#AND I AM STILL NOT FUCKING OVER HIS UNFINISHED STORY OKAY I AM IN PAIN
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Me being reminded of how Tallulah and Fundy are so different in how they have experienced love.
That Tallulah is so loved by her father since the first day he met her, by the immortal man that had taken up the responsibility and love her the same as his other children, by her brother so devoted to her happiness and protection, by so many people on the island. There is a community of people that love her, unconditionally by choice for who she is. That despite her flaws and her needs, they understand and cherish her so much for who she is. That she has never had to prove her worth or change for the people around her to receive that love. But the one she wants to love and misses, isn't there. And it is a terrible thing to be surrounded by love, but feeling like it isn't enough.
And then I am reminded of Fundy, who has never been able to find the love he craves for. That no matter how hard he has tried, over and over again, he ends up in the same desolate space he had begun upon. That he had to fight and do all the things that tore himself apart just to have a place to belong, giving up parts of himself to do so. He repeats the cycle, the same damned thing, making the same mistakes and choices. He tries to chase after phantoms and run away from them at the same time. That all he finds are empty spaces to occupy, and for some time, it is enough to distract him of its conditional nature. But eventually, he is and once again is he left devoid of the care and affection he desires so much from someone else. And it aches, his heart bleeds from all that rejection, by his father, his family and the friends and leaders and companions that he seeks for something missing in himself. But all his effort and who he was could never be enough to be both loved and respected. And that in trying, he has neither and fell apart in despair. So perhaps then, does that means he was never something that could be lovable, despite how he tries so hard to be.
And just something something about how love struggles in different ways, in both absence and overflow. Wanting and needing love as different things, trying to hold onto it, even if it hurts. So painful is it to have the capacity for love when life makes it so hard to do so, how much does it matter that the world is both one that gives and takes it in the same space.
#dsmp#qsmp#c!fundy#dsmp fundy#qsmp tallulah#look won't lie#i am a tadbit bias toward foxy little guy he is just sad and depression in huggable shape#AND I AM STILL NOT FUCKING OVER HIS UNFINISHED STORY OKAY I AM IN PAIN#i know Tallulah has her own struggles and she is trying so hard to feel like it is enough but it just isn't and that isn't her fault#but ough I see fanart of the three together and my heart just aches for Fundy#and I just get reminded of what we were left with#someone so broken from their desperation to be loved as they fell into the maw their father's hubris (and perhaps in some way his own too)#was it too fucking much to ask for a goddamn happy ending#;-;#saph rambles
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Are you still taking haylor asks? I have this theory that T didn't know about gravity of H's real feelings . She thought he only came back for sex and didn't want to commit(tour speeches). But only after hs1 did she believe he wasn't kidding. But she wasn't gonna leave her 'gorgeous' man for this. That is why the whole unfinished thing lingers. Because if they simply had an open conversation instead of letting ego come b/w they might have had a shot
I was the haylor anon. It just occurred to me when I was watching wonderland live 2018. She kinda looked emotional. Almost tearfull. The comments were full of swiftgron
Hey anon, I'm combining your asks! So short story, YES!!! I absolutely think that she didn't know the strength of Harry's feelings. I think when MITAM was released and she heard If I Could Fly, there was a moment of like "..... eh I mean seriously dude? Right now you're completely defenseless? You've let your guard down? If you could fly, you'd be coming right back home to me??? Despite the fact I gave you a shot?? okay, i guess."
And then HS1 is released and he's SERIOUSLY pining and it's ALL about her and I think she heard Woman and was like "... this really fucking hurt him and he has real regrets." and then THEN she heard FTDT and she was like "OH, I'm the big heartbreak of his life, like that's me. I'm his all consuming pain he can never escape."
But you're right, by that time, like it was too late. She's not going to leave Joe to try to make it work with Harry, especially since Taylor really is the kind of person who is like "if you're not there when it counts, how can I count on you to be there in the future?" So by that time, there wasn't even a question of "am I going to get back with Harry" there was a "I wish he'd gotten his shit together and we could have seen..." but over the years, I think it became less of that and more of like, genuine annoyance. She is the love of his life so far... it's almost like that didn't matter when it mattered so it shouldn't even matter but it does.
And as for Wonderland, I see her getting emotional on the bridge when she says that she reached for him but he was gone... And yeah I think it's just sad frustration more than anything..
There's all this empty and lost potential. And those of us who love haylor (who are halfway sane) have all said that that lost potential is so captivating that we're always starved for more, on the edge of our seat. Every new piece of information makes it more frustrating and we, and them, are here forever in torment.
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Learning Curve (C!Charlie Slimecicle x Reader)
Teaching Charlie was a delight.
When Quackity had put you up to the job, you hadn’t been too sure about it. Teaching someone how to be human (whatever that entailed) seemed like more than you had signed up for when you had become a resident of Las Nevadas - just imagining long hours of helping someone learn the intricacies of human life made your head ache. But Quackity had insisted, and you really had nothing better to do.
Three months into the job though, and you were quite attached to Charlie.
He was a wonderful student - eager to learn and bright enough that it never took him too long to grasp new concepts (though, as with any student, some things came more naturally than others) - and an even more wonderful friend. It was amazing how a sentient piece of goo (though it was really hard for you to think of him like that anymore) could be more kind and caring than half of the actual people you knew.
You were pleased to say that Charlie had become quite fond of you as well. Though you were only supposed to spend six hours a day with him, oftentimes you wound up just spending your days together, wandering around the unfinished Las Nevadas after you had completed his schooling for the day, talking about whatever crossed your minds. Charlie was always eager to hear stories from your day to day life, and the amount of history he had seen just from being around for that many years never failed to make you gaze at him with wonder.
It wouldn’t have been a stretch to say that he had become your best friend.
You certainly liked him enough - that goofy smile never failed to brighten your mood, even on the worst days, and though the slight fluidity of his skin had been off putting at first, through the amount of daps you shared, you had gotten used to it - come to enjoy it even, something that was uniquely Charlie.
For all his wonderful attributes though, there were still some times that you got a little exasperated with him.
“Nope.” You sighed, watching as his arm bent the wrong way again. “You can’t just bend the joint that way, Charlie, that’s not how bones work.”
“But you said to hit the lever behind me..?” Charlie asked, righting his arm again.
“Right, but with humans, remember, the joints don’t bend all the way around because of the bones.” You reminded him. “Just because your body can bend that way, doesn’t mean mine can.”
Charlie nodded slowly, but the confused look was still hovering in his eyes.
“Do you want to go over joints and movement again?” You asked.
Charlie smiled sheepishly. “Yes please.”
You stepped forward, extending your arms. You had done this exercise a few times before, just to help Charlie learn which body parts worked together and which joints moved in which directions. It was easy for him to forget though - his body didn’t really have limits to movement, being slime - and he had a bad habit of just throwing human joint movements away in exchange for what was the most easy at the time.
Charlie placed his hands on your elbows, and you bent your arms, letting him feel how the joints moved and worked. “See? One way.”
“Right.” Charlie said, nodding now. His hands moved to your shoulders. “But these ones go all the way around?”
You rolled your shoulders, moving the ball joint in a circle. “Correct.”
His hands wandered down to your wrists. “Same as these?”
You rolled your wrists, nodding.
From there, Charlie’s hands found your hips. “But these ones only go forward and backward.”
“For walking.” You said, nodding. “They can go out, a little - nothing too far though.”
Charlie nodded, his eyes wandering over your body innocently. The first few times you had done this with him, you had been a little uncomfortable - it was strange, to be treated like a scientific model, slightly slimy hands running up and down your skin, asking what each of your joints and muscles did. But over time, you had gotten used to it - Charlie was only curious to learn, after all, and you were more than willing to help.
A hand over your crotch startled you, and you broke out of your train of thought, raising an eyebrow at Charlie. He only blinked at you though, saying, “You never said what this part’s for.”
You closed your eyes, steeling yourself. You had known this day would come, eventually - sex was a large part of human life, after all. You didn’t really want to be having ‘the talk’ with a sentient piece of goo that you had come to know and love, but you supposed it had had to come at some point.
“It’s for sex, Charlie.”
Charlie’s eyebrows shot up. “You have a stripper pole on you?”
The comment was so out of place that you couldn’t help but bark out a laugh. “What?”
“A stripper pole.” Charlie repeated. “Like the one in the casino? Quackity said it was for sex-”
“No, no.” You said, cutting him off, still laughing. “Sex organs Charles, for the actual act. They’re part of basic human anatomy - everyone’s got some.”
Charlie’s eyes narrowed as he nodded, and movement under his pants caught your eye - the fabric shifted and pulled until it filled out a little more - like his very skin was reshaping itself to include what you had just told him.
It was then that you realized that Charlie might be the answer to every sexual fantasy you had ever had.
---
It didn’t take much convincing to get Charlie into bed with you.
You had always known that he had had something of a puppy dog crush on you - just from the way that he hung on your every word, even when you weren’t teaching, and followed you around like a little duckling. You had stopped yourself from doing anything about it though, telling yourself that it would be wrong, that he was your student - but those sentiments had faded the more time you had spent together outside of the teaching.
They were completely gone now, as you tossed Charlie’s pants over the side of the bed. Though you were both naked as the day you were born, he was perfectly comfortable, sprawled out on the pillows like he owned the place.
“So, again,” He started. “You want me to put my dick inside you? But not detach it? And thats sex?”
“The basics of it.” You said. “Simple stuff, really. You tell me if you don’t like it though - I don’t know exactly how it’ll feel for you.”
Charlie nodded, arranging his arms underneath his head with a smile. “I am ready to sex.”
You laughed as you straddled his hips, gently wrapping a hand around his cock and aligning it with your hole, just pressing his tip against your entrance. “Promise you’ll tell me to stop if it feels bad, okay? Just because I wanted to try this doesn’t mean you have to suck it up for me.”
“Promise.” Charlie assured you. “I won’t pretend to like it just because you do- hhh.”
You sank down on his cock, reveling at the feeling - there was almost no stretch as he entered you, the slime of his body simply moving like a liquid, filling out your insides completely without having the painful stretch around your entrance. Every nerve ending in you lit up at the contact - the slime filled every space without pushing too far - Charlie’s cock had molded to you completely, hitting all your spots without even trying.
“Wow.” You breathed, placing the palms of your hands on Charlie’s chest. “This is- wow. How’re you feeling Charlie?”
Underneath you, Charlie was in a daze, eyes glazed over as he stared at some point past your shoulder. His mouth moved, but only a long string of syllables came out - more like a moan than any real words.
“Descriptors, love.” You prompted, shifting to place your hands on either side of his face.
Charlie let out a breathy whimper, his hands finding purchase on your hips, squeezing the skin there. “Good.” He said. “Very very good, uh, sort of tingly? And warm? I-I don’t really know words for it…”
You smiled, caressing his hair. “Good.” You said. It was good to know that it felt pleasurable for him - you weren’t quite sure how slime anatomy worked, and if human sex was something that he would enjoy, but now that you knew it felt as good for him as it did for you, you had no intention of holding back.
You began to rock, slowly, rolling your hips over Charlie’s and letting his cock begin to rub against your walls. Charlie’s fingers dug into your hips more as his breathing canted upwards, instinct taking over as he bucked up into you a few times. You welcomed the movement, using the momentum to fuck yourself down on him harder, savoring the feeling of him running over your nerves, lighting you up from the inside.
Charlie let out another whimper, and you leaned down to press a kiss to his lips, still keeping your hands framed gently around his face. Charlie kissed back eagerly, releasing his little whimpers and moans into your mouth now, the hands at your hips moving up to your lower back, holding on for dear life.
“You’re doing so well.” You cooed, feeling that familiar coil begin to tighten in your gut. “You’re a natural, Charlie.”
“Really?” Charlie said, a grin overtaking his features. His slimy complexion really didn’t allow for a blush, but you could see the flushed pride just in his expression.
“Really.” You gasped out as a particularly good thrust made your head spin. Your hands fell from Charlie’s face as you instead buried your face into the crook of his neck with a groan, rolling your hips down with more intensity now, chasing your orgasm. Without the painful stretch in the beginning, you were reaching it so much more quickly now - though it probably also helped that Charlie’s cock had become a perfect fill for your insides too - leaving no nerve ending spared.
“Mmmm.” Charlie tipped his head back as he moaned, lips pressing together into a thin line. “It feels different now.” He said, voice shaky. “Bigger, I think?” He tried.
“That’s supposed to happen.” You said, speeding up your thrusts, for both your sake and Charlie’s. You were getting to the brink of orgasm now, the pleasure making it’s way all the way down your legs and to your toes. It was only a moment more before you were shaking with it, the rolling of your hips slowing as you rode out your high.
Charlie groaned underneath you, tipping his head back into the pillows as the slime inside you rippled, the sensation making you moan at the strangeness of it. You hadn’t really known what his orgasm was going to look (or feel) like, but you hadn’t been expecting that.
For a moment, you just laid there, head still tucked under Charlie’s jaw as you both caught your breath, just feeling him breathe.
“That was pretty fun.” Charlie said. “It felt weird, but good weird.”
You sat up, rolling off him to sprawl out on the rest of the bed, his cock sliding out as easily as it had gone in. “Glad you liked it.” You said, letting yourself stretch out into a boneless heap. “For your first time ever, you were really good, Charlie.”
Charlie beamed at the praise, and you pressed a kiss to his cheek. You were definitely going to be doing that again.
#charlie slimecicle smut#mcyt smut#mcyt x reader#dream smp smut#dream smp x reader#charlie slimecicle x reader#slimecicle x reader#slimecicle smut#dsmp smut
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Fine Line
Summary: There’s a fine line between love and hate and you’re not too sure which side you’re on with Harry anymore. Part Two to What Kind of Man
Words: 5.0k
Warnings: I said this in the first part & will repeat it. This is purely fictional. This in no way reflects how I feel Harry would handle this situation in reality. I’m really using Harry as a character. DO NOT READ THIS if you feel the situation of cheating and staying together will impact you strongly or offend you. That is not what I want when reading my story.
Notes: I urge those uncomfortable with cheating to avoid this. I also urge those who dislike this kind of writing to avoid. I came up with this story at a point in my life where my parents were divorcing, I was going through a break up and was lost. I’ve decided to finish this story because I put so much effort into it for it to end unfinished feels wrong. I can’t speak for anybody and how they would handle this situation.
Thank you for 1000 followers. That is crazy!
-
You’ve got my devotion.
But man, I can hate you sometimes.
...
You sunshine, you temptress.
My hands at risk I fold.
-
April.
The first two sessions had gone by in relative silence. You weren’t sure what to say to answer the therapists questions. You weren’t sure you even wanted to talk at all.
“Y/N.” You look up startled out of your thoughts. “Do you feel like talking today?” Her eyes are kind and understanding. Her degrees hang behind her head and you zone in on them. Dr. Walsh had been the only therapist who could take you on in April. Any others that you called had informed you their next opening for new patients wasn’t until the end of May.
You supposed it could have been worse. So far, Dr. Walsh had come across as kind and understanding of your hesitance. She had never forced you to talk and had only tried to get you involved on your own accord.
“What would we talk about?” You ask instead of ignoring in silence like you had the past two sessions. You can see Harry turn his head to look at you out of the corner of your eye, but you remained focused on the two degrees hanging behind Dr. Walsh’s head.
UCLA. “What year did you graduate?” You ask before she can answer your original question. “From UCLA.”
“We can talk about whatever you want. How you two met. Your kids.” You raise an eyebrow and she smiles. “1996.”
“I thought we were supposed to talk about our issues. Why would we talk about our kids or how we met?” You answer her question. You can tell Harry’s eyes are moving back and forth between the two of you, like he’s unsure if he should get involved in the conversation.
Dr. Walsh shakes her head. “Sometimes the best place to start is with what makes you two happy. You’re here to work on your relationship, right?”
The two of you nod. “Then I’m not worried about starting with the most painful part of your relationship. I want to learn about it. If I can learn about your relationship then I have more knowledge on how to help you repair it, if that’s what you want.”
“Okay.” You agree. You feel some of your tenseness fade away. You were here for a reason. “We went to UCLA too.”
She nods. “You did? Were you studying the same thing? Is that how you two met?”
You look down at your fidgeting hands and let out a laugh. “Not quite. I was a creative writing major and Harry was political science. We met in a World History course our sophomore. It was a general requirement class.”
“Yeah.” Harry nods as if the memory is coming back to him. “Professor Ward.”
“Mind if I sit here?” You look up and your breath hitches. He was handsome. That was your first thought. Bright eyes and a sweet smile that could take anyone’s breath away.
You nod hastily. “Yeah. It’s all yours.” You move your notebook over so he has a bit more room on his half of the table.
“Thanks.” He drops his books on the table and flops down into the chair. “Harry.” He reaches a hand towards you and you meet him halfway.
You offer your name up easily and his smile brightens. “What brings you into a World history course?” He asks quietly as the last bit of students rush into the few seats left up front.
You smile. “Creative writing majors have to take one broad history course before focusing on any history of writing courses. Ward’s class was the only one with openings that didn’t start at eight.”
“Creative writing. That’s cool.” Harry’s spinning the pen in between his fingers. “You want to be a writer?”
You smile nervously and nod. “That’s the goal. What brings you to Ward’s World History?”
Harry laughs softly. “I’m a political science major, this is just a required gen ed.”
“Political science. What’s your plan with that? Am I sitting next to a future senator?” You give him a teasing smile.
“Lawyer.”
You shrug, “Senators have to start somewhere.” The professor comes in and that halts the conversation from going anywhere else. As Professor Ward goes over the syllabus you see a piece of paper slide across the table towards you. You look over at Harry, but he’s looking ahead with a smirk on his face.
You unfold the paper and there is a number written in messy handwriting taking up the small page.
“Bold.” You whisper to him and he shrugs. “I can tell we’re gonna be good friends.” He whispers back.
“So you both liked each other right away?” You look up as you're dragged out of the memory of meeting Harry.
“Yeah.” You breathe out. “I think so.”
“Definitely.” Harry agrees. “I’m lucky I was running late that day. The seat next to her was the only good seat left. Plus, she helped edit all my essays. I was a shit writer before her.”
You smile softly at the memory. “Y/N?” You look up and Dr. Walsh is watching you closely.
“That class sucked.” You can’t help but let out a laugh. “We had so many essays. He’s right, he was a shit writer before me.”
You finally spare a look over at Harry and he’s watching you with soft eyes. “That was our first semester of sophomore year. We were attached at the hip after that.” You look back down at your hands.
“Did you guys start dating right away?” She asks.
“Pretty much. We started dating right before winter break.” Harry answers for the both of you.
She nods as she eyes the clock on the wall. “Does that memory still make you happy?”
You nod. Your memories hadn’t been ruined. But that didn’t really mean anything when you could barely be in the same room as Harry now. “Of course. But… Things are different. We’re not twenty-somethings with no responsibility. We’re parents. Partners. We’re supposed to have each other’s back. And now it feels like we don’t.”
Harry looks over at Dr. Walsh as she studies you. She was obviously taking in your words and processing a response to them. “I think the biggest question you need to find the answer to is, do you want to fix this marriage?” She finally says looking pointedly at the distance between you two.
You pause and mull over her question. “Can we fix it?” You ask quietly.
She shrugs. “I can’t answer that for you. It’s my job to help you find the answer, not give it to you. What I can tell you is; Sometimes people walk out of this with a new appreciation and love. Sometimes people realize it can’t be fixed. Nothing is wrong with either, it’s just up to you two to figure out which one it is.”
You look over at Harry and find him watching you with hopeful eyes. You knew he wanted to and felt like you both could fix this.
But you weren’t sure. “I don’t know.”
-
The drive home is silent for the most part. Music playing softly from the radio as you stare out the passenger side window.
“I don’t know what to say.” Harry says as he pulls the car into the driveway. He puts it into park but doesn’t turn it off so the music is still playing as he turns to look at you.
Gemma’s car was parked behind your own. You see the curtain move slightly which is a telltale sign that a child was peeking out the window. It quickly falls back into place when your eye catches Serena’s.
You shake your head and look back down at your lap. “What is there to say?”
Harry shuts his eyes and you see his grip on the steering wheel tighten. “I want to fix this. I’m trying. Do you want to fix this?”
You let out a humorless laugh. “Don’t try and guilt me, Harry. I didn’t cheat, you did. This… This mess isn’t my fault and it shouldn’t be my job to fix it.”
“I’m not trying to guilt-“ He cuts himself off and takes a deep breath. “That was a shitty thing to say. I know. I just want to know if we’re gonna make it through this. If you think we have a chance.”
You look over at him with watery eyes. “I don’t know. All I can think about is you fucking another woman while I was home with our kids. Telling them that you were just busy. That we would have dinner tomorrow. Or maybe the next day.”
Harry flinches like you’ve hit him. You turn away but don’t stop talking. “I know a month may not seem like a long time in the grand scheme of things. We’ve been together for seventeen years, so what’s a month?” You laugh humorlessly. “But how long have we been distant? How long have you been staying late and missing dinners?”
“I don’t know.” Harry whispers and you see him clench his eyes in an attempt to stop tears from falling.
“It’s been months, Harry.” You look around the yard. Your and Persephone’s plants needed maintenance. “We had Jack and then everything changed. We stopped date nights. Family game nights faded from existence. We stopped having sex. I… I don’t know what happened.”
Harry doesn’t say anything so you sigh. “I’m trying, Harry. It may not seem like it to you, but I’m trying.” You unbuckle yourself and move to get out of the car.
Harry reaches out and wraps his hand gently around your wrist. “I know.” He stresses the word. “I know you are.”
You nod and the two of you just watch each other for a moment. You break away from him first. “I’m sure the kids are peeking out the window. We’ve been out here long enough.”
The both of you climb out of the car silently. The door flies open by the time you reach the second step of your front porch.
“Mama!” Oliver comes flying out towards you. “Mama. Never leave us again. Baby Jack is crazy.” He grips you tight and you laugh, the tension immediately leaving your body as you hug him back.
Gemma comes to stand in the entrance with Jack on her hip. She gives you a weak smile and you smile back. “Come on, I’m sure Aunt Gem is dying to go home after watching you crazy lot for two hours.”
Gemma leaves quickly handing Jack off to Harry and giving you and Harry both kisses on the cheek. “Let me know about spring break, Y/N!” She calls as she rushes out your front door.
“Spring break?” Harry asks as he bounces Jack in his arms.
“We’ll talk about it later.” You say sparing a glance down to Oliver, who’s still attached to your leg. Harry nods before moving towards the living room. Oliver follows behind him and you’re left in the front hall alone.
You take a deep breath before following them.
-
Harry sleeps in the guest room. You can’t bring yourself to allow him back into the room you two shared.
His clothes remain in his half of the closet though and his toiletries had remained in place on the bathroom counter, so you saw him every night before going to sleep.
Dr. Walsh had suggested the two of you used this time to try and reconnect. “You don’t have to sleep in the same bed yet. It’s completely normal for you to need time apart, Y/N. But I do want you two to talk before bed every night, I know you have four kids and it may be your only true alone time to reconnect emotionally before you ever do anything physically, even just sleep.” She had offered at the end of your session after you had admitted you weren’t sure how you felt about Harry and your relationship now. “This is a good way to figure out if you can still see yourself together.”
You loved him. You didn’t need her to help you answer that question. He was the father of your children. You had over a decade of amazing times together. But you couldn’t look at him without your chest aching.
“What was Gemma talking about spring break?” Harry sits on the lounge chair you two had placed in the corner of your room. Jack’s bassinet used to be next to it, but he had recently moved into his own room.
You sit on the end of your bed with your arms crossed over your chest. “Olly has been asking if we could go to Disney World. I was talking to her about maybe surprising him and Serena for their birthday since it falls during the kids break this year.”
“That sounds really nice.” Harry smiles and you nod. “I’m sure the four of them would love it. I can put in for the week tomorrow. I have a bunch of paid time off I need to use up.”
You look up at him with wide eyes. “You want to go? We haven’t been on vacation since the beach trip before Jack was born.”
Harry’s face turns stoic. “Of course I want to go. I told you I was going to spend more time with guys.” He walks towards the dresser you have pushed against the wall. “Here, pull your laptop out, let's book this now so we can get a good room.”
You gape at him. It had only been an idea you were considering for the twins birthday. Although, it was coming up and you were running out of time to make a decision.
“Are you sure you can get the time off?” You ask instead of listening to his direction.
Harry nods resolutely. “Can I?” He points next to you and you nod. You lean over to your nightstand, where you had left the computer the night before while writing.
You push it open. “I’m gonna go get Persephone.” You stand up and hand the laptop to Harry. “She can help plan some stuff with us, so we know what these young kids want.” You give Harry a weak smile and he nods.
You shake your hands out as you make your way down the hall towards your eldest daughter’s room. You knock softly on the door, “Seph?”
“Come in.” She calls and you push the door open. She’s got her show paused and is curled into her comforter. “What’s up, mom?”
“Can you help your dad and I with something?” You ask hesitantly. “I know it’s late, it’ll be quick.”
Persephone gives you the same dimpled smile Harry has, “Of course. I was gonna be up binge watching this show anyways.” She unwraps herself from the blanket and grabs her phone before following you back to your bedroom.
“Hey, lovebug.” Harry gives her your favorite smile. One he’s somehow reserved solely for you children. Soft and bright while his eyes shine proudly.
“Hi, daddy.” She plops herself down next to him and rests her head on his shoulder. He presses a kiss to her forehead and the smile that spreads across Persephone’s face is contagious.
You take a seat next to her, so she is squished in between the two of you. “You know how Olly has been asking about Disney?” You ask quietly. You and Harry had put the twins down an hour ago, but Oliver was known to sneak away from his room for a cuddle with you.
She nods instead of verbally answering and Harry pulls up the booking website. “Your mom had the great idea to surprise the twins for their birthday.”
“Really?” Seph asks excitedly. Your family trips usually consisted of beaches or visiting grandparents. The last time you had been to Disney was when it was just the three of you. You weren’t sure she could even remember most of the trip.
You bump her shoulder softly with an excited grin. “Really. Jack is old enough that he can get probably through a day there without screaming his head off. Aunt Gem said that she could come to help watch him so you three can have fun.”
“That sounds awesome!” She lifts her head from Harry’s shoulder and looks at you happily. “What did you need my help with?”
“Picking out where to stay. You guys are the focus of the trip so we want you to stay where you want to, not us.” You gently take the laptop from Harry and place it in her hands. “So tell us your top three and then dad and I will pick from there so you still get to enjoy some of the surprise aspect.”
She scrolls through the website for a few minutes while the three of you sit there quietly. You glance over at Harry hesitantly. He’s looking down at your daughter with bright eyes.
You quickly look away when his eyes move up to meet yours. “Okay. I added the three I liked the most to your favorites! Did you guys need anything else?”
You both shake your head. “Just keep this a secret. It’s going to be a surprise.” You smile excitedly at your eldest. She had grown so much, but seeing the childlike shine of excitement in her eyes brought you a bounty of joy. She was still your baby.
Persephone nods before handing the laptop back over to Harry. She presses a kiss to both your and his cheeks before hopping up and making her way towards your door.
You give her a confused smile when she pauses and turns back around to face you again. She takes in a nervous breath before speaking.
“It’s really good to be all together again.” The words are quiet and fearful. “Um. I love you guys. Goodnight.” She turns on her heel and bolts out the room and back down the hall.
You gnaw on the inside of your cheek and look down at your lap. “I’m sorry.” Harry whispers. His tone is similar to her’s. Quiet and full of fear. “I love you all. I know I hurt you, but you are all my world. Those kids are what I’m most proudest of.”
“I know.” You look over at his lap. His hands curled tightly around the laptop still open in his lap. “I never doubted how much they meant to you Harry. I know how much you love those kids.”
You want to reach out and pull his hand into yours. Something you usually did when Harry was scared or nervous. But you kept your hand firmly planted in your lap, unable to give him that forgiveness.
“I was never afraid of you not loving them. I was-“ You stop unsure of what to say. What were you afraid of? “I was afraid that I had given so much and you still wouldn’t have chosen me.”
Harry looks over at you with sad eyes and you let out a humorless laugh. “Harry, I’ve never regretted having Persephone so young. I’ve never regretted being home. But, I just want you to show that… that you appreciate me.”
“I do appreciate you.” Harry says quietly. “I’m so sorry I’ve made you feel like I don’t.” He places the laptop in the empty space in between you. You watch as he works through what to say, his tension clear in his eyes.
“But…” He trails off like he’s still unsure of what to say. “I’m here. I want to be here. I want to show you that I appreciate you.” Harry takes a deep breath and places a hesitant hand on your back. “As long as you’ll have me.”
You take a deep breath. “Let’s focus on this... I want the twins to have a great birthday and for Seph to have a great spring break. Things have been tough for them too. We can figure the other stuff out later.”
Harry doesn’t say anything, just nods and pulls the laptop back towards him. You can tell he wants to though. That he wants to talk this out and get in deep.
You just can’t bring yourself to do it.
-
“A family vacation can be very cathartic for couples struggling.” Dr. Walsh gives the two of you a kind smile after you reveal what you had planned for your kids. “But, it can also bring about stress at being in such a small space for such a long time. Especially when you’re still struggling to communicate.”
“I’m really trying.” You say quietly, on edge at the idea of you and Harry bringing about any stress on a trip meant to be for your kids. “We both are. I think.”
“I know.” She gives you an understanding look. “You guys do your homework. You said it yourself, your nightly conversations aren’t painful anymore. But talking about small things is only the beginning of strengthening your communication.”
“So you want us to talk about the affair?” You ask. “The big thing.”
She shakes her head. “Eventually. Sweeping it under the rug or ignoring it can only cause more tension. But there are other things I’m sure you want to talk about as well.”
“Like what?” Harry asks. He glances over at you before looking back at Dr. Walsh.
“Anything either of you felt was an issue.” She explains. “Big or small. Anything you think contributed to your distance. Try to remember, you’re not placing blame.”
“Not even for the affair?” Harry sighs and you shut your eyes. “How can I not place blame? That’s not my fault.”
“No.” She agrees. “I’ve never agreed with placing blame for something like that on the victim. Do you want to start with talking about it?”
“No.” You shake your head. “I just wanted to make sure we’re not finding all these so-called small issues so we can then excuse the cheating. I won’t do that.” You say disdainfully.
“We don’t expect you to.” She glances over at Harry. He looks pained but he nods in agreement. “Of course not.” He says quietly.
You take a deep breath in before nodding. “Okay, then where do we start?”
“A lot of times, affairs feel like they come out of nowhere. They do.” She gives you an assuaging look. “But it’s also important to remember that there were issues before it and they’re still there to be worked through. We want to work through the big problem, but oftentimes couples work through that but not other things and end up separating.”
You nod and take a deep breath trying to think through issues. Things had felt perfect during your pregnancy with Jack.
You were excited, a fourth child and it was a boy, you and Harry had been hoping for another boy. Harry had even planned the small family vacation to the beach so you could enjoy time together as a family of five before it became six.
“We argued.” You say quietly. The family vacation slips from your mind as your exhausted tears come to your memory. “Um. I had Jack and I was exhausted and we argued. It was barely even an argument.”
“He still won’t eat?” Harry asks, coming into the bedroom. He was still in his suit from court and you feel angry heat flush through you at how put together he looked. How well rested and up he looked.
You shake your head silently. Harry seems to not notice your tense jaw as he pushes his way into the closet to find clothes for the night. You turn to look down at Jack laying restlessly in your arms. Tears rush to your eyes as you stand and place Jack in his bassinet and finally get a look at yourself in the mirror hanging next to the closet door.
You hadn’t showered since Persephone had left earlier the previous day and after running around to get the twins settled with Gemma and taking care of the baby all day you felt tense and gross.
Harry comes out and smiles kindly as he watches you step towards the ensuite. “Can you watch him for a moment? I need a shower. I feel gross and it’ll help me relax. My nurse said getting tense makes it harder to breastfeed.”
Harry looks down at his watch. “Something more important?” You ask before he can get a word out. “No. Just- I was supposed to hop on a conference call with Jeff, I’ll reschedule.” Harry tries to change the tone of the conversation, but you’ve already seen red. “Y/N, go shower.”
“I’m sorry.” You say instead of moving. “I didn’t mean to inconvenience you with your child for half an hour.” You know you don’t mean the harsh words and that you’ll probably regret them all after you’ve taken a break but- “I’m home all day with him, but fuck if I ask you to watch him so I can shower.”
Harry’s eyes widen at the cold tone. He crosses his arms defensively across his chest as he takes a step back from you, even though he was already several feet away. “I never said I was inconvenienced. You asked a question and I answered honestly. I don’t have a problem spending time with my own child, Y/N.”
Your turn on your heel and stock into the ensuite and slam the door shut behind you. You hear Jack begin to fuss more and Harry’s whispers as he presumably picks the baby up. There wasn’t a time in the fifteen years you’ve had children that you’ve ever thought Harry didn’t want to spend time with his kids. You still didn’t. But the exhaustion and stress that you felt with Jack was unlike anything you’d felt before and Harry hadn’t seemed to notice.
“It felt like you weren’t paying attention.” You say quietly. “It felt like you had no idea what was going on.” Dr. Walsh trains her eyes on you as Harry’s eyes flick around trying to figure out what argument you were talking about.
“I’m sorry.” You say quietly. Jack is curled in your arms as he eats and a weight has been lifted off your shoulder. You feel shameful at the words that had slipped out in an attempt to make Harry notice how upset you were. “I know you’re not inconvenienced by our kids.”
Harry turns his head to look at you. He had been silently typing out emails as you fed Jack, upset but refusing to leave your side. “What’s wrong?” He asks as he slams the laptop shut.
You want to tell him. How stressed and anxious you felt. How much tougher being with Jack was than any of your other children. How insecure it made you feel. You should tell him.
But.
“How could I tell you all that and not sound like I’m angry at our child? Not sound like an awful mother?” You choke on the words.
Harry stares at you with what looks like pity and you turn away. You didn’t want pity. You wanted help. You wanted him to understand. “You don’t sound like a horrible mother. You sound tired.”
“What stopped you from telling him this?” Dr. Walsh prompts gently as you and Harry fall into silence. Her eyes flicker to Harry as he watches you with the same sad eyes.
You shrug. “I just wanted him to notice. I wanted to feel like he still noticed me.” You let out a breath. “We love Jack, but Jack wasn’t exactly planned. We weren’t sure if we wanted a fourth and had only just begun talking about it. When I found out I was pregnant and figured out how excited I felt, I knew I wanted to keep him.” You explain to the therapist carefully. “We decided that we wanted him, but he would be our last one.”
You think of the doctors appointments and heavy warnings that a fourth pregnancy could wreck havoc on your body.
“But I’m not twenty-three anymore and the pregnancy was really tough on me. And Harry knew. So he took care of the kids when I couldn’t and he planned vacations for me before I gave birth and it-” You breath catches. “It felt like you didn’t care anymore once I had him because I wasn’t in danger anymore. But Jack is stubborn and I was struggling.”
Harry takes in a shaky breath and reaches out to steady your trembling hands.
It’s a start. You guess.
-
“I didn’t realize how tough Jack was on you.” Harry says quietly that night. You had been dreading sitting in the awkward silence.
You shrug. “Babies are tough. Persephone was tough because we were so young. Serena and Oliver were tough because they were twins.” Your baby monitor makes a sound and you glance over to see Jack stretching his arms.
You sigh and stand up. “Jack was… Jack was tough in a way I wasn’t expecting. Maybe it was because I had four kids all of the sudden or because you started working more. I was exhausted all the time.”
You leave before he can say anything in response, but you know he’ll follow you to Jack’s room. You push the door open quietly and hear Jack’s soft giggles.
“Hello, handsome.” You whisper as he looks up at you. “What’s got you awake?”
You pick him up gently and bring him over to the rocking chair placed in the corner of the room. Harry leans against the door jam.
You rock back and forth with Jack in your arms and Harry watched with gentle eyes. You look up as Harry begins to speak quietly. “I wish I could take everything back. Just… Redo this past year.”
You look down at Jack and run a gentle finger over his cheek. “You can’t. You don’t get redos in real life.”
The room is silent as you rock your baby back to sleep and Harry watches.
-
We’ll be a fine line.
-
Notes: Title song Fine Line. This is really a filler for the next piece, I needed April to get to May :/
A few things; I have them staying together written. While this has been my plan since I begun writing this part & the next, if it’s something people wanted, I could do two different endings.
Like I said, I wrote this at a low place for me and had always imagined it as some type of closure that I never got from my parents situation or from my ex. Cheaters suck. But, some people do work through it. Some people can’t. That’s the beauty of our autonomy, we decide. I got a lot (and I mean a lot) of messages urging me to be mindful of impressionable people who may read this piece & with that I want to say; Your situation is not this one. Some cheaters will always be cheaters. This is not in anyway trying to convince you that a toxic relationship is okay. Or that cheating is okay. Please remember this is fiction and not meant to do anything other than entertain you! This is a piece I wrote & a piece whose ending I choose. Thank you for reading. I love every single person who read What Kind of Man and thought, I want more of this person’s writing.
(please do not be mean to me, I write for fun & am very emotional thank u)
#harry styles x reader#harry styles imagine#harry styles#harry styles writing#my writing#tee answers
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Jimin's Body- Teaser
⫸ possessed Jimin x reader
⫸ Genre: horror, (Jennifer's body au)
⫸ Rating: M (18+ for eventual smut and very dark themes)
⫸ Warnings: (for this teaser only) demonic possession, blood, low self worth, mention of being a loner, question of a heart attack, embarrassing childhood story, Jimin might be being teased, hmmm Tae's house is haunted maybe?
⫸ About: This wasn't the party Jimin thought it would be. After the party you knew Jimin wasn't the person you thought he once was either... that is, if he’s a person at all anymore.
⫸ Words:1.8k
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"Taehyung, stop fucking with everyone." You scolded as Jimin stared wide-eyed at the ceiling at the light that had just flickered out.
He had to look tough with you sitting in the circle right across from him on the brown, shag-carpeted floor of this basement that looked like it and its living room-like furniture hadn’t been touched or updated since the 70’s.
It was supposed to be a party, and there indeed was one upstairs blasting music but muffled by the floor above.
You were all supposed to be playing a childish and tipsy game of spin the bottle in the basement.
Jimin was supposed to kiss you. He had only come here because he wanted to spend time with you because you invited him, but so far nothing was going as planned.
"He's not fucking with anyone his house is haunted." Jungkook chuckled while Taehyung gave you a boxy grin.
Jimin couldn't tell if they were lying or not, he didn't really know anyone here but you and Seokjin, who had already passed out on the basement couch across the room, oblivious to everything happening.
Jimin also thought maybe they were all playing a joke on him, he hadn't said a word to anyone but you and Jin since he had got here.
"He's not lying, I saw a ghost once when I stayed over. I don't even believe in ghosts." The rather stoic guy named Yoongi spoke with his arms crossed.
"Tell them the story Tae." Jungkook urged.
Taehyung's eyes flitted around the circle to each person's face, possibly pausing to add anticipation.
"A woman died in this house."
"So what? People die everywhere, it doesn't mean a place is haunted." You spoke up, already seeming like you didn’t believe him right from the start.
"She was murdered," Taehyung added.
"Sure." You scoffed as you rolled your eyes.
"She was. Right here in the basement. She ran from the killer and hid in the basement and locked herself in the bathroom. She was supposedly very beautiful and vain. Sometimes if you look in the mirror and tell yourself how nice you look, she'll get jealous and appear, maybe she'll even steal your soul if you're pretty enough."
Although Jimin had been a little scared at first. He couldn't help but stifle a laugh and a smile at how cliché Taehyung's ghost story sounded and suddenly all eyes in the circle were on him.
"What? You don't believe me?" Taehyung raised his eyebrows at Jimin.
"No one does, Tae. Even if the house is haunted you're obviously dramatizing it." You scoffed.
"I believe it," Yoongi muttered.
"Go in there and do it Jimin." Jungkook urged pointing to a darkened doorway in the basement.
"Oh Jimin, you made her mad." Taehyung teased as he watched the light above begin to flicker back to life just before dying again.
Jimin could feel the "are you serious?" look on his face that he was now giving Jungkook. He didn't know any of these people but you, and you were the one he was afraid of looking like a coward in front of. He cursed at himself in his head for laughing at Taehyung's bad ghost story. He should've just stayed quiet like he always did.
"Go on." Jungkook urged again, ignoring Jimin's surprised look.
"Guys don't. This isn't how you treat new friends. Can we please go back to-"
"Too scared?" Yoongi now asked Jimin.
"No." He answered more confidently than he felt. Should he be scared? Probably not. Taehyung's story was shit and everyone in the room knew it. They were obviously just picking on him because he was a new friend and shy, right? Jimin didn't really have many friends until he started working at the restaurant with you and Seokjin, he was always just too shy and quiet for friends to really stick. But what if he simply just wasn't this time? What if he became the outgoing popular Jimin he always wanted to be and started over with these new friends. What if he pretended to be everything he wasn't? That’s why he came tonight, he thought if maybe he was all of those things finally, maybe you’d want him. He wasn’t about to mess up the charade he was doing okay at putting on now.
Jimin stood from his place in the circle of new friends on the floor, trying to stop his nervous legs from shaking.
"So what do I do?" He was wanting to prove them wrong, show them that he wasn't scared and this was all bullshit, even though he knew in the back of his mind that this was how every horror movie and story started.
"Jimin you don't have t-" you were interrupted by a smirking Taehyung. Jimin wondered how he could be so chill about this if it was real.
"Go in the bathroom, don't turn on the lights, look in the mirror, and tell yourself you're pretty and genuinely mean it."
"Oh, so you can all hear me and laugh at me?" Jimin saw a new ploy to their jokes.
"No ones going to laugh at you." Taehyung was serious as he looked Jimin in the eye.
"You've got more balls than I do, new guy." Jimin heard Yoongi say as he looked towards the dark basement bathroom. Something about their suddenly serious tones of voices and the way they were looking at one another now made the fear and nervousness in Jimin’s stomach rise once again.
"I swear if you're tricking him or you plan on actually making fun of him I swear I won't be your guy's friend anymore, I mean it." Your tone was deadly serious at the group and that gave Jimin some reassurance.
"It's not a joke," Taehyung replied in a way that took away any shred of confidence Jimin had left. What was worse, his new friends playing a prank on him and wanting to embarrass him or something actually happening? Jimin felt fucked either way but still made his legs carry him to the bathroom as he tried to shake off the unsettling feeling Taehyung’s story had left him with.
He wondered if they would stop him and tell him they were just kidding, but as he closed the door and the complete darkness took over the room, he lost any hope of that happening.
The bathroom smelled musty unlike the livable rest of the basement. Although it was a full bathroom with a sink, tub, and toilet, the walls were unfinished. It just felt like someone had given up on the room long ago.
Jimin placed his hands on each side of the cool, white porcelain sink and looked at himself thoroughly in the mirror in front of him. How was he supposed to tell himself he was good looking and mean it? Jimin felt like he was a timid, friendless, freak. Even this incident reminded him of a sleepover he had in first grade where he got scared and peed his pants and all the boys laughed at him. He knew you'd never want him, not when he was too shy to finally make a move, not when you had all of these cool guy friends.
Jimin placed his hand on his cheek and let his thumb drift over his lips. Have you ever once thought he was handsome? Just once? If you did you wondered what you thought about. Maybe you liked his lips and thought about how good they would feel pressed to yours… or even other places on your body.
Maybe you liked his hair and thought about how nice it would feel to run your hands through it. Perhaps his body? As a dancer, Jimin knew his body was in shape but was it good enough for you to imagine on top of you?
He finally came to the conclusion that maybe he had more in the looks department than most did. That was when he let the words pass his lips.
"I'm attractive."
The affirmation felt good, he had never once thought to do this before. He continued to look over his features and think about what you might like about him.
"My lips are nice, my hair is nice, my body is nice and I'm so attractive. I'm pretty."
Jimin began to understand that the others in that room weren't him, they were nothing like him. He had things that they didn't, many things they didn't. Even in the kindness department, Jimin had a leg up, after all, who sends a new friend into a bathroom to scare them? Did they even want to really be friends with him? Probably not. Perhaps they did this out of jealousy. They were probably jealous Jimin was better looking than them, he was a better person than them. They wanted you and couldn't have you, Jimin could.
All Jimin could see in the mirror was darkness all but the beautiful features of his face. He didn't feel the smirk that erupted on it, but he saw it in the mirror and it felt so right.
"I'm the most beautiful here. I am."
Jimin was so lost in himself that he barely noticed the shadow right behind him, reaching out for him with its dark, spindly fingers each tapered to a claw tip.
Jimin did however see the dark liquid begin to drop from his nose, run down his full pips and chin before dripping onto the white porcelain sink in front of him.
He doubled over with the sudden pain in his chest that hit him faster than a lightning strike. It felt like his heart was being tightened in a vice.
He collapsed completely onto the cold, cracked tiled floor in the dark grunting with a ringing growing overwhelmingly loud in his ears as he waited for the squeezing in his chest to pop his heart like a water balloon.
Could anyone hear him? Surely someone had to. What was happening? He wondered if he was suffering a heart attack. Was he dying?
The pain was so terrible and felt like it was lasting so long that Jimin had tried to dig his fingers into the tile until his knuckles turned white.
Over the piercing ringing, Jimin could hear soft whispers that didn't make sense at first. The whispering of a woman. The longer he listened as his vision began to fade, the more he was able to make sense of the words.
"Let me in. I can make your dreams come true. I can give you everything you want, just let me in Jimin." Whatever it was knew his name, and it knew about you and how much he liked you. it felt like whatever the voice was was burrowing around in his brain looking for something.
Jimin felt weaker and weaker as his struggling against the pain lessened the more he decided to give up.
"Fine." Jimin had struggled to say, but once he did, everything stopped. Everything turned black, even his thoughts of you had melted away into the darkness.
#park jimin#park jimin x reader#park jimin smut#park jimin fanfic#jimin#jimin x reader#yandere jimin#jimin smut#jimin fanfic#jimin oneshot#bts#bts jimin#bts horror#bts horror fic#jungkook#jin#yoongi#namjoon#taehyung#hoseok#bts smut#yandere bts
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[image description: three monstera leaves. The leaves and wall are tinted purple by string lights behind the plant. In the middle, in a white serif font and all caps, reads “LIFE CYCLE OF MASSIVE STARS”. At the bottom, in the same font but smaller, reads “update #1″ /end id]
LIFE CYCLE OF MASSIVE STARS | UPDATE #1
Before I start, this is an autistic OwnVoices novel and it’s Autism Acceptance Month! Remember that awareness is passive and acceptance is active. And whilst this book is autistic OwnVoices I want to stress that it doesn’t cover the full autistic experience; autism is so individualistic and this story only stems from my experience. Make sure you to listen to all autistics, not just those who can speak and live independently and present in a way that suits neurotypical society. Support autistic creatives and if you’re also a creative, include autistic characters in your work! Autism is not a disease. It does not need to be cured.
Hey y’all! This has sure been a week! I gave myself the goal of 15,000 words for Camp Nano and somehow hit that in 5 days? I have literally never written at that pace before so I’m a little shocked lol. I don’t intend to keep that pace but the momentum has made drafting very fun and? drafting this has been a literal dream. I was really worried because March was a month long slump I expected to carry into April. I want to disclaim that I’m currently out of school and work because of the pandemic so I have all the free time to write and that definitely contributed! But also as a neurodivergent and disabled writer, free time does not always equal writing, so to know that I am capable of writing like this, even if not always, it is Such a gamechanger. Also this story makes me miss University so much I actually can’t take it :(
LCOMS has been a dream so far because the protagonists are all characters I’ve had for 5-8 years, and | spent those years struggling to figure out their stories. Even when I settled on this story, originally Patchwork, there was like 4 versions of it before I landed on this - none ever drafted beyond a couple thousand words because they just Never Worked. But the wait was worth it because holy shit I feel like I struck gold. This story feels so me, it’s so much fun to write, and I don’t think a story has come to me this easy before. It’s given me such a zest for storytelling again that I didn’t realise was missing. I’m slowing things down now because creative boundaries and self care >>>>, but I just passed 19k words - though some of the chapters are very unfinished because my priority has been mapping out the story’s skeleton as far as I can, then filling in the gaps based off what I learnt. I wanna put a passage before the cut so it’s not just me rambling about bullshit and no content, but it’s hard to pick just one, so here’s a non-linear scene that I :) cannot elaborate on :)
(CW: alcohol)
[image description: the side of a ferris wheel against black sky. The wheel is lit white, but at the bottom it’s coloured a mix of pink, blue and green. At the top, in a white serif font, reads “The ferris wheel lights blur between turquoise, magenta, mint, lavender, casts the puddles into technicolour. “ /end id]
Picture this: December 17th. End of term. End of year. Cloudless night, stars winking. Fargate glows, market stalls lit by yellow fairy lights line the street like candle stubs, gently burning. It’s raining. It has all day. Dampened your new beanie and scarf but you’re not mad, even if you’ll cringe at the texture when you take them off later. The ferris wheel lights blur between turquoise, magenta, mint, lavender, casts the puddles into technicolour. Your eyes and feet ache, but you’re not mad. And the mulled wine that buzzed warm in your bloodstream now coils in your stomach, but you’re not mad. You’re queuing for the technicolour wheel, even though you know it’ll be underwhelming and a waste of £4, but you’re not mad. Chocolate is usually too sweet for you, but he bought a pack of snowflake shaped ones - each carved with their own design - and when he passes the paper bag over you don’t say no. They taste like raspberry. He grins at you.
I have once again written a long update because I am autistic and have no self control; more excerpts and chapter-by-chapter rambles are as usual under the cut!
(content warnings are specific to the respective excerpt, but as a general warning there’s a lot of alcohol mentions!)
Originally I wanted 3 parts for 3 semesters, but I might do 2? Especially because in the UK at least the spring and summer semester kinda blend into one. The chapters are grouped by 3 - one for every POV character - but that’s more to help with writing because I get more done if I break it down like that, but I also like how it’s shaped the story structurally.
Sometimes the three chapters will be each of the character’s POV on a single event, sometimes they’re more individual but still follow a general idea (for example, one of them is how each character’s first three weeks of the semester goes). As usual for me the plot here is ~non-existent, especially at this stage, but everything is still connected and threaded together and thats all we really need. The chapters are also pretty short at the moment, none of them are over 3k and only tackle 1-3 scenes. This is something I feel is working really nicely now but I’m not gonna commit to it for the entire novel. I like chapter length variety! But right now we are just going with the flow :)
The most unexpected part is this being in second person, which I decided impulsively the night before Nano because I have :) zero self control :). I was unsure if it’d work in Multi POV, but it’s created such a unique tone that I can’t imagine the story without anymore, even if it’ll need tweaking over drafts. I think it suits the story so well! I’m just torn about it being in past or present, so if you see tense jumps in the excerpts no you did not <3 I’m not naming chapters right now beyond the character’s name, but part one is titled Growing Pains.
[image description: photo of a city at night. To the left are skyscrapers with lots of lit up windows behind a chain-link fence. To the right is an unlit building. Near the middle is a bright streetlight. In the middle, in a white serif font, reads “growing pains”. /end id]
1: Tomas
We start in the most overrated part of Uni, fresher’s week <3 The drinking and clubbing culture of UK university is a big part of this novel but in a way that’s like “hey this can be fun sometimes but sometimes it’s really not and it’s also really not for everyone.” Our three POVs go to a club night and really don’t care for it. Tomas does not want to be here, is in a weird as shit mood, and instead of looking for his friends he goes to the smoking area with a man he just met called Damiano. I really wanna rewrite this because I wrote it with Zero Idea of where the story was going, so here’s the one part of it that I consider salvageable <3
Damiano shoves his phone in your hands, brightness puncturing darkness. You hadn’t noticed the dimmed lights until then, but the room blued, music and time slowed. Though his notes are on dark mode, his phone brightness is on two fucking high. Your eyes sting. Cracks travel up the screen like veins.
Each character also has a specific image they keep seeing in things that are never actually there and they all make me like 🤠 hey besties what do these mean are you okay?? I Do Not know what they mean yet, but Tomas’ is veins. (Also shout out to me for finally settling on a spelling for his name after 5 years and by that I mean thank you to my friends for peer pressuring me into choosing Tomas lol)
My absolute favourite part of this story is the character voices. They are all SO fun to write, and I feel like I settled into a good combo of My Literary Prose Bullshit and they’re very specific, often very sarcastic voices. They also say fuck like, so many fucking times. RIP to me if I decide to query this <3
2: Kristen
Okay first off Kristen is THE funniest character I’ve written. He is SO fun. I wish I was his bestie but he’s also been my bestie since 2013. We meet him in the gender neutral bathrooms being annoyed by a very rich and very tone deaf girl. Classism and the UK class divide is one of the biggest themes of this novel, and Kristen is a very proud working class Northerner (the North is massively underfunded and unsupported by the Gov compared to the South) and cannot stand the Tories (Conservative Party). Extremely fucking valid of him
(CW: blood)
“I’m Floss. Florence.” Of course she was. Fucking Florence. “Where are you from?”
You don’t look at her. Eyes on your reflection, the glittered cheekbones. You busy yourself with your eyeliner, gliding the pen over gaps and smudges that don’t exist. “Barnsley, babe.” It’s only a half lie this time - if you tell her you were born in Liverpool she’d probably look at you like you’re a dead rat on the side of a dodgy alleyway. But maybe that’d be better because then she’d leave you the fuck alone.
“Oh! That’s like well close isn’t it. I’m from Reigate.” Her voice breathes trust fund and Waitrose, tries to speak like it doesn’t. You try not to laugh.
“Reigate! I bet your parents are right little Tories, aren’t they?”
She playfully slapped your shoulder. She thinks you’re friends. "Not every rich person is a Tory!” Don’t roll your eyes don’t roll your eyes don’t roll your eyes. “Is that blood on your hands?”
“Huh?” You look: faded red dye dried to your palm, blotted on your fingertips. It is dye, because your hair is as of four hours ago a fierce “Real Red”. But it could be blood. “No, it’s hair dye.”
If you think he’s being harsh, she literally calls him a slur like 3 lines after this <3 Fuck rich people half of this book is me clowning on them.
Kristen’s recurring Imagery is blood, except sometimes it’s less clear if it’s actually blood or not. Once again, besties are you okay ????
3: Junie
Junie my beloved <3 love her so much. She finds Kristen in the bathroom, and they agree to look for Tomas, until Tomas texts to say he already left. But the biggest part of this chapter is the absolute crisis she has over kissing for a girl for the first time to ABBA :)
(CW: alcohol)
[image description: a disco ball against a red-purple background. The disco ball casts dots of light against the across the ceiling. At the bottom, in a white serif font, reads: “Dancing Queen bounces against the walls. The disco ball casts specks over the ceiling, floor, walls, your skin, hair, eyes like broken glass.” /end id]
You don’t listen to 80s music, or 70s, but this room is smaller than the main floor, not claustrophobic, less freshers. Yet, even without the mask of a crowd, nobody notices the girl in the corner kissing the other girl. A girl you don’t know. You’d only gone up to her because she has purple hair and you had to tell her how much you love it - what dye is it? Professional or homemade? Did you have to bleach your hair? Professional or homemade? Will your hair fall out if you bleach it at home? If you dye your hair purple, do you become part of the Milky Way or part of Andromeda?
She turns and sticks her tongue out to display her fresh tongue piercing, like a silver bullet lodged in flesh. “Dance with me, you look lost.” She has an allure to her, the Andromeda hair, the bullet in the tongue - do you want to pull it out with your teeth, or lodge it in your own skin? But she asks you to dance, and you fall into her orbit, if only for a few songs. Dancing Queen bounces against the walls. The disco ball casts specks over the ceiling, floor, walls, your skin, hair, eyes like broken glass. Her tongue in your mouth, yours in hers, bullet grazing against your lips. She tastes of vodka and cherries and metal.
I really, really feel for Junie. She’s recently out, and she’s only just navigating what it means to exist as a lesbian. She kisses a girl and immediately regrets it, because she’s a hopeless romantic and was hoping her first kiss with a girl wouldn’t be in the back of a club, but she also doesn’t regret it because it was a good kiss and they’ll never see each other again lol. Junie’s recurring imagery is glass and once again, besties are you okay
4: Junie
I don’t know how I feel about back to back POV chapters but that’s just how this set worked. The next 3 are immediately after the events of the first 3, after they’ve all left the club. Kristen and Junie walk home together, and most of this and his subsequent chapter is establishing relationship dynamics and <3 this story made me love writing dialogue y’all. This story has a lot of dark elements, so it’s really refreshing to be able to have the light-hearted moments as well. Like these characters are all going through it but they’re also Gen Z 20 year olds who grew up using humour to cope like what else are they meant to do
“We should’ve got that flat on Brunswick. It’s literally down the street from the SU - we’d just have to walk down a hill and then we’d be home.” He complains.
“Kristen, that flat had a rat problem. I saw one scurrying behind the oven.”
“Yeah, and we live with Tomas Meijer now, so what’s the difference?” He faces you, walks backwards, grin plastered on his face.
“That was mean.” You feign annoyance. You sound like a schoolteacher.
“It’s just how we are, you know. The love hate relationship. Like night and day or some shit. I’d kill for that boy but like, he’s still a rat. He’s the same to me - did he tell you he called me a malnourished ferret once in first year? In English and Dutch. Don’t even remember what it is in Dutch but he really came at me with two knives like that.”
Kristen and Junie don’t really know each other well - Junie is Tomas’ friend from class and Kristen and Tomas met in dorms, and a series of shitty housemates in second year brought them all together. It’s funny because I really worried Junie would end up with no clear place in the group and more like a third wheel to Kristen and Tomas but as I started writing I realised that her and Kristen are gonna become besties like. Instantaneously. Love this for them <3
5: Kristen
Essentially mirrors the last chapter. Him and Junie arrive home and have a heart to heart in the living room about gender <3 I love this for them <3
6: Tomas
Tomas goes home with Damiano and they hook up, which is very out of character for Tomas so it’s like his I Am So Random. I Can’t Believe I Just Did That moment. Damiano is a really sweet dude though it’s all good, but he’s here to stay and I can just tell it’s gonna get messy :/ I actually really love how this chapter came out but whilst I have no problem with reading or writing non-explicit sex scenes I’m also like a would rather die than put that on tumblr dot com oops
7: Kristen
we’ve skipped a week ahead to the day before semester starts, and the next three chapters are basically like a character study of where each of them are mentally. It’s not the best :/ This is also the point where Day 1 Of Camp me had literally no idea what I was doing. LCOMS is different from the way I pants Revelations, Revelations because with the latter I find it much easier to brainstorm scenes in my head but with this one, it really is a surprise until I open the doc. It’s created some really interesting moments though.
Kristen visits an amateur photographer friend named Kasia to model for her. I struggled to find anything that included info I’m fine with sharing, but I learnt a LOT about Kristen and his mental state, which was surprising since he’s lived in my head rent free for 8 years now. It’s messy <3 The summary: he sees himself as a mannequin, and he decides that he likes it that way, but he also doesn’t know who’s moving his joints into poses. Bestie???
8: Junie
Junie unpacks her room a week after moving in. Autistic queen <3 This is one of the unfinished chapters, and I have zero motivation to finish it because there’s a scene missing and I cannot for the life of me figure out what it is. The gist of it though is she FaceTimes a friend from secondary school that definitely was her gay awakening that she only realised was her gay awakening in the last year. Messy <3
9: Tomas
One of my favourite chapters. It’s split into two halves, a light-hearted moment of all three housemates at a superstore because <3 grocery store scenes my beloved <3 and then Tomas’ Everything Is Bad exploration at the end. There’s a moment in the first half where Tomas and Kristen have a heart to heart in the candle aisle, and Tomas asks Kristen where he thinks they’ll be in their thirties. I winged this in a sprint and I’m obsessed with it, it’s all about the ~dynamic~
“Well, he has student debt for one. But that’s not on him. That’s on the Tories. But I like to think they’ll be out of power by then. Boris might even be dead, if we’re lucky. But again, not on me.” He’s quiet again. You watch him think. “He’d be a music teacher probably, or an English teacher. But like, a cool one. He doesn’t teach secondary school because he doesn’t hate himself. Maybe a Sixth Form, or even better a Uni. His students would love him because he’d be able to take a joke and also like, not hound on them for having mental illnesses or life struggles?” Neither of you look at the aisles anymore, just circle the home section of Big Tesco. “He’d also do a lot of charity work. He has a foundation-charity-thing for queer and autistic kids to get accessible music lessons, because creative therapy is like, the best thing - besides Prozac but I digress - and it’d be better than the old white men from CAMHs who act like you don’t exist by your eighteenth birthday. And he’d have a cool little flat in Sheffield where the landlord lets him paint the walls so every room is a different colour. Turquoise kitchen. Magenta Living room. Lavender bedroom. Mint bathroom.” He looks at you like he forgot you were there. “You really let me ramble like that in the middle of Big Tesco, huh? That felt like a fucking therapy moment.” He laughs a little, like he’s nervous.
“Nah, it was a good answer. Maybe if Tomas-in-his-thirties doesn’t move back to the Netherlands, he’ll rent the apartment next to Kristen-in-his-thirties.”
Kristen pouts. “Aw, you don’t wanna be my roomie anymore?”
“No, you called me an animal for eating pineapple on pizza.”
“Deserved. And you called me a malnourished ferret.”
You smile. “You’re not gonna let that down, are you?”
He smiles. “Of course not.”
Kristen tells Tomas he knows Something Happened to him over summer, and gets him to promise to tell him when he’s ready. The second half of the chapter takes place back at the house. Tomas is grieving, and it’s starting to creep into all elements of his thought. In this one specifically, he’s reminded of his top surgery and his memories in the hospital for that starts to blend with his memory of being in the hospital to grieve. Tomas is interesting as trans rep because like, he is trans rep curated for me specifically <3 Tomas was a huge comfort character for me when I was younger and when I realised I was trans, I looked at him and was like oh. He had a very smooth coming out and transitioning process (bc mine is the opposite and I need to project :) ), but right now he views his transness as like, a chapter of his life that was important but is now closed, so he doesn’t think about it a lot anymore, but the combo of grief and its mental impacts causes him to think about it more and he realises he has a very unhealthy internal relationship with his transness. Whilst the big idea at the start of Tomas’ arc is to show trans peace, I really wanted to take a moment to acknowledge the grieving process that comes with being trans. Literally the moment that made me realise “oh god, this is real and I can’t ignore it” was googling “im scared i might be trans” and realising how normal those tangled feelings are. Tomas’ experience of it is only fleeting, but I wanted to show that it’s normal. That being said, there’s no transphobia in this story. It is ultimately a Trans Peace story but also a trans story that, for me at least, is realistic. And the thoughts don’t last long, because his mind circles back to the grieving process.
(CW: graphic surgery and hospital imagery, vomit mention, death)
[image description: a darkened picture of an empty hospital room. The only light comes in through the window through thin white curtains. In the middle, in a white serif font, reads “ Scalpel gliding across the chest; were the cuts they made as thin as the line between surgery and autopsy? “ /end id]
Picture this: The hospital room. Clinical lights like exit wounds in the ceiling. Everything hurts. Haven’t slept properly in weeks. Can barely eat without it coiling and tangling in your stomach only for nothing to come up when you heave over the toilet. Messy hair, sunken eye bags. Dull eyes. The hospital room. The hospital halls. The hospital waiting room. The hospital car park. The drive to the hospital. The sleepless night before the hospital visit. The locked in the armchair next to the phone waiting for the hospital to call. The silence shrills harsher than the phone’s ring. But ask yourself this: who’s in the bed? You or him? The memories are different but the same. Oil and water. Shouldn’t be mixed. But it’s hard not to. Picture the two of you on the operating table and on the metal slab. Too far from reality to feel skin slice. Scalpel gliding across the chest; were the cuts they made as thin as the line between surgery and autopsy?
There’s a lot of paragraphs in the story that start with Picture This:. I have no idea what it means, it just reads cool lmao
10: Junie
we skip around 3 weeks now to see how the kids are dealing with the start of semester and well. They’re managing! Junie actually has a good chapter here, because she experiences Baby’s First Queer Class Crush
[image description: a purple sunset with a large pink cloud. In the middle, in a white serif font, reads you notice her background is of a purple sunset. You wonder if purple is her favourite colour like you and if she took it and if she likes photography and if she’d take photos of you “ /end id]
You listen, touch type your notes without properly processing the words yet, but instead of studying the PowerPoint, you study her: how she tucks a strand of black hair - free from her messy bun - behind her ear. The three studs in her earlobe, three little gold stars. The way her eyebrows furrow when she’s confused, and the way her face relaxes when she figures it out. How she touch types like you, how her two brass bracelets jangle and how you’re the only one that hears it. She minimises Word briefly, and you notice her background is of a purple sunset. You wonder if purple is her favourite colour like you and if she took it and if she likes photography and if she’d take photos of you. Lavender polo shirt, lavender perfume. She doesn’t wear make-up, but a tiny black heart sits under left eye.
Junie’s dreams of a photographer girlfriend are quickly shattered when she admits the photo’s from Pinterest, but otherwise this is so <3 the sapphic crisis of it all.
You walk out together, and she tells you she only got into Sheffield that weekend, and it was a nightmare to explain to the tutors why. “It’s like, they forget we have lives sometimes. Lives we can’t control.” She shakes her head. “It’s okay now though, I’m here now.”
You almost trip on the stairs up to the main floor, and her hand is warm against your wrist. Your cheeks redden, but she just asks if you’re okay, smiles when you are. Tells you she’s late for a seminar, but it was lovely to meet you. Thanks again for the lecture notes. Calls you a lifesaver. Fades into the between-classes rush. You’re glad she’s here now.
again she is so <3 i get it babes i get it <3
In other news, at the end of the chapter Kristen drops the most relatable line of the entire fucking book:
“You know how like, when it rains, all the worms come out and do a funky little dance? Yeah so basically: the rain is LIT3001 right. And the worms are all of my mental illnesses.”
11: Tomas
Tomas turns 21 on October 13th so naturally like anyone in his early 20s he has multiple crisis’ about it. I still haven’t figured this chapter ~out yet but it sure exists! It just sucks the same way it sucks to be a young adult in the late 2010s. But here’s Kristen being the most relatable character in the book again and getting bullied for it :/
(CW: alcohol)
"I still can't believe you both do a science. Like, it actually baffles me - I could not be more further from that." Kristen refills his glass, measures the vodka level with his index. "Just a babe and his silly little BA against the world."
"You know if you wanna be a BA babe you have to actually, like, graduate."
12: Kristen
Kristen is personally like I will pretend my degree does not exist and honestly? I get it King. He visits his Dad, since he only lives 30 minutes away, but most of the chapter is him thinking about Tomas and their messy friendship and the fact that Tomas is kinda ghosting him despite literally living together :/ Anyway here’s Kristen’s cat :)
Mar snoozes on your pillow, half curled like a croissant. Orange fluff against grey sheets, and you’re not mad at the fur debris she’ll inevitably leave. Her head pops up when you sit next to her, “you forget about me yet?”. You scratch her head and it’s like you’re 12 again and you don’t have to worry about rent or degrees or masters applications or careers or groceries or housemates and you haze through Sundays snoozing in bed with your new kitten. Technically she was a birthday present, but dad couldn’t wait an extra month to adopt her. Said he saw it in her eyes at the shelter, that she belonged here. You named her Marmalade because you were a dumbass eleven year old and also thought marmalade was the shit back then. She stretches her legs and yawns. Plops her head back down, back to sleep. “Yeah, me too.”
13: Tomas
The next three chapters centre around each character’s Halloween, because <3 Halloween my beloved <3. Tomas’ starts off with him and Kristen being ~homoerotic and him being a ~disaster about it.
w[image description: a photo of a blue planet - Neptune - against a black background. In the middle, in a white serif font, reads “You don’t know which palette he’s using, but you remember his favourite is space themed: Mars red, Neptune blue, Jupiter orange - you try to guess which planet he thinks looks best against olive. He taps the brush against the palette. Imagine the planets. How they dandelion in the air.” /end id]
When you sit in front of him, your knees press together. When he tilts your head up, thumb on chin, nail grazing the curve of your lip, his hand is ice on your skin. He studies your face, you close your eyes. When he pulls back, you swear you still feel his thumbprint on your skin. You don’t know which palette he’s using, but you remember his favourite is space themed: Mars red, Neptune blue, Jupiter orange - you try to guess which planet he thinks looks best against olive. He taps the brush against the palette. Imagine the planets. How they dandelion in the air. He holds your head in place, hand sprawls over you cheek like veins. Brushes colour into your eye socket. Underneath the radiator, your phone buzzes twice. Don’t say anything. Ignore your heartbeat.
(before this Tomas threw his phone at the radiator because someone texted him :) yeah okay mood :) )
this story is really about the ~gay disasters and also the ~dialogue
You flop onto your bed, arms crossed over your face. “I dunno. I might just print off all the emails Uni's sent me about my dissertation. Staple them to a jacket and tell people I'm going as mental illness."
"Tomas, if you want to go as mental illness then you don't need a costume at all."
Unfortunately the rest of the chapter is not as fun because plot had to happen but this first scene was :)
14: Junie
Junie is not a fan of Halloween so she gives up halfway through the night and invites the girl she met in her lecture over to bake cookies at 1am instead. Fellas is this gay?
(CW: alcohol)
The girl in the kitchen brought cookie cutters in pink Tupperware. She explains she’s had them since she was eight, but she hasn’t had a chance to use them this Autumn. She has seven: cat, butterfly, crescent moon, heart, three stars matryoshka’d together. “I have more, these are just my go to ones. I’m a bit of a collector.” She lines them up on the counter, you trace the outline of the cat. She says she didn’t want to bring too many, but she likes having the options with no plan, the potential. You want to tell her that, after you invited her over, you spritzed the counters with lavender surface cleaner twice and tucked the discarded vodka and raspberry liqueur bottles in the cabinet you can barely reach. You piled unfolded laundry into your closet and hid drooping plants behind your closed curtains when you had zero intention of her inviting her to your room. You want to ask her why she said yes, why she replied in two minutes at one in the morning, and you want to ask her why people feel the need to cookie cutter themselves into a false potential. She asks if you want to bake with coconut or chocolate chip.
she is actually such a disaster around girls i love her so much
The girl in your kitchen clears up glass that isn’t hers. You drop the measuring jug and it fireworks against tile. No shards lodge in your skin. Whilst she cleans, insists that it’s okay, you brew peppermint tea because you insist it’s the least you can do. The girl tells you a story about how she did the exact same thing, when she was nine, and her mother shrieked so loud the neighbours banged at the door a minute later. She laughs, muted. You apologise again. She insists it’s okay again. Rain hardens against the window, looks like TV static. You breathe in the peppermint steam.
The biggest thing I’ve learnt since drafting is that, at it’s core, this is a love story. And that makes me so excited because so many people, especially in mainstream media, still think that autistic people are incapable of love - or even worse, undeserving.
15: Kristen
Kristen’s favourite holiday is Halloween so naturally on his special day I had to make him go through it :) I can’t share a lot of this, but it feels right to end this beast of an update on this beast of an excerpt because it came to me out of absolutely nowhere and it is one of my favourite passages I’ve ever written OOPS
(CW: death, parental death)
[image description: a cluster of stars against a dark blue, almost black sky. In the middle, in a white serif font, reads “You want to ask your dad how something can end if for you it never began, but he’s asleep in his armchair back home. You look at the stars. You wonder if any of them are her.“ /end id]
You’ve mapped Sheffield’s streets since 13 so you know you’re walking the wrong way. This isn’t the way to Crookes. This isn’t the way out the city centre. You should order an Uber. You keep walking. You stop at a crossing. There’s no cars. You don’t cross. The traffic light flashes red and bleeds on your face. The stars are out tonight, and now it’s 2004 and you’re in the lounge with Lion King in the VHS. You’re off sick and your neighbour - Mel, recently retired, recently widowed - nurses a glass of brandy in your dad’s armchair because you don’t know it yet, but he can’t afford to miss work. You’re sprawled on the dusty-red rug when Simba and Mufasa sprawl in the grass and Mufasa tells Simba that all the stars are the Kings of the past and they are watching over him. You ask recently retired, recently widowed Mel if that’s true; her smile is happy but her eyes are sad and she says “yes, and not just Kings. Nobody leaves Earth, they just move to the stars.”
Ten minutes later, Mufasa is flung off a gorge’s edge; you haven’t studied storytelling yet, but you understand those two moments are connected. And when you relay this to dad over ready made pasta that evening, you ask him if people really live in the stars: Sometimes, when they can’t live here anymore. Then you ask if they can come back from the stars: No, but people remember them. They’ll tell stories about them, so people don’t forget. Then you ask if memories and stories are like stars: A little. Then you ask why they can’t live here anymore: It’s hard to explain, Kris.
After dinner, he lets you play on the plastic slide in the garden as he scrubs the dishes. You climb to the top and try to see faces in the stars, but it’s too cloudy. And after that but before bedtime, you’re sprawled on the dusty-red rug again, and Lion King is in the VHS again, and as Simba and Nala are bathed by their mothers again, your five year old mind connects what’s different about you. You go to ask dad about it, but he’s asleep in his armchair. It’s 2018, you’re stood on a phantom street in Sheffield. You want to ask your dad how something can end if for you it never began, but he’s asleep in his armchair back home. You look at the stars. You wonder if any of them are her.
And I usually don’t do this, but I think the playlist for this wip is absolutely fucking elite, so here’s a handful of the songs that I think encapsulate the story the best:
The Wombats – Greek Tragedy
Duncan Laurence – Arcade
FKA Twigs – Two Weeks
Peach Pit – Alrighty Aphrodite
Khalid – Saturday Nights
Alfie Templeman – Stop Thinking (About Me)
Rina Sawayama – 10-20-40
If you read this far, then I love you and we shall have a platonic wedding this summer. But I cannot express how excited I am about this story and to see where it goes!
#atlastracking#LCOMS#writing update#amwriting#seriously though i have had the best week but also my brain? a fried egg#sfoidhfsdf even before the cut this post is long i hate it here#long post
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Ranboo is Trying, Foolish is Crying, Tubbo Made a God Weep:
An arrow hits you, bouncing off a golden hide and falling through the unfinished floor with a small thunk. You look up to see the Antlered Devil staring back at you with falsely innocuous yellow eyes and horizontal pupils.
“Why, Tubbo?” you say. Because as humorous as this is, you really do have to finish this and swiftly. There is no time for getting shot.
“I wanted to see if it would work,” he replies, and he’s got no malice in his face. This is half the reason you’re building this: This Child is armed and terrifying and ready to kill. He’ll put you through literal hell and then have no spite behind it all.
“I’m literally building a mansion for you, just shoot something else?”
“Nope! I wanted to see if it’d bounce off. Sides, I figured you’d be fine with it,” and he grins and he fucking. Fuck this. You may be a pushover, but you will not tolerate murder attempts while working.
This devil may have played you like a fiddle, but you will win the contest. Or something, you’ve forgotten how that particular story goes and it doesn’t matter, what does matter is that you can’t work under these conditions.
“Hello? Foolish—” Ranboo walks in, probably to make sure you aren’t eating smoke, and immediately gets shot with a crossbow. He flinches away in time to dodge, and it was flying over his head regardless, but still. Incredibly dangerous.
Someone needs to discipline these children. That someone will not be you, because you have a survival instinct. Still, someone should get on that. Maybe Papa Puffy, if she isn’t too busy adopting someone and fighting the giant weird Egg.
Ranboo steps towards him, eyes alight and glinting with something you can’t name. His tail whips back and forth. He speaks.
“Tubbo, what have I said about shooting the help?!” he sighs, though his tail doesn’t stop lashing. “We can’t shoot him and underpay him.”
“Foolish is fine with it! Look at him, he’s doing fine,” he points at you and shrugs. “I had to know if it would bounce off.”
“That is, not what is wrong with this,” you stare at them in disbelief. “You could have just asked me!”
He looks at you. He looks at Ranboo. He shoots at Ranboo again and they start chasing each other around in some warped, twisted game of chase. Ranboo starts shooting back.
Chaos reigns in this unfinished house and you ask yourself why you decided this was tolerable. Then you remember the promise of money, and a piece of you dies a little.
He pauses in his dash to murder his husband, and stares at you with gleaming eyes.
“I dare you to shoot me, I dare you,” you glare at him with emerald eyes. “Shoot me and I quit right now.”
He readies his bow.
“Tubbo we have literally no replacement for him!! Quit driving away the one guy who knows how to build a mansion!”
He shoots you right in the eye, and it strikes true with a small burst of pain. You leave, shifting back into your god form and breaking part of the entrance as you go.
The clouds follow you, bloated and gray with displeasure. The sky itself growls in anger. You run from a child towards your temple home, so you can mourn the waste of time in peace.
They can work with the foundation you made with some other poor fool, one who tolerates being put upon like this.
You are an artist and you will not work in these conditions.
Tubbo follows you close behind, scurrying on shorter legs and doing a sort of hopping sprint in an attempt to keep up.
You ignore him as he yells at you to “COME BACK,” and “WORK.” You have dignity, sort of, and you have boundaries you won’t cross. Not even for gold.
Tubbo shrieks for you to stop and you pause before turning around and kneeling. You stare down at him as he points at a boat several times too small for you to fit.
You raise an eyebrow in condescension and hope it comes off disdainful instead of constipated. Probably, you succeed.
“It’s too small for me to fit, Tubbo,” you lay a hand out for comparison. The boat reaches your palm and no further. “I’m quitting and you can’t stop me.”
He gestures towards the boat with frustration.
You sigh. “Listen it’s been great really, and you can work fine with the foundation I’ve given you. Let me be free of this.”
“Freedom is for people who haven’t signed a contract!” he yells. He gestures with great intensity at the boat, ears pinned against his skull and face scrunched up like crumpled paper.
You rest your head in your hands, false eyes stinging and soul dead in a way you never thought was possible. Death itself has known you, marred you, defined you in ways that scar you to this day. You remember a sky without stars, an ocean where life never dared to dwell.
You shed tears for the first time in a lifetime. You just want to be done with this fucking mansion, you’ve worked for days and now he shot you. Maybe the arrow didn’t hurt more than a pinprick, but it’s the principle of the matter.
“Are you okay?” asks the husband of a gold digger who fucked you over worse than Death ever managed to. “Foolish, are you alright?”
“I’ve made a god weep,” mutters the Devil, in a tone of childish wonder and disbelief with a trace of concern that shouldn’t be there. “I’ve made a god cry.”
“Oh shit, he’s going to go on a power trip, isn’t he?” asks Ranboo.
You stop weeping and start questioning what your life has come to. You decide it’s a question better left unanswered and stand back up.
“I am an artist,” you growl with a low thrum of thunder laced within your voice. “And I refuse to work under these conditions. I am a deity with dignity, a man whose pride cannot be bought—“
Ranboo summons a pile of gold. Sparkling gold, glittering gold, gold you can use for the Pharaoh's chamber, gold you can watch shimmer in the loving light of the desert sun. Gold that is disturbingly tempting.
“Ranboo, I cannot be bought, I am going to quit and neither of you can stop me—“
He summons yet more gold.
“Seriously Ranboo I can’t do this anymore—“
He sighs, placing an ender chest and pulling out yet more gold. There is so much, so much glittering, right at your fingertips, so shiny and lovely and amazing.
“....” you shift small enough to pass as mortal-shaped and more of you dies by the moment.
Tubbo gestures wildly at the boat. Ranboo looks relieved this whole ordeal is over.
You sigh and accept yet another deal with this devil.
#foolish gamers#the terror of being known#dream smp#my writing#dsmp fanfic#Ranboo#Tubbo#Bee Duo#Foolish#Foolishg#Foolish g#why does he have so many names
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To answer some Fanfic Questions...
So, this is my response to @broxklynn‘s post... I decided to make this its own post... So that It can be properly answered.
1. How and why did you start to write? Is there some kind of story behind it?
I started writing in general when I was in elementary school... Back when I just had a Platform 9 3/4 journal, not many friends, recess, and a desire to immerse myself in the world of Harry Potter. I enjoyed writing, and even joined the Writer’s Club in High School (but I eventually left to join Anime Club and Divergent Thinking Society). As for writing MCL fanfiction, I began writing Sam’s and Alana’s stories as early as when I first got into the fandom, back in 2013. Alana’s story started out as “A Fresh Start”, had a one shot called “When I Wake”, then turned into “Let The Dawn Be Broken”, and is now “The Melancholy Of Melody Alana Roster”. The final product barely has any hints of the first 3... In fact, Sam’s story, “Fighting Darkness”, has been completely debunked due to what I’ve decided to canonize in “The Melancholy Of Melody Alana Roster”. Writing MCL fanfiction has been a major help in distracting me from the depression that was caused by family issues, severe abuse, Stockholm Syndrome, my mom’s disease and her death, as well as working at several shitty jobs. Writing has helped me escape reality and keep myself sane enough to not be a black hole of hate, anger, and sadness to my friends and boyfriend.
2. What do you struggle the most with your writing?
There are 2 major things I struggle with... 1 is Timing. I often set deadlines for myself that I never meet and it makes me so frustrated that I miss them... There are currently things in my drafts that were meant to be “Holiday Specials” for Valentine’s Day and Halloween 2020 that are still unfinished... It makes me feel like I’m letting my readers down, when its more of me letting myself down... The other thing is Inspiration. Because I hate my job, I often think about Alana’s story in an effort to not be completely consumed by the fact that I do hate my work... Due to that, I often come up with ideas for my story that I think are FANTASTIC for my story... But, by the time I get home, I’m either in too much pain or too tired to write, or I’ve forgotten the ideas...
3. What is your favorite genre to write?
I love writing Romance with a bit of Slice of Life and a hint of Action/Adventure...
4. Slowburn or “Flame”/PWP?
Slow burn any day.
5. How do you overcome writer’s block?
If I absolutely can’t write... I work on other stuff I need to do... Typically, something around the house, or something online I need to do... I also look for cool stuff to add to wish lists... I’ll occasionally play videogames or read comic books... In an effort to subvert writer’s block, I like having multiple chapters in my drafts at once. If I’m not in the mood to work on one chapter, I can work on a different one.
6. What kind of thing you dislike the most, when reading a fanfiction? (for example: particular plot, grammar mistakes)
One thing that makes me upset (and it makes me madder when I do this) is misspelling... Especially when it looks like its almost blatant... You have autocorrect, USE IT! Or when a fanfic is so awful, yet the author acts like their work is a gift from god... I don’t mind a “bad” fanfiction... Hell, the concept of “My Immortal” is so bad that its hilarious... But Fifty Shades did a lot of damage and E.L. James acts like she’s bigger than Jesus... Seriously, she wrote Twilight fanfiction, changed some minor details and names, people who have no knowledge of BDSM ate it up, and she acts like she’s a “Sex and Relationship Guru”...
7. What’s the biggest issue for you, when writing a Beemoov fanfiction?
The biggest issue for me is finding out when to allow for Beemoov’s writing and placement to take place in my story. I don’t like a lot of the events of UL and LL, so I’m often finding myself in a position where I have to watch video playthroughs and go “Okay, how can I omit this character, but keep this scene?”. I’ve had to do that A LOT with Alexy and Rosalaya.... Although, to a certain extent, I’ll often cut their scenes out altogether. I really hate what Beemoov did to them. They were great characters in HSL, but became utter shit in UL and stayed shit in LL. To make up for Beemoov’s writing style, I’ve created my own characters, added in old characters (like Kentin and Armin), added in bits from the manga (like Viktor, Severina and their fathers), and gone off on my own storyline. The Melancholy Of Melody Alana Roster is close to MCL at times, but often veers off onto its own road.
8. Have you ever created a character based on person in real life? (celebrity, someone that you know, etc)
YES!!! A LOT of characters in my story are based on real people! Alana’s step-father, Nate Films, is closely based on Nathan Fillion. A lot of her family members are based on members of my own family, just changed a bit to fit the story. Lynne Roster, Alana’s mom, is what I had always dreamed my own mom would be... Hell, Alana’s cat, Sylvester, is based on my own childhood cat, Luna.
9. How do you feel about your own characters? Do you think of them as your babies or have rather love-hate relationship with them? (And, do you have favorite one?)
I love most of my characters. I do hate 3 in particular... But, you’re supposed to hate, or at least not respect, them... That’s why I poured my hatred into them... Those 3 are Carol, Kai and Azrael. Carol has aspects of my abuser in her. You’ll see more of her when I finally post the HSL related chapters... And understand what I mean... Kai is based on one of my real life cousins that I’ve not been happy with for years (the one who my bf has deemed “the family failure”). You mainly see him in the Cousin Mels chapters, and in the Christmas Special... Azrael is the one who is seen the most in the UL chapters, and she is a main adversary for Alana. She is the one who broke her the most, the one who ended Alana’s relationship with Nathaniel, the one who truly traumatized her. As for ones I love... The one I love the most is Alana... I know, she’s a reflection of me, so that’s kind of vain... But, she’s a part of me. When I do finish her story and am at the point where I need to say “Goodbye”, it will hurt....
10. Enemies-to-lovers or friends/bestfriends-to lovers?
Definitely friends/best friends to lovers. I also like toying with what happens when best friends turn to lovers, but circumstance parts them and one moves on...
11. Is it easy for you to get inside your character’s head? Can you empathize with them? Is there’s some similarities between you and your main character?
It is VERY easy for me to get into Alana’s head... Like I said in #9, she is a reflection of me. She looks and acts like how I’d like to in a lot of situations... Her life is more interesting, traumatized, and more well off than mine... But, she is still me in major ways...
12. Who has been the biggest supporter of your writing?
Definitely my boyfriend. He doesn’t really understand the game itself... But, he likes how happy it makes me and he respects how much of my heart, soul, blood, sweat and tears that I’ve poured into writing my story. He loves listening to me read passages from it to him while I’m working. He gives me advice and his opinion is highly valued... My family knows I’m writing a large story, and have seen some of the images that I’ve gotten commissioned, but they don’t really know or care about the game. They do respect the fact that I am writing. They love the fact that I’m slightly following in my mom’s footsteps in that regard (she wrote 3 books and several poems). My online friends have been very supportive as well! I’m constantly updating them on what I’ve worked on each day in my Discord Server and the words of encouragement always help.
13. How do you handle criticism?
Not well. Due to the abuse and family issues mentioned in #1, for a good amount of my life, I’ve gotten nothing but harsh criticism... So, now that I’m away from all that, at 26 years old, I’m just now getting to a point where I’m starting to take it better... But, I’ve got a long way to go.
14. Do you like giving your characters trauma? Why/why not?
I hate sounding like a sadist... But, I’m going to anyway, so fuck it... Yes. I have done awful things to Alana over the years. In A Fresh Start, she got sexually assaulted and ostracized. In When I Wake, she gets into a car crash, put into a coma, and in her dream state murdered by Francis in front of Nathaniel. In Let The Dawn Be Broken, the plan was for her to end a war. In “The Melancholy of Melody Alana Roster”, her childhood cat dies, her mom gets sick, she gets abused by Carol, her best friends get ripped away from her for a bit, she gets sent to a country halfway around the world alone, she gets assaulted and ultimately turned into a weapon of mass destruction.... I’ve even thought of killing her mom off at one point... But decided against it...
Now, granted, A Fresh Start and Let The Dawn Be Broken never saw completion, but happy endings were planned for them...
I do this, all while giving Alana happy endings in each story because “If Alana can go through utter hell and make it through, then so can I.”... I know, I’m “god” in that regard and I can control how Alana’s life is.... But, the fact that in my writing, she ends up standing tall, happy, with everything she wants, after everything she goes through does make me feel better....
15. Are you proud of yourself? When you look at first piece you wrote and compare it to the latest one?
Yes. If you look at A Fresh Start, you can tell it was written by someone fresh out of High School. There’s no real depth to it. Let The Dawn Be Broken isn’t much better... But, The Melancholy of Melody Alana Roster has become my magnum opus. It is the largest piece I have EVER written, and will probably remain the largest piece I write. I am very proud of what I have created... And when its last word is written, and I am ready to get it made for it’s place on my shelf, I will feel very bittersweet about it... That being said, my original plan for a sequel involving Nathaniel’s and Alana’s daughter, Aurora, has been discarded. I don’t believe Aurora could ever have as much of my heart that her parents do...
And there you have it! Some insight into my world, writing, and history!
#my candy love#my candy love fanfiction#mcl fanfic#mcl fanfiction#fanfic#mcl#mcl alana#mcl alana roster#alana roster#melody alana roster#melodyalanaroster#the melancholy of melody alana roster#mclhsl#mclul#mclll#amor doce#amour sucre#sweet amoris#Sweet kiss#sweet love#Sweet flirt#sweet crush#cdm#cdmu#Corazon de Melon#corazon de bombon#slodki flirt#dolce flirt#writing#fan fiction
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Empty Space
A fix-it fic because we were ROBBED.
I wrote this for my own closure, and it is unedited, but I thought I would post it here anyway.
Dean didn’t want to open his eyes.
He couldn’t feel the chains and the heat, or hear the screams. Not yet. But he knew it would come. He wanted to savor these final moments of simple nothingness. A story left unfinished. The bliss that came before eternal suffering. There was no coming back this time.
He could still feel Sam cradling him. His last breath. The pain in his back.
This was it.
Dean stood for god knows how long, willing himself anywhere but where he knew he was. The Veil, the Empty, hell, even being reincarnated as a tree would be better than whatever was waiting in front of him.
A bird chirped, startling Dean’s eyes open.
He stood in the middle of a field adjacent to a road, tall pines lining the asphalt. The sun nearly blinded him, and he put a hand up to shield his eyes. It shone in that in-between kind of way, as if it was the middle of October, everything in flux. He could see a small, wooden building not too far ahead. Dean looked at his hands, then back up at the sky.
“Huh,” he huffed. “I made it.”
It was both a statement and a question. I made it to heaven. How did I make it to heaven? Dean took a step towards the house, half expecting the jig to be up at that point. When the ground didn’t crumble beneath him, and the bright blue sky didn’t melt away into hellfire, he took another step, one with more conviction. And then he was walking toward the building.
Dean’s mind was racing. With what memory would he be spending eternity? If his life hadn’t flashed before his eyes at his death, it sure as hell was now. Dean swallowed hard at the revelation that there were too many heavens for him, that his life had so many more good memories than he had ever given it credit for. Motel rooms with Sam, Lawrence with Mary, Jody’s dinner table… And Cas. Bars with Cas, the Impala with Cas, the bunker with Cas…
He knew Cas wouldn’t be in his heaven. That was more torture than paradise. Dean would look at Cas and only see all the things he never said.
Finally, Dean reached the building. Someone was sitting in a rocking chair --
“Bobby?” Dean asked, incredulous.
“Hey, kid,” Bobby said with a smile. “Took you long enough.”
“What memory is this?” Dean had realized he was standing on the porch of Ellen’s roadhouse. But where was Sam, where was his mom, where was --
“It’s not a memory,” Bobby said.
“What? But I thought --”
Bobby shrugged. “Things have changed around here. Your boy, he shook things up. For the better,” he added, opening the cooler next to his chair. “You can sit, you know.”
Dean accepted the invitation, settling into the rocking chair across from Bobby. He graciously accepted the beer from Bobby’s hand. “So… Jack did… all this?” He asked, taking a sip.
“Well,” Bobby sighed, shifting in his seat. “Cas helped.”
Dean nearly choked on his beer. Not that it would matter. I’m already dead, his brain joked, helpfully.
“C-Cas?” He whispered, searching Bobby’s face for answers.
Bobby just raised his eyebrows and took another swig.
Dean stared down at his hands. Bobby was explaining the logistics of this new heaven, how Rufus lived five miles down the road, how Mary and John had a place not too far from Bobby’s. Dean could hear him, but his mind was miles away.
“Dean?” Bobby prodded, evidently having finished his explanation. Dean nodded at him, a wry smile on his face.
“It’s almost perfect,” he said, and he meant so many things. If Sam was here, it’d be perfect. If Jack was here, it’d be perfect.
If Cas was here, it’d be perfect.
“He’ll be along,” Bobby said, referring to Sam. Dean nodded again. “It’ll take time, but he’ll be here.”
“How long?” Dean asked, looking up to meet Bobby’s eyes.
Bobby just shrugged. “Time passes differently here,” he answered.
“What do I do?”
“What do you want to do?”
Dean considered the question and realized it might be the first time he’d ever asked it of himself.
“I think I’ll go for a drive.”
Cas watched Dean die from a distance.
He might have been able to find some comedic irony in the whole thing. Dean Winchester, who beat God, killed Death, saved the world… killed by a rusty barn nail.
Cas watched Sam burn Dean’s body.
Cas watched new hunters.
Cas watched old friends.
Cas watched humanity learn to live in a world without his family protecting it.
But mostly, Cas just watched Dean.
He watched him as he opened his eyes in heaven. He watched him talk to Bobby. He watched him get in the Impala.
He watched him drive.
Dean drove for miles, windows down, Led Zeppelin screaming through his speakers. Cas watched him bellow the lyrics offkey, watched him pump his fists in the air, watched him push 120 with his eyes closed because, of course he would, it’s Dean.
Cas watched all of this, but he did nothing.
Cas had fully expected the eternal sleep of the Empty. Embraced it, really. But instead, he simply woke up in heaven. It was a little bleak for a while there, with Chuck attempting to destroy the universe and all that, but then there was Jack.
“What am I doing here?” Cas asked. “I’m supposed to be…”
“The Empty can’t take you,” Jack replied with a smile. “You have a soul.”
Cas tilted his head in confusion. “I’m an angel,” he said in monotone.
“Yes,” Jack said. “With a soul.”
“How is that even possible?” Cas asked, now entirely at a loss.
Jack shrugged. “It might have something to do with your true happiness.”
Cas blanched at that.
Jack was glad to have him in heaven. He needed all the help he could get, he said, changing the place, making it more of a paradise and less of a prison.
Cas was happy to oblige him, but quietly, reservedly.
What was it? Your moment of true happiness?
Cas couldn’t tell him. Not while Dean was still alive, while he had a chance at a normal life. Jack would want Cas to see him, talk to him, to do something, and Cas couldn’t. He wouldn’t take that chance from Dean. Not ever.
And now? Dean was dead. His story, over. No more second chances. Cas knew he would have to do something eventually.
And still, he watched.
He watched Dean pull the Impala to a stop on top of a bridge. Take a deep breath. Get out of the car. Look around.
Cas watched Dean bow his head.
And, finally, Cas watched Dean pray.
This might be the dumbest shit I have ever done.
Wait, can I swear in heaven?
Hmm… Fuck?
Awesome.
Anyway, this is definitely the dumbest shit I have ever done. I’m in heaven. Who prays when they’re already in heaven? But, anyway, it worked in Purgatory, so I figured it might work here…
I’m sorry, man. I’m sorry I got myself sent to hell and you had to save me. I’m sorry that every time you tried to do right by me, I told you how you fucked it up. I’m sorry that you rebelled for me. I’m sorry that you gave up an army for me. I’m sorry that you died to save me. More than once.
Jesus, am I sorry you died thinking anything but the truth.
Cas, I don’t know where you are, or if you’re busy, or if you never want to see me again. But if you got time… I got something to tell you.
“Hello, Dean.”
Dean’s eyes shot open. His heart was pounding -- weird, I still have a heartbeat? -- his mouth had gone dry. He felt rooted to the spot, as if turning around and seeing one more bit of perfection might shatter the rose-colored glass.
But he turned around anyway. Slowly. Deliberately.
And there he was, stupid trenchcoat and all.
Cas.
Dean could barely swallow over the lump in his throat. Cas was regarding him with a curious, reserved expression, his hands in his pockets.
“Hey, Cas,” Dean whispered.
“I heard your prayer,” Cas said, and it was all Dean could do to choke back a tearful laugh. “You said you… had something to tell me.”
And, shit, if Dean had thought being dead would make baring his soul any easier, he was dead fucking wrong.
“Uh,” he shifted on his feet. “How long you been back?”
Cas shrugged. “I never really left,” he said.
“What? I saw the Empty take you.”
“I don’t know. I woke up in heaven. Well, the other heaven,” Cas said. “Jack seems to think I somehow… Gained a soul.” Dean raised his eyebrows. “It makes sense… I think,” Cas continued. “My moment of true happiness, it fundamentally altered who I was. Happiness is a uniquely human experience. When I finally achieved that, something in me became human.”
“Well, Jack is God, now,” Dean said with an awkward chuckle. “So he must be right. All-knowing or whatever.”
“Right,” Cas said, eyes narrowed.
“I guess you’ve been busy,” Dean said. He didn’t say, that’s why you didn’t come to see me.
“Indeed.”
How can I still manage to fuck this up in heaven, Dean yelled at himself, looking anywhere but Cas’ suspicious face.
“Dean?” Cas prodded, and that was enough.
Dean closed the distance between them in three long strides, wrapping Cas up in his arms. Cas went rigid with surprise, but eventually, he hugged back.
“I thought you were gone,” Dean whispered. “Like, really, really gone.”
“I did too,” Cas replied.
Dean’s face was wet with tears, but he buried it in Cas’ shoulder anyway. “Fuck,” he hissed. “Fuck. Okay.”
He lifted his head, but didn’t release Cas from the hug. They stood, locked in embrace, while Dean screwed up his courage.
“You can have it, you know,” he said softly over Cas’ shoulder.
It seemed like every atom in Cas’ body stopped moving. His shoulders tensed, and he maneuvered out of Dean’s arms.
“What?” He asked. Dean panicked for a moment, seeing Cas’ guarded eyes. He almost convinced himself to laugh it off, punch Cas in the arm, make some joke about how this really must be heaven if the Impala can go that fast, but he stopped himself.
“You told me, before you… That the one thing you want, you can’t have it,” Dean said, forcing himself to hold Cas’ gaze. “Well, I’m telling you now, you can have it.”
“I don’t understand --” Cas tried to say, but Dean leaned in and the words were gone.
The kiss was everything he could have wanted and nothing he could have dreamed of. The feeling of right, of home settled into Dean’s molecular makeup, as if this was all it would have taken to fix him all those times he had been broken. As if the gaping hole in his chest was always just Cas-shaped empty space.
Cas pulled away slowly. Was he in a dream? Was he actually asleep, in the Empty, and now it was playing with him?
“Dean,” Cas said. “Are you --”
“In love with you? Yes,” Dean finished, urgent. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it back there. I didn’t -- you left so fast.”
Cas blinked. “I wasn’t expecting a response,” he said, his mind feeling more than a little fried.
“You weren’t…” Dean trailed off into a chuckle. “Really?” He asked, smiling, his eyebrows raised.
Cas would have spent every eternity in the Empty for that smile.
“Really,” Cas said, smiling wryly back. “Evidently, I was incorrect in that assumption.”
“You gave me a whole speech, Cas,” Dean said. “What was I supposed to say?”
Cas gave him a serious look. “You needed to hear those things, Dean. I couldn’t leave without you knowing how I felt about you.” He swallowed. “You are real, though?”
Dean stared at him for a moment, then pulled him into another kiss. Cas thought he must have a soul, and this must be heaven, because nothing in his millennium had ever felt like kissing Dean Winchester.
“That answer your question?” Dean said after pulling away.
“Yes,” Cas said softly. “It does.”
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Spiritual Shrios Summer Fill: Godless
This is a prompt fill for @rosenkow's Spiritual Shrios Summer!
Prompts | release | oasis | moan | delirium | pray | sweat | whisper | afterlife | contaminated | skin | worship | incense | godless | petals | taste | nectar | caress | mirage | ripe | sundown | hallucinate | salt | intoxicated | soul | embrace | hunger | wet | adrenaline | breathe |
PROMPT WORD: GODLESS | WORDS: ~1800
Rated: "G" - General Audiences
AO3 Link: "The Frozen Sea"
Pairing: Thane / FemShep
Summary: The ocean licks at her knees - not to claim her, but to mark her. 'One foot in the grave,' as the human adage goes.
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Shepard looks forward to being the first one up and awake.
Her cabin is suffocating. There are nights when she appreciates the privacy, but the silence of her isolated quarters makes her insides itch in an uncomfortable way. Just before the common area lighting begins to grow from the dim cadence of the night cycle, she leaves her room and greets the morning, intangible as only time on a starship can be. First she checks on the night crew, then starts coffee for Gardener. Finally, she makes her way down to the shuttle bay for PT. Alone.
It's unexpected when she has a visitor one quiet morning.
"Sere Krios," she says, rising from a deep stretch on the mat.
He smiles warmly, equally as surprised to see another soul at this hour. "Commander, good morning. And please, just Thane if you wouldn't mind."
Thane is the newest member of her crew and they've only spoken twice before. Maybe it shouldn't come as a surprise that he has his daily rituals as well, given his condition. He's dressed simply. Black pants, a sleeveless shirt, his defined, green chest exposed for all the world. Drell and humans share some attractive qualities. He's easy on the eyes.
She's staring, she realizes, and looks away. Thane takes his place on the mat and begins his own warm-up.
Day after day, he joins her, and they build a routine. Together, they begin with stiff, groggy stretches; then there's cardio, sweat, and strength training. Their conversations are light and technical. He respects her silence. She respects his discipline. On leg day, they limp back into the elevator in tandem. If she's lucky, she has time to join him and the crew for breakfast after her shower.
When she's alone, she quietly recalls how the light bends around the contours of his body.
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He's there as usual when she steps off the elevator and into the shuttle bay. Fully armored, helmet under one arm, weapons holstered, but ready.
"Shepard. No training today?" He rises from his place on the mat where he's been exploring the human practice of yoga, per her suggestion. It suits him. Yoga is all about breathing.
"I was beginning to think you tired of my company."
She gives him a weary smile and shakes her head.
There's a new, abnormal tension between them and by his gaze she knows he feels it too. She likes Thane. She knows hardly a damn thing about him, but he's a comfortable presence, follows orders... doesn't ask intrusive questions. However, she's breaking their routine unexpectedly, and in the moment, his gaze is almost painful.
"Is there something I should know about Alchera?"
Okay, maybe he does ask intrusive questions.
His voice is a hot knife through her muddy thoughts. The detour to Alchera hadn't been on their flight plan, but somehow, he knows. Times like this, his eidetic memory puts her on edge. She asks herself how many other kernels of obscure knowledge are locked away in his mind.
Stepping up to prep the shuttle, she weighs the consequences of lying to his face. Only six people on the ship know where she's going and why, and she doesn't want to talk about it with any of them. The words are too hard to say out loud. This is where I died.
"Alliance HR," she says finally. A partial truth.
His brows rise and his posture straightens just a bit. "Human remains." Fuck if he isn't perceptive, but if he has questions, he keeps them to himself.
She nods once, happy to have stopped this conversation in its tracks. Then she changes the subject.
"PT tomorrow," she offers with a smile. "I can't be lifting without my spotter."
"Of course, Shepard. The pleasure is mine," he responds with an acknowledging nod. She feels bad for interrupting his training as he leaves on the elevator, but she doesn't want to face her team until her task is done.
Let's just get this over with.
Alone with her thoughts, she exhales a breath she didn't know she was holding and starts her pre-flight checklist.
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It's well past dinner when she comes to him. The doors at his back swish open and she stands quietly inside the threshold. A fistful of clinking metal dangles from her hand and he knows she's come to have the conversation she avoided earlier.
"Did I catch you at a good time?"
"You did," he says smoothly. "Was there something you wanted to discuss?"
She sits across from him and the metal spills from her fist. Dog tags. Twenty of them. Her gaze is fixed on them and she appears shrouded in a fog of thoughts.
"Did you know them?" The question is gentle, he's almost afraid to know the answer.
Shepard takes a deep breath and blinks slowly. "Yeah. They were my crew."
Thane can feel a chill, as though the icy surface of the planet is still clinging to her long after she's left it. "Your ship went down on Alchera?"
She nods.
"...and you were among them."
"Yes."
He realizes now why she brushed off his words earlier. It strikes him as odd that she would bring this to him instead of Garrus, Tali, Joker, or Chakwas. All of them served on that ship with her, although he isn't sure if they were on board during the attack. She chose him for this, maybe because he'd asked, unknowingly, down in the shuttle bay. Regardless, she's here now and he struggles to understand her needs.
Thane refocuses. There's a pile of dog tags before him and each one represents a human life, now in the arms of Kalahira.
"May I read them?"
She glances up at him then, surprised. "Won't you remember them forever?"
"I'd like to."
Her lips twitch just slightly in the most cautious of smiles, and she nods. "Knock yourself out," a quietly uttered and somehow charming human expression.
Thane picks up each tag one by one and passes his eyes over them. Every name, a life extinguished. Stories unfinished. Loved ones mourning for years without closure or a body to bury. Memories percolate in his mind and he pushes them back because now is not the time. For each name, he offers a silent prayer to the goddess for their eternal peace. When he finishes, the tags are a neat horizontal stack before them.
Hands folded, he looks at her. "I don't see your name."
It's less of a question and more of an observation, but she dips one hand into her shirt collar and produces a pair of clinking metal tags. They dangle from a new chain but the metal scorched and scuffed almost to a state of illegibility. One from the Alliance, the other from the Spectres. Her name is heavily embossed into each one.
SHEPARD
DECEMBER
HUMAN
SYSTEMS ALLIANCE
His expression lifts and he smiles, hopeful. "You survived."
Shepard shakes her head. "I was spaced."
"But you must have-"
"No, Thane." Her tone is firm, unwavering. "I was spaced."
Her intense green eyes pierce through him. There's a twinge in her voice that makes his insides clench. "I read the data on Project Lazarus. I died."
It feels like the air has been sucked out of the room. Thane tries to control his features but her assertion shakes the very foundations of his faith. Many had said she died, but he'd always understood it as a metaphor - a near death experience.
He reaches into himself for calm and a memory rises, unbidden. "Jesus and Lazarus, from the Christian bible. '...I am the resurrection and the life.'"
"Kalahira..." he breathes. "Shepard, I didn't know."
She grunts out an ugly, short laugh and tears her eyes from his. "I can't believe you read the bible."
Her words fly past him without acknowledgement. He sees her as though through fogged glass, thoughts spinning. "Kalahira released you from the sea." When the words leave his mouth, they sound like irrefutable truth.
There's silence while she fidgets across from him, and then she asks, "Do humans go to the sea too?"
"We believe all life does."
He has a thought, then. "What do you believe, Shepard?
Her expression is mildly uncomfortable. "Before or after I died?" But then she shakes her head, reconsidering. "The universe is grand enough that maybe it is god's design. But I don't think god gives a damn about us. Agnostic, I guess." Shepard pauses and looks at him, but her eyes are distant. "Maybe I'd like to believe in your sea. Right now it feels easier to accept."
"To bring comfort in dark places is the purpose of spirituality. It does not matter what you believe as long as it brings you peace."
"Some humans would disagree with you."
Aware of the myriad of human religions and their conflicts, he brushes off her statement. "This is my truth. Their opinions don't concern me."
Shepard's gaze is searching, revealing the cracks in her armor, slivers of well-hidden vulnerability. "So I went to the sea. And now I'm back."
"If I am to accept what you say, I can offer no other conclusion." He doesn't ask what she remembers, he knows he might not like the answer.
"Then what am I now? Besides a soggy, undead cyborg?"
Her voice is laced with sarcasm but Thane thinks over her question carefully, aware he will be turning it over in his mind for days to come. Kalahira, Irikah, Siha, the gods and their angels, his lover and confidant, memories and oaths... regrets and comforts.
A heavy veil of epiphany descends on him, awestruck, painfully aware of his mortality, and prickling with a primal, deeply buried fear. Once human and now something in between, she is Commander Shepard, avatar of the Sea, chosen of Kalahira. The ocean licks at her knees not to claim her, but to mark her. 'One foot in the grave,' as the human adage goes.
The fist of tension in his gut calls to mind the image of Irikah's eyes in his scope all those years ago. I thought she was the goddess Arashu. But it's not Arashu who sits before him now, but Kalahira. Her icy breath howls across the inhospitable surface of Alchera, her unfathomable currents gathering those courageous enough to follow her into the abyss. How appropriate that she appeared just as he sought his demise in the Dantius Towers. She will be the one to ferry him into the unknown when they finally breach the relay. He prays she will be merciful.
Placing one hand over hers, Thane squeezes reassuringly. He doesn't linger, the gesture is as much for him as it is for her; he wants to know that she is real, as he finally answers her question.
'Then what am I now?'
"A woman with a purpose so great, the goddess herself answered the galaxy's cry for your return."
#spiritualshriossummer#thane krios#shrios#fshrios#zet writes things#december shepard#for now i'm calling the series 'approaching lightspeed' after a song i really like#spiritual shrios summer#this is one of several tricky conversations i need to write#and its probably the easiest one too so i have my work cut out for me x-x#TLDR shepard is a soggy undead cyborg
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Hey just wondering, do you have any draft or work in process or any plan for your next Loki fic? If so can you give us a little sneak peek. Or if you don’t, do you think you’ll write more about him in the future? I know you probably get this a lot and I’m sorry if it’s annoying or if it sounds rude or anything. I’m just wondering and also I’ve been binge reading your stories about him and got addicted so there’s that. But seriously I’m sorry if my message comes off as rude or annoying, that’s not my intention. Anyway hope you’re having an amazing day
I genuinely hate to sound like a broken record, anon, since you are being very polite about this! Which I very much appreciate! But the answer remains more or less the same: I don’t know. I have (counts) 38 different Loki-related WIPs in various stages of completion sitting on my hard drive. I haven’t been working on them actively lately because, to the dismay I’m sure of many of my followers, another fandom has devoured me whole. I’m really enjoying the experience, but it has left me with relatively little brainspace for things that aren’t that thing (or, I guess, other danmei novels and adaptations thereof?? idk okay).
At some point I would like to finish at least some of those stories, because I do not like leaving things unfinished. But I just don’t know when - or if! - I will. It just depends on if I get that emotional investment back. At the moment it doesn’t seem like that’s going to happen imminently, but who knows. And maybe I’ll go back and reread what I have written of some of these, go “where’s the rest, op” and feel encouraged to write more.
All that being said - since you were so nice about this, I will give you a (3000 word) excerpt from one of the WIPs - Dead Superheroes Walking, which is the one about the characters who died/were dusted in Infinity War on a road trip through the Soul Stone.
---
“Anyone for a game of twenty questions?” Sam asked, after they’d been walking for maybe ten minutes.
“Really?” Bucky said. “Twenty questions?”
“I don’t think ‘I Spy’ would work too well. Not a lot of interesting landmarks. Or hadn’t you noticed that the landscape keeps repeating?”
“I am Groot,” said Groot.
“And I have no idea what that means,” Sam said.
Sam was right, Wanda realized. The landscape was repeating. It wasn’t obvious, at first, but there was only one tree, over and over; only one rock placed near to it. The sky was a flat and even orange.
A faint shiver ran down Wanda’s spine. Bucky stopped, though, visibly disconcerted.
“What the hell is this place,” he said.
“Does it matter?” Sam asked. “We’re not exactly going anywhere else. All right, I’ve got it. Twenty questions, yes or no answers only.”
“I am Groot?” said Groot. Sam eyed him.
“I’m not going to take that off the count,” he said.
“Is it alive?” T’Challa asked.
“Yep,” Sam said.
“Guess that rules us out,” Bucky said. Sam snorted, and T’Challa cracked a small smile. Wanda stared down at a small, triangular rock in front of her feet.
“All right,” Bucky said. “Is it an animal?”
“Yes. Two questions down. Wanda?”
She bent down and picked up the rock. It left red dust on her fingers, and when she pressed her fingers together it crumbled like chalk. She half expected the dust to vanish, but the red stain on her fingertips stayed.
“Wanda?” Sam said, more gently.
“Sorry,” she said. “Is it a person?”
“Nope,” Sam said. “That’s three.”
She wiped her hand off on her clothes. This place wasn’t right - she could feel it in her bones, deep down where her magic ought to be. But nothing had been right in the last few days. Very few things in Wanda’s life had been right. Why should her death be any different?
It only seemed unfair that the others should be here, too.
They sky did not change, but they stopped walking eventually - less because any of them were actually tired than because it seemed like they should. Or maybe because they were tired of walking and wanted some change, even if there was very little change to be had. The road went on. The landscape didn’t alter.
And no one else appeared.
“It can’t just be us,” Sam said. “Other people died. Where are they?”
Nobody had an answer for him, unless the tree’s “I am Groot” was an answer none of them could understand. Wanda thought it might be something to do with the fact that they’d all died when Thanos had snapped his fingers, but she stayed quiet, staring off at the horizon and only half listening to Bucky and Sam going back and forth at each other.
“I see something,” T’Challa said abruptly. They all turned and followed the line of his arm.
“I can’t see anything,” Sam said.
“Give it a sec,” Bucky said. “He’s probably got a hundred extra yards visibility on me. Maybe 150 on you–”
“I am Groot,” Groot said. Wanda strained her eyes, some part of her wishing - hoping–
“Is that a dog?” Sam said.
A moment later Wanda saw it too, and slumped. It did look like a dog padding towards them - or at least, it certainly wasn’t a person.
“That’s not a dog,” T’Challa said.
“Fox, I think,” Bucky said. “What the fuck is a fox doing here?”
“I don’t think it’s a fox, either,” T’Challa said. He shifted, like he was thinking about getting into a fighting stance. Wanda stepped forward, reaching for her powers, but nothing was there.
What would be the point, anyway? You can only die once.
The fox - and it was a fox, Wanda could see that now, though black instead of red - slowed as it began to draw closer. It sat down, still a ways away, and cocked its head, looking at them.
“This is weird,” Sam said. T’Challa was still frowning.
“What is it?” Bucky asked him. T’Challa shook his head.
“I’m not certain.”
The fox stood, stretched, and changed, unfolding into a person. Wanda sucked in a breath, staring at the man now walking toward them: dark-haired, pale, lean and taller than Bucky or T’Challa. A vague sense of familiarity nagged at her, but she couldn’t say from where.
The man stopped, still several paces from them, and cocked his head just as the fox had. “Well,” he said, a faint rasp in his voice. “This is new.”
Wanda stared at him, trying to remember where she recognized him from. “New?”
“Yes,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting anyone else. But then, this time is different.”
“Wait,” Sam said abruptly. “Shit. Are you-”
“Mm,” he said, still looking at Wanda. T’Challa’s eyes were narrowed, too, and Sam’s. Bucky looked blankly at them both.
“What?”
“It’s always nice to be recognized,” the stranger said dryly.
“Loki,” Sam said. “That’s fucking Loki. Right?” Wanda’s eyes widened, but he - Loki - just shrugged one shoulder.
“So I am. Or was. I’m not certain of the appropriate tense.” His gaze swept across them, indifferent, disinterested.
“You’re dead, too,” Wanda said. Loki glanced at her, eyes focusing briefly before they slid back into dullness. No, exhaustion.
“Or something,” he said.
“‘Or something?’” Sam said. Loki’s eyes flicked in his direction.
“This doesn’t feel like death,” he said, “but I remember the feeling of my neck breaking in Thanos’s hand fairly clearly, so…” Wanda flinched, and she thought she saw Sam’s eye twitch. She remembered Thor coming roaring down from the sky, thunder and lightning in his voice, and understood. She looked down.
“What do you mean that this doesn’t feel like death,” T’Challa said into the silence.
“I know a little of what death tastes like,” Loki said after a moment. “This isn’t it.”
“What does that mean,” Bucky said, looking agitated and uncertain.
“I am Groot,” said Groot, and Loki glanced at him, something briefly flashing across his expression before it was gone. Pain, Wanda thought.
“Not entirely accurate,” he said, “but not entirely inaccurate, either.” There was a brief pause.
“You can understand him?” Bucky said. Loki shrugged again. “What did he say?”
“It’s irrelevant.” Loki’s eyes moved back to Wanda. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that you were simply the high cost of victory?” Wanda looked down, somehow feeling ashamed of her failure. Loki let out a quiet huff. “Pity.”
Bucky, oddly, snorted.
“Thanos gained all of the Infinity Stones,” T’Challa said. “Then…” He trailed off. “I am not entirely certain what happened then.”
Loki made a sort of hm noise, glancing at T’Challa sidelong. “So you didn’t die in battle,” he said.
“If so, I do not remember it,” T’Challa said.
“I am Groot,” Groot said to Loki, whose head swiveled violently toward him, eyes sharpening.
“Gamora,” he said, and there was a wealth of hatred and fear in that word. “You are a companion of hers?”
“I am Groot,” Groot said emphatically, and Loki blinked, then pressed his lips together and exhaled in a short burst.
“I suppose it doesn’t matter now.”
“Can you maybe translate what he’s saying,” Bucky said irritably. “Since all the rest of us can hear is the same three words over and over.”
“He says that Gamora claimed Thanos meant to use the completed Gauntlet to halve all life in the universe,” Loki said. “If you know that he achieved his goal, then presumably you were part of the unlucky half. Though that does not explain why you are here. Or else does not explain why I am.”
“And who’s Gamora,” Sam said, with such exaggerated patience that it demonstrated anything but.
“An old acquaintance,” Loki said. He sounded distracted.
“I am Groot,” Groot said, and this time Wanda could hear the near pride in his voice. Loki didn’t respond. He was scanning their number again, Wanda realized, more closely.
She bit her lip, then raised her voice and said, “Thor’s alive.” His gaze snapped to her, and she made herself hold it though her instinct was to look down. “At least, he was when I...he drove an axe into Thanos’s chest. It didn’t work, it was too late, but…” She trailed off.
Loki glanced down, his eyes half closing, and Wanda thought she caught a brief flicker at the corner of his mouth, not quite a smile, and a barely audible, “ah, Thor.” Then his eyes were back on hers and he said simply, “thank you for informing me,” with a lack of feeling that made Wanda frown.
“You haven’t asked who any of us are,” Bucky said.
“So I have not,” Loki said. “I am not certain it is precisely relevant.”
“Excuse you,” Sam said. Loki glanced at him, that tired indifference returning.
“I approached because I was curious. I wasn’t intending to stay, nor would I think you were inclined to encourage it.”
T’Challa was studying Loki with curious intensity. “Were you going somewhere?”
“No,” Loki said, and then paused and adjusted, “perhaps.”
“I am Groot?” Groot said, and Loki’s lips pressed briefly together.
“It means perhaps. And don’t be crude.”
“I’m with him,” Sam said. “What does perhaps mean?” Loki looked briefly annoyed, and Sam said, “come on. We’re all dead here. Or - not. Which still begs the question as far as I’m concerned of what we are.”
Loki’s eyes went back to her, and Wanda shifted. “What?” She asked. “Why do you keep looking at me?”
“You haven’t noticed anything strange, then?” He asked. “Felt anything?”
Too many things, Wanda thought, but she didn’t think that was what he meant, and now they were all looking at her. Wanda hesitated.
“I don’t have my powers,” she said slowly. Loki made a derisive noise.
“Of course you don’t,” he said. “Do you need them to sense what’s around you? Midgardian magicians. Norns.”
Wanda glared at him, but took a breath and tried to turn inward, like she was going to use her power. It still wasn’t there, but this time, without distractions…
She jerked and saw a satisfied glint in Loki’s eyes, just for an instant. “There,” he said.
“Wanda, what is it?” Sam asked, looking suspiciously at Loki.
“I don’t know,” she said. “But it feels like…” She searched for the right words. “Like a heartbeat,” she said finally, even if that wasn’t quite right.
Bucky’s expression was a mixture of horror and alarm. “A heartbeat?”
“So that’s what it feels like to you,” Loki said thoughtfully. He seemed more engaged now than he had been at first, and somehow even though it shouldn’t matter that felt like a good thing. Maybe because nothing else was.
“It’s not actually,” Wanda said quickly. “That’s just sort of what it feels like - to me, anyway. It’s...different for you?”
Loki shrugged. T’Challa shifted.
“I know what she means,” he said. “Though I wouldn’t have described it like that. But there is...something.”
“Interesting,” Loki said, glancing at T’Challa and looking him over with slightly more interest. “To answer your implied question, I would call it a...resonance.”
“A resonance with what,” Sam asked.
“If I knew that, I wouldn’t be bothering to talk to you,” Loki said. “But partly it is that which makes me think this is something other than simple death.”
“What is there other than ‘simple death,’” Bucky said tightly.
“That is the question, isn’t it,” Loki said. “Maybe nothing. Maybe I am wrong. But if I am not…”
“If you’re not, what,” Bucky said, even tighter.
“Then it begs the question of why, doesn’t it?” Loki rolled his neck in a slow circle, and Wanda could have sworn she heard something crack. “At least, such was my thought. But maybe it is just desperation.”
He didn’t sound desperate. He didn’t sound much of anything.
“Why not stay with us,” Wanda said abruptly. Everyone else turned to stare at her, Loki included, and she straightened, turning toward her friends. “I mean it,” she said. “Why not? We’re all here together. And if he’s right and there’s a why, a reason...wouldn’t it suggest that’s true for all of us, including him?” She paused, and added, “and besides - what can he do to us, anyway?”
Loki barked a laugh. “That is a fair point,” he murmured.
“How do we know this isn’t some kind of trick?” T’Challa asked, his eyes narrowed.
“You don’t,” Loki said. “But I will say that you vastly overestimate my interest in you. Well, the majority of you. And your witch has a point: what is it you think I will do?”
“I don’t know,” T’Challa said. “That’s what worries me.”
“And ‘our witch’ has a name,” Sam said a little sourly.
Loki shrugged. “As you will. It makes little difference to me.” He moved around them and started to walk away.
“I am Groot,” Groot muttered, and strode after him, long tree-legs catching up in a few strides. “I am Groot?” He said to Loki, who checked himself and looked at him, his face tightening.
“Was, yes,” he said. “Why?”
“I am Groot,” Groot said definitively, and Loki shook his head.
“Call back your child,” he said, with a sharp gesture at Groot.
“Child?” Sam said, eyebrows shooting up.
“He’s an adolescent Flora Colossus,” Loki said, as though it were obvious. “And he is not following me. I don’t care who you were friends with.”
Thor, Wanda thought. Groot didn’t know any of them, but he’d known Thor, at least a little, and Loki was Thor’s brother, and Groot was, apparently, a teenager, among strangers who couldn’t understand him, who had just died.
Wanda’s chest ached. “If he wants to,” she said, “I don’t see why he shouldn’t.”
“I’m not interested in playing nursemaid–”
“I am Groot,” Groot said, and Loki gave him a hard look.
“No, you are not,” he said. “I’ve met grown Flora Colossi and you aren’t it. You’re barely more than a sapling. Maybe - what, four years old?”
“You know what,” Bucky said, “I’m with Wanda, actually. And the, uh...Groot. This place is weird. I think we should stick together, and it seems like he knows more about this place than any of the rest of us do.” His eyes settled on Loki. “And it’s not like we have a whole lot to lose, right now.”
Sam gave Bucky a long, skeptical look and then glanced at T’Challa, who shrugged.
“You assume I am interested in putting up with the lot of you,” Loki said flatly. He looked tense, Wanda thought. Like he was expecting some kind of trap. Wanda tried to summon a smile.
“You said you came over because you were curious,” she said. “And if you’re right, and there is some reason we’re all here...isn’t that something else to be curious about?”
“I am Groot,” said Groot, and Loki glanced at him, jaw twitching.
“I’m dead, you twig,” he said. “If not now, then probably soon. And if I did need protecting, you wouldn’t be much help.”
Bucky snorted, poorly muffled. Wanda bit her lip so she didn’t smile. Groot’s expression was hard for her to read, but it looked to her eyes like a glare.
Loki exhaled loudly and looked away. “Fine,” he said. “If you are inclined...I suppose there’s no harm in traveling adjacently.”
“Traveling where?” Sam asked. “You make it sound like you have an actual destination.”
“I have a...feeling,” Loki said, though something about the brief pause before he spoke made Wanda think there was something he wasn’t saying. The question was if it was important or not. “No more than that.”
“Well,” T’Challa said after a few moments of hesitation, “that is more than I have, at the moment. And so far as I know we weren’t going anywhere in particular, so…”
“I guess that settles it,” Wanda said. Loki eyed her like he suspected her of having some ulterior motive. She decided to pretend not to notice. “So which way are we going?”
#anonymous#conversating#fic excerpt#i know this is an unsatisfying answer! i know it!#i just don't have a better one#this does remind me i should write up an actual faq at some point maybe
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i’ll keep us together (whatever it takes)
Pairing: Alex/Willie
Words: 9,237
Rating: T
Warnings: none
read on AO3
Summary:
“Willie,” Julie’s voice sounds.
“Hey, Julie,” Willie greets. “I—uh—“
“Can Alex not see you?” she whispers.
Okay, so… right. Right. This is a thing.
(*)
(or: alex has changed, and he's all but taken away from willie. willie doesn't settle for that.)
I found out that apparently tumblr doesn’t post link posts in the tags unless they get a lot of notes so I’m reposting this as a text post and also posting the fic here on tumblr as well! Fic under the read more. :)
(*)
"Hey," Willie cheers, watching as Alex walks into the garage, head hanging down. Alex doesn't look up, just walks over and flops dramatically on the couch. Willie laughs at his boyfriend, and follows over. "Hey, hot dog," he calls again. Alex still doesn't look up. Furrowing his eyebrows, Willie crouches down next to him and reaches out to shake Alex's shoulder.
His hand passes through.
Willie draws his hand back quickly in surprise, and stares down at it. He reaches again, and again, his hand passes through Alex.
He scrambles to his feet and looks around. Something's wrong. Something—he's not sure what's going on, but something…
He steps back, and back, and back, until he's standing in the middle of the studio, and rushes through the open door. He stands in the driveway for a minute, struggling with his thoughts, until—
"Willie," Julie's voice whispers.
His head snaps up and he sees her walking down the pathway from her house. They found out last year that Julie could see all ghosts, and that her power extended beyond they band in that aspect. Unfortunately, Willie didn't share their powers in becoming visible when playing an instrument, which was one of the first things they tried, right after trying to rid Willie of Caleb's stamp. Neither had worked.
"Hey, Julie," Willie greets. "I—uh—"
"Can he not see you?" she whispers.
Okay, so… right. Right. This is a thing. She already knew about it, which—
"No. Why can't he?"
Julie walks towards him and offers a smile. But it's—it's a sad smile, one that Willie knows is accompanied by bad news. Suddenly, he regrets asking. "He's alive."
What?
No, seriously, what?
"What do you mean?"
"Do you know… unfinished business. Does… do you know if 'crossing over' means back to the world of the living?"
"I—I-I don't know? I wouldn't think so? I've never see someone cross over. I just thought…"
"We did, too," Julie says. "But the guys… we signed today. With a record label."
"What? That's awesome!" Alex had mentioned Destiny Management but he hadn't said they were officially signing.
"It is," she says, but her voice doesn't sound like it. "After each one of them signed, they came back to life, though. Heart, blood, eating, sleeping, everything."
Willie shakes his head. "But they should have…"
"We always thought that when they did their unfinished business, they'd… go to heaven, or whatever. But apparently crossing over, at least for them, meant crossing over back to the living."
"So Alex…"
"He's not like me," Julie frowns. "He can't see you."
"Fuck," Willie curses. There's a noise in the studio, and Willie turns around and sees Alex through the window, walking towards the driveway. "I—I gotta go," he stammers, and then he's gone from there and landing in the sand on the beach, where he had thought he and Alex would spend their time tonight.
Fuck, he thinks. All the pain the last year and a half has brought—the battle with Caleb for his soul, the fight between them all with Caleb, defeating the man who'd held him captive for years, and finally getting to be with Alex, stress free—all that pain and stress were for nothing, weren't they? Because Willie doesn't even have Alex anymore, the person who inspired him to fight back. The person who made it worth it. The person who was there to hold him after Caleb's hold on him broke will never be able to hold him again.
Not unless—
Willie's got work to do.
(*)
The next time Willie sees Alex is at the skate park, three months after it happened. Alex is leaning on the fence, staring at the bowl with sad eyes. He watches the people in the park fly up and down the ramps, and clings to the fence with a tight fist. Willie skates out of the park and passes through the fence to stand next to Alex.
"I miss you, too," he says, knowing that Alex can't hear him. "I mean, I haven't gone to Julie's studio looking for you like you're here, but. It's different when I can see you. You're living with the memory of me. I'm living with the reality of seeing you and hearing you, but not being able to interact."
Alex looks away from the skate park and towards the beach. His fingers curl tighter around the chain link fence until his knuckles turn white.
"I'm trying for you, man," Willie says, his voice high and tight. "I don't even know if I'll become human again like you did, but it's worth a shot. Even if I don't become human, at least I'll cross over and I won't have to be alone anymore. Maybe? I don't actually know where I'd go if I didn't become human again. I might still be alone. There might not be anything waiting for me. That's not as scary as having to live for an eternity without you, though. Or, not without you, but. Like this. Having you but… not really."
Alex draws in a shaky breath, and Willie poofs to his other side to get a glimpse of his face. His eyes are wet and he's chewing his bottom lip. He's doing everything he can not to cry, and that breaks Willie.
"I'm sorry," Willie whimpers. "I know I meant it way back when, when I said we never should have met, but that was because I almost got you guys killed. Once you were better, I didn't think I could ever feel that way again. But maybe I was right, even beyond that. Maybe it would be better if we'd never met. It'd be better for you." He reaches out a hand for Alex, but quickly drops it back to his side when he remembers he can't make contact anymore. He draws in a deep breath, but it hitches involuntarily. "But we did meet. We did, and now you have to live with the consequences of that. Is that what they are? Consequences? I guess so. I wish I could undo this all. Not—not you getting a second chance at life. You deserve it. But… I wish I could undo us."
Alex releases his grip on the fence and walks forward, right through Willie. Willie spins on his heel and watches Alex take a seat on a bench a few feet away. He looks up and around and finally, the tears fall from his eyes. Willie feels sick.
"No, I don't," he says in a rush. "God, I wish I wished I could undo us but I could never willingly give you up, Alex. No matter how much it hurts. Even though you're hurting I know you'll move on. That's how it works, right? God, we were only together for a little over a year, we only knew each other for a year and a half. That's hardly a lifetime love story, right? You'll find someone better—someone alive, and… and…"
And Willie can't do this anymore.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, taking in one last look at Alex's tearful face before poofing away.
(*)
The next time, he finds Alex at his grave. At Alex's grave.
See, Alex had asked him to go with him back in January. He'd needed to see what his tombstone said (Alex Mercer / December 18th 1978 – July 21st 1995 / Your song will live on forever.) and come to terms, fully, with his death. Willie had been more than happy to go with him, to hold him through his tears as he saw that his parents had actually put something dedicated to him, even if it was as small as an acknowledgment to his music. Ever since Alex crossed over, Willie has come here a few times a month to talk to the boy, because it's easier talking to a grave than it is to a person who won't respond.
When Willie reaches the grave, Alex is just standing there, staring at the headstone. He doesn't say anything, and neither does Willie. Instead, Willie looks around for another tomb with flowers on it. When he finds one, he plucks a single flower from the bouquet and walks over to Alex's grave again, and lays the flower down on the headstone.
Alex gasps. "Hello?" he murmurs. "Is… Willie?" he asks hopefully.
Willie doesn't have the heart to ignore him, so he picks the flower up again and hands it to the boy. Alex takes it reluctantly. "I miss you," Willie says, even though he knows Alex won't hear him.
"I miss you," Alex says, and Willie blinks. "God, I—I'm not even allowed to be upset about crossing over because I… I get to be with my band, and I'm, Willie, we're fucking going on tour. We're only opening, but we're touring. They think we'll be headlining our own tour in the next year or two. How am I supposed to be upset about that, right? But I—but I am. Because I have to do it without you and that's—that's not fair. That wasn't part of the deal, right? We were supposed to be fucking ghosts together. Not… God, I feel so ripped off. Julie said she could still see you, she didn't want to tell me but didn't think it was fair to keep it from me. Why can't I? Why the fuck can't I? I was a ghost and I can't see you anymore? Just because—just because I have blood in my veins again? You made me feel alive. You brought me back to life. And now I'm in this weird pseudo life phase where I'm actually alive but I feel just like I did when I came back as a ghost. Before I met you."
He shakes his head and Willie takes a step closer. He reaches out, but before he can try to lay a hand on Alex's arm, he remembers. He drops his hand.
"Reg says I'll move on, used that stupid 'you'll never forget your first ghost' line again, but that only worked when we'd known each other for two weeks. Two weeks and I was already moping over you, and then you were taken away after an entire year, after I—after I—it's not fair," Alex huffs. "I sound like such a child but it's not. Julie and Luke got their happy ending. Fuck, even Reg has someone now. Of course it probably won't last—after all it's his third relationship in five months, but. But he has that option. And I—Ray's making us go to school to finish off senior year and this kid from chemistry asked me out but—I'm not ready for that. God, I'm scared I'll never be ready for that. Luke told me to go for it, that maybe I need to be with someone to get my mind off of you, but I know that all I'll do is compare the two of you."
Tears are falling freely from Alex's eyes, and Willie wants nothing more than to reach up and brush them away, just like he did the last time they were at this grave together. He takes the flower from Alex's hand, plucks a petal off, and uses it as a towel to wipe Alex's face dry. Alex tosses his head back and laughs.
"Thank you," he says. He's quiet for a long moment, and Willie thinks he said everything that needed to be said. But then he draws in a deep breath. "I… I think one of the worst parts is that I never got to say goodbye. That I'll never get closure. Did you get as much out of our relationship as I did? Was it worth it to you? Are you hurting, too?" He pauses. His voice drops in to a whisper as he asks, "did you love me like I loved you?"
Willie frowns, and hands the flower back to Alex. Alex wraps his fingers around the stem, and toys with the petals with his other hand.
"See, I don't even know what you're trying to say, here," Alex admits. "I'm hoping you're saying yes, but maybe you're not. What if you're not even Willie, just a kind ghost who noticed I needed someone?" Willie grabs the flower out of Alex's hand, raises it up, and bonks Alex's forehead with it. "Okay, maybe not," he says, and there's a laugh in his voice, but there are tears in his eyes. He laughs then, but it comes out as a sob instead and he stumbles back. "Fuck," he says slowly.
Willie twirls the flower between his fingers and watches as Alex just… stares. He's just staring at the flower, disbelieving.
"I… God, I'm so relieved you're here, but it hurts so bad that I can't see you, you know? But—do you have it any easier? Being able to see me and hear me but knowing I can't see or hear or feel you? I feel like that'd be just as hard. I remember how helpless I felt when I was a ghost. This isn't—this isn't fair. Last year we had eternity together. And—that just gets ripped away? Do you even care—" Willie hits him with the flower again. "—okay. So you do. We both cared. So much. And… now look at us. I'm essentially talking to myself, on the verge of a panic attack, and you're… You're visiting my grave. I'm visiting my grave. Fuck this is all so fucked. I miss you."
Willie hands the flower back to Alex, hoping that he'll pick up that Willie misses him too.
Alex stares at the petals and draws in a breath. "I just wish—"
"Hey, mijo," a new voice comes in. Willie whips around to see the approaching figure, a tall, slim man with greying hair. He recognizes him as Julie's dad, and while he's never directly interacted with the man, hanging around with Alex and the band so much last year meant he could at least pick him out of a crowd. Julie's dad walks up beside Alex and looks down at the head stone. "Wow, that's really you."
Alex laughs. "Yeah. I really died. That's why I come here. To remind myself my entire experience as a ghost wasn't some weird fever dream. That it…" he looks down at the flower and holds it up to Julie's dad. "That it was all real."
"That'd be some fever dream," Julie's dad chuckles, clapping a hand on Alex's shoulder. For a moment, Willie expects the man's hand to pass right through, but when it doesn't, he cringes. Yet another reminder. "Are you ready to go, then?"
"Yeah, thanks for coming to get me. Can I just have one more minute? I'll meet you at the car?"
"Of course, mijo."
Julie's dad walks away and Alex stares at his headstone. "I miss you, Willie. I hope you run into me again," he says with a light in his voice, and Willie is taken back to their very first meeting. He reaches for the flower and takes it from Alex, bopping his face one more time. Then he passes the flower back, and Alex looks at it with wonderment on his face. "Bye," he murmurs, and then turns to walk towards the parked car waiting for him.
Willie waits until Alex slides into the passenger seat and shuts the door before drawing in a shaky breath and poofing away.
(*)
He can't stay away after that.
He knows Alex is living with Julie now (the Molinas, according to the painted stone next to their porch) so he stops by after school hours to just… see him. Alex, of course, has no idea that he's there, at least not at first. But then Willie starts to get bolder.
Alex will be sat at the dining room table doing his homework and Willie will see him answer a calculus problem wrong. When Alex walks away for a snack, Willie will take a piece of notebook paper out and redo the problem(s). When Alex gets back he looks around with a frown. He clearly isn't sure if it's Willie or not, and Willie's not sure he wants him to know, not until a few weeks in when he finds Alex crying in the studio. He's clearly on the verge of a panic attack, something that Willie'd seen many times, and helped him through multiple times. He's never felt so helpless, watching Alex breaking down and not being able to do anything.
He can, though, he realizes.
He goes into Alex's notebook and grabs a pen.
Hey, hot dog.
Alex drags in a shaky breath when the pen starts moving by itself, and once he reads the message he lets out a laugh that sounds more like a sob. "Willie," he whispers.
What can I do to help?
Alex smiles at the paper. "Nothing, you're—you being here helps."
Do you need to do breathing exercises? You can follow the pen.
"No," Alex shakes his head. "No, I'm good. Just—just talk to me?"
Can't talk. How's writing?
He rolls his eyes. "You know what I meant, asshole."
Guilty.
"How have you been? Where have you been? Why is this the first time you're—that you've actually contacted me?"
I've been around. I'd say correcting your calc homework counts as contacting you. It's me saying "wow you suck at math, which you've told me in the past but now I have hardcore proof."
He can't tell him that he's been trying to work out his unfinished business. He can't give Alex hope where there might not be any—not when there's no promise that Willie will figure out his unfinished business, and not when there's no promise he'll come back to life. He wants Alex to know he's trying—trying for him, but it's not fair. None of this is fair, but that'd be… really unfair to Alex. Especially if he's sitting here hoping for Willie to come back to life and one day he realizes it's been months since he's heard from Willie and Willie has no way to tell him that he's crossed over, but not to the living. It's all… it's too complicated. Willie doesn't even think he'd be able to put it into words.
"Hey, I've been doing pretty good in calc!" Alex yells. "I have a B, thanks."
"Thanks." You're welcome. I'm the reason you have a B.
Alex opens his mouth, then shuts it. "You know, you're probably right. You working out those problems is actually really helpful and helps me understand what I did wrong."
I've always needed to see someone do the math before I got it, maybe you're the same.
"Probably." Alex sighs, running his hands through his hair. He's stopped crying, but his face is still red and puffy, and his breathing is still labored. "How have you been though? I… you can see me, I can't see you. Are you okay?"
I miss you, but that's to be expected. Life Death has been a lot lately. I'm surviving okay though.
"Is there anything I can do for you?" Alex asks, voice genuine. Willie bites his lip. God, he—this is why he fell in love with this boy. Even on the verge of a panic attack he wants to help someone else.
No. You being here helps.
"Hey, that's my line."
I'm stealing it.
Alex laughs, and his breath evens out a little bit. "Should have known, you can't be as smooth as me."
I'm sorry, who had the gay panic when we met? And every time we saw each other for literally the next four months? Who RAN AWAY after kissing me? You want to talk about smooth?
"Those were very weak moments in my life, I ask you to forget everything before we started dating and only remember me as charming."
Oh, trust me, the gay panic was very charming, too.
"See, maybe it was all a ploy. My gay panic was me being smooth."
I wouldn't take it that far.
"Too late you already admitted it."
Willie laughs and reaches for Alex's hand, forgetting for just a moment. It passes through the other boy and he grimaces. He draws his hand back and tucks his hair behind his ear, and stares at the paper in front of him.
So what's it like recording an album? Everything you ever dreamed of?
"Oh, man, it's so cool," Alex gushes. Words fly out his mouth so fast that Willie struggles to keep up, but he just lets Alex's voice wash over him. The switch has been flipped—Alex is no longer panicking, and Willie's loneliness has ebbed.
It carries on like this for nearly an hour, Willie fills up two and a half sheets of paper, and Alex is careful to fold each one and stick it in his pocket. Willie knows he'll be storing them somewhere in his room. It's what Willie would do, anyways, and in certain regards, Alex and Willie are very similar. He's careful not to reveal too much to Alex, though. He doesn't want Alex to feel guilty, or to cling to hope, or…
He doesn't want to tell Alex he loves him on a sheet of paper. He can't do that to either of them—that'd be giving Alex too much to cling to, and it'd be taking away Willie's dream of telling him face to face. So when it's time for them to say goodbye (Alex looks at the clock, frowning. "The band is gonna be here in ten minutes for practice.") Willie simply scribbles down I'll see you around, hot dog. Alex's face goes soft, and Willie can't stop staring at it.
He wishes he could stay for band practice, but he can't face Julie. He can't, not when it'd break him to be able to talk with her and not the one person he really wants to talk to. He also thinks it might be too hard on Alex, to see Julie see Willie, and know that he can't. It'd be too hard on both of them, so once Alex says goodbye, he poofs away. He ends up on the streets of Hollywood and looks around. He sets his skateboard on the ground and skates off, aimlessly.
He has nowhere to go, nowhere to be.
(*)
Willie keeps correcting his calc homework, but now Alex knows who it is and starts thanking him. They have a few more half-written, half-spoken conversations over the next few months, but Willie tries to limit them so Alex doesn't get too attached.
(He laughs as he thinks that, understanding that Alex has always been attached, and interacting with him is only encouraging that. But Willie can't stay away, okay?)
He sees Luke and Reggie some, after all, the boys spend a lot of time in the studio together, especially when Julie is hanging out with Flynn. Willie never talks to Alex at these times, but sometimes he'll speak out loud, answer parts of the conversation that the guys are having, even though he knows they can't hear him.
(Yeah, okay, he's dangerously attached, too.)
He avoids Julie at all costs, he doesn't want her to know, and he knows Alex hasn't told any of them because Alex has said he hasn't told any of them, so. Willie believes him and knows why. Because Alex knows Julie would ask Willie to let Alex move on, and… honestly, neither Alex or Willie are ready for that.
"Technically you're still my boyfriend," Alex says one day. "We never broke up."
It's almost our two year anniversary.
"Yeah," Alex nods. "Two more months. God, it's been nine months without you?"
Not technically without me. I've been around a lot.
"It's been nine months since I last saw you," he amends. He rubs his eyes. "That's too damn long."
It's been nine months since I've held your hand. :(
Alex shakes his head. "I always felt bad for Julie and Luke, but… I never… it never clicked how hard it must have been before she could touch us. At least she could see and talk to us, though. Why can't I have her powers?"
Would her powers really be worth it? Because I can tell you that it SUCKS being able to see you but not being able to touch you. It's torture.
"Maybe you only say that because you've never had to sit alone talking to a piece of notebook paper before," Alex shoots back, but he's smiling.
He's been doing that a lot lately. Smiling. Willie knows it's because of him—he knows Alex and it's not hard to put two and two together. It's hard to miss the way Alex physically brightens every time he knows Willie is there, and the way he reaches for calculus homework before anything else, and leaves his calculus out sitting next to him when he's working on all of his other homework, as if calling for Willie. It works, too, most of the time. When Willie's not out trying to resolve his unfinished business, he's around the Molina household, avoiding Julie.
That had created an issue—Alex quickly realized that Willie disappeared whenever Julie came around, so he stopped hanging around Julie as much. Julie had tried apologizing for "whatever I did, Alex, I'm so sorry." Alex had to patiently tell her that it was nothing—he was just dealing with some personal problems and he ran away from the guys, too. She had tried to offer help, but he said he dealt better with problems on his own, which Willie laughed at when Alex recounted the conversation because Alex was helpless dealing with his issues alone. He told him as much and Alex flipped off the air in front of him.
This piece of notebook paper is offended. What's so bad about talking to notebook paper?
"I can't kiss a sheet of notebook paper," Alex points out. "Well—technically I could. Don't think it'd measure up to kissing my boyfriend, though."
Willie grins. It's impossible, and he knows he can't let it go on like this for much longer—it's been nine months of trying to figure out his unfinished business and he feels no closer than when he started—but it feels so good to be Alex's boyfriend still. He puts the pen to the piece of paper, and then picks it back up because—no. He still can't tell Alex he loves him. He's planning to leave Alex a note once it hits a year, telling him goodbye and asking him to move on. He'll be doubling his efforts to try and solve his unfinished business in the mean time, but he thinks—how cruel would it be to leave Alex with the knowledge that he lost someone who loved him, too? Because Alex has said he loved Willie—back Alex's grave he had asked if Willie loved him too and.
You wouldn't be able to kiss air, either.
"I could certainly try."
Willie shakes his head fondly, and then hears the studio door open. Alex lunges forward and grabs the pen out of the air, but it's pointless because when Willie turns around, it's Julie standing there. Her eyes are wide and her jaw is dropped.
"Hey, Julie," Alex greets. "What're you doing?"
"I left a song out here that I wanted to show Flynn," she says. "What are you doing?" She aims her voice like she's talking to Alex, but she's staring at Willie.
"Homework," Alex answers.
"Really?" she quirks an eyebrow.
"What else would I be doing?"
"I don't know, care to tell me?" This time, it's one hundred percent directed at Willie, and he flinches.
Alex frowns, still playing the part. "I don't—"
"Not you," Julie cuts Alex off.
"Julie…" Alex sighs. "Just leave him be."
"Can I talk to you outside?" There's no question who she's talking to.
Willie gets to his feet and walks out the door. Alex glares at her from where he's sitting on the couch, and flops back on to the cushions, crossing his arms in a pout.
Julie turns around and marches out to the driveway and whirls on Willie when he gets out there. "This isn't fair to him."
"None of this is fair, Julie," Willie says. "We're dealing the only way we know how."
"He—he said he was moving on. He said he was doing better!"
"He… technically is doing better," Willie says. "Maybe not moving on, but—"
"Willie, you need to let him go," Julie frowns.
"That's not your choice to make," Alex's voice comes from the studio doors. He pushes the door open and steps out. "I get you want to help, but leaving me and Willie be would be the best thing you could do to help."
"Alex…" Julie whispers. "It's not fair to you."
"You think I don't know that? You think the fact that Willie is dead and I'm alive has escaped my notice? Because it hasn't. I have to talk to a sheet of notebook paper to have a conversation with him. I have to guess when he'll appear, and hope each day that he will. I don't get to see him smile, or look at me, and I can't hold his hand, and I can't feel him against me. But despite that, I'm happy with him. Isn't that what you should be focusing on?"
Julie sucks in a breath. "Alex—"
"Julie," Alex cuts her off. "I understand where you're coming from. The amount of times I told Luke falling for you was a horrible decision, but he reminded me it wasn't a decision. You can't pick and choose who you love, and… I'm willing to go through this for Willie, okay? You can't protect me from everything, and I'd never ask you to. I am asking you to leave this be."
She looks away from Alex, and turns to Willie. "Are you really okay with how this is going?"
"I… For now," Willie answers. "I've been trying to figure out my unfinished business to see if I'll come back to life, too. It's all I've been doing when I'm not with Alex for the last nine months. If I can't figure it out within the year since Alex came back to life I am going to stop this, okay Julie? I don't want him to hurt. I'll tell him to move on, I'll tell him that I can't do it anymore, but until then, I want to be there for him. These may be our last months together," Willie whispers. "Please don't take that from us."
Julie sighs, long and loud, but her shoulders drop. "Fine," she says, throwing her hands up. "Whatever. I—I just don't want you guys hurting."
"If you think Willie being here hurts me, clearly you don't remember you and Luke in the early days."
"I do, though. I remember how much it sucked when I reached out and my hand went right through him. I remember thinking that we could never be together—even once I could touch you guys, it still… sucked. Alex, I do remember the early days, and that's why I just… I just don't want you hurting. And… falling in love with a ghost when you're human… it hurts."
"But it's also worth it," Alex reminds her. "You turned down Nick, even when you couldn't touch Luke. Because you knew it was worth it. Even thinking you were going to lose Luke, you still chose him. And I'm choosing Willie, even though I know I could lose him. Even though it sucks that he's a ghost. Willie is worth it."
Julie looks at Willie. "Is this worth it?"
Willie nods. "I might have to say goodbye soon, but it's not like we're making bad memories. Alex and I won't live to regret the time we had together if this doesn't work out. And it might take us time to move on, but this will never not be worth it."
Julie narrows her eyes. "Does he know?"
"Know? About the unfinished business?" Willie asks. "No. I don't want to get his hopes up."
"Good. Keep it that way."
"Keep what, what way?" Alex demands, looking between Julie and the space of air she's looking at.
"Something I can't tell you," Julie says, still looking at Willie. "Willie wants to keep it quiet, too. Hopefully I can tell you one day, but until that day comes, it's mine and Willie's secret. It's for the better."
"Didn't we just decide you don't know what's best for me?" Alex huffs.
"Not in this case," Willie says.
"Willie says 'not in this case,'" Julie translates. "Just… be careful both of you, alright? You know I love you both, right?"
Alex leans back against the studio door and crosses his arms, frowning. "I know, Jules. I love you, too. And I appreciate your thoughts and wanting me to be okay, but, really. We're fine."
"Yeah," Willie says. "If I can't figure out my unfinished business I'll stop by and say goodbye to you, too."
"Alright," Julie nods. "Let me just grab that song and then you two can get back to your… date."
Willie smiles at her. He can feel on his face that it's not a full smile, that it's sad, and that it's not reaching his eyes, but… he is sad. Vocalizing his plan, to Julie no less, has made it permanent. He really only has three months to figure out his unfinished business.
It doesn't feel like enough time. Looking back to Alex, he knows it's not.
He'll never be ready to say goodbye.
(*)
His time is up.
It's been an entire year, almost to the day (he gave himself one extra week) since Alex came back to life, and Willie is here to leave Alex. He's kneeling next to where Alex is sleeping on the studio's couch, looking so relaxed and content, and Willie… he's glad he prepared beforehand. He pulls the piece of notebook paper out of his pocked and places it on the table, Alex's name in bold pen on the top.
He wrote his note before he came to see Alex, knowing that he won't have the courage to write it down when he's looking at the other boy. Especially not if Alex is watching him. No, that's… he could never do that, not when he could see the look on Alex's face. So, the idea is, in and out, leave the note somewhere for Alex to find, and never look back.
The last part is going to be the hardest.
However, he's promised himself that he won't go looking for Alex or the others anymore. Not after tonight. He's letting Alex move on, but he needs to let himself move on, too. Alex will find someone else to love, and Willie… if nothing else, he should give himself the chance to find someone else to love. Not that he'll ever really feel confident again, knowing that one of them could cross over at any minute, leaving him just as heartbroken as he is now. But… it was worth it with Alex. He can't imagine how it ever wouldn't be worth it, even as he has to say goodbye now. Alex will always be worth it, and he can't be sorry for holding on as long as he did. The time he got to spend with him has given him enough courage to say goodbye… just… there's one more thing he wants to say, that he couldn't say in his note.
"I love you," Willie whispers, reaching down to stroke Alex's hair, but freezing before he could. He's not in the right mindset to have his hand pass through Alex, not again, not right now, when he feels the cramping in his chest from the pain of this moment. Not when it's been over a year and he still hasn't figured out his unfinished business. Not when he doesn't think he ever will. There's so much he's tried, so much he's done, and he's not sure what more there is to do. He's held on to this for far too long, and he thinks it's time to let go. He doesn't want his last memory of Alex to be his hand disappearing through the boy's body. "I'm so sorry I couldn't do better for you."
There's a clench in his stomach as he thinks about all he's gone through this past year. Practicing all the moves he wanted to perfect before he died. Returning to his childhood home and making connections with his family, apologizing for leaving them, apologizing for not being a better son. Visiting his older sister who ran away when he was younger. Tracking down the person who killed him from all of the newspaper articles and forgiving them. Going to his college and sitting in on all of the classes that he skipped out on when he was a student. Going back to Caleb's club and apologizing to all those he led there. Visiting the graves of all of his family members that he never got to say goodbye to. Visiting his grave and forgiving himself for his mistake.
Yet here he stands, still a ghost.
Truthfully, he didn't care if he crossed over to the living or crossed over to heaven. He just… didn't want to be here anymore. In this limbo between the living and the dead. Skating the streets of Hollywood was fun, but with Caleb gone, with the Ghost Club in his past, with Alex living… skating was all he had, and it wasn't enough to hold him to this… "life" that he was living. He just wanted it to be over—he just wanted to move on. He doesn't care what that means anymore. Just… not like this. Not this. He can't be stuck like this for eternity. He can't.
He shoves himself to his feet in a rush and walks to the door, forcing himself to not look back. It's time to move on—time to let Alex move on. Like Alex says, it's not fair, and Willie's just making it harder on both of them. If he hasn't figured out his unfinished business by now, he's not going to. Maybe he already missed his opportunity, maybe it's something that's waiting for him in the future, maybe it's—
Ow.
Willie looks up from where he landed on the floor, and sends a glare at the door. There's a noise from up in the loft and Reggie's laugh sounds through the studio. "Dude, did you just walk into the door? I know you can do dumb things when you just wake up, but come on."
Willie looks up at the loft and blinks.
Wait.
He walked into the door.
"Reggie?" he calls tentatively.
The boy pops his head out of the fence in the loft, jaw dropped. "Willie?"
"You can—you can see me?" Willie breathes, turning around on the floor and looking between Alex and Reggie. Thing one: he couldn't walk through the door. Thing two: Reggie could hear him walk into the door. Thing three: Reggie could see him.
"Alex!" Reggie screeches, throwing a box of picks down from the loft and at the couch. "Alex!"
Alex flinches when the box of picks lands right next to his head and groans. "Dude, what the fuck?" he asks, picking up the box and looking at it. "Why the fuck?"
"I'm sorry, but you're going to love me in a second because sit your butt up and look at the door."
"What are you talking about?" Alex demands as he sits up and rubs at his eyes. He looks up at the loft first, but Reggie's head peaking down at the door must interest him, because Willie looks away from Reggie at the same time Alex does, and their eyes meet. "Willie?" he whispers.
"Alex," he breathes out with a laugh. Alex is up and off the couch and striding towards him in one motion, dropping next to him with a loud thud of his knees hitting the concrete. Willie reaches towards him cautiously. He curls a hand around Alex's face, tracing his cheekbone with his thumb and laughs. "Oh my god."
Alex lunges forward and tackles Willie into a hug, holding him tight as they both start to cry.
"Hold on, hold on!" Reggie wails, footsteps thundering as he rushes down the loft stairs. "Remember, I can't poof out anymore, and I don't want to see what's going to happen next, just give me a minute to—okay, carry on," he finishes, and then the studio door clicks shut and Alex crashes his mouth to Willie's with no hesitance.
Willie gasps, and takes a moment to adjust to the feeling of Alex's mouth on his again, but after a moment, he pushes back into Alex and gives back as good as he's getting. It's easy to fall back into this, really. It's not like Willie forgot how Alex kisses, and he highly doubts Alex has forgotten how Willie kisses, so it's easy for the two of them to give and take, to push and pull. There's no learning involved, just coming home.
Alex's breath hitches and he pulls away quickly, shoving his face into Willie's neck. "Oh my god," Willie hears him whisper. "Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. Please tell me I'm not dreaming?" he begs.
"You're not dreaming," Willie grins, holding Alex tighter.
"Yeah, but that's something dream you would say," Alex says, pulling away from Willie's neck and looking into his eyes. Alex's eyes are red and the area around them is swelling, and Willie swears he's never looked more beautiful. He lifts a hand and cups Alex's face. "Punch me."
"Wh—babe, no," he laughs, wiping the tears from Alex's face. "Punch yourself."
He's not expecting Alex to pull back and smash his fist into his forearm. "That wasn't hard enough, you've gotta—wait. My knees. The concrete hurt them. Can you dream pain? Is that a thing? Oh my god, I don't know enough about dreams, I—"
"Alex," Willie murmurs, leaning forward. "You're not dreaming. You've always trusted me, yeah? Trust me now." He presses his lips gently to Alex's, and feels Alex's lips quirk up in a smile.
He pulls back. "If I wake up from this you're so dead."
"Well, technically, if this was a dream, you'd be completely right. But right now I'm so alive." Willie pauses. "I think? I couldn't walk through the door and now you guys can see me and touch me and—"
Alex cuts him off with a kiss. After a few seconds he releases Willie's lips and sits back and closes a hand around Willie's wrist, pressing two fingers to where Willie's pulse point would be. Alex stares at his hand in amazement, and another smile spreads on his face. "You're alive."
"I am?" he asks, breathless.
"Yes, dude. What was? What was your unfinished business?"
"I don't—I don't know. The last thing I did was visit you. I've been trying to figure it out for the last year but nothing worked. Then… Wait."
"What?"
Willie feels blood rush to his face and wow isn't that a feeling. But, no. Not the point right now. He twists his wrist in Alex's hold and slips his hand down to hold Alex's. "The last thing I did was, um, tell you I love you."
"Falling in love was your unfinished business?"
"No," Willie shakes his head. "Otherwise I would have come back like, two years ago. Unless—did I really have to say it?"
"Unfinished business is weird, we were technically signed with Destiny Management for two months before we actually signed the papers, but I didn't actually come back until I signed the legit contract," Alex explains. He smiles at Willie, and then his expression drops. "Wait. You're in love with me?"
Willie feels his face soften. "I've been in love with you."
"Was it—was it you at my grave? A few months ago I—I know I could have asked you when you started writing to me but I was so scared—"
"It was me," Willie nods. "I can't believe you tried to suggest I didn't care—"
"I didn't—I couldn't—I just—everything sucked, I was doubting everything and the further I got away from you the more I was convinced that you didn't feel the same. I mean, you hadn't come to visit once—"
"I saw you at the skate park before that." He squeezes Alex hand. He lifts up their entwined fingers and presses a kiss to the back of Alex's hand. "You looked… you were so sad, and it hurt so much to talk to you. At first I thought it was better for both of us if I didn't… encourage it. I lost that plan, though. I was trying to figure out my unfinished business but I just wanted you to be happy."
"You make me happy."
Willie grins. "You make me happy too, hot dog."
Alex blushes and goes back to hiding his face in Willie's shoulder.
"Hey, have you tried hot dogs since you came back to life?"
"No," Alex laughs, then moves his head up to press a kiss to Willie's collarbone. He leans back, away from Willie's body so he can look him in the eyes. "I don't think I ever will."
"Yeah, well I'm stopping at every cross walk, even if the walk sign is on," Willie says. "What kills you makes you reevaluate your life choices."
"What kills you makes you smarter," Alex grins.
"Then why did you need me to help you pass calculus?" Willie teases.
Alex rolls his eyes and shoves at Willie, who reaches forward to grab Alex's bicep to stabilize him. "What are you doing here, man? You haven't been here in almost a month. I've been waiting for you."
Willie bites his lip and looks at the ground. "I was here to say goodbye. I gave myself one year to figure out my unfinished business and then I'd let us both move on. That—that's what I told Julie that night. That's what you couldn't know."
Alex breathes out, staring at Willie without blinking. His eyes start filling with tears and he lets out a mirthless laugh. "Well thank fuck you decided to tell me you loved me."
"Yeah," Willie nods. "Thank fuck."
(*)
They walk into the Molina household hand in hand, Alex murmuring things along the way, and Willie just listening, but mostly reveling in the feel of Alex's hand in his again.
"Ah, mijo!" Julie's dad exclaims happily. "Just in time, I was about to send Reggie out—who's this?"
Alex shifts, squeezes Willie's hand, and draws in a breath. "Ray, this is Willie. He's—do you remember how we told you I was dating a ghost before I came back to life?"
Ray (apparently) nods. "I do."
"This is him."
Ray's eyes narrow. "He came back to life, too?"
"He did. And he doesn't have anywhere to go right now, could he stay, at least in the studio? We'll find his family soon, but—"
"Alex," Ray cuts the boy off. "Of course." He looks to Willie. "Do you like tacos?"
Willie nods slowly. "Yes, sir."
Ray shakes his head. "None of that 'sir' stuff, Willie. Just Ray works. Let me go find another chair, and you can join us for dinner, bueno?"
"I—thank you," Willie says, genuinely taken aback by Ray's openness.
"Alright, the rest of the family is in the dining room, why don't you two go join them, I'm just going to grab a chair out of my office," he tells them, and then disappears around the corner.
Alex squeezes Willie's hand and smiles down at him. "Ready?"
Willie laughs. "For what?"
Alex grins and walks forward, tugging Willie along behind him. They walk through the kitchen and Willie can see the entire group as they make their way to the table—Julie's little brother (Carlos, he thinks) is sitting at the head of the table, talking rapidly with Reggie, who is sitting with his back to Willie and Alex. Julie's friend (Flynn, he's sure of that one) is sitting next to Reggie and he can tell from her posture that she's bent over her phone. Beside her, there's an open chair squeezed into the small space which Willie assumes is meant for Alex. Across the table, with their heads ducked together and talking in quiet tones are Julie and Luke, completely unaware to their presence. At least until Alex clears his throat.
Everyone looks at them, then. Reggie and Flynn turn in their seats, and Julie and Luke look up, confused. Carlos stares at Willie with a calculating look, and—
"Oh my god!" Julie screeches, shoving out of her chair so fast that she knocks it back into the window. She runs around the table and into the kitchen before launching herself at Willie. "You did it!"
Willie laughs but once Alex drops his hand, he holds on to her tightly. Despite being able to interact with her face to face for the last two and a half years, he's never got to touch her. She became one of his closest friends, but he'd never been able to give her a hug, and they're both tactile people. The entire group is, really. So he squeezes her tighter and breathes in her scent and savors in the feeling of being hugged by her. "I did," he says into her hair. "Thank you for giving me the chance."
"Of course," she says as she pulls away, but her hands don't leave him, just slide down to hold on to his forearms. "What was it?"
Alex grins from next to Willie and leans in to Julie's view. "He had to tell me he loved me."
"It took you guys two years to say I love you?" Luke says, and Willie notices him standing a few feet behind Julie. "Dude—"
"Not all of us say 'I love you' after the first date, Luke," Alex shoots back.
"But two years?"
"We were separated for one of those."
"But two years?"
"Leave them be," Julie tells him, finally dropping Willie's arms and spinning around to face her boyfriend. "It still took you months to work up the courage to ask me out. Willie asked Alex out as soon as he was free from Caleb." Willie wants to tell her that Alex had actually kissed him and ran away before Willie asked the boy out, but with a glance at Alex, who was glaring at him knowingly, he decides to save the story for another time. "At least they've got that sorted out."
Luke rolls his eyes and steps around Julie to clap a hand into Willie's. He bumps their shoulders together and grins, a trademark lopsided Luke grin. "I'm glad to see you, man."
"Me too!" Reggie cries from in back of the group. "Sorry I ran out of the studio on you guys, but I didn't—"
"You knew?" Julie gasps.
"Well, yeah? Why'd you think I ran in from the studio?"
"Considering you grabbed food, we thought you wanted a snack," Flynn says, and Reggie looks like he's considering her words before he shrugs. She turns to Willie. "I'm Flynn. Nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about you."
"Same," Willie says, leaning forward to shake her hand. "We've technically met, but you never got to see me."
"So you were a ghost, too?" Carlos calls from where he's still sitting at the dining room table. Ray is sitting at the other end now, too, having squeezed in another chair on the side where Julie and Luke had been sitting. It was a wheelie computer chair and as soon as Flynn saw it she dove for it with a cry of 'dibs,' sending her and the chair flying back into the wall.
"I was," Willie confirms, following the rest of the group as they make their way back to the dining room.
"Cool," Carlos breathes.
"Yeah, super cool," Julie rolls her eyes, ruffling her brother's hair. "Dying is so cool."
"Hey, he's alive again," Carlos shoots back. "So I can say it's cool."
"Can't argue that logic," Reggie grins.
"I also agree it's cool," Alex says, and sends Willie a soft smile.
"Yeah, yeah, we know, you're happy to have your boyfriend back," Flynn waves her hand through the air as she scooches back to the table. "But can we get to the tacos now?"
"I hope you like tacos," Luke says, reaching for a hard shell with one hand and the taco meat with the other. "Because they're gonna be your first taste of food in—wait, when did you die?"
"Seven, eight years ago. 2015."
"How old are you?" Julie asks.
"With or without the ghost years?"
"Without. That's what's going on your birth certificate."
"I was a month shy of turning twenty. I was born a month before you three," he says, nodding at each of the boys individually, "died in '95."
"It's a good thing we died, then," Alex says, waiting patiently for the rest of the table to make their tacos before he makes his own. "Never would have met you, otherwise. Or if I did…"
"We don't think about that," Luke says. "Otherwise we have to talk about how much older I am that Julie and that—that doesn't work."
"How much older than Julie are you?" Carlos asks.
Luke turns a mock glare on the kid. "Did you not hear what I just said? We don't think about that."
Reggie leans towards Carlos and stage whispers, "twenty six years."
Carlos looks absolutely gleeful. "Ha! Dad, did you know that?"
Ray sighs. "I did, Carlos. Eat your food."
"You're old," Carlos hisses at Luke.
"You're a child," Luke taunts back. Even through their tones, Willie can tell this group is a family. Luke is Carlos' older sister's boyfriend, yes, but his role as a pseudo brother to Carlos is just as important as his role as Julie's boyfriend. Reggie clearly adores the kid and Willie's sure their relationship is even closer than that of Carlos and Luke's. He looks at Alex, who is looking down the table at Carlos with fond eyes, and realizes that even Alex is this kid's brother. Alex is Julie's brother. He's Ray's son. He's not just living here, he's a piece of this family, and Willie is at a meet the family dinner, even if he already knew more than half of them. His eyes flick to Ray and suddenly he wants to make a good impression.
Alex must be able to feel him tense up, so he reaches over and lays a hand on Willie's thigh. He leans in. "What's wrong?"
Willie looks at him, looks around the table again, and settles on Ray again, who is giving him a look that's nearly as concerned as the one on Alex's face.
It's been ten minutes and he thinks he's a part of this family, too.
He smiles at Ray, who returns it, and then Willie turns to Alex. "Nothing. I'm good. But hey, I love you."
Alex smiles. He presses a kiss to Willie's cheek. "I love you, too."
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Sorry for the unsolicited ask, but I remember seeing you said that Ned Stark was Lawful Neutral. What DnD alignments do you see for the rest of the characters at the beginning of their journeys and where they are now in the books? Also, what should have the TV adapted from the book and what should the book series take from the TV’s changes and pitfalls?
Hi! I love unsolicited asks, no apologies necessary. :)
I’m going to pick a handful of some of the more interesting-to-me POV characters since it’s been a minute since I did a book re-read and also there are a ton of characters in this story. So. If there’s someone in particular you were hoping for, you can ask!
Ned Stark - Lawful-neutral from start to finish, ALTHOUGH. I think Ned’s great tragedy is that at the very end he bent and it didn’t do shit for him anyway. He still was killed, because he’d gone too far and he was too unwilling to bend when he had more power. Also my first D&D character ever was a LN gnome fighter and I just have a lot of feelings about LN fighters.
Catelyn Stark - Here’s a hot take: I think Cat is True Neutral at the beginning, and then when things start to happen to her family she slips a bit into Neutral-Evil, with the selfishness focused around her pain and her family’s well-being. (There’s an argument to be made that she’s chaotic-good/chaotic-neutral but I think Cat feels more strongly about authority than that suggests.)
Arya Stark (yes, my secret is out: I am a Stark fan) - Arya is very chaotic-good at the beginning of the story and where we’ve left her, I think she’s chaotic-neutral and poised on a tipping point where she could slip to chaotic-evil but I think she’s gonna go back to CG. Maybe True Neutral, but I don’t see her becoming the true Faceless Man archetype that requires in the books (in the show I think she did become TN).
Cersei Lannister - I think Cersei is Lawful-Evil, because Tywin is Lawful-Evil and she thinks she’s female Tywin. In reality she’s probably Neutral Evil, especially where we’re at in the books, though she still lets herself be bound by authority in a way that suggests she might still be LE.
Tyrion Lannister - Okay here’s the thing. I don’t like Tyrion. Which, if you’ve read my fics, is probably not a surprise to discover. I liked him in the early books! But as he’s gone on I’ve liked him less and less and now he just annoys the crap out of me in ASOIAF. I think Tyrion was probably True Neutral at the beginning; honestly there’s an argument that he might’ve been Neutral-Good, but he’s definitely Neutral-Evil now, MAYBE Chaotic-Neutral if I were being generous with him. Which I am not.
Jaime Lannister - Jaime has had I think the biggest alignment shift out of anyone in the entire series. I think he started life as Lawful-Good, and then when the authority he trusted betrayed him, he shifted to an outward Chaotic Neutral/inward Chaotic Good that’s struggling to reassert itself. I think where he’s at now in the series is transitioned into that Chaotic Goodness more outwardly, and I think by the end of the series he’ll be fully CG, POSSIBLY Neutral Good but I’m not sure I see him making that shift completely.
Brienne of Tarth - Brienne is maybe my all-time favorite character of anything ever, so I have a lot of Opinions about her and this one I hold dear: I think a lot of fandom thinks she’s Lawful-Good, but I think she’s Neutral-Good. She is extremely driven by keeping her promises, but not, IMO, because of the weight of authority but because of the weight of her own moral beliefs in making a promise. She wants to do good because it’s the right thing to do, not because any oaths she takes tell her to. It’s why she was willing to hear Jaime out about what he did to Aerys when others (like Ned) wouldn’t - because she recognizes that good is the choice, not the oath. BECAUSE HERE’S THE DEAL. If Brienne were Lawful-Good, she would have stayed and married someone on Tarth. But she’s not. So she didn’t. I think she will retain her Neutral-Goodness through the series. I could see her slipping to maybe Chaotic-Good, but honestly I think she’ll stay NG/return to NG by the end.
I am very curious if people disagree on any of these (even Brienne!) so discussion encouraged. :)
Whew, that was pretty long. And I still have more of this question to answer! So the rest I’m putting under a Keep Reading cut.
What should have the TV adapted from the book and what should the book series take from the TV’s changes and pitfalls?
This is a really complicated question, and I really like it, but I’m not sure I feel confident answering it.
I think the TV show suffered from trying to refine an unfinished story to its core themes without knowing where George was going to end (except I guess with Bran as King?). I used to think that the choices they made about what they left out where telling - all of the Targaryen nonsense limited just to Dany and not any of the other stuff, for instance - but given the finale, I think D & D both hyperfocused only on keeping the main points they needed for what they saw as the end while also only paying off the bones of what they’d adapted from the first three books and didn’t have room for the ways GRRM expanded the story after the third book nor for the ways his end will probably be more complicated than the one they were limited to by it being a TV finale.
All of which is to say: I would have loved them to adapt the Lady Stoneheart arc, particularly for Brienne, but that D&D had no idea how to make that work within the confines of what their limitations both of what they’d chosen to focus on previously and TV, and so I understand why they didn’t. I would have loved, as well, to have more depth and see more of the Dorne arc with Arianne and Myrcella and Tristan, but that adds a whole season’s worth of episodes that the show just could not absorb. The show was forced to choose early to focus on the Starks and the Lannisters, with Dany as a third party, and they never were able to sway from that.
If I were starting over from scratch, I would have to have a long talk with GRRM and figure out what his point is, and work backward from there. I don’t get the sense D & D worked backward from anything but the Red Wedding.
(To be honest, if I were writing the show, I’d do everything the same up to season 6, at which point I’d separate Jaime and Cersei, and make it all about setting up the War of the Five Queens in s6, then we deal with the threat of the White Walkers as a serious, full-season arc for season 7, and then spend season 8 paying off the Queens War and ending with whatever thematic ending it is GRRM is going toward (humans are the ultimate monsters! Women make it work! Women fuck it up just as badly as the men did! Democracy for everyone! Peace is tentative and must be fought for in a tense standoff that all of these older, weary women now understand! Which is what I would have chosen. heh.)
As for the other way, what do I think GRRM should learn from the show. I mean I love the tent scene and would love to see something like that adapted somehow to the books (when Jaime comes to Winterfell to fight, would be my personal suggested placement; imagine the drama and romance!). I think GRRM could also stand to learn from streamlining to key characters and plots, which is what I hope he’s doing in TWOW. But where we’re at in the story in the books is so different from where the show went that I think it’s hard to make any specific suggestions. Mostly I just really want him to look at the story he’s telling and understand it, and recognize that it may have changed certain endings he may have considered previously before his story unfolded itself and he realizes that Jaime and Brienne living on Tarth can be the sweet part of the bittersweet. Ahem.
#asoiaf#game of thrones#meta#jaime x brienne#sort of#this got long whew#long post#asks answered#anonymous
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The Contest (6 of 7) | some R6S guys x fem!reader
✏️ Pairing: Jäger x fem!reader
✏️ Summary: Dominic Brunsmeier can’t keep his goddamn mouth shut when it comes to eating pussy, and that’s how Y/N finds herself being drafted to be the judge of this pussy-eating contest. (Straight out of a dream @kind-wolf had)
✏️ A/N: I’m not entirely satisfied with this part, it was somehow the hardest to write so far, but hopefully you’ll enjoy it! 💛 I also kind of hurt my hand yesterday and it has slowed me down a bit, and since I haven’t started working on the very last part of this fic yet, I’m not sure there’ll be an update on Sunday. Fingers crossed that I’ll manage to write, but just in case, you've been warned 😅
✏️ Warnings: 18+ only (oral f/r, fingering)
✏️ Word-count: 2,897
✏️ The links to the other parts are in the masterlist linked in my bio.
<< part five: dominic << | PART SIX: MARIUS | >> part seven: the winner >>
Marius had managed to come back three days after Dominic’s turn and while he would have preferred to remain on-site with the other operators on the team, Six had called him back to report. After that, Dominic had marched him down to the dorm sector of the Base and had dropped him into Y/N’s hands.
Be quick. The guys and I are tired of waiting, he had half-joked before jogging back down the corridor and out of sight.
“I’m sorry,” Marius said, looking away from her half-dressed form. “He was waiting for me outside Harry’s office and he brought me straight here.”
When her brain started working again after the surprise she had just been presented with, she gasped out glad a cuss word at Dominic. “Oh fuck, you’re still in your uniform! Did he drag you here right after you came back from your mission?”
He shrugged, a hand coming up to give the back of his neck a brief massage before he rolled his shoulders back. “Yeah, I’m sorry.”
“Were the others in on this?”
He looked away for a moment and she knew, then and there, that despite the fact that he was most likely tired out of his mind, he was still down to lie for his friends. But eventually, when he answered with a vague and unfinished Yeah, no, they…, she scoffed.
“I should kick them out of this stupid contest,” she groaned. She let the t-shirt she had had in her hands when Dominic had swung the door of her dorm open drop on the bed and she walked up to the man in her room. “You’ve just come back,” she repeated. “Have you showered yet?”
When he shook his head no in response, she took his hand in hers and led him into the bathroom.
“You don’t have to do anything tonight if you don’t want to,” she told him, “but maybe a shower will do you good anyway.”
There was no need to ask him if he was tired: she just knew he was. She had been on missions as well and she knew how tough it could get when the adrenaline left your system. The tiredness and the soreness caught up — and sometimes even your mind would start wandering.
He turned her around when she turned on the water so that it could warm up for him and when they were facing each other, he pulled her into an unexpected hug.
Marius was a respectful man, he had always been. While Elias had always glanced at her quite a few times, he always respected Dominic — and while she wasn’t Dominic’s, or not exactly at least, he had never done anything that could have been even remotely misinterpreted. And although they had been brought closer by that silly game they were playing, he had never so much as hugged her before.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
He inhaled deeply, his face buried into the crook of her neck, and when one of her hands came up to cradle the back of his head, she felt him shiver. “Thank you,” he muttered eventually. He was smiling a tired smile when he pulled back, a playful I’m starting to see why he’s so into you leaving his lips. “However, if you’re okay with proceeding, I won’t say no. The quicker we get this over with, the quicker those motherfuckers will stop pestering me.”
Her chuckle made his smile broaden that tad bit more that his teeth were visible for a moment. But then her smirk turned mischievous and her hands moved up his chest. “We’ll make him pay for playing this card on you.”
She pushed his jacket down his shoulders and as she bent down to pick it up and bring it back into her room to hang it on the back of a chair, he got out of his shoes.
“I can shower you if you want,” she proposed when she reached him again. He was halfway into taking off his shirt and she noticed the purple bruise peeking from underneath the cotton.
“But you said…”
“To hell with what I said.” She knew the rules didn’t allow for them to be naked, but she wasn’t going to ask him to kneel down between her legs, not when he had just come back from a mission. “Yes or no?”
It took him a few moments to say yes, and she knew it was out of respect for his friend. But when he caved in and let his shirt drop to the floor, she walked away from the door frame she had been leaning against and moved to stand in front of him. Her eyes met his when her hands moved over the button of his pants and he gave her a curt nod of his head before she finally proceeded.
“What happened to your back?” she asked, this time not looking at him as she kneeled before him to drag his pants down his legs.
She had seen the nasty blue-ish bruise on his left pectoral, but didn’t bring it up. Bruises were part of the package with their job, but they still had a weird effect on her when they were on someone she cared about.
“Fell down a story,” he answered vaguely as he held onto her shoulders to step out of his clothes. “Nothing to worry about too much.”
“Did you get yourself checked in the med bay?” She had taken his socks off and had stood up again. And as her fingers hooked underneath the waistband of his boxers and she stared into his eyes, she saw that spark of almost guilt flash across his face. “Dom will have an earful in the morning,” she groaned to herself as she pushed his underwear to the floor. “Now get in,” was the order she gave as her hands came up to unclasp her bra. “I’ll be there in a second.”
The shower felt asphyxiatingly confining when she stepped in behind Marius. Private bathrooms on the Base tended to be smaller than the rest when you didn’t share a room with someone else, and never before that night had she consciously understood what that meant.
“At least neither of us is going to slip and fall,” Marius chuckled, turning to face the sidewall of the cubicle so that they could have a little more space.
She let out a chuckle of her own as her hands slid up his bruised back, careful not to press too hard into his tense muscles. “How did the mission go?” she asked eventually when she started soaping him up.
“The usual,” he shrugged. Before he could continue, her thumbs dug into the flash of his shoulders and he hissed. “The guys needed last-minute help securing the objective.” He groaned again when she started massaging his shoulders and the back of his neck and before long, he was leaning his forehead against the tiled wall.
“They called you back quickly, though,” she pointed out. She was doing her best to work some of the knots in his muscles, but it proved to be a hard feat in the confined space of the shower. “That’s good?” It left her lips more like a question and although a last-minute call to leave on a mission was always a pain in the ass, she couldn’t help but wonder how things had gone.
“Yeah, no, everybody’s fine.” She didn’t miss his relieved exhale when her hands pressed down along his spine, where bruises didn’t mark his skin. “The mission has been completed, they just had a few things to do before coming back.”
It turned quiet after that and although he muttered a sorry at his half-erection when he turned around, the atmosphere in the bathroom was peaceful and relaxed. She finished soaping him up, humming quietly under her breath, and after she was done washing him, he surprised her by making her turn around to face the wall she had been with her back towards.
His hands were soft on her skin and much like she had done just minutes ago, he worked on her tense shoulders as they made small talk. She told him about the endless days at the base, and he told her some details about his mission, funny stuff the operators he had been working with had said. By the time his thumbs started their descent down her spine, her mind seemed to be peacefully swimming as her eyes closed in relaxation.
“You’re better at this than I am,” she joked when her brain managed to make her tongue work again. Her head tilted back against him of its own accord and although she did feel him painfully hard against her back for a moment, he was quick to move back.
She gave him his time when she stepped out of the shower a minute or two later. She quickly slipped into her toweling robe, left a towel on the sink for him, and slipped out of the bathroom in silence as she closed the door behind his back.
She had tried not to look — she really had, out of respect for the contest’s rules, the other guys and most of all, her quickly dying resolve not to cheat. But she had had a glimpse of his cock — long and slightly arched — and she had felt it brush against her butt when he had abruptly turned around. So, when she eventually laid down on her bed, she couldn’t help her hand from traveling down her body and stopping between her legs as she listened in on Marius’ soft grunts coming from the bathroom.
She was wet, and it had very little to do with her skin still being slightly damp from the shower she had just walked out of. Her middle finger slid between her folds, the fingertip teasing her entrance, and a light moan left her lips. For a moment, she realized that this was how Dominic might feel — wanting her without being able to have her just yet — but she didn’t have long to ponder that thought and play with herself, because the door of the bathroom opened and Marius stopped in his tracks at the sight of her, her legs spread open, a hand between them, and the bathrobe barely concealing her upper body.
“Look at you.” The smirk that stretched on his lips made the skin of her face burn and although her hands itched to come up and cover her face, she kept them where they were — one on her abdomen and the other with a finger half-way inside her pussy. “What do you think you’re doing?”
It made a shiver run down her spine — how rough his voice sounded, the way he was staring at her, right between her legs.
He stalked towards the bed and when he stopped at the foot of it, he leaned forward to take her hand from between her thighs. The fingers of his right hand brushed against her pussy and his left brought her hand to his lips before he sucked her middle finger clean. She almost gasped at the soft grunt he let out and although she could feel her face on fire, she couldn’t take her eyes off of his.
“I almost kneeled in that shower,” he confessed when he let her hand go. He pulled her closer to the edge of the bed by her ankles and his hands slid up her bare legs before he pulled the string of her robe open. “Did the others take you there?”
She shook her head and although she had been on the verge of squeezing her thighs together under the intensity of his gaze, she found herself simply smirking when he started kissing his way up her legs.
“I should’ve aimed for those extra points then.”
A chuckle was all she managed to consciously let out before he licked a stripe between her folds and groaned at the taste of her before he kissed up her lower belly and abdomen.
The stubble he hadn’t had the time to shave grazed her skin, forcing goosebumps in its wake. It still felt nice — she was used to a whole different level of beard burn anyway — and all she could do was relax against the mattress as his lips made their way to her nipples. He licked and suckled, and although he was pouring his all into it, she felt how tired he was in the way his body was pressing down against hers.
“Marius,” she called, fingernails gently scratching his scalp before she tugged on his hair to prompt him up. “Lie down, I’ll sit on your face.”
He smiled at her — and there was a faint spark of mischief in his eyes when he looked at her right before he let himself plop down on the bed next to hers. He seemed to pour his thank you in the way he caressed the side of her face when she turned her head to look at him, and a little even in the way he moved strands of hair behind her ear. “If I weren’t this tired, I’d surely win,” he smirked, pulling a chuckle out of her. “But I can still give you a good time anyway.” He shrugged his shoulders and fully turned to lie down on his back and as he did so, she couldn’t help but notice the flaps of his towel opening a little, almost as though to tempt her and remind her how much into a dick-fucking mood she was.
When she straddled his face and glanced down at him, her hands firmly holding onto the metal headboard of her bed, she found him grinning up at her like a child on Christmas day. His hands slid up her thighs and his fingertips pressed into her flesh, and when she hesitated for a moment, he pressed his face into her inner thigh and groaned deep in his chest.
“C’mon, let me eat this pussy.” And for good measure, he gave her ass a playful slap that made her jolt.
She chuckled at that, and deciding on having some mercy on him and his post-mission state, she hastily took off her robe, threw it to the side, and allowed him to lower her down onto his face.
He inhaled deeply before diving in, and his tongue on her drew a gasp from her lips. He licked at her, used both his thumbs to spread her labia for better access.
“I tried not to think of you in the shower,” he confessed just as her left hand moved over her left boob and teased the nipple. “But you have a great ass and I…” His hand left another swat on her right butt cheek and her body leaned forward, a moan leaving her lips when his wrapped around her clit.
So you like ass, was what she managed to chuckle before his tongue dove into her and ate her out.
He was noisy — moaning and grunting, and overall most likely enjoying it just as much as she was — and his breath against her made her shiver. Her eyes were fixed on his hair and the hand that had just been holding onto her breast moved down, her fingers tangling in his wet hair. Her hips were rocking gently back and forth, and she could feel that unmistakable feeling starting to build up inside her.
It started off slowly, with his tongue dipping into her before licking forward, teasing her clit, and then it built up much more quickly when he slowly pushed two fingers inside her. Their pads massaged over that sensitive spot inside her and her breath grew heavier, and then quicker. And before long, her eyes were dropping closed and her lips parting as the last coherent thoughts left her mind and moans and whimpers slipped through her lips.
God, he’s good, was the last thought she had before her grip on his hair tightened.
He gave her clit a harsh suckle and she was gone, her head thrown back as she gasped for air, no energy left in her to voice her orgasm. She wasn’t even aware of how tightly she was holding onto the headboard, just of his mouth and tongue on her — and of those two thick fingers still inside her.
“You good up there?” he asked eventually, turning his head to the side to leave a kiss on her shivering inner thigh.
She was staring at the ceiling, still panting lightly, the fingers of her left hand absentmindedly massaging his scalp. Her hips had stopped moving, but she was still out of breath and with the shocks of her orgasm still coursing through her. It felt amazing, though: her head felt completely empty and her whole body at peace.
“Yeah,” she exhaled eventually and when she managed to swallow, she tilted her head down and looked at him. “Yeah, I’m all good.”
“Need help letting go of the headboard?” His hands trailed up the back of her thighs and then her spine, before sliding back down and settling on the curve of her ass.
“I need help with a lot of things,” she chuckled, amused, “but this headboard is the last of my thoughts.”
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One of us (8)
Michael Gray x Reader/ Peaky Blinders x Reader
Master list - https://michaelgrayyy.tumblr.com/masterlist
Aberama hangs out on the side of the car as we near our destination, the further into the countryside the more Michael seemed to sulk. You keep looking over at him feeling his eyes on you as you sit beside Bonnie facing him while Bonnie faces Polly. Polly gets out first followed by Bonnie, who turns to help you down and then you turn back to help Michael but decide against it seeing his expression. You step out onto the woodland floor looking around, it made you miss your cottage, you hoped you’d be able to get back there when this was over, whenever that was.
“No! No, fucking way” you hear Michael complain from behind you and Polly meets your eyes, you stifle a giggle quickly covering your mouth and keeping your back to him.
“You ever eaten Hedgehog Michael?” Aberama asks seeing his reaction and you can’t contain the giggle that leaves you. You look back at Michael who sends you a glare before carrying on.
“I’m getting back in this car” he states pulling a cigarette out to smoke
“Michael, you’re number two on Luca Changretta’s hit list” she looks at me. “Well maybe three” she debates before carrying on.
“Yeah and I’ll stay in a hotel, we’ll stay in a hotel right, y/n?” he says trying to get you to side with him but you just raise your hands showing him you aren’t getting involved.
“You stay in a hotel, I’ll know where you are, so will the people who take you there, so will the people who work in the hotel, and hotels don’t move around. They don’t even know where they’ll be tomorrow, they follow the Patrin and the crows.” Polly argues back to him, silencing him. He knows she's right he just hates to admit it.
“And should anyone come for you, Michael, the Palmers and the Boswells will put up a fair fight” Aberama adds as Polly gets Michael medicine.
“Why are they talking as if you aren't coming with me, y/n?” he asks with a clenched jaw. Oh boy!
“I’ve got unfinished business with the Italians”
“And I don’t?” he snaps back instantly pissing you off.
“Right now, you don't.” you reply as Polly continues to go through his medicine looking between you both.
“Your painkiller..” Polly says passing them to Bonnie.
“The healers up there, will heal you much quicker”
“It's true, pretty sure I’d be dead without them healing me after getting me from Luca” I add trying to reassure him but Michael just looks over at you annoyed.
“Fucking witches, the lot of them” Michael grumbles earning a chuckle of Aberama who shakes his head at him.
“Show some respect, Mr. Gray. They’ve agreed to welcome you on account of your blood” Bonnie replies to him, you shake you head at Michael as he glares back at Bonnie not responding. You walk away getting yourself in the carriage, with the help of the men at the steps, having heard enough of Michaels complaining. Soon Bonnie joins you and not long after Michael joins you as well, you blow a kiss to Polly as the door shuts and she smirks.
“Will you quit sulking. These people are risking their lives to protect you” you break the silence after so long having had enough of his moping. Bonnie looks over before quickly looking back out the window guessing this is heading for an argument.
“Why are you coming with us if you aren’t staying?” he asks changing the subject.
“Because I thought you’d help you settle in, clearly that was poor judgment on my behalf.” you reply
“How are you going to get back to Small Heath?”
“Bonnie has a boxing match tonight, I’m going” you reply and Michael starts to work his jaw again so you turn the conversation to Bonnie. “You ready for your fight?” you call out to Bonnie who walks back over to sit down with you both.
“Sure am” he replies.
“Have you met Goliath yet?” he nods with a smirk. “Are you worth betting on?”
“Mr. Shelby seems to think so” he replies.
“Honestly, I can’t tell if Tommy is a genius or mad” you state. “But, I reckon you’re a good bet”
It's not long till the cart is pulled up and Bonnie opens the door, telling you that you’ll need to start making a move back to Small Heath in an hour before he walks off to help the others set up their camp. This is only a temporary camp until they make it to their main base, a part of you felt a bit gutted you wouldn’t get to see it but you needed to get back. You turn round motioning for Michael to come with you as you step outside, he reluctantly follows you both walk over to a fallen tree. He sits down and you slowly lower yourself next to him closing your eyes as you do.
“Still bad isn't it?” he asks watching your movements.
“I’ve had more fun” you respond. “Look, Michael I know you aren’t happy about this. But, please try and be nice to them, they are part of your heritage whether you like it or not and they are good people. This is better than you being shot again...we’ve already lost John” you plead with him and he softens ever so slightly before sighing.
“Alright, alright. I'll try, but I don’t like this.” he agrees mostly just trying to shut me up but I'll take it. “You and Gold’s son are awfully friendly” he tries to sound nonchalantly about it but fails miserably.
“He did save my life by getting me away from Luca, that's a good way to become my friend in my book.” you reply with a shrug before looking at him as he looks ahead of him with a hard expression. “Are you jealous?” you ask with a smirk.
“It was just a question, y/n” he replies in a clipped tone and your smirk grows into a cocky smile.
“You are!” you exclaim with a little laugh.
“I’m just being cautious is all, not like you who just befriends anyone and everyone” he replies and your smile fades.
“Is there a reason you are trying to provoke an argument every-time you speak to me?” you question running out of patience with his mood. He doesn’t respond just pulls out a cigarette to smoke, he takes a drag before you reach over taking it from his lips and taking a drag yourself. You both let out a sigh as a peaceful quiet settles amongst you both.
“As much as I hate to admit it, I do miss the fresh air” he says breathing in and you laugh watching him puff on the cigarette.
“What were your family like?” you ask him and he pauses before realising you are talking about his adopted family. That’s how you pass the time until you need to leave, Michael tells you about climbing trees and playing games with his little brother, about the pies and cakes his mum would make and how he used to help his father around the house doing jobs like cutting logs and fixing up the sheds. You smile as he talks not seeing this side of him before, part of you wishes he never came back to Polly so he could still be there but then you remember the stories of him blowing up the village wishing well and the priest and you know he would have come sooner or later.
Bonnie walks over to tell you its time to leave and you nod at him as he stands away so you can speak privately to Michael again, you lean over placing a kiss to him lips, you pull away looking him in the eyes with a serious glare.
“You stay alive, alright” you tell him
“You too, no running at guns or getting kidnapped. Deal?” he replies and you roll your eyes with a smirk.
“Deal” you agree as he kisses you quickly again before you get up off the tree walking over to join Bonnie. “Ready” you tell him as he nods.
“We’ve got a short walk until we get to where my father is picking us up, is that okay?” he asks looking at me apologetically.
“That’s okay” you reply walking alongside him, feeling better for the fresh air.
///////
Its a few hours later when you walk down the stairs wearing a emerald sparkling dress alongside, Polly, Linda and Lizzie ready for the big fight, Ada also joins as you go try find Finn in the crowd, you try to spot Tommy but he’s nowhere in sight. Looking back where the girls were you see they've also all moved, great, at least you know they’ll be in the toilet as you head that way. You walk in to see Linda setting out a line beside Polly and Ada at the sinks, while Lizzie is across the other side.
“Ah, good. Y/n, we’ve been looking for you, Lizzie’s got some news” Polly greets you as you walk in, Ada turns seeing you and smiles brightly at you before noticing your pained movements.
“I’m pregnant” Lizzie announces.
“Oh, and who’s the father? Have you managed to narrow it down?” Linda comments before taking a line of snow at the same time you let out a little squeal walking over to Ada to give her a hug not being able to resist. She grins at you carefully hugging you back as she raises her eyebrows at you at Linda’s comment.
“Yes. It's Tommy’s” Lizzie responds and you notice a glass of gin on the counter taking a swig.
“Congratulations. You’ve won the raffle at last” Linda remarks and you ignore her going over to give Lizzie a hug and kiss on the cheek.
“Congratulations, Lizzie” you say sincerely as Linda rolls her eyes you just glare back at her. Lizzie, Linda and Polly head back in as you stay behind with Ada, she sits on the counter as she asks how you are not having seen you since you were taken by the Italians.
“It makes you tougher” she says and you nod
“It’s the only thing it can do in this line of life” you reply as she agrees, you pull out a hip-flask of whisky passing it her after you take a swig. She fixes the rest of her make up before heading back out the door, you stay behind gathering yourself, just enjoying the peace and quiet before you have to go anywhere. Taking some of your painkillers alongside the whisky, walking outside ready to carry on watching the fight when you hear a gunshot followed by Tommy yelling in the hallway not far from you. You head off in the direction rushing not caring about the pain in your ribs, you round the corner seeing Polly up ahead being held by Tommy. He looks up noticing you and they both turn.
“What? what's going on?” you manage to say
“Arthurs dead. He’s dead” Tommy says coming over to you
“What no, he's not. Stop this” you say trying to shove past him “HE’S NOT” you yell out trying to hit out to get him away from you. He hold onto you until you stop fighting him, you push back from him walking back. He follows after you.
“Polly, go tell Linda” he shouts back rushing behind you as you run through the halls.
“We need to tell Finn” you call out to him before trying to weave your way through the crowd, its not use everyone is jumping around excited about the win in the ring, Tommy grabs onto you pulling you with him over to Finn. Finn smiles at you both patting Tommy on the back for his win, but Tommy grabs onto him pulling him close to whisper to him, you see his face drop as Tommy pushes him away towards Isiah. Tommy goes over to tell Lizzie before disappearing off again and you try get over to Charlie (old) in the ring beside Aberama and Bonnie but the crowd is too lively. Charlie see’s you struggling through the crowd and jumps out to come help you get through, he gets you to the side of the ring and you look over seeing Polly and Lizzie with a sobbing Linda.
“Arthur’s dead” you say to Charlie who looks at you in confusion before Tommy jumps up into the ring firing a gun in the air. He tells the crowd Arthur is dead before crouching down as he takes a breath, Charlie quickly rushes over up into the ring and you walk over to the girls, Lizzie stands up pulling you into a hug.
///
The next few days pass by in a blur you find yourself permanently glued to the bar stool in the Garrison, joined mostly by Finn and Isiah. It’s not like your usual drinks where they’d try and pick up girls while you’d dodge the advances of men that didn't realise who you were, no this was just drinking with the intent of numbing it all. You don’t remember how but you some how end up sat in the family home beside a silent Tommy, Ada and Polly waiting for Michael’s arrival. You’re heart breaks even more when they tell you the plan, but you nod having guessed bits off it all along, but not wanting to believe it.You hear him walk in the door and see Polly walk over to greet him but you don’t move, just sat swirling the cup of Tea Ada made you. Micheal walks over to you squeezing your shoulder in comfort as he looks to Tommy.
“Tommy, I’ve been trying to find the words” Michael says and you get up walking over to the drinks section.
“Don’t. Words don’t work” Polly cuts him off as you pour a glass of whisky. “Micheal we’re in a grave situation. But, Tommy has a plan. Instead of going to Australia you're going to go to New York.”
“Why?” he asks in shock
“Because the company has business to attend to in America” Ada responds, Michael looks over at you and then to Tommy, the only two not to speak to him yet.
“Will I be coming back?”
“You’re train leaves in an hour Michael.” Tommy breaks the silence. “You made a choice. You knew I was going to be shot and you chose not to tell me” Michael looks over to Polly.
“I chose my mum” he responds.
“When all this business is over, we’ll all be free to make our own choices” Polly says to him with tears in her eyes, you wipe away some of your own that have managed to slip.
“So is that it?” Michael asks looking at the back of Tommy.
“You get the train to Liverpool then the SS Monroe. The boat sails tomorrow.” He passes him the tickets “Now you can go”.
“Y/n?” he looks over at you and you bite your lip.
“Please just go” you plead wiping some more tears. “Please” you croak out and he closes his eyes in regret before turning to leave.
#michael gray#michael gray x reader#Michael Gray imagine#Michael Shelby#Peaky Blinders#peaky blinder imagine#peaky blinder fanfic#peaky blinder x reader#Tommy Shelby
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A Dangerous Mistake (+Alt. Ending)
A fanfiction I wrote based in @monica89555‘s @ask-the-royals AU. Ya might want to ask for an updating if you haven’t read it, the story won’t make sense if you don’t!
Posted here because submissions wasn’t letting Moni post it.
___________________________
“That self-centered bastard!”
Right Hand Fox paced in front of the askers. It had to have been a few months since he last lost his temper with them, and he’d managed to control himself.
Today, though…
His fur bristled, his ears lay flat against his skull and his tail lashed. He was furious, because King Petrov had the nerve to say something negative about Reginald.
He had said he was weak, had insulted his scars, his inability to speak. He had talked poorly about every aspect of him, and while Reginald didn’t seem too bothered, Right knew it must bother him.
“Right, calm down.” Soul stepped forward, brows furrowed. She had just been quietly drawing, but her sketchbook was now closed, hanging loosely in her left hand.
“I will not!” He snapped at her, teeth bared. “You heard what he said! You were there!”
“I know, but you need to relax.” She told him gently as he continued pacing. “Right, listen to me a moment-”
“Soul, wait-”
The warning from Milk came far too late. Soul grabbed Right’s wrist, gently, but it was enough for him to whirl around and rake his claws against her throat.
Someone screamed.
Right’s eyes widened as the asker stumbled back, hand raising slowly to grasp the wound before she collapsed to the ground. It wasn’t bleeding quickly, but it was bad.
“No!” He was at her side in an instant, applying pressure. She let out a choked noise of pain, and he quickly shushed her. “Sh, sh, it’s okay, it’s alright- I-I’m going to fix t’is. Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
Right looked up, seeing the askers and anons staring at him. Angie had covered her mouth, Milk was in a state of pure shock, Purple was holding Show close.
“W’ot are you waiting for?” He snapped. “Go tell Reginald! I’m takin’ ‘er to Vinsc’pinsilstien! ‘Urry it up!”
Right didn’t even pause to see if they were listening, or if they were going to do as told, before lifting her into his arms. He knew just by looking at it that the injury wasn’t deep enough to kill, not on it’s own, but there was already far too much blood. If he wasn’t fast enough, she’d bleed to death.
The thought of her slowly bleeding out, just because she was trying to calm him down seemed to rip his heart in two. As he ran, he could hear Lua’s frantic voice, hear his own heavy breathing. But Soul wasn’t making any noise, and briefly he was afraid he was already too late until she shifted, laying her head on his chest.
“Just ‘old on a little longer.” He told her, thankful that the sorceress wasn’t too far away. “Y-yer gonna be fine.”
He didn’t hesitate to ram the door with his shoulder when he got there, nearly falling to the ground as it opened before catching himself.
Soul let out a pained whimper as the jarring movement, and he quickly shushed her again. “I know, I know. It’s okay. You’ll be okay. I promise.”
He wasn’t so sure about that anymore, though.
Thankfully he didn’t even need to call for Vinschpinsilstien. The sound of her door had caught her attention, and she was now hurrying down the hall towards him. “King Right? What are you-”
“Save ‘er.” He cut her off, moving his arms so she could see the wound better. “Please. I...I lost my temper after ‘earin’ about somet’ing said about Reg, and-”
“I don’t need an explanation. I’ll do what I can.” The sorceress took Soul from him, carefully to not disturb her too much.
It was only ten minutes later that Reginald arrived, gripping the black sketchbook in his hand. Right was sitting in a chair, Lua at his side with her head in his lap.
Right looked up at Reginald. “Reg, I…”
“Where is she?” He signed, putting the sketchbook under his arm. “R-I-G-H-T-Y, where is she?”
“V is wit’ ‘er now.” He got to his feet. “Reg, I’m sorry, I…”
“I’m not mad,” He signed. “I just...I need to see her.”
Right hesitated, but nodded as Reginald hurried past him. He knew he couldn’t convince him otherwise, the most he could do was be there by his side, as he always was.
Vinschpinsilstien looked up as the two kings came in, and Right heard Reginald’s breath catch in his throat.
Soul was unnaturally pale, the wound still bleeding slowly despite the attempts to stop it. Her hoodie and bowtie were gone, leaving her only in her black pants and a white tank top. Her eyes were closed, her breathing was weak.
She was dying, and it was Right’s fault.
“S...ou...l….?”
Reginald’s voice was weak, hoarse. He coughed a bit, before trying to say her name again.
“Reg, please, don’t.” Right put a hand on his shoulder. “Yer gonna ‘urt yerself…”
“King Reginald.” Vinschpinsilstien dipped her head. “Hani, can you hold this for me?”
There was a soft huff from the spirit lion, who obediently sat by the bed, raising himself to hold the gauze against the injury with a large paw. Right watched nervously, then turned his attention away. “Is s’e going to be okay?”
“I don’t know.” She admitted. “I’ve managed to slow the bleeding, but it hasn’t stopped yet. I’m trying to convince a spirit to attach itself to her, but either they’re unable to, or they’re unwilling.”
Right’s heart dropped. This was why he’d brought her to Vinschpinsilstien. But if they wouldn’t, or couldn’t, attach to her…
“They can’t.” Lua said softly. “Her magic, the magic of an asker, it combats ours. They want to help, but they aren’t compatible.”
No. Nononono please we can’t lose her like this...
“Can you save her?” Right asked softly.
“I can try.” She frowned. “But I’m not sure.”
Reginald let out a sob, signing frantically. “Save her. Please, please save her. She can’t die, please, I cannot lose another child-”
Both kings froze. Right’s eyes widened in shock.
I cannot lose another child.
Right had never thought of how he, or Reginald, felt about any of the askers. He was angry at them a lot, and while they liked trying to help, they often fell short or were unable to.
Did he hate them?
The answer was no. Obviously it was no, he wouldn’t have come if he did. In fact, he had only ever hurt Soul once on purpose, the scar from which she still had, and had immediately been horrified with himself for it.
Could he consider some of the askers his children?
His heart hurt. The answer was yes. He easily could, and he knew now that Reginald could, too.
They might lose another child, but this time it was Right’s fault.
He stepped back.
“R-I-G-H-T-Y?” Reginald gave him a worried look.
“I did t’is.” His voice broke. “Reginald, t’is is my fault. I’ve killed ‘er. S’e was trying to ‘elp and I ripped ‘er throat open.”
“R-I-G-H-T-Y.” Reginald pulled him into a tight hug, holding him a moment before pulling away. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay.” His hands trembled, and he took a deep breath. “She’s strong, even if we don’t think so. She’ll…” He paused, smiling weakly. “She’ll make it.”
Right stared down at him, eyes damp, but he nodded. He needed that hope, he needed the faith that she’d survive.
“Y-yer right, Reg…” He said softly. “I just...need to ‘ave faith.”
“We’ll go sit in the hall.” Reginald signed. “Can you come get us when you’re done?”
Vinschpinsilstien nodded. “Of course.” She headed back to Soul’s side, Hani moving so she could replace the gauze and clean the wound a bit more. “I promise, I’ll do all I can.”
It was a few hours before the sorceress came to get them. She was covered in blood, in Soul’s blood, but she looked relieved. “She’s alive.”
The two kings practically leaped to their feet, and she raised a hand.
“Let me speak before you get excited. She’s alive for now. She’s very weak right now, and I don’t know if there’s internal damage. I don’t think so, at least nothing that’s preventing her from breathing, but she could very well have damage to her vocal cords. But I have managed to stop the bleeding, and I cleaned the injury. If she survives the night, then she should be in the clear.”
Right sighed in relief. She was weak, but she was alive. If she could just survive the night, if she could wake up in the morning, then he could breathe easy.
“Can we see her?” Reginald signed.
“Of course. Stay as long as you like.” She stepped aside, letting them head in.
Soul was still pale, still weak, but she looked a little better now. Her throat was wrapped, and she was cleaned up. She didn’t look like she was in pain anymore.
Reginald sat down by the bed, smiling at her. He kept a hand on her sketchbook, before opening it to look through it.
Right sat next to him, watching. Most of the works were unfinished, with shaky lines or messy sketches. Most were scenery, some beautiful, others bleak. But the ones she did finish were incredible, and Right felt his heart swell with pride.
“Talent.” Reginalf signed, smiling.
“We need to encourage ‘er to finis’ some of t’ese.” Right nodded. He laughed softly at a picture of him with that damn chewtoy. He hated that thing. But hearing Reginald giggle, he didn't mind it as much.
“...she will wake up, Reg.” Right reached over, squeezing his hand a bit. “I...I promise. We...we’re not going to lose another one.”
Reginald nodded, leaning on him, taking his hand back to sign. “I know. Just worried.”
“I know, Reg. I am too…” Right laid his head on his husband's. “...I am too.”
Right could feel a hand on his head, gently scratching behind his ear. He made a noise of contentment, perfectly satisfied to go back to sleep in the arms of-
Wait a minute.
He was not in his and Reginald’s bed. He was in a chair, his neck and back sore, leaning on a bed. And the hand petting him wasn't Reginald’s. It was smaller, a lighter touch.
He opened his eyes, and the hand pulled away as he sat up. “Soul?”
She smiled at him. “Heya, Right. Sorry, I couldn't resist.”
Usually he’d be angry. He didn't want anyone but Reginald petting his head. But right now there was only relief.
She was obviously still very weak, but she was awake. She was alive.
He pulled her into a tight hug. “Don't- don't ever scare us like that again. Please. Reg and I were so worried….we t’oug’t...we t’oug’t we lost you.”
“I won't make a habit of doing that, I promise.” Soul seemed a bit surprised, but leaned into the hug. “I’m sorry. I shouldn't have touched you while you were so angry.”
“Yer right, but you were tryin’ to ‘elp. I can't completely fault ya for t’at.” Right said gently. “I just...Reg and I t’ink of ya as our kid. We can't lose ya.”
“Do...do you really mean it?”
“Of course,” Right looked over at Reginald, still sleeping. “Reg.”
He hummed softly, clearly still sleepy.
“Soul’s awake.”
That woke him up. He sat up so fast Right was sure he must have whiplash. “You’re awake!” He signed. “Are you okay, are you in any pain-?”
“Reg, slow down.” Soul blinked. “My throat hurts, and it hurts to talk, but I’m mostly just tired.”
“Ya s’ouldn’t talk if it ‘urts.” Right pulled away, frowning. He had thought that her voice didn’t sound right. It was pained, and weaker than usual. Despite her dislike of noise, Soul had a loud speaking volume, and she was talkative. He had assumed speaking was just straining the injury, and he hoped now that it was the case.
She shook her head. “I don’t know sign. I tried to teach myself when I was younger, but I only know a few. I can only understand Reginald through magic.”
“T’en we’ll teac’ ya. But I don’t want you ‘urting yerself.” He told her gently. “V doesn’t know if t’ere’s any permanent damage,
She hesitated then nodded. “Alright.”
Right smiled. “How about we get started while you heal?”
Reginald nodded eagerly, and Lua jumped up onto the foot of the bed. (Right had honestly forgotten she was out.)
And Right knew that it would all turn out just fine.
Alternate Ending
It was a few hours before the sorceress came to get them. She was covered in blood, in Soul’s blood, and Right’s heart dropped as he saw the look on her face.
“I’m sorry.” She bowed her head. “I couldn’t stop the bleeding. She’s still alive...but just barely. She just...lost too much blood.”
Reginald let out a horrible noise, the closest thing he could make to a scream, and Right wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “Can...can we see ‘er? Please?”
“Of course.” She stepped aside, letting them in the room.
Soul lay on a bed, far too pale, still bloody. The bleeding had slowed, but he knew it didn’t matter now. He took a trembling breath, using the gauze to clean her up at least a little. “Soul...God, Soul, if you can hear me...I’m so sorry. I did t’is to ya…”
There was no answer. Right wished he could have one last conversation with her, he wished she could yell at him, or do something, anything, but he was glad that she wasn’t awake. She couldn’t feel any pain when she was unconscious.
He hoped that she could at least hear him.
Right looked over as Reginald tugged on his cape, looking distraught.
Realization hit him like a bullet.
Reginald couldn’t speak. He couldn’t say goodbye to her, not without him translating.
“Soul. Reg ‘as some t’ings to say. I’ll...I’ll translate for ‘im.” Right looked over as Reginald sat down by the bed, raising his hands.
“I’m sorry.” He signed, Right translating for him. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you. I care about you so much more than you know. We both do. I know you fought a long time, and I know you must be tired. It’s okay to let go.”
Reginald took a deep breath, pointing at himself, then crossing his arms over his chest, and pointing at Soul.
“I love you.”
Right swallowed hard. “...and...and ‘e says ‘e loves you. I do too, Soul. I wis’ I realized t’at earlier…yer like a daug’ter to us. I’m so sorry.”
Right wasn’t sure how long he and Reginald sat there, talking quietly to her. Reginald would hold her hand with his left one, and write down things for Right to tell her. Right made sure to tell her everything Reginald wanted her to know, a tight grip on her other hand.
He didn’t know when she stopped breathing. But he did know his heart shattered when she left them.
“Hey, Right! Do you want me to draw you anything?”
Right looked up from where he sat by the pond, a small smile on his face. He could see Milk in the background, playing tug-of-war with Lua. Angie sat braiding her golden roses into Larisa’s mane as Reginald groomed her, and Show giggled, sneaking the Kirin treats. Helper, of course, was helping Reginald with grooming, a smile on their face. Even Reed was there, relaxing against her.
He shook his head, then thought for a moment. “Actually, I do like that one picture of yours...the ocean with the letter in a bottle at sunset...could you finish that?”
“Oh?” She tilted her head, and suddenly her smile didn’t meet her eyes. “When did you see that? I don’t show my unfinished work to people very often…” Blood began to trickle from the corners of her mouth, and Right’s eyes widened as the world around them became dark. He whipped around, looking desperately. Everyone else had disappeared.
“Why did you kill me, Right?”
Right turned back to Soul. Blood was pouring from her throat, soaking her clothes.
“No. Nononono I-I didn’t-”
“Yes, you did.” She stepped forward. “I just wanted to help. You ripped my throat open. I was in so much pain, I suffered every second...why did you…?”
“Please, I didn’t mean to- I didn’t want you to-”
“But I did. I died.” She said sadly, shoulders slumping. “I thought you cared about me. You said you loved me.”
“I did. I do. I promise.” He sobbed.
Soul watched him a moment, tilting her head considerately.
“I don’t believe you.” She said simply, turning and walking away.
“No! No, don’t leave-!”
The floor broke under him, shattering into white light as he fell, still reaching for her.
Right shot up. “NO!”
It took him a moment to realize what had happened. It was just a dream.
A nightmare.
Right didn’t know which he hated more, the nightmares, or waking up from good dreams where Soul hadn’t died. Where she was alive.
He reached over, grabbing a blue plush fox from his nightstand. It wasn’t very big by any means, or very detailed. But he knew it was made with care.
He noticed Reginald had woken up, and was watching him. It was too dark for him to sign, but he saw that the other king had the kirin plush in his hand.
Soul had made these for them. She said she also made a couple for Dmitri and Hubert, whoever that was, and had been so happy to show them.
Reginald gripped his hand tightly.
“Nig’tmare…” He told him. “It...it was nice at first. But t’en...everyt’ing went dark...s’e...s’e wasn’t even angry. Just...disappointed.”
Reginald pulled him into a hug, and Right just let himself be comforted by his warmth.
He knew one day Soul would come back for a simple 24 hours. Spirits could return to visit their loved ones on their birthday. He would face her then, he knew.
He could only hope that she could forgive him.
#tw blood#tw death#royalty au#henry stickmin au#the henry stickmin collection#henry stickmin collection#reginald copperbottom#right hand man#right hand fox#RHM#RHF#soul#parent child relationship#copperright#asl#american sign language#fanfiction#fanfic
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