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bright-molina · 3 years

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Everything I Didn’t Say (Part One)

synopsis: You knew Sunset Curve would make it big. What you didn’t expect, though, was losing the people that mattered most to you. Now you’re left to navigate all the regrets you were left with. Turns out you’re not the only one with regrets though.

word count: 4.8k

pairing: Luke Patterson x reader

warnings: mentions of the guys dying, mentions of grief, there’s also a bit where reader goes to therapy if that counts as a warning

a/n: For @jatpx5sos Week Day Two: Parallels! The parallel I used is Everything I Didn’t Say and Unsaid Emily. This is also part one of about nine of the Everything I Didn’t Say series which I’m so freakin excited about not gonna lie. The second part will be up in a couple days!

Also real quick, the bold italics are the lyrics just as a note.

“You can’t be sneaking in here, you know.”

“I know. But I wanted to see you.”

Luke smiled as he slid into the seat beside you, not hesitating at all to take your hand, press his lips to the back of it, then lean his head on your shoulder. Each action a silent acknowledgment that he really had missed you quite a bit in the last few hours since you’d seen him.

The moment was broken up quickly by Bobby taking a seat right on the opposite side of Luke. He set his head on the palm of his hand and looked up with wide eyes and a smirk. “What about me? Did you want to see me too?”

“Oh always.” Luke answered just as easily with his own smirk, shooting a wink in his direction. Your laugh and Reggie’s mingled together as he and Alex approached the table just in time to hear the last of their quips. Meanwhile Alex only smiled in amusement while he dug out the item he was looking for from his backpack.

You took the notebook back from him and he took his usual seat across from you. As you waited for his feedback you noticed Luke’s attention narrow at the item and you wordlessly handed it over to him. Almost immediately he sat up to eagerly search for the page that held the newest song you were working on.

Your attention remained focused on Alex. “What do you think, will it work?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Alex nodded, glancing at where Luke was now looking through the most recent lyrics you had added, he and Bobby quickly jumping into a conversation about possible rhythms and melodies.

“Well I know so,” Reggie nudged his shoulder and grinned as he turned to face you. “The song screams drum heavy and if anyone can do it it’s our Alex. We were gonna stop by the music rooms during free period to work some stuff out. You should come with!”

Just as you were about to argue that you couldn’t Luke looked away from the notebook, his pencil leaving a half finished word behind. “Forget that, let’s just head back to Bobby’s. We’ll work on it and have the chorus nailed by the end of the day.”

It took very little convincing for the three boys to agree to Luke’s proposition, each of them stuffing what was left of their lunches in their bags. You, on the other hand, stayed silent. A fact which they noted.

It was a place you had found yourself in dozens of times before. Reggie, Alex, and Bobby said their goodbyes to you and moved just far away enough to pretend they couldn’t hear you and Luke talking.

This time was different though. It wasn’t just another harmless practice session to mess around in. In exactly four days time Sunset Curve would be playing The Orpheum. This was one of their last practices before then and they were determined to get everything as close to perfect as they could. Including the most recent song they wanted to debut just for the occasion.

“I -” You wanted to join them more than anything. But the argument you’d had with your parents just that morning rang loud in your head. It’d been prompted by a failed test, a less than ideal summer school progress report, and another full song book they’d found. “I can’t.”

“We need you,” Luke turned in his seat to face you and reached forward, interlocking your hands together once more. “We’re almost there, just a few more days until the show and then we’re solid. Then I promise you can focus on these fancy prep classes, I’ll even help you.”

It was tempting, you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t. Writing those songs beside Luke was quite possibly the best thing you had. It couldn’t be the only thing anymore though and that was a fact you hated admitting to yourself.

“I can’t,” You gave a sigh and tapped the cover of the notebook quickly. “I’ll work on the song a bit in my free time and meet you there later alright?”

As much as Luke wanted to argue, he didn’t. Not at the time being. He could understand well enough the pressure you were under. So he only nodded, gave you a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and squeezed your hands once before standing. “Yeah. Later.”

“So what do you think?” Luke asked excitedly as the notes they’d been playing faded away softly. All of them were looking at you eagerly and you tried your best to match their excitement. And you really did love what they’d done with the song. It was just hard to be as enthusiastic when the rest of your afternoon had been less than ideal.

You finally answered him, trying to push your other worries and the pile of work you knew you had waiting for you to the back of your mind. “It’s amazing.”

“I’m glad you think so cause we have news,” Luke stepped forward after cheering at your approval along with the others. “We wanna make it our closer for Saturday.”

You didn’t try to hide your disbelief that time, though you did wonder for a second if you’d heard him right. “It’s not gonna be ready on time.”

“So we’ll put extra work into it,” Luke frowned a bit but stepped towards you anyway. “I’ve already got ideas for the verses, just tell me when and we’ll work on it.”

“I can’t.” You repeated the words as you tried to push away the echoes of an argument you knew you couldn’t ignore anymore.

“You can’t?” The rest of the room had grown quiet and tense but Luke kept going. “Y/N this is huge for all of us, you included.”

“And I get that, I do,” You finally looked away from the words in the songbook and up at him. “But as much as you want me to, I can’t put all my focus on this. Not right now.”

“Why not?”

And there it was.

There were so many ways in which you and Luke were the same. The two of you could spend hours side by side doing what you both loved. Writing and creating music together in a way that was special. In a way that you didn’t have with anyone else.

This was where you were different though. Luke was braver than you were, you could admit that much. He was ready to drop everything to pursue a future in music with the band and he had. You couldn’t do that though, not with parents who had never wanted you to start this journey in the first place.

And though you had expected it you still didn’t believe it. You were very aware of Bobby, Alex, and Reggie avoiding all eye contact with either of you. Sure conversations similar to this one had happened before but never had you looked as angry as you did now.

Without another word you stood, shoving the songbook in your bag along with the text books that had sat unused. It was better to get out of there. You didn’t want to but you had to.

“Y/N -”

“I have more going on then you care to know, alright?” It was all you said before storming out of the garage.

Luke followed you, though, determined to figure out whatever was happening. He needed you and that was a fact he wasn’t afraid to admit. “Tell me.”

“What?”

“Tell me what’s going on.”

For a second you weren’t too sure what to think. The rational part of your brain knew he did care. Of course he did, he’d helped you as many times as you’d helped him. But you weren’t listening to that part. It was easier to listen to the part of you that didn’t require too much thought when your mind was already a storm of second guesses.

“Why? You only want to know so we can finish this song.”

Luke tried reaching for you like he always did but stopped when you took a step back. “That’s not the only reason.”

“So it is part of the reason.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean then?” You didn’t mean for the words to start coming out. There wasn’t a single filter in place at the moment and every thought, no matter how little you meant them, came out. “That what I have going on isn’t as important? I can’t afford to put all my energy into this, Luke. I’ve told you before and you always say you understand but I don’t think you really do.”

“I do understand.”

“Do you?” With a sigh you took the songbook out of your bag, one with both your names scribbled on the front cover in his handwriting, and shoved it into his hands. “Do whatever you want with them, they’re all yours now.”

You were positive the clock on your wall was mocking you. The ticking seemed louder than ever, as if it knew all you wanted to do was ignore it.

You hadn’t talked to Luke at all in the last four days. Both Reggie and Bobby had stopped by a couple times and Alex, who lived right next door, checked in with you every morning and every night. You were sure he was put up to it, despite telling you otherwise.

With an annoyed groan you backed your chair away from the desk and started spinning in slow circles. Their soundcheck would be starting soon and you were trying to push the thought out of your head and focus on the homework you were supposed to be working on.

Then the wheels of the chair slipped back in the middle of a spin and the textbook on your desk toppled to the floor. A single sheet of notebook paper was left on the floor after you picked it up. When you reached for the paper you were met with the sight of a dozen creases and a mix of different handwriting.

The memory connected to it was as vivid as ever. It was one of the first songs you’d written with Luke forever ago. It had gotten confiscated from the two of you after you’d been caught passing it back and forth during class. Then you’d both been given detention after a little too much begging to have it back.

Without another thought you stood and reached for the badge with the Orpheum logo and the letters ‘VIP’ printed underneath it. Luke had given it to you proudly weeks ago while declaring ‘You really don’t think we’d do this without you, right?’

You practically sprinted out of the house, ignoring the calls of your mom asking what you were doing, and left. You were certain now that there was only one place you had to be.

It took two buses and sprinting as fast as you could a few blocks before you finally reached the building, frantically showing the person at the door your badge. The looks you received from various employees did nothing to stop you from running through the halls until you reached the stage area.

Almost immediately you zeroed in on the sound of a familiar voice and called his name. You watched as Bobby looked around for a few seconds before finding the place where you stood. His grin matched your own and he met you halfway, excusing himself from the girl he’d been talking to.

“I knew you’d make it,” He nodded towards the badge and laughed a bit. “You’re too stubborn not to.”

“Very funny.” You rolled your eyes at him before smiling at the girl who had joined the two of you. She held a Sunset Curve shirt in her hands along with a demo and you knew without having to ask what had happened there.

“Rose, this is Y/N,” Bobby’s smile turned more genuine and less teasing. “The brain behind about half our songs.”

“Half is too generous.”

“And you’re too modest.”

“You’re a songwriter?” Rose practically beamed and you couldn’t help but take after her as you nodded. “Remind me to get some input from you on a few things I’m working on.”

“I’m happy to help,” You told her and waited as she scribbled down her number on a napkin. You thought your glance around the room had been subtle but Bobby had noticed almost right away.

“Luke’s not here,” Of course he knew what you were thinking and who you were looking for. “He went to get some food with Reg and Alex.”

“Did they say where they were going?”

“Not really. Said they were getting hot dogs and you know how they are with street food.” He noticed the way your shoulders sank and you started twisting the lanyard of the badge around your hands and reached forward to stop you. “Hey, they’ll be back soon. You can talk to Luke then alright?”

You tried to nod but all you could think of was the argument. It was days later and you’d thought much too long about it. “Is he mad at me?”

“Are you kidding? He could never be.” Bobby gave you the most reassuring smile he could and to his relief it worked a little.

“Hey, why don’t you tell me about one of your songs,” Rose caught on easily to how anxious you were getting and started pulling you towards one of the tables after shouting behind her shoulder that she was taking her break. “Then I’ll tell you about one of mine. Deal?”

“Yeah,” You nodded as the three of you sat down. “Yeah, alright.”

Rose’s distraction worked. You lost track of time and very quickly grew invested in the conversation. So much so that you didn’t really notice what was going on around you.

You didn’t notice the sound of sirens passing by the building. You didn’t notice the way the chatter outside became louder as a crowd grew. You didn’t notice the sudden silence of the room as a single police officer stepped in, speaking briefly to the manager before walking towards the table.

“Are you -” The officer paused for a second, glancing around at the three of you before giving a soft sigh and focusing on the person he was looking for. “Are you Bobby?”

“Yeah.” The easy going smile Bobby had been wearing faded quickly. You knew yours did too. “I am. Why?”

Then this overwhelming, sinking feeling filled every part of your body. Something was wrong. You knew just by the look on the officer's face. The words he spoke next only confirmed it. Reggie. Alex. Luke. Accident. Tragic. Gone. I’m sorry.

Everything around you went blurry, all the sounds muffled as those words echoed through your head until they finally sunk in. You weren’t too sure when it was that the tears started streaming down your face or when the officer left.

Eventually though, you looked up to find Bobby in the same state you were sure you were in. You didn’t really process your movements either as the two of you moved closer together. What came next was the shocking realization that you were all each other had left. That was it. Alex and Reggie and Luke, your boys, were gone. And there was no changing that.

“I feel like I’ve been wearing this for years now.” Bobby muttered as he picked at the black fabric of his suit. It was the third time now that the two of you found yourselves in this position. Sitting on the floor outside the garage, the door shut tight, in black clothes.

The instruments inside sat untouched now. The space that had been filled with music and laughter and unbelievable amounts of joy just a short while back was silent now, something that at one point you didn’t think was possible.

“I hate it.”

It wasn’t clear whether you meant the black clothes or how things had turned out or just the feeling of something missing that seemed like it would never go away. Maybe it was a terrible concoction of all of three.

“Yeah,” Bobby nodded and let his head fall back against the garage door, trying his hardest to stop silently crying for what felt like the thousandth time that day. “Me too.”

Two months later you sat with Bobby at a café that had opened not too long ago. The songbook you and Luke had once shared sat unopened in front of you. It was the first time you’d actually accepted it from him.

He had found it with Luke’s things after finally working up the courage to go back into the garage two weeks after he started seeing his therapist. The last time he tried giving it to you you’d given it back with tears and shaking hands insisting you couldn’t take it. You’d made progress though, no matter how small, and that was a huge thing.

“You should come with me next week.” Bobby finally broke the silence, looking up from where he’d been staring at the table but still tapping his feet on the floor.

“To see your therapist?” You were grateful for the interruption, thoughts already running rampant in your head at the sight of the songbook.

“Yeah. I told her about you, how we were -” He paused then as the memory flashed in his head for a second. He breathed in deeply then exhaled slowly as he reached for his cup of tea. “How we found out about Reggie, Luke, and Alex together. How close we all were, how the two of us still are. She said you were free to join for a session if you wanted.”

“I’ll think about it.” You told him honestly as you nodded, folding your arms in front of you so the songbook was out of sight.

“Good.” Bobby leaned forward then, turning his gaze back to the top of the table once more as he debated whether or not to say anything. Ultimately he did. “Thanks.”

You looked at him then, head tipping to the side as you studied him for a moment. “For what?”

“For being here. Through everything.”

You were positive then that no matter what happened from that moment on Bobby was always going to be someone who you knew would be there for you, just as you were always going to be there for him.

The smile you gave him was gentle, reassuring in a way you knew he needed at the moment. “Of course.”

“You bring that with you every time you come see me.”

“I take it with me everywhere, honestly,” You admitted, noticing the way Dr. Crystal nodded a bit before leaning forward.

“Can I?” She asked as she motioned towards the songbook just barely peeking out of your bag. You nodded and handed it to her, watching closely as she flipped through it carefully. She noticed. “Why do you think you carry it with you?”

“I think -” You gave a sigh as you started fiddling with the hem of your shirt. There was no doubt that she already knew the answer, and she knew that you probably did too. The couple of sessions you had attended with Bobby helped a lot and you’d been seeing her on your own for almost three months now. “Cause it was Luke’s. It was ours and -”

When you didn’t continue she shut the songbook and set it on the table between the two of you, gently sliding it in your direction once more. “It’s what still connects you to him.”

“It’s just - If I open it and - and look at everything in there it just reminds me that that’s all I have left of him and Alex and Reggie. If I open it and read those songs it feels like when I close it they’ll be gone.” You surprised yourself with your own words. One of the things you had yet to decipher in the last couple of months was if Dr. Crystal’s silence was a good thing or not.

“That’s not true, though. You have your memories of them. They’re still there in you and in Bobby. You may have lost Luke and Reggie and Alex but you still have him and Rose.” She spoke honestly as she glanced at her watch. You knew what that meant and so you reached for the book and returned it to its usual place in your bag. “I think it's a good idea to try and look through the songbook, Y/N. It might make it easier if you had someone there with you.”

“I’ll -” You sighed as you stood from your seat and then finally nodded. “I’ll think about it.”

Three days later you once again sat with Bobby, this time in the living room of your otherwise silent and empty house. It was usually that way now. Your parents still walked on eggshells around you, not too sure when it would be acceptable to stop.

“Did you ever look through it?” You asked as you turned on the couch, the still closed songbook now on your lap. He had promised to be there with you when you opened it and he was.

“I did,” Bobby admitted, turning just as you had. “When I first found it an-and before I gave it to you.”

You nodded once before looking down at the cover of the songbook. Then quickly before you could change your mind you opened it.

The first sight you were met with was your name in Luke’s handwriting on the front cover, his own name right underneath it. You’d been expecting it but it still caught you off guard. Then you saw the song lyrics on the first page and broke down completely.

It was a page full of scribbles and smudges and crossed out words. Your handwriting and his mixed together in a way that didn’t quite make sense but that held memories only you had shared with him. A tear fell onto the page and you quickly dabbed it away when you saw the ink start to run, leaving behind a spot of paper crinkling in on itself.

You only made it through a couple pages before you stopped paying attention to the words, soft cries bouncing against the walls. Bobby took the notebook from your hands carefully, sniffling once and wiping the tears out of his own eyes.

“He, uh,” He flipped open to the last dogeared page, one near the very back. That one, like the others, was covered in smudges of lines that had been erased and written several times over. Lines that were erased and never finished. “Luke was writing this for you. Started it the night you guys-”

Bobby stopped the moment he noticed you shut your eyes tightly and he knew you were remembering that day. He quickly shook his head, his own thoughts going back to that day.

He’d walked into the garage late that night and had found Luke hunched over the notebook just as he had dozens of times before. Unlike the other times, though, his face was twisted into deep concentration as he stopped every few seconds to think. When he finally let him read what he had been working on he wasn’t at all surprised by what he found on the pages.

“You have to know he wasn’t mad at you,” Bobby shut the songbook once more after reading through that same list and looked at you once more. There was a different sort of heartache painted on your face and it pained him to look at it. He did it anyway though, you deserved as much.

“How do you know that though?”

“Because he never was. He never got angry at you ever but especially not that night. He wanted to stop by your place the night of the sh- of the show. But we -” He sighed then and his head fell, eyes shutting tight as he once again recalled every single event the night of the Orpheum show. He’d replayed it dozens of times over, wishing more than anything that he could go back and change it all.

Then Bobby caught sight of the tears streaming down your face once more and without thinking he wrapped you in as comforting a hug as he could muster. It took a few moments before he realized it was the first time since before the show that he was doing so. Even the simple action reminded him too much of the friends, brothers really, that he’d lost.

But they were gone. They were gone and you were here. You were right there beside him and you needed him. “We ran out of time.”

The silence hung heavy between the two of you. The feeling you felt, though, was anything but. It was a strange one that almost made you feel that despite everything you’d gone through the last few months you’d be okay as long as you had more moments like these.

You thought of the boys then. Of messing around with Reggie and late night talks with Alex. And of Luke. Your Luke who you wanted to say so many things to but couldn’t anymore.

“We did, didn’t we?”

It was the day before your next appointment with Dr. Crystal that you sat alone in your room. This time though, you were surrounded by old sheets covered in lyrics and notes written on various scraps of paper. Some of them were in your handwriting, sure, but it also included some in Luke’s. His and Reggie’s and Alex’s and Bobby’s.

The last few days had been spent reading all those old notes and the songs filling the majority of the songbook. You’d been trying to work up the courage to finally look at the one Luke had been working on. The one supposedly meant for you.

With a deep sigh you finally opened the cover and flipped to the page you’d been avoiding until that moment.

The first thing you saw was a single line at the top of the left page.

I hope you know for you I'd sacrifice to make this right

What quickly drew your attention though was the letters bigger than anything else on the page. You’d spent ages mastering the art of reading Luke’s handwriting and you could immediately tell he’d written and rewritten it until it was as neat as he could manage.

I wish I could've made you stay and I'm the only one to blame. I know that it's a little too late. This is everything I didn't say.

The last phrase had been written over a couple times and underlined. Right underneath it though was a list paired with bits and pieces of lyrics.

All the songs that we wrote

1. We’ve written so many things together and I can’t imagine doing this without you. You always let me ramble on, help me gather it all together in a way I can’t on my own.

All the wrongs that I hoped would erase from your memory.

2. For some reason you always forgive me. Whether it was making you late or getting us in trouble or some stupid fight we had. This is different and I don’t know what’s going to happen but you have to know I’m sorry.

Holding onto a broken and empty heart.

3. I could’ve done better. I know that. All I can think of is all the times you talked to me. All the times you trusted me. And I hate that I told you I’d be there for you and I wasn’t always. I’m so sorry, Y/N.

Flowers I should’ve bought, all the hours I lost. Wish I could bring it back to the start.

4. I needed to say all of this sooner. I know that. I took what we have for granted and god I just want you here with me again.

The amount of time that passed was unclear. All you did was read the words over and over again until you practically had them memorized, burned into even the deepest parts of your brain. At some point you registered the stiff feeling of dry tears on your cheeks and it was then that you reached for a pencil.

Your hands shook as you brought the songbook onto your lap and leaned over the page. The letters came out wobbly, just barely legible, as your breathing picked up faster than you would’ve liked.

The moment the words were on the page, though, it felt like a weight was finally being lifted off of your shoulders. Written in your handwriting right on the opposite side of Luke’s were the same words he’d written months before you.

Everything I Didn’t Say

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lady-divine-writes · 3 years

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Good Omens - “At Midnight” (Rated G)

Summary:

Crowley is devastated by how smoothly the world continues on after he loses Aziraphale to the bookshop fire. Adam stops the war between Heaven and Hell, and things go back to normal for everyone... except him. Crowley goes from demon to ghoul, haunting St. James's Park every night, caught up in his memories of his angel. Until one night, he comes across something unexpected that makes things a little better... (2416 words) ... and a whole lot worse.

Read on AO3.

The hands on Aziraphale's grandfather clock have crept dangerously close to eleven by the time Crowley steps out the door of the bookshop and into the night. He's not closing up. The shop was never open.

Not for anyone but him.

He’d spent the day lurking in the shifting shadows, coiled around the leg of angel's favorite chair, keeping guard.

Watching for movement.

Praying for change.

For resolution.

He marked time by the tolling of Aziraphale's clock, the ebb and flow of the commuters outside, and a single ray of sunlight carving its path across the floor, disappearing out the window at the stroke of seven. That’s when he came out of hiding, became his demon self once again.

Crowley pops his collar against the wind and locks the door behind him. He takes one last look at the pane beneath his fingertips, running them lightly over a ridiculous note affixed to the glass. It’s a note he wrote on Aziraphale's behest, proclaiming when customers can expect the shop to open.

The long and short of it being - don't.

I open the shop on most weekdays about 9:30 or perhaps 10 a.m. While occasionally I open the shop as early as 8, I have been known not to open until 1, except on Tuesday...

Crowley had written it to irritate his angel - a demonic dig, as it were. But after reading it, Aziraphale couldn't have been more delighted.

"Brilliant!" he'd said. "Masterfully convoluted! Now I can finally relax and finish my crossword puzzle in peace! Thank you, my dear."

Crowley had gone warm at Aziraphale's words. He had never felt so overwhelmed by praise.

But now, the sign makes him bitter.

It should have long been replaced with one that reads on holiday, circling the globe, or living the happily ever after life in Mayfair with my husband.

But that wasn't in the cards for Crowley and Aziraphale.

Crowley snaps his fingers to lower the blinds and snuff the lights, and takes off at a brisk clip to the park.

Alone.

He does this every night - haunts St. James's Park close to midnight when he'd rather be at home asleep. Crowley had planned to sleep the next seven millennia away, wait until the world started over again before he showed his face to the sun, but infuriatingly, he couldn't. It's impossible for him to get comfortable in his bed when there should be someone else beside him, sitting up and reading by his damned holy light.

Crowley never thought he'd miss that stupid light piercing his eyelids and interrupting his slumber, but he misses it more than anything.

There was nothing left for Crowley after he lost Aziraphale in the bookshop fire.

He'd always felt that if they went their separate ways, it would sever his heart, but nothing more. He'd go on. But the assumption had been that Aziraphale would still be - exist, just not in Crowley's life.

When Aziraphale went, everything good went with him - love, hope, color, and taste all vacated Crowley's world. But Crowley was too much of a coward to call it quits and join him in oblivion, since, as far as Crowley was concerned, that was where immortal beings ended up if they were eliminated from Earth. Heaven and Hell only existed for humans. Aziraphale and Crowley were created for this world.

For them, this was it.

He thought he would get into his car and drive, but he couldn't make himself leave. He would get as far as Kent or Surrey, then his Bentley would stop.

Whether he was the one pressing the brake or his car - it varied.

Either way, he'd take a deep breath, toss off his glasses, rub the blur from his watery eyes, and the next thing he knew, he was home.

Couldn't sleep.

Couldn't leave.

Couldn't escape.

Yup. This was Hell. Undoubtedly.

Since he couldn't stay put and he couldn't run away, he spent night after night roaming the park - a ghoul shrouded in shadows of the past. Selfishly, he did everything he could to make the park inhospitable after dark, the same way Aziraphale did for his bookshop to deter customers. He made the place dreary, filled it with suspicious shadows, cold spots, and feelings of dread. In his attempt to get rid of anyone who might bother him, he unwittingly thwarted a few mugging attempts and a handful of assaults, which eliminated crime in St. James's Park for the most part.

Otherwise, he kept to himself.

It didn't matter to Crowley one bit that Adam had saved the planet from Heaven and Hell's blasted war. Or that, in doing so, neither side seemed interested in Crowley anymore.

Without Aziraphale by his side, Crowley wanted none of it.

These nightly walks, re-visiting the spots where they'd met up through time, didn't help. His memories of Aziraphale had begun to erode what was left of his soul.

His regret over the one thing he had left unsaid.

But there was a handshake exchange afoot.

His late-night trips to the park were how he noticed the light, blooming, growing on the bench smack dab in front of the duck pond.

Their bench.

A thread of silver light that lasted one solid minute from beginning to end.

It was spectacular. Unbelievable in its brilliance. Of the few souls who braved Crowley's shield of demonic influence, only Crowley seemed to notice it. And he couldn't avoid it.

It called to him.

Crowley stalked the light for over a week, never getting too close. It seemed like the kind of thing Gabriel might conjure up to trap him. Heaven may not give two shits about him, but archangels have been known to hold serious grudges.

He resisted its pull, but Crowley is a curious demon, and curiosity got the better of him. Besides, what did he care if Gabriel got the drop on him? Crowley was up for a fight, even one he might lose.

He had nothing better to do.

Crowley walked straight to the bench and sat down the moment the light appeared. He stared at it, into it, trying to sniff out its origins, what it was doing there. Being this close to it, he realized he was wrong. It didn't appear out of thin air. It was a consequence - evidence of a seam ripping in the universe, and on the other side...

Crowley only saw him for a second, but that was all he needed.

Aziraphale.

They locked eyes. Aziraphale's face lit up as if he were seeing the stars for the first time.

Stars Crowley created.

He was quite a distance from the tear. Like Crowley, he avoided it as much as possible. But seeing Crowley on the other side, he ran toward it, calling out a single word. It was all he had time for before the rend closed, and he was gone again.

The word he managed was Crowley.

Every night after, Crowley would arrive at the bench with plenty of time for the two of them to speak. As best as they could deduce, something bizarre happened during that fire in Aziraphale's bookshop. Unprecedented. Crowley assumed, at first, that the flames that devoured his angel's pride and joy had come from Hellfire. But they didn't. And Aziraphale, standing in the center of the transportation portal in his corporeal form, never made it to Heaven. He got caught in between.

Purgatory.

A place that many supernatural beings consider scarier than Hell.

A railway station with a way in but no way out. For immortals, that is. Mortal souls can earn a place upstairs depending on how they behave in this celestial waiting room. But as humans and demons don't concern themselves much with Purgatory lore, there is no book in Hell or on Earth that can help. Crowley has tried finding one - traveled to libraries and broken into collections he would do only on Aziraphale's behalf. But for all of his lofty capers, he found nothing. There might be a book in Heaven, but Crowley has no way to access it.

And Aziraphale is trapped.

Wouldn't Crowley know it, but even under these circumstances, Aziraphale found ways to continue his insufferable good deeds, helping mortal souls trapped with him to move along. Though Crowley believes Aziraphale has an ulterior motive.

Peace and quiet.

Aziraphale has one of those faces that attracts people to him, people who long to share their woeful life stories. So he listens, and then he counsels. When that soul moves on, he earns the most sought-after prize of all - an additional measure of silence.

Crowley and Aziraphale thought Heaven would notice his absence by now. Gabriel’s memos were piling up on Aziraphale's desk, untouched. Or by the massive influx of souls arriving at the pearly gates.

But no luck.

The angels in charge of the prisoners in the bottomless pits of Hell are more on the ball than the ones who keep an eye on the poor souls stuck in between.

This boundary between Earth and Purgatory dissolves at the stroke of midnight but zips up as soon as the clock strikes 12:01. Then Aziraphale disappears, not returning again till the following day. They are permitted one minute to tell each other everything, and they do their best to get it all out.

There's one thing Crowley hasn't gotten to yet. Hasn’t for 6000 years.

His one regret.

He plans on telling Aziraphale tonight on the off chance they can't come up with a solution to this.

Crowley feels the light before it appears. It tugs at something deep inside, ushers him to his seat on the bench. It arrives with a clap like thunder, so loud he’s surprised when it doesn’t shatter windows and crack foundations. Air whooshes by him at hurricane speeds, sucked into the impending rend.

A second later, Aziraphale appears beside him.

In a different dimension but beside him, framed by the light as if he's a reflection in a mirror.

Crowley inches his hand close, knowing without seeing that Aziraphale’s hand rests similarly on the opposite side. They cannot touch. They’ve tried.

Neither can cross the barrier.

“So, my dear,” Aziraphale starts, looking through the shimmer at Crowley, “how’s the bookshop?”

“Right as rain as always,” Crowley replies. He used to mutter, “Hello, Crowley. How are you? You’re looking well this fine evening,” but realized how immature and hurtful that was when Aziraphale heard him, and his face fell. Aziraphale wasn’t disregarding Crowley by not asking after him first. It was too painful for Aziraphale to acknowledge how far apart they were from one another. “How have you been, angel?”

“Can’t complain. Although I could really go for a plate of crepes. Or perhaps a nice, hearty gazpacho.”

“Don’t you worry. The moment I have you free of there, I’ll take you to dinner. Anywhere you want to go.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Aziraphale says, the longing in his eyes heartbreaking. “It wouldn’t be so bad over here if I had a book or two.”

“I did try passing you one over, but… “

“Yes, yes, I recall.” Aziraphale sighs at the memory of a favorite Wilde hardcover disintegrating into thin air. Luckily, that didn’t happen to either of them when they attempted to cross. “Valiant effort. Disastrous outcome.”

“Meddled in anyone's affairs today, have you?”

“As a matter of fact… ” Aziraphale smiles brightly. “A charming lady named Agatha. Lived a good long life. Died at the age of 93, I believe she said.”

“Wot in the world did she do to make it into Purgatory?”

“The usual. Attachment to sin.”

Crowley nods, lips twisting with a knowing grin. “Let me guess… the premarital variety?”

“That’s the one. She also poisoned an abusive stepfather, not her own, broke into a research facility to rescue rabbits, and stole a petty neighbor’s tomatoes on the daily until the day she died.”

Crowley chuckles. “Ah, yes. You’ve got to love old ladies.”

“Indeed.”

“Wot did you do?”

“Same as always. I had her give a proper confession. I forgave her for the poisoning, of course… “

“Of course.”

“... and the rabbit liberation. But we talked through the issue with the tomatoes. I explained that trespassing on her neighbor’s property is wrong even if the woman did dye all her delicates on her drying line puce.”

Crowley makes a face. He has no idea what puce is, but it sounds vile. “Probably justified there.”

“But that wasn’t the crux of her dilemma.”

“Wot was?”

Aziraphale turns, eyes wandering in the direction of the pond even though he can’t see it. “She misses the love of her life.”

Crowley's eyes widen. “Oh.”

“I assured her that her lover would be with her soon. After that, she was fine moving on.”

“Is that the truth?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale says wistfully. “He beloved misses her very much. They make a lovely couple.”

“That’ll be nice. The two of them reuniting.”

“Yes. It will be… for them.”

Silence falls between them. They steer clear of silence when they can, seeing how short their time is together, but it can't be helped. Aziraphale could work from here till eternity joining lost souls, but he can't help himself do the same.

The weight of that overwhelms them.

Crowley's phone vibrates in his pocket, signaling their minute together coming to an end. The silver frame phases, its light dimming, sputtering like a candle about to go out. As with every time before, Crowley tries to stop it, tries to stop time to keep Aziraphale with him longer. But it doesn’t work. Either this rend works outside of the laws of time, or time has had it with Crowley’s antics, but this can’t be stopped.

Crowley’s imagination isn’t strong enough.

“We only have a little time left,” Aziraphale says, “and we’re no closer to solving this puzzle!”

“I know,” Crowley replies. “I'll keep working on it. I promise. But before you go, I just wanted to tell you… ”

The air crackles as the rip begins to mend, the noise drowning them out.

"Yes, my dear?"

"I need to tell you... "

“Oh, Crowley!” Aziraphale starts to fade as the gap sutures shut. “I’m so sorry… "

The tear closes, his angel gone, and in the ensuing silence, Crowley’s last words hang in the air, having escaped his lips a second too late for their recipient to hear.

“… I love you.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #aziraphale #Crowley

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murdershegoat · 4 years

Text

don’t want to leave it all behind

ok i’ve never really written in this style before but i wanted this in the world without writing a whole fic bc my brain hurts and i havent written anything in ages, so here you go:

kara doesn’t know what there is left for her to do. she misses lena with every fiber of who she is. she misses the way lena’s trust made her feel accomplished. the way that lena’s smile made her feel like she was ten feet tall. she misses the smell of lena’s perfume, the way her eyes sparkle in the sunlight high up in lcorp tower.

she misses lena. a lot. so she makes a list on how to make things right.

HOW TO MAKE THINGS BETTER WITH LENA LUTHOR

buy her a puppy??????

spin the earth around like clark did to go back in time and kill lex properly the first time.

apologise again

send flowers a lot

take on all the l-corp articles and visit her lots in her office for interviews

be honest and try to talk to her

confess your love NO

she decides on the catco plan. easy enough. all she has to do is sweet talk william.

two interviews the first week of The Plan. sure, follow up questions are usually sent via email but lena is an important contact and they need to maintain that easy access

is what kara tells andrea when she gets yelled at.

three interviews the week after that. lena starts looking less stern when kara shows up at her door.

and then only one time in week three. lena offers her a whiskey. progress.

a month in, and lena starts raising her eyebrow again, in that mirthful, playful way. the way that makes kara’s stomach flip.

she can tell lena wants to say something to her in week five. their interview has ended and kara is standing up to leave. maybe kara’s just projecting, but she swears there’s a look on lena’s face, like this isn’t enough. like she needs more.

‘so.. how have you been?’ kara asks.

lena smiles. it’s small, but it’s a smile. ‘on the record, or...?

‘just a question from a-’ she hesitates. ‘from a friend.’

lena stiffens, just the slightest bit. her shoulders straighten, almost imperceptibly and she clenches her jaw. ‘i’m good, thank you.’

the next time kara goes in, she feels like she’s back at square one. lena is stiff and much too formal. kara hates it. she decides maybe she needs a new plan. flowers?? a puppy????

she knows what alex would say if she asked her. she settles on honesty.

the interview ends. lena stands to show kara out.

‘i have some more questions,’ kara says, pulling a different notebook out of her purse. ‘oh?’ ‘this is for a more informal piece i’m doing,’ kara says. ‘perhaps we could move to the couch?’

lena looks like she wants to say no. but instead, she gestures to the couch.

it almost feels like it used to during the many moments they shared together, sitting on that damn white couch. but then kara opens her eyes and lena is sitting as far away from her as the couch allows. there’s a tension between them that was never there before. a tension that feels like it’s suffocating kara and make it impossible to live or breathe or anything.

‘so is this for like a column or something?’ lena asks. ‘did you finally get your own vertical?’ ‘something like that,’ kara says, averting her eyes. but then she decides that she can’t live like this anymore. she needs lena in her life. and lena deserves someone who is brave enough to look at her while they speak. but before she can speak--

‘i know what you’re doing, kara.’ ‘you do?’ ‘no journalist needs several in person interviews every single week. half of these stories have been page eight drivel.’ ‘i just... i needed to see you. i needed to talk to you. and i thought, if it was this way, if it was for work, you might be more inclined to let me into your life again.’ ‘things can’t go back to normal--’ ‘i know. but. i need things to just be.’

‘do you want the truth?’

i want you, is what kara wants to say. ‘always,’ is what she settles on.

‘every time i look at you... i miss who you used to be.’ ‘that’s not fair,’ kara says, her eyes already welling with tears, ‘i’m the same person i always was. i haven’t changed.’

‘let me rephrase,’ lena says softly. ‘i miss who i thought you were. supergirl... supergirl was always too good for me. she’s a goddess. she’s goodness personified. she’s literally powered by sunshine. and i was never going to be good enough for her. but kara danvers? she might’ve also been too good for me, but at least with her i felt like i had a fighting chance. you made me want to be better. like... like you are sunshine and you power me. i was willing to put in the work to be good enough for you. and now... it just reminds me that kara danvers is someone else i could never be with.’

lots of thoughts spin around kara’s head as lena’s words echo in the room. ‘be with’?????? what sort of be with????????????/ lena thinks she’s not good enough?????? lena, the kindest, best person kara knows?????????????????

a long minute passes and neither of them says anything. but then kara turns and she faces lena. and she says,

'i think i miss that person too. not because supergirl is too good for you, because that’s just.... not true... but... i miss the way you used to look at me. it didnt feel quite as disappointed.'

‘i’m working on it,’ lena says. ‘on feeling like i’m worth enough.’

‘i think about you... i think about you all the time, lena. i think about you and my heart aches in this way that... it feels like my chest can barely contain it. i need... i want you in my life.’ ‘i want that, too.’ ‘but...’ ‘but,’ lena says softly, sadly, ‘it just hurts right now.’

kara nods solemnly, her heart breaking all over again. ‘i’ll leave then--’ ‘NO-’ lena cuts her off. ‘talking and-and feeling. it hurts. but i don’t want you to go.’

it lies unsaid between them -- i can’t watch you walk away again.

‘so we can’t talk... but neither of us wants me to leave... what do we do?’lena bites her lip.

an hour and a half later, the last potsticker remains alone in its box.

lena pointedly takes it

(kara had pointedly left the last one for lena.)

‘do you want to do this again? maybe thursday night?’ kara asks, seeming a lot braver than she feels. it’s the first words either of them have said in almost two hours. ‘it’s a date,’ lena says, even braver again.

and it may be small, but it’s a start, a tiny step on the road to things being good again.

she believes in the goodness of lena luthor, and she believes in love, and so far neither thing has let her down.

everything will be okay.

it has to be.

#supercorp #supergirl #kara danvers #lena luthor #mini fic #if i made a mistake im sorry lol #it feels good to be writing again tho #yes the title is a hsm lyric lmao

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eigwayne · 3 years

Text

A Little Spoiled (ChengQing fic)

Chapter 2 of 4: Advice from Aunty, and a Date Some advice from one of her aunties and Granny Wen convinces Wen Qing to keep her secret rendez-vous with Jiang Wanyin. He's alternately sweet and domineering and shy and infuriating, and Wen Qing wants him anyway. But first, she tells him some things he needed to hear (just... not about his core...).

Chapter 1 on Tumblr | AO3 links: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Author’s Notes: I forgot to mention on chapter 1: I'm using more romanized titles, like "gongzi", than translations like “Young Master”. If anyone needs a glossary, please check references like this. Also this fic is very closely from Wen Qing's POV, so all we'll see of Jiang Cheng's thoughts for now will be parenthetical inserts.

I ended up rewriting a lot of the inn scene, which is why this took two weeks to update instead of the two days I originally planned. As a result, I think the chapter quality and length are a bit better, and I touched on a couple more things I think they would need to air between them (no, no golden core reveal in this fic, although it's never that far from Wen Qing's mind and hopefully that will come across at some points before the fic ends). The smut will have to wait until chapter three. I've joked about this porn developing plot on my Tumblr but that's exactly what happened.

The message technique Wen Qing uses to contact Uncle Four from the inn is supposed to be the one she used in the drama to contact Wen Ruohan. I noticed it was three lines of three characters, written in fire in the air, and couldn't get the image/format out of my head (the symmetry was beautiful). No, I have no idea what Jiang Cheng uses and the methodology wasn't relevant to the story, so please imagine what you wish.

Wen Qing and Jiang Cheng butt heads a little in this chapter and there's a couple moments of jealousy from both of them, and Jiang Cheng grabs Wen Qing's arm at one point, if you're sensitive to those sorts of things. This isn't a smooth relationship (there's so much baggage between them!) and I had to get some things out of the way. The rest of the physical contact is welcome, I just wanted to give a heads-up just in case.

And now for the actual chapter:

“You look worried,” Granny said as she sat next to Wen Qing. Wei Wuxian had left his inventing for a bit and A-Yuan was focused on getting him to dance, which gave his other caretakers a moment of peace.

“Not worried,” Wen Qing clarified. “Just… thinking something over.” Her rendez-vous with Jiang Wanyin was in four days, and she’d found three pieces of silver that definitely weren’t hers in the hair ribbons he’d bought the week before. She couldn’t repay this, and he had strongly hinted that he intended to buy her more when they met again. He’d also strongly hinted that he wanted to continue the passionate kisses they’d shared under the tree, and she should be wary of that as well.

And yet, she’d spent time and spiritual energy the last few days, enlarging her qiankun pouch’s inside despite coming up with all sorts of arguments why she shouldn’t accept anything from him. She thought of the way the furrow between his brow eased when he was being sweet and how his lips parted when he was pleased. She thought of his arms and his kisses and the feel of his chest under her hands, and how those thoughts replaced all her other fantasies when she was alone at night.

But now, in the afternoon under the hazy Burial Mounds sun, Granny just smiled and patted her hand. “I’m sure you’ll come up with a good solution.” She was going to leave it at that. She did that more often now that Wen Qing was an adult. The difference in their status under Wen Ruohan was deeply ingrained; Wen Qing may be younger, but she and Wen Ning were the closest relations to the old leaders of the sect, the strongest cultivators. If not for Wei Wuxian, they would be the leaders of the community in name as well as function.

It was a bit lonely, at times. Wen Qing decided to speak up. “I could use an ear, Granny.”

“Of course, Qing-guniang.”

Wen Qing watched A-Yuan for a moment as he yanked Wei Wuxian around in a circle, playing some sort of spinning game. “That day in Yiling, when I came back with the baozi,” she started, “I was invited out again. I’m not sure I should accept.”

“Whyever not?”

“I’m sure you can guess.”

“I’m sure I could, but, Qing-guniang, I want to know why you’re hesitating.”

“Granny, please. We’re hunted people, living on a cursed mountain. Is that not reason enough?” Wen Qing poked at the radishes she’d been weeding. “You know I’m not the sort to caper around town when there’s work to be done.”

“I know that, Qing-guniang. But it’s all right to be a little spoiled, sometimes.”

Wen Qing blinked at her. “Granny?”

“You work hard for us. We all see it. We’re not going to begrudge you a day in town. And you deserve a chance to step out with a special friend-“

“It’s not like that,” Wen Qing cut her off. “He was kind to me, and invited me out to lunch.”

“Who did?” one of the aunties said as she plunked down next to Granny. “Does our Qing-guniang have a gentleman friend?!”

“Absolutely not! And keep your voice down. The last thing I need is Wei Wuxian to overhear this nonsense.” Wen Qing huffed and yanked up a weed like it offended her personally. Wei Wuxian would certainly remember that she’d seen his sect brother that day, and might connect the dots. She did not want to deal with that at all. He’d pestered her enough already.

“Don’t be like that! We’d be overjoyed if you had a sweetheart,” Aunty assured her. “You’re young and lovely, now’s the time to have a flirtation or three!”

“She’s worried about being spoiled,” Granny said solemnly.

“She should absolutely let herself be spoiled some! Right?” Aunty and Granny nodded at each other. “Who knows, you could make a good connection. If it gets you off this mountain-“

“I’m not getting off the mountain without the rest of you,” Wen Qing snapped. “He was kind enough to buy A-Yuan those baozi and I want to say thank you properly. And I have other friends just two towns over.”

The line about friends was complete falsehood and she felt terrible about it, but the conversation was getting out of hand. How dare they suggest she leave them behind!

“Fine, fine,” Aunty said, waving her hands. “But I still think you could stand to be a little selfish once in a while.”

“We’ll be all right for a day,” Granny assured her. Wen Qing frowned, but Wei Wuxian was looking a bit green from his spinning game with A-Yuan (really! Sometimes it was like having two toddlers), so she had bigger things to worry about.

~*~

And that was how she found herself walking side by side with Jiang Wanyin in the marketplace of trading town on the outskirts of Yunmeng territory. She was wearing an outfit he’d bought her so they would look more like normal people- not in red, but a pastel pink-orange, feminine and flowy and inoffensive. Her clothes from the Burial Mounds were stuffed in her qiankun pouch and she would have to change back into them eventually, but for now, she was enjoying the feel of soft, expensive clothes again, even if she did barely recognize herself in the dainty lady she saw in the mirror.

Jiang Wanyin had dressed down, just a little, and wore more blue than purple. With Sandu and his clarity bell tucked in his qiankun pouch, the only mark of his status was Zidian, which he would not part with.

“I’m not ashamed of who I am, just so we’re clear,” he told her in a low voice. “But I thought I should dress differently, as well.”

“I didn’t say anything,” she said.

“You didn’t have to.”

Despite his sullen words, his posture was as relaxed as she’d ever seen it. He walked close to her, and every once in a while his knuckles would brush her arm. Wen Qing wasn’t used to this closeness. Sure, she hugged A-Yuan and A-Ning as often as she could, although A-Ning was a grown man now so it wasn’t that often. But there was a normal, respectful distance between everyone else and she wasn’t used to hovering.

It was handy, though. When she stopped to admire something in the marketplace, he was right there with the silver to pay for it. All she had to do was indicate if she wanted it enough to buy. She was still frugal, but so far, she had half-filled her qiankun pouch, all of it for her family. Even the single book she got for herself was practical, a light volume on pediatric medicine so she could keep up with her practice and take care of A-Yuan.

“You can get something for yourself, you know,” Jiang Wanyin said at one point. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed what you’re spending my money on.”

“I have to take care of everyone.”

“What about taking care of yourself?”

Wen Qing stopped and looked at him, stopping just short of a glare. “I have never just ‘taken care of myself’,” she said. “There is always someone who relies on me. Many someones. I’m sure a sect leader understands.”

Jiang Wanyin glared back at her and said, “Of course I do. But if you want something for yourself, say it.” And like he did so often during the day, he pressed his lips into a thin line and glanced away from her, as if there was more he wanted to say but didn’t dare.

(He would never tell anyone, but he was thinking that a beautiful lady like Wen Qing should have everything he could give her, like Jin Zixuan gave Jiang Yanli, and he was appalled at himself for taking the Peacock as his role model in romance. Such traitorous thoughts! He would never live it down if Wei Wuxian found out.)

His offer was generous and it made Wen Qing wary of those unsaid words. People who were this giving always wanted something in return, and she already knew he wanted her and only her. But her family needed things and he wasn’t terrible company, overall, sometimes. And she wasn’t completely adverse to his kisses. Just… cautious.

That was why she allowed the hand brushing her arm, and how he came in close when they looked at wares together. She allowed it when he put a hand on her back at the hairpin stall and leaned closer to whisper in her ear.

“You turned down the earrings,” he said with a pout (not that she would call it that to his face). “You could at least take this hairpin.”

“You do know that I won’t keep jewelry? I can’t. The price that would fetch will clothe A-Yuan for the entire winter.”

He scowled, but his expression surprisingly softened when she said A-Yuan’s name. “So be it,” he said. “I want to see you in it now.” And he bought it anyway.

(He was thinking of his sister, four months along at this point and barely showing. He thought of how Wen Yuan had once been that tiny and it really wasn’t so bad if an affectionate kid like him got warm clothes on account of his money. And he thought that if he could love one grown Wen already deemed complicit, he could learn to tolerate one child Wen who was surely innocent. But he said none of this, either, and Wen Qing would never know.)

Jiang Wanyin’s hands were gentle as he exchanged her simple hair ribbon for the silver piece he purchased, as if he was doing something normal and not scandalously romantic. The salesman merely smiled and held up a small mirror for her.

“I think you’ll be pleased, madam,” he said.

“I am,” she admitted. “Thank you, Jia-“ She paused, uncertain of how to address Jiang Wanyin. Was he trying to actively hide his identity? They weren’t in Yunmeng itself but it was still in his territory and ‘Jiang-zongzhu’ would be too telling. But she wasn’t close enough to call him familiarly.

The issue was solved for the moment by Jiang Wanyin taking her arm and walking toward the teahouse, but she would have to find out before they did this again.

‘What am I thinking? When even is this? Is there even any “this” to do again?’ Part of her hoped so.

She let him buy her tea and cakes (again), and Wen Qing bought some sweets that would last to bring home. As they were walking afterwards, she put a hand on Jiang Wanyin’s arm.

“What should I call you, when we’re out like this?” she said, voice low.

“Call me? Why wouldn’t you use my name- Oh. Right.”

She wanted to give him a stern look because it was very foolish to forget about their position, even dangerous. But he was so flustered, so young, that a tiny chuckle slipped out before she could put on her annoyed older sister face.

“Are you laughing?” he hissed.

“Yes.” She wasn’t going to sooth his damaged pride over something so small. If Jiang Wanyin couldn’t take such a tiny joke, she would forget all about his kisses and strong arms, and go back to her radishes.

But while he was annoyed, he wasn’t angry. It was a definite improvement in his temper. “Excuse me if I pretended the world didn’t exist for a few hours. Maybe I wanted to enjoy being on a walk with a beautiful woman before I go back to all the old men trying to tell me how to run my sect.”

“So you’re using me to escape? Zongzhu, I am surprised at you.”

He swallowed roughly when she called him ‘zongzhu’. Interesting. Getting a reaction with a single word was somehow powerful, and Wen Qing suddenly understood why the young ladies at Nightless City would bat their eyelashes when calling young men ‘gongzi.’ Not that she intended to do so! But the thought that even she could produce results with such a method was fascinating.

She forgot all about being cautious.

He led her to a cloth merchant, barely speaking. There was color in his cheeks, just a hint, and she knew it was from high emotion and not sun exposure. He leaned closer and whispered, “I know you’re going to be practical, but I want you to get something for yourself here, too.”

It was her turn to flush. When he spoke, his lips were close and his breath tickled her ear. She wondered if- hoped that- he would steal a kiss.

So it was only a small surprise when he pressed her against a wall later, just around a corner, barely hidden from view. From the look in his eyes, he had also been thinking about kisses.

“Come back to the inn with me,” he said in a breathy whisper.

His face was close to hers, and she almost closed the distance between them.

It would be so easy to let it happen. But it was much like trading herself for the things he’d bought her and while she had entertained the possibility, entertaining it and doing it were completely different.

He seemed to sense her hesitation. “It doesn’t have to be for… anything in particular,” he said. “But I’m not ready to let you go. I mean, it’s getting late, after all. You might as well stay.”

There he was again, that boy she’d met in Cloud Recesses, who smiled at kindness and looked at her like things were uncomplicated. For a moment, he showed through Jiang-zongzhu’s older, more jaded features.

‘You helped make him into this man,’ she reminded herself. ‘You could stay, and maybe he could be that boy again for a little while.’

It was a foolish thought, and she scolded herself for it, but she still nodded and told him, “Very well.”

~*~

They ate a light meal, back in his single room at the inn. He didn’t get a second room for her; as he told the innkeeper, they only needed one room, thank you, and let the man think what he would about it.

Once they were alone, she sent a message to Uncle Four, the old Wen method that carried her writing in flames. It only held limited characters so she was frugal with her words. “With a Friend, Staying Overnight, Back around Lunch.” Jiang Wanyin likewise sent a message by his own means to his current head disciple, Wei Wuxian’s replacement (a temporary stand-in, if Wen Qing could devise a way to get Wei Wuxian home, but for now, he was a replacement).

It was a nice enough room. Wen Qing sat at a little table, and Jiang Wanyin knelt at the desk.

“Do you have work to take care of?” she asked regarding his seat, just to make conversation.

“What? No, I didn’t bring any. I just…” He glanced at the bed. “It didn’t seem appropriate to sit elsewhere.”

After those kisses ten days before, he couldn’t even look at a piece of furniture without blushing! At least she knew her shy gongzi from Cloud Recesses hadn’t turned into a cad.

(When had he become ‘her’ gongzi? Jiang Wanyin had never been hers, she reminded herself.)

It was Jiang Wanyin’s turn to make stilted conversation. “Did you get enough? Things, I mean. At the market.”

“Wei Wuxian will probably want more paper, but besides that, I think so.” She wouldn’t admit it even if she hadn’t. She was pushing it already, allowing him to buy a few cosmetics for the aunties and that hairpin she still wore. Any other frivolities, and she feared Jiang Wanyin would rightly close his purse despite his earlier prompting.

“Hmph. He would need paper. Still designing useless talismans?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘useless,’ at least with the last batch. He’s started to make some household helpers, to compete with the Yiling Patriarch imitators.”

“I ran into one of those recently. What a bunch of stupidity! Doesn’t he do anything about them?” Jiang Wanyin snapped.

“What can he do? There will always be unscrupulous sorts, trying to cash in on a famous name. Just look at all the questionable hangers-on the sects get when they recruit.”

He scowled, but his rant subsided before it really began. “I’ve managed to weed out any truly unsuitable disciples, but yes. I know what you mean.”

She smiled slightly and came to kneel at his side. “Don’t worry so much,” she said as she laid a hand on his arm. “Wei Wuxian can handle the imitation patriarchs. Hopefully-“ She stopped herself. Did she really want to tell Jiang Wanyin that she wanted to make Wei Wuxian leave someday, to go home to Lotus Pier? He might take it as being ungrateful to his sacrifice. He might think she was politically naïve, which was less important but still galling. Or, worst of all, he might push her to do it before Wei Wuxian was ready.

But Jiang Wanyin didn’t seem to notice. His eyes flicked to her hand. Innocent as it was, he still tensed, his lips parting.

“Wen-guniang, I-“

She started to pull her hand away but he struck, quick as a snake, and grabbed her wrist. “Stay,” he commanded.

They stared at each other. Wen Qing wasn’t sure what he was thinking. She wasn’t even sure what she was thinking, her mind was such a riot. But she didn’t pull away, and after a moment, Jiang Wanyin calmed and loosened his hold on her wrist, shifting his grip. He brought her hand up to his lips until she could feel the warmth of his breath on her fingers. He looked like he wanted to say something, like the words were gathering on his tongue, damming up in a multitude, but all that came out was, “I want you.”

She should be appalled; he said it like a demand, and yes, she had entertained the notion that he would expect physical affections for the easy entry into his purse. She even thought about allowing it, remembering his kisses and aching for more.

Here, with that gentle touch at odds with his commands, his eyes dark with want but tense with- Fear? Hope? Was he waiting for rejection?

“Jiang-zongzhu,” she said, and he deflated. She slipped her hand from his, but before his shoulders could slump any more, she touched his cheek.

He leaned into her touch, hiding his expression with closed eyes. His hands fell to his lap and closed into fists. “I know you’re here for your family and Wei Wuxian,” he said before he opened his eyes again. “I’m not a fool.”

“I never said you were,” she said, tilting his face back toward her. “But I have it on good authority that it’s okay to be a little foolish, sometimes.”

“That’s not what-“

She silenced him with a kiss.

Her heart pounded against her ribs, surprised at her own audacity. But he responded eagerly, putting his hands on her arms, loose and not quite gentle, holding her close without trapping her. She wondered if he was leaving her a way to escape on purpose. And she wondered if he’d kissed someone before her; he tilted his head to keep their noses from bumping and although his kisses were a bit toothy, he didn’t clack their teeth together at all. He never had.

There was something to be said for an experienced lover. If he knew what he was doing, she could trust --well, maybe not trust, trust was dangerous-- but at least ‘allow’ him to take care of her.

Part of her was angry that he knew what he was doing. How dare he indulge himself while her family was scraping together a living from a mountain of bones! How dare he find someone else when he had been so shy with her, when she had nothing but the memory of a promise he shouldn’t have made at all!

“Is it foolish of me to ask for that again?” he said in the silence, and she was snapped back from the building sparks of her anger. Every time she started getting angry with him, he showed her that the young man from Cloud Recesses wasn’t quite gone from inside him. He was merely hiding, hesitant and unsure beneath the façade of the Sect Leader.

She was never going to be free of him, at this rate. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be.

“It’s not,” she said. He let out a small, choked noise- surprise, relief, desire, all warring in him- and swept her into his arms. But instead of kissing her again, he held her in a crushing embrace. She couldn’t reach his lips, couldn’t give him the kiss he just requested. So she laid her head on his shoulder, and waited.

“I want to kiss you,” he finally said, still holding her. “I want to do things that aren’t proper, things I should be ashamed of.”

She ran a hand over his chest. His idea of dressing down was still very fine, and her fingertips glided over the cloth.

“I would let you,” she said after a pause, decision made. “I have no reason to hold onto propriety, and you’ve been good to my family.”

“Not as good as Wei Wuxian.”

Her hand stilled. “Wei Wuxian… I was the one who asked him for help. Don’t blame him, Jiang-zongzhu.”

“My family is dead because of him.” He shifted, pushed her to arms-length, but didn’t let her go.

The mood was, of course, ruined, but Jiang Wanyin needed to hear something about this besides his own festering thoughts. So Wen Qing spoke.

“You don’t really believe that.”

“What I believe is irrelevant-“

She cut him off. “It is relevant. Because it’s not true. The Chief Cultivator was aiming for Yunmeng before Wen Chao ever encountered Wei Wuxian. You know that. At first, because he was looking for the Yin Iron hidden in the south. But also because it was only a matter of time before he went after all the Great Sects.”

“I do know that!”

“Then stop blaming Wei Wuxian! It was no one’s fault except those who organized it and those carried it out. And they are dead. You killed many of them yourself, Sandu Shengshou.”

He grimaced like his title was a curse. Good. She meant it to be.

“I know,” he said. His voice was low and soft, chastised. “But I can’t help but be angry. He ran off, abandoned his promise to me, threw away what little good name he had left. And… he’s helping you but my hands are tied.” The words dragged out of him like they were painful.

“I know,” she echoed.

“I wish the people we were protecting were the same. It would be easier if it were all of us, together.”

“I know.”

“I’m not ungrateful. But I have people depending on me, too.”

“I know,” she said again. She put a hand over his. “I’m also not ungrateful. I know what you’re doing, buying all these things for me.”

He scoffed at himself. “A lackluster effort from a lackluster man.”

“Jiang Wanyin, what do you want from me?” She didn’t bother to keep the frustration from her voice. “Why are we here today? Is it me you want, or do you just want your brother back?”

“Why talk about want?” he scoffed. “What if I want both? What if I want Wei Wuxian to make a damned accounting for himself, and I want you to be my wi- my woman?”

Even though she was so, so frustrated with him, her heart pounded when he stumbled over the words. ‘He wanted to say ‘wife.’ I am still worth something in his heart.’

He met her eyes then, and held them. “I want him back, but I also want you. If you didn’t have all those others, I could protect you.”

“If I didn’t have those others, I wouldn’t want to be protected.” She surprised herself at how true that was. If she lost A-Ning, she would walk up the steps of Carp Tower herself just to end it.

Again, he looked like he was thinking more than he was saying, his lips once more in a tight line.

(It was her loyalty that made him ache, after all. Though it was the reason they were forced apart before they really came together, her devotion to her family was what he admired in her.)

But all he said was, “I’m going to kiss you again.”

She shouldn’t allow it. He thought too much, understood too little, and said the wrong things. He was infuriating. And she had secrets that would hurt him. But he still looked at her like she was precious and lovely, and that was a heady thing.

He pulled her close and followed through with his words, surprisingly light when he had held her so tightly earlier. His hand cupped her cheek as he kissed her again. His lips and palm were warm, but Zidian’s ring was cold. Not sparking, but startlingly chill for something that had been on his hand all day. She shivered against his body. He took it for encouragement and she couldn’t say it wasn’t, not when his kisses were growing more confident and igniting such heat in her.

“Heaven help me, I want you…” He trailed off, his eyes distant. “I’m not sure how I’m going to face my ancestors again. Mother would be disappointed.”

She could understand his distraction. Family was important, after all. Aunty and Granny at least would forgive her an indiscretion or two, if they ever even found out, but she knew hardly anything of the Jiang. She couldn’t help asking, “And your father?”

Jiang Wanyin barked a laugh, and it was the ugliest sound she’d heard him make since he’d screamed at her in Yiling, when his core and heart were both shattered.

“Father would probably tell me Wei Wuxian understood our motto better, and he’d be right. I may be leading the sect but he was the one who lived its principles. I’m just making do with his leavings.”

“I had better not be included in that,” Wen Qing snapped, suddenly perturbed. As if she would let just anyone kiss her like that!

“Are you saying you’re not his?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Wei Wuxian saved us, but I don’t make a habit of offering myself up like this. Did you not listen-“

Her words were lost in another kiss, hungry and possessive, like the fact that Wei Wuxian never touched her made her even more desirable.

‘I definitely should not be doing this,’ she thought. ‘Jiang Wanyin clearly has more issues than any one human should contain.’ But he stood and swept her up in his arms and carried her across the room. It was thrilling- annoying, to be hauled around like a sack of grain, but thrilling to feel his powerful arms holding her aloft. She dug her fingers into the fabric covering his shoulder as he walked, and didn’t loosen her hold when he set her down on the bed.

He wanted her. After everything, he felt helpless that he wasn’t the one to save her, angry that she chose someone else. And those were dangerous things. She had seen the perils of a jealous man before. One didn’t live anywhere near Wen Chao without seeing it. And Jiang Wanyin desired her, which was just as perilous. Knowing she could invoke such feelings, that she was wanted simply for being her... It made her ache to get closer to him. But in the morning, he would have to leave, and who knew if he’d find a way to see her again. She’d be back to furtive might-have-been fantasies in her corner of their rickety shelter on a hill of bones.

She wanted to accept everything he gave her today. ‘I am going to be selfish, Granny. Forgive me.’

“I am not Wei Wuxian’s, but I can’t be yours past tonight,” she told Jiang Wanyin.

“I would take whatever you give me,” he said, and she was struck by how similar that was to her own thoughts. She ran a hand from his shoulder, up his neck, down his jawline, drawing him closer with her touch. He still knelt next to the bed rather than on it, the same spot he’d ended in when he laid her down, and when he kissed her again, the only part that touched were their lips and her fingers on his jaw.

He shifted to sit beside her and kissed her again, his hair spilling over his shoulder and hiding the last bits of sunlight that gleamed golden through the window. She put her arms around him and pulled him close. The sun was no longer for her. She hid behind the curtain of his hair and coaxed him into another of his searing kisses.

This time his hand wandered over her body. His touch was heavy, like he was determined to feel her entire being through her clothes. She found she didn’t mind. She wasn’t delicate; that filmy gown he’d chosen wasn’t her. He moaned against her mouth when he reached her breast and that was very nice. Gratifying, to know that she could pull more pleasant sounds from him after he’d bared some of his ugly side to her just moments earlier.

She wanted to hear more.

Wen Qing fumbled with one hand, catching his wrist before he moved farther away, and brought his hand back to her chest. “A little nicer, Jiang Wanyin,” she said, and oh, his moan at that was sweet! He obediently massaged her breast, pushing aside the top layer of her clothes and exploring the feel of her in his hand.

“Is that good?” he asked.

“It is. Your belt is digging into me, though.”

He hurriedly undid the offending belt and tossed it to the floor. He paused above her, looking down like he was drinking her in.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, and leaned over to give her a brief kiss, far more gentle than any of the ones before. “Can I…?” His fingers hovered over her sash.

“Only if you take down my hair, too,” she said. His lips parted, his cheeks pinkened, as if touching her hair was more intimate than her breasts, even though he’d put the hairpin there himself, in public.

‘Ah, but hair is something he would do with a wife, and a wife only,’ she thought, banishing the thought of Jiang Wanyin in a lover’s arms. It made her heart clench painfully. She sat up to give him access to her hair. ‘You were so determined to have him, Wen Qing, that you forgot he knew how to kiss before you,’ she scolded herself as he shifted behind her, his face still bewildered as it had been on Biling Lake. ‘Will you back out now, now that he might know more?’

He took the pin from her hair and set it safely aside. His hands went to her shoulders- and stayed there. He paused for such a long time, she started to turn to check on him, any number of situations running through her head, ranging from frivolous to dire. Was he having second thoughts? Did he notice her hair oil wasn’t as luscious and expensive as before? Was Wei Wuxian’s golden core giving out on him? Did she have something embarrassing like a hairy mole on her neck that she didn’t know about? Were her ears too big and unsexy? Had he finally made the connection between ‘Baoshan Sanren’ and her? Was he thinking about his mother again?!

But just as she was turning, he pressed his lips to the top of her head and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him, shoulderblades to his chest. “I want whatever you will share with me,” he said, and the low hum of his voice sent a shiver through her. “I want you so much, right now. But I arranged for a hot bath and they’ll be up with the supplies any moment now.”

She stopped, tilted her head just a little so she could peek up at him behind her. Something strained and tense in her snapped. Her first laugh was a hard cough, like her body wasn’t used to making the sound. Perhaps it wasn’t- she wasn’t much prone to laughing in the best of times. But the chuckles bubbled up nonetheless, unbidden, a tiny bit hysterical- but freeing. Jiang Wanyin made a gruff noise behind her and she leaned back, setting a hand on his arm.

“A bath,” she tried to get out in her laughter. Her shoulders shook against him and tears welled in her eyes from the abrupt, overwhelming emotion. “You were still, for so long, I worried. But, just a bath!”

There was a short sound from him in her ear as he choked back an involuntary laugh of his own. “That’s ridiculous. You’re ridiculous.”

“Humans are ridiculous, Jiang Wanyin,” she said “Here I was, worried you didn’t like my ears and were going to leave, and all you did was remember the bath.”

“Your ears are fine,” he snapped, as if insulted by the suggestion he could consider them otherwise. She chuckled again and dabbed at her wet eyes, almost in control of herself, and nestled back against him. And there she stayed, tucked against his chest and his lower dantian and even more of him she ached to touch, until their bath was filled.

Next Chapter

#the untamed #chen qing ling #chengqing #jiang cheng/wen qing #wen qing #jiang cheng #My writing #apologies for the long author's notes again #but it couldn't be helped

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monsieur-hadrien · 4 years

Text

Harry Potter Fanfic Recommendations continued...

I did one of these lists back in June, and y’all KNOW! that I have even more to share with the world.

This list is a mix between crossovers and single-fandom fics, and are drarry or rarepair-centric, but either way I’ll mark which are which when I get to it.

If you want to see what I’ve been enjoying lately, check out my bookmarks on the Archive

Man of Iron, Child of Magic by zathara001

Harry Potter and MCU, no slash, 107k word count, 32 chapters, completed, teen

In the aftermath of the Chitauri invasion, Tony Stark sorts out his priorities - including one he didn't think he had.

Okay I followed this one from the beginning as a WIP because this is exactly the fic that I was looking for. Tony being Irondad for Harry is the most wholesome thing ever, and Uncle Steve is also 20/10. I will say, this fic is not as dark as a lot of this hp/mcu fics of this trope because it happens in Harry’s younger Hogwarts years and his childhood isn’t too ruined just yet. It focuses a lot on Tony’s growth as a father rather than working through Harry’s trauma (which, don’t get me wrong, that happens as well). Harry still has the naive outlook on life that a child should have and it just makes my heart swell.

Although this fic is done, the sequel has not been uploaded yet, as this fic was just completed late August, but don’t let that deter you. The author is a sweetheart to interact with on new updates (which were quite frequent).

Golden Boy’s Dance by Madriddler

Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy/Blaise Zabini, 57k word count, 13 chapters, completed, explicit

Two years after the defeat of Voldemort and Harry is feeling useless. Jobless and suffering from PTSD, Harry spent his days going from horrible interview to horrible interview hopelessly looking for a job. Feeling completely useless, Harry, with the help of George, turns to a new profession that Harry never even thought of : being a camboy. Pleasuring himself for money and people's entertainment, Harry hopes to find a use for the Savior of the Wizarding World in this Peaceful Era.

Yeah so uh,,, this is a total guilty pleasure kink fic and I’m not at all ashamed for putting this fic on here. I won’t even lie, sometimes it felt a bit cheesey, but the porn was so well written it didn’t even matter. I swear to you this is porn with plot and lots of it. Harry works through his post traumatic stress disorder in ways that may or may not be slightly unhealthy, but beyond the porn, it’s really about Harry being okay in his own skin, as someone with mental health issues and as a sex worker. It was a hell of a good time to read and I definitely cried for Harry a time or two.

A Dented Old Street Sign by orphanghost

Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, 27k word count, one-shot, completed, mature

Draco knows they aren't the only students who will be completing their NEWTs this year, but they are the only ones whose home fireplaces were disconnected from the floo network by the ministry.

At least, Draco assumes as much until he sees the light falling out from the front door of one of the other rickety old houses in front of them and the three figures cast in its warm glow. For a moment they look like some sort of strange, many legged creature. An acromantula, or a particularly massive Blast-Ended Skrewt. Then Draco hears Pansy make a disgusted sound beside him and the light falls in a less blinding way, and Draco can see that it is actually Potter and the Weasel carrying a large couch between them, and Granger fluttering around them with her wand out, seeming concerned.

I don’t think I’ve laughed this much reading a fic in a long time. The golden trio and the Slytherin gang live in the same neighborhood while attending their 8th year at Hogwarts and i swear to fucking god, the amount of mutual pining and angst between Harry and Draco is fucking ridiculous, but you can’t help but love them anyway. Sometimes I wanted to throttle them and then shove them into a closet together so they would just t a l k but like in a good way. also the Christmastime atmosphere is something I just live for.

Words Unread, Things Unsaid by PinkCrupps

Harry Potter, no slash Harry & Snape, 18k word count, 7 chapters, completed, teen

What if the Dursley’s were a little crueler, and a little smarter? What if they didn’t want Harry going to school because they didn’t want anyone to see the bruises?

What if Harry had to leave for Hogwarts, carrying a shameful secret? One that Severus Snape is determined to discover.

When I say this one hurt, I mean it h u r t. I feel so bad because when I first read the tags I laughed when I saw the illiterate tag because I make the “I can’t read” jokes often but then I read the fic and i felt SO BAD OMG.

I am no fan of Snape, let it be known, but this fic, I think made me feel like he actually deserved a bit of a redemption arc (even if it’s fanon). This whole time, all I could think of is giving harry a big hug and never letting him go.

I said this in the notes of my bookmark, and I stand by it: “

I feel like the hurt/comfort tag on this one is also meant for the reader”

What Happens to the Heart by Mossycoat

Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, 33k word count, 18 chapters, completed, mature

With no girlfriend, no job, and no idea what he wants, Harry has decided to let life go on without him. If only prophetic dreams, demanding ghosts, and Draco Malfoy would let him.

If you need a pick-me-up after the sadness for the prior fic, may i recommend this one. Seer!Harry is a headcanon that I had never seen before this fic, and I was not let down whatsoever. We love a fic where the OCs are wonderful and the writing style is immaculate. The incorporation of tarot and divination into the chapter names and plot also makes my babywitch heart s i n g!!

Wrong Place, Wrong Time by Relevant_Peach

Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, 70k word count, 15 chapters, completed, no rating specified, but probably teen/ mature for mental health tingz

Draco Malfoy would do anything to find a cure for his son's life-threatening disease. When he crosses paths with an old acquaintance, it unleashes a string of events that will uncover secrets and deceptions. Will Draco be able to look past the misdeeds of his old lover's past? Will Harry ever find the family he longs for?

Ah yes, who knew that pain could feel so good. Everything seems to be fine until it isn’t with this one.

Turn by Saras_Girl

Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, 306k word count, 14 chapters, completed, explicit

One good turn always deserves another. Apparently.

oh my goD yes a classic we love to see it. This is one of those fics that is long but doesn’t reallly feel like it is? This is definitely another feel-good fic, even if it doesn’t seem that way in the beginning. Not only does it focus on Harry and Draco’s relationship, but also their relationships with their family, specifically their children. It’s just really heartwarming whenever Harry get’s all fatherly with his kids. ugh I swear I don’t want any but this is just SO ADORABLE! Plus Blaise Zabini rights thank you very much.

Also Boris can suck my left toe.

There’s a Pureblood Custom For That by Lomonaaeren

Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, 105k word count, 36 chapters, completed, mature

The day that Harry stops Draco Malfoy and his son from being bothered in the middle of Diagon Alley starts a strange series of interactions between him and Malfoy. Who knew there was a pure-blood custom for every situation?

This is another fluffier one, and I have absolutely no shame. Draco is just trying so hard to get through Harry’s thick, clueless skull and Harry is just trying to understand. They’re just so adorable I can’t. And Harry defending Draco’s and his relationship after people are like fuck naw just warms my heart. Like yes Harry, protect ur mans you adorable himbo you.

Our Own Demons by Emmalie22

Harry Potter, MCU, Harry Potter & Tony Stark, Harry Potter/Peter Parker, 119k word count, 24 chapters, WIP, teen/mature

Tony Stark. Genius. Billionaire. Philanthropist. Ironman. (Reckless. Lonely. Father.)

Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. The Chosen One. Wizard. (The Master of Death. Survivor. Breaking.)

Tony Stark never thought he would be a father. But when a lawyer comes knocking and truths become evident, he realizes that he can’t let his son walk out of his life. For Harry, acknowledging his relationship with Tony is a last-ditch effort to gain freedom and control over his life. Although the journey might not be easy, Tony and Harry learn to heal and become a family, facing trials and tribulations on the way such as a scheming Death, a Mad Titian, Dark Wizards, dangerous Doctors, and living Wards.

I’m so sorry to give you a WIP that hasn’t been updated in 10 months, but I couldn’t let this one slide. I’m so attached to these characters it’s unhealthy. I’m not gonna lie, this fic was the product of a very hyperspecific filtered search on AO3 but I’m not even mad at it. Tony is Harry’s father but unlike the other fic on this rec list, Harry is a bit more grown up and bears a lot of the scars of 5th year (y’all don’t need me to specify with that one). It’s a lovely family dynamic and super fluffy Peter and Harry wow we love to see it. Harry is also super fucking smart AS HE IS! I will never get over people calling him stupid ugh Harry rights. But yes, author friend, if you see this, update when you can I’m so in love with this.

If anybody wants me to do more specific lists, I will totally do so. Just reblog or private message me. And if you have any other fic recs, please do so too because I’m always looking for something else to read.

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snarkythewoecrow · 4 years

Text

hanging on while the world crashes in

by: Snarkymuch

Word count: 5.2k

*TRIGGER WARNING for SELF HARM*

I tried to approach this subject with sensitivity but it is still triggering. There are discussions of the guilt and shame around self-harm.This was written for an anon on Tumblr, who wanted more Peter coping with self-harm, using a rubber band. I hope you like it.

AN: Big thank you to @justme--emily and @thelostweasley77 for checking the ending out and making sure it sounded good. I appreciate it!

Summary: Peter is struggling after coming back from the snap. He starts to fall into old habits, ones he thought he was over. He uses a rubber band on his wrist to cope, but eventually those close to him notice. Tony misses nothing.

READ ON AO3

The battle fell silent, and Peter saw Tony collapse against a piece of rubble. He fought invisible hands as he tried to reach his side. It was like he was moving through molasses. When he reached Tony, he fell to his knees, reaching out unbelieving as his mentor, his friend, laid dying. Empty eyes looked off into nothingness, glazed and unseeing. A scream built in Peter’s chest as he reached for Tony, but he couldn’t touch him, his hands passed right through …

He woke himself, panting and clutching the sheets. It was just a dream. Tony was alive and well in his lake house with Pepper and Morgan. It was the same dream he’d had nearly every night. Instead of Captain Marvel using the gauntlet, Tony had, and he’d died in the process.

A thin sheen of sweat coated his skin, and his clothes clung to him. He tried to steady his breathing. It has felt so real.

To the outside world, he’d done his best to put on a good face and pretend that he was okay, but he was far from it. It was all too much to lose five years, having people who were younger than him now older. He felt lost in a sea of emotion, drifting in the currents and struggling not to drown.

It had been a long time since he felt so lost, without a tether. Like when Ben had died, and he’d fought hard against the waves of grief. Nothing had felt stable then, just as nothing did now.

In those times, he’d turned to less than acceptable means to ground himself and find control. A blade offered solace where nothing else could. He knew it was wrong, but the pain was like a lifeline in a stormy sea, stopping the choppy waters long enough to catch his breath.

Like everything, though, May had found out. Maybe Peter wasn’t hiding it well on purpose. Maybe he wanted to be discovered. Part of him had known if he didn’t stop, he’d keep falling down the slippery slope.

Therapy had become a thing, and he’d learned skills to cope. Holding ice cubes in his hands until they burned, drawing on his arms, but the one that stuck and worked the most was the rubber band. It couldn’t be a thin one. It needed to be one with weight and strength. He’d wear it like a bracelet, drawing it back and snapping it hard whenever the storm inside him became too rough, and he felt the urge to cut.

At first, he’d seen the pain in May’s eyes when she saw him snapping it, but eventually, it just became part of them. When he fingered the band, May would ask if he was okay. He didn’t open up at first, but he soon found himself snapping it less and talking more. The churning sea of emotion became more settled, and he moved on, but he kept his bands in a drawer, just in case he ever needed them again, which now, maybe he did.

So much grief and hurt swirled in him, mixing with loss. He should be happy everyone was okay, that the vanished were returned and Thanos was stopped, but he couldn’t change the twisting emotions that wrenched at his heart.

For the first time in a long time, Peter wanted to cut. It wasn’t a pretty feeling, and it wasn’t okay. He wasn’t okay, though. He was spiraling and needed something to stop his fall. He couldn’t focus, and everything felt like too much. He craved the feeling of it all being driven down to a sharp point, real physical pain he could control.

With clumsy movements, he pushed himself up, throwing back the covers. His heart was still beating a bit too fast, and his breaths a touch too shallow. The walls felt like they were pressing in, and his chest ached selfishly for everything he’d lost.

He plunked down in his desk chair and pulled the drawer open with single-minded focus. The little pile of rubber bands gave him pause, and he brushed over them with his fingertips, but that wouldn’t be enough, and he knew it. Or maybe it could have been, but he was weak and wanted the real thing.

Pens and paperclips rattled around as he dug to the very back of the drawer, his bottom lip between his teeth. His fingers brushed the plastic outside, and his prize shifted out of reach, but Peter doubled his efforts. His nail caught it, and he dragged it, scrapping, toward the front of the drawer.

The small yellow utility knife sat amongst the clutter with a power that it shouldn’t hold. Like a siren call, it drew Peter closer, never taking his eyes off it. His fingers brushed over it before picking it up, turning it in his hand, weighing it, and finding it worthy of the task.

A piece of him knew he shouldn’t be doing this, but it was suffocated by the need for an anchor, for something grounding. He told himself that as he looked at the blade that it would be just once, he would use the bands after, but even as he told himself that, he knew it was a lie.

He felt alive as he held it to his skin, and the storm raging inside him quieted as he pressed the blade to the surface of his arm. He drew a stuttering breath through his teeth at the initial sting and then breathed out a sigh. He didn’t feel like he was drowning anymore. He felt in control for this first time since Titan.

Blood bubbled up from the cut and dribbled down the side of his arm, weaving a haphazard path until it reached the pale underside and beaded there, ready to drip onto the floor.

He watched it with fascination, grabbed a dirty sock on the floor, and dabbed up the blood with the cleaner looking end. The immediate rush he felt was already fading, and the line the blade had drawn was already sealing over, no match for his super-powered healing.

Adjusting his grip on the knife, he licked his lips, glancing once at the open drawer and nest of rubber bands. He shoved it closed, not wanting to see evidence of his failings staring him in the eye.

With more pressure than the last, he carved a deeper line into his arm, a cut that, unlike the previous, bled free and fast. The blood did drip onto the floor this time, hitting it with tiny splatters. Some landed on his leg and more on his barefoot, running down under his heel.

The only thing he could feel was the burn of the wound. It muted all the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. For a moment, he could just breathe. Sitting in his room, the world made a little more sense, and everything he couldn’t understand before was in focus.

The flow of blood had slowed, but it was still running in rivulets down his arm. He pressed the soiled sock to the wound, relishing the stab of pain that came with the action. It would heal in a few hours if it even took that long.

Peeling back the sock, he examined his work. The skin was neatly split, but the blood had stopped.

There was no point in bandaging it, so he cleaned up the blood on the floor and changed his pajama pants. Then, he went into the bathroom and washed the blood from his arm. When he got back to his room, he slipped the knife back into its hiding spot.

The next morning, he hesitated by his desk, eyeing the drawer. Two very different but connected things were in there. The rubber bands and the knife. He wondered what it said about him that he couldn’t decide which to take. Maybe he should take both.

Part of him began to reason that healing his factor protected from real harm, so where was the danger? The small piece of plastic and metal had given him more peace than anything else had in months. After giving in and letting himself have that moment, he’d been able to sleep without dreams of turning to dust.

But then he thought of May and the look she had in her eyes the first time she saw the cuts healing on his arms after Ben, and it felt like the air was sucked from his lungs. She’d trusted him not to cut, and he’d broken that unsaid promise.

Guilt crashed over him at what he’d done, eating him alive like a thousand flesh-eating beetles. There was no going back, though, no pretending he hadn’t done it. Even if he didn’t tell her, he’d know, and that was enough.

He needed to do better—for himself and for May. He yanked the drawer open and grabbed one of the bands, still unsure what he’d say when May saw it. He stretched it over his hand and let it circle his wrist. He gave a small snap and then shut the drawer and went about getting ready.

May was in the kitchen when he went to grab something to eat before school. She greeted him with a warm smile, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him down to kiss his cheek.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” she said, turning to refill her abandoned cup on the counter. “How’d you sleep?”

“Good,” Peter lied, the word tasting chalky in his mouth. Unconsciously, he rubbed the band that circled his left wrist. “How was work last night?”

“You know, a nurse’s job is never done. It was busy, but I guess it could have been worse. At least the AC was working.” She leaned against the counter, taking a sip of her coffee, but paused and lowered the cup, her eyes locked on Peter’s wrist. “Do we need to talk?”

Peter dropped his arm, like that would somehow hide what he’d done. “It’s—I’m okay.”

May’s brows drew together, and she studied him for a moment before setting down her cup and crossing the short distance to Peter. She took his hands in hers, warm and dry against his cold and clammy. She squeezed them, and he did it back.

“You’d tell me if it was getting bad again, right?”

He nodded as the guilt over what he’d done filled his lungs, stopping his breath. He didn’t want to lie, but he couldn’t tell the whole truth either.

“It can’t be easy for you. You’ve been through a lot. There’s no shame in struggling.”

He couldn’t move his head to nod, so he stared at a point to the side of her face and tried to swallow some of the emotion he was drowning in.

She stayed silent, holding his hands, and after a moment, he chanced a look at her face. The understanding he saw in her eyes just made the pain all that much worse.

“I’m sorry, May.” His voice trembled. “I’m so sorry.”

“Whatever happened, it’s okay. It’ll be okay. I know you didn’t mean it. And this here”—her thumb touched the band—“this tells me that you want to do better, and that’s enough for me.”

xXx

The rubber band became part of his very existence again, just like it had years ago. He found himself constantly touching it and reminding himself that it was there. When the world became too much, and he felt like he was drifting away, he would snap it and let the sting ground him, reminding him where he was.

It wasn’t what he craved, though. It was a cheap replacement for the real thing, but the guilt over what he’d done was enough to keep him from cutting again. Almost.

Over a month had passed since the incident as he called it, where he fell back and reset his count to zero. May asked him every day how he was. Sometimes she would ask him to rate it, the need, from one to ten. Some days were lower than others. Most days, he hovered near a six. A few times after waking up from a nightmare, he’d been higher, but the band brought it back down to a reasonable number, if there ever was such a thing. What was reasonable about wanting to cut your own skin, to watch yourself bleed?

Tony had invited him to spend the weekend at the lake house, and May didn’t let him say no. She thought it might be good to get out of the city. If he was honest, it scared him a little, thinking about going. Tony was perceptive, his eyes were sharp, and he rarely missed the details, no matter how hard Peter tried to hide them. Tony didn’t know about the cutting or the band. It was the one thing he’d kept from the man. Maybe he was a coward, but he didn’t want to see the disappointment in Tony’s eyes when he told him. Even though it hurt to lie, it was a necessary evil, a small price to pay for peace of mind.

Peter began to pack a bag, and he paused at the desk, his eyes locked on the drawer, and it wasn’t the bands that were calling him. Swallowing a lump of guilt, he opened it and reached into the back, finding the knife. Wrapping it in a sock, he tucked it into his bag, feeling a sickening twist of relief.

The ride to the lake house went quickly, and soon Happy was pulling into the secluded driveway. The weather was hot, so he was wearing short sleeves. Thankfully, there was no scarring from what he’d done before, and to anyone looking, it seemed like he’d collected a random rubber band. There was no hint that it was something more profound.

Morgan greeted him with a hug around his legs when he got out of the car, and Tony stood from the rocking chair on the porch and smiled. He had a glass of something that looked like lemonade in his hand.

Peter grabbed his bag and then let Morgan lead him into the house. The few times he’d stayed over, he was given the guest room near Tony’s and Peppers. He wiggled out of Morgan’s hold long enough to drop his bag and then followed her as she showed him her bug collection, something that he imagined Pepper wasn’t too excited about.

Pepper swept in with a smile and greeted Peter and collected a very disagreeable child for a bath. In all the chaos that was Morgan, he hadn’t thought of the band on his wrist, and maybe that was a good thing. He liked to think it was.

The sun was casting long shadows as it set against the trees at the end of the lake. Peter hadn’t seen Tony yet, other than to say hi as Morgan dragged him past. He thumbed the band on his wrist and walked out toward the garage, where Tony was probably hiding.

He knocked on the door to the garage, and Tony’s voice came from inside. “It’s open.”

Peter opened the door and blinked a few times at the dimmer lit room. His eyes didn’t really need to adjust much—spider powers and all. Tony wiped his hands on a shop towel, draping it over his shoulder after.

Peter might not have been avoiding him, but maybe he was scared to be around him. Between his memories of his nightmares, and fear Tony would somehow see through him, see how broken he was. He shouldn’t be depressed or struggling. He should be thankful and happy that he’d been given another chance and saved, but the only thing he felt was wrong. He didn’t feel like he fit like he used to. The world felt like it moved on without him. Perhaps it had.

Without thinking, his index finger hooked the band and snapped it. The little jolt brought him back into the moment, and the sting grounded him there, pushing away a bit of the storm that was brewing inside him.

When Peter blinked, he noticed Tony looking at his wrist, and Peter dropped his arms. He rubbed his palms against his jeans and tried not to shirt under Tony’s scrutiny.

“So, what you working on?” Peter asked, hoping to break the tension.

Tony seemed to shake himself out of whatever was on his mind and motioned to the workbench where Pepper’s Rescue armor lay. “Just upgrading a few things. Never can be too careful. Could come in useful again someday, though let’s hope not.”

Peter tried to hide the flinch at the mention of the final battle. “That’s cool. Do you need any help?”

Tony’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Yeah, of course. I can show you what I’ve done.”

They worked together in silence, Peter more watching that helping. He hadn’t been sleeping well, and it was finally wearing him down. He tried hard not to touch the band. It was already stupid to snap it once in front of Tony. It showed too much of his hand. He knew the man would begin looking for answers where Peter didn’t want to give them. He reassured himself, though, that at least he wasn’t cutting. He’d been doing well.

But not using the band in front of Tony or the rest of the family put him in a bad position. He couldn’t keep the urge in check and keep himself grounded. He felt a little like he was floating away. Tony’s words drifted past him, not really connecting. Maybe it was tiredness, or perhaps it was something more. Either way, he was having trouble pretending that he was okay and that his world wasn’t tilted and off-balanced. He knew the smile on his face rang hollow, and it scared him that Tony was too perceptive to miss it.

“Why don’t we go see what Pepper’s wrangled up for dinner?” Tony’s voice pulled him from his head.

He hadn’t noticed it, but he was thumbing the band again, so he stuffed his hand into his pocket.

“Yeah, yeah, that sounds great. Morgan’s probably looking for me again by now.”

Tony smiled, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “You’re a good brother, Peter. Thank you for that.”

Peter shook his head. “I should be thanking you.”

And he really felt he should. Tony had created time travel to bring them all back. It wasn’t his fault that Peter was broken and didn’t come back right.

Tony clapped a hand on Peter’s back. “I guess we should just call it even.”

Dinner went well. It was lasagna with garlic bread and a salad. Morgan ate the soft part of the bread but refused to eat the crust, she nibbled the lettuce like a rabbit, and spread her lasagna across her plate. He wasn’t really sure she ate much, but her giggling and chatter eased some of his nerves.

Every time he looked down at his wrist, though, he saw the band and thought of what he’d done, then looked at Morgan and felt a wave of shame and guilt. She deserved better than a brother who hurt himself because he couldn’t cope any other way. And he was scared, too, worried that his darkness would somehow rub off on her, contaminating her. What if she learned what he did and followed down the same path?

Dinner sat heavy in his stomach after that thought, and he excused himself from the table, earning a concerned look from Tony. Peter tried to give him a weak smile and reassure him, but he knew it fell flat.

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay, honey?” Pepper asked, looking ready to stand and press a hand to his forehead. He appreciated the kindness.

Peter nodded, his lips stretched in a thin smile. “I’m just drained. I haven’t been able to sleep the last few nights—no, it’s nothing to worry about—just been up studying. My own fault.”

Tony’s eyes searched his face for something, but then he let out a breath and nodded. “Get some rest, kid. We can go swimming tomorrow.”

“I can do a cannonball!” Morgan announced.

Peter’s smile got a little warmer. “That’s great, Mo. I can’t wait to see.”

“You sure you don’t want to stay up with me? We’re gonna watch the Lion King again.”

Peter ruffled her hair. “I’ll watch something with you tomorrow. I promise.” He waved at the table and excused himself.

When he got to his room, he closed the door, leaning back against it as his shoulders fell. He sagged against the wood, running a hand over his face. Coming to the lake house had been a bad idea. He should have stayed home, where he couldn’t spread his disease. He didn’t need to infect others.

The worst of it was that he wanted to cut, and his day hadn’t been that bad. Maybe that made him even weaker. He couldn’t even handle day to day life without feeling like he had to hurt himself. It wasn’t how healthy people reacted. He was a freak.

He didn’t want to snap the band, he just wanted to be better, but what else could he do? He glanced across the room at his backpack, and the knife he knew was wrapped up inside. Tony would never know. If he was careful, he could hide it. They weren’t expecting him to leave him room until morning, and by then, everything would be healed.

No, he couldn’t. He crossed the room to his bed and laid down. He would sleep through the urge. He needed to be better.

Peter kneeled on the ground, his knife in his hand, pressing to his arm, blood dribbled down his wrist, and dripping on the grass. He was at the lake house, in front of the porch, and Morgan was watching him, a knife of her own held in her small hands. She watched his movements, then looked at her arm and began to cut like Peter. He wanted to stop her, to scream no, but he couldn’t find his voice.

Peter woke with a start, clutching the sheets and panting for breath. It was dark except for the crisp moonlight cutting through the window. His stomach churned of the memory of Morgan’s chubby little fingers wrapped around the knife. The edges of his vision began to darken as he struggled to breathe, spots dancing. Bile rose in his throat, bitter-tasting on the back of his tongue.

He blindly felt around his wrist for the band and began snapping it, but the sting wasn’t enough to ground him, though it did help a little. The skin started to get sore, but he kept going, finding a steady rhythm.

His heart began to slow, and his breathing settled, but he needed air. The walls still felt too close, too confining. If he were back home, he’d go to the roof. Tossing back his blanket, he slipped from the bed and walked barefoot out of his room and down the stairs. He was careful to walk quietly so as not to wake anyone up. He went out the back door and onto the porch, sitting down on the bench and looking out over the water. The moon’s light reflected over the surface, causing ripples of light that stretched across the lake.

Instead of snapping the band, he began to dig his thumbnail into his arm. He needed it, just for a minute. It would stop the spiral and let him breathe. The pain grew, the harder he pushed, and blood started to bubble up. It looked black in the moonlight and oddly satisfying.

His eyes fell closed only to snap open when he heard the door.

“Pete?” It was Tony. He was dressed in sweats with a tank.

Peter tried to shift his arm and hide the blood trail that marked his arm, but it only made it that more obvious. Shame crashed over him, and his heart began beating out of his chest.

“It’s not what it looks like.” Peter’s voice broke over the words.

Tony’s eyes were on the small river of blood leading toward his wrist. His gaze broke away from it to meet Peter’s, and it took everything Peter had not to shrink under the intensity. He didn’t look angry. That would have been easier. No, Tony looked worried and hurt, which was so much worse.

Maybe seeing Peter struggling, Tony’s expression softened even more, and he sat down beside Peter, looking out over the lake.

“You did it to yourself.” And it wasn’t really a question. Tony was telling him.

Peter looked at the water, frowning. The blood on his arm was drying, and the small wound was already closing. There was no point in lying, and if Peter was honest, he didn’t want to lie. He carried enough—he didn’t have room for lies, too.

“Yeah,” Peter breathed, feeling a weight lift.

He could see Tony nod beside him, and they sat in silence for a little longer, the water lapping the shore the only sound.

“How long?”

That wasn’t an easy question. Had he ever gotten better, or had he just tricked himself into believing he had? Was this something he would ever heal from?

“After Ben.” Peter’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “And then after the battle, after coming back. I—I don’t think I came back right, ya know?”

Tony looked at him, and Peter dared a quick glance. Tony’s eyes dropped to the blood, and then he looked out over the water again, so Peter did, too.

“Why didn’t you come to me? I should’ve—I knew something was going on. The rubber band, right?”

“Yeah, uh, it’s a coping thing?” It came out like a question, and he wasn’t sure why. Maybe because it failed to work when he needed it. “May knows,” he added, not really sure why.

“Do you we—what do we do here? Do you need to talk? I feel like I should be angry, but I don’t want to be, kid. I just want you to be okay. I feel like I dropped the ball. Can I ask—can I ask why?”

Peter sucked in a breath, fisting his hands in his lap. “I don’t know, I guess. It wasn’t something I set out to do. It just happened one day, and then I couldn’t stop, but it’s not like before. I used to be worse, I guess. I’ve only really done it once since coming back, for real anyway.”

Tony sucked in a breath. “Is it always just scratching? That’s what you did tonight, right? It looked like you did it yourself.”

Something inside Peter tightened. He didn’t like talking about this, but he didn’t want to lie. Maybe it would help to talk about it. “Um, no, I mean, sometimes—I have a knife.”

Peter chanced a look at Tony and saw he had gone still.

“Did you bring it with you?” There was something Peter couldn’t place in his tone, and it made his stomach knot.

“I, uh … It’s in my bag. I wasn’t going to use it here.” He felt like he should explain. “I wouldn’t do that. I just—it made me feel better having it. Just in case.”

Toy made a noise of acknowledgment, then sucked in another breath. “Okay, well. I’m going to need that.”

Peter swallowed; his palms were sweaty now. “Yeah, I understand.”

“And I’m talking to May about this. We are going to get you some therapy, something. I lost you once. I can’t—I won’t lose you again.” There was a finality to his tone, and Peter knew better than to argue.

“I really am sorry.”

Tony looked at him, then wrapped his arm around his shoulders, pulling him into his side. “Don’t apologize for this. Yeah, I don’t want you hurting yourself, and I don’t really understand, or maybe I do. I don’t know. I just—it’s not your fault. We’ll figure this out. You’re not alone.”

Tears blurred Peter’s vision, and he slipped his arms around Tony’s waist, burying his face in his chest. “I don’t want to be like this.”

“I know, kiddo. I know. I promise we’ll figure this out. We just need to take this one day at a time.”

Tony rubbed a hand up and down Peter’s back, and they stayed huddled together until the sky began to lighten, and Peter’s neck started to ache. He rubbed his eyes, sitting up and looking out over the lake.

Red and orange painted the horizon as the sun crested the mountains in the distance. Morgan and Pepper would be up soon, and he needed to clean himself up. The dried blood on his arm was still there, flaking away, but the crescent-shaped cut from his nail was gone.

Tony rubbed his back a little more and took his arm from around Peter and rubbed his eyes. Peter couldn’t help but notice how tired he looked now.

“I think we know what we need,” Tony said, looking away from the sunrise to Peter. “Waffles. Iron Man waffles. They’re like magic, can fix anything.”

Peter knew waffles weren’t going to fix anything, but he still found a smile tugging at his lips. “I can’t believe you buy your own merch.”

“I’ll have you know, Rhodey bought the waffle maker.” He tipped his head to the side. “Now the shower curtain, that’s another thing. I can’t help it. I like how I look.”

Peter huffed a laugh, absently fingering the band. “I should probably go get washed up before Morgan wakes up.”

“You okay?” Tony’s eyes were full of concern.

He looked at the blood on his arm. “You know, I don’t think I am, but I’d like to be.”

Tony nodded, nudging his shoulder into Peter. “It’s okay not to be, but, Pete, I need you to bring the knife down.”

He looked out at the water and then at Tony. “Yeah, that’s probably for the best. Do I really need to talk to someone? What about, you know, Spider-Man?”

“Let me take care of that. I’ll find someone we can trust. You’ll tell me if it gets bad, right? Until we find someone, I need to know you’re safe.”

“Yeah, the, uh, the band helps, but if it gets bad, I’ll try to tell you. I just—it’s not always the easiest thing. I don’t always think things through.”

Tony drew a deep breath. “Okay, I guess I’ll take what I can get. Enough with the heavy stuff. Why don’t you go clean up and get the thing we talked about, and I’ll go warm up the waffle iron.”

Peter nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

He knew things wouldn’t be instantly better, and he knew waffles wouldn’t fix the pain, but maybe it was the first step to making things better, a soothing balm over a raw wound. He didn’t need to hide anymore, and he wasn’t alone. Help was waiting. He just needed to reach out and take it.

#tw:self harm #irondad #peter parker #tony stark #marvel #hurt/comfort #snark writes

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carefulthatsharassment-sir · 4 years

Text

Forever

This was written for @inthemindofanother 1K challenge. Congratulations on 1K!! The prompt was best friend who stops wedding. I hope you enjoy it.

Pairing: Elijah x Male Original Character

Word Count: 1568

Warnings: A little alcohol use, some angst and fluff.

Connor frowned as he stumbled through the entrance to the courtyard, his movements drunk, slow and unsteady. He pursed his lips before taking a swig of the bottle of whisky that was more than half gone. Unsurprisingly the Mikaelson compound was deserted, the male siblings had all gone out drinking celebrating Elijah’s last night as a free man, Rebekah and Freya had gone out with the lovely women that Elijah would be marrying in the morning. Hope was spending the night at Hayley and Jacksons new place across the river. So, Connor was all alone, he contemplated going back out and losing himself to his bitter anger and another warm body, but he figured it wouldn’t do him any good in the long run, so getting drunk of his arse was the next best thing. Taking another long swig of the whisky he stumbled up the stairs holding on to the bannister for support he desperately needed, okay so he probably shouldn’t have been drinking as much as he was but he felt as if every single aspect of himself was aching and breaking apart, he could feel his heart shattering every minute as the wedding drew closer. With less than 24 hours until Elijah Mikaelson married the supposed women of his dreams, Connor’s heart was hanging on by literal threads, or well it felt like that to him. Connor sighed before pulling himself up and dragging himself to his bedroom. Opening the slightly creaky door, he turned and switched on his light, slamming the door behind him with his foot. He made his way to the bed, messily placing the bottle of whiskey on his bedside table. Toeing of his shoes and taking his jacket of, he crumpled the Demin and threw it across the room. Connor sat down on the bed and ran his hand through his hair, his thoughts starting to get a little foggy and a little messy the alcohol he had consumed throughout the night finally catching up to him. Thankfully despite growing up with the Michaelson’s, being Elijah’s best friend and older than the man by 3 months and being turned by Esther all those many many years ago Elijah had not asked him to be his best man, instead choosing to ask Niklaus in some hope to make Niklaus feel better. It had worked Connor supposed as Niklaus was very accepting towards Elijah’s wife to be. Connor on the other hand while had been civil and polite made no effort to bond or communicate with the woman. There was only so many times he could watch Elijah fall in love with someone who wasn’t him, Connor had been in love with Elijah since he was a teenager and a thousand years later here, he was still pining over his best friend. It was no secret growing up that Connor wasn’t a lady’s man; he was rather a man’s man. Over the centuries there had been a few men none of them however compared to Elijah. Connor reached over to grab the whiskey with a shaky hand, finishing it before throwing the bottle towards the wall, suddenly not caring that it would most likely smash and he would have a mess to clean in the morning. Connor took of his jeans also throwing them across the room. Deciding he had, had enough of this day he switched of the light and crawled into bed, silently hoping that he would sleep through tomorrow, that no one would wake him up as he was pretty sure pretending to be happy would break his heart. With that as his last thought Connor allowed his drunken slumber to take him.

The first thing Connor was aware of when he woke up was that the compound was still silent, which meant his wish either came true or everyone else was still asleep. Checking his phone, he realised it was far to early for the others to be awake, come to think of it, it was also far too early for himself to be awake. But well to be honest he did have the mess that was currently his room to clean and come to think of it he could really murder a coffee now. Connor got out of bed, sighing when he spotted the mess, he had left last night. Thankfully the bottle hadn’t shattered, god knows how it hadn’t, but Connor was incredibly grateful that it hadn’t. He picked it up and placed it on his dresser. Looking in the mirror he wasn’t surprised to see his short brown hair sticking up and looking a little like a bird’s nest, he also wasn’t surprised to see that his blue eyes were a little bloodshot. That’s what you get when you spend most of the night drinking yourself silly. Since it was highly likely that no one would be up Connor didn’t bother putting any pyjama bottoms on, content with just his boxer shorts and his black t-shirt. He padded towards the kitchen making sure to be quiet, once there he started to make his coffee, sighing slightly he sat at the breakfast bar waiting for the coffee to brew. Suddenly Elijah appeared in front of him. “Good morning Connor” He said.

“Huh? Oh, good morning Lijah” Connor stood up hearing that the coffee was done, he added sugar and sat back down nursing his drink. Connor sighed completely ignoring Elijah, and the way that his heart just sped up around him. Elijah sat down next to him, before breaking the awkward silence.

“I missed you yesterday, where did you go in the end?”

“Oh uh, I uh went to a different bar”

Elijah nodded in understanding. “So, did you end up doing anything interesting?”

“Oh uh, not really, the usual to be honest”

“Why didn’t you come with us yesterday?” Elijah asked

Connor paused, he really did not know how to answer the question, lie and tell him, he met someone or tell him the truth, tell Elijah that his heart couldn’t take much more of this, that he hated that they would never ever be together, that they would only ever just be best friends.

“Connor you know if something is bothering you, you can tell me you know”

Connor sighed “There are somethings better left unsaid Elijah”

“No there’s not Connor, I am your best friend. If there is something bothering, you I deserve to know”

“That’s the thing Lijah, its you. Your bothering me” Connor exploded.

Elijah looked taken back “What, what do you mean it’s me”

Connor sighed. Well he supposed it was now or never. Elijah was due to get married in 5 hours. Although he still had doubts, he wasn’t sure he wanted to do this to his best friend, but he supposed either way he was going to lose Elijah today.

“Connor, come on talk to me”

Connor ran his hand through his hair. “God this is not the conversation I ever wanted in my boxers on the day of your wedding”

Elijah looked confused and was about to speak before Connor held his hand up to stop him.

“Elijah Mikaelson, there is something you need to know about me. You obviously know that I am gay, and you’ve never been anything short of accepting. Throughout all the decades that I have lived through there have been countless lovers and one-night stands but there has only ever been one man who I have been completely, wholly and utterly in love with. God Elijah, it’s you. It’s always been you Lijah. You are the man that I want to spend my forever with. I love you Elijah Mikaelson. I can’t watch you marry Amelia, I just can’t. you break my heart every time. I can’t do this to myself anymore. I’m going to leave for a while and let you enjoy Amelia and your life.”

Connor paused looking at the shock in Elijah’s face. “There I have said it now, you can hate me or punch me whatever.” Connor stood up about to leave when Elijah’s gripped his arm to stop him from leaving.

“Connor, why have you only just told me this” Elijah said his voice sounding broken.

Connor turned to him looking Elijah in the eye. “What does it matter, it won’t change anything”

“Except that it does Con, you need to know that I feel the same way. Connor what I feel for you scares me so much that I fell in love with other people to help myself. Which I know is selfish, but I was scared. Hell, I still am but I do love you, I cannot remember a time where I haven’t loved you in some way. Please don’t leave me, I can’t live without you”

Connors eyes shined with unshed tears “Don’t. Elijah just don’t give me false hope”

“It’s not false hope” Elijah surged forward and kissed Connor pouring everything he felt about him into the kiss, Connor kissed him back with just as much enthusiasm.

“Well it’s about bloody time” Came Rebekah’s voice from the doorway.

Connor smiled his lips pressing against Elijah’s once more.

“I thought so too”

Connor smiled at Rebekah and Elijah. Now all’s Elijah to do was break someone else’s heart and stop his wedding. Connor felt a little guilty, but Amelia was a lovely woman and one day he was sure she would find her forever.

#doms1kchallenge #elijahmikaelsonxomc elijahmikaelson

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calpops · 5 years

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evening echoes | c.h.

Summary: Evenings echoed her back to him, all the finer details of her screamed into the night around him. Calum thought he would have given anything to be with her, but there was something unattainable in her mind and in her heart. At least that’s what he was convinced of after all this time.

Rated: M

Word Count: 3k

For: @rosecolouredash <3

***

Calum sat on a park bench, fallen leaves scattered on the ground, trees near barren and flowers fading. He could see straight into the gazebo that dominated the grounds, worn wood decorated with strung up lights and flower petals. A crisp breeze picked up and had him tugging on his jacket, slipping his hands into his pockets and remembering the warmth of another. His foot tapped into the browning grass beneath him and though the day ended and night claimed the sky long ago he continued to wait. There was hope in his chest, blooming like spring flowers, unfurling when he thought he saw movement on the other end of the park. But his eyes must have tricked him, his mind must have conjured up the sight of her. He pulled his hope back in, let it consume his every thought and wish. His skin grew colder as the night wore on but not nearly as cold as her hands used to get.

He remembered a time when it was second nature to have her steal the warmth of his pockets or press her hands to his neck. He always flinched when she did, but he never pulled away. He kept her there until she could feel her fingers and she’d giggle a thank you. He remembered a time when her head lay against his chest and his hands enveloped hers, keeping her warm through cold nights because her presence alone was enough to light him up inside. He remembered all the intricacies of her, of them, of a time when things seemed so simple. All he could do, all he had left, was to think back to those times and keep the memories close. He would think back to nights in the gazebo where stars were their only light and petals fell into her hair from the breeze. To the smile that overtook her face, her hand stopping his from picking them out of her hair, whispering to leave them there.

Calum stood, legs unsure beneath him as he strode over to the railing. He walked on pins and needles, legs numb from his stagnant position on the bench for what could have been hours or only minutes. Time escaped him entirely when he thought of her. That’s why he knew he should never escape to her too often. When he did, days could slip by unbeknownst to him, everything hyper focused on her; the memories of her, her touch that he swore will be forever seared into his skin. His fingers settled over a knot in the wood on the railing, pads of his fingertips tracing over the seams and darker colors. She always used to grip the rail and tip her face up to the night, eyes filled with wonder at the stars. And he would wrap her up from behind, press his chin into her shoulder and whisper in her ear.

“What are you thinking about, sugar?”

He listened to her talk about her dreams; about a city on the opposite side of the country, escaping the only life she had ever known and starting new. Starting all over again with him by her side. He wrote them off as fever dreams, just imaginings that swirled in her daydreams and would always live there. Calum talked of his dreams too, her eyes would respond to his every word, shining and crinkling at the prospect of them all. Stood at the gazebo he would have once considered theirs, he tapped his fingers against the railing, feeling in his chest the tap of her fingers keeping time to his heartbeat. She would lay her ear against his heart, tap two fingers against anywhere on him that she could reach and tell him she could feel his heart in all those places on her. He would have given anything to feel a thump thump against his ribs, to hear her small sigh and have her tell him he should give up cigarettes and coffee. She never liked when his heart raced because of his addictions, would have much rather been the one to make his pulse pick up. But she kept the habit of tapping out his heartbeat alive no matter how fast or slow.

Calum knew standing there, waiting for her, was foolish. He wasn’t sure there was anything that could bring her back. She had left his life in a flurry, slipped through his fingers like a flower petal stirred up and tossed around in the breeze. And yet, he always found himself wandering back. Sometimes it took months, but his footsteps were imprinted into the ground at the rail of the gazebo. If he couldn’t hold her, couldn’t feel her in all the ways he once could, he would be damned if he couldn’t hold onto the memories of her and feel them simmer under his skin. The tightness in his chest and the lump in his throat was worth enduring to feel a piece of her. Remember a piece of them. He had no else since she left; not in the ways he had her, no one else would give themselves so wholly to him and he would give nothing of himself in return.

He went home that night, wishing he had a cold hand to hold and a body and soul to sleep with and keep warm. He wished he had spent a little extra time with her in the mornings. He almost couldn’t remember her glow in the morning sun or the taste of orange juice on her lips after breakfast. He had thrown out half a carton when she left, couldn’t stomach the thought of finishing something that was so purely her. Hadn’t had a drop of it since. He gave up coffee, slowly stopped smoking and took up chewing gum in its absence. He knew it was too late to see a proud smile split across her face and feel a slow tap against his chest. But he’d done it all for her and because of her nonetheless. He swore he would have given her anything.

***

The evening echoed her back to him. He was with another girl. Someone who’s name slipped his mind as soon as it had rolled off her tongue. And when he asked the other girl to leave when all was said and done his thoughts sank back to her. How no one would ever compare to the way she made him feel. Nobody would look as good drowned in moonlight or feel as good in his hold. No body would respond to his in the way hers had, move in harmony and call out his name in a crashing crescendo into an otherwise silent night. Calum ran his hands over his face, rested the heel of his palms against his forehead and gripped his hair as he fought off her memory. He didn’t want to sink back into her all night. He knew morning would only be that much harder if he allowed himself to keep reveling in their memories. But sometimes she wasn’t a choice. Sometimes she was too much not to go back to.

He could remember every single dip and curve of her body. The way her chest rose and fell with scattered breaths and how her neck and collarbones showed his love so proudly. He could recall every minute movement, every quiver and grip that brought him closer to her. He longed for the feeling of being inside her and her nails digging into his back to leave a trail of herself imprinted into his skin. He wished they never would have faded. Wished for her hands to run over them in the morning and for the sting to stay with him. He wanted nothing more than for her to be there in the morning when he woke, to have her grab his wrist and trace alive to wake him before settling her fingers at his radial pulse and tapping the rhythm into his abdomen. She created a habit of kissing his neck and feeling the thrum of his heartbeat under her lips and once she was gone it was his habit to unlearn. He never needed to put his fingers to his wrist or neck to feel the aching throb of his heart when he thought of her. It was always overwhelming and invasive. Just like her. It reached every part of him. He could feel it in his entire being. Just like her.

Calum blinked slowly, eyes burning and chest heaving with the weight of loss. He never thought he chose to lose her but as time wore on he doubted everything. Every word unsaid, every question unanswered and every desire unmet. As much as he wanted to write off those wistful thoughts of a city unknown to her as daydreams and nothing more he felt he must have known it was more than that. He didn’t know what kept her around so long, didn’t know if there was anything that could keep her around longer or possibly forever. He liked to think that there wasn’t, that it was all inevitable and nothing he could have done would have prevented it. But he knew that was a lie.

“We could get married and move to the city.”

Had he just given her one of those things she would still be by his side. But he was too scared for her to take his name, too scared to build something new in a place he didn’t know. She wasn’t. She was fearless and determined. Those wonder filled gazes at the night sky burned pictures of city lights into her eyes. Calum knew it was selfish to want the city to fail her. For her to come back to him so he could put back together all the broken shards of her and all the missing pieces of them. For months any knock on the door sent him into a frenzy. All he wanted was for her to be on the other side when the door swung open. She never was. He needed to start convincing himself that she never would be. He had written her, not sure if she was in the same place her note had told him of. He promised if she wanted to turn around and come home he would be waiting, but there was radio silence. No letters. No calls. No trace of her left behind.

Calum would never be sure of how she managed to erase almost all of herself from his house. He didn’t understand how her scent drifted away or how she had managed to grab every last knickknack that cluttered the shelves. The red wine stain on white couch cushions had been scrubbed away. And even though he swore he could remember her silhouette painted against white bedroom walls at dawn that too was forever lost. It was all turning hazy to him, scattered and bleeding away bit by little bit. All that had remained was orange juice in the fridge and a note with lopsided letters on a tear stained page. He kept the note for weeks, until one evening brought her words back to him and dug under his skin and drove him wild with regret. He tore the note to pieces under moonlight, seeing her hands reaching out to stop him only driving the innate need to get her out of his mind further. When the pieces fell to the floor he left them there for days and nearly burned a hole through the floor from his never ending glare at them.

He wanted to give her everything she wanted but he didn’t listen well enough. Didn’t understand her dreams but couldn’t comprehend life without her. He took advantage of her willingness to hold on for so long. Kept a grip on her and clung to her because he thought she wouldn’t be the first to let go. He hovered the possibility of chasing city lights together over her head and shattered her heart when he wouldn’t go. He lied to her, to himself, about giving her everything.

***

Calum could picture the end in vivid colors, could hear the end in crashing words. Those last few days were permanently burned into his heart and mind. No matter how hazy she got as time went on, he knew he’d remember those days for the rest of his life. He’d gone months without a cigarette but the day had been long and the night invited loneliness in. He hesitated, seeing her eyes downcast and felt her fingers tapping an erratic rhythm all over him. No matter how far she went there were pieces of her still etched into him, the good, the bad, it all settled meticulously inside every inch of him. He licked his lips and tossed the cigarette out before lighting it. He had already failed her once. He didn’t want to do it again.

“Not yet.”

She had repeated his words back at him one night, voice strained and eyes glossy as she fought back tears. They had been walking home from the park, her grip on his hand had fallen and her footsteps fell short. Calum had noticed her absence immediately but the words didn’t register fast enough. He had turned to her, concern wearing heavily against him. He didn’t understand what she meant or where the conversation had bloomed from. Until he heard his own voice in his memory, always telling her ‘not yet’ to the things she desired. Moving. Marriage. It was always ‘not yet’ and she reminded him of that. Her words grew more tense as she hurled not yet after not yet back at him. And broke down into tears on a cracked sidewalk when his words from the park that night fell from her mouth. ‘Never’ hung between them on a frayed string. What once was lifelines that could reel each other in storm after storm was hanging by a thread.

He tried to take those two syllables back, if only to appease her and get her to go home without a fight. She nodded her head, cheeks drowning in tears that dropped down her chin and soaked her jacket. She fell silent and grabbed his hand again. Went home with him and pushed her dreams aside one last time for him. Calum should have seen it coming. Should have known the end was beginning because of one word. One word he had meant in the moment but regretted every second afterward. The empty house he came back to one night took him by surprise. The note on the countertop stopped his heart entirely and split his world in half. It was then that he realized it was hallow without her. They had built around each other for so long the walls around his heart had her name set in stone.

Calum left the cigarette untouched and went home. Greeted by shadows of the past once more. Hours ticked by in silence, the night calm but his mind storming. When he couldn’t bare it any longer, couldn’t physically stay still and sit with her absence he threw a suitcase on the bed and shoved anything deemed necessary inside. He had no idea where she would be in the city anymore, if she was even there at all, but there was a pull inside his chest he couldn’t ignore that screamed at him to try. When his suitcase was full and the prospect of buying a ticket out of town confronted him his blood ran cold and his mind conjured up the worst. He didn’t know if he could take searching a city for her and coming up empty handed. He did know, however, that if he did find her and someone else’s ring adorned her left hand it would shatter him.

His chest constricted at the thought, white knuckle grip on the bed frame and mind reeling with haunting images. If she was happy he didn’t want his unannounced presence to ruin it, but he wasn’t sure he could sit in his misery any longer. If she was taken he didn’t know what he would do, how far he would go to get her back. All of these thoughts were selfish and burned at him. His shoulders sagged, breath leaving him in an exhausted sigh. He couldn’t interrupt her life, not when she had done everything to chase her dreams. He knew he could have gone with her. He bore the pain into himself and let it eat away at him for nearly a year. He abandoned the suitcase, let it topple off the bed and its contents spill onto the floor. For once he would put her first.

He climbed back into bed, leaving the mess for morning and reached two fingers to his neck to feel his pulse race. Tapped two fingers into his ribs and wished she was there to tell him she still felt his heart in all those same places on her. Before sleep captured him fully, two soft taps came from the front of the house and roused him from his bed. He and trained his mind not to hope for her anymore. Told his heart it was likely just Ashton drunkenly knocking on the door thinking it was his own. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and headed towards the front door. Something startling sparked low in his stomach, an uncomfortable heat clenching at him. He recognized the feeling as nerves but didn’t understand their presence. His heart rate picked up and when he opened the door he understood why.

She stood in the doorway, shrouded in a halo of porch light, bags at her sides and broken eyes staring back at him. It took all of his willpower not to sink to his knees in that very moment. He pulled all of his strength together and blinked in disbelief.

“How about now?” She asked.

She was giving him one last chance to have everything he ever wanted.

***

Tagged: @irwinkitten

If anyone else would like to be tagged in future fics, just give me a shout! <3

#calum hood #5sos #5 seconds of summer #calum hood blurb #calum hood one shot #calum hood angst #calum hood fluff #calum hood x you #calum hood x reader #calum hood smut #5sos blurb #5sos one shot #5sos smut #5sos angst #5sos imagine

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hesflyingonbrokenwings · 4 years

Text

Dearest V,

it's been almost one year since we last spoke, so I guess our lives might have changed a bit since then...

I hope you've had a peaceful holiday season with your family – speaking of whom, the warmest of greetings and best of wishes to them – may your parents and your cat have a wonderful and healthy start to this decade.

I went head-first into last year thinking I'd see greater changes by the end of it, but, as Oli put it quite concisely, "then I found out how hard it is to really change" – for example, I had quit smoking weed in summer and started to enjoy life free from it, only to start toking again three months later when my mental wellbeing started spiralling downwards again... in the end I have to admit that while I may have felt like I could make a meaningful change in my life, I'm still sitting around trying to find out of my depressive ways, and I'm growing more and more unsure by the day that going back to who I once was is an option at all... after all, people grow up, and I guess part of who we are is determined by our experiences... I should definitely try to seek professional help this year, so maybe over time I'll be able to create the version of myself that I need to be so I can finally stop being down all the time. While that means I may not exactly be "past me", I sincerely hope you'll like whatever person I'm going to be then.

The years we've spent side by side have shaped me in a number of ways, some healthier and some unhealthier. On the upside, obviously, there's the hundreds of memories that we've shared and that I still like to look back on every once in a while (even though I'm slightly concerned about how many of those involve weed and / or booze), the music you've introduced me to (I still enjoy your Spotify mix every now and then) and so on. What's probably more on the unhealthy side of things and might sound a bit crazy is that, interestingly enough, I still sometimes feel like you're watching my every move, judging every single thing I'm doing, and it's driving me nuts. I don't know the exact reason and it confuses me... on the one hand it's kind of annoying and a bit restrictive, and on the other hand I just want to figure out where exactly that comes from. I guess part of it is because of what I've experienced over the past years, the numerous occasions on which you've trash talked the time I've spent in relationships with other people to feel better about yourself. Then again, maybe part of me just wants you to still care, when the rational part in me reckons you probably you don't care about me anymore – I mean, why would you, you can do so much better. I don't think I'll find answers for now, more stuff to discuss with a therapist once I've found one, I guess. Then again, maybe it'll help me make saner decisions for the moment, I don't know. What I do know, though, is that I'm done with this whole trash-talking business, that is, if we start talking again, please just let me decide for myself what to make of my past... I hope this didn't sound too harsh, it's just something I might've left unsaid for too long. Oh well, and speaking of long-lasting impact, then there's like hundreds of things that still evoke your memory anyway, whether that's any mention of anything related to law school, or the former capital, or still wearing the things you gave me, or, oh yeah, living in the same flipping part of town. Also reminds me, I still haven't touched the new BoJack episodes or the Chris-chan documentary yet... watching TheOdd1sOut's Sooubway part 4 without you feld weird enough, somehow. I guess it goes without saying that there has hardly been a day this year that I haven't thought of you at least in some way, mostly thinking about how awkward it would be to run into each other on the streets, whether we'd exchange words and what the hell I'd have to say about how my life was going and what I've learned or accomplished and so on if that became the case. It obviously didn't, but I still spent some time thinking about what I'd have to say and it was interesting to observe how it changed over the year. I guess you were right about some things, first and foremost about how I should try to get myself up from the fucking ground first before attempting to build up anything in life.

That being said, there are two major milestones I've reached last year, and I hope you're at least a bit proud of me – I've used the spring semester to finally complete my mandatory internship, coding for a software company that was a pleasure to work for, and they offered to hire me as a working student right away and as a proper engineer once I finish uni. Anyway, since the office isn't exactly close to uni, I've decided for now to keep working at uni for two more years. They have been quite understanding and the offer to hire me again still stands. Since I could definitely see myself working in software development after uni, I have started working towards a proper computer science bachelor's degree which I'll pursue in parallel with my usual master's. And, what might surprise you even more, believe it or not, I've been smoke-free for more than 7 months now, and I'm making damn sure I'm not touching another cigarette or anything else containing nicotine again – fuck off, big tobacco! I almost also managed to finish my bachelor's degree, but my assigned thesis topic was so cryptic and far off from what I expected that I ended up not handing in anything at all... but I'm making sure to finish in a second attempt before the next semester starts, wish me luck!

Anyway, how's your 2019 been? Is everything alright at uni? Have you passed the bar yet, and how's your internship situation (been) going? Also, I've heard that the houseshare didn't work out (it really sucks to hear that), did you find another nice place to stay near uni and how do you like it? How's your bass journey coming along? I hope you're still having fun with the bass and I'd love to hear some of the riffs you've been rocking out to one day. (Speaking of rocking out – I don't know whether he told you, but Sebi and I have been trying to start a band for a while now. While we somehow procrastinated our way around it almost all year until recently, we've started jamming and recording voice memos, so who knows, maybe we'll have written some kick-ass tunes soon.)

Lest I forget, speaking of 2019... a very belated happy birthday! Whether or not to contact you for your birthday was a harder decision than you may think... in the end I decided to keep at a distance and not leave a message, I still hope you've had a great time (at least it probably won't have been a disappointment like the times I've been involved) so make damn sure to enjoy your remaining time at 22... because you know what Blink-182 has to say about them darned 23-year-olds.

Quick change of topic, politics is the same clusterfuck as always, isn't it? When the 12/12 general elections were announced, I was hoping so badly that Great Britain might be coming to its senses... and then the results were out, oh boy. Well, if this is what the Brits truly want, then good riddance, I guess... also, I hope the Americans won't make the same mistake this year but I'm not too sure about that... but at least the old fucker finally got impeached, about time. I know senate is likely to acquit him, but I don't want to think about that just now... for now, let's just stick with "they've finally got him."

Enough for now, I hope this note reaches you someday – if you feel like replying, just interact with this post, leave me a PM or so, you'll find a way. Just know that I still don't quite feel like I'm ready to take contact back to a normal level just yet, so it might take me the usual couple of weeks to reply in case there's anything you want me to reply to... until then I'll just go back to lurking in the shadows, trying to figure out my life while checking in on your Tumblr every once in a while to know you're okay. (Oh well, it's your Tumblr we're talking about, maybe "being okay" doesn't exactly cut it, but you get the gist.)

Best, L

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letterstothestruggling · 5 years

Text

Letters to love

[three months without you]

I haven't written anything since I left you (or did you leave me?), not really. I tried a couple of times, sometimes I'd get a few sentences down, but my heart wasn't in it. My head couldn't find the words or wouldn't, I don't know. It doesn't matter. I'm going to start today. I will write again. It may be about you, for you, but it might not be tomorrow. Or the day after. Maybe it always will be. The most beautiful sentences I have ever written were to you, so maybe it isn't even a bad thing. I will write novels, poems, short stories and series about you, dedicated to you, to my love for you. Or maybe it will be about me. About this darkness that won't let me go, about finding happiness or being swallowed by these feelings that drown me. I could write page after page about the beauty of the world or the heartbreaking struggle of being human. Maybe I'll just dump my favourite words on a blank page and call it poetry. I told you what my favourite words are, right? Because I can't remember. I'm torn between begging you to tell me and just making up new ones. It must have been wonderful words though, will you tell me? I can make up new ones, that's fine, I'd just like to add them to my list. Do you remember? Please tell me you do. Please remind me how I was able to be so happy. My heart used to be endless as the starry skies, full as the seas, free as the birds and happier than... God, I can't compare it to anything. Happier than it had ever been. Was it just because of you? Please tell me that's not true. I must have played a part in it. Must have done something right. Please tell me what I did to be that happy. Please don't let it be you. I wanted it to be because of you then. Couldn't imagine anything else making me that happy, least of all myself. It had to be you, because you were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen and my heart was so happy that I found you, so euphoric that you loved me back, it grew bigger every day and tried to bubble out of my chest every chance it got, just to be closer to you. It was trying to fill a universe with love. You. You were a universe contained in the body of a boy with a breathtaking smile and beautiful eyes. I wanted to fill you with my love for you. It tried to fill this wonderful hell of a universe we are living in with love too, just because you inspired me to. Because I loved you so much that I could've filled a thousand universes with my feelings for you in the blink of an eye.

I don't even remember what I was trying to write, because I got distracted by the thought of you, by the urge to tell you over and over again how much I love you. I still don't know if you ever grasped the magnitude of it. I hope you did and I hope you know you deserved it all. God, here I go again. This always happens. It's why I gave up on trying to write. It always comes back to you. I guess I'm tired of it never changing, you're not coming back and apparently my feelings for you will never leave.

But I will write again. Never mind that it will be about you. I will write every day and maybe someday it will not be about you. I hope it won't be about somebody new either. I hope it will be about my happiness, the beauty I'm surrounded with, the love all around me, of my friends, but more importantly the love for myself. And I hope it is all mine. All because of me. Because I fought and always got back on my feet after I gave up. Because I know I deserve it and because I want to give myself what I deserve and more. Because I know I am capable of giving myself everything I deserve and more. Maybe then I will write about you again. Thanking you for making me deliriously happy when I wasn't able to do that myself. Thanking you for loving me the way you did, thanking you for letting me love you the way I did. I wonder if I will still love you this way then. It's okay if I do, I will be happy anyway.

I've said it a hundred times before, but I will let you go now. I will try at least... again. I love you baby, to the moon and back. Maybe I always will. I will write about you today, probably tomorrow and maybe always, but it's okay. You deserve it. I hope you are happier than me during our first summer together.

Lots of love, always

[four months without you]

Surprise...

I didn't. I didn't write and I didn't let you go. It's been a month, maybe two. I tried, I think. I'm not really sure. But I am rediscovering writing. Sometimes. God, it's pathetic. The last thing I wrote wasn't about you though, didn't even go there halfway through, so that's progress! Every sentence my head is coming up with right now is a way to tell you that I still miss you and love you, so this is where I stop. Or maybe write another little piece that is not about you. I try, you know.

Lots of love, always

[seven months without you]

You've always been stronger than me, I know, but is it really this easy for you to just not talk anymore? God, I miss you so much. I'm desperate to know how you are, always wishing you are happy and loved. Always wondering what you're doing and what's going through your mind. I want to talk to you. Give you my body and mind and my heart, always my heart. You don't own my heart or mind, but they both still want to be yours. I think I'm still in love with you even though I'm trying to move on. I'm really trying, but fuck you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Exquisite inside and out. I miss the colour of your eyes in the sunshine, miss the breathtaking sight of your smile. Miss your hands and fingers and what you could do with them. Miss the way your brain works and the way your body moves. I want to talk to you, laugh with you, come home in your arms, come in your arms. I still want all of you, but I'm going to let you go. I wish you all the best, I hope you're happy and I love you. I love you to the moon and back.

[ten months without you]

I still miss you. It's been almost a year. I still dream about you at least once a week. Tonight the thought of you feels so real, the feel of you seems so close, I swear I can smell you, hear you laugh and feel your warmth. Memories are taking over my mind and I'm not fighting it. I miss you. I love you. I don't know if I want to stop, because I fear that will make my memories of you fade even more. Every time I realise I've forgotten another small thing my heart breaks all over again. I don't want to lose you over and over again. I am still recovering from the first time. Am I just pathetic? Can I be your friend? Just to have you in my life in some way. Just so my love for you can go somewhere. Tonight might be the night I give up and message you. I don't know what I am hoping for, strength or that you will answer.

[twelve months without you]

Hi darling,

It's been a while. Me writing to you, not me missing you. That still happens every day. I'm just laughing at myself at this point. This is ridiculous, isn't it? It has been more than a year now. More than 365 days since I last heard your voice, saw your smile. I am still in love with you. I'm not ashamed to admit it, a little embarrassed, maybe. Let me just tell you this: I still think it was the right thing to do for both of us. Even though I want to take it all back at least three times a week, I don't regret it. I just wish we could've stayed friends. You were my best friend. The one person I felt comfortable sharing my every single thought with. You made me think about the why, the what now, the what will I do about it? I learned so much from our differences. You made me a better person. You made me rediscover myself and helped me learn to love the woman I found myself becoming.

In those two years all my wishes were for you, every promise was to you. I wanted them all to come true. I am sorry they didn't. I hope you know that I still keep to my pinky promises. I will always be here for you, always. And I will love you. Endlessly. I want you to know that some of my wishes are still for you. Wishing you are happy and loved and not missing me the way I miss you.

Lots of love, always

[thirteen months without you]

I am tempted to send these words to you. Just to remind you of how much I truly did (and still do) love you. Words to remind you that you are a beautiful, wonderful person. Words to prove to you that a love like this is possible. That even though I've accepted a while back that it really was the end of us, even though I am learning to be okay with that, even though I have started to let you go, I still love you just as much. Will never stop loving you with this hopelessly full and overflowing heart of mine. Words to try to make sure you know, really know, deep in your bones, that you deserve every bit of that love. That you are capable of it. I felt it, still feel it.

I do still miss you, but it isn't the I-want-you-back kind of missing. It hasn't been for a few months now. I just miss you. The wonderful person you are. The friend you were to me. I am always willing to be your friend. Would love to be, if we both think we could do that without breaking our hearts all over again. So if you ever want to try, I am here.

[fourteen months without you]

It's your birthday today. Happy birthday, love. I hope you had a great day and that you will have an amazing year. I've been debating for at least a month whether I would send you a message today. I'm sorry I didn't. It's the right choice, though. I know this and I'm proud I was able to make it. I do want to remind you of something today. You are my favourite person. I know this whole earth is filled with people, but you, god, you. You were my home. Warmth in your arms, a challenge to do better, be better, in your eyes. Such a different way of thinking in that beautiful brain of yours. So much ambition and drive, something that's not necessarily my thing. So much pleasure, so much love, so much happiness. A comfort zone and inspiring challenge at once. My home. You. There were no walls left, no things unsaid, no thoughts kept hidden. I was myself in a way I had never been with anyone else. You made it easy, made me feel so loved that I dared learning to love myself. Every bare inch of me, body and mind. I am so fucking grateful. I am beyond honoured that you made me feel that way. Still in awe that you loved me, delighted by the way you did. I love you. Just as much as when we were together. You are my favourite person. I am glad the world has you. You will go far. I will be here, cheering for you. My favourite person. My home. My love. Happy birthday, baby.

[seventeen months without you]

This is my final goodbye. Thank you for everything. I will cherish the memories forever. I hope to see you again someday. I wish you all the best. Always remember you are wonderful, you are capable of anything you want to do, and you are loved. I love you.

#letterstothestruggling #heartbreak #letterstolove #sad #writing #youwillbeok #love #healing

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writingsp · 6 years

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Remembering the Boundaries: Chapter One

Remembering the Boundaries

Summary: Kyle was in love with Kenny, but Kenny didn't feel the same way. Then, when Kenny gets amnesia, suddenly he's paying attention to him the way in which he'd always wanted him. It was what he'd always wanted, but it was wrong. What would anyone do with Kenny looking at them in such a way? He can't act on it. Not until the memories return. But then, so would the boundaries

Pairing: K2, Kenny/Kyle

Warnings: Drive-by shooting, Coma, Amnesia

Chapter One:

Light taps of finger pads against a right thigh was the only outward sign of Kyle's inward stress. The same pattern over and over, one finger after another tapped against the fabric of his jeans, their light weight allowing only the most minuscule acknowledgement physically on his body. Yet, these fingers were the only thing keeping the redhead in his place on the couch and not running straight out the door. And only he and Stan knew it.

Tap, tap tap, tap, they padded against the tense thigh. One after another, Kyle's focus stayed heavily on the movements, barely having the sense to flip page after page of his now-hazy textbook. Words unfocused and eyes blurring them together further and further with each sound of the room's only coupling making out on the carpet to the right of the redhead's seat.

Each kiss seemed to last forever, and each moan was in slow motion. And with each sound, the fingers began their pattern from the beginning once more. Just as the session of lips pressed together continued against the yells of a too-focused Cartman on his new video game and Stan's ever-lasting crunches of the endless; crinkly bag of chips, the tapping continued with just as much fever and devotion.

This continued, just as it did for each gathering of the small group that included a girl hanging off the only blond of the group. Each tap a distraction to pull him from the envious thoughts swirling through his mind just as rapid and forceful as the day they began.

Tap, tap tap, tap, tap...

It was bearable, but only just. Crossed legs, tense with the pull of muscle to keep from becoming just as jittery as his fingers. Just as the same pull kept the rest of his body from bolting from his seat and out of the awkward setting. Awkward only to him, he knew, but still too full of the stiff air for him not to feel suffocated by proximity of the couple.

With each movement stifled with a forced tight stiffness, it hurt when the sudden scream of victory from the red-coated teen in front of the TV had Kyle starting harshly. "Goddammit..." he said out of habit alone.

He felt eyes on him before he glanced up, noting the concerned look of his best friend and facing it with a frown of his own. Stan only shrugged in reply, before turning back to the game he'd been playing against Cartman. Kyle sighed softly, his tapping having stopped with the unexpected scare. Distraction no more, green eyes surveyed the random page of his textbook slightly more steadily than they had prior.

The words, logically, made sense apart from each other, but with a muffled laugh continuing nearby, Kyle found each word's meaning lost. Muddled definitions changed quickly to jumbled letters and lost placement of sentence structure. Blurred and uneven paragraphs daunted on him as he tried in vain to make sense of the pages. Fingers touched the edge of the paper uncertainly before flipping the book forward quickly.

The next page began with a sentence he could read, but with a mewl of affection from the only girl in the room, it too became too hazed to read. Instead, the page took away the letters completely, this time replacing them with bold; black lines. He squinted, the beginning edges of the words he knew to be there was all that remained of the text.

"Oh..."

The low sound had his concentration on the sound in the room amplifying as his eyes lost track of where they were once settled. A blink cleared only so much before warm palms pressed against his eyes comfortingly. The rubbed them with a small amount of roughness in the gesture, a bit of frustration finding its way into the familiar movement.

A few more blinks later and Kyle found the book legible once again. But by now, it was too late to try to catch up on his reading. With a lost placement in the chapter and a lack of notes-other than the hastily scribbled name and date-told him it was time to leave Cartman's house and forego staying the night once again.

And if anyone but Stan noticed his lack of hours spent in his friends' company, they had never made it known. Just as he doubted they would anytime soon.

Taking only a little time to check his phone's lack of messages and stage a quick reply that never actually occurred, Kyle placed his belongings in the messenger bag that had been swung over the couch's arm. And with a grace that betrayed his current mentality, he pulled the strap of his bag over his opposite shoulder and stood from the couch to walk to the front door.

He ignored Stan as he did this, walking slowly to the door so as not to arouse much suspicion, knowing the other was watching his movements with the same sad knowing look he always did. Normally, he'd at least try to let Stan what was on his mind, but this time he couldn't bring himself to admit how bothered he was with the entire situation.

He was supposed to be applying to colleges and keeping close to his friends while they still had the time to do so; not running off on them and letting some of his grades slip right before the end of the year. He knew it wasn't fair to them, and to his mother who'd watched over every paper he'd ever written with great care for his college choices to vary for whatever career he chose to pursue.

And here he was fucking it all up in one swoop in the final semester of high school he'd ever take. All because he was uncomfortable and in absolute envy over every single girl with which Kenny found himself. And it was all because he was an absolute fucking idiot about his feelings.

Girls with his friends, even ones with which he found himself crushing on, had never been so bad. It was the fact he had acted on those emotions that tore him apart.

It'd been a cold winter's afternoon, school called off early for an ice warning. Snowflakes flew in flurries, hitting Kyle's forehead as he looked up at the cloudy sky. Him and Kenny being the last to still use the bus, they had the walk home to themselves. Kenny was quiet, an earbud in one ear as he listened to his teen angst music.

He paused in his walk, still looking to the sky. All day he'd watched the other in secret, had seen him tell another conquest how she wasn't his girlfriend, that he wasn't interested in her that way. It'd opened a possibility. Maybe he was interested in someone else. Or, at the very least, open for someone else in his life. Right?

His heart pounded in his chest, pulse beating in his ears as he glanced at the blond. Kenny stopped as if he could sense his eyes. He gave him a curious look, "Kye?"

There was a second of silence among them before Kyle looked away. His cheeks burned. "Kenny..." he started.

"What is it?"

The confident part of himself drove away the nervous part. He refused to continue being this emotional mess. He had to know. Words escaped him though, not knowing exactly how to spill his feelings without sounding like the mess that he was. So, he acted instead.

With a step, the small distance between them was closed. His lips chastely met Kenny's warm ones. A peck, small but assuring in what it had to say. It sent a jolt nevertheless, pulse fast as the shock slowed. He saw the shock in the other's eyes first before he saw the sadness. Kenny looked away as if he couldn't stand to look at him.

He felt broken. His legs felt wobbly then, and his entire being felt as if cold water had been splashed against him in the cool air of the outside. He shook.

"I'm sorry, I just-"

"Kyle," Kenny interrupted. "I don't feel that way-I mean-I like you..."

"As a friend," was left unsaid but known by them both. Kyle nodded, frustration with himself panning out over the dampening emotional spiral. He felt dizzy. He would do anything to turn invisible at this moment.

"I just had to know," it was half to Kenny, half to himself.

Would their friendship withstand? Did he just ruin something he once thought an unbreakable bond? His logical side knew the embarrassment wouldn't last, that Kenny wouldn't hold it against him. But every other side of him screamed otherwise.

Kenny spoke again just as he started to walk away, words keeping Kyle still in place. "This doesn't-it doesn't change anything." Kenny said assuredly, but with a noticeable voice break in the middle, as if it had been him who'd kissed the other. "I just can't think of you like that, Kyle. I never could."

The words hurt worse than they had any right to, and his frame trembled further. He needed to go home. His throat felt like a knife had been sawed into it, rendering speech useless. He nodded in its stead, staying faced away from the other.

He swore to himself the wetness in his eyes was from anything but tears. Everything except them.

Except that it wasn't something small, not at all. It was far from anything Kyle had experienced with his brief adoration of either gender. It was more than a crush. And even though he acknowledged this, he'd never truly admit just how fully he felt for the perverted asshole.

And it was with this embarrassment and absolute envy that found Kyle slamming the door just a little too harshly when Kenny finally spoke since he'd entered the house, "Where'd Kyle go?"

And it was with this same embarrassment that Kyle found himself unable to go back inside to grab his forgotten coat. He'd just have to hope Stan would pick it up for him later and give it back to him personally. In any other house he might've come back inside the next day, but being that this was Cartman's house and therefore not a regular person's house he refused outright to enter it and ask for his coat back. In fact, he could already hear Cartman asking him to say something stupid in order to be allowed his possession returned to him.-The jackass. Not that Kyle wouldn't also do it to Cartman had the other boy done the same at his house, but still.-The jackass.

Walking fast, it took little time to get to his house from Cartman's, being as it wasn't even three minutes away on a bad day. But even with him being as cold as he was, he halted just outside the door, and just in time to hear a voice yell, "Kyle!"

His hand tightened on the coarse texture of his bag's strap, body turning back to the front yard from which he'd just entered. "Hello?" he said to the outside, wondering if his mind was playing a joke on him.

But it wasn't, "Dude, you forgot your jacket!" Kyle recognized the voice easily this time as Kenny's. And it wasn't but a second later that the blond entered his line of sight with the aforementioned coat in hand.

"Thanks." Kyle said steadily, walking down his stairs to take the fabric from the blond's hand. But one tug later found Kyle staring at the hand that had yet to let go of the coat. "You can let go now," he prompted.

"Not until you tell me what's been up with you lately." Kenny demanded.

"What do you mean, we see each other everyday, you know what's been going on," Kyle responded without missing a beat.

"Dude, you know what I mean," Kenny supplied, tugging the jacket completely free from Kyle's grasp.

Kyle gave him an agitated look, only to have the same look given in response. "Nothing, classes are just bullshit right now."

The confident reply wasn't enough however, as Kenny saw through it immediately. "They are, but they've always been shitty. That doesn't cover why you keep leaving early. Dude, it's our last year together, and you've spent more time on homework and at your house alone than with your best friends. What the Hell is wrong with you?"

Kyle knew he hadn't meant anything bad by the response, logically. But his mind wasn't thinking logically, at least, wasn't latching onto what he knew as logical. The information flew away in a fit of emotion just as it tended to do when he argued. "What do you care? You've been spending everyday lip locked with every girl in school. I've hardly heard you say two words in a week."

Kenny gave an aggravated look, one Kyle felt himself beginning to already respond to-until the look disappeared to leave a sad one in its place. Kyle sighed at it, looking away, knowing he'd said the wrong thing with the gesture alone. "Kyle..."

The sound was so sad, so solemn that he cringed with the word. He knew what was coming next, a long ass speech that made both of them feel so shitty that they couldn't look at each other for a week or two. At least, Kyle couldn't bring himself to do it.

There was an intake of air before, BANG. Kyle's head jerked up faster than he'd thought humanly possible, eyes widening to take in whatever it was that made the loud noise. A pang of nerves pushed through his entire body at once, eyes meeting the wide; surprised ones of his friend. Blood was flying as a visible shock went through Kenny's entire system.

Kyle could only watch in horror as the sound of quick tires against concrete was released. And with it the car sped away, the bullet in Kenny's chest and skid marks on the road the only signs a driveby shooting had been the cause of what was about to be the other's death.

With reflexes alone Kyle grabbed the jacket from the shaking palm, pressing the fabric against the hole in Kenny's body. Blood filled it quickly, the orange tint fading to a dirty red. Pressing harder, Kyle looked into Kenny's wide eyes.

"You're okay-You're g-gonna be okay." he said in what sounded like a quiet voice. But his ears still rang from the shot, and he was sure Kenny was too in shock to notice anyway.

"You're gonna be okay, Kenny." he assured again anyway. "I promise."

It was all he could do, hold down the blood until his someone-anyone who'd heard the shot-came running to see the cause. So, he waited, about to pull his hand from the wound to grab a phone when a hand on his shoulder had him starting. Both hands still frozen, he looked up to see Ike standing behind him. He was saying something-but what Kyle wasn't sure. His mouth was moving too rapidly to make sense of it and the ringing in his ears now covered every noise the world could make.

It wasn't until an ambulance showed and two masculine arms pulled him away from the body that Kyle began to hyperventilate.

-0-

When Kenny woke, a stiff soreness met each of his limbs. It was as if he'd spent an entire day doing nothing but exercising without rest. Each muscle was strained and each limb was pushing into the cushion beneath him so heavily they felt unable to move from their spot. Not that, with the pain, Kenny would have done so anyway.

With this bodily awareness, his ears began to pound, and each sense came into being once more. This began slowly, the loud buzzing of his ears lowering, tongue moving around a dry mouth hesitantly, eyes flickering back and forth beneath heavy lids.

And with each sense beginning to become aware came a mindfulness that hadn't been there before this moment. It hurt. Thoughts fuzzy and uncontrolled, each tried to grasp at the questions floating in his mind only resulted in unreachable, airy results.

What was going on?

His brain searched for the answer, wondering just how he ended up wherever he was feeling the way he did. But when the thoughts just gave him more questions, he tried to get answers another way.

Eyes were heavy, literally and otherwise. Feeling as if lifting them was lifting a full sandy weight, blue eyes opened to squint in the white light. He blinked in quick and rapid succession, a buzzing in his ears settling as the light subsided. He breathed out, eyes opening more fully. Head lulled to the side, eyes taking in a rounded form just in front of him.

Blinking again, he found the form taking a more human shape. The buzzing pushed away from his ears, leaving beeps from what he assumed to be a machine in its wake. The shape became completely human, blurred colors now dedicated lines.

The first thought that came fully was just how appreciative he was for that ass. The closest arm strained against invisible weight, pushing against it and moving toward the ass in front of him. Satisfied, a nearly numb hand found the rounded area, and groped it fully.

"Ah!" Kyle stated, starting as he stopped mid-conversation with Stan. "Are you guys fucking with me right now?" he asked, a hand pushing at the one squeezing against his buttocks. "I'm seriously not in the mood, seriously, what the fuck, Cartman?"

"What?" Stan asked, eyebrows furrowing before his eyes turned toward the area behind Kyle after the redhead drew attention to it.

Kyle turned, reddened cheeks turning white as he took in the all-too-awake Kenny on the bed behind him. "Kenny!" But that meant-He turned to either side, and finding no one else, his blush returned. What the Hell was Kenny playing at? He didn't know whether to ignore the gesture from before or to call attention to it angrily.

Kenny shouldn't mess with him like that, not after saying what he had...

But then Kenny spoke, and Kyle's anger only left shock.

"Who's Kenny?"

#K2 #fanfiction #fanfic #south park #sp #chapter one #remembering the boundaries #amnesia

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ruwithmeguys · 6 years

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(These are just my own personal; thoughts: you may take zero seriousness in them - I may add to this)

So… John. Right.

Give me a moment…

There’s a lot, so much, to dig into here. It feels good to be talking about OTA, especially after months of newbies weirdness.

I need to air this out.

I posted something recently about my love for this show even with its many weaknesses. I still love it. I enjoyed 6.17, as god awful as it was to see Oliver being dragged through the mud again. I also don’t agree with Diggle; not with his words, because he didn’t suggest a thing: he has 100% made a decision about Oliver and it isn’t a good one. The path he’s decided to travel down however… is.

Bear with me?

For a while now, it’s been very clear that Arrow is the kind of show that gives good results but can’t seem to get a handle on the journey there. The journey often sucks: it’s either badly written, angst for the sake of angst, sacrificing character progression or just something you don’t want to see.

Best examples are: Oliver’s 7 episode lie leading to the Baby Mama drama, just to set Olicity back awhile because they knew S5 wouldn’t be the last season. The newbies drawn out reason for blaming Oliver for leaving the team just so that they could bring it up every 5 seconds for 5 episodes straight. LL’s BC arc where Sara was a plot device and then the arc died and nothing came of it.

It’s not always like this. There are good examples.

Tommy’s death led to the entirety of season 2. Olicity’s star-crossed season: a literal entire season near-dedicated to it and the journey was sweet etc.

But there have been enough moments for me to know that I might hate the newbie arc several episodes before it started. Too many components + little time = question-marks.

The term, ‘the ends don’t justify the means’, seems to only pertain to Oliver on Arrow… and Felicity. In a way, that’s a compliment to her. They’re equals. Of a higher status. But for the most part, it’s unfair. And every season it seems to be the theme. Make Oliver loose everyone, one way or another.

The newbies lashed out time and time again, then hurting John when all they really wanted was out from under Oliver’s shadow. John is ready for more, ready for weight, but he gets it by hurting his best friend 6.17. BS has killed people both for pleasure and to save her skin and yet, has received no consequence (though having Quentin’s stalker-like obsession with trying to force his daughter’s personality on her, might be deemed one) because you can’t change an individual who doesn’t see the issue with their own actions.

They all do it, all reaching for progression, more often than not by throwing Oliver’s mistakes in his face, but why do they get to get away with that? And why is Oliver the target for their choices?

Unfortunately, since I’ve been wondering about this since the start of S3, I know I won’t get what I want. Maybe not ever, but definitely not now. But this isn’t why I’m talking about this.

The point is, I understand where the writers and show runners are taking Dig. We should enjoy it greatly. But he’s done it, deliberately, by pushing Oliver into a dark corner and that’s left a bitter taste. It didn’t need to be this happy, peppy thing. But why use Oliver as a source of blame for wanting a change? For wanting more?

He lashed out. There’s a reason for it beyond plot device - it was probably one of the worst ways they could have done this.

Dig. Is. Done. With. OTA.

With being a member and not a leader.

Let’s put it into perspective.

For 6 years John has covered Oliver’s back, has followed orders and has joined in the making of them. He’s agreed/disagreed with Oliver and stood back as Oliver saved the day or made the wrong choices. But for the first time, in 5.23, John was physically and irreparably hurt by someone fixated on Oliver. Diggle and everyone else, was stranded on an island because a mad man wanted Oliver to suffer.

A mad man who’s father Oliver had made the decision to kill years before.

Not for the first time, John’s life was affected by Oliver. But for the first time, John has a reason to feel resentment. Because of Adrian, he could no longer shoot a gun, making his only real life vocation – being a soldier in some shape or form – mute. Null. Done. Imagine the fear. Fair or not, in his head Oliver is at the centre of that.

For several months, he kept it from people because he couldn’t face the very real possibility that he might be made redundant. That he was unreliable.

A very SELFISH decision (keep this in mind please). The wrong decision. But it was also, understandable. He’s human and he was terrified of letting people know. It’s why he’s forgiven later on. However.

Oliver gave him the suit and something small, grew large in John.

It had nothing to do with the suit and everything to do with what it entailed. In John’s opinion, Oliver ‘gave up’ being the Green Arrow. This was so wishful thinking.

It wasn’t permanent. But he hoped it was and acted like it was and decided that it was. Without talking to anyone. It switched a light on in Diggle; he realised what he wanted and he thought Oliver was giving it to him… because he thought - wished - Oliver had seen that he’d lost the efficacy to lead.

Now this is where it takes a slight detour from understandable to egocentric.

After being given the title, he does everything he can to keep it. He takes drugs, gets addicted. After seeing Felicity’s chair-arc being so quickly and neatly (unrealistically) tied up, we all knew the same would happen here and it did. But it left John with a feeling. Oliver had stepped away… for reasons Dig deems selfish now.

Now, when I found that out I flipped my shit because, dude – you have a family too? You left the team too?? You’ve prioritised your own wants/wishes above everyone else’s more than once??? Why doesn’t it apply????

But for Dig, it’s also about Oliver being spread too thin and, well, years of things left unsaid. Years of memories being seen in a new light and when you have to do that you validate things, it gets a little screwy.

John has very clearly had things building up inside him. Maybe it’s just been this season. Maybe it’s been longer but for sure, Adrian Chase plays a part in this.

It doesn’t give him the right throw any of it back in Oliver’s face when he was an active participant in every single thing that’s happened over the years. Oliver even says it:

“When did all these magically become my decisions? I seem to remember you. Right there. Next to me.”

And he says a few other things too:

“My trail of bodies didn’t include my own brother.”

Whelp. Normally I’d be all – TOO FAR OLIVER – but Dig started this unfairly. Prepare to meet even colder truths dude. It’s not a nice feeling is it?

John waited for Oliver to hand back the title of GA because deep down, he thinks Oliver can’t hack the leadership role anymore and you know what? Maybe he can’t. Maybe he has spread himself too thin. Maybe he needs to re-evaluate. But who is John to make that decision?

The problem is that John has lost faith in Oliver’s ability to get it back. That confidence. And if he’s lost faith in Oliver then, how can he stay?

And so, a fight ensues.

And so, Oliver finds out the truth: his best friend no longer has his back, because suddenly, John doesn’t think Oliver is a good leader. Suddenly he knows better.

Now, we all figured that John’s NEED to be GA was something beyond the mask. Either, he wanted to be more than what he was and he was feeling repressed. It was residual anger at being hurt by Oliver’s enemy (in which case, it would be solved by the end of 6.17). Or… it was EGO and the hood was just a symbol of something else. I didn’t want it to be the latter.

Of course, that means it would be the latter.

David mentioned 5.08 recently. He said that DIggle was the GA and that it was interesting but it didn’t necessarily mean the suit. It meant being a hero by himself. He also said - for people who have hated his line about 5.08 being the dream reality - was that Oliver was able to make right his wrongs to LL who, after his father, he felt the most guilt for. That literally was the title for S5. Make right his wrongs.

CONFIRMATION IS BEAUTIFUL.

Ahem.

In a way, maybe it’s all three but it definitely leads closer to ego.

It’s a legitimate reason too, wrapped up in this steady feeling of disapproval he’s been passively omitting since the start of S6. Not the one we necessarily wanted. Not a good one. But it’s a legit reason. And it doesn’t tarnish Dig’s character exactly. What it does do, is diverts John’s trajectory away from OTA. But it adds an element of… is it superiority, selfishness or the kind of judgement he only threw at Oliver once (4.01)?

But the writers put Diggle on a pedestal, one we’ve enjoyed: he’s Yoda. He’s supposed to see the wisdom and rightness of everything. He’s supposed to be fair. He’s not supposed to do this.

I’m glad he did. (I mean, where was his story headed save in a cycle?)

I’m NOT glad about how he did it.

How he did it was cruel. And utterly undeserved. Ugly, even.

I mean, he had to remind Oliver of the death of William’s mother as a way of justifying his reasoning. It’s almost conceit isn’t it?

When I mention ego, I mean this: Dig got a taste of what it meant to be in Oliver’s shoes and found that he not only liked it, but developed a sense of self that can be likened to pride or arrogance but is actually growth overshadowed by the brutal way he puts it forward.

But it’s supposed to be negative.

We’re not supposed to see this well... YET.

Maybe next season the writers/show runners etc will allow Oliver to succeed and for the blame to be thrown at someone else but this year, I think it’s about Oliver being a hero… alone.

With Felicity in his ear, yes, but: alone.

Like season 1, but inverted.

Dig’s ready to move on but it looks more like he’s disappointed in Oliver… for not being great? For having more than one vocation? For trying? I mean, at least acknowledge that.

And he does, to a degree. He tells Oliver that ‘it’s true that you’ve become a better person’. Gee. But, in becoming a better person he’s become a worse leader… because of the methods he used to become a better person?

Wow John. Didn’t realise two months as Oliver after taking drugs makes you the guru of leader-hood. In fact, seeing him as the leader of the team made me see all the ways he shouldn’t be the leader of THAT team. Another team, sure. He’s a good leader. But not the right person.

(I mean, it’s hugely hypocritical to tell Oliver he’s a bad leader when John was taking drugs as the leader. When he put people in danger because of it. But sure, Oliver’s a bad leader.)

That being said, John already had a wealth of experience before the very first season of Arrow. As a solider and a leader, just not a vigilante. Now he has both so maybe he feels righteous in believing he can do better, but did he have to walk over his best friend to do it?

That fight last night wasn’t just ego; it came from anger. Resentment. Disappointment. A six year build of opposing beliefs. I’ve felt this very passive aggressive impression from John/David throughout season 6 so far, so when details for 6.17 came out, I thought the worst. This isn’t just a team split, this is permanent guys.

Don’t worry; they’ll get their friendship back… eventually. Not yet, because they both said and did things that hurt far too much for it to happen all at once. But I’m not sure he’ll ever be in the team again.

We’ll have OTA too at some point (S7?). But after this, Dig re-joining as a team member would undermine his clear wish to grow beyond the parameters his character’s been given the last few years. It’s good that they’re having him join Argus. More SL’s for characters we care for.

And… didn’t Oliver mention it (his words and actions) being out of character?

Which means, it’s deliberate. THEY KNOW. The whole thing. They know we’ll hate it. They’re doing to keep them all apart, to make it more a bad thing at the moment, to give Diggle more story - but most of all - they’re doing it to make Oliver rise ALONE. With Felicity, sure; but still alone.

And I think they’re aiming for Diggle to start his own team. Maybe the new Suicide Squad? He’s worked with them before. The point is, we’ve got these two alpha males who can more than handle business and unfortunately, Diggle’s SL could no longer grow in the basement, not when he can be more.

He needs to spread his wings, a development I’m all for. Imagine Argus and Olicity working together in S7?

But they’ve made it come at a cost: it makes a lot of us look at Diggle and think, ‘why the hell would you do that?’

It all stems back to how his injury made him feel months ago. And when you’re alone in your hurt, you’re an outsider. You see things differently to others and he’s seen a side to Oliver that he doesn’t like.

But he’s not just turning away from Oliver; he’s turning away from Felicity. From Diaz. And that wasn’t necessary. He’s put himself first but only after lecturing Oliver on his selfishness.

He’s allowed to fall down.

But he’s metaphorically and literally crapped on the last 6 years of their work – not by walking away – but by throwing decisions that they all made and blaming the results and ramifications solely on Oliver and used it to explain his need to leave.

Yet he also made a good point: he makes us and Oliver think of how other people see us as opposed to what we want them to see. It’s the rudest awakening. He can’t grow being there with Oliver. Some people know in seconds what they need. Others take 6 years.

I’m down for this.

It’s supposed to be a big shock: that Dig suddenly does this. Says things that he wouldn’t normally say and though Oliver does address that, John’s reason wasn’t enough for me. I don’t think we’re supposed to be ok with Diggle at the moment. And I’m not.

But I’m weirdly good with not being.

I need to watch the season in full before I make a complete assessment.

And I don’t think we’re supposed to be ok with the newbies either.

By giving Diggle the suit, Oliver showed faith and trust. Respect. In return, he’s rewarded with disrespect and a lack of that same faith he’d offered.

The newbies did the same.

Now Stephen and David acted their ass’s off – they give a shit about this. There’s a reason we don’t know about yet.

Remember what we were told at the beginning of S6?

Unlike previous seasons, every character would need help/advice, be lost at sea or hurt in some way. Oliver would be their coach, their anchor, their teacher.

That doesn’t just stop.

They’ve all renounced his wisdom, teachings and faith in them, found him lacking, believing him a hypocrite who isn’t as good as he thinks he is.

Now, there have been times where Oliver has been a hypocrite. When he found out about a mole in the team, his FIRST action should have been to let them know. To bring them all together and say ‘I know and I’m giving whoever it is 24 hours to come tell me, after which I will start infringing on your privacy because I have a son to think about’.

Instead, he misused their trust and even cornered Dinah.

Because of that, they lost faith in him.

He did not deserve how they reacted after the fact.

(May I also remind that Diggle AGREED with his plan to abuse their trust? Bad leader skills Dig. Oh wait.)

He definitely does not deserve the accusations Diggle threw at him. But he does need to re-evaluate. He hasn’t made great decisions. But he hasn’t earned THIS level of scorn.

So, clearly, he’s going to be outed as the GA.

It comes back to the start of the season.

Either someone will do it to hurt him or he’ll do it, for them all but also himself. He’ll do it, because HE Is the GA. He’ll do it because prison beckons. He’ll do it to save them all. He’ll be THE hero. And he’ll face the consequences.

This season is a very reactive season. Oliver hasn’t really done any huge thing people need to be appalled at: it’s like people are looking at months, years, of choices and deciding they no longer agree with him.

The only person he’ll have on his side now is Felicity.

I’m glad she agreed with Oliver. I’m glad they showed her trying to bridge the ever-growing gap between Oliver and Diggle that’s been present since 6.07 (yup – back then). And even though he’ll lash out at her in the next episode, they’ll fix it quick because he’s going to take on Diaz alone. Not necessarily without her but since he can’t trust anyone BUT her, it will make sense to him to keep her out of it (I think... maybe??).

I hated hearing Diggle say what he said.

I hated that he thought Oliver stating that the hood was/is a part of him (of course it is) was selfish and made him a bad leader.

I hated the gap between Diggle wanting the hood to this because of the newbie arc as it left us all a little perplexed to the level of heat in Dig’s argument.

I hated another character dumping on him. Blaming him. Making it all Oliver’s fault.

And yet... I liked the episode. I really like this season.

I don’t think they’ve sacrificed Dig’s character. I think they’ve deliberately changed it.

I DO think they’ve made Dig say and do things that Oliver won’t be able to forgive for a while.

Oliver won’t want his help. Or the newbies help. And Felicity will be petrified, because her greatest fear is loosing him and she’s going to be forced to face it in one way or another.

It is the curse of Arrow. Eventually we are given a plot in each season that we disagree with. But it’s miles better than an episode of the canaries screaming at each other. I really did enjoy it. I’m just not on Dig’s side (though his scenes with Lyla were spot on).

And I like the idea of Diggle joining Argue and everything it entails. I’ve kind of wanted Diggle to split form Oliver for a while and I can see so many good SL’s coming from this in S7.

“If you feel the need to make someone feel less assured of themselves or have to call another person out, you may gain a false sense of superiority.” ― Kristin Michelle Elizabeth

Jessica’s ramble ends here.

105 notes · View notes

scifiphan · 7 years

Text

Unspoken Rules

Summary: Since the beginning, Dan and Phil have been best friends with benefits and to them, their unique dynamic makes perfect sense. Over time unspoken rules and unanswered questions have built up until one day Dan realises that he can’t continue with the way things are. Love is weird but what Dan and Phil have is a whole lot weirder. Word Count: 5.5k Warnings: angst (with a sappy ending), alcohol mentions, v slight smut A/N: hey it’s me, ur local gif maker hitting you with some more fic. this may be one of the most self-indulgent things that i have ever written and i’m not even sorry. this was really fun to write because i’ve never done any angst (so this was a challenge lol) and i never intended for it to be so long,,, it just kinda happened. i hope y’all enjoy my take on the fwb trope

[read on ao3]

Unspoken rules grew like weeds in the cracks of their lives. They’re just two broken people stuck together by a force greater than the sum of their parts; adult lives had been shaped around teenage whim and now neither could escape from the poisonous weeds.

Dan had joked one night, as they curled up on the lounge (their bodies much too big to fit comfortably but neither minded), that the first rule of fight club is that they don’t talk about fight club. Phil had just rolled his eyes and pressed a haphazard kiss on the exposed skin of Dan’s shoulder, mumbling that they were weird. He was right; they were definitely weird. That one little exchange of words all those years ago had been a rare verbal acknowledgement of the mess they made. They fell too deep too quickly. Both were young and reckless and now eight years later, the first rule of fight club was still being adhered to.

They were best friends (in the most liberal sense of the term) even if sex had been thrown into the mix from the beginning. They didn’t really know what the definition of their relationship was but one thing was certain: they weren’t boyfriends. Even if the Lester clan had started sending joint Christmas cards a couple of years ago, they dodged the word as if it was a lethal bullet.

Although they spent most nights wrapped in each other’s arms, trailing soft kisses along familiar skin, they were nothing more than friends who loved each other but weren’t in love (a fact Dan stressed to himself quite often) and their quirky dynamic had worked perfectly for almost a decade.

It had started out as Dan’s idea.

He was so young; bright-eyed and bushy-tailed with the urge to explore a part of him he had spent years ignoring. It would’ve almost been a crime for Phil to say no. Dan’s warm chocolate eyes had glimmered in the dim lighting of his childhood bedroom and his smile had been framed with endearing dimples. He couldn’t resist leaning over and sealing their fate with a kiss. Dan’s lips were soft and fit perfectly against his and whatever second guesses Phil may have held about their complicated friendship had dissipated; they could talk about it in the morning because, in that moment, he could only think about the softness of Dan’s skin and how he could almost cry about how perfect Dan’s lips felt against his.

It was exciting in the beginning; the concept of fucking just because they could. There was something exhilarating about making out for hours in their bedrooms, becoming familiar with each other’s bodies, learning every little detail about how to make the other unravel. It was their little secret hidden almost perfectly from the rest of the world.

They had been caught only once, pressed against each other as Phil peppered kisses along Dan’s neck, grinning into his skin every time Dan let a small moan escape his lips. It had been reckless, filled to the brim with stupidity, but they had been too drunk off Long Island Iced Tea to care. Phil had pulled them into the bathroom at a Vidcon after party and his mistake had been not locking the door. They never indulged in something so risqué, it was too dangerous but Dan’s hands had wandered throughout the night. Phil couldn’t wait until the privacy of their own hotel room to feel Dan against him. Their drunken plan had almost been executed perfectly but when Phil’s hands expertly unzipped Dan’s pants with a sense of urgency, the bathroom had gained one more occupant.

“Holy fucking shit,” an American accent they were all too familiar with reverbed off the bathroom walls and they both froze; not out of fear or shame but out of sheer horror.

After five years their secret had been discovered due to reckless behaviour.

Dan’s chestnut eyes were blown wide as he stared back at Anthony, holding in a whimper when the pressure on his crotch vanished and Phil’s arms went limp beside him.

“We can explain,” Phil stammered although he didn’t pull himself fully off the younger boy.

“You don’t need to,” Anthony shot back a bit too quickly; his cheeks were a rouge and his dark eyes landed everywhere but the two of them. He hovered at the bathroom door for several agonisingly long moments before stepping back, “I kinda expected it but I’ll uh, I’ll go pee somewhere else.”

When the door swung shut and it was just the two of them once again, Dan turned his head to nudge Phil’s cheek, “what do we do now?”

Phil moved his hands up so he could link them around Dan’s waist, “nothing.”

He placed a soft kiss on Dan’s lips and whatever tension that had been built during the night had vanished with Anthony’s interruption.

Dan melted a little into the sensation of the kiss, “Anthony is gonna to think we’re together,” he mumbled.

“Let him,” Phil replied.

Confusion furrowed Dan’s brows; they had spent years determined to make sure outsiders didn’t see them as a couple. He didn’t know if it was just him getting caught up in the moment or if their dynamic had shifted with Anthony’s discovery but a lot of questions had whirred in Dan’s mind and he kept them all buried in silence. They could talk in the morning between mouthfuls of waffles and maple syrup tainted kisses.

The questions were left unsaid.

A rule that had gone unspoken since the beginning was that they were free to date other people. It was hard to break into the dating scene as their YouTube careers grew exponentially so the lulls between romantic escapades were lengthy and their dates never lasted long enough to ever be considered serious.

On rainy nights, as they curled beneath Phil’s duvet with a bottle of rosé running through their veins, Dan would joke about how they were too blinded by their love for each other to properly date anyone else. Phil would always scoff and insist that the younger boy was mad but as the years wore on and their lives as singles grew more permanent, he started to not bat away the jokes. Instead, he clung to Dan tightly, afraid of the feelings whirring inside him; afraid of the warmth that ran like honey upon his skin whenever Dan touched him.

Love is weird but what they had was so much weirder.

They were nothing more than friends who loved each other but weren’t in love (a fact Phil reminded himself with increasing frequency as time wore on as if he was trying to convince himself).

Another rule that had never come up in conversation was something they had danced around on thin ice since the beginning. Although neither cared too much about who the other pulled into their beds, they had never brought back another man. Sexuality was something they hadn’t spent long pondering but from their own messy history, they were both well aware of how far from straight they were. However, when it came to dating other people, they had only brought women back to their apartment.

It was a quirk neither could fully understand and they had only made one fleeting comment on the observation. Dan once said that it was a subconscious urge to spite each other and Phi had just giggled around a mouthful of cereal, nudging Dan’s thigh with his knee and jokingly reassured him that it’s only because he didn’t satisfy Phil’s needs. The younger boy had almost choked on chamomile tea before leaning over to push the cereal bowl from Phil’s hands and proving that he could satisfy him better than anyone.

That was the last time that particular facet of their broken life was mentioned.

For eight years they had found a balance that worked and as time grew, their quirky friendship had become second nature; they had found harmony together.

Long ago they swapped singular words for their pluralistic variation without even second guessing the vocabulary migration. It felt natural for the two of them to be a single entity. They were Dan and Phil. Two halves of a whole. Best friends who loved each other but could never be in love. It just wasn’t their thing.

They had never put too much effort into dissecting the nature of their relationship; questions and rules had been built up and pushed to the side. It was too complex. Too interwoven. The limitations between them had faded until everything about them was blurry and plural. They resisted definition so much that they lost definition entirely. For eight years they had played an endless game of cat and mouse; sidestepping the questions that required answers. They were in too deep and neither knew how to even begin defining their complicated life they had built for themselves until they could no longer avoid the inevitable.

Dan had found his head on Phil’s lap while they both absentmindedly watched an episode of Buffy that they had seen dozens of times. He mumbled the dialogue without even realising it (a sign that they spent too much of their spare time indulging in absolutely nothing). Not that he’d have it any other way; he counted every lazy night with Phil as a blessing.

Phil carded a hand through Dan’s curls, tugging lightly because after so long together he knew just how nice the younger boy found the sensation. For someone who said he loved bites and bruises, Dan was just a big softy for all the gentle and affectionate actions that had worked their way into their dynamic. Phil had been wanting to bring up something that had been niggling inside him for weeks but whenever he had gained the courage, they would melt into domestic habits and he couldn’t bring himself to see Dan’s heart shatter behind his perfect chocolate eyes.

He couldn’t evade the inevitable any longer; he had to rip the Band-Aid off just as Buffy slayed yet another vampire.

“I want to start dating again.”

He felt Dan stiffen. His breathing stilled for what felt like aeons but were only mere moments. It had been well over a year since either had ventured outside of their unspoken agreement and although the first rule of fight club still stood, they had fallen into something so comfortable and natural and Phil was shattering their creation.

“Getting bored?” Dan’s words were hushed. He rolled back into Phil’s lap so he could look up at the face of the man he loved but was too stubborn to accept how smitten he actually was. Dan refused to believe he was in love; their dynamic didn’t allow it.

Phil sighed, shifting his hand so he could stroke Dan’s cheek, letting his fingers linger on the slightly red patch that bloomed upon his jaw, “I could never get bored of you,” he replied with a fondness that took both of them off-guard. “It’s just that I’m in my thirties now, I need to make the most of my fleeting youth before I end up adopting fifteen dogs.”

“You can never have too many dogs,” Dan smiled back but it was vacant. Whatever thoughts were whirring in the brunette’s head refused to be verbalised but Phil could see the pain seeping into Dan’s warm eyes, dampening them.

“Don’t cry,” Phil whispered. The longer their more-than-friends-but-still-friends relationship went on the worse it became whenever they chose to venture into the dating scene but he hadn’t expected tears.

“I’m not crying,” Dan shot back, he drew his bottom lip between teeth in an attempt to distract his mind that was racing a mile a minute.

The older boy smirked, “all men do is lie.”

Dan couldn’t help but let a laugh escape. Even if the fragile world he had shaped was beginning to shatter for what seemed like the hundredth time, he couldn’t be mad at Phil. He always knew that one day they would go their separate ways; create families of their own with pretty wives and pretty kids in a pretty London borough and they would walk their dogs together in the afternoons while reminiscing about their youth. What he desperately clung onto would one day just be a distant memory he would recall fondly when his skin was wrinkled and his hair turned grey.

He shifted his position so he could pull Phil down beside him, “kiss me,” Dan asked with an urgency that could be analysed when the sun climbed above the city skyline and the reality of their future could be comprehended. Their nights together were limited and as Phil kissed away the tears that rolled down the brunette’s cheek, Dan could almost forget that his life had just been shattered like glass.

Their unspoken rules had never been broken; their silent agreement had remained strong for close to a decade so when Phil dragged his date through the front door three weeks later, the broken pieces of Dan’s heart were ripped to shreds once again. It wasn’t that Phil had bad taste (he had exceptional taste) but it was more the fact that his date wore a red flannel, round glasses and had a well-trimmed ginger beard; the stereotypical hipster he probably found somewhere near Shoreditch. Dan wanted to wave at the man but when his bright smile lit up the room he realised that a part of Phil that had only ever been reserved for Dan had been pulled from his grasp. He had to hold onto the kitchen bench to stop him from crumpling to the ground like discarded paper.

“Dan! You’re awake!” Phil said between giggles; he was definitely intoxicated. It was well into the early hours of the morning yet Dan didn’t feel even a tendril of sleep pulling at him.

The other guy held Phil’s hand, gently swinging it as he giggled alongside him. Dan couldn’t help but notice how his hand was too small for Phil. They didn’t fit the way Dan’s hand melded perfectly; everything about Dan fit perfectly with Phil yet it was too late to contemplate such intricate thoughts.

“Hi,” Dan managed to spit out with a bit more vehemence than he was meant to but he couldn’t retract. The man was cute. His ginger hair fell in waves to his shoulders and brown frames accentuated pine green eyes; he was conventionally attractive and a few inches shorter than the two of them. If he wasn’t holding hands with his Phil, Dan would have found him incredibly cute but all he could feel was overwhelming jealousy.

“This is Liam,” Phil tugged at the ginger’s hand.

“Hiya, you’re Dan yeah?” Liam’s words were coated in an accent that Dan couldn’t place. Kiwi? Australian? South African? Dan’s jealousy was almost at melting point and all he could do was nod in response; well aware that anything he said wouldn’t work in his favour.

“We’re just heading to my room,” Phil announced, picking up on the tension filling up the kitchen at an alarming rate.

Dan just nodded, turning his head towards the fridge to hide a scoff. Phil’s bedroom was nothing more than a glorified filming set in their new apartment; he hadn’t spent a night in there since they moved in.

“G’night,” he mumbled, not caring if his lack of hospitality gave Liam a bad impression because that was exactly what he was trying to achieve.

He felt Phil’s gaze linger on the back of his head before giving up in favour of giving Liam a grand tour of their apartment.

When the door to Phil’s room swung shut, Dan allowed himself to slide down to the foot of the fridge. He had spent countless hours in this position; pondering life and all the bad decisions he had made. The worst decision he had ever made couldn’t help but rear its ugly head; forcing tears to fall down Dan’s cheeks in a wave of violent sobs. He didn’t care if Phil and his attractive date could hear; they were the catalyst for his fragile future, his hope of holding onto Phil for reasons he could not entirely explain had been annihilated.

The worst decision he had ever made was kissing Phil back for the first time. On a good day, he may have said it was his best decision but good days were just distant memories.

They had been in Phil’s room and heavy snow fell outside, helping form a memory that felt almost too magical to be real. Dan had quickly discovered that kissing Phil was a necessity; he needed it as much as he needed air to breathe and blood in his veins. His entire body had come alive in that moment as if all the stars had aligned and fate had cast its benevolent hand over them. Although, it had been too good to be true. Their bodies fit together perfectly, it was as if they were one soul shaped as two beings finally finding their other half. Every nerve had come alight as wildfire blazed throughout their bodies. Inexperienced hands fumbled across pale skin, exploring every inch and laying claim. Phil was his first and his best; they had been so dumb but it was when they were in each other’s arms afterwards that their insipid fate had been sealed.

“You’re my best friend, I don’t want what just happened to change that,” Dan’s voice had been soft but his words were laced with fear. He had fallen deep into something that he didn’t know how to get out of and he didn’t even know if he wanted to get out of it.

“It doesn’t have to change,” Phil had mumbled into his hair. At the time those words had come as a relief; Dan had spent too much of his life avoiding labels. He hadn’t been ready. He hadn’t realised that eight years later he would be on the kitchen floor, a broken mess, as his best friend and love of his life broke his heart just down the hallway.

Dan was in love with Phil and it had taken eight years to acknowledge the pain that had been in his chest since the beginning.

He must have drifted off to sleep in his position below the fridge because the next thing he knows, dim morning sunlight is pouring through the windows, warming his tear-stained cheeks. For a moment, he could almost forget his downfall last night but then he hears footsteps enclosing on the kitchen and his eyes flew open; it would be pathetic if he was caught in his vulnerable state.

“Oh Dan…” If Dan still had a heart left to break, it would have splintered into tiny pieces with the sincerity those two simple words fell from Phil’s lips. His best friend was standing before him in emoji pyjamas and a graphic tee with his black-rimmed glasses slightly askew. He reached out a hand to pull Dan up, “were you there all night?”

A lot of ways to react to Phil’s softness flickered through Dan’s mind. He thought about yelling and screaming, crying even though he was too dehydrated to do so, even fucking him on the kitchen counter. Every scenario under the sun played in his mind but when Phil pulled him up so they were level, Dan could only fall into his arms with a silent sob.

Phil’s arms tightened around Dan instinctively and the younger boy could sense uncertainty running through Phil’s thoughts, “what changed?” was all he managed to ask next to Dan’s ear.

Dan wanted to laugh, he wanted to let all the bitterness pent up inside him get released as sadistic laughter. He wanted to ask Phil if he was fucking serious because his eyesight may be shit but he isn’t blind; their predicament was obvious. He wanted to confess that he was undoubtedly in love and couldn’t deny it. However, he chose none of those options and instead closed the gap between their lips with a greedy kiss.

Phil pulled away almost instantly but not quick enough for Dan to miss the conflict that was bubbling up inside the older man.

“Liam’s still here,” Phil hissed.

“Fuck Liam,” Dan’s breath was hot against Phil’s skin and when Dan swooped back in for a second time, licking hotly into the kiss with fervency, Phil couldn’t help but succumb to fate’s twisted plan.

Dan pressed his body flush against Phil and the unexpected weight caused them to stumble back into the kitchen island in a tangle of limbs. Their kisses were erratic; a clash of greed and familiar desire coming alive in a flurry as Dan lifted Phil onto the island, pushing himself into Phil, delighted to find him already half hard.

“Didn’t fuck yourself senseless last night?” Dan asked while trailing small nips down Phil’s neck and applying just the right amount of pressure where his pyjama pants tented.

A soft moan escaped Phil and Dan hummed with approval, repeating his actions.

“We didn’t have sex,” Phil told him through breathy moans and Dan stopped in his tracks, lifting his lips from Phil’s neck so he could look him in the eyes.

“What?”

“We didn’t fuck,” Phil said as if swearing would get the point across, “we just talked and kissed for a bit.”

Dan kept his eyes trained on Phil’s for what felt like an eternity. In the morning sunlight, he noticed that the flecks of yellow became more prominent as if he had liquid gold glimmering in the pools of green and blue.

A part of him felt guilty for assuming and a part of him felt relieved but the jealousy still remained; someone else got the chance to feel Phil’s wondrous lips and Dan felt the urge to kiss away the lingering feeling of the other man. This time their kiss was tender, the beginnings of an unspoken apology they knew all too well. It was repetition of all the other times they had found their way back to each other after countless failed dating attempts. Dan’s hands reached up to card Phil’s raven hair and he tugged lightly, delighted when Phil moaned into each kiss.

“We can’t do this, not now,” the older boy pulled away when their kisses shifted into something more heated and a whine escaped from Dan.

“We can’t keep running away from this,” Dan mumbled, leaning forward to entrap Phil in another kiss but he tilted his head so Dan’s lips met a pale cheek.

“I’m not trying to run away,” Phil whispered, “once he leaves we’ll talk. I promise that we’ll work this mess out.”

Dan sighed, leaning his head onto Phil’s, “I’ll be waiting. I always am.”

With that, they broke apart and Dan’s arms fell to his side as if he was a puppet and his strings had just been cut. He was tempted to fall back into his spot below the fridge but as Phil left the kitchen, Dan allowed his feet to take him in the other direction. He grabbed his coat and shoved his phone into a pocket, tempted to leave it at home but decided against it. He couldn’t fully avoid reality even if it could lead to even more heartbreak. He couldn’t keep being invisible whenever his heart was trodden on.

He was used to absent walks to clear his head but now his mind was anything but absent. He kept replaying every action that led up to the present, every kiss stolen in the darkness of night, every tear shed when he saw Phil with someone else. They had spent years avoiding the situation between them and now Dan found himself in the shadows waiting for Phil, the embodiment of light, to pull him back into the sunshine.

Dan ended up in a nearby park, a black coffee cradled in his hands (a vacant decision while walking past Pret a Manger), savouring the feeling of warm steam reaching up to caress his face. Although the sun was shining, London was cold. Trees had lost almost all their leaves and the last lingering red and brown foliage clung onto bare limbs as if they were too stubborn to let go.

The park was empty aside from him and maybe that was due to it being midmorning or maybe the icy touch in the air had kept everyone inside. He found a spot beneath a gazebo and allowed himself to take a seat. He did this often; sit and think in parks. There was something about the falling leaves and a gentle breeze that calmed him. His mind slowed down just enough to force it into silence; focusing on the bitter taste of the coffee and harsh heat that hit his tongue instead of his broken life that was in dire need of fixing.

He felt his phone buzz a few times but chose to ignore it in favour to sweeping the dregs of his coffee out of the cup, grimacing at the temperature which was slightly too cool for comfort; a sign that he had been thinking for too long.

Dan felt as if a part of him had been laid to rest at the realisation that his feelings had run astray. For years he had been certain that they could remain in their tangle of weeds; allowing unspoken rules to blur what they were and strangle the feelings he buried so deep.

Love was weird and love was blind but he had been blinded by stupidity to realise that his heart was only meant for Phil.

His feelings had only once come to the surface in a Freudian slip on a drunken night during their Australian leg of the tour. They had spent the hours after their Sydney show drinking with the crew but when they stumbled into a taxi their hands found home upon each other and Phil’s lips had laid claim to Dan’s jaw.

If the driver could see what was unfolding in the backseat he never expressed discomfort.

They shared kisses coated with the weight of intoxication and hands lazily traced familiar patterns. Dan had consumed one margarita too many and as Phil dragged his mouth along his collarbone, words betrayed him.

“Love you.”

He never knew if Phil heard him in that moment or if he had been too preoccupied with Dan’s exposed skin to notice but the younger boy’s eyes had blown wide with alarm and he forced himself to backtrack.

“Lo-love being here with you. Sydney is amazing.”

Phil hummed into the crook of Dan’s neck, not seeming too fussed with what his friend was saying before shifting upwards so he could focus on the sweet spot upon Dan’s neck.

Whatever fear that had been born in the wake of Dan’s slip up was momentarily forgotten as pleasure ran through him like lightning.

Phil had never questioned what was said within the taxi that night so Dan had repressed the memory alongside his undying love until it pushed its way to the surface of his mind; reminding Dan of just how messy his life had become.

It wasn’t until the sun became hidden behind looming clouds that he was joined within the gazebo. Dan didn’t turn his head, he didn’t need to. He knew the feeling of Phil’s presence all too well.

The older man sat at the opposite end of the bench, his hands shoved into coat pockets and his eyes trained on amber coloured leaves that felt languidly from a nearby tree. His hair was swept neatly to the side and glasses were gone in favour of contacts. Dan could feel his heart skip a beat and he hated knowing that Phil had that effect on him. Even after so long he still got giddy when looking at the man. In Dan’s eyes, he was perfection, the embodiment of Adonis but even his beauty couldn’t hide the pain that radiated from his chest.

They didn’t speak straight away, it wasn’t their style if the last eight years of avoidance wasn’t enough proof of that. Time fell away from their own little slice of reality and hours could have passed or just mere moments but when Phil extended a hand out to Dan, he didn’t refuse the invitation. Phil’s slender fingers were warm (a stark contrast to the cool air) and his thumb ran comforting strokes across the back of Dan’s hand; an action that had become second nature.

“I’m so sorry,” Phil was the first to speak. His eyes remained trained on falling leaves but Dan could see that they were red. He had been crying and that fact broke Dan more than anything else that had come between them.

“You don’t have to be,” he replied tenderly, afraid that his voice might crack if he spoke too loud.

“No Dan,” Phil said, “let me apologise for once. I got us into this mess, the least I can do is say sorry.”

“I’ve been afraid,” the younger boy admitted, “what happened to us?”

“Come here,” Phil tugged lightly and Dan followed the pull, folding into Phil’s arms just as a silent sob spilt out of him. He let go of Phil’s hand in favour of wrapping his arms tightly around him and nestling his head upon his chest.

“I don’t want to let you go,” Dan mumbled, unsure as to if it was in context to the hug or their lives as a whole. Both were plausible.

“It was stupid of me to think I could spend my life with anyone but you,” Phil whispered into chocolate curls, “It just took this morning for me to realise it. Seeing you hurt like that, it broke me.”

“What about your redhead?” Dan tried to push jealousy to the side but it refused to remain hidden.

“Liam isn’t the man for me,” Phil paused to place a soft kiss in his curls, “you are.”

Dan almost melted at the softness of the kiss but the words that followed turned his limbs into jelly. He moved his head up slightly so he could look up at Phil. His blue eyes seemed grey in the now overcast weather.

“Why did we complicate our life?” he asked with furrowed brows.

“You have a dramatic flair,” Phil allowed a smile to race across his lips that remained when a small chuckle escaped the brunette.

“What are we?” Dan asked, moving a hand from Phil’s back so he could trace pale cheekbones out of intrigue. All the questions they had ignored and kept for morning afters were finally allowed to be asked yet all he could think of was the most basic questions that probably already held obvious answers.

“Dan and Phil,” the older boy replied before placing a small kiss on the tip of Dan’s nose. “To me, you are everything even if we’ve resisted definition for so long. I can’t imagine spending a day without you let alone spending a life without you by my side.”

The feelings that had surfaced back in Sydney bloomed in Dan’s stomach as a manifestation of butterflies, “seeing you last night with someone else made me realise that I only want you. I’ve only ever wanted you and I was a fool to think otherwise.”

Phil laughed and his warm breath tickled Dan, “to think I’ve spent years trying to find someone to replace the happiness I feel when you’re in my arms.”

“When did you realise this?” Dan asked with curiosity, “you make it sound as if you’ve known for ages yet I don’t think I realised until last night.”

Phil smirked as if the memory he was recalling was fond, “I fell in love the moment I met you but it just took me a little bit to realise that I loved you more than a best friend.”

“Love…”

“Is it really such a strange concept?” Phil asked.

Dan shook his head, blinking back tears as a smile forced its way onto his lips, “I love you too.”

“Don’t cry,” Phil responded with a hushed whisper.

“They’re good tears,” Dan reassured before leaning in to connect their lips. The kiss was soft as emotions that they had buried now flowed freely between them and all the unspoken rules dissipated the moment Dan sighed into the kiss. It was bliss. Kissing Phil was always perfect.

They stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms sharing tender kisses, not caring if other people within the park saw them. Love was weird but what Dan and Phil had was so much weirder. The nature of their relationship still remained undefined but as Dan let his hands run through raven hair, he knew that whatever was yet to come would undoubtedly be perfect.

“So, what now?” he asked when they finally pulled away from the kiss, nuzzling into Phil.

“Let’s go back home and watch some Ghibli. How about Spirited Away? And we can order takeout?” The older boy pulled away from Dan so he could stand up, extending his hand to Dan. Last time he did that action, heartbreak had pulled at them but now all the years of needless pain had been torn from them by the roots and love bloomed in its place, “does that sound like a good start of our forever?”

“Ponyo,” Dan amended, standing up beside Phil with a grin unable to leave his lips, “and yes, forever sounds nice if I get to spend it with you.”

#so uh this idea came to me last week but i wrote all of it last night and today bc i made the most out of my lack of writers block #phanfiction #phanfic #phan #phandom #dan and phil #phan angst #phan fluff #(well i guess at the end okay don't murder me for this tag)#teddiiwrites #this is a mess i am so sorry that u have to read that like it's so long #i just spend too many nights making myself suffer by telling jess angsty headcanons so it was about time i wrote something #fwb is one of my fave tropes #bc it always stabs me in the chest #but yeah uh enjoy #give it a kudos on ao3 if u like #also reblogs r appreciated bc none of y'all know i am a fic writer too #THIS IS UNBETAED BC I DO NOT HAVE A BETA AND I APOLOGISE

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madegeeky · 6 years

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SM 200 Psuedo-Rewrite

For @keyofjetwolf, happy belated Xmas!

So, this is an idea that I’ve had floating around in my head since Jet finished liveblogging the Sailor Moon Classic anime. After seeing how unhappy with the endings she was (though, I mean, who wasn’t?), my brain started picking it apart to see what could be changed to make it better and before I knew it, I had 2600 words of a psuedo-rewrite written up.

A couple things you should know before continuing: this is written very much with Jet in mind. As such, there’s a lot things in here that cater to her very specific tastes. If you absolutely didn’t like her liveblog of Stars, you’re not going to like this rewrite, so please follow the age-old adage: don’t like, don’t read. However, there are also some of my own personal headcanons thrown in (largely because headcanons are the only way to make any of this make sense, let’s be honest) as well as some of my preferences for things that I wasn’t sure about Jet’s opinion on.

Also, you’ll notice that I call this a pseudo-rewrite. That’s because, firstly, this is more an outline then an actual fic. Second, I knew that if ever wanted to get this out, I had to try to stick to the general story they told in Stars, because otherwise the rewrite would get way too complicated and I would never do anything. As such, I tried to change the things that I think desperately needed to change, ignored the things that didn’t really have an impact on the story, and keep the few ideas that I thought were good but poorly executed.

TL;DR This is written for Jet; if you don’t like her Stars liveblog, don’t read. This is an outline, not a fic. It’s not a complete rewrite, a lot of the stuff is similar to the original.

I started from the end and worked my way back to try to find a way to make certain things work until I eventually ended up at the beginning of this AU, with the biggest change:

Crow lives.

Because Usagi is love and before she also gets swallowed up by the black hole she sees Crow in pain and sees how she gave up and she can’t leave her behind, so when Chibi Chibi grabs her, before she passes out, she grabs Crow.

No one is happy about this except Usagi. Including Crow who was quite ready to die.

She goes to the stay at the Shrine because Rei insists. The “if you’re going to do something so fucking stupid, Usagi, I’m going to protect you from yourself” is left unsaid but definitely not unheard.

Time moves on mostly the same for most of the episodes. Crow keeps herself distant from the Senshi. Sometimes she gives them info, most of the time she doesn’t talk. She’s slightly more willing to talk to Usagi but it’s obvious that every moment with Usagi is causing her extra pain and so they still aren’t long. The only one she talks to at all, the only one she even vaguely opens up to, is Grandpa Hino. (It’s almost like he’s used to making difficult women open up to him and talk to him.) Rei is super not happy about this. Grandpa Hino doesn’t tell her why he tries so hard, why he cares for Crow so. Because he has now seen what Rei would look like if she broke and he doesn’t want to ever know what’s that like.

And then the world ends.

The Outer Senshi ignore Crow, which is the best you can hope for from them. The Inner Senshi deliberately do not ask her to fight. This is their battle, not hers. She does not offer. They go to face Galaxia and Crow stays behind with Grandpa Hino.

I genuinely cannot decide which Inners death I enjoy most, the original or this one, so take your pick, but here is another option in this AU: Crow arrives just before the Inners arrive. No one is more surprised than Crow. The bracelets, I headcanon, are connected to Galaxia and carry a piece of her in them. She always knew where Crow was and she didn’t care for a variety of reasons. One of those was that she knew Crow was suffering and that made her happy. Another was that if Crow was going to die she wanted to see it. And then there’s this opportunity and so she takes it and brings Crow to her and then possesses her (not brainwashed, oh no, that would be too kind; Crow is able to see everything that is happening but she can no longer control her body and she must watch as she destroys those that had dared to be kind to her). And Crow is the one who kills the Inners. Usagi, unaware of the possession, has to watch as someone she gave a second chance to, who she has come to care for, kills her friends. Then, as the possession leaves her, she falls to the ground, unconscious. Usagi crawls to each Senshi to say goodbye (because if we’re changing things, let’s fix that massive wtf), ending up at Rei for the exact scene from the anime because why mess with perfection? Galaxia gloats about how it was her along because she wants to take credit for Usagi’s suffering.

Or maybe it happens just like it did in the anime and Crow stays at the temple. Choose your own adventure and all that.

Everything continues the same because I would not touch a single second of the Outers vs Galaxia because not only would Doc kill me but because it is also perfect. The second to last episode where nothing fucking happens doesn’t exist at all because fuck that noise and the end of the original 199 now takes place at the beginning instead and everything that happens in 200 ends up in 199 instead and 200 is solely for happiness and healing and maybe a touch of angst and wrapping things up. But we’re not there yet because now come the big changes.

Everyone, by this point, has forgotten about Crow. She is either at the Temple or collapsed in Galaxia’s throne room, whichever you prefer, when the final showdown starts. Which is why everyone is shocked when she shows/gets up, so very angry, and ready to fuck up Galaxia because how dare Galaxia use her to hurt the few people to have shown her kindness. She grabs Chibi Chibi the Sword that Usagi had still been refusing to use and goes after Galaxia who easily bats her aside because Galaxia is way too powerful. She taunts Usagi, says that she will kill Crow if she does not pick up the sword and fight and Usagi has seen so very many people die today so she picks up the sword. And they fight. Galaxia is expecting to win. Why wouldn't she be? Usagi obviously doesn’t want to kill her, is in fact scared of using the sword. But she does not know Usagi, does not know that when a friend is on the line, even one as unfriendly as Crow, she will not lose, not when there is an option to win.

The Starlights are also there.

I personally headcanon that Galaxia is not brainwashed but rather corrupted and that there is no going back. Whatever was good and light about her has, over time, been twisted and corrupted until she is the sadist she appears and there is nothing good left in her to bring her back. Which is why Usagi does not reach her hand out in an attempt to save Galaxia because she can sense that there is nothing there that will reach back. Instead, she stabs her through with the sword. Because sometimes love alone isn’t enough. Because sometimes love and justice demand blood. Because even Usagi cannot make someone good who has no goodness left. Because Galaxia needs to die to protect the world and to protect Crow.

She doesn’t want to do it, feels sick just thinking about it, but she does it because sometimes that’s the only way. Because sometimes even saviors can’t save everyone.

But here’s the thing, even as Usagi drops the sword and falls to knees, relieved that it’s over, it’s not over. Because Crow’s bracelets carry a piece of Galaxia and so Galaxia, as she dies, forces her consciousness into Crow and possesses her body.

Crow stands from where she has fallen. And laughs. And everyone there recognizes it instantly because they have heard that laugh, so very many times now, as people have died around them.

Galaxia, in Crow’s body, the magic warping around her so that her outfit is Galaxia’s once again, summons her sword and it flies to her hand and with the type of smile on her face that says she is enjoying this only as someone who is cruel can, she tells Usagi to fight her. Usagi says no. Galaxia comes at her and Usagi holds the Chibi Chibi sword up in defense but she does not attack. She dodges and pleas with Galaxia to let Crow go and Galaxia tells her she will have to kill her and Usagi does not know what to do.

Usagi is injured several times. But still she refuses to attack. How can she? She killed (she feels sick at the thought) for Crow, how can she kill Crow now? Crow who has so broken and so alone and made her heart ache because there was something about her brokenness that terrified Usagi to her core.

Then Usagi holds up her sword to protect herself from Galaxia and this time the attack is too strong and Chibi Chibi the sword shatter and disappears. And, for a moment, it looks like Galaxia will win because Usagi has nothing. Except, Usagi does have something. Nine star seeds behind Galaxia start to shine. Usagi closes her eyes.

Usagi opens her eyes as she drops her henshin (naked and with wing is a good look, after all), because this isn’t a job for Sailor Moon and it’s not a job for a Princess or a Queen. This is a job for Usagi because fuck you, Galaxia, there has been enough blood spilled today and Usagi does what Usagi does best, she reaches out with her heart and hand to find a heart that has been surrounded by darkness and calls Crow’s name.

Galaxia’s sword shatters.

It is dark where Crow is, curled in a ball, broken and alone. Crow hears Usagi but cannot answer. She is stuck inside her head, watching everything that is happening and unable to stop it. Just like with Siren. There is nothing she can do, she is weak and worthless and she deserves to die and of course it will be her that kills this girl, this girl who believed in her when no one else did, this girl who doesn’t believe in killing but killed for her. Just like with Siren. And then, behind Usagi, she sees several figures appear. The Inner and Outer Senshi, arranged behind Usagi, reaching out their hands too, their voices whispering in her head that she doesn’t need to make this fight on her own. Just like with Siren. All she has to do is reach out, and they will do the rest. Just like with Siren.

She reaches. And, for a just a moment, a split second that passes so fast that if you blinked you would miss it, it is Siren that she is reaching toward.

And the scene switches to that of a possessed Crow grasping Usagi’s hand, light shining through and burning away the pieces of Galaxia that had clung to Crow like a disease and in a flash of light, there is only Crow standing there, all traces of Galaxia eradicated, including the bracelets that have sat on her wrists for so very long.

Crow’s Star Seed floats back to her, called home after far too long, as does another Star Seed, this one light blue and shining so brightly and so much like home that Crow’s arms are around Siren even as she’s still forming.

The Inner and Outer Senshi appear. There are hugs, so very many hugs and so very much crying, and the scene slowly pulls away until we are positioned behind a hugging Crow and Siren who are completely ignoring all the hugging that is going on in front of them but that the viewer can still see.

The Starlights are also there.

200 is about healing. Maybe it starts with Usagi waking up from having a nightmare about killing Galaxia and it’s not okay but maybe it’s a little okay because she is at the Shrine and everyone is sleeping near her and no one is dead and it hurts but she did the right thing and she drifts back to sleep. The Senshi go to see the Starlights off. Haruka hates every moment of it. Michiru enjoys every moment of it. Those are the only important parts. They go to see Crow and Siren off. They have taken responsibility of the Star Seeds and are going to get them back home, where they belong, and help heal as much as they can. Usagi says that there is no one better for this job than Crow and Siren. Crow mentions that it’s mostly Siren but she is smiling as she says so and she looks so happy that Usagi bursts into tears and tells them that they’d better figure out a way to keep in touch and then they too are gone. And then it’s just them. And some serious stuff happens. There’s Hotaru and Setsuna confronting Haruka and Michiru (they understand, they do, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt) and there’s the Inners trying to comfort each other because they’ve all been literally torn apart and died yet again and they remember it all and it’s horrible.

And, fuck it, this is my AU so this is an hour long episode because this is too much serious stuff but it needs to be here so in order to fit other things, bam!, it’s now an hour long. Because most of the episode is about healing, the sad stuff is sprinkled throughout happy stuff. A bunch of cute, good, friendship shit that you can probably picture better than I can so I’ll let you imagine it but at least one of those thing is Usagi pulling out a photo album and spending a truly long time looking at each and every picture of Chibiusa, which all still exist, proof (hopefully) that the future hasn’t changed too much. (And, okay, maybe this is also a little sad but it’s also happy dammit and I need Chibiusa to be in here someway.) There are scenes where the Senshi spend time with friends and family (but together, always together, they can’t bear to be apart for long at the moment, maybe in a few days but not right now, not when everything still hurts so much.)

And the scene ends, not on Mamoru and Usagi kissing, but all the Senshi and Mamoru at Crown Cafe, sitting in a booth, laughing and smiling and alive. And the picture freezes as Usagi and Rei stick their tongue at each other while Minako with a mischievous look on her face is stealing the cherry off Rei’s drink while Artemis, sitting next to Minako, sighs with a look on his face that shows that he knows that this is the next 1000 years for him. Ami, Luna on her lap, is leaning in to hear something that Makoto has said, a soft and affectionate smile on her face. Makoto has a big grin on her face, the one that only she makes, you know the one. Haruka and Michiru sit, Haruka’s arm around Michiru’s shoulder, Michiru frozen with her hand to her mouth to hide that little giggle, just like she did in that one episode that I’m too lazy to go look up the number of. Haruka is gazing at everyone fondly with a look on her face that is partially triumphant because they won. Hotaru and Setsuna are not sitting on the sidelines, fuck you very much Stars, and instead in the very middle of this whole thing, because they need extra love and comfort dammit, and Setsuna looks a little uncomfortable but she also has this smile on her face as though this is more than she would have ever dared wish for, let alone think she would actually ever get. And Hotaru looks tiny and small, squished as she is in-between Setsuna and Mamoru, but her grin is wide and bright and she is leaning forward to look at the photobook of Chibiusa pics that Usagi brought which Mamoru now has and Mamoru is smiling softly because this is his family and they are crazy but perfect.

Everyone is crowded because the booth is far too small but none of them have ever looked happier and as the image freezes the original theme starts and Sailor Moon ends its fifth and final season.

The End

(I hope everyone enjoyed this but especially you, Jet. I’m sure it’s not exactly how you’d do it but I hope that it was at least a little close. It was actually really fun and cathartic to write and I hope that it was also fun and somewhat cathartic to read too.)

#geeky talks #mari writes #mari writes fanfic #mari talks sailor moon #mari talks sm classic #mari writes sailor moon

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darisu-chan · 7 years

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What Has Been Left Unsaid

Prompt: “Thanks to you, the rain has stopped.”

Summary: After seventeen months away from each other, Ichigo and Rukia finally get to talk.

This is a special request for @darkenedsun21 who asked for a one-shot of Ichigo and Rukia talking after those seventeen months apart. Hope you like it!

You can also read it here.

What Has Been Left Unsaid

Ichigo sat on the roof. The lamps of the street dimly lit the night. The moon, high in the sky, shone brightly, giving the young man enough light to see his whereabouts. It looked like another night in Karakura. Quiet and peaceful. However, if one was observant you could distinguish certain figures wandering about the streets, who were not at all human. Ichigo smiled when he recognized one of those figures, calmly passing by. It had been way too long since the last time he had seen one of them. A smile ghosted on his lips, as he sighed. It was an average night for most residents of Karakura Town, but it definitely wasn’t a normal night. It had been anything but ordinary. Ichigo closed his eyes as he felt the power irradiating from him envelope him in a cozy cocoon. It felt incredible to have his powers back. It was like getting back a sense. He could see, hear, and even feel better now. Tonight, he was back to how he used to be. He could have stayed there forever, if someone hadn’t disturbed his calm moment.

“Oh, there you are, Ichigo.” A voice said from behind him.

“Rukia.” He acknowledged her without turning his face to see her.

Ichigo had felt her before hearing her, and had had a few seconds to recollect himself. A lot had happened since the last time they had seen each other, and he felt that he couldn’t act around her as before. Rukia, though, had other ideas. She hummed in reply, and sat right next to him, observing the same spirit Ichigo had looked at earlier. They remained silent, and he felt a sense of déjà vu. Long ago, there had been times when the two of them had talked on the roof at nights after killing a particularly nasty Hollow. They would sit and chat, or just remain silent in the same way as they were just now. Yet, a lot had changed. Looking at his companion and her short hair as well as the lieutenant band on her arm confirmed his suspicions that he was indeed in the present and not the past.

“You know,” Rukia broke the silence after some time, “you were incredible back there.” She said, referencing to the fight that had taken place a few hours earlier.

“Yeah?” He muttered, finally looking at her face. She was smiling.

“Yeah. You handled things very well. I’m proud of you.”

His breath hitched and his heartbeat quickened. He hadn’t known how badly he had wanted to hear those words until she said them. His cheeks turned slightly red, while he nodded, smiling softly at her. “You’ve gotten soft.” Ichigo said.

Rukia scoffed. “I have not!” She punched his arm as she said those words. Both knew she was lying. “Maybe, it’s you who’s gotten soft.” She added, crossing her arms.

Ichigo snorted. “Yeah, maybe.”

“I’m serious, though. I’m proud of you.” The Shinigami said, looking at him straight to his eyes. “I knew you would never betray us, no matter what, because that’s the kind of man you are, Ichigo.”

The young man felt genuinely flattered. “So I owe you for having everyone help me earlier, right?”

“Nah.” She dismissed him. “You don’t owe me or anyone anything. It was the least we could do after everything you’ve done for us. Besides, as I said before, you handled things well.”

Ichigo gazed downward. “Actually, for a moment there I wasn’t handling things so well…”

Rukia turned to look at him with concern. She knew what he was talking about. She had seen him defeated and on his knees after all. It had been a heart wrenching sight she had stopped the moment she could. Rukia never wanted to see Ichigo like that ever again.

“Sometimes we need help from others…” Rukia trailed off.

“I guess so.”

Rukia frowned as she stared at him. Then, she looked pensive, as if she were thinking about something really hard. Shaking her head, she eventually sighed, as if giving up. Ichigo was curious about her many expressions, but decided to wait until she was ready to speak. Finally, she opened her mouth. “I actually saw you during these past months.” Rukia confessed, surprising him. “Always from afar, and I tried to stay hidden as much as possible.” She added as an afterthought. “Of course Urahara and even Inoue knew I was here, but they promised not to tell you anything.”

Ichigo frowned. “Why?”

“Because I thought it’d be best if you moved on without the constant reminder of how your life used to be.” Rukia said honestly.

He gulped, feeling his mouth dry. “Meaning you.”

“Yes.”

“You never stopped to think that maybe being shut down from everyone made it even harder?” He asked her, almost ironically. Ichigo didn’t mean to take his frustrations on her, for his companion wasn’t responsible for his troubles, but he couldn’t help it. He had felt so alone and lost, not knowing who he was or what he wanted anymore.

Rukia looked at him with a guilty expression on her face. “Yes.” She simply said, without giving him any half-hearted excuses. Rukia was always painfully honest, and that was one of the things he liked about her.

Ichigo looked at her intently. There was a wall between them, which had been brewing for seventeen long months. Perhaps it wasn’t long for Rukia, who had been around for more than a century, but for him they had been long and painful, enough for him to build walls around him, including the one between Rukia and himself. However, it was crumbling down steadily, he could feel it. It would only take one word from either of them to tumble it down effectively. Ichigo knew he was treading in uncharted territory, but at this point he didn’t care anymore. Tonight had been a roller coaster of emotions, and it might as well end on the same note.

“Did you ever stop to think that what I needed was you?” He asked at last, his eyes never straying from Rukia’s.

She flinched, but didn’t stop looking at him. “Yes. All the time. Because I needed you too.” Rukia admitted. The wall tumbled down, leaving them both bare. Nothing was going to hold them back.

“And yet you didn’t come…”

“I thought I was doing the right thing. My original plan was to let you be, but I couldn’t do it. I was selfish, I admit it, to just come and see you but never show myself to you. I could have easily gotten a gigai, and rang at your door. But I didn’t. I didn’t want to face you, knowing I had my powers while you didn’t. Most of all, I didn’t want to see you look so defeated. I couldn’t bare it.” Rukia explained herself, still feeling guilty. “I didn’t even come right away when rumors spread about you siding with the enemy. Then, Urahara came to the Soul Society and explained he had found a way to return your powers. He asked for our help. That was when I decided we’d see each other again.”

Ichigo nodded, partially understanding her. “You know, I want to say I wouldn’t have cared about it, but the truth is I would have. Not that I would have held it against you for remaining a Shinigami, but I would’ve been envious of you. Now that I think about it, I don’t think I would’ve liked for you to see like that. Even if you did anyway.”

“Tell me something, if I had come and met you, would you have been happy?” Rukia inquired.

“Yes.” Ichigo didn’t even need to think twice to answer.

She breathed heavily. “Are you mad that I didn’t?”

He shook his head. “I’m not mad per se…” He trailed off, not sure if he should say the rest.

“But you’re hurt.” Rukia answered for him.

“That’s one way to put it.”

She breathed again, as if gasping for air. “Can you forgive me?”

He exhaled with force, suddenly noticing how close to each other they actually were, their fingertips almost brushing. He inhaled once and twice, and then he finally answered her. “There’s nothing to forgive. After all, I owe everything to you. Thanks to you, the rain has stopped once again.”

Shock was written all over her face as he said those words. Then she smiled breathtakingly, putting her hand over his. Ichigo entwined their fingers, and gently brushed her hand with his thumb. “I always felt like something was missing from my life, and then you came along and showed me the Shinigami world, where I realized that I belonged to. However, when I lost my powers I went crashing back to the place where I had been before you. I felt as if I was missing a piece of me. I thought that it was my powers. But now that I think about it, it was something else.” He said mysteriously. Rukia smiled, understanding what he meant. “These past seventeen months were a bitch, Rukia. I was unhappy every single day. Even when I tried for things to be normal, I never succeeded. So, of course, when Ginjo came along and told me I could get my powers back, I trusted in him like a fool.” He snorted at his rash actions. “I should’ve known better.”

“You had no way to know, Ichigo. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Rukia said, squeezing his hand.

“Yeah, maybe. I still should’ve been more wary of him. Anyway, what I want to say is that today, when I was in despair, you came back. No matter what, you always come back. And for that, I’ll always be grateful.”

Rukia smiled at him. “And I’m always grateful to you for being this unchanging force, making things better around you. Don’t ever change, Ichigo.”

“That’s my line.”

Then, they talked and talked and talked about anything and everything at the same time. Rukia retold him her journey in becoming a lieutenant, while Ichigo ended up talking about his jobs and his friends. Eventually, they talked more about their feelings during those seventeen months, and what Ichigo went through with Ginjo. As words flowed between them, the sky changed colors and the sun made its appearance known to the world. Just as the sun was rising, a few words were exchanged which left them flustered.

It was the start of a new day.

#ichiruki #ichiruki fanfiction #my fanfiction #technically this was for ir month #oh well

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