… Everywhere. And I remember your eyes. But the two things don’t feel connected. The pain and your eyes aren't the same memory. It’s… it’s stupid. It’s hard to explain.”

“Try me,” Chloe said, taking a seat beside Beca’s bed. 

“I remember looking into your eyes and feeling… calm. Did you say anything to me?”

“I told you that help was coming and that you’d be okay,” Chloe said. 

Beca nodded. “Did I say anything back?”

“You… You weren’t making a ton of sense? Which, you know, is perfectly understandable, you’d just been hit by a car,” Chloe said. “You kept saying ‘I can’t’ but you were like… gasping. It was like you couldn’t catch your breath. Which will be the punctured lung’s fault, I’m guessing. My fault, really. And then before you passed out you said… you said ‘I fucked it up.’ I don’t know what that was about.”

Beca rubbed the back of her neck. 

“Yeah, I dunno what that means,” she said.

They talked for a little longer before a natural silence fell. It didn’t feel awkward.

“So,” Beca said. “Thank you for the, um,” she gestured around the room, “flowers.”

“You’re welcome,” Chloe said. “Thank you for not being mad at me for hitting you with my car.”

Beca laughed and then winced at the pain in her ribs. “You’re welcome.”

Chloe sensed that their meeting was coming to an end, even though she didn’t want it to.

“I was wondering, how would you feel about me coming to see you again?” Chloe asked.

“Why would you want to do that?”

Chloe shrugged. “I like talking to you.”

Beca gave her a small grin, and rubbed the back of her neck again. “I like talking to you too.”

“And plus it’s my fault you’re in here anyway, I should at least keep you company,” Chloe said.

Beca laughed and shook her head slightly. “It wasn’t your fault,” she said quietly.

Chloe’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “I was driving the car that hit you, Beca.”

“Yeah but I just… I walked out without looking. Apparently.”

“Apparently?”

“The police came to take a statement. Some girl was making a… Vine? Not Vine. New Vine. Gen Z Vine.”

“Tik Tok?”

“Yes,” Beca said, laughing. “She was making a Tik Tok with her friend and I was in the background. They said I just… Walked into the road. Head down. And then…” She trailed off, looking uncomfortable. “I guess that’s why you’re out walking the streets instead of behind bars for attempted murder, huh?” She added with a nervous laugh.

“I guess so,” Chloe said. “Thank god for Tik Tok.”

A few more moments passed in silence. “So can I come and see you tomorrow? I finish work at 4 pm.”

“Yeah,” Beca said, smiling again. “I’d like that.”

“I’ll give you my number,” Chloe said. Beca turned to a blank page in her notebook and handed it over. “Give me a text if you can think of anything you might want or need.”

“Thanks, Chloe,” Beca said. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Why wouldn’t I be nice to you?”

“You don’t know me.”

“Yet,” Chloe said with a grin. “I don’t know you yet.”

-

True to her word, Chloe arrived the next day after her shift.

It took Beca a few moments to put her name to her face. She stared at her for a few seconds, a crease forming between her eyebrows. Her hand was resting on her notebook, but she didn’t open it.

“Chloe… Vet… Hit me with your car. Yes?”

“Yes,” Chloe said with a laugh. “But just Chloe is fine.”

She pulled a packet of Oreos out of her bag and handed them to Beca.

“You’re an angel,” Beca said, grinning as she opened the packet. She offered the pack to Chloe who took one with a smile.

-

They spent the next few days in the same way. Chloe would visit after work, and when visiting hours ended the two would text, growing closer with every conversation.

It was almost a week later when Aubrey entered the room while they were talking.

Beca had been quieter than usual. She’d been having a hard time maintaining eye-contact and she seemed much more distant than she had been before.

She also seemed to be in a lot more pain. They were evidently reducing her medication.

Chloe was worried, but didn’t know how to broach the subject.

“Good news, Beca,” Aubrey said. “You’re gonna be able to go home in a couple of days.”

“Oh,” Beca said, forcing a smile. “Awesome.”

“You’re gonna need someone to take care of you though,” Aubrey said, looking down at Beca’s chart. “Is there anyone we can call for you?”

“Um, no,” Beca said, trying to avoid looking at Chloe. “I don’t… There isn’t anyone.”

“Right,” Aubrey said. “You’re going to struggle on your own, Beca.”

“I don’t really have a choice,” Beca said, feeling her cheeks burn.

“Okay,” Aubrey said, sighing. “I’ll leave you to it. If you can think of anyone, let me know.”

Aubrey left the room, her eyes meeting Chloe’s for the briefest seconds, but it was enough for her to know that Chloe’s heart was breaking.

“Go on,” Beca said, still avoiding eye contact. “Say it.”

“Say what?”

“Say something about how… how I don’t have anyone. How I haven’t had a single visitor other than you since I’ve been here. About how I have no one to take me in. No one who cares enough about me,” Beca said. “Ask me why. Ask me what I must have done to be so… so fucking alone.”

There was a few moments of silence between them, and Beca felt tears burning her eyes.

And then Chloe placed her hand on top of Beca’s.

“You aren’t alone,” Chloe said. “Not anymore. We’re friends, right?”

Beca sniffed and let out a teary laugh. “You don’t know me.”

Chloe shrugged. “What I do know about you, I like.”

“Why are you even here, Chloe? Why do you keep coming to see me? Is it guilt? Or do you feel sorry for me?” Beca asked.

“Do you want me to go?” Chloe asked. 

“I want you to answer my question.”

“Yeah, I do feel bad that I hit you with my car and landed you in hospital, of course I do. And yes, it makes me sad knowing that you’ve had no on else come and visit you. That you don’t have anyone to take care of you when you need it,” Chloe said. “The reason I visited the first time was because I needed to apologise. I needed to see with my own eyes that you were okay. That I hadn’t… ruined your life. But the reason I came the second time? The third? The reason I’m here now? Because I want to be here. Because I like spending time with you, I like talking to you. But if you don’t… If you don’t want me here, Beca, I can leave. I know I’m intense. I have trouble with, like, boundaries. I don’t always know when I’m crossing a line, or if I’m outstaying my welcome. So if you want me to go, I can go.”

“That isn’t what I want,” Beca said, quietly. “I’m sorry. I just… I don’t know why someone like you would want to spend their free time with someone like me.”

“Because you’re cool,” Chloe said. “You’re funny. You’re smart. You’re easy to talk to. You’re not bad to look at.”

Beca laughed and Chloe smiled.

“You’re one to talk,” Beca mumbled.

“Are you gonna let me be your friend then? Without the questions and superstitions? If you need a friend reference you can just ask Aubrey. I freaked her out with my friendship in the early days too,” Chloe said.

“Yeah, I guess that would be okay,” Beca said, trying not to grin. “Sorry for being a dick.”

“You weren’t being a dick. You’re in pain and you’re… you’re stressed out about something,” Chloe said. 

“Yeah they’ve stopped giving me the good stuff,” Beca said. 

“Bummer,” Chloe said. “You know, if there was something else going on that you wanted to talk about, I’m a good listener.”

“I’m fine, it’s just I, uh, remembered something. About that day. About where I was going,” Beca said.

“Well that’s good isn’t it?”

Beca shook her head, tears filling her eyes. 

“Tell me about it,” Chloe said, softly. “Take your time. I”m not going anywhere.”

“I was feeling… Empty. Just… done. I was done. I’ve, um, I’ve had depression and anxiety for as long as I can remember. It’s one of the reasons I’ve been on my own so long. People don’t stick around after they’ve seen me at my worst.” Chloe squeezed her hand again, and Beca felt encouraged to carry on speaking. “That day I was going to…” Beca trailed off, her voice catching in her throat. She swallowed and wiped her eyes. “I was going to… Please don’t make me say it.”

“Beca, did you… Did you step in front of my car on purpose?” Chloe asked, feeling like she’d just been plunged into ice water.

“N-No! No,” Beca said, wiping at her eyes again. “I was going to the bridge that you have to drive across to get to the university. The one over the river.”

“‘I fucked it up,’” Chloe said, quoting what Beca had said to her that day. “That’s what you said to me, ‘I fucked it up’. Because you were planning on killing yourself.” Chloe felt sick. “Jesus, Beca, did I save your life by hitting you with my car?”

“I guess,” Beca said. “After the accident I was feeling better like, mentally. I thought maybe it was because I’d had this… this near death experience, that maybe I didn’t actually want to die anymore.” Beca gave a hollow laugh and then winced at the pain in her ribs. “I thought I’d been cured. But I was wrong. When they started reducing the morphine those feelings started coming back. Makes me wonder if I should try heroine. Kidding,” she added at the look on Chloe’s face.

“God, Beca,” Chloe said, sinking back into her chair. “This is a lot to take in.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Beca said. “You don’t have to stay, if this is too much.”

Chloe felt Beca pulling away, so she tightened her grip on her hand. “I didn’t say that,” she said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I don’t want you to feel pressured into being here,” Beca said.

“I don’t feel pressured,” Chloe said. “Beca, I’m here because I want to be here. What you just told me hasn’t changed that.”

Beca squeezed Chloe’s hand as tight as she could with her fractured wrist. “Thank you.”

“We have something else to decide now,” Chloe said. 

“What’s that?”

“Who’s gonna take care of you when they let you go home?”

Beca sighed. “No one is,” she said. “I’ve been looking after myself since I was a teenager. I know how to do it.”

“What if I helped?” Chloe asked. “I could just check in with you every now and then? Pop over to your place after work or call you to make sure you’re okay?”

“I feel like I don’t have a choice in this, do I?” Beca asked.

“Now you’re getting it,” Chloe said, grinning. 

That night, Aubrey was checking Beca over before she headed home for the day.

“Have you thought about anyone who can help you out when you get discharged?” Aubrey asked, looking over Beca’s charts.

“Yeah, I have someone who’s said they’ll keep an eye on me,” Beca said. “It’s all sorted.”

“Great,” Aubrey said. She looked up from her chart and studied Beca’s expression for a moment. “It’s Chloe, right?”

“Yeah,” Beca said, feeling a bit awkward knowing that Chloe and Aubrey were best friends. “Did she tell you?”

“No,” Aubrey said. “But I knew from the second you said you didn’t have anyone, that she’d volunteer. And she always gets her way.”

“I hope you don’t think I’m like, taking advantage or something. I told her she didn’t have to stick around,” Beca said.

“I don’t think that,” Aubrey said, softly. “And I know what Chloe’s like. She just… she likes people. She likes helping them. Once you have her as a friend, you’re stuck with her.” Aubrey laughed as a memory came back to her. “We roommates in college, that’s how we met. In our first week I got sick with the flu and she… She took care of me. And she’s never stopped taking care of me. She’s just the best friend anyone could ask for.”

“I feel like I don’t deserve that,” Beca said. “I’m not an easy person to be friends with.”

“Neither am I,” Aubrey said. “I’m controlling, a perfectionist, I get borderline obsessive about certain things. I can be rude, blunt, mean. I can be a real bitch sometimes.” Aubrey shrugged. “Chloe saw through all that. She has a way of just overlooking the bad parts of people and seeing the good. And I’m not saying she’s perfect. She can get just as obsessive as me. And she has no respect for boundaries or personal space. She barged into some freshman’s shower one year because she liked the way she sang. But you’ll never have a better friend than her.”

“I just don’t know why she’d want me as a friend.”

“You make her laugh,” Aubrey said after thinking for a few moments. “Chloe has a really good fake laugh, but I haven’t heard her use it once with you. And sometimes I’ll catch her smiling at her phone when you guys are texting. She doesn’t do that when she texts other people.”

Beca grinned. “She makes me laugh too.”

Aubrey smiled and carried on checking Beca over. “How’s the pain?”

“Not amazing,” Beca said. 

“I’ll get the nurse to come by and give you something. It’ll help you sleep.”

“Thanks,” Beca said. “And thanks for saying all of that before. It’s just… It’s weird. A week ago I had no one and now suddenly there’s this amazing person who for some reason wants to be part of my life. I’m not used to it.”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it.”

#bechloe #bechloe friendship #Beca x Chloe #beca #Chloe #beca mitchell #chloe beale #bechloe fanfiction #bechloe fanfic #bechloe drabble #drabble #bechloe hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort #bechloe au #au #bechloe prompt #otp prompt #Pitch Perfect #pitch perfect au #pitch perfect fanfic #pitch perfect fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #no matter the timeline #trigger warning #tw

[writing-for-amusement]

Never Gonna Leave

Request: “Uuuuh how about a venom x plus size reader who is made fun of for her size and venom/Eddie gives her a little comfort ((and maybe decides to get some revenge????)) cause those stories make me soft.”

A/N: Alright, here’s the first actual installment of my 150 follower celebration (except now it’s really more of a 200 follower celebration)!! As with the anon, these sorts of stories really make me soft, and I hope you guys like this! I adore Eddie Brock and Venom and I hope I did them justice!!!

All of my taglists are still open, as are requests!!! I’m hoping to get them out at a faster pace lmaooooo

Permanent Taglist: @pparkerwrites, @jordyns-library, @natblidaclexa, @peterseuphoria, @lesbian-x-blackwidow, @beccaboo929, @softrdj, @icecoldban, @paintballkid711

Word Count: 3288

Warnings: gets a little steamy but no smut, hints to smut, hints to violence, rude people making rude comments, near panic attack, silly dancing, like a serious amount of fluff

You pulled to a stop at the stoplight, your hands gripping the handlebars of your motorcycle tightly. It was taking the light what felt like forever to change, and you were already late for date night because a customer at your shop just refused to leave.

Finally, you were able to continue. You didn’t know why you were having dinner at a diner all the way across town from both your shop and your apartment, but hey, you weren’t complaining. You enjoyed new things and trying new places.

It seemed like it took forever to get to the so-called ‘diner’ that was supposed to host your date. You parked your bike and took off your helmet, tucking it under your arm. The building itself looked… nicer than you anticipated.

“Y/N!” a familiar voice called out to you. As you were turning towards the voice, you were crushed in a tight hug.

“Eddie, Venom, you’re crushing me!” you managed to chuckle as your air was gently squeezed from your chest.

“We missed you,” Eddie said, pulling back to pout. “We never wanna leave you.”

“Aw, poor babies,” you cooed, quickly pressing a kiss to his pouting lips. He pulled you back in and buried his nose in the crook of your neck; a tendril from Venom snuck out and “licked” a stripe up your neck. Your giggle made them both hum in happiness.

Eddie broke away and laced your fingers together, smiling brightly at you. He led you inside, unlacing your fingers so he could drape his arm around your waist. His fingers gently rubbed the skin revealed at the bottom of your shirt, making your skin tingle but your overall demeanor relax. Venom curled a hidden tendril around your wrist; it was one of his favorite places to hold and made him feel like you were actually holding hands.

“Where would you like to sit?” Eddie asked you, pulling you a bit closer.

“Anywhere is fine,” you smiled at him.

He grinned, giving your hip a small squeeze. Your boyfriend led you over to a booth near the back and you sat across from him, putting your helmet next to you. You looked around as a waitress quickly bustled over to you with some menus.

It was probably the nicest diner you’d ever been in. It wasn’t meant to be a recreation of what diners used to be. The place was basically a restaurant that simply served diner food. It was decorated with modern sleek designs, but it wasn’t overly lit with bright lights. There was a bar that you could see from your booth, but people weren’t clamoring for the attention of the bartender. It was much calmer in that aspect than other places.

There was also a dancefloor, but it wasn’t full of grinding bodies. The people there were more spread out, dancing in a way that fit to the music; it wasn’t loud club music, no loud trilling bass beats. It was calmer, less frantic than a club. You liked it.

The waitress, a lovely woman named Beatrice, handed you both menus and gave you two a moment to look the menu over. It wasn’t large, just a simple two pages as a book, but the simplicity had a sort of charm that you quite liked. You talked through the options with your boyfriend, him occasionally giving input from Venom, and made your decisions. You were expressing your enjoyment of the music to him when he beamed at you.

“I figured,” Eddie basically purred as he leaned towards you with twinkling eyes, “that you and I could dance a bit after we eat.”

“I’d love that,” you smirked.

“All right, do we know what we’re eating?” Beatrice asked. She placed two waters on the table for you both.

You and Eddie ordered your food, including an alcoholic beverage for each of you. As Beatrice smiled and walked away, your eyes locked on your boyfriend across from you. His eyes, those beautiful blue-green eyes you adored, were sparking at you.

Not sparkling, sparking.

“I cannot wait to get you back home and help you relax, sweet thing,” he murmured loud enough for you to hear him.

“Oh really?” you raised a brow, leaning your elbows on the table and putting your chin on your folded hands. “Why is that, babe?”

Eddie grinned the sweetest grin at you. He reached across to you, taking your hand and squeezing it. “You’ve been so stressed lately, love,” he said. “With expanding your shop, and then the showerhead breaking on us, and your parents, and my bike, well… I just want you to be able to relax, baby. And I know I can help with that.”

“Well,” you smirked before biting your lip, “you’ll just have to prove it, won’t you?”

“That’s a promise, sweet cheeks,” he winked at you.

Your head tilted back in laughter and delighted in his accompanying chuckles. Your smile was radiant with your laughter as you thanked Beatrice when she arrived with the drinks. Eddie was still holding your hand and he squeezed it before letting go so he could take a long drink, his eyes on you the entire time.

While you waited for food, you chatted with your boyfriend about his day. He told you all about the information he’d found that day, and how he would appreciate your help with some wording on his other project.

Your food arrived and you dug in, a moan leaving your mouth as the delicious taste flooded your mouth. You had a feeling that his eyes were flashing as your head leaned back in happiness from the taste. It didn’t matter to you, though, because the steak and eggs you were tasting was too glorious to open your eyes.

“Jesus, Eddie, how long have you known about this place?” you asked him as you opened your eyes.

His eyes were a bit whiter than normal and he arched a brow at you. You blinked as you ran through your previous actions, then you winked at him. A small, low growl left his throat, and you giggled slightly.

“I’ve been coming here for, oh, three months?” Eddie finally told you.

You gave him a faux-pained look and stuck your bottom lip out. He laughed at your antics and told you to just dig in and enjoy the food.

Once you were both done, and had shared a milkshake, Eddie stood up and held his hand out to you. With a coy smile, you put your hand in his and let him whisk you to the dancefloor. Eddie gave you a twirl and you laughed brightly, tilting your head back.

“I adore you,” you told him as he twirled you into his chest.

Eddie’s hands wrapped around your waist and he swayed you back and forth, much slower than the beat of the music playing. He put his forehead on yours and you could see the adoration shining in your eyes.

“How long has it been?” he murmured just loud enough for you to hear.

“Since we went on our first date?” you asked as you looked up at him. His confirmation was just a simple tender smile. “It’s been a year.”

Eddie hummed gently and dipped his head to give you a sweet kiss on the lips. “Feels like much longer than that.”

“We’ve known each other for three years, Eddie,” you pointed out.

“Feels longer than that, too,” he said.

You tipped your head back with your laugh and ruffled his hair. He pouted at you and urged you to dance to the beat now.

One of your favorite things about Eddie was how unafraid he was to be a dork. Venom was also unafraid to be a dork, but that was mostly because his knowledge of human customs was still being worked on. Eddie performed an incredibly cheesy disco finger that had you in stitches while you moved your hips to the beat.

Not one to be outdone, you started to do the sprinkler, Eddie’s laugh bright in your ears. Of course, he joined in happily, and the two of you were having a dorky dance move competition, to no one’s surprise.

Then, while you were bouncing to the beat exaggeratedly fist pumping, you heard it.

“Jesus, what a cow,” a man commented. “It’s disgusting.”

“A cow made out of Jello,” his friend added with a laugh.

“I bet fucking her is like fucking a bowl of condensed soup,” another laughed.

“I bet that boyfriend of hers is only pitying her, using her as a filler until he finds someone better. There’s no way a guy like that could be with a guy like her,” the singular woman with them said, and she was obviously tipsy.

It had been some time since someone commented on your appearance. These past months with Eddie—hell, even before you were dating—had done wonders for how you viewed yourself. Your self esteem had always been up and down, but with Eddie, it was up much more often. But now, it was like you had never gotten that high.

The fact that you felt so low because of a couple of assholes made you angry, but you couldn’t help the way that you felt. It harkened back to your school days, and it was not a pleasant trip down memory lane. And what they said about Eddie made all of your hidden insecurities about your relationship rear their ugly heads.

“What’s wrong, babe?” Eddie asked you, he and Venom noticing your quick change.

“I, um, I’m gonna run to the bathroom really quick,” you informed him before quickly walking off to the bathroom.

Once you were in the clean one-stall restroom, you locked the door and quickly hopped onto the counter. Your breathing was rapid, and you knew that the panic attack was right on the horizon. It was not something you wanted at all.

You were going through your grounding exercise when a knock on the door made you jump in shock. Your lungs jumped as your panic attack came even closer.

“Y/N?” Eddie’s voice came through the door. “C’mon darling, let me in.”

“We can hear your heartrate, Y/N,” Eddie let Venom say aloud. “Let us in.”

You reached a shaky hand over and unlocked the door. Eddie was immediately walking in, a bit of Venom’s inkiness creeping up his neck.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” Eddie demanded gently.

“I-it’s nothing,” you breathed out. “Just… hold me?”

Eddie’s strong arms wrapped around your shoulders and he tucked your head into his chest. He rubbed your back with soft hands and started to hum your favorite song. Slowly, your breathing returned to normal and you felt your heartrate calm.

“There, she’s a bit better now,” Eddie murmured, though you could tell that it was directed towards Venom in his mind.

You gently pushed Eddie back a bit and smiled up at him. “I’m okay now.”

“C’mon, you can’t just avoid it. Tell us about it,” your boyfriend(s) urged you gently.

With a shaky inhale, you essentially whispered, “Some people on the dance floor… called me disgusting and a cow. And they said that you’re just using me until someone better comes along. They said that someone like you could never be with someone like me.”

“What?” Eddie and Venom’s voices blended together in a growl.

“N-no, please, you two, please don’t bother,” you begged them.

“They made you feel disgusting and ugly when you clearly are not,” Eddie’s voice said, though Venom’s voice was still in the back of his throat.

“Eddie, Venom, please, can’t we just… go?”

Eddie’s shifting eyes, and Venom’s vein popping on his neck, were a little concerning. As your eyes pleaded up at him, your boyfriends hesitantly nodded. You were about to jump off the counter when Eddie put a determined hand on your shoulder.

When you looked up at him, Eddie’s eyes were dark with lust and determination. As you opened your mouth to ask what was going on, he put his finger on your lips.

“Shush, we’re going to prove them wrong. Don’t worry, we’ve got you. We’re never going to leave you. It’s a promise.”

With that gentle sentence, Eddie pressed his mouth to yours hungrily. While you were surprised, you found yourself melting into his kiss, as you always did. You felt a tendril from Venom move to attach to your wrist again.

Eddie pulled back from your lips with a gasp, his eyes glittering. At the sight of your already swollen lips, he let out a delectable groan and quickly attached his lips to the side of your neck. He sucked on your pulse point, making you breathe out a gasp.

Eddie knew exactly how sensitive your neck was, and he and Venom always used it to their advantage. When Eddie moved and sucked the spot behind your ear, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. Venom decided to keep them there and trailed his own “hand” to tangle in the hair at the nape of your neck (another sensitive spot).

Your boyfriend was clearly on a mission as he rutted his hips against yours and sucked all over your neck and collarbone. As he tongued a particularly wonderful spot at the junction of your collarbone and neck, you whined and tugged on his hair.

Eddie and Venom’s voice combined into a growl once more, and he stepped back from you sharply.

“We’re leaving,” they announced, gently tugging you off the counter. Eddie’s hand, and a sliver of Venom, held yours tightly as he guided you out of the bathroom. They didn’t even give you a chance to fix your now messy hair.

“Who said it?” Eddie whispered into your hair as you walked your table.

“What?”

“Who said those things?” Eddie asked tensely.

With a sigh, knowing he wouldn’t let it go, you pointed out the group of people without actually pointing them out. They were staring at you, specifically your neck, and had looks of shock on their face.

“Alright, doll,” Eddie turned to look at you. “Why don’t you go ahead and go home while I pay for the stuff? I’ll meet you there.”

“But—”

“And you could slip into that beautiful gunmetal babydoll set that we all love so much?” he pleaded with shining eyes.

You laughed brightly and finally nodded. Eddie and Venom whispered a thank you before pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

Grabbing your helmet, you quickly exited the diner, eager to get home and put on the lingerie set your boyfriends mentioned.

The drive home was uneventful and much quicker than the one to the diner. You were incredibly grateful for that, but you also figured that if you had been in the light mood you were currently in earlier, perhaps the drive would’ve been better.

Once home, you quickly slipped into the piece of “clothing” and made the bed. You put some soft but sexy music on the speakers and lounged on the couch in your silk robe (a gift from Eddie) while waiting for your boyfriends to return.

You played on your phone for what felt like forever. Patience had always been a virtue of yours, so you waited for what turned into an hour for them to get home.

The apartment door opened, and you popped your head up over the back of the couch, a bright smile on your face. Eddie looked breathless, as if he’d climbed the stairs instead of took the elevator, and as if he’d climbed them three at a time.

“Hello there, handsome,” you greeted him with a smile.

Eddie simply grinned and crooked a finger at you, beckoning you over. With a soft giggle, you quickly padded over to him. He stared down at you with an intensity that you weren’t completely unfamiliar with, but it was normally a little… calmer.

“We took care of those people,” Eddie informed you softly. At your concerned look, he rushed to finish, “Venom didn’t eat them. Actually, he said they’d taste like rancid meat or something. No, we just threatened them.”

“Eddie, V, you shouldn’t—”

“No one gets to make you feel that low,” they stated firmly. “No one. You are ours and we love you and you deserve the best the world has to offer.”

“Aw, you guys, that’s really sweet,” you began to say, but you were cut off by Eddie’s finger once more.

It was just Eddie’s voice as he said almost nervously, “I’m not saying we’re the best the world has to offer. We’re far from it, actually. But you’ve always accepted me no matter what, even before Venom and after Annie. You are the most amazing woman on this planet. You are the kindest, bravest, most fantastical person I’ve ever met. I love you, Y/N, I’ve always loved you, even before I knew it.”

There were tears misting your eyes at his kind words, and you cupped his stubbly cheek with your hand. “Eddie, Venom, you’re both amazing. I love you too. I’ll never stop loving you, Eddie. I’ve loved you since I first met you. You’ve always been the person I’ve wanted to spend the rest of my days with, in whatever type of relationship possible.”

Eddie’s smile was nervous, something you had only seen once, when he told you about Venom. Eddie Brock was not someone who got nervous over nothing. Stressed, yes, but he very rarely got nervous. It made you nervous, too.

“I’m glad you think that way,” he chuckled tensely.

“Eddie, what’s wrong?” you asked, brushing your thumb across his cheekbone.

Suddenly, your boyfriend was kneeling on the ground and a small purple box was in his hand. You took a step back in surprise, your hand coming up to clutch your chest. Eddie, and Venom’s head, smiled up at you like a billion gem shards in the sunlight.

“Y/N, you’re my—our—best friend, and the love of our lives. You’ve accepted us when we both thought you’d run away. You make us calm, you make us patient, you make us better. Please, Y/N, would you do me the honor of being my wife? So that our relationship can’t be broken in any possible way, even by the law?”

“Eddie Brock, you idiot, is this because—”

“No, it’s not. I was planning to do this anyway.” He had his own hopeful tears streaming down his cheeks and melting into his adorable stubble.

You were completely crying. “That’s what I thought,” you whispered happily.

Eddie opened the box and showed you the simple ring that you had always described. Venom’s voice rumbled with happiness as he prompted, “Well, Y/N?”

“Yes, of course I’ll marry you idiots!” you nodded emphatically with the tears running down your cheeks in ecstatic rivulets.

Eddie was up in an instant, lifting you in his arms and twirling you around. You were laughing and crying with him, feeling him press kisses into any available space.

When your fiancé finally put you down, you brought your lips to his in a searing kiss. As you slipped your tongue into his mouth, Venom slipped the ring onto your finger easily.

Eddie drew back from you and gave you a wolfish grin, a flash of Venom in his eyes. “Now, it’s time to celebrate and relax, and I plan on making it even more obvious that you’re mine and that I love you more than life itself.”

“As long as I get to do the same,” you smirked.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want it any other way,” Eddie chuckled darkly as he scooped you into his arms and squeezed you, Venom gripping your wrist tightly.

You knew they would never leave you.

#eddie brock x plus size reader #eddie brock x reader #venom x plus size reader #venom x reader #plus size reader #reader insert #Lena's 150 Follower Celebration #eddie brock request #venom request #Lena's Requests

[mentalmimosa]

this is you

Prompts: Don't let the photograph replace the memory and National Park.

What are you supposed to do when your memory becomes history? There’s a difference.

It’s not as though Steve’s ever forgotten that day, all those goddamn years ago: the smell of the sunshine, the heady crush of the leaves, the way Bucky’s grin never faded, not once, the whole day. He remembers what shirt he was wearing, which sweater vest; he remembers the crushed box that served as their picnic basket upending in the car and sending sandwiches and bottles of beer all over the backseat. And he remembers the girls who took their picture, a couple of blondes up from the city like them, their skin flushed from the fresh hair and the bottoms of their skirts stained green by the last of summer’s grass.

“Hey,” the one had said, the Brownie camera steady in her hands. “Smile!”

What the picture hadn’t captured was what had happened a few minutes before: shouted laugher that had turned into a tussle in the dirt and then--

And then--

The end of a friendship and the beginning of something else. A shifting of the solid ground that had always lain between them into quicksand, uncertainty, a new kind of vulnerability. You can’t see that in the frame.

He doesn’t see the picture until years later. Decades, in fact. But when he does, he realizes how little he’s wanted to remember. The image brings it all back.

“Holy shit,” Sam said, staring over his shoulder as the helicarriers burn overhead. “Is that you, Cap?”

The man who is Bucky is sitting on the ground between them, looking as wet and battered as Steve feels, but there’s a light in his face that wasn’t there before, bruises and broken bones be damned. The photo came from his pocket. When they’d found themselves beached, before either could muster the strength to put up a punch, he’d pulled it from some inner pocket in his armor and shoved it into Steve’s hands. Said:

“This is you, isn’t it?”

He has the same answer for Sam as he’d given Buck.

“Yeah. That’s me.”

“Well, what the hell was he doing with it?”

“Tch,” Bucky says. “I have it because it's mine.”

*****

They hole up at a safehouse Nat knows about way out in the wilds of nowhere. Steve’s pretty sure it’s one of hers, but she will neither confirm nor deny.

“There’s a well,” she says, giving them a perfunctory tour as they limp towards the front door. “Solar panels shielded from satellites. Food. We’ll be fine.”

She’s wary of the Winter Soldier. Steve doesn’t blame her. But she puts as much care into stitching him up as she does Steve, Sam standing in the corner the whole time, semi-glowering at them both.

“I don’t care how many broken ribs he has,” he says. “Come on, y’all. He’s a killing machine.”

Nat shoots him a look that’s more broadsword than dagger. “You’re seriously not helping.”

“I’m trying to be the voice of reason here, is what I’m doing. Steve, I get that this guy was your friend, but--”

“But nothing.” Steve’s voice feels like a scab. Damn it, everything hurts. “He’s Bucky. He stays or I go.”

“We’ve had this argument, gentlemen,” Nat snaps. There’s a prick in Steve’s arm, something cool and weird in his blood. “And we’re here, so we’re not having it again. Wilson, take your shit outside and see if you can get that pump running, huh? I don’t want to hear another fucking word about it.”

“Свирепый,” Bucky murmurs. “A red tiger, eh?”

Nat stands up between them, their two cots side by side. “Sleep, идиоты. Both of you. Or else I’ll snap something that’s still in one piece, ok?”

When he wakes up, it’s dark and the room is quiet, the air still. He can hear Bucky breathing.

It’s been a long time since they slept in the same room. They had when they were kids, on and off, camping out at one another’s houses, and they’d always shared the single bedroom in their apartment. But after that trip to the lake in that beat-up, borrowed Ford, it’d been different.

Awkward, at first. Neither of them had really know what that kiss meant. Steve sure as hell hadn’t. He knew what he wanted it to mean, but that wasn’t the same thing. And frankly, he hadn’t wanted to ask.

The drive back was quiet, that first hour back in their apartment even more so. Bucky had fussed about setting out supper, like he always did, and Steve had taken refuge in the bathtub, ducking his face under the lukewarm water, reluctant to scrub the smell of the pine needles away. He got a little stiff despite the chill, much to his chagrin. Got out and put on a clean undershirt and ignored it.

“Made you a sandwich,” Bucky’d said from behind the newspaper when he padded into the kitchen. “There’s coffee. Any hot water left?”

It wasn’t until Steve had done the dishes and Bucky was finished splashing that it came to a head again: Bucky emerging in a cloud of steam and aftershave, his hands curving around the jut of Steve’s hips.

“I’m looking for my book,” Steve had said, strangled.

He’d felt Bucky’s mouth brush the back of his neck. “You left it in the car.”

“Oh.”

A gentle catch of sharp teeth. “Want me to put some pants on and go get it?”

“No,” Steve had whispered, remembers saying as if were only yesterday. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Laying in that safehouse all those years later, he remembers waking up in the small hours and being startled that Bucky was in his bed, that his best friend was spooned around him like a barricade, his skin warm and smelling like sex. He remembers that he made a sound, he must have, because even in sleep, Bucky had tugged him close again, sighing, murmuring something senseless in his hair.

There’s a tear on his cheek, a dozen, and he shoves them away, turns his face into the pillow. God, what he wouldn’t give for Bucky, even this hollowed out Bucky, to do that right now.

“That picture,” Bucky says rough in the darkness. “I stole it a long time ago.”

It takes Steve a moment to understand what he means. “Stole it? From where?”

“From your, eh, what is it called? National Archives.”

If Steve’s head was clear, he might question that. Right now, though, selfishly, he can’t. “Why’d you take it? Did they make you?”

“No.” There’s a pause. “I was sent for something else. They didn’t know I had this, that I took it. I found...it was hard to lie to them. But I found ways.”

“Why, then?”

He can sense Bucky’s head turning towards him. There are crickets in the shadows outside. “I saw it and I knew myself. That was the first reason. But also--there was you. There was me and there was you.”

There’s a pang in Steve’s heart, a different kind of pain. “You recognized me?”

“Not recognized, exactly. I did not know your name. Though I was sure, the first time I saw it, that I knew you.” A dry cough, a wince that Steve can here. “Only today do the pieces fit together. But I still cannot understand the picture they make.”

Steve’s face is wet again and the hope, oh the stupid fucking hope, at the back of his throat is champagne, fierce and bitter. “Well,” he says, “that’s a start, I guess. There’s me, now, and there’s you.”

*****

It takes months for Bucky to be able to think clearly, longer for Stark to figure out how to divest him of the HYDRA arm and give him what Tony calls a shiny, unfucked-up, non-killy version instead.

Time, suddenly, is something they have.

The team drifts back together, as it always does, inevitably. At the compound, secrets come out: what Bucky did, that some arms of HYDRA still live, that there are parts of the universe beyond the Earth and the moon that are bent on destruction. There are fights and occasional histrionics but in the end, the Avengers stick together. It’s all good, in the end. Gives Bucky the time he needs to heal.

The photo sits beside Bucky’s bed in a little wooden frame. They don’t talk about it, which is fine. It takes a while to remember how to be each other’s friend again.

One night, though, at dinner, Barton passes Steve a textbook cracked open to page 181.

“Will you look at that shit,” he says through a mouthful of taco. “My kid brought it home from school yesterday. You’re ancient history, Cap.”

Above , the caption says, in tiny block letters. Steve Rogers pre-Super Soldier serum, with James Barnes (1938).

“Hey,” Sam says, frowning over the edge of the page, “isn’t that--?”

Bucky isn’t at the table. He never eats with the crew; too many people, too much noise, he says. But Steve knows where he’ll be, where he is: in his room.

He’s smoking when Steve crashes in, leaning against the balcony in a cloud. There’s a half-finished tray on the coffee table and a book turned upside down beside it. He looks startled.

“What the hell, Steve? Since when don’t you knock?”

“Buck,” Steve says, shoving the textbook towards him. “Look. We’re history.”

Bucky whistles softly. His fingers drift up and brush the page, the washed-out image of them, of that day, the best day. A day that changed both their lives. “We’ve never been history, kid,” he says, rough. “But we never did get much here and now, did we?”

“No. I guess we didn’t.”

Then there’s no book in his hands and Bucky is smiling at him, sweet and sad. “What’d you think?”

“About what?”

Metal fingers on his cheek, cool against the heat. “Want to risk it and try again?”

They answer the call of the now in Bucky’s bed this time. They learn the changes in each other’s bodies and discover what’s the same and Steve remembers the joy of having Bucky loom over him, loving, cock buried inside and hips moving, churning, urging Steve towards the ecstasy of the other side, the side that time can’t touch, the side where memories never fade, the side where they once built things that even death couldn’t destroy and when Steve comes--the first time, the fourth, the fifth--it’s as if they’ve lived forever as the boys they were that summer day.

“You’re never leaving this bed again,” Bucky says when their bodies are still, when the world outside is, the small hours between dusk and dawn.

He reaches back and pinches Bucky’s thigh, snickers when he squawks. “I’m not, huh?”

“No. I’ve decided. You’re staying right here until I say otherwise.”

“I’d forgotten how territorial you can be.”

A flick of tongue against his ear. “Not territorial. Greedy. Head over heels in love with you. There’s a difference.”

It should be startling to hear him say it like that, almost casual: in love with you. It’s more like, though, coming home.

“You’re gonna have to let me up eventually.”

“Who says?”

“Me.” Steve lifts metal fingers to his mouth, kisses them. “And like or not, Buck, I’m bigger than you.”

Bucky laughs. “Well shit. That sounded almost like a challenge, Stevie.”

“Almost? Bullshit. It is.”

This time, all these years later, their tussle ends not in a kiss but with Steve coming over Bucky’s fist and Bucky creaming Steve’s ass and with them clutching each other and saying things, feeling things, that they never could have back then.

And when Steve falls asleep, finally, it’s with his eyes on that long-ago afternoon, framed at Bucky’s bedside. A memory, yes, he thinks, leaning back in Bucky’s arms, but not history, no. A beginning.

#stucky #post-winter soldier #canon divergence #first time in a long time #schmoop

[gloomy-goober]

I Know Its Today

Part of a Series: GROWING UP PARTS OF A WHOLE AO3

Summary:  Creativity has been locked in this scary room for twenty-three days. In that time he has been sure that his friends have been working tirelessly to break him out. That is why he is focused on small projects to distract himself from the possibility that...just maybe...they haven't even noticed that he is gone. 

But that is silly, such a silly sad thought. Why would they not help him? In fact, he knows that they will show up any day now. Even today probably. 

Characters: Remus Sanders

Warnings: Dark Thoughts (briefly), Isolation, sewing needle pin pricks, storms, mild mutilation (in terms of a Grimms Fairy Tale only mentioned in passing).

**************************************************************************

Creativity hummed to himself as he worked on his latest creation. The young side sat on the floor with his back rested against a cold stone wall. The needle and thread carefully pushed into the buttonhole and then maneuvered back out. A smile shown on his face as he reached for the scissors to cut the string.

His little sock doll. Finally completed. Made with love, blood, sweat, and tears. Literally.

His fingers were covered in small scabs from where the needle had missed its mark. It had hurt a lot in the beginning but now he thought the small red stains on the white fabric of the doll’s face added the extra love and commitment.

The boy set down the scissors and reached for a pair of pipe cleaner glasses that he had crafted earlier. They settled easily behind the ears and into the thread loops he had made to hold them.

“Parfait!”

He pushed himself up onto his feet and grabbed the wall to keep himself from falling. The sudden rush of blood to his legs almost made the child fall.

“Oops, that was stupid of me huh?”

The doll stared back at him with two dark blue button eyes. No real reaction.

“I had to get your eyes on though, Learning, I couldn’t have moved until it was done. Would have messed them all up.”

He continued to talk to the doll as he moved towards the middle of the room. A hammock hung from two stone pillars. A blanket on the floor under it with a pillow. Creativity missed his bed, the one that resembled Snow White’s coffin, but he was no longer in the enchanted forest room.

No. He was here, in this stone castle room. Where one window showed out on a stormy world that was far below. A tower, one might call it.

The side pulled himself up onto the hammock and set the doll down next to another. This one with light blue buttons for eyes and a happy smile stitched in.

“Look, Heart, I brought you a friend.”

He moved Heart’s arm to wrap around Learning’s plush shoulders.

“There,” Creativity smiled at his two creations, “Now we are all together again.”

His smile faded as he looked at the two. His chest felt heavy as he reached to hold Heart’s free hand. The little mitten for a hand was smaller than his palm. While soft it held none of the warmth that he had been so used to outside.

His eyes moved from the dolls to the dark door that had locked him in. The silver and dark oak mocked him with its lack of handle. All he wanted was for it to open. For his friends to be standing there with relieved smiles on their faces.

To be out of this creepy tower room.

“They’ll come soon,” he told the air, “Probably today even! Learning is so smart he probably is just waiting for Heart to figure out how to open the door. I bet they are banging away on it right now.”

He pushed off the hammock carefully so not to disturb the dolls. Heart’s likeness still fell over as he let go of the plush hand.

Creativity moved over to the stone next to the door and picked up a loose stone that he had found. Carefully he scratched another mark onto a large brick.

“Twenty-three. That isn’t too much time,” he told himself, “I bet it just took a bit to…to find the door. Heart probably did not want to disturb me and wouldn’t come in. Now Learning is just doing whatever the nerd does to fix problems.”

He let the rock fall back down onto the stone and moved to lean his head against the door. His ear pressed hard against it as he strained to hear anything outside. All he got was silence.

“You can do it guys. I believe in you,” he said anyway.

He wrapped his knuckled on the door in the tune of the first half of ‘A Shave and A Haircut’. No knocks answered back.

They never did.

His face went blank as he moved back from the door to just stare at it. Thoughts swirled like a raging hurricane in his mind.

What if they never come?

What is it like to starve to death?

Ever wondered what it would be like to be alone forever?

Can I even starve to death?

Would these stones be strong enough to hold up a body?

“Who wants story time!?!” He broke the thoughts with a shout and turned back to the hammock.

His smile was strained and did not meet his eyes. The dolls did not notice; button eyes just stared back blankly from behind pipe cleaner glasses.

“I know just the story to cheer everyone up!” Creativity skipped over to a bookcase. Three books sat on it, pushed between a plastic skull and a case with a replica of the Beast’s rose. He only skimmed the titles before he pulled the largest book off the shelf.

Clumsily he pulled himself onto the hammock and re-positioned the dolls to be seated in his lap. The title up for them to see: ‘Grimm’s Complete Fairy Tales.’

“Let’s go with a classic, guys,” he flipped to page 84. The title large on the page.

“Rapunzel. There were once a man and a woman who had long in vain wished for a child,” he began.

His imagination made the scene outside of his room swirl. As he read about the woman’s longing for the rapunzel in the enchantress’ garden the world outside became a garden filled with beautiful herbs and fruits. A cloaked woman stood in the middle of it ready to confront the man that dared to steal from her.

“If the case be as thou sayest, I will allow thee to take away with thee as much rampion as thou wit, only I make one condition,” as he read the enchantress’ words the character outside seemed to move like a puppet on a strings, “thou must give me the child which thy wife will bring into the world; it shall be well treated, and I will care for it like a mother.”

Creativity rubbed his eyes and glanced up at the window as clouds moved to cover the scene. When they parted, the tower view he usually had was back. Below stood the same cloaked figure. Ready to call up to a young girl that she had raised and named Rapunzel.

The very girl that would later betray her mother when a handsome prince climbed her hair and took her as his bride. The very girl that would have her hair chopped off and be cast out into the wilderness. While her prince would be thrown from the tower and be blinded on thorns. Only to be revived by his wife’s tears so he may behold his twin children.

He sighed as he finished the story and hugged the dolls close to his chest.

“That’ll be us soon, without all the love and kids and stuff,” he whispered to the dolls, “I’ll get out of here and we’ll get to live a happy life together. For a long time.”

A storm had started to brew outside. The tower view was now showing thorn covered brambles that surrounded the building like an impenetrable fence. Rain hit the glass window hard and lightning flashed.

“Wonder what it would be like to be hit by lightning,” he mused allowed and then winced, “Sorry Heart. Should have kept that in my noggin.”

The book was pushed to the floor with a thud and he laid down with the two dolls in his arms. He wanted to believe that any moment now the door would open and his friends would be there, but as he drifted off into a light sleep he knew that the room would still have him trapped when he woke up.

#Remus Sanders #Kid Sides #Sanders Sides #Thomas Sanders #Patton Sanders #Logan Sanders #sanders sides fanfiction #my writing #ts the duke #ts remus #duke remus sanders #ts creativity #unedited #Growing Up Parts of a Whole

[kerriescreativecorner]

Life coach Chapter 2

finely chapter 2 in a story about our beloved warlords as life coaches counselors and therapist. this will be an ongoing story here  is chapter one  Life coach

Moon hung at the door, looking into Mr. Uesugi’s office. Could she turn and run? But she didn’t. She took a deep breath as she took a step into the room. All at once, her eyes fell on the man sitting on the floor. He was a platinum blonde, his hair cut unevenly. It was longer on the left side, shorter on the right : looked like a tossed mess to her. Next, she took note of his eyes. His right eye was a lovely shade of green and his left, the most stunning shade of blue Moon had ever seen. He was fair skinned, tall and lanky from what she could tell, with him sitting on the floor.

“Aww, Moon comes on in, pick a cushion and have a seat“ the words sounded kind and sweet, as Kenshin spoke and patted the floor in front of him as if saying come on in and join me.

Well, this was new to her. She'd never been to a shrink’s office that didn’t have chairs or couches. Instead, there were overstuffed cushions and pillows that dotted the floor. His desk, she noted, was an old Japanese style desk, the kind one would sit cross-legged at. Looking around, she noticed three small but lovely shrines dedicated to Bishamon on the shelves.

“Interesting decor” she stated a bit harshly as she found a light blue overstuffed cushion and hugged it to her chest

“Thank you“ Kenshin chirped out as he got to his feet and made his way to the door, sliding it closed.

“Scale replicas of the shrine of the god Bishamon?” she muttered to herself - or so she thought

“Yes, how did you know?“

Moon blushed slightly as she stammered out “I…. I spent two years living in Japan “

Kenshin smiled at her “how interesting.” he chirped out as he took the clipboard from her

Moon watched him with a wary eye as he took the clipboard and sat down across from her. She watched him scan the pages before he put the clipboard down at his left side and spoke.

“You got to all but the last four, but that's ok. There's enough here to start.” his voice was even with a light note as he spoke.

Kenshin had a smile that was so warm and inviting to Moon, she almost felt compelled to say something. But all she did was open her mouth and close it a few times before she became tight-lipped. Her eyes darted about the room and she started picking at the stitching on her cushion with her right hand. The mug in her left hand shook slightly, she needed to set it down before she dropped it.

Kenshin saw just how high Moon’s anxiety was, so he spoke gently to her

“Take your time Moon. When you're ready, tell me a bit about yourself “ his words were reassuring as he spoke them, and the look in Kenshin’s kind eyes said they were true. It’s ok to take your time.

Moon fidgeted and nibbled on her lip for what seemed like forever to her before she spoke. She started. Then she stopped a few times before she was able to make clear conversation.

“I'm divorced” she closed her mouth when that came out. No, no, that's not where she wanted to start!

“I've made some really bad choices and decisions” she ground down on her teeth for saying that

“I had a rough life overall” this train of thought was getting her nowhere

“I was adopted at three months” she stated with a surge.

“I knew from the time I was like two or three” she made a face as she spoke.

“That's when I found my adoption papers and my parents told me”

She gave Kenshin a said weak smile, but didn’t stop there. She told him how she was brutally teased about being adopted by her peers. How even some of her family members on her dad's side made her feel unwanted, how she felt rejected by them. Everything came out in a rush, Kenshin had to stop her to remind her to take her time.

“Talk about the things you're comfortable with talking about Moon, not what you think I’d like to hear.”

After that, Moon needed a few minutes to gather her thoughts before she said:

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” her words sounding strangled and distressed.

Kenshin nodded to her, as if he understood what she might be feeling.

“It’s alright Moon” came his gentle, kind words. “How about I ask questions, you say pass or give a one-word answer to them?”

Moon was taken aback. She never experienced an intake at a squeal and nut farm like this before. The other places she had tried were rather invasive, asking all the questions that made her close down and not wanting to talk. Kenshin was different. As soon as he saw her clamming up or at the slightest hint of her feeling uncomfortable, he would stop and ask if she needed time or reminded her she didn’t need to talk about it and they could move on.

The whole intake took about two and a half hours before it was over. Moon was still feeling angsty, but not like she had been when she first stepped into the wellness center. Kenshin had really put her at ease in how he had handled her with care and didn’t push her to talk about things she was not ready to talk about. Somewhere in the intake, Moon recalled Kenshin gave his credentials. If she had heard right, he said he was a Licensed Therapist but worked as a life coach because he liked the sound of it better than Therapist.

“Moon, I look forward to working with you” he had said as he guided her out of his office.

“As I had said, I'm a life coach and I’d like to take you on.” The smile he gave her made her feel like he could be a really big help to her.

“I’ll be giving you a call in the next 48 hours to set up another appointment “ he took one of her hands and gave it a soft, reassuring squeeze.

“That's when I’ll introduce you to the others that will be working with me” Kenshin sounded so sweet and kind as he spoke.” a psychologist or two and a counselor, as well as Ieyasu Tokugawa. He's a homeopathic Doctor”

Moon nodded even as she spoke “That's the team you spoke about, right?” she nibbled on her lower lip “The ones who will best fit the treatment plan you come up with “

“Yes, that's right Moon.” Kenshin chirped out kind of singsong like before he let go of her hand moving off back up the stairs.

Moon watched Kenshin climb back up the stairs. She thought she liked him and kind of was looking forward to working with him. She turned and made her way out of the Wellness Center and back to her little apartment.

---

One week later, Moon found herself back at the wellness center. Her nerves were shot, but this time, she got all the way into the place before her panic attack happened. Her heart was still racing, her hands shaking and she felt as if she watching a movie not what was going on around her.

Mitsunari was fast to react to her attack. Moon vaguely remembered him speaking to her, his voice so soft and light like a cloud as he ushered her upstairs to Kenshin's office.

Moon was now sitting huddled up in a corner of Kenshin's office. She had her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms warped around them. Her forehead was resting on the top of her knees as she tried her best to do the breathing that red-haired hippy hand showed her the last time she was here.

“Moon” she heard the voice as the face of the red-haired hippy swam into her view. He wore a soft kind smile as he crouched down in front of her.

“Take this, it will help” the redhead held out a dark Forest Green gummy bear

Through panicked breaths she got out “ how ...is a… piece … of candy… going … to help?”

“It’s a cannabinoid” came a voice that was crisp and clear. A voice she didn’t know.

Moon blinked as she looked past the hippy holding out the gummy bear. Her eyes fell on a green-eyed blond with messy hair that reminded her of pics of Albert Einstein. He looked to be just a inch or two taller than she was, at best.

Moon recalled Kenshin had said he was going to have her try cannabis to see if it would help her. But still, she eyed the dark green gummy bear not sure if she should take or not.

“it’s alright Moon, take some time” the soft gentle voice of her new life coach drifted to her ears and she relaxed a little.

“I take that you work here“ she snapped the hippy before she snatched the gummy from his hand and popped it in her mouth.

“Name’s Shingen, sister.” came the all too relaxed words “and ya, I work here with these cool cats!“ Shingen waved a hand at the others behind him.

Moon’s eyes drifted to the others in Kenshin's office. There was the short blond with Einstein-like hair and emerald green eyes, the frat boy that had given her the cup of tea last week. And a man with snowy white silver hair and the most striking amber eyes she had ever seen. And the chillaxed hippy Shingen.

“This is the team I put together for you Moon,“ Kenshin said softly

“Shingen and Masamune work together as counselors “ Kenshin pat the redhead on the shoulder as he spoke while the frat boy stepped forward and offered a smile to her.

“Ieyasu is our homeopathic doctor and pharmacist” he pointed out the blond with messy hair before he went on “and last but not least is Mitsuhide. He's the best psychologist we got “

Moon took this all in as she felt herself relax, thanks in large part to the pot-laced gummy bear.

In no time, Moon was feeling calm and relaxed as Kenshin explained how everyone would work together to help her. She learned that Shingen would be helping her with her anxiety and panic attacks while Masamune was more of an addiction counselor and was there to help her with her addiction to pain pills.

Moon learned that Ieyasu would be developing a holistic treatment plan for her, as conventional medication so far had not been working for her. Lastly, she found out that Mitsuhide would be working in two ways with her. One as someone she could talk to like any shrink and the other he would observe her in her day to day life and in public outings.

“As for me, I will be the one helping you with positive life changes as well as you can use me as a sounding board “ Kenshin chirped out

“As for today, I thought perhaps we could do some trust exercises “ Kenshin arched a brow as he asked the question.

Moon groaned softly “The last time I tried that, it didn’t go so well “

“Then just watch us and get to know us.” he swept a hand to the others “but I would hope that you join us.“ her new life coach offered her a smile as he handed her a piece of paper.

Moon looked the paper over “is this a idiom list for a scavenger hunt?“

Rocking back on his feet, all Kenshin said was “Yep.“

“Shin, Yasu, you two will be one team.“

“I don’t see why I have to work with him “ Ieyasu shot a sour look at the hippy

“I'm pretty sure he was smoking pot in his office before coming to yours …. That or at the least, he has been drinking bong water again.“ Ieyasu grumped out even as he shot a playful look to Shingen

“Hey man, not my fault if you were late getting into work today,” Shingen said lazily in his best “Daves’ not here, man” kind of way.

Moon couldn’t help but laugh: she could see both were poking fun at the other.

“If Moon would like to join” Kenshin looked to Moon who nodded yes between a soft giggle or two “Mitsuhide will be her teammate.”

“I'm quite good at scavenger hunts “ purred the silvery white-haired man

“Masa that means your with me, “ Kenshin said, as he flashed a smile to Masamune.

Moon watched as Masamune strained out his eye patch “I may have one only good eye, but I bet I can beat you“ he said as he shot a look over to Mitsuhide

“You're on Masa,” Mitsuhide said smoothly “I have the utmost faith in Moon that we will bet you “ he gave a smile to Moon that made her believe that she could trust him.

Moon soon found out that the things on the list for the scavenger hunt where things found in the offices of the others. A peace sign from Shingen’s. A Nirvana hood from Masamune’s, a angle plan from Ieyasu’s. From Mitsuhide’s office it was a Japanese Fox mask and last, Buddhist prayer beads from Kenshin's office.

The whole hunt took just under an hour and Moon learned some things about the people helping her. She found out Shingen was born and raised on a commune while Masamune was a military vet and lost his eye while over in the Middle East. Ieyasu loved plants and had an extremely green thumb : he could bring any plant back to life. Mitsuhide, on the other hand, was a bit more of a puzzle, he had a air of mystery about him and it seemed he liked pulling pranks. Last but not least was her new life coach Kenshin who explained why his Office was a scale model shrine of the god Bishamon.

“It’s a good scale replica” Moon mused out as she looked about Kenshin's office. “It’s been 5 years since I came back “ she went on to say in a distant sounding voice.

“May I ask what you were doing in Japan ?” Mitsuhide asked in a gentle tone

“I lived there with my ex, “ she said simply as she started to fidget and show signs of some growing anxiety

“It’s ok Moon, you don’t need to talk about it.” came softly purred words from Mitsuhide as he looked over at Kenshin and shook his head no.

“Thank you.“ Moon whispered weekly before giving a shaky smile to the man with lovely honey eyes.

Before she left, Moon found out she would be meeting one on one with Mitsuhide the next day as well as she would be attending Shingen’s morning yoga class Monday through Friday. Masamune would be working with her three days a week while Kenshin would be working with her every day either at her home or in his office. Lastly, Ieyasu was overseeing her homeopathic treatment plan. For now, he was starting her off with a low-dose of cannabinoid gummy bears as well as the strict diet plan he had laid out for her.

It was all overwhelming for her, but Moon knew somehow someway these mean would help her get through this rough patch in her life. This is what she was thinking when she left the Azuchi Kasugayama life wellness center and slowly made her way back to her little apartment.

#ikemen sengoku #ikemen sengoku fanfiction #ikemen fanfiction

[searchforthescars]

Litany - Ch. 11/12

Y’all owe @bombshellsandbluebells for editing this and y’all owe both Megan and @maskingtapepoetree for talking me out of deleting this fic and my Ao3 account when things were Bad for the past few months. They’re not Good yet, but they’re getting better.

Thank you to @commanderanya, @daisytachi, @doortotomorrow and everyone else that took the time to reach out to me when I was struggling. I’m really bad at asking for, and accepting help, but know the sentiment was not lost on me and is both humbling and appreciated <3

If you’re still around, I’d love to hear what you think of this. If not, don’t worry. 

Also on Ao3

You see, I take the parts that I remember and stitch them back together to make a creature that will do what I say or love me back. I’m not really sure why I do it, but in this version you are not feeding yourself to a bad man against a black sky prickled with small lights.

Murphy would like to pretend he’s not spiraling, but unfortunately, that isn’t much of an option right now.

Raven is noticing. So is Monty, though he doesn’t say anything, and so is Octavia, which means Bellamy knows. Luna figures it out soon after, and, because Lexa isn’t an idiot, she realizes too. Jasper and Emori are the only two in their group of friends - save for Zeke, who doesn’t know any better, and Costia, who stays out of it - who have no idea.

He likes it that way, if he’s honest. He doesn’t have the energy to explain that the thrill of Emori’s return has worn off, and with that disappearance has come the old familiar fears that he will be alone forever, that no one will ever really want him, that it will always be better to be alone then to have another person leave. That fear only intensifies every time Emori inserts herself into Raven’s conversations, joins Monty and Jasper on the quest to steal his kitchen knives, studies with Octavia and Lexa. She’s a perfect puzzle piece, and he’s a jagged piece of glass trying to fit.

Somehow, despite his downward trajectory, he manages to pass all his finals, and the whole house celebrates that no one failed out of college with a raucous night of drinking and terrible movies. For once, Murphy doesn’t participate in the former, although he does sit through the latter.

“You don’t want any?” Emori asks during a break between movies, taking a tiny sip of the ungodly alcoholic concoction Jasper made for her. The Christmas lights Raven put up the morning after Thanksgiving sparkle in her eyes.

Murphy shakes his head. “I’m good.”

Emori puts her cup down on the coffee table and inspects the contents. “Maybe I should take a page from your book,” she says. “This doesn’t look totally safe.”

“It probably isn’t,” Murphy says. He tries for a casual tone, but it falls flat. Worry flits through Emori’s eyes. Let it go, he pleads with her silently, but he knows better, knows that she won’t drop something as small as a shift in his tone.

Sure enough, she stands up. “Let’s go outside,” she says, catching his hand as she steps past him and tugging him out the door.

There’s a thin layer of frost on the concrete blocks that serve as Raven’s back patio. Murphy scuffs his shoes on the pavement, disrupting the delicate pattern of crystals. Emori wraps her arms around her torso - a gesture that means she’s cold, insecure or both, Murphy’s come to realize - and looks up at him. “What’s wrong, John?”

He expects her confrontation to be accusing, not soft, and he’s so taken aback by the care in her eyes that he forgets to answer for a moment. There’s still time to back out, he tells himself. There’s still time to repair the cracks in his own psyche without dragging her down with him.

When he answers her, it’s with a feeble, “Nothing.”

Emori scoffs a little. “Bullshit.”

“What do you want me to say?” He’s not angry. He just sounds like it. He doesn’t really feel much these days.

He pictures her standing in the kitchen with Raven, laughing with Monty and Harper, cautiously allowing Bellamy and Echo to help her move the furniture in her room so her bed is against the window. She invited him into every one of those spaces, but something always held him back. Something always keeps him from what he wants. Raven would say it’s himself. He would argue it’s his own failures as a human being.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Emori says. Her eyes plead with him.

The closer you get to the others, the farther you’ll get from me, is what he wants to say. “I’m thinking it’s cold as balls out here,” is what he actually says.

Emori scoffs again, this time with frustration. “Ever since I came back, you’ve been-” She starts a little bit, looks him up and down with a quick flick of her eyes. “Is it me? Did I do something to-”

Murphy cuts her off because he loves her, even as he knows he’s losing her. “No. It’s not you.”

She nods, squares her shoulders as if to steady herself. “Then what?”

Of course she won’t let it go. “Just fucking let it go already,” he snaps, and Emori recoils as if he’s struck her. “Go back inside to your friends.” He spits the last word.

“They’re your friends too.” She says it defiantly, stepping closer so they’re almost literally nose-to-nose. “What’s going on with you, John?”

“You know what,” he says, because what the hell, he’s numb anyway, and he’s not even drunk. How much could this hurt? “Maybe it is you. Maybe I’m just pissed off that you came back and just...just took over, like everything is fine.”

Emori looks stung. Murphy knows he should care, but all he can concentrate on is how, for the first time in months, he feels something. “John, what-”

“You can’t take everything away,” he tells her. He’s not drunk, but he feels like he is. He’s hot, then cold, and the whole world is tilting on its axis. “You can’t take over me and Raven and the house and-”

“You’re jealous.” Her statement makes him stop cold. There are tears sparkling in her eyes. “You’re jealous.”

“Damn right. Everyone likes you, and you left. I don’t even have that, and I’ve been here the whole time.”

Emori’s mouth snaps shut. She turns on her heel and stalks inside. In the time it takes for him to catch his breath, a cold wave of fear that has nothing to do with the weather washes over him.

“Shit!” he shouts into the darkness before bursting back through the kitchen door.

“She went upstairs,” Raven says from the living room. Murphy wastes no time in following her. “J, what-?”

He ignores her. He takes the stairs two at a time, nearly tripping over the top stair, and all but careens down the hall and into her bedroom.

The door is open. Emori’s standing in the middle of her room, her hands over her face, her shoulders trembling. From where he’s standing, it looks like she’s sinking her teeth into one of the smaller fingers of her left hand.

“Hey,” he whispers, or tries to. His voice sounds like gravel. “Emori. Stop. Don’t do that.”

“What the hell do you care?” she snarls, turning to him. One of her fingers has teeth marks in it. Murphy sees them when her hand falls to her side. “Get out, John.”

“Emori-”

“NO!” She shouts, actually screams, and Murphy hears the entire house fall silent at once. Costia’s barely-there footsteps on the stairs, followed by Raven’s laborious ones, don’t deter him from meeting Emori’s eyes. “Get OUT!”

She takes a step toward him and, automatically, he flinches. “Emori, why-”

“You don’t get to say that to me!” she hisses. Her voice is livid, but her hands are trembling. “You don’t get to stand there and tell me that I deserve how you’re treating me just because I’m making a home for myself and you’re still punishing yourself for things you can’t let go.”

“That’s not-”

She shakes her head. “Yes. It is. Think, John. You know that’s why.” She scoffs. “You’re just like him. Neither of you really want me to have this.”

“Have what?” All of a sudden, Murphy remembers her standing in a park, flinching as her brother tells her she’ll never have a future. The memory stabs him in the gut. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Emori whispers. “Oh.”

They regard one another for a long moment. Murphy can hear the rustle of Costia’s skirt and Raven’s uneven breathing. They’re both standing in the doorway, he guesses, or at least, waiting on the other side of it.

“Get right with yourself,” Emori says finally. Her voice cracks. “Then come back to me.”

She turns away. It feels like a door is slamming shut. He wants to rewind time and undo what he said on the patio, but that won’t heal the wound that’s been festering in him far longer than he’d care to admit.

He leaves the room. He goes into his own and lets the tears stinging his eyes fall.

He has a choice. The choice is simple, but the emotions they evoke are not. He can either burrow into his inadequacy or he can allow Emori, Raven and whatever forces exist outside of him to pull him kicking and screaming into the right side of humanity.

“You’re an idiot,” Octavia succinctly informs him as he makes breakfast twelve mornings after his fight with Emori.

Case in point.

Raven throws a spatula at her from across the kitchen, nearly hitting Murphy in the side of the head in the process. “What?” Octavia protests. “He is!”

“This is bigger than Emori,” Luna says sagely from the armchair in the living room. Murphy turns to glare at her over his shoulder. “Isn’t it?”

“I’m not incriminating myself,” Murphy says drily, swiveling on his bar stool to face Raven, who’s raising an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“It is, though,” she murmurs. Octavia is across the room now, so only he can hear her. Briefly, his mind flashes back to high school, when he and Raven would mouth words through one of their kitchen windows, silently asking if the other one was okay, or if they needed rescuing from their mother.

Murphy’s eyes flit to the window over the kitchen sink. The cinder block he used to stand on in middle school is long gone, but he swears he can see echoes of his face, aging over time, always worried about his best friend, always wondering if this would be the night she starved to death.

“Why do you still live here?” he asks suddenly, seeking a distraction, and also truthful answers. “After all the shit your mom put you through here, why didn’t you just offload the house?”

Raven looks taken-aback. “It wasn’t worth it,” she says after a moment. “There’s a bedroom on the first floor, the place was paid for, and it was near college and town. I didn’t want to leave. Plus,” she gestures around the room, “you guys.”

“Even after…” Murphy trails off, the implication of her mother’s death hanging there like a weighted curtain.

Raven sighs. “Yeah.” She shrugs. “Mom isn’t here anymore. I do what I want.”

Murphy can’t fathom that kind of actualization. If the tables were turned and he was still at his parents’ house, he thinks he would’ve burned the whole place down.

He hears a tiny creak on the stairs and turns just in time to see a piece of Emori’s green jacket disappear into the shadows. He wants to follow her. His hands ache for her. He balls them into fists, studies the calendar on the fridge, the one that announced her impending arrival what feels like months ago, just for something to do.

Then, he sees it. Emori Moves Out. There, three weeks away, right before the start of the semester, written innocuously in small red letters.

“What the hell?” he asks, then says it louder when he can’t hear himself over the blood rushing in his ears. “What the hell, Raven?”

“What?” She seems confused, a little irritated, until she follows his gaze. “Oh.”

“You weren’t going to tell me?” Murphy sounds stung, petulant even.

Raven’s eyes are sad when she looks at him. “It wasn’t mine to tell.” 

When Murphy knocks on Emori’s door, he doesn’t expect her to answer. When she does, he’s surprised to feel his mouth go dry.

“You’re moving out,” is all he says after a moment of her staring at him, eyebrow raised, waiting for whatever he thought was important enough to say.

It dawns on him that she probably isn’t hoping for an apology. That hurts him more than anything.

“Yes,” she answers, softly. “I don’t think I should be here anymore.”

She moves to close the door. Murphy reaches for her wrist before she can. “Please,” he whispers, eyes stinging, heart aching. “Please don’t go.”

Her eyes widen. She stares at the place where they touch when she says, “Why? All I do is take everything away, apparently.”

Her voice holds equal parts venom and exhaustion. Murphy doesn’t let go of her arm. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. A tear falls over his cheek and lands on his arm. “I shouldn’t have said any of that.”

“No,” she murmurs, looking up at him. Just like the first time they met, he’s trapped by her eyes. “You shouldn’t have.”

“Can I convince you to stay?”

She sighs. “No. But you can show me why I should.”

He tries. He puts away the paralysis and comfort that accompany his self-destructive desires, and he tries. For her, because he doesn’t want her to leave, he tries.

He forces himself into a routine. Wake up at eight, do housework and help Raven, cook lunch, read a little, watch a movie with Octavia, help Bellamy with dinner. The surprise on Emori’s face when she realizes he’s in a practiced habit of doing things, of playing nice and working hard, is worth it.

“That’s not why you should be doing this,” Luna informs him on Christmas Eve morning. She slept over last night, or so Murphy thinks - he can’t keep straight who Raven’s fucking, and it doesn’t really matter as long as they don’t cheat like that fucker Finn - and she looks more comfortable sipping from his chipped blue coffee mug than he ever did. “You should be doing this for you.”

“You and your masters in psychology can shove it,” he grumbles, even as he spoons scrambled eggs onto three plates and hands one to Luna. “Reyes! Breakfast!”

Raven appears in the kitchen with a clatter and a litany of curses. Her brace strap is caught on a metal rivet. Before Murphy can divest himself of the plates, Emori appears at Raven’s side, speeding down from the stairs and skidding into the kitchen on sock feet.

“I got it,” Emori grunts, disentangling Raven and patting her on the back. “You’re good.”

“Thanks,” Raven sighs, shoving hair out of her face. “I probably could go without it but-“

“No!” Luna, Murphy and Emori all say in unison. Luna laughs shortly. Murphy and Emori exchange awkward glances.

“What?” Raven is either genuinely oblivious or a damn good actress. “Listen, I fell that one time.”

“And you broke half the plates in the kitchen!” Octavia exclaims, sweeping into the kitchen with her arms full of laundry. “We’re still using Bellamy’s.”

“I asked for a new plate set for Christmas,” Raven grumbles to Octavia’s back. As Octavia loads the washing machine, Raven reaches above her to grab a laundry basket from the shelf and thrust it into Octava’s line of sight. “Use this.”

Octavia swats her hand away. “Is this what adulting has come to?” she asks dramatically. “Asking for practical things as gifts? When did we get so boring?”

“Speak for yourself,” Raven says magnanimously. “I am full of adventure and surprises.”

Murphy snorts, as any best friend would, but his mind and eyes are on Emori, on the way her eyes sparkle with amusement as she looks from Raven to Octavia and back again. The subtle shifts of time have been kind to her; the shadows under her eyes are lighter and the glimmer in them is brighter. Her smiles - the best thing about her, in his opinion - no longer hold sadness behind their bared teeth.

“When are we getting our Christmas tree?” Monty asks, breaking Murphy out of his thoughts.

“Are we getting one?” Raven asks, confused. Octavia crosses the kitchen to the cupboards and grabs her mug. Luna, probably sensing the conversation no longer applies to her, reaches for her bag and starts reading a textbook. Emori picks at a scab on her arm. Monty just blinks, confused. “Hello?”

“Gee, Reyes, I don’t know,” Murphy says finally. “Would you like to get a Christmas tree?”

“I want a Christmas tree,” Emori says softly.

Murphy, Octavia and Monty go get a Christmas tree.

“How did you say we do this again?” Octavia shouts in the general direction of her phone. Only her legs stick out from under the tree they’re attempting to set up in Raven’s living room. The sight would be comical, Murphy thinks, except for the fact that he’s not looking much better; he’s covered in pine needles and sap, and his arm hurts from bracing the tree that none of them can figure out how to set in the base.

“Are you sure it’s in all the way?” Bellamy’s tinny voice asks from Octavia’s phone speakers.

“No!” Octavia yells. “That’s why we called you!”

Murphy cracks a smile at the sigh Bellamy heaves. “I’m going to be there in two minutes. Hold on.”

Octavia extracts herself from the tree and brushes pine needles from her hair. Murphy makes a big show of switching the tree’s weight from one arm to the other. Octavia rolls her eyes. “Better make it a minute,” she says into the phone. “Murphy’s holding up the tree until we can screw it into the base. You know he can’t handle more than five pounds.”

“Hey!” Murphy protests as Bellamy laughs. Octavia relieves him of his tree-holding duties and Murphy escapes upstairs to his room before the younger Blake can convince him to help her a second time. The first time was a rookie mistake

He’s at a loss for what to do in his spare time. His old habit of knocking on Emori’s door tugs at his hands, but he pulls away after a moment of staring at the worn brown wood like a pining idiot. Instead, he goes into his own room - leaving the door open in a moment that lacks his usual paranoia - and flings his closet door open.

“What are you doing?” he hears Emori ask him as he rifles through the mounds of papers, clothes and books shoved into the dark corners of the closet.

“Looking for something,” he responds, trying to keep his heart from leaping out of his chest at the sound of Emori’s voice. It’s low, a little cautious, but not angry. He’ll take it. “What’s up?

“You bought me a tree.” It’s a statement, said with carefulness and a little bit of wonder.

Murphy extricates himself, rocks back on his heels, and looks at her. “Well, it’s for everyone but… yeah. Of course we did.”

She frowns. “That’s not an ‘of course’,” she says.

“It is for us.”

After a moment, Murphy looks behind him. The item he seeks is in plain view, for once. “Aha,” he mutters, pulling the heavy cookbook from the shadows.

Emori frowns again. “A cookbook?”

“My dad’s,” Murphy says, touching the stained, worn cover. “All the best recipes are in here. He changed a lot of them. I don’t really go by the book anymore; just his handwriting.”

Emori holds out her bigger hand and lets him take it to hoist himself to his feet. When she moves to pull her hand away, he holds it a little tighter. “You’re not covering it up.”

She shakes her head. “I… I wanted to try it.”

Murphy gives it a gentle squeeze, feeling a deep sort of affection surge through him at the feeling of her tough skin against his. “I’m proud of you.” The words grate on his throat. He hopes she hears the I’m trying underneath.

It’s not his place to say. He thinks about it after the fact and feels relieved when she doesn’t punch him for it.

“Thanks,” is all she says, with a soft smile. Then she tilts her head to look over his shoulder. “Your closet is a mess.”

Murphy looks back at it, at the piles of books and papers spilling out and the mess of dirty laundry on his floor. “Yeah,” he says with a short laugh. “I guess you could say that.”

“I am saying that.” Emori steps around him and kneels down in front of the open doors. “Do you need these?” she asks, scooping up a pile of papers.

“You don’t have to-”

She cuts him off with a wave of her hand. “We don’t have anything better to do. Now come on; do you need these or not?”

Murphy sits beside her and together they sort through his mess, one dirty article of clothing and wrecked piece of paper at a time. Emori finds an old photo album that used to belong to Murphy’s mother and flips through it, smiling at Murphy’s first birthday picture and touching his parents’ wedding photo with the fused fingers of her left hand.

“Your mom looks beautiful,” she murmurs, tracing the fall of the wedding veil with a careful hand. “They look happy.”

Murphy pointedly avoids looking at the picture. “They were,” he says gruffly, clearing his throat. His eyes flit to the cookbook on the floor near his foot. “For a while, anyway.”

“What happened?” Emori asks softly. “I mean, if you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to.”

Murphy shakes his head. This isn’t a piece of him he cares about, not like his abandonment issues and his valleys and mountains. This is the way life was. “He died. He had bad lungs, I guess. Caught the flu from me, but he didn’t get better. He got worse and he died. Mom blamed me, started drinking and died from that.”

It sounds callous, but he thinks he’ll lose his mind if he goes too far back to those times. Ontari had come onto the scene about three months before his mother died. She got him out of the house and the few times when she was kind were good enough for him. Looking back, he was probably just grateful that no one was hitting him. When she made him do something much more damaging, he didn’t mind; he owed her, he reasoned. He owed her for making her put up with him.

Emori frowns softly. “I’m still sorry.”

Murphy shrugs. “At least, when they were both alive, they loved me. And each other.”

Emori nods and goes back to the photo album. Murphy knows better than to believe she’s let the subject drop. She’ll think about it and come back minutes, hours or even days later with another thought, a strange observation, some perspective he never even entertained. It’s who she is.

He loves that about her.

Emori sets the book aside without another comment and goes back to the closet. She pulls out two shirts - both of them wrinkled and stiff - and scrunches up her nose. “John! It’s like you’re in high school!”

Murphy rolls his eyes at her, then yelps when she throws the, admittedly, very dirty laundry at him. “Hey!”

“Get a clothes hamper!” She laughs when he tries to fling a shirt back at her, but only succeeds in smacking himself in the face with it. “I lived on the street for three years, and even I know a hamper is a better solution than this!”

Murphy decides not to touch on the whole “living-on-the-street” thing. Instead, he reaches for the laundry basket of clothes he still hasn’t folded, dumps the clean clothes on the floor and throws his dirty shirts inside. “Happy?”

Emori eyes the clean clothes on the floor, then blinks at him. “You haven’t folded your laundry either?”

“Good behavior comes in small portions,” Murphy snarks, a little bit of truth coloring the frail joke. Emori merely hums and scoots over to start folding his socks.

Is it a little weird to see the girl you possibly love folding your underwear? Yeah. But Murphy doesn’t mind, not when the faint sunlight from the window dances over her hand and she sees him watching. She gives him a tiny smile and rolls his socks into neat balls.

They sit like that for a while in comfortable silence until his closet is organized and his clothes are put away, and then Bellamy breaks the quiet by shouting a litany of curses as what is presumably the tree creaks and crashes its way to the floor.

Murphy and Emori laugh the whole way downstairs, and laugh even harder as Bellamy lays there, on the floor, arms sticking out from either side of a mass of pine needles.

Eventually Bellamy rights the tree. Raven gripes endlessly about the fact that Jasper and Monty’s roomba (“We’re not calling it Stabby!”) was better than a regular vacuum at getting the pine needles out of the carpet, and Lexa and Octavia appear mere seconds after the cleanup ends with arms full of wrapped presents.

“Have you been hiding those this whole time?” Bellamy asks, scratching the back of his neck. When Octavia nods cheerfully, he rolls his eyes. “Of course you have.”

“Can Costia come over to open presents with us?” Lexa asks. When Raven gives her a thumbs-up, Lexa whacks Bellamy on the back. “You should come and bring your hot girlfriend.”

“You have a hot girlfriend too,” Bellamy points out, the wry twist of his mouth emphasizing how awkward it is for him to say the phrase. Murphy is sure he finds it objectifying. “But if Raven doesn’t mind…”

“Everyone can bring someone for all I care,” Raven says casually. “If they can fit, they can sit.”

“Like a cat,” Monty says from the kitchen. Raven doesn’t dignify that with a response.

Murphy looks over at Emori, who’s holding a tiny glass ornament in her hands, presumably plucked from one of the boxes on the couch, which are full of Christmas decorations from Raven’s attic. It’s a small crystal ornament, heavy and solid, with beautiful etchings and a tiny red ribbon to hang it by. Murphy thinks it was a gift from Raven’s grandparents to her mother. Oh well. No love lost there, clearly.

Emori tucks it back in the box after a minute. When she turns her back, Murphy pulls it out of the box and casually crosses over to the dining room table, where Emori’s jacket is draped over a chair. He reaches for it, then remembers he’s trying to do better.

Raven is sitting on a stool in the kitchen, going through his cookbook. “Your dad has surprisingly neat handwriting,” she tells him when he approaches her, the crystal cool in his hands.

Murphy holds up the ornament. “Can I give this to her?” he asks Raven in a low voice.

Raven cocks an eyebrow at him. “Why?”

“She likes it.”

Raven’s eyes shift. They go hard, then questioning, then soft. “Sure.” She shrugs. “Mom never really liked it anyway.”

Murphy tucks it into Emori’s jacket pocket. The pride in Raven’s eyes is unmistakable. For the first time in a long while, he lets himself be proud too.

#litany fic #memori #dailymemori #bombshellsandbluebells #daisytachi #sarcasticdebate #maskingtapepoetree #slytherinandreski #i think that's everyone idk

[islareeveswriting]

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Good company, and a good time, is the best distraction.

Molly had no reason to believe that wasn’t true. Everytime she needed her mind taken off something, that philosophy had pulled through. From a toddler sat on her father’s lap as he made her giggle, and consequently forgetting the nurse sat on the other side of her preparing a large needle to jab in Molly’s arm, taking some blood to test for glandular fever that would turn out to be a bad case of tonsillitis. Flash forward fifteen years and the same could be said for her mother and sister taking her out for an early breakfast the morning her A-Level results would be released. The company, and the stack of pancakes, took Molly’s mind faraway from the sick feeling that had set up camp in her stomach and kept her awake all night.

There wasn’t a scenario Molly could imagine where surrounding herself with her friends or family and doing something she loved, wouldn’t be able distract her from something she’d rather forget all together.

Until she was stood in the kitchen alone, on her birthday, downing a vodka concoction that tasted closer to how Molly imagined acid might taste than anything actually consumable. All around her were people having a good time, dancing, chatting, making the most of the party, but Molly was fully submerged in her thoughts. Getting ready had been fine. Classic pop songs, the sort Molly might sing karaoke too if she hadn’t hated the thought of karaoke with every fibre of her being, were blaring around the flat and they’d all been singing and dancing around the place as they pre-drunk pre-mixed cocktails and got themselves ready. People had arrived, and still Molly had been fine, smiling and thanking people for their birthday wishes, helping them with drinks, doing the best job of hostess she could, talking to as many people as she could.

But that was all done now and Molly was alone in her kitchen with nothing but her thoughts for company.

It was only made harder when what Molly so desperately wanted to forget was constantly staring her in the face. The fact Ryan had called that morning and told her he wouldn’t be able to make it down for her birthday weekend at all, frantically apologetic, screamed through the empty space next to her, through the arm that wasn’t around her waist. It wasn’t just that he wasn’t there though, it was more what that said and what Molly had riding on his promise that he would be there. She’d put everything on that, every hope and wish on Ryan turning up for her birthday weekend. It was the weekend they were going to fix everything. The last chance. And so the empty space next to her and the lack or arm around her was making Molly face up to things she had been playing ignorant to for weeks.

It was done. They were done.

Deep down, next to the feeling that she didn’t want it to end, she knew it had to. She knew it wasn’t right anymore and no amount of anything could patch that over. Really, she didn’t want to patch it over anymore. She was fed up with fixing one thing for another to bust open and leak lost love two seconds later. It was exhausting and her mind was tired, along with her heart. There wasn’t anything left, she couldn’t keep loving someone to such an extreme with nothing coming back her way. She was sure it wasn’t intentional on Ryan’s part, he always promised he wouldn’t hurt her, and she was sure he didn’t really know he was. How would he? To be fair, Molly had never told him as much. But she was sure she shouldn’t have to when the only thing that was obvious to her about their relationship nowadays was that it was wilting.

Crushing wasn’t strong enough. All though Molly did indeed feel like she’d been crushed by the heaviest weight, it also felt like someone had taken the earth from underneath her and she was falling through space at the speed of light, but with no sign of a landing spot in sight. It hurt to her core that the person she loved most in the world, that she thought she saw forever with, was making her feel that way. Molly wasn’t quite sure how to process it and so she turned to the own brand vodka from the cornershop at the end of the road (cider wouldn’t cut it), and mixed it, unproportionately, with the cheap lemonade. It wasn’t helping, she was still fighting the feeling that she wanted to cry, still trying to stitch the hole in her stomach, though she was sure eventually the vodka would kick in, she’d forget about Ryan, and she could enjoy herself.

Truthfully, she knew she didn’t have a lot of choice.

The red plastic cup in Molly’s hand was nearly dry when she caught Natalie’s eye, striding towards her from the kitchen doorway, through the crowd of people in the hallway. Her long legs seemed longer than normal clad in skin tight jeans and a pair of bright pink stilettos on her feet. It always shocked people when they found out she was studying sport psychology and coaching, Molly could see why, she walked through their kitchen looking like a real life Barbie doll, but Molly knew Natalie inside out. It didn’t surprise her at all that she was just at home screaming at her first year football team as she was strutting her her stuff in a pair of expensive stilettos.

Natalie had a happy smile on her face that Molly returned before she lifted her cup to her mouth and downed it, turning to top the cup up before Natalie reached her.

“Harry’s here.” Natalie sung, wrapping an arm tightly around Molly and cuddling close into her. Natalie was warm from the bodies she’d been surrounded by all night, and the vodka she’d been sipping on was making her giggly and cuddly. Molly adored tipsy Natalie, but it wasn’t the hug Natalie was offering that made Molly feel a little warmer. The smile didn’t feel quite so forced as she peered over Natalie’s head for the new arrival. She couldn’t spot him through everyone else crammed into the kitchen and hallway. “Got a cute friend with him too.” Natalie giggled.

“Get in there then girl.”  Molly jested with a smile before taking the first sip of her new drink, though the slur in her voice, and the acrid tasting hiccup that followed suggested she didn’t need another.

“Maybe you should slow down babe.” Natalie advised with a small laugh that did nothing to hide the level of concern in her voice. Molly could hear it loud and clear, the giggle invisible compared to it.

“Nah, I’m good.” Molly assured with a wide grin, taking another sip and forcing it down without a wince for Natalie’s benefit more than her own. “Where is he then?” Molly asked peering through the crowds in the kitchen towards the front door that was half open still, letting the cold night air in. The bodies kept the place warm, and kept the need for central heating at bay. Thankfully, that was money that could be spent on unbranded alcohol and ramen as far as the flats occupants were concerned. It also meant Molly couldn’t grab a sight of Harry even when she rose to her tiptoes in attempt to see over the heads in the way.

“Hallway, Jim’s got him.” Natalie told Molly, turned away now, sorting herself a drink, pulling out the same bottles Molly had from the stash in the kitchen. People had bought their own drink, it was the done thing, but nonetheless, Molly had already seen at least five people helping themselves to the alcohol on the kitchen side meant for the housemates and closest friends. No one really minded, it was why they bought cheap, but the vodka bottle was dwindling quickly as Molly left Natalie and the kitchen behind.

Tightly packed bodies made it a squeeze through the kitchen to the hallway, but as Molly pushed passed two boys having a rather heated discussion about, what sounded like, American politics, she caught a glance of a mess of curly hair near the door. No one was going to get in her way. Molly pushed harder through people as the crowd got denser towards the front door. It was cooler, thanks to the ajar door, and it was relief to Molly’s clammy skin. Though when Harry looked from Jimmy straight at Molly, as though someone had called his name in her direction, the cool air was forgotten. The warmth that spread through her was hotter than she’d got from Natalie’s skin, it was like fire racing along her veins. Molly felt flustered and her cheeks felt pink, but in a way that made her feel light, and made her smile. In a way that stitched the hole in her stomach and put the earth back under her feet.

“Hey.” Molly smiled once she was close enough, sliding in next to Jimmy, her bare arm brushing against the shirt her was wearing, though she didn’t really notice.

“Hey birthday girl, having fun?” Harry asked, a bright grin dimpling his cheek and creasing the outside corners of his eyes. Molly nodded with a light smile back at him. “Good.” Harry practically whispered, his grin fading to something far more contented and easy. For a second it seemed like they were the only two in the hallway, eyes locked, until Harry stepped forward to wrap his arms around Molly.  “Happy Birthday love.” He breathed into the hug and Molly smiled thanks before they broke apart. With his arm still around Molly’s shoulders Harry stepped out of the way to reveal the blonde haired boy that had been stood next to Harry until he moved for Molly. “This is Niall.”

“Hi nice to meet you.” Niall smiled, the Irish accent ringing loud, Molly’s knees going weak for it. She couldn’t help it, and she was fairly certain there wasn’t a woman that could. Irish charm was definitely a thing, Molly was sure.

“And you, happy birthday, thanks for inviting me.” Niall grinned. It was clear neither of them were sure whether to step forward into a welcoming hug and Harry’s introduction hadn’t quite broken the ice.

“Not a drama, come in get a drink.” Molly insisted grabbing Harry’s hand without a second thought and pulling him towards the kitchen, hoping Niall would follow. Molly squeezed back through the same path to the kitchen, Harry’s fingers intertwining in hers as they moved.  “What would you like?” Molly asked once they were in the kitchen, in the corner where Molly had been stood only five minutes previous with a completely different outlook on her evening. Harry lifted a bag onto the side, pushing it in with the other drinks and pulling out bottle after bottle. Molly went to tell him that wasn’t necessary but Harry jumped in first.

“What are you drinking?” Harry asked, crunching up the bag and looking down at Molly.

“Vodka, but it’s rank, I wouldn’t recommend.” Molly sneered wobbling her cup in her hand, wishing it was empty so she could move on and away from the bad decisions that had led her to another red cup full of her terribly mixed drink.

“Well Vodka’s my poison, so I’ll take that.” Niall piped up, leaning against the counter, mirroring Harry, Molly between them.

“Here have this, I’m gonna switch anyway, I’ve only just poured it and I swear I’ve not got rabies.” Molly told him shoving her cup towards him, glad to be rid of it.

“Ok, ta.” Niall smiled taking it from her.

“So, Harry…” Molly started eyes raking the bottles on the side, waiting for him to choose his drink.

“Fuck.” Niall spluttered. Both Molly and Harry snapped their heads in the Irishman's direction, wincing as he wiped away at his mouth with the back of his hand. “No wonder you think it’s rank, have you put anything other than vodka in this?” Niall quizzed Molly holding the cup up towards her.

“Lemonade?”

“Are you sure there was any lemonade in the bottle when you poured it?” Niall jested with an amused smile. Harry laughed from behind Molly as she shrugged. “Taste it.” Niall instructed handing the cup to Harry who took it from him and lifted it to his own mouth. Harry had barely taken a sip before he was spluttering it back out, covering his mouth and cringing as he did so.

“Fucking hell Lolly, you on a mission or something?” Harry choked, putting the cup on the side, sure no one could actually finish the drink inside. It was burning down through his throat to his stomach, Harry had partaken in stronger, far stronger, but the familiar burn wasn’t as compelling as it had been.

“Comme si comme sa.” Molly shrugged turning away from both boys. “Drink?” She chirped, staring at the bottles.

“The rum for me please.” Harry told her.

“Good choice, I’ll join you, you want more lemonade in that then?” Molly asked looking up to Niall as she slid the cup along the work surface in front of her.

“Please.” Niall smiled and Molly went about sorting the drinks, pulling two new cups from the stack and pouring. It was what she did for a living but without the measures she wasn’t so sure what she was doing. It felt harder than it did in the bar to get the balance right, and the vodka, that was beginning to make her head feel a little lighter, surely wasn’t helping.

“Where’s Ryan?” Harry asked from beside Molly as she topped up the rum with coke. Molly felt herself freeze though the coke kept running, but she supposed she could do with a weaker drink so she pushed the other towards Harry before answering him.

“Oh, he couldn’t make it uni stuff.” She sung, trying to seem blase, trying to brush past it. The question was bound to be asked, Molly knew that, and she thought she’d been preparing to answer it  all night long. She thought she felt steady in being able to tell people that he wasn’t there and why, but she wasn't. Her voice shook despite the light quality of it, and she felt the back of her eyes sting a little as the earth fell out from under her again.

“Really!?” Harry cried, angry disbelief decorating his voice. Molly could picture his face, crumpled up, nostrils flared, lips hanging open and a little pouty, a deep crease between his brows, but she didn’t look at him to confirm it. A look in his eyes could be the break.

“Yeah, it’s ok, he’s busy, it’s fine, no big deal.” Molly repeated out loud for the first time. She’d been replaying it in her head, but it sounded like even more of a lie in her actual voice rather than the voice in her head. It was so rehearsed and practiced that there was no life behind her words.

“Doesn’t sound fine Lol.” Harry pointed out quietly. Molly knew he was meaning well, but his friend that she’d just met was frozen still beside her, her eyes were welling up, her fingers were beginning to shake, and the kitchen wasn’t the place she wanted to even think about it, let alone talk about it.

“I said it’s fine.” She snapped as a result. She wasn’t actually mad at Harry, she didn’t even know if she was actually angry at Ryan or just disappointed, and she didn’t know what was worse. All she knew was that she just wished the feeling she got when she saw Harry could have lingered through the night and that she hadn’t had to face up to what was missing again.  “Your drink.” She whispered, though not out of choice, as she handed Niall his drink.

“Thanks.” Molly didn’t look at him, but it was clear he felt like he shouldn’t have been there. Guilt lifted it’s head amongst the anger, and Molly had to blink to clear her vision as she picked up her own drink.

“I’ll be back.” Molly announced quickly, not looking up, or back, or anywhere but at the floor as she pushed out of the kitchen again and headed for her room.

The door closed behind Molly and she pushed it completely shut before the tears finally fell. Instantly it began to feel like relief. Pressure had been building up inside her skull and in her heart and finally it was pouring out in tears. There was no effort, no sobbing or wailing, just quiet tears and a few sniffles as they rolled down her face as easily as breathing came. It felt like that was the only thing she needed to do - sit on her bed, cross legged, knot her fingers together, and cry.

Crying had never felt like that before. It had felt frustrated or angry, bitter and a last resort, but in that moment it felt cleansing. It felt like she was putting something to bed that had been keeping her restless for far too long. It was like finishing a good book when the bad guy got caught and no one had to get hurt, it felt like a crackling fire at the end of a cold day, or a cool pool after a sweaty run. It felt like crying was the perfect thing to be doing.

It didn’t stop, the tears just kept falling, clouding her vision but not her mind. They rolled and rolled and she let them, sniffing back every now and again, and her breath hitching occasionally. It felt like the remedy to the hurt in her heart and the hole in her stomach.

“Lolly.” Molly heard the voice and then the knock. She had no idea how long she’d been in her room, but she was certain it wasn’t long enough for Harry so have socialised with anyone or finish the drink she’d poured.

“Come in.” Molly called, drying her face, but to no avail, more tears just spilled from her eyes to replace those she wiped from her cheeks. She kept trying though, wiping the backs of her hands over her warm cheeks, surely red, and her eyes the same, pulling at them to try and stop the tears. She could barely make Harry out through them as the door opened.

“Oh shit, Lol.” Harry cursed, quickly closing the door behind him before taking two long legged strides over to Molly. Within seconds his weight had made the bed dip and his arms were secure around Molly, pulling her close to him. Molly’s leg brushed on his and her head found a pillow on his chest, gently resting there and trying to steady her breathing to the stable beat of his heart. Where her breath had hitched it started to smooth out as Harry rested his chin against the side of her head and stroked her long flaming her down her back. “I’m sorry.” He whispered calmly. The tears were still falling out of Molly’s eyes but not quite so aggressively, not quite like she was trying to flood her room anymore.

“Why are you sorry? You haven’t done anything.” Molly chuckled, her head still home on his chest. Neither of them moved, the comfort Molly was getting from his arms and warmth and regular, steady, safe, breathing, up and down of his chest, was incomparable and Harry relaxed more as Molly settled.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you on it like that.” Harry told her, twisting one of the neat curls around his fingers and letting it fall down Molly’s back again. Harry was looking down her back at the hair he was playing with his other hand resting gently against the top of her arm, fully encircling her.

“It’s not your fault, I’ve been trying not to cry all night.” Molly admitted to which Harry sighed. He’d guessed as much when she snapped at him the way she did and walked away quickly with her head down, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear.  “What a fucking loser am I.” Molly tried to joke, though the way her voice shook and she nudged closer to Harry told him she believed it.

“You’re not a loser, you’re just hurt, it’s ok.” Harry told her strongly gripping her arm a little tighter as he did so. Molly shook in his arms and he knew the tears were back. A long shaky sigh left her mouth as she tried to stop it, but she couldn’t, and he wished she wouldn’t try so hard, though it conflicted with how his heart felt like it dropped to the floor at the sight of Molly folded up and blinded by tears on the end of her bed. “Shh, don’t cry, it’ll be ok.” Harry soothed rubbing small, delicate circles across her back.

“Will it?” Molly asked shyly, like a heartbroken child, not sure of anything. Harry just nodded, completely certain. “Doesn’t feel like it, feels like it’s just getting shitter.”

“It won’t always be that way.” Harry told her with an unabashed confidence that had been built over an old belief that ran closer to Molly’s current one than  his affirmation that it would, indeed, get better.

“I’m so confused.” Molly squeaked, admitting it quietly. It felt easier alone in her bedroom with Harry, with the door closed behind them and no one peering in.

“What about?” Harry asked and finally Molly sat up and dried her eyes before she continued. Harry watched as she did it, scraping her palms over her eyes and cheeks, ridding the skin of the tears that had fallen and trying to dry her eyes of the ones that were yet to leak out of the corners. Normally Harry liked it when her cheeks went pink, he liked having that effect on her, but the pink of her cheeks then was blotchy and sore looking, rather than a pretty flush of coyness. He hated it. He hated that she was that sad on her birthday, or any day really, but particularly when she should have been enjoying herself with her friends without a worry in her world as she celebrated turning a year older. Harry hated that someone had hurt so much that she’d had to seclude herself in her room to cry her eyes out until they were bloodshot and glassy, and her cheeks were raw, and her breathing uneven and hitching. It made his bones flare with anger, but the need to watch over her and help her feel normal again, was stronger.

“Everything.” Molly told him at last, her word raggedy.

“Wanna talk about it?” Harry offered, but Molly shook her head and he wasn’t going to force her. Harry knew talking it out wasn’t always best, and it didn’t always help. “Ok.”

“Do you think I should end things with him?” Molly asked quietly, glancing up at Harry quickly, but dropping her eyes to her lap again just as quick.

“That’s not for me to say Lolly, that’s entirely up to you.” Harry told her. Steadily he reached for her hands, untangling them from one another and the way they were knotting together anxiously. Slowly he threaded his fingers between hers and held her hand gently. There was nothing else to it but to get her to focus on her thoughts and her feelings rather than trying to distract from them with her fingers the way he’d noticed she tended to do when she was nervous or worried. At first Molly swallowed, watching their hands lace together, but then she steadied and looked up to Harry, confidence in her eyes washing away lingering tears.

“Please Harry, I’m asking for advice.” She told him steadily. “Please.” She wasn’t begging, just voicing how much she needed an opinion, something guiding but not leading.

“You just gotta do what’s right for you, don’t think about anyone else or anyone else’s feelings, you gotta be selfish sometimes, you’ve got to do what you think is best for you and your happiness, that’s all I can say.” Harry told her, nodding slowly as he did so. Molly’s eyes were locked onto his has he spoke, taking in every word and thinking it over, Harry could tell by the way her tongue flicked against her lips and and her eyes narrowed a little occasionally. “Does he make you happy?” Harry asked, when Molly said nothing in return, just mulled his words over internally.

“Yes and no.” Molly told Harry with a shrug, eyes still secure on his. Both were searching each other, looking back at each other for answers. “No more often than yes lately.” Molly sighed, it wasn’t a secret, and if she was trying to keep it that way she was doing a bad job. Molly rolled her lips together, staring up at Harry, her hand a ball of fire where he held it, her back and arm missing his touch. They’d distanced a little when Molly sat up from Harry, but she wished they hadn’t. Maybe the vodka made her say it, she could blame it on that, and so could he, but the fact she wanted to say it outloud had been burning the tip of her tongue since they’d rested on her couch together and eaten dinner around his grandmother's table. “It doesn’t help that I fancy the fucking pants off you.” She bumbled, though didn’t drop his eyes. Her voice made her sound nervous, her presence said the opposite.

“Don’t say that.” Harry warned, a slight growl to his voice. Molly took a breath and shook her head. It wasn’t the response she was expecting or hoping for, but then she didn’t exactly know what she wanted or expected. It was just another layer of confusion in the messy cake of her emotions. “Don’t end things with Ryan because of anyone else, if you’re thinking of ending things with him, it’s got to be because of you, for you.” Harry told her definitely, shaking her hand a little as he did so, moving it towards her as if he was pointing but never uncurling his fingers from around her hand even a fraction.

“I don’t want to let anyone down.”

“Who on earth are you letting down?” Harry asked, a glimmer of frustration in his voice.

“Everyone always says-”

“Fuck everyone else Lolly, for fucks sake, stop thinking of everyone else, be selfish, be really bloody selfish and make yourself happy.” Harry argued, his voice intensifying in every way apart from volume.  “What’s gonna make you happy?” He asked, with wide questioning eyes, but Molly said nothing.  “Do you think you’d feel better in yourself without Ryan?”

“I don’t know.” Molly groaned, chewing her lip for a few seconds.  “I’m terrified.”

“Ok fuck this, honesty time.” Harry started. “The guys a dick, he doesn’t deserve you, he doesn’t care for you the way he should, he couldn’t even drop a few uni things to be here for your birthday, he’s complacent, he’s got you so he’s just going to coast through having you because it’s easy, and I think you’re probably doing the same.” Harry told her cutting no corners and taking no prisoners. Molly knew it, and hearing it didn’t feel like a stab or a shock, just like a wake up call. “You’re comfortable and it’s easy and it’s the norm, that’s not love Lol, I hate to tell you, but it’s just not.”

“How’d you know?” Molly asked quietly.

“I just do.” Harry sighed.

“I’ve got to end it haven’t I? It’s not fair to keep stringing him along when I’m clearly not feeling it anymore.” Molly rambled though not really to anyone apart from herself. Saying it outloud felt like the final step to admitting what had been her head too long. “God that makes me feel sick.” Molly grumbled, shuddering a little. “If it was meant to be I wouldn’t even doubting it.”

“It sounds like you already know the answers darling.” Harry told her through a long outward breath, his voice hushed by it, and his hand reaching for her hair, tucking the strands, that were too close to covering her eyes for Harry’s liking, back behind her ear. Molly nodded and looked down at her lap as Harry’s hand fell away, pursing her lips to one side. “Right now, I think you should try and forget about it, have a good night, enjoy your birthday, and think about it with a clear head later.” Molly nodded again, raising her eyes, the glimmer of a smile on her face.  “I promise you Lolly, whatever happens, it will be ok in the end, everything will work out for the best in the end.”

“Ok, I trust you.”

“I’m glad about that.” Harry smiled, finally uncurling his hand from hers and stretching his arms wide. “Come here.” Harry breathed wrapping his arms around her.  “No more tears, not on your birthday, breaks my heart.” Harry mumbled against her hair as he held her tight again.

“Sorry.” Molly breathed, her head nestled against his chest once again, though she was more settled that time, enjoying the warmth and scent of him.

“Don’t you dare apologise for it.” Harry instructed sitting back to coax Molly to do the same. Gently his arms unwrapped from her and he lifted his hands to her face, resting his fingers under her chin and wiping her cheeks with his thumbs, flicking away tears blackend by mascara and rubbing away the stains on her skin. “Gorgeous.” Harry smiled pulling them back to the evening they’d spent in the Haunt and the the neon sign that had rested above them.

“Really?” Molly asked with a coy smile and that pretty blush on her cheeks. Harry giggled at it and nodded.

“Always.” Harry told her, swinging his legs off the bed and standing in front of her.  “Come on let's go find those drinks and have a dance.” Harry suggested offering Molly a hand which she gladly took, and let him lead her from her bedroom without a care for her surely dishevelled appearance.

No one seemed to bat an eyelid when Molly and Harry left her room hand in hand. No one even seemed to have noticed they’d been gone at all, or if they did, they certainly didn’t make a point of having noticed. They squeezed back through the hallway, nudging shoulders and arms, but still no one really even looked at them, just moved politely out of the way and continued with what they were doing like nothing had happened. Even Jimmy, tucked against the door frame of the kitchen didn’t glance their way as they moved past him.

The flat was packed with people, and Molly moved to take the lead as they headed towards the living room that had been transformed into a small dance floor led by Natalie, whos blonde hair was swaying around as she danced in the middle of the fairly large group that had congregated. It was far busier than any of them had intended, and the space wasn’t really designed for the amount of people that had turned up, but they should have seen that coming. They’d all been along to enough house parties they weren’t directly invited to, but had heard about through the grapevine, to know how it worked. Molly probably knew sixty percent of the people in her flat by name, but she would only say she actually knew thirty percent. It didn’t stop her pushing through the outskirts of the people dancing though to join Lauren and Natalie in the middle of the room, Harry’s hand still locked in hers.

It was as she turned back to him and looked up as he looked down at her, that she realised they’d never really been so close in front of others. Their toes were practically touching, though not necessarily through choice. Everyone around them was squeezed tight and it forced them close, not that they really minded, but at least they had an excuse for the fact they could feel each others breath on their skin. Two nights a week, Molly moved her feet to a beat for a living as she poured all sorts of drinks for all sorts of patrons, but stood in her living room, hand in Harry’s, she was lost for movement and words. Instead she just giggled and felt her cheeks blush, Harry smiled and shook his head, before he lifted her hand and encouraged her to spin under his arm. It was cliche and clumsy but it broke ice Molly hadn’t anticipated being there and she seemed to come unstuck after that.

At some point her hand fell out of Harry’s, and Molly fought the urge to take it back. They didn’t move apart though, just carried on dancing to the cheesy pop music that was blaring around the flat. Natalie was at her side, Lauren having abandoned them for some lad that she was now talking to in the corner by the TV, holding her straw in her fingers coquettishly and no doubt looking up at him through her thick lashes. A couple of girls had taken to kicking their shoes off and hopping up on the table, laughter chorusing as they did so. Alcohol was flowing, but nobody seemed to be flagging yet, in fact everyone was free spirited and light with it. Even Molly felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders as she unlaced her shoes and kicked them to the corner of the room, not caring for how long they might make her legs look any longer, the comfort of her feet was far more important.

“You’ll get trodden on.” Harry called loudly over the music, leaning closer to her ear as he did so, holding her forearms. Molly chucked and shrugged. “Stand on my feet.” Harry told her pulling her closer by arms.

“What?” Molly shouted, laughing as she did so, because she’d heard him perfectly, but what she’d heard was completely ridiculous so maybe she hadn’t.

“Stand on my feet.” Harry said louder, pulling her closer again. Molly shook her head, but Harry nodded, and again tugged her a little closer. Finally Molly gave in and carefully stepped up onto the brown boots Harry was wearing. She laughed as she did so and his arms moved around her waist to hold her in place. Harry has a proud smile on his face, his idea proving successful as Molly wrapped her arms around his neck and interlaced her fingers over his hair, a few curls tangling between them.  Steadily Harry began to move again, his feet stamping heavily onto the floor, his movements clumsy and awkward. Molly was laughing wildly her head thrown back as he tried to dance with the weight of them both.

“This is mad.” Molly laughed, leaning closer to speak into his ear.

“Saves your feet though.” Harry chuckled, holding her tighter. Molly shook her head a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. They continued to dance like that for the rest of the song, but as it drew to a close Molly couldn’t put Harry’s feet through it anymore and stepped off.

“I’m going to get a drink, do you want one?” Molly offered, but Harry shook his head.

“I’m good, just saw Jim go outside so might go chat with him for a bit if you don’t mind.” Harry told her with a smile.

“Why would I mind?” Molly laughed, Harry shrugging a little. “You’re daft, you can talk to whoever, you don’t have to babysit me all night, I’ll be fine on my own.” Molly laughed, seemingly Harry had forgotten she was surrounded by people she knew, it was him who was the stranger here. Harry nodded and they went their separate ways.

The kitchen was emptier that it had been, as were the bottles on the side. The neat stack Lauren and Molly had arranged wasn’t so neat anymore, empty bottles among half full one's, cups littered across the place, and a clear puddle of something brown and sticky on the side. Molly pulled a fresh cup from the stack that she was hoping were as unused as they looked, a pack of cigarettes under the fruit bowl caught her eye and suddenly there was an urge. A drink followed by a cigarette outside with Jimmy was her new plan, and it sounded like a good one as she began to pour the rum into the bottom of her cup.

“You having a good night?” The voice was instantly recognisable by the accent. There were enough people in her flat that Molly didn’t know that if the Irish lilt hadn’t rung so loud and clear, she’d have doubted her certainty, but if anything Niall’s accent seemed stronger than it had when they’d first been introduced. The words seemed to blend into one another, and Molly was sure the vodka he was still drinking wasn’t helping that.

“Oh hi, yeah, are you? Are people being nice?” Molly asked with a genuinely friendly smile on her face as her hands worked at screwing the cap back onto the bottle of dark brown rum.

“Yeah everyone’s sound.” Niall grinned reaching for the vodka bottle that was dwindling quickly.

“So how do you know Harry?” Molly asked, turning to lean against the kitchen counter, plastic cup topped up with rum and coke in hand, and looking at Niall as he watched the lemonade fizz and fill his cup over the vodka he’d already poured.

“We play rugby together.” Niall told her nonchalantly.

“Ah.” Molly nodded, looking out into the crowd for Harry before remembering he’d gone to find Jimmy outside. Suddenly her plan of a cigarette break was even more compelling. “It wasn’t you that damaged his hand was it?” Molly asked with sarcastically narrowed eyes. Niall quickly shook his head, turning sharply to Molly.

“No, I wasn’t there when he did that, nothing to do with me.” Niall assured forcefully. Molly giggled at how much Niall clearly wanted Molly to know it wasn’t him. The Adam's apple in Niall’s throat bobbed as Molly giggled before he turned back to his drink. “You having a good time?” Niall asked, moving the conversation on.

“Yeah.” Molly breathed loudly with a smile, the music shadowing over her voice easily. “It’s pretty noisy in here, I’m gonna grab a smoke, wanna join me?” Molly offered dyeing the packet of cigarettes that had been on her mind before Niall had interrupted her with small talk.

“I don’t smoke.” Niall told her definitely, lifting his cup to his mouth, but peering over the rim at her.

“Neither do I.” Molly told him, stepping across Niall to grab the packet hiding under the bowl filled with fruit that really needed throwing away. Molly flicked the top off the packet and took a single cigarette from it, the stick leaning across her fingers as she chucked the packet back. “Coming?”

“Are they yours?” Niall asked, curiosity drowning his face.

“Jimmy’s, he won’t mind. It’s only one, cause I’ve been drinking, can’t help myself, it’s terrible I know, you don’t need to tell me.” Molly rambled rolling her eyes, the cigarette tapping between her fingers against thin air.

“Doesn’t worry me, you’re old enough to make your own mistakes.” Niall scoffed.

“Plenty of them.” Molly jeered with a smirk before leading their way out of the side door, the one Harry had fixed a few weeks ago.

The small garden at the side of the flat was rarely used and even more rarely looked after. It was a small rectangle of grass that meant they paid more than any other flat for the privilege of what was more of a dirt patch dotted with the odd clump of grass. It was home to a small wooden table that was mostly rotten and couldn’t be trusted to hold anything other than the lighter Jimmy continually forgot to bring in. When they’d looked at the flat, they’d revelled at the idea of a garden - garden parties, barbeques, somewhere for Jimmy to smoke that wasn’t the front porch or hanging out of a window.  It only lived up to one of those expectations, and the lack of BBQ or grass was a tell tale sign as to which.

“Harry told me things are a bit rocky with you and your fella.” Niall started, watching Molly as she hung the cigarette from her mouth and flicked the lighter, taken from the table, over the end of it. Molly took a long drag, exhaling the smoke away from Niall’s face, out into the garden.

“Understatement of the century.” Molly told him, flicking ash from the cigarette and watching it drop to the floor sparking a little before dying and blowing away in the breeze.

“Not good then?” Niall winced sympathetically, but Molly just shrugged. As she looked up at Niall, her bare feet cold on the ground, Molly wondered how much Harry had told him. It looked like he knew a little more than he was initially letting on, the sympathetic look in his eyes and the way his lips were slightly pursed gave the impression he knew things were more than ‘a bit rocky’. Part of Molly wanted to divulge it all, outside perspective might be helpful, but a bigger, louder part of her, wanted Niall to be the complete stranger he was, not just to her, but to her relationship and the problems she was having with it. She wanted him to know nothing, she wanted him to be ignorant to Ryan and her feelings towards him, she wanted to be as much of a stranger to him and he was to her, and she didn’t want him to look at her like she was damaged property. He could be an escape if only he wasn’t looking at her like he knew all her secrets.

“Would help if Harry stopped bringing good looking guys into my life.” Molly smiled, verging away from Ryan swiftly. There was no conversation to be had anymore, she’d had it, done it, and frankly she was bored of going over the same thing again and again when she’d known the answer before she even asked the questions.

“Exactly how many good looking guys as Harry introduced you to?” Niall asked with a dark chuckle that sounded like it came right from the pit of him.

“Just you actually.” Molly toyed, a flirty smile on her face, small and full lipped, slightly one side and eyes doey. Molly knew what she was doing, sure it had been four years, but it turned out it was like riding a bike.  “You’re blushing.” She pointed out, flicking her eyebrows to the sky a little and smiling wider.

“So are you.” Niall pointed out with that same deep laugh. It was deep and throaty, rough around the edges. Tempting. “I thought you fancied Harry.” Niall told her, lifting his cup but watching her face all the time. The subtle change in Molly’s features told Niall everything he needed to know, Molly didn’t need to say a word. There was far more to it than Niall had anticipated.

“Niall, I have a boyfriend.” Molly laughed, it was nearly flirty, but closer to nervous at being so easily exposed.

“Yet you’re still flirting with me.” Niall reminded her, lifting one eyebrow. Molly couldn’t help but notice how that motion didn’t seem to come as easily to him as it did Harry.

“It’s only flirting, don’t worry about it.” Molly told Niall taking another drag on her cigarette, the length dwindling, nearly finished, mostly forgotten as she spoke with Niall. “I’m gonna end things with Ryan anyway.” Molly told him with a confidence she mustered from the penultimate drag and held onto with the final one, breathing it in deeper than she ever had before as she dropped the dead cigarette to the floor. For a second she thought about stamping it out, Niall obviously saw though and held her back gently.

“Yeah?” He asked nonchalantly, twisting his booted foot over the hot stub.

“Yeah.” Molly said nodding, still looking at the squashed end of her cigarette as she did so.

“Good for you.” The smile that was in Niall’s voice was still on his face when Molly looked up. The sympathy and concern was gone, and at last he looked like the stranger Molly was craving. There was a sparkle in his eyes, Irish charm, and a smirk of a smile lingering over his mouth. Molly lifted one side of her mouth, staring back at Niall without apology. Before she really even registered the thought, before it was even a thought and more just an impulse sparking in her veins, Molly moved onto her toes and lifted her hand to Niall’s neck.

Her lips had only pressed against one other set in four years, at least in that way, but they pressed into Niall’s as easily and comfortably as any.  They felt fine under hers, there was no guilt or sickening feeling, it just felt like a kiss. It didn’t spark anything, there were no butterflies, just a kiss that tasted like vodka and lemonade. It felt like a stupid, drunken, thoughtless, careless kiss. The kind her flatmates had been having since freshers. The kind she didn’t think she’d been missing out on because she had Ryan’s kisses. It was what she needed and it confirmed everything. The lack of guilt made her feel guilty, and the look on Niall’s face as she stepped back down and realised what she’d done, and who she’d kissed in front of a garden full of strangers and friends, made her want to cry.

“Fuck, shit, I’m sorry, I don’t know why I did that, I’m so sorry, I’m gonna, fuck, I’m sorry, shit.” Molly rambled, covering her mouth, looking between Niall and the door and backing away quickly. Molly rushed back through the kitchen, not caring for who she bumped or crashed into as she went. There was a nauseous feeling inside her as she marched through the house, she was glad the bathroom was unlocked and unoccupied, swinging the door open and kicking closed as best she could as she lunged for the toilet, gripping the sides as her stomach emptied and she fell to her knees.

The door opened behind her, but Molly didn’t even care to look at who it was, though there was someone in her mind that she hoped it was. Liquid was pouring from her mouth, wretching until her throat was sore and her stomach ached. Molly felt her hair pull back from around her, a small, delicate hand rubbing her back gently, though no words, she didn’t need them, she knew it wasn’t who she wanted. Finally Molly took a breath and sat up, reaching for the flush and sitting back on her feet.

“Molly what the fuck?” Natalie scalded, moving to sit next to Molly and look at her.

“I don’t fucking know.” Molly cried, the tears in her eyes not only from how violently she’d thrown up. She scraped her hair back away from her face vigorously, her brow damp from sweat. “Did Harry see?” Molly asked.

“Harry? Why are you worried about Harry? You’ve got a boyfriend Mol.” Natalie reminded her, but it didn’t quite register, or if it did, what it meant didn’t.

“Did Harry see me kiss him?” Molly pushed.

“Yes.” Natalie snapped.

“Shit.”

“Molly, Ryan.” Natalie reminded her, shaking her hands at Molly, wide eyed and so obviously confused and at a loss for what to say or think.

“It’s over.” Molly mumbled.

“You’ve ended it?” Natalie asked, a little quieter, because maybe then it was all ok, maybe then it was all understandable.

“Not yet.” But it didn’t feel like she’d cheated him.

____________________________________

GO OFF! My ask box is ready and open for all of you. You all wondered what she was going to do about realising she’d fallen out of love with Ryan, bet you weren’t thinking it was going to be that!?!? 

Hope you enjoyed it though? What are we thinking is going to happen next with her and Ryan and Harry....Let me know!

Enjoy I x

#dive #new fic #harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles au #rugby harry #harry angsty #harry fluff #1dff

[electric-mindfulness-blog]

Seb and Ed

This is a continuation of a story I found a while ago, it’s a story that really resonated with me, I’ll post the links at the end.

It’s been two years. I hadn’t thought about Ed for all that time until today. A letter arrived in my flat, a week after I moved in, I had just finished uni and had a decent job, and was planning on having a housewarming party. I had been out to collect supplies at around midday, and when I arrived a letter had been posted through, or rather slipped under, my door. It had three words in a familiar, unjoined chicken-scratch style writing.

To Seb.

Then underneath, slightly smaller, as if the writer had been hesitant,

Ed.

It took me several moments to realise I had been standing in the doorway of my flat, staring at the letter for at least a minute; I had dropped my bags, cans, bottles and tubes of snacks and junk food falling across the floor. It was only when the woman from the opposite flat came out and asked me if everything was ok, that I snapped out of my reverie. It hadn’t registered that I had simply dropped two large bags of shopping: she looked distinctly concerned.

“Yeah.. I’m fine, just had a moment” I grinned, unconvincingly, but she seemed placated. She nodded with a frown and retreated back into her flat.

Shoving the letter into my back pocket, I scrabbled across the floor to pick up the detritus that had spilled from my bags, moving unnervingly fast, as if cleaning a crime scene.

Later that day, sat in my room I glared at the letter, unopened, on my windowsill in front of my desk. I willed it to open itself, to save me the task. Needless to say it didn’t. Eventually after trying to distract myself from it for two hours I couldn’t resist it any longer. I ripped it open on one end and tore the letter out, my eyes absorbing every word on the page one letter at a time, savouring the familiar scratchy writing.

Seb,

It’s been a while, I’ve never known what to say to you, and I’ve never been brave enough to call or text. I’m so sorry for how I treated you, I was in a bad place. Luring you into a setup like that was a shitty thing to do, and I really wish I hadn’t done it.

Truth is, things got worse after you left Birmingham. Me and my flatmates fell out, they left and I eventually had to leave as well, I’ve been living with Catherine for a while. Like you said, she is a good friend but.. she isn’t you.

I saw the post you put up about a housewarming party, and I’m sorry to say that I asked one of your friends for your address, I couldn’t help myself. If you want me to come then I will, if not... I understand.

Ed.

I read it and reread it several times. Several thoughts raced through my head, the first of which being how pissed off I was that he had effectively stalked me to get my address, and actually come here, second I was more enraged that I hadn’t been in when he had delivered it. I don’t know what I would’ve done so perhaps it’s best I wasn’t. And finally, a deep pang of guilt in the pit of my stomach for how I had walked out all that time ago, and the empty space in my life that had appeared since I had pushed him away.

He had been my friend since primary school, we had done everything- literally everything- together, we always sat next to eachother on the bus, we would walk to and from school with eachother, we fancied the same people and fought over the same stupid shit, but we were thick as thieves. But what he did had hurt me, not physically, but it hurt me in a dark and unspeakable way, unspeakable because I hadn’t thought about or revisited what happened with him two years previously; I’d also not met with any other men or women since.

The letter had thrown me. Throwing it down on my bed, I picked up my phone, and flicked through my contacts. I thumbed to “E”, and scrolled down until I saw his name. It seemed to stand out like a beacon .

Eddie.

My thumb hovered over his name for a second. Do I call? What would I say after two years of radio silence? “Hi Ed you fucked me over and lured me into a two hour fuck sesh that I thought was a trick to help you break up with your girlfriend”?

No.. I should text. I thought, less awkward that way. I hope. I tapped the little message bubble next to his name, and tapped out a brief message.

Got your letter. Come down a day before the party, 3:30pm Saturday.

Again, my thumb hovered. Before I could second-guess myself, I tapped send. Part of me hoped it would flash and say “message send failure” but no such luck. It sent through instantly, and no less than two seconds flat after it had arrived, the little “sent” became “read”. My breath faltered, it was strange being this close to him but so many miles away at the same time. The thought the we were almost staring at eachother through our words gave me an uneasy shiver.

See you soon.

I clicked my phone off, it’s Wednesday. I thought two days. Shit.

I busied myself by cleaning the flat, moving furniture, rearranging shelves and crockery, anything to distract me from the thoughts whizzing through my head. The following two days passed in a blur.

Saturday morning came, I woke up at 4am, and sat in my bedroom on the bay window, panes wide open, leg dangling out five storeys over the main road. There was no traffic, save for the odd early morning worker, and some cyclists. I picked up a pack of cigarettes: empty. I swore and threw the pack out the window. I slid back inside, throwing on some joggers and a baggy old T-shirt from the bottom of my draw, threw on some trainers and headed down the stairs- the elevator was yet again out of action- and out the door of the flat. I jogged to the local offlicense, and grabbed a six pack of some imported beer, and a few packs of Marlborough superkings. I ambled slowly back home, my head alive with every possible outcome of the day. This could be the total end or the new beginning of us I thought. I sat on the bench outside the flat building for a half hour, listening to the sounds of the early morning, birds, distant car engines, late night party-goers straggling home, laughter and tears. It reminded me of the morning after the night before with Ed. I cursed out loud. Violently, scaring several small animals nearby.

Back inside my flat, still groggy from sleep, I checked the clock, the red digits flashed 4:30am in its repetitive rhythm. How had it only been a half hour? I slipped out of my shoes and joggers, and threw on a long, dark green dressing gown. I wondered into the kitchen, put the beer in the fridge, and opened one of the packs of cigarettes. I sat back on the windowsill and lit it. I hadn’t smoked in a long time, and I savoured the first breath, holding the flame at the end and inhaling deeply. My breathing slowed. How long have I been hyperventilating for? And why?

But I knew why. I was seeing him for the first time in what seemed like forever, though it had only been two years. I had so many questions, so much anger and sadness and feelings that I hadn’t dealt with since I had left. And it scared me. I sat on the windowsill for a long while, reminiscing, and half dozing, all the while chaining the twenty pack, leaving a gap of barely five minutes between the last and next.

It was only when my alarm went off, signalling 6am, that I snapped back into reality, the city was alive now, traffic bustling below me, shops opening, rubbish trucks and postmen. I slipped inside and got changed. I looked into my mirror and froze. The T shirt I had grabbed from the bottom of my draw was his. Ed’s. It was a baggy old concert tee, scribbled on and doctored, ripped and safety-pinned and stitched and patched. Everything about it screamed Ed. I was torn between throwing it out of the window and crying at this point. Instead, I had a roiling wave of rage wash over me, and I slammed my fist into the mirror: I instantly regretted it. The weak frame buckled from the force of impact and my hand went straight through; shards of glass rained down onto the floor, and I gained a Large ugly slash and several stinging cuts across the back of my hand. I yanked off the shirt and wrapped my hand up, heading to the kitchen to clean it up.

After finding a dated first aid kit buried under the sink, I managed to properly bandage my hand and forearm with sturdy, albeit old, medical wraps and adhesive tape. I glanced at the microwave, the shining green numbers emblazoned 7:45, it was still dark outside, the sky was gloomy, as it had been all autumn, making it seem a lot darker than it should have been. I threw the bloodied shirt down on the counter by the sink, I’d come back to that later. I went and lay down on my bed for a while, finishing off the first pack of cigarettes, and rattling off some essays and letters on my laptop. A few hours later, my room stank, even though the window was open, the cigarettes had carved their odour into the walls, and the old porcelain ashtray was full to overflowing with ash and dogends, and there was a strong smell of my own B.O, and of stale tea and incense. It all mingled together to form a not entirely unpleasant but strong smell that strongly resembled the inside of a youth club. Or a brothel.

It was now 1:30 and the sounds of the city had dulled to a hum that I only just registered. I made myself some food, sat down and waited. Having moved all the furniture around, I was sat on a large, blue, five-person sofa in the far corner of the room, the door directly in front of me. My phone buzzed.

On the train now, eta one hour twenty minutes

Nothing I can do now. I stared at the text. It’s really happening I thought. I had secretly been hoping to myself that I would wake up suddenly, but the dull throbbing ache of my pulse across the back of my hand reminded me, all too painfully, that it was happening, however much I wished otherwise. I lit another cigarette, and as I did, I heard a familiar, slightly high pitched voice drift up through the open window, swearing at someone. He’s here. No backing out now. Steeling myself, I went to the door, the phone on the wall rang. I lifted it up, pressed the button marked with an old cinema ticket with “admit one” on its front and put the phone down. I wonder how he got in the other day. Another question to add to the list. I unlocked the front door, and sharpied an arrow on the front. Below I scribbled

This way for the party>>

And I went back inside, leaving the door slightly ajar, to my room, again leaving that door open too. I still had the cigarette in my hand, but it had burnt out. The smell of stale tobacco hit my nostrils and I threw it out the window, taking a fresh one from the pack and lighting it. No sooner than I’d taken the first drag, I heard a voice behind me.

“So you still do lucky lasts then?” He was nervous. His voice was a little pitchy, but it was him. His delicate southwestern accent pulling his A’s out. Laasts.

I inhaled sharply, and turned slowly. He looked.. stunning. He didn’t appear to have aged, his thick black hair was a little longer, and had a deep green streak through it, he was wearing fur lined denim jacket and black jeans, with a red scarf and fingerless gloves to guard against the cold. He seemed skinnier, his eyes were gaunt and his jaw was more prominent than I remembered. But it was ed. I ran forward.

Fin.

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/college/straight-guys-messing-around/ these are the original stories

[thegreatnyehehe]

A Winter Veil Carol: Part 5

And with the unfestive fiend’s descent into hell, we can assume that this fiend has finally received his long-awaited comeuppance! One of those open-ended endings, I suppose? Surely, it is a true cautionary tale for those whom are wicked and miserly! Sad, of course, but a wonderful lesson! Well, that’s the end, of it, then. Hope you enjoyed it, children!

...

Oh? Oh!

Hoho! Looks like the last few pages were stuck together! Perhaps this The Great Nyehehe fellow may be redeemed after all! Let’s take one last peek into  Chrrgglls Drrrkggnss’s “A Winter Veil Carol!” Hope you enjoy it, children!

The flames of the deepest pits of the fire region of the elemental plane consumed The Great Nyehehe, burning every fleck of flesh upon him to ash, reducing his bones  to brittle. A horrible, raging fire took him, and the old fool had perished from the universe forever. The inferno was the final end for the legendary fable of the madman, The Great Nyehehe.

And then he woke up.

“Bah!!” 

The Great Nyehehe jumped up with a start, terrified but immensely relieved that he was, in fact, not dead, but back in his own ‘Evil Lair’, relatively safe and sound. “Oh, by the Light!!” he cheered to himself, uncharacteristically religiously.

“The spirits!! They were true, and they were real!! Oh, Maldy!! Oh, spirits!! Nyehehe!!” yelled The Great Nyehehe ecstatically. He was alive after all!

But then, a thought came to him, and he popped out from behind his dirty nook in the Cathedral Square of which he resided in, peering around. His eyes found a hulking, shambling abomination standing beside a lone Death Knight, whom was very distracted checking his mail eagerly for a Winter Veil party invitation. Nyeh called out to it, “You there!! Boy!!”

“Wot, me?” moaned the undead golem of flesh and formerly living souls as he stomped closer, having failed to realize he had just been mistaken for an average human child.

“Nyes!! You!! What day is it, good child?” Nyeh yelled out to it.

“Why, eet’s Weenter Veil!” blubbered out the abomination, having no real sense of time or appropriate knowledge of something as complex as a calendar, but it recognized all the pretty lights and Winter Veil trees well enough.

"How incredibly dastardly!! Er... How nice!! The Great Nyehehe hasn’t missed Winter Veil!! The spirits did it all in one night!! Nyes, they can do anything they please!! Nyehehe!!” cackled Nyeh as he pranced around gleefully.

“Mmmhmmm...” mumbled the abomination dumbly, its sight steering elsewhere out of slight boredom and a very low attention span.

“Oh!! Nyes!! Do you know the Cratchcrank household of 12710 Swindle Street on the isle of Kezan?” 

The abomination took its attention back to Nyeh, “Nope.”  

“Perfect!! Go there, and fetch some medicine for Tiny Tib!!” Nyeh exclaimed, far too consumed by joy, rather than by fire as he had believed not two minutes ago, to realize what the abomination had answered with.

“What medicine?” wondered the brely sentient wall of flesh.

“All of it!! Obviously!! Now, off with you to Tiny Tib to deliver the medicine!!” demanded Nyeh before bursting into another joyous jig, “And take The Great Nyehehe’s spare sack from last year’s evil scheme of stealing Winter Veil!! The Great Nyehehe shan’t be committing any further wicked acts such as that anymore, so it shan’t be of any use to him!!”

‘D’okay!” the abomination burped as it ran off to blindly follow the old madman’s order, stumbling and bumbling on the way with Nyeh’s empty red sack in one of his stubby hands.

 Having finished checking his mail, as well as sorrowfully accepting the fact that he’d likely never get that invite to the big upcoming Winter Veil party due to his current condition as a corpse, the abomination’s Death Knight master had been looking around for his near-mindless servant. When the abomination had totally ignored his order, “Stop!”, the Death Knight had began to run off behind him, in a futile attempt to catch it. Despite its immense size, the abomination sure was swift!

“Light guide you, small child!! And merry WInter Veil!!” called out Nyeh after them. “Now, to make things right with all those The Great Nyehehe had wronged!!” he vowed to himself as he donned his old Father Winter’s hat he had stitched together the previous year.

And then, The Great Nyehehe began his not-crooked crusade for redemption. He put his very soul into each festive song he sang with the Winter Veil carolers he had intimidated away just yesterday, though admittedly he was comparatively very dissonant with the rest of the group, his singing voice was admittedly quite wretched. 

Furthermore, he gave plenty of gold to charity,...

He gifted toys and presents to orphans...

He gave a present even to the officers of the Stormwind City Guard, of whom they had both shared a rather heated past. Truly, he had changed for the better.

And to further support his redemption, The Great Nyehehe had turned to religion, becoming a devout and faithful believer in the Light! No longer did he claim to be superior to the Light, nor any deity, or truly to be better than anyone else. He was fully forgiven of his sins by Brother Arthur, whom had taken over Bishop Farthing’s duties after the good bishop had mysteriously disappeared during his inconspicuous trip to the Tirisfal Glades.

The Great Nyehehe had vowed to redeem himself, and he was better than his word. He had seen the error of his ways. He became a generous, humble, kindly, and loving man for the rest of his days. He became as good a friend. as good a priest, and as good a man as the good old city of Stormwind ever had!

And it was always said of him that The Great Nyehehe knew how to keep Winter Veil spirit well and alive throughout the whole year! 

...

Or... that WOULD have been what they had said, had the following event not occurred, which it unfortunately and undoubtedly did. 

“Nai-hee-hee!” cheered the Draenei sincerely, “It is so good to see that you have turned over a new leaf! I am so proud of you,  Nai-hee-hee!” The Draenei then made a tragic mistake, and gave Nyeh a congratulatory slap on the back. 

Though the Draenei had considered it to have been a rather light and playful gesture, The Great Nyehehe reacted comparatively dramatically and fell right over. Whether it was due to the Draenei indeliberately using a surplus amount of strength he was unaware he had, The Great Nyehehe’s ironic and immense frailty despite his earlier view of himself as an unstoppable deity, or a mixture of both, the slap left The Great Nyehehe tumbling down the stairs and his head colliding harshly with the hard, white pavement of the Cathedral.

When he had came to, it had seemed that the ensuing concussion had left The Great Nyehehe feeling nauseous, discombobulated, and, once again, seeing things.Most importantly, it had left him with a vastly different view of the world: the exact same one he had not just yesterday, on The Great Nyehehe had seen the error of his ways! Again!

Raving and rambling, Nyeh had thought aloud to himself “The proper way of celebrating Winter Veil isn’t being kind or generous or festive, obviously!! It is to be even more villainous and wicked to combat the season’s tidings of goodwill with evil schemes, dastardly deeds, and acts of hate!! Oh, how wrong The Great Nyehehe was to ever think that being a goody two-shoes would ever aid him in the slightest!! Drat those spirits!! Drat them all!!”

And The Great Nyehehe went against his earlier word, and went to make wrong again all the wrongs he had literally just righted. 

He stole from charity...

He had took back the toys and presentshe had given to orphans...

He had even forcibly taken back the present he had propounded to the officers of the Stormwind City Guard, of whom they shared a now even more heated and less friendly relationship than before...

And to further renounce his redemption, he cursed the Light, dratted the church, and imprecated all forms of goodness, heroism, and love on Azeroth and within the universe. “Curse you, you lousy Light and your clueless clergy and cretinous crusaders!! Bah!!” Nyeh swore at the Church building itself with a hateful shake of his fist.

There was one, almost heroic deed that The Great Nyehehe could not make wrong again, however, was when he had ordered a Death Knight’s abomination servant to deliver medicine to Tiny Tib of the Cratchcrank household at 12710 Swindle Street on the isle of Kezan, The abomination had no idea what medicine it was the sickly goblin child had needed, so the hellish simpleton had ransacked the homes, laboratories, and bathrooms of various alchemists, apothecaries, priests, and engineers, leaving dozens of years of work between them all down the drain. Luckily, he had unwittingly found an antidote after storming through the hut of a Gurubashi Witchdoctor who never quite got over the death of Soulflayer Hakkar. Still, his presence was not immediately met with welcome by the Cratchcrank family.

“Stay behind me, kids!” directed Ms. Cratchcrank, all three of them, as well as her husband Bozo, immediately following suit fretfully.

“Mama, I’m scared!” peeped one of Bozo’s daughters, the other screeching in agreement.

“G-Get ‘em, dear!’ whimpered Bozo.

“Stop” uselessly demanded the Death Knight to his abomination, having been running just behind after his near-mindless servant in atttempt to catch it, the wall of flesh being just out of reach each time. As mentioned earlier, despite its immense size, the abomination sure was swift!

“Shush, honey! Now, you monstrous brute, what are you doing knocking down OUR door on Winter Veil of all-” scolded Ms. Cratchcrank as though she was nagging a boy that had been playing too carelessly around her garden rather than a half-sentient wall of flesh and souls, before she was interrupted. 

“Medicine for Tiny Tib.” the abomination burped, indifferent to the family’s fear.

Popping out from behind his mother and willing to try and anything, Tiny Tib, WHO DID NOT DIE, piped up “Oh? Why didn’t you just say so, then?” Tiny Tib chugged down the antidote after the abomination had handed it to him. He then did a wonderful little diddy of a dance with his now working legs cheerily to celebrate, his parents and sisters awestruck. 

Tiny Tib was now perfectly healthy, and the very next week Bozo was promoted from a mid-level accountant to mid-high level accountant, which despite being only a single level above mid-level accountant paid far more handsomely. The Cratchcranks lived happily forever after, never even knowing the name of The Great Nyehehe.

“Drat, drat, and double drat!!” the old fool roared into the air, his stolen goods hoarded in his Evil Lair, “The Great Nyehehe drats all those spirits a nyehehillion times over!! How dare they try to trick The Great Nyehehe into becoming a goodie two-shoes!! And now he can’t even intercept that blasted child from delivering that moronic medicine!! Curses!!”

Far above Nyeh’s head, upon the yellow-tinted roofs of the Cathedral District, the spirits looked down upon their wayward student whom had refused their teaching so strongly with great disappointment.

“Well, the testing session for Operation didn’t seem to work. If we can’t even persuade our one, some foolish old madman to become good, how could we ever trick the faction leaders into trying to call for peace with the Legion?” sighed the first spirit.

“Guess we’ll have teh call off the real thing. Why even botheh tryin’ et on Sylvanas er Anduin at this point.” muttered the second spirit bitterly.

“In that case, can we take off these stupid disguises? These weights are killin’ my shoulders!” complained Maldy, rattling his chains.

The third spirit nodded in agreement.

“Ach, fine. Don’t matter much now anyhow.”

*POOF!*

“Ah, we feel so much better now that we don’t have to look like some prude elf!”  admitted the succubus as her illusion faded.

“Well, now tha’ tha’s all done, yeh guys wanna go terrorize some Orphans?” suggested the hulking felguard to his fel fellows, failing to realize he was still speaking in the Dwarvish accent of his illusion.

“Ah, wait, guys, one more thing...” interjected the Imp, whom had not a moment ago been the nonliving phantom of the former Tradeprince Maldy.

“Merry Winter Veil, everyone!!”

“...”

“What was that fer?” thought the second spirit aloud.

“I... I have no idea... I just had the urge to say that... as though that was the only way this all could end...” shuddered the Imp.

~The End.~

I’m utterly amazed, children. What a book! That was, undoubtedly...

The worst book I have ever read! Ugh... remind me to re-gift this for next Winter Veil, children. I probably should have just read ‘T’was the Night before Winter Veil’, anyway... Anyone care for some hot cocoa?

#winter veil carol #winter veil #5/5 #holiday

[for-poems-are-like-rainbows]

Week of July 23rd: The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne

Because who doesn’t like adultery!

Rating: 2.5/5 star 

Pros: 

Pretty Short: only 221 pages. 

Interesting Beginning (for me, at least) 

Descriptive Writing

Symbolism Out the Wazoo (which is fun if you like ~symbolism~) 

Demon Devil Child

Cons: 

That Descriptive Writing? So. Fucking. Hard. To. Read. And. Understand. 

Religious Undertones

Weak Climax 

Nathaniel Hawthorne’s magnum opus, The Scarlet Letter, was something of a doozy for me. The book is set in Puritan-era Boston, shortly after the discovery and settlement of the New World, and the book stars Hester Prynne, the heroine whose fall from grace results in a large letter A (for adultery) forever stitched to her chest (Hawthorne constantly referred to her chest as her breast, but I digress). The entire novel centers around the mystery of who fathered her daughter, Pearl, and the rage of her former husband, who saw the entire spectacle and wants to get revenge on Hester’s lover. 

I have very mixed emotions about The Scarlet Letter.  On one hand, it is an important piece of American literature that is and probably forever will be read and discussed in schools, but at the same time, the book is hard to understand, which in turn can make it hard to discuss the important topics in the novel, such as the concept of guilt, revenge, and the impact of the community/media when it comes to dispensing justice. 

Since I believe that every book, regardless of how poorly written it is, has some pros, I will begin with them. 

1) Pretty Short; 

The length of this novel is practically a godsend. If this book were any longer, I might not have been able to push through. However, despite the length, this is not a light or easy read at all. Buyer Beware. 

2) Interesting Beginning:

In the beginning of the novel, there is a discussion about the black flower that blooms beside the door of the prison where Hester and her daughter, Pearl, are kept until their ‘punishment’, which is to stand for three hours in front of the town. Essentially, they are going to be made fools of themselves to be a reminder to the people that this is what could happen to you if you sin. (Although how kind of the magistrates to spare them an awful punishment. I think death would have been kinder-oh wait) 

Later, there is a mysterious man who is watching on-the physician Robert Chillingworth, who later takes care of Hester and Pearl, and reveals to Hester to be her former husband. 

Unfortunately for me, the beginning alluded to the fact that the novel would be mostly about Hester, with Robert Chillingworth and the mystery man to be given more of a backseat role. This is not the case, and this left me very disappointed. 

3) Descriptive Writing

Boy, can Hawthorne write. I mean, after about two chapters into the book, it’s really no secret that he can write, with the multiple descriptions of New England in the 17th century. The writing style really transports you back to the time period, and really makes you feel as though you are apart of the novel. 

4) ~Symbolism~

As someone who can appreciate a good allegory, I really appreciate the amount of symbolism that Hawthorne put into the novel. Symbolism tends to be something that many authors can struggle with-after all, the symbolism needs to be subtle enough that it is symbolism and not just an allusion to something, but it also needs to be overt enough that it is not overlooked by the reader. You also want it to be able to convey the ideas behind it and have your audience understand. Hawthorne excelled in this department, and it was quite a lot of fun to be able to put the pieces together in my head. 

5) Demon Devil Child

Need I explain more? Not only is Pearl called a demon by the rest of the townspeople, put even the narrator calls her the devil too!

And now on to the cons. As shown by the poor rating, the cons definitely seem to outweigh the pros. Think of it like a delicious cake: the frosting might be good, but if the cake tastes like ass, the frosting is not going to do much to help it. And I like the cake part more than I like the frosting part. 

1) Descriptive Writing

Okay, Hawthorn, we get it. You can write semi-decently. But what I don’t need are entire fucking paragraphs devoted to the weather outside. There’s a difference between description and overkill, and I believe that Hawthorne went a little overkill. Also, the language he uses to convey his ideas is old-fashioned, and in a modern lens, very difficult to read and understand.

For example: “The mother herself-as if the red ignominy were so deeply scorched into her brain, that all her conceptions assumed its form-had carefully wrought out the similitude: lavishing many hours of morbid ingenuity, to create an analogy between the object of her affection, and the emblem of her guilt and torture.” (Hawthorne, 59) That’s one fucking sentence, and when the whole book is full of it, it gets old. I felt that some of the ideas Hawthorne presented could have been conveyed similarly with about twenty less words per sentence. Another reason why I thank God that the book was only 221 pages, because any more, and I might have thrown myself out the window. 

2) Religious Undertones

This one is definitely is more of a ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ kind of deal. Allow me to explain. I understand that this novel takes place during the height of Puritanism in the colonies. Hell, even the crime of adultery is seen in the Puritans’ eyes as being just under the crime of murder, which was the ultimate crime. So obviously, the concepts of religion and adultery are going to be major themes. 

What I did not like, however, was that the novel focused around the religious guilt that came with committing this crime, and there was no discussion about secular moral values and how the crime related to the community at large. I also did not like that even though the discussion about morality and religion did not even take place with Hester Prynne: it took place with her minister, Arthur Dimmesdale. 

I get that the minister is a direct line to God, and it does make sense that he would have something to say about her crime, the woman who is directly affected and essentially accosted by her community does not have much to say about her crimes, which does not seem too right to me. 

3) And lastly, Weak Climax

The climax was weeeeeeak. Without giving too much away, I was expecting some sort of epic showdown, you know, to make the wait worth it, and all I got was a big fat load of nothing. It’s like feeling one small object at the very bottom of your Christmas stocking and finding out it’s a package of dental floss. It’s something, yeah, and I’m kind of grateful, but I was hyped and now I’m just disappointed. 

Would I ever read this again willingly? No. If I had to read it for school, will I cry. Maybe-probably one little leak from my left eye ball. But all and all, a relatively boring book that you get little payoff for reading. 

Got a recommendation? Send me an ask!

#book review #the scarlet letter #nathaniel hawthorne #for poems are like rainbows #ehhh #text post #books #classics #reading #read in 2017

[avi-stella]

Communication | Zen/Hyun Ryu x Reader

Rating: Teen Word Count: 1,822 Genre: Hurt/Comfort Summary: You have difficulty explaining something to Zen, so you write a letter instead. Author's Comment: A bit of a more personal piece, but one I want to share all the same.

They say that scars eventually fade with time, but that wasn't always necessarily the case. Some scars stayed with you forever, deeply rooted into your heart from a time long ago that you wish you could forget. There were days you could pretend that those scars were never there, hiding behind smiles and laughter, but they still lingered in the depths of your mind. They were there in those small actions and careful choice of words or lack thereof, even if you were never fully conscious of them.

"Hey, babe?" Zen spoke up, breaking the comfortable silence in the living room as the two of you sat nestled together on the couch with you between his legs, your nose buried into a book while the actor absentmindedly ran his fingers through your hair from behind you.

"Hm?" You made a small sound of acknowledgement of having heard the young man, but you were still somewhat distracted in the story you were reading.

Zen hummed as he contemplated on how to phrase his question. "I'm not pressuring you or anything, but do you think you could introduce me to your family some time?"

Your mind grinded to a halt, your eyes stopping dead in their tracks of the words they were tracing on the page. Zen didn't seem to notice the way you tensed your shoulders as you hesitatingly asked, "Why...?"

You felt the actor casually shrug his shoulders from behind you as he answered, "It's just...well, we've been dating for some time now, and I still haven't met your family."

"Is it...necessary for you to meet my family?" You continued to question, speaking slowly and carefully, a small edge hidden behind your voice.

"Not really," Zen responded, "but I think it'd be nice for me to meet them, y'know, to introduce myself as your boyfriend."

You remained quiet for a moment, chewing at your bottom lip as you buried your face even more into your book, but it was more out of fear and cowardice rather than to read the words on the page. "I...haven't had any contact with them for a while now, so I don't know..."

It was only then that Zen noticed the shift in your behaviour and attitude. "Babe?" He asked, placing his hands gently on your shoulders. His eyebrows furrowed together in concern when he felt the slightest of trembles, but the actor wasn't given a chance to comment on it as you had abruptly stood up from the couch. Zen's eyes followed your lonely looking back as you started heading towards the washroom.

"Excuse me," you muttered with a strained voice as you retreated the conversation with hurried steps, locking the washroom door shut behind you.

Several minutes passed by with you locked inside the washroom, and Zen grew increasingly worried. He walked over to the door and raised his hand, ready to knock, when you suddenly opened the door. The two of you jumped slightly in surprise before you bowed your head. You weren't fast enough, however, and Zen was still able to catch a glimpse of your reddened eyes which caused his heart to clench.

You tried to push past the actor aside, but he quickly caught your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks. "Babe, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," you lied feebly, and you couldn't help but wonder where your usual talent with lying seemed to go at that moment.

Zen's eyebrows stitched together. "You can tell me if something's bothering you."

"It's nothing," you repeated, much more insistent. There was a finality in your voice that made Zen drop the subject overall, but he was still worried. His grip on your shoulder loosened, and you took that as your chance to walk away.

It wasn't like it was your intention to be so cold and distant all of a sudden like that, but you needed time. You were still recovering, albeit at a very slow pace. Of course, Zen had no idea what it was that you were recovering from exactly, and you understood that it wasn't fair to him for you to keep quiet, but you couldn't bring yourself to talk with the actor.

...No, that wasn't it. You were still in denial. If you lied to yourself that you were okay, then that was merely the truth you would tell him. Fake it 'til you make it, was it? But you couldn't do that. Not to someone as special to you as Zen. ...You needed to collect your thoughts first.

By the time Zen comes home, you're napping away on the couch. The male's expression softens at how peaceful you look, and he makes his way over, kneeling down so that he can admire your sleeping face. He carefully brushes away some strands of your hair so as to not disturb you and places a soft kiss to your cheek, smiling to himself when he pulls away.

Zen then stands up and walks over to the kitchen to get himself a glass of water when he sees a neatly folded piece of paper on the table addressed to him with your handwriting. Confused, and perhaps with a hint of apprehension, the young man picks it up and unfolds it, his eyes scanning over the contents.

The actor's lips parts in shock as he reads through your letter that explained your reason for your behaviour in regards to your family. You tried to explain to the best of your efforts the emotional trauma that they had caused you with their words and lack of attention and care towards your emotional needs. It all seemed to click to Zen. He finally knew why you were always so complacent when it came to making decisions or why you would accept whatever argument was thrown your way without too much of a fuss. He finally understood why you would flinch at the slightest rise of volume in voice whenever somebody talked to you or why you would always seem to go out of your way for him despite his protests.

Anger boils through Zen as he can feel all the hurt and pain you felt from your words. He can sense the guilt and blame you carried, not just for keeping quiet about this to him, but also because you truly felt like any time anything went wrong that it was your fault. That it was your fault your family treated you like they had in the first place because you believed that you weren't good enough and up to standards.

Just how long did you have to live like that? Zen knew what it felt like to be constantly degraded by the people he thought he could trust. He knew just how deep those scars could run. He knew what constant disappointment and disapproval towards your hopes, dreams, and who you were as a whole could do to you, especially if those spiteful words were spoken to you at such a young age.

What was it that people would usually say? "It's their own way of showing that they care and love you"? It's because people are told those kind of things that they think it's a normal occurence and acceptable to strip someone's dignity like that. Nobody deserved such treatment, yet here Zen was, reading through your honest words of all the shame, guilt, and emotional instability you felt, and ones that Zen himself was personally familiar with.

It was why the actor ran away from home in the first place, but you were different. As far as Zen knew, you stuck through it, apparently. That in of itself was its own way of strength and courage, but it still pained the young man to think that you had to endure such a thing for so long. It would explain that look of loneliness he would sometimes catch a glimpse of. It would explain the clinging to him towards certain situations and avoidance of conversation towards certain subjects.

Zen's eyes flicker over to your slumbering form. There was no doubt that it took a lot of courage for you to explain all of this. Even if you didn't tell him verbally, Zen still feels relieved and glad that you were able to at least tell him through written words. The young man places the letter back onto the table before walking over to you. He doesn't want to wake you up to discuss the contents of your letter so suddenly when you're caught off guard, so instead, the young man carefully picks you up and carries you over to the bedroom where you would be more comfortable.

You must have been on the edge of consciousness and sleep because the moment Zen sets you down on the bed, your eyelids slowly flutter open. The actor flashes you an apologetic look for waking you up, and you return it with a lazy smile. You lift up a hand to take some of Zen's hair between your fingers, finding comfort in how soft they feel, and Zen dips his head down to kiss the tip of your nose.

"Welcome back," you greet him, still slightly disorientated from your nap, and Zen takes his spot beside you on the bed before encasing you in his arms.

"Did you sleep well?" Zen asks as he traces lazy shapes on your back.

You answer with a small hum. "I had a weird dream that you were a unicorn and galloping on a rainbow."

Hearing that, Zen can't help but snort in response at the imagery. He chuckles lowly to himself, the sound making you smile. You shift around a bit and roll yourself to lie down on top of the actor who only gazes up at you with a gentle expression. His hands move to cup your cheeks, and he pulls you down for a kiss. Zen breaks away for only a moment before kissing you again and again, each new kiss becoming longer and deeper than the last.

You pull away from the young man's lips, and your fingers curl to grip onto Zen's shirt. Slowly, you bring yourself to ask, "Did you...read my letter?"

There's a sense of fear in your voice, but the smile on Zen's features never leaves. He nods, and you bury your face into his chest. "Do you want to talk about it now or later?" Zen gives you the choice, and you take a moment to think about it.

"...Later," you respond after a pause, and the young man nods once more in understanding before kissing you on the top of your head.

"I'll wait until you're ready," Zen tells you, pulling you closer against him. "No matter how long or short it will take."

You mumble out a muffled word of thanks, your heart swelling from the actor's patience and consideration. It's something you're not quite used to receiving from others, but it's welcome all the same.

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