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weasleyreidstyles · 5 months

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Serendipity

chapter eight

summary: it was only meant to be a purely transactional relationship. he would help her strengthen her abilities in return for her getting his friends out of his father's nasty path. he didn't mean to fall for her, but loving her was the easiest thing in his dark world.

no use of y/n, but your general nickname is Meadow. all characters are aged up to be over 18.

pairings: mattheo riddle x fem!ravenclaw reader; platonic!slytherins x fem!reader; platonic!golden trio x fem!reader

warning(s): 18+ content, unprotected sex (use protection obvs), rough undertones but not really, bro's possessive as fuck

series masterlist; previous part; next part

Your old Professor had given you some much needed insight over the Christmas holidays. Harry had dragged you and Ron to sit in agonising silence as he and Remus had a back and forth battle of wills over Harry's wild theories. Remus was certain that Voldemort wouldn't recruit inexperienced, young adults who were barely eighteen, but you knew he was wrong about that, especially considering he was recruited into the Order as soon as he was no longer a Hogwarts student.

Theo had not replied to a single letter; you'd sent countless over the small three week break.

Remus had yelled at Harry for making such harsh accusations, then had apologised not ten minutes later. It was a full moon after all, and he was still grieving over Sirius' death. Before that had sullied the peaceful evening, you confided in your old Professor before lunch had been served, who was more than willing to offer his profound wisdom to you.

"Sir? Can I-" you hesitate in the doorway of the Burrow's living room, feet teetering on the edge of the threshold, the smell of Mrs Weasley's cooking permeating the calm air. Before you could continue, Professor Lupin let out a hoarse chuckle and invited you to settle in the cushioned sofa next to him.

"I'm not your Professor anymore," he spoke your name softly, "please call me Remus."

"Okay sorry. Can I ask you something, Remus?"

"Of course. I'll try to help in anyway I can." his encouraging smile led to you spilling what was on your mind – he'd always been easy to confide in.

"I've been doing some extra reading on further subjects," you start, chewing on a hangnail on your thumb. "about- about siphons."

Remus stilled. If you weren't so nervous you would have narrowed your eyes in suspicion.

"What have you learned so far?" his response was slow and curious; carefully constructed.

"Well other than the fact that they don't draw magic from their cores...nothing. And every book in the library says the same thing." you let out a frustrated sigh and he seems to take pity on you.

"Siphons are extremely rare, which you know, of course." one of his hands cups his jaw contemplatively, as if he's choosing his words with careful precision. "That's why there's so little information, because there are very few people alive who have been able to record their true nature.

What we do know, is that siphons can completely draw out sources of magic into themselves; drain it to nothing to gain that power. They're very volatile in thats sense because no one knows how much power they can truely handle."

He gave no indication that he saw the way your flinched at his words. You were grateful for it.

"But surely harbouring that much power would be dangerous? Nature demands a balance." you say in a small voice.

He mumbles your name with a knowing look of understanding before patting your shoulder, indicating an end to the conversation but you still catch his parting words: "Look in the restricted section, in books about forbidden magical and mythical creatures and you'll find what you're looking for. Consult Professor Dumbledore too, it would be more useful than soley relying on my account."

"Thankyou sir- Remus." he leaves you there, chuckling quietly at your correction as he let you know that he'd see you at dinner later in the day. You're left infinitely more confused than before you initiated the conversation, but as you left through the opposite door that led to the bedrooms upstairs to find Ginny, you failed to see the curious eyes of you best friend, hidden under his cloak of invisibility.

~∞~

Something had changed over the holidays. The air around the castle was different; a dark, sinister energy permeating the comforting warmth that the magical wards usually bathed the castle grounds in. You didn't know how you felt the shift moreso than your friends. Maybe it was the January weather, or the fact that you missed the comfort of home, but you knew in your gut that things were different now. Your stubbornness didn't want to admit that it could be a result of your new abilities that hadn't shown since Katie Bell's incident.

It became evident in your patrol evenings with Theodore, too. He was withdrawn, sullen and constantly aggravated; if he bothered to show up at all sometimes. You knew what it meant and you kept this piece of information to yourself, lest it gave your friends one more reason for you to avoid the Slytherins.

But you made a promise; one that you wouldn't break.

The change was even more evident in your sessions with Mattheo. He was pushing you to your limit, and getting exceedingly frustrated with you, for no reason. He was angry at the world and at you, apparently.

After a considerably hard yank at your innermost thoughts, you shoved him out with a glare, which he returned tenfold.

"Okay. Ow? Why are you being so aggressive?" you snap, massaging your throbbing temples. He scoffed at you and moved to stand, beginning to pace.

"What? You don't think someone trying to infiltrate your mind won't be? Don't be so naive, I can see all your thoughts. Shut. Me. Out." He spat your name out like it was filth to him, and you suppose it was at one point in time. Pushing youself to stand, you make your way to him so you were chest to chest.

"What is your problem?" you question, narrowing your eyes at him as he stared back with deadly, onyx eyes. He scoffed and turned away from you, fingers rubbing at his temples as if this whole conversation was giving him a headache.

"It is giving me a headache." he spat and your glare intensified. "You're not focused, your mind is unraveling at the seams. It's like you haven't made any progress at all."

You startled him with the cold laugh that escaped you. "That's rich." you spat, your pointer finger digging into his strong chest. "You're a hypocrite Mattheo. You have been unfocused for the last week. So answer me this: what is your issue?"

In seconds he had you pinned against a wall that you hadn't noticed he had been backing you into, his breathing heavy and cold as ice. His hand was wrapped loosely around the base of your throat, not tight enough to harm but enough to pose a threat.

"You know nothing about me, Princess." his voice was a low and deadly rasp that sent coils of dread right down to the tips of your toes, but you couldn't deny the blatent arousal that was beginning to fester. "You know nothing, yet you're still willing to be in a room with me. Willing to let me do things to you that your friends would abhor you for. Willing to keep secrets from the very people you should trust with your life."

You cursed the flush in your cheeks, and the lust in your eyes.

"You've been dancing with the devil for months, sweetheart." his voice was a nocuous whisper as his lips grazed your's with controlled precision. The sharp feeling of his teeth piercing your bottom lip invaded all your senses along with the metallic taste of blood. "You should've expected that I'd behave as such."

He kissed you then, an art of carefully thought out distraction as he sucked on the wound he created. But he underestimated you as you raked your fingers through his unruly, dark curls. Wandlessly, wordlessly, you willed the Legillimens spell to take hold and you were thrust into his mind, barraging through his fortified shields as if they were mere shadows ready to be swept away.

You were thrown into a seat at an overly large dinner table, that could seat at least thirty people, Bellatrix Lestrange seated adjacent to the seat opposite you, causing you to flinch at the phantom feeling of her cruciatus curse from the Department of Mysteries. The room was vast, with a towering ceiling filled with delicate Jacobean decor, it was dark and foreboding; you didn't want to be here.

You were sat to the right of Death himself.

Voldemort didn't acknowledge you and the words he spoke were a garbled blur of nothing as your attention was brought to the back of the room, by the double doors to the Entrance Hall. Draco Malfoy walked in, followed by Lorenzo and....and Theodore.

The next moment made you want to scream and cry as Mattheo was forced to stand before his friends, before Voldemort's loyal followers who were a mere spillage of darkness to your vision, and tortured by his own father. Somehow this was more painful than the memories you'd seen of his in those first few lessons; knowing it had been as recent as the week before. You gaped as Voldemort merely turned to Enzo and Theo; you fought tooth and nail to stop the inevitable as you watched them writhe and scream as the Dark Mark appeared on their left forearms.

You were shoved so violently from his mind that your head collided painfully with the wall behind you. You were staring at him, wide eyed and wincing as he glared down at you, murderously.

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't- I'm sorry." you tried to catch your breath, only now realising that the hold he had on your throat had tightened upon reflex. Your hands flew to the singular wrist that helf your life in his hands, clawing as it flexed. "Mattheo-"

You watched in understandable horror as a smirk painted his beautiful face. Your wrists continued their assault with renewed vigour.

"I'm very impressed." he mumbled, his face drawing closer to your's, his voice a sensual whisper in your ear. "No one has ever been able to do what you just did."

He pressed a kiss to the shell of your ear and you trembled as the hold he had on your throat did not let up.

"What are you going to do to me?" you whispered hoarsely, fear painting your tone. He snickered at your predicament and the tightness surrounding your throat lessened considerably, but he maintained a loose grip, a warning.

"I want to do unspeakable things to you, sweetheart." he said, his voice a reflection of the arousal that was pressing heavily against your abdomen. His smirk widened as you shuddered at the way he said your name. "I'd like to think that I'm an honourable man. And I want to do the honourable thing, but I've resisted you for far too long."

Weeks worth of avoidance came to head in that moment as he surged forward, finally pressing his lips to your's. You could taste cigarettes on his tongue and his cologne filled your lungs with every breathe you managed to gasp between heated kisses. The wound on your lip pulsed from the attention, the pain causing a whine to crawl up the back of your throat. The kiss deepened.

His hands roamed over your entire body; hips, waist, thighs. Like he didn't know where to settle them, while his body pressed you further into the wall with pure male strength – you wanted to climb him like a tree. Somehow you managed to pull away from his ministrations, heavy breath mingling with his.

"You're not angry that I just broke through your shields?" you ask with a furrowed brow. He only lets out a quiet laugh as he shakes his head, leaning down to suck on the sensitive skin of your neck, then soothing the marred skin with presses of his lips and swipes of his tongue. You breathed out an airy moan at the sensation, tilting your head back to grant him more access.

"A little miffed." he mumbled agaist your skin. "But not angry. No one has ever been able to do that, except you apparently. Smart girl."

He didn't speak for another minute or so, content with marking your smooth skin instead.

"I'm proud. These lessons are paying off, it seems." and you hear it in the tone of his voice, the pride. You respond with a stifled laugh as he bites into the sensitive flesh of your collarbone and you swat at his shoulders.

"You're always content in making my life difficult." you tut, but make no move to stop him as he begins to unravel the knot in your tie. "Do you know how long it takes to cover these up? With and without magic!"

"Don't want you to cover them up." he mumbles, so quietly that you almost miss it. But you don't miss the possessive gleam that ignited in his onyx eyes. "You're mine."

You're mine. The words echoed through every corner of your mind.

"Am I?" you challenge and you pull him closer to you as you weave the fabric of his tie through your fingers. He growls as he rips your school shirt in two, ignoring your admonishing protests as he pulls it from your body. This continues until your stood in nothing but your under garments.

"Beautiful." he mumbles as he traces featherlight touches down your body with his calloused hands. "Absolutely breathtaking."

"Well I don't think it's very fair that I'm the only one whose indecent." you snark, though your attempts at hiding your anticipation were rubbish at best.

"So undress me, darling." he says after a split second of reluctance, his voice low and demanding, it makes your thighs clench. Looking at him through dark lashes, you begin to unknot his tie, slow and teasing. The buttons of his shirt are next, popped one by one by your nimble fingers; when you raise to your tiptoes to smoothly remove his shirt from his shoulders he tenses as you come face to face with his lean, quidditch built torso.

That's when you see it. Ink black and imposing against his tanned, muscular forearm. Covered in thick scars, old and new, was the Dark Mark. Your breath hitched in your throat as you trailed your fingers lightly across it. Mattheo shivered at the feeling.

"Scared?" he asks, voice low, you almost detect a hint of shame...or something else.

"Of you?" you ask, taking his left hand in both of your's, fingers running soft circles across his palm. "No."

"You should be." he says it like he believes it to be true. His fingers flex in your hold and then tighten, squeezing your's in earnest.

"I'm scared for you, Mattheo. For all of you. This," your pointer finger trails against the Mark, "isn't fair."

He smiles at you then, all soft and sad and heartbreaking. "This is the life I've been dealt, love. No use in trying to stop it."

You brought his forearm level with your face and begin to press gentle kisses to his marred skin. His breath hitches and you can't place the look he gives you.

"You're not a monster." you mumble between soft caresses. "You're kind and intelligent, and compassionate and honourable. You've been dealt an awful card, yet you haven't let it ruin you. Not entirely. That says everything and more, Matty."

"Say that again." he says, onyx eyes staring resolutely into your's.

"Say what?" you ask, brows furrowed as he practically rips his arm from your hold, only to pull you closer to him by your waist. You both seem to realise that you're both near naked – only your underwear and his trousers separating the two of you. Your cheeks heat.

"My name. Say it."

"Make me." you say with a barely contained smirk. He lets out a near growl as he cups the back of your neck in his giant palms and presses a demanding kiss to your kiss-swollen lips.

It's not pretty. It's all teeth-gnashing and lip biting and purely animalistic.

You'd both been resisting eachother past blind fumbles in the dark and post-session make outs but you'd never been this exposed to each other before. It was exhilarating.

"Fuck!" he gritted against you. "You're so fucking pretty."

You whimpered against him as he sucked at your tongue, and that seemed to push him past his controlled limit. One of his hands guides your thigh to rest against his hip and he battles with his trousers to get them low enough to release his painfully hard cock.

You're not one to beg often, but your desire for the boy in front of you was too great to ignore. With a mewl and a whisper of pleas he pushed the fabric of your panties aside and pushed into you. The tightness and the pain of the action made you both groan in unison.

"Gods, sweetheart. You feel so much better than I imagined." he says against your lips as he pushes in to the hilt. He presses away the tears that fall from your eyes.

"Please move." you say as you attach your lips to his neck in an effort to stifle your moans as he begins at a slow pace, graciously letting you adjust to his size. He's bigger than anyone you'd had before him, the tip of him grazing places you didn't think was possible to reach. You were a mess of whines and moans as he adjusted you in his hold; letting out a shriek when he begins to repeatedly ram against a spot inside you that brought you immediate pleasure.

"Gods! Right there Matty, fuck....please!"

He smiles a wicked, sinister smile at you as he drags one moan after another from your lips. He takes both your hands into one of his and pins them above your head, restricting you to the wall.

"That's it, sweetheart." Mattheo rasps, revelling in the way you clench around him. "Moan my name."

His movements are precise and controlled. His pleasure deriving from the way he was making you come undone at the seams. He brings his free hand to the apex of your thighs, brushing them against your throbbing clit, smirking as his motion draws you closer to your orgasm.

You're not certain how long has passed since he entered you, but you feel like you're having an out of body experience as he rips an orgasm from you so suddenly that you don't know where the pleasure starts and ends.

You're a whimpering, moaning mess as he uses the extra slick to speed up his movements, which become erratic and lose their rhythm as he gets closer to his own release. The only sound to be heard are your soft whines, his grunts and the sound of skin slapping against skin as he finally reaches his own climax.

His forehead rests against your's, both gleaming with a light layer of sweat as you bask in the feeling of him. His dark brows furrow as you let out a soft laugh.

"What's so funny?" he asks, a light smile gracing his face as he memorises every inch of your skin.

"I think you just ruined me for anyone else." you say, breathless.

"Good." he growls, that possessive gleam in his eyes again as you feel him harden inside you. "As far as I'm concerned no one else can have you."

He's rolling his hips against your's before you can utter a snarky response.

~∞~

The next time you see Mattheo is in the Potions classroom the following day.

"How are you so good at everything you do, Meadow?" Ron grumbled as he read through the instructions of the healing potion Slughorn was making you all brew.

You had just finished an apparition lesson; by the end of the two hours, only you, Hermione, Mattheo's group of friends and a handful of others had managed to apparate from one side of the room to the hoop at the other. Harry and Ron were not part of that group.

"Well unlike you, Won-Won," Hermione sneered from across the table, "she takes pride in her academic accomplishments."

The redhead scoffed. "Mione come on-"

"Don't call me that." she snapped, going on a rant about Ron's incompetence. He only spluttered in response. You and Harry only exchanged uneasy looks as they continued arguing.

"I thought this would've ended by now." you say under your breathe as you drop in your next ingredient, huffing when it does the opposite of what it should. Harry mumbled his agreement as he completed his own potion. You looked between his and your's incredulously. "Why does your's look different to mine? Is it that book?"

You glared at him with pleading eyes and Harry huffed as he slid the Halfblood Prince's book so you could see. Your body ached as you read through the annotations. You winced as you rolled your neck to get rid of the tightness and Harry noticed your discomfort straight away.

"You okay, Meadow?" he asks, his hand gracing your shoulder blade. You both looked up at the sound of a knife clattering against a table top. Mattheo was glaring at the hand that Harry still kept on your shoulder, you huffed as you turned to your friend.

"Fine. Just sore from apparition lessons is all." you smiled reassuringly which seems to convince him as Harry removes his hand from you.

Faintly you hear Pansy question why Mattheo was acting so strangely and you try your hardest to ignore it. Until you couldn't any longer, because he was in your head.

Why the fuck was he touching you like that? His voice was a dark growl in your mind.

Wow possessive much? You reply with a mental scoff. He was asking if I was okay.

The agression in his tone softened and he sent a wave of concern your way. Are you? Okay, I mean? What's wrong?

You can't help the smile that paints your face, and you have to duck your head to hide it from your oblivious friends. I'm fine.

You can practically see as well as feel the look he gives you all the way across the room. You clearly aren't. Tell me what's wrong.

You look like you're about to incinerate the tabletop. I'm okay, Matty, really. Just sore. You curse him internally as he smirks wickedly, onyx eyes dancing with pride and hunger.

I'd gladly satisfy you again, darling. Just say the word.

You kick him from your mind, ignoring the flush that overtakes your heated face. Then you send flares of annoyance to him as you hear his snickering laughter that he barely conceals.

~∞~

when i was researching siphoner lore literally the only thing that came up was vampire diaries theories 😭😭😭

the smut took a different direction to what i intended tbh but i wanted to include some soft Matty 😅

taglist:

@camille-1019 @lovelyygirl8 @xluansstuff @babeylover @thejadeazalea @undercover-smutlover @adhxmoony @dreamingofonceuponatime @thepassionatereader @urmomsgayforme5 @aphroditeisamilf @devotedlycrookeddonut @purplegirls-posts @nofacenonamelikekira @foxboyapologist @lafrone @lovely-maryj @nromanovaswife @leeknows-wife @dracygf @wildlyobserving @ravenclawprincess33 @melllinaa @vellicora @lantsovheiress @emiliahoward @stunkbiggu @vcosette @prongsprincessworld @mattiesgirl @rachmmb @x-kermit-x @sun-fiower-seed @cas-planet @certaindreampost @weirdowithnobeardo @mikalovesicecream @sunasbbie @rainy-darling @faeriepigeons @lovely-blackinnon @topguncultleader @gimalo135 @elsafromcabinsix @moonlightreader649 @blueshome @nopedefe @spencerreidsthings @navs-bhat @agent-tempest @magimtz23

#mattheo x you #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo x y/n #mattheo riddle #harry potter #serendipity series

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yazthebookish · 5 days

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Why an Elucien rejected bond storyline would be boring

Years ago Sarah briefly discussed Elain and Lucien's mating bond, she changed her plans from having Nesta as Lucien's mate to Elain since she saw there is a great deal of tension, growth and healing to be found for both of them (together).

In my opinion, we are currently seeing them go through the tension stage where there is this distance and strain on both of them due to recent events. Lucien was sexually assaulted by Ianthe and he is settled in the human lands to support Vassa and Jurian. While Elain has to mourn her human life and also the rejection of Graysen (who used the bond against her) + she also grieved her father. It's pretty reasonable for her to feel that resentment and hostility towards the existence of her mating bond with Lucien.

Part 1: As of ACOSF, does Lucien want Elain or did he move on to Vassa?

He and Lucien did not exchange gifts, though the male had brought a gift for Feyre and one for his mate, who barely thanked him after opening the pearl earrings. Cassian's heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien's face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing. Elain only shrank further into herself, no trace of that newfound boldness to be seen.

I won't make this part long because it's right there in the text. His longing. He still longs for Elain. He still tries. If he is so occupied and in love with Vassa, what is he doing spending Winter Solstice at Velaris to give his mate a gift instead of the woman he apparently "loves".

"But he lives with Vassa!"

The concept of friends sharing a house does not necessarily mean they're all hooking up, unless Lucien's comment on Vassa and Jurian liking to be at each other's throats is to be taken literal (and he's the third wheel in that scenario). I firmly believe Vassa and Jurian would end up together.

It's clear Lucien has eyes for one female only and that's his mate.

Part 2: Lucien doesn't want the bond and he can't stand it

And that's when arguments are formed based on out of context quotes, because context always matters to get the full picture.

But there she was. His mate. She was nothing like Jesminda. Jesminda had been all laughter and mischief, too wild and free to be contained by the country life that she’d been born into. She had teased him, taunted him—seduced him so thoroughly that he hadn’t wanted anything but her. She’d seen him not as a High Lord’s seventh son, but as a male. Had loved him without question, without hesitation. She had chosen him. Elain had been … thrown at him.

Is it not valid for him to feel conflicted about this entire situation because he is still processing the fact that the female who he fell in love with, who had chosen him, saw him, and accepted all of him, who was beheaded because she loved him, is not his mate? but this stranger is? He is trying to make sense of it. He doesn't know Elain yet.

Looking at her now … She was pale, yes. The vacancy still glazing her features. But he couldn’t breathe as she faced him fully. She was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen. Betrayal, queasy and oily, slid through his veins. He’d said the same to Jesminda once. But even as shame washed through him, the words, the sense chanted, Mine. You are mine, and I am yours. Mate.

His feelings and thoughts and instincts are all clashing at once. That is much evident in this entire scene.

"I can't stand to be in the same room as her for more than two minutes. I can't stand to be in this court and have your mate pay for the very clothes on my back."

This is often taken out of context to point out that Lucien doesn't want the mating bond or he can't stand to be around Elain. As a mated male, it's overwhelming for him to be around her because his instincts clash and he has to keep himself grounded around her. He doesn't know yet how to approach her or what she expects of him. It's extremely awkward and he can't stand it because he still didn't find a common ground with her.

Using this quote to imply he doesn't like her or stand her is absolutely false within the narrative.

I think so. It wasn't just about what he thought—it was the ... feeling. I sensed no ill will, no conniving. Only concern for her. And ... sorrow. Longing.

Part 3: Lucien is responsible for her trauma

Hard disagree on this one.

Even canon points out that the one who told the King of Hybern about Feyre's sisters was none other than Ianthe. This is not to defend Tamlin because he gave her an opening to do whatever she liked and did not hold her accountable in ACOWAR.

Now about Lucien, what power did he have over Tamlin's decisions when we have seen that despite being his friend, there is a power imbalance and Tamlin does lash out at Lucien. Lucien is not a character without flaws, but neither Feyre nor Nesta ever blamed Lucien. Even when Elain says to his face that he betrayed them, Lucien immediately says it was a mistake. He doesn't try to absolve his role in it or explain his actions to her, he calls it as it is.

I disagree with the statement that he is responsible for her trauma, Lucien was nothing but a spectator.

"But, but, he yelled at her and announced that they were mates!"

Cassian again stirred—trying to rise, to answer Nesta’s voice as she held my sister and cried her name again and again. But Elain was staring over Nesta’s shoulder. At Lucien—whose face she had finally taken in. Dark brown eyes met one eye of russet and one of metal. Nesta was still weeping, still raging, still inspecting Elain— Lucien’s hands slackened at his sides. His voice broke as he whispered to Elain, “You’re my mate.”

Right. He yelled at her.

Great reading comprehension.

And it's like we forgot when Rhys said the moment the bond snapped between him and Feyre, if he stayed a second longer he would've damned the consequences and took her with him. As soon as he winnowed back to Velaris the first word he said to Mor after 50 years was "she's my mate".

"Well he shouldn't have said it anyways"

Yeah because it's not like Lucien is a Fae male and the mating bond is something that alters the Fae on a biological level. It overrides their instincts.

Part 4: Elain choosing the mating bond + Lucien will be a disservice to her arc, it won't be a choice unless she chooses Azriel

“but it definitely offers a wealth of things to explore with this concept of freewill and what is true love. Is it something that’s destined? Or is it something that you make? Is it both?”

I like that Sarah briefly discussed the topic of a character's agency when it comes to mating bonds because it's something that has long been discussed in the fandom.

However, I disagree that if Elain chose Lucien it's not truly a "choice" because of the mating bond. We have seen with both Feyre and Nesta that they didn't choose to be with Rhys and Cassian simply because of the bond, the mating bond was just the cherry on top—they loved their mates for who they were.

"Elain's entire journey will be about choice"

Isn't she already making a choice? Isnt she choosing not to pursue the bond? Isnt she choosing to ignore the bond? Isn't she choosing to not reject it? Isn't she choosing how she is living her life in Velaris? Isn't she choosing how she spends her time? Isnt she choosing to garden and help other gardens in Velaris? And I can go on.

Neither Elain or Lucien had a choice in being mated to each other, but the notion that the mating bond left her with no agency over her life is partially incorrect because she is making choices. Yes, the mating does in a way take some of Elain's agency and Lucien's agency since it's something that alters them on a soul-level, but Lucien's agency is often removed from this conversation.

Currently, the ball is in Elain's court and not Lucien's. She currently has the choice of accepting or rejecting the bond.

And in my opinion, "choice" is a theme that is incorporated in the journeys of all the characters, it's not exclusive to Elain. I don't think "choice" is the core of her story because I think Elain's journey should focus on breaking out of the docile and gentle sister mold (not that she stops being gentle, but stopping others from infantilizing her), finding where she truly belongs, realizing who her true found family are, discovering the world (a trip to the continent let's go!).

Part 5: Azriel (warning: controversial)

This will be a bit of a hot topic but I'll do my best to keep it short (it really isn't).

This kind of follows Part 4, but I will tell you why Azriel isn't a "great" choice for Elain.

Yes, they had a sweet companionship and a friendship and that is usually a good foundation for a relationship, but to me there wasn't anything solid or deeper then that. We have to *assume* they had moments off-page, but we also know that they're not spending time together and Azriel confirmed this. So am I going to wait for chapters of flashbacks after flashbacks to see that build up from the past?

Before anyone jumps the gun, I am a hardcore Gwynriel and a hardcore Azriel fan and I fully understand and accept that Azriel is a flawed character who carries so much self-loath. I dont like him with Elain because I believe it's an unhealthy dynamic compared to how lighter and more open he is around Gwyn and this is not something against Elain, it's more tied to how Azriel perceives the logic of 3 sisters + 3 brothers. Dynamics matter and makes a difference between couples because e.g., Chaol and Yrene worked better than Chaol and Celaena. Mismatched pairings exist but it doesn't mean the characters involved wouldn't work out with others.

So how is the male that centered himself in his entire conversation with Rhys instead of prioritizing what Elain wants, is the ultimate choice?

He argued that the Cauldron was wrong because he didn't get the "third" sister while his brothers got her other sisters, and at this point we know Elain is not interested in a mating bond. If she is attracted to Azriel, it has nothing to do with wanting a bond with him because we know how she feels about it but it's Azriel who wants to center the mating bond in it.

So does that mean the relationship from Azriel's perspective wouldn't be complete without a mating bond? Then why is he arguing about this? Wouldn't it be more romantic for him to say I don't care if she is mated or not, I want her for her—but that's not the case here.

Notice that it's Azriel having these discussions about mating bonds and not Lucien who is her mate. and I promise you if it was Lucine having this exact discussion with Rhys, the entire fandom would drag him to no end.

Back to Azriel, so he also says that he hadn't gotten that far with his planning certainly not beyond the fantasies he pleasured himself to + and said Lucien is not good enough for her and she has not interest in him anyways. Again, he is speaking for Elain when we know one of the big problems surrounding Elain is how others speak for her and assume what she needs. If she doesn't want the mating bond, that's her speech and not Azriel's. I still don't get how people were fine with him speaking for her and I'm not even the biggest Elain fan.

Last but not least, he also was against her scrying despite publicly declaring that no one decides what she can or cannot do and wants to help. Is this truly the "ultimate choice" for Elain? But Lucien's only crime is being mated to her?

Part 6: finally, why Elain and Lucien rejecting the mating bond would be bad storytelling.

So we know that a bond can be rejected, only weakened but it will always exist.

"Elain would have our full protection if she rejects the bond. But it will still be a bond, however weakened, that will trail her for the rest of her existence."

"But he'd know if Nesta were dead. In his heart, his soul, he'd sense it. Would feel it. A mate always did. Even if she'd rejected that bond."

1. There isn't enough time to explore a rejection:

It seems there isn't a ritual or a tradition we are told of about a mating bond rejection, if the female doesn't want it then that's that but it does have a worse impact on males.

As of ACOSF, it's evident Lucien still longs for Elain even if they are distant or occasionally see each other. We know Elain resents the bond but we still don't have her POV to really know what she thinks of Lucien.

What do we get out of a rejected bond with Elain and Lucien? That she just doesn't want him and can say "no"? That she finally has a choice? Even though she is making choices as of the current canon to not explore the mating bond or do anything? I gave examples in Part 4.

And then what? Lucien moved on to Vassa or another female in the next book? That despite a rejection being devastating he's all cool and moved on within months.

No stakes. No challenges. No reprecussions. No consequences. Nothing interesting.

"But it's proof that not every mated pairing works" that would be interesting if we had enough time to discover that but not with two characters that barely spoke to each other and readers have no clue to what kind of dynamic they have.

A rejected mating bond would not be a good story to tell because there wasn't much there to begin with. It's underwhelming.

"I don't want it" "okay cool see you around" < and that's it? Groundbreaking.

"It's a big factor to play into a forbidden romance because Rhys is the obstacle here" easily resolved with one word from Elain and Rhys is removed.

I think Elain and Lucien's mating bond would still be interesting to read about because we never had a mated pairing that knew they were mates but weren't in love yet.

It's giving an arranged marriage trope and the best part about arranged marriage is when the spouses get to know to each other better, they fall harder—I think the tension between Eain and Lucien would be quite delicious and fun to read about as they tip toe around each other and the mating bond.

2. Parallel journeys:

I like what Mor said in ACOFAS and it makes complete sense since it reaffirms that both Elain and Lucien are going on parallel journeys:

Mor drank deeply from her glass. "Stay out of She's not ready, and neither is he, no matter how many presents he brings."

I lifted a brow. "Snoop."

Mor leaned back against the steps, utterly un-repentant. "Let him live with his Band of Exiles. Let him deal with Tamlin in his own way. Let him figure out where he wants to be. Who he wants to be. The same goes with her."

3. Promised HEAs:

SJM already stated that each book going forward will follow different pairings and by the end of their book they'll get their HEA. That's the standard traditional romance formula.

A mate rejection, especially in standalone books, are miserable. Not enough time is given to navigate through it or move on and it also sets an unrealistic and cheap outcome that the other mate could easily move on from the soul-level rejection. No, that doesn't entitle a mate to force their other mate to accept the bond because it would affect them personally, it's just something I think that needs more than a book to discover through the POVs of the characters involved.

This is why a mate rejection is a very rare and an unpopular trope in fiction. There was a temporary mate rejection in the Zodiac Academy series that scarred the ZA fandom because it's depressing.

You have Fated Mates authors like Kresley Cole who published around 21 books with each book including the Fate Mate trope. That's one of ACOTAR's trademark.

Till this day, every SJM character that found out about the mating bond ended up with their mate one way or another. It's an SJM trademark at this point.

4. Then which rejected bond would Sarah explore?

In my opinion, the true rejected bond story that would be extremely emotional, tragic and powerful is the story of Helion and Lady of Autumn.

What they had is the definition of a forbidden romance. Lady of Autumn was married to a High Lord from her Court and Helion wasn't even a High Lord of the Day Court then.

The stakes are extremely high they could've triggered a war between Day Court and Autumn Court. Even though a mating bond triumphs marriage, Lady of Autumn still has children with Beron. She chose her children over her mate in the end. She had to reject the bond because everything stood against them.

While this is currently theoretical but it's strongly pointed at in canon that they're mates.

This makes for a better story of a Rejected Mating Bond because enough time passed to see what were the repercussions, the consequences of their actions and how they both suffered. Do they find their way back to each other in the end or does one of them for whatever reason loses their life? Did Helion have to seek other people to distract him from not being with his mate and her not choosing him? Did their bond weaken?

Conclusion:

I didn't expect this to be long but I hope you enjoyed reading this "essay". The rejected mates storyline is controversial and so many readers feel strongly about it. Everything here reflects my own thoughts and why I think a Rejected Mating bond wouldn't be an interesting one to discover with Elain and Lucien.

I deserve another cup of coffee and on my way to get me one haha. I apologize for any typos in advance.

#elucien

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sattlersquarry · 9 months

Text

orange juice (steve harrington x fem!reader)

Summary: (Post Season 4 AU) Steve's world changes in the worst way when he loses you. He struggles to move on...but he learns he might not have to when he miraculously gets a second chance with you.

Word Count: ~8k

Warnings: 18+ PLEASE!!!! for language, death, grief, alcoholism, mentions of sex, mention of alcohol poisoning, and an allusion to a suicide attempt (in a miscommunication!!!! no one actually tried). the reader is presumed dead after the events of season 4. lots of angst and hurt/comfort with a happy ending bc if I ever wrote something without a happy ending my identity has been stolen. inspired by "orange juice" by noah kahan with some other references to his music sprinkled throughout.

a/n: i've been bouncing between this and bloom for the past few months and they are two very different fics tonally, but i hope you enjoy. please let me know if i missed any warnings because this one is kind of heavy.

🍊🍊🍊

ORANGE JUICE

MAY 1986

A ringing phone rouses Steve from a restless sleep.

A near-empty bottle of gin rests on the floor by his bed. He doesn’t remember drinking it, nor does he remember anything else from last night.

It’s been two months since you died. Steve’s not taking it well.

That horrible day, Steve, Nancy, and Robin ran from the Creel House and found Eddie and Dustin sobbing over you, your eyes lifeless and the wounds on your abdomen weeping.

I’m so s-sorry, Steve, Dustin had said through sobs. W-we tried to save her!

An aftershock of the initial gate-opening earthquake caused panic amongst their group. Steve wanted to carry your body back to the real world for a proper burial, but there was no time before the aftershock got much too intense. Dustin and Robin refused to leave the Upside Down without him. He wasn’t going to let them get hurt, so despite the fact it broke his soul in half to do so, he allowed his friends to drag him back to the gate in the Upside Down’s version of the Munson trailer, leaving you behind.

When the dust settled and reality set in that Steve was going to have to move on without you, grief overtook him. He turned to alcohol as a welcome distraction. He’s been consistently ignoring Robin’s desperate pleas for him to talk to a professional, to drink less, to try and really process his pain.

Steve should listen, but he won’t. Instead, he’ll grieve. He’ll wallow. He’d rather wither away into nothing than work on bettering himself, because you died and that’s not fair. To you, to him. To everyone who loves you.

Steve groans, a deep rumbling thing from deep in chest, as he stretches and rubs sleep out of his eyes. He blindly reaches for the phone on his nightstand.

“Hello?” he mumbles.

“Steve, hey.”

Steve sits up like a rocket at the tremble in Robin’s voice.

“Robin? Is everything okay?”

“Uh, kind of. I mean, yes! But no. Sorry, I just—can you come to Hopper’s?”

“What is it?” Steve asks. He staggers to his feet, getting tangled in the phone cord. “Is it Vecna? Shit, who did he take?”

“No one!” Robin says, voice way too high to be believable. “Please just come over when you can.”

Steve drives over to their basecamp at Hopper’s cabin, a million bad scenarios racing through his head. What if Vecna cursed Dustin? Or Nancy, or any of the others?

What if somehow he got El, and the Hawkins’ team was really doomed?

It takes Steve almost forty minutes to get to Hopper’s, due to earthquake damage and military roadblocks all over town. He raises his hand to knock on the door, but it swings open before he can.

Joyce smiles at him, but her eyes are mournful.

“Hi, Steve,” she says warmly. “Please, come inside.”

This isn’t what Steve expected. Hopper, El, Will, Jonathan, Nancy, and Robin are sitting on various chairs and couches in the cabin’s main room. Usually, it’s frantic around here: everyone running around with mixtapes, weapons, and crudely drawn maps of the town with markings where the most frequent monster attacks are. It’s never this still.

When Steve and Joyce walk in, everyone looks at him, sympathy in their eyes.

Steve’s first thought: Shit, is this an intervention?

Before he can ask, Hopper says: “The gates are closed, Steve.”

Steve’s mouth twists into a frown, heart pounding in his chest. That wasn’t the plan.

“Wait, what? How?”

“We’re not sure,” Joyce says. “But Will—”

“I can’t feel Vecna anymore,” Will explains. “And El checked this morning, and she found Vecna in the Void and…”

“He’s gone,” El says quietly. “Dead. Finally.”

Steve sinks onto a couch cushion. That should be good news. Steve should be celebrating, toasting to the death of the bastard that ruined his life and took you away by way of the demobats. But—

“We were supposed to go back,” Steve says. The back of his throat burns when he swallows hard, trying to choke down the sensation of nausea that’s either from his hangover or his panic. Or both. “We were going to go back and get Y/N’s body.”

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Jonathan says, looking down at his feet.

Steve whirls to Hopper, eyes blazing with a flash of anger that never seems to leave him these days.

“You promised!” he yells. “You promised that we’d go back for her!”

“I know,” Hopper says, keeping his voice even. “But something—or someone—killed Vecna in the Upside Down and the gates closed. The fight is done. It’s over.”

Steve’s lip wobbles. He won’t cry in front of them. He won’t. But his head spins.

“What am I going to tell her parents?” Steve says, voice cracking.

“You don’t have to do it alone, Steve,” Nancy says. She reaches a hand to touch his shoulder and Steve bats it away. “Steve—”

“This is such bullshit,” Steve snaps, turning to Hopper again. “If you had let me go back down there before, I could have brought her body back. We could’ve given her a proper funeral. Given her parents closure! But you made me wait!”

“It was the right choice,” Hopper says firmly. “I didn’t want to invoke another Vecna attack on Hawkins until we were ready to fight.”

“Maybe there’s a gate that we missed and—”

“We checked the gates this morning,” Robin says softly. “They’re all closed.”

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Joyce says. “But it’s over.”

Steve doesn’t say anything else. He storms out of the cabin, ignoring Robin’s pleas to come back, to not be alone right now. Steve drives back home, not without stopping at the liquor store first and loading up on various spirits to numb the pain.

Over the next week, you go from declared missing to officially declared dead. Steve can’t let on to your parents that he had known for months, and Hopper doesn’t want him to tell them the truth about Vecna, demobats, and the Upside Down. It kills Steve to lie to their faces, to attend the funeral where they bury an empty casket, knowing what he knows. Knowing that your body is trapped in another dimension. Dead and alone.

🍊🍊🍊

NOVEMBER 1986

“Y/N wouldn’t want this.”

Robin’s words echo in Steve’s mind hours after she’s fallen asleep in the uncomfortable armchair next to his hospital bed.

An overindulgence forced Steve to spend his Thanksgiving in a hospital—not that he had any plans with his family to get ruined anyway. Although he had been invited to Thanksgiving with the Buckleys, Wheelers, Hopper-Byerses, Sinclairs, Hendersons, Mayfields, and Munsons, Steve declined every invitation. He resigned himself to a holiday alone without you, got heavy handed with a bottle of whiskey, and passed out in the neighbor’s lawn.

When he awoke, he was in the hospital. Joyce and Robin were there, the former fretting over him and the latter chewing him out for being such a dingus and scaring her so badly on a holiday.

Like a broken record in his head of the worst song Steve’s ever heard: Y/N wouldn’t want this. Y/N wouldn’t want this. Y/N wouldn’t want this.

Robin didn’t say it to be mean. She said it to get him to wake up. To cool it with the drinking, because if he kept going at the rate he was going, he’d meet a worse fate than a pumped stomach.

Joyce quietly reenters the room and smiles.

“Oh, you’re still up!” she says. “I thought for sure you’d try to get some sleep.”

Steve shrugs.

“I can’t stop thinking about all the ways I’ve screwed up.”

Joyce settles on the chair next to Robin’s, ignoring the sleeping girl’s loud snores.

“When I can’t stop replaying the past in my mind,” Joyce says, “I try to think about my future instead. What are my aspirations and goals? What can I do differently to achieve them?”

Steve chews his bottom lip.

“Is it bad if I have no goals?” he says, feeling quite sorry for himself.

“Why do you think that is?” Joyce asks gently.

Steve shrugs again, before rubbing his eyes.

“Shit, I don’t know. Maybe because I’ve spent the past 3 years on edge thinking I’m going to get killed at any minute?”

Steve barks out a hollow laugh. “Or maybe it’s because 2 years ago I met someone who turned my life completely around, and she did get killed, and I wasn’t there to save her or be with her when she died. And I couldn’t give her or her parents a proper end and every time I close my eyes, I see her laying there. And I don’t know what my future looks like without her. I don’t even think I want one.”

Steve hates crying in front of other people. But when Joyce wraps an arm around his shoulders, he breaks down.

“It’s going to be all right, Steve,” she says. She squeezes him a little tighter. “I know it’s hard moving on from loss, but you do have a future. You have so many people that love you and are going to help you figure it out. And Y/N would want you to keep going. She’d want you to go off and do wonderful things.”

Joyce was right. If roles were reversed, Steve would want you to keep going without him. Not waste away and drink yourself into a coma.

Steve’s life is changing. And despite everything, things might be looking up.

🍊🍊🍊

FEBRUARY 1987

There is a beautiful girl in Steve’s bed and she’s touching him all the ways he likes to be touched—but he can’t even enjoy it because she’s not you.

He tries to clear his mind of all distraction. The girl with him—Molly—is very, very hot. And the feeling of her hands all over him should be sufficient to keep him focused on the moment. But his mind keeps wandering to you.

You were the last person he was truly intimate with. Sure, he’s kissed girls at parties. But that’s different than what’s happening now. Different than being in bed with Molly and her wandering hands, her gentle touches, her salacious whispers.

Steve thinks maybe he’s finally done it. Found a girl that can help him move on from you, the girl to help him feel whole again. To not feel so alone.

But then, overcome with sensation, Steve makes the worst possible faux pas in bed: he moans the wrong name.

Molly ceases kissing him.

“What did you just call me?” she asks, sitting up suddenly with narrowed eyes.

Steve sits up as well, resting against his headboard and floundering for a response that won’t make him sound like a douchebag.

“I just, uh, well—”

“Who is she?” Molly asks. She widens her eyes in horror. “Oh my god, are you seeing someone else? Am I ‘the other woman’?!”

“It’s nothing like that,” Steve rushes to assure her. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to. I just got caught up in the moment.”

“Caught up in the moment thinking of someone else when I was about to blow you!” Molly snaps. She stomps off the bed and grumbles as she pulls her jeans and sweatshirt back on.

“Wait, hold on!” Steve says. He struggles to put a pair of sweatpants on, hopping around frantically one-footed to pull them up as Molly grabs her purse and yanks open Steve’s bedroom door. “Please don’t leave, Y/N—ah, Molly!”

“Unbelievable!” Molly scoffs as she stomps down the staircase of the townhome Steve shares with three other students at the University of Indiana.

Molly gets to the front door but stops, whipping around to face Steve as he catches up to her.

“Who is she?” she demands. “An ex-girlfriend?”

“In a sense, yeah, but—”

“If you’re still so hung up on her, maybe you should ask her to blow you instead!”

Steve thinks about being an asshole. About letting the anger that simmers in his bloodstream 24/7 rear its ugly head. About snapping at Molly, telling her that yeah, totally, he’d love to get a blowjob from a corpse stuck in an alternate dimension.

But then Molly would feel bad and give him the pitying look Steve hates. So instead, he says, “Yeah, I’ll do that. See you in class.”

Molly huffs before giving Steve’s cheek a sharp smack! He doesn’t wince. Upset at his lack of reaction, Molly storms out.

Just as well. Remembering how the love of his life is dead is a real mood killer.

Steve rubs his forehead and heads to the kitchen. He eyes the six pack in the fridge. He hasn’t touched alcohol in three months. The temptation causes his hand to graze a beer can, but he quickly pivots to a cartoon of orange juice.

He chugs the drink before stalking up the steps to his room. Steve drops to his knees and blindly reaches in the dusty space under his bed. He grips the corner of a box and drags it to the middle of the floor.

Once opened, two black button eyes stare back up at Steve. It’s Lambchop, a stuffed animal lamb that your parents gave him. After your parents held a small funeral and buried that empty casket, they gave Steve this box of your things.

Lambchop here was her favorite toy, your mother had said at the time, eyes glistening with tears. She always hoped to pass it on to her own children one day. I think she’d want you to have it.

Steve thanked your mother and father, gave his condolences, went home, drank enough whiskey to fell a horse, and passed out.

Shaking himself out of the memory, Steve climbs onto the bed and places the lamb on the pillow next to him. It’s one of few connections to you that he has left, so he’ll cherish it, even if it’s a little silly.

What Steve doesn’t realize is that in another dimension, the very person he’s yearning for lays in the version of her bedroom created by the Upside Down, holds a dirty version of Lambchop, and yearns for Steve right back.

🍊🍊🍊

MAY 1987

You and Steve used to have your futures mapped out: start at U of I together in fall of ’86. Move in together after your freshman year of college. Get engaged by fall of ’89, married in fall of ’90, and have two kids by ’95. Spend the rest of your lives together, happy and healthy, with the horrors of Hawkins far behind you.

That was before Steve’s world changed in the worst way. Before you died in the Upside Down, when you drew the bats away from the gate. You were a hero, trying to keep them from flying into your version of Hawkins and destroying it.

Steve struggled for a long time. He’s still struggling, but in a slightly better place.

He’s sober six months now. He thinks of you often, but he tries to focus less on how he desperately misses you and more on how you wouldn’t want him to spend the rest of his life miserable and drunk.

But he does miss you so, so desperately. And he would give anything to have you back.

It hurts being reminded of you, so Steve stays away from Hawkins. But he can’t say no when Mrs. Henderson invites him to Dustin’s sweet sixteen birthday party, so he makes the trek back.

“Steve!” Mrs. Henderson coos, opening the front door with a beaming smile. “Welcome!”

“Hi, Mrs. Henderson,” Steve says. She pulls him into a hug and he adds, “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s so lovely to see you too!” Mrs. Henderson says. She leads Steve through the house. “Please, come in! You can put Dusty-Bun’s gift on the dining room table. I have strawberry wine in the kitchen—ah, and orange juice, or lemonade. It’s yours if you want it!”

Mrs. Henderson pivoted to juice awfully fast. She must have found out about Steve’s Thanksgiving Break bender. Steve tamps down the feeling of shame worming its way through his mind and body, instead offering her another small smile before turning to the dining room to drop off Dustin’s gift.

Dustin and the rest of the Hellfire Club are in the den, playing a one-shot campaign that Eddie planned. When Dustin sees Steve, his face lights up.

“Steve! You made it!” he says, rushing over and giving him a bear hug.

“Hey buddy,” Steve says, hugging him back. “Happy birthday, Henderson.”

Dustin grins, and it lifts Steve’s mood immensely.

Mike, Lucas, Will, El, Max, and Erica greet him next, along with Eddie and his Corroded Coffin buddies. Eddie can barely look Steve in the eye, guilt from not being able to save you eating away at him. Steve’s told him multiple times not to feel bad about it—he knows Eddie and Dustin tried their best.

“Want to join the campaign?” Dustin asks Steve.

“Oh, I don’t know how to play,” Steve says. “I’ll just watch, okay bud?”

A short while later, Robin arrives. Once the campaign ends, Mrs. Henderson brings out the cake, and then gifts are opened.

“He looks really happy, huh?” Robin whispers to Steve, nudging him gently with her elbow.

Steve nods with a smile. Dustin took your death really hard—the two of you had been close ever since you helped him, Steve, Lucas, and Max fight the demodogs in the junkyard. Seeing Dustin smiling and laughing with his closest friends on his birthday makes Steve really, really happy.

Still, Steve’s heart aches. You should be here. You should be smiling as Dustin opens his gifts. You should be getting cake frosting on your nose, playing along with the campaign although you have no clue what’s going on.

Ice grips Steve’s chest. He gets a flashback of you lying on the cold ground, unmoving, and—

“You okay?” Robin whispers, brow furrowed. How the hell can she tell that he’s upset? It’s frightening how observant she is.

“Fine,” Steve says, throat tightening. He’s not. But he isn’t going to let his grief ruin Dustin’s big day.

At the end of the night, Dustin asks Steve when he’ll be back to visit again.

“My summer classes end in August,” Steve says. “I’ll come by then. Maybe we can hit the pool?”

Dustin seems disappointed that it’ll be a while before he sees Steve again, but he doesn’t push.

However, Steve ends up coming back to Hawkins much sooner. Three weeks after Dustin’s birthday party, Eleven calls Steve and tells him something that makes his heart stop:

“Steve, it’s about Y/N.”

🍊🍊🍊

Steve is a frantic mess.

He sits in the Byers-Hopper basement, knee bouncing as he intently watches El try to find you in the Void again.

El had told him that she’d sometimes look for you in the Void, hoping to give him some semblance of closure. However, she claims that a few hours ago, she finally found you for the first time and saw you not as a corpse, but fully alive. It’s a hope that Steve didn’t dare hold onto before, not until now.

As soon as she called, Steve got in his car and drove to Hawkins, going ten over the speed limit the whole time. He picked up Robin and Nancy along the way to El, Will, and Jonathan’s, and (unfortunately) Mike tagged along.

“Do you see her?” Steve asks, voice cracking.

“No talking, please,” El says, tightening her blindfold.

Steve purses his lips. Will gives him an apologetic smile and Robin squeezes his arm to offer a semblance of comfort. Jonathan looks between Steve and El, an uneasy expression on his face.

“I see her,” El whispers after a few minutes.

Nancy gasps. Mike’s eyes widen. Steve staggers to his feet.

“She’s okay?” Steve asks. “Where is she?!”

“I can’t tell,” El says. “But she’s holding a small, white fuzzy animal. Wait, is it dead?”

“Lambchop,” Steve says.

“Come again?” Nancy asks.

“Lambchop is her favorite stuffed animal,” Steve explains. His heart pounds in his chest at the realization that holy shit, you really are alive. “She must be in the Upside Down version of her house.”

“Y/N!” El calls. “Y/N!”

After a few more minutes of calling to you, El pulls off the blindfold and wipes her nosebleed away.

“She can’t hear me,” El says with a sigh.

“Maybe because the gates are closed,” Nancy offers.

“But if you open another gate,” Steve says, “we can get back through and find her. Right?”

“Hold on a minute,” Jonathan says, holding a hand up like a traffic cop. “Is that such a good idea?”

Steve narrows his eyes.

“Is it such a good idea to save my girlfriend’s life? Yeah, I think so, Byers.”

“Steve,” Robin whispers. “It’s okay. Just relax.”

“Relax?” Steve says, voice rising in volume with every word. “Relax?! You want me to relax? What about this fucked-up situation is relaxing! My girlfriend has been stuck in literal hell for over a fucking year! We’re going to rescue her, no matter what!”

“But opening a new gate could have major repercussions!” Mike protests.

“Screw the repercussions,” Steve snaps, glowering. “We can’t just leave Y/N down there to rot!”

“None of us want to do that, Steve,” Nancy says, keeping her voice level and calm. “But what if this is a trick from Vecna?”

“It’s not,” Will says. “If it was, I would feel his presence. I don’t anymore.”

“Boom!” Robin says, snapping her fingers. “If our human monster detector doesn’t sense any bad vibes, then we should be good to proceed.”

“Maybe we should ask El what she wants to do before we make any plans to open new gates,” Jonathan points out.

“Exactly,” Mike says. “El, what do you want to do?”

El looks down at her lap, before looking up. She locks eyes with Steve.

“I’ll do it. I’ll open the gate.”

Relief floods Steve’s whole being. He feels lighter. More hopeful than he has in a long time. But it all comes crashing down when—

“That’s not happening.”

The group turns to see Hopper and Joyce on the basement steps. Joyce looks worried, face twisted into a frown. Hopper looks angry, with his brow furrowed.

“But Dad—” El says.

“No buts,” Hopper says. “You are forbidden to open a new gate. You hear me?”

Joyce places a hand on her husband’s shoulder and says, “Now, Hop…”

Steve interrupts, walking over to the older man with a wild, panicked look in his eyes. “Hopper, please. Y/N is still alive in the Upside Down. We just need one gate so I can go through and bring her back. Please.” Hopper fixes Steve with a sorrowful stare, the smallest bit of guilt etched on his features. Still, he remains steadfast.

“I’m sorry, kid,” Hopper says. “I’m not putting my daughter at risk. She won’t do it.”

El, Robin, and Will all try to convince Hopper otherwise, their arguments overlapping into a cacophony. Nancy, Mike, and Jonathan share uneasy looks.

Steve can’t listen to this anymore. He quietly excuses himself, darting past Hopper up the steps and stepping into the backyard.

He sinks on the porch stoop and stares off into the quiet, cool night. He understands Hopper’s reasoning, but he doesn’t have to like it. He’s spent over a year mourning you, only to discover he might be able to get you back—for that hope to be dashed as quickly as it blossomed.

Steve picks a point in the tree line and focuses on it, putting all his energy into watching it so he doesn’t break down or cause any more of a scene than he already has.

He hears the squeak of the back door and Robin’s tentative, “Hey, how you doing?”

Steve shrugs absentmindedly, continuing to stare. Robin lowers herself onto the stoop next to him.

For a few blissful minutes, she doesn’t speak. She just rests her head on his shoulder and lets him stew in silence.

The spell is broken when she blurts out, “You’re not going to break your sobriety, are you?”

“Jesus Christ, Robin,” Steve grumbles, nudging her slightly so she’ll sit up. “You don’t have to ask that every time I’m in a bad mood.”

“Sorry,” she says. She picks at her fingernails. “Sorry. I just worry about you, you know?”

“I know,” Steve says softly. “I worry about you too.”

“Me?” Robin says. “No, no. I’m fine.”

Steve eyes the way her hands fidget. Before he can say anything, she blurts out, “I just don’t want a repeat of Thanksgiving. I mean, you almost died of alcohol poisoning. They pumped your stomach!”

“I know. I was there.”

“No!” Robin snaps, sounding awfully harsh despite the tears welling in her eyes. It breaks Steve’s heart to see. “You were unconscious! And it was the scariest thing that’s ever happened to me, including all the torture and monsters, because I thought I was going to lose another best friend. I already lost Y/N. I can’t lose you too.”

She sniffles and Steve pulls her in for a hug. He can’t stop a few stray tears from falling down his own face as well.

“You won’t lose me,” Steve says, voice thick. “I promise, Robin. I’m not going to do that again. Okay?”

“Okay,” she mumbles, hugging him tighter. “I love you, dingus.”

“I love you, Rob.”

“That’s not fair,” Robin says, pulling away and wiping her tears on her sleeve. “You have to call me a mean nickname back or I just look like an asshole.”

Steve barks out a laugh and shakes his head.

“You are an asshole.”

“Perfect,” Robin says with a small smile. “Now we’re equally jerks. Just the way I like it.”

The back door opens and Will steps out.

“Hopper changed his mind!” he says with a grin.

Hope pumps like blood through Steve’s cold, shrunken heart. He’s going to see you again. Fuck, he’s going to see you again.

🍊🍊🍊

The next day, the group stands in the basement once more, this time making their plan for a rescue mission. Mike squealed to Eddie, Dustin, Lucas, and Max about what’s going on, and they all showed up wanting to help too.

“Not happening!” Hopper barks, a fierce look on his face. “New rule: you have to be 18 to come along.”

Eddie pumps his fist in victory, thrilled that he gets to come and try to make things right after losing you the first time. The younger teens grumble.

“But El is going!” Dustin complains.

“El is going to stay in the Lab with Joyce,” Hopper says. “She’ll open the gate for us and wait.”

“I can keep the gate open for one hour,” El says.

“That’s plenty of time to find Y/N!” Robin says brightly. “We already know she’s probably at her house.”

“And she lives close to Hawkins Lab,” Jonathan says, pointing to a map of Hawkins. “So we’ll be in and out.”

“It’ll be easy!” Eddie says.

“Don’t jinx it,” Hopper warns.

Nancy turns to Steve and pats his shoulder.

“You feeling good about this?” she asks quietly.

He nods. Although, truthfully, he’s terrified. If they come all this way, only for him to lose you again…he’s not sure he’d be able to handle that.

🍊🍊🍊

The Upside Down is not what Steve remembers.

The alternate dimension used to be dank and cold, like an endless winter’s night. Now with Vecna gone, it’s brighter, with a yellow sky and actual green foliage, not the moldy, dry shit from before. It seems less dangerous than last time.

No matter how much it’s changed, the thought that you’ve been here alone for over a year makes Steve’s blood run ice cold.

“This way!” Hopper barks, tracing his finger on his map of Hawkins and leading the group toward your house.

Jonathan and Nancy walk side-by-side with Hopper, glancing around at the tree lines constantly for any sign of danger. Eddie and Robin hang back, Steve walking slightly in front of them. He hears them whispering about something, but when he turns his head to try and listen, they quiet down.

He’s not an idiot. He knows what they’re worrying about: if they can’t find you, will Steve have another breakdown? Go on another bender? Would Steve even survive it?

Steve’s been wondering the same things himself. But for now, he stays positive, his optimism increasing tenfold when the six of them turn onto your street.

He can’t help but pick up speed, jogging past Hopper and causing the older man to snap, “Hey, stay behind me!”

Steve ignores his protests, shouting your name and pushing through the front door of your house.

He’s been here many, many times. He’s walked the pathway from your front door to your bedroom over and over again. Steve walks that path for the first time in over a year, charging up the steps and tuning out the concerned warnings from his friends.

He bursts into your bedroom, calling your name. He doesn’t see you, but maybe you hid when you heard the front door open. So he checks the closet, the ensuite bathroom, under the bed, to no avail.

Steve’s eyes sweep the space for any clues of your whereabouts. Most of the room seems untouched, except for your bed, where the sheets are rumpled and a grimy Lambchop the Stuffed Lamb sits primly on your pillow with her soft hooves crossed over her lap.

Steve picks up the toy, heart stuttering at the sight. You were sleeping here last night. You must have been. But where are you now?

“Steve!” Robin calls from down the hall, bringing him back to the present. “We found something!”

Steve gently places Lambchop back on the pillow—arranging her the way you always do, because anything else seems disrespectful—and heads back downstairs.

Hopper, Jonathan, Nancy, Eddie, and Robin are crowded around the kitchen table. On it is a sheet of paper with a rudimentary sketch of the town.

“Check it out,” Jonathan says. He traces his finger across the drawn lines. “It’s a record of where the gates originally opened.”

Sure enough, there are big stars drawn over Hawkins Lab, Eddie’s trailer, the road by the trailer park, Lover’s Lake, and the Creel House.

“That’s why she’s not here,” Nancy says. “She’s out searching for an opening.”

“We don’t have long,” Hopper barks, glancing at his watch with a grimace. “El can only keep the gate open for an hour. We have forty-one minutes to get back to the Lab.”

“We could split off into teams,” Nancy says. “Jonathan and I can go to Lover’s Lake.”

“Steve and I will hit the trailer park and the highway,” Robin adds. “Eddie and Hop, you can go to the Creel House.”

“We find Y/N,” Hopper says, “and we head back to the Lab. No wasting time. We move fast, we stay vigilant. Got it?”

The younger adults all nod and agree to stay on their walkies in case anyone needs to get in touch. Then, they split off to their destinations.

As Steve and Robin sprint toward the trailer park, Steve can’t stop panic from enveloping him head to toe. What if they’re too late? What if you’re dead—again? What if you don’t remember him somehow. What if—

“Look!” Robin says, throwing out an arm to stop Steve in his tracks. He skids to a stop and sees where she’s pointing.

Behind the closed curtains of the Munson trailer is the beam of a flashlight moving around. Steve’s heartbeat quickens.

“Okay,” she whispers as the duo slinks toward the trailer. “We need to think about this carefully, and make a plan to—wait, Steve!”

He charges into the trailer.

A figure flinches and whips around, hunting knife raised. Steve almost falls to his knees in shock at the sight. It’s really happening.

“Steve?” you whisper, voice cracking. He stands in front of you, hands raised and eyes flicking between your face and your knife. The corners of his eyes burn, tears starting to form.

He says your name, and the look on your face cracks his heart into seventeen pieces. He starts to step toward you, but—

“You’re not real,” you say quietly. “You can’t be.”

“No, I’m real!” Steve says. “It’s me, Y/N. It’s Steve. We’re here to take you home.”

You step back, still pointing your weapon at him.

“Don’t come any closer!” you shout.

“Okay, okay!” Steve says. He steps back, slowly.

“Steve!” Robin shouts from outside. “What’s going on in—”

“Stay outside, Robin!” Steve yells, voice wavering as he eyes your knife.

“But—”

Steve swiftly locks the trailer door without turning away from you.

The two of you ignore Robin’s knocks and protests. Eventually, she gives up, and Steve hears the crackle of her walkie-talkie.

“You can’t be Steve,” you say, shaking your head frantically.

“I am,” Steve begs. “And I’ve missed you so much—”

“You can’t be Steve because there’s no way into the Upside Down!” you say. He notices your arm start to shake. “Trust me, I’ve checked and checked and checked and there’s no gates anymore. And since my Steve isn’t a corpse at the Creel House, I know Vecna didn’t kill him and he’s back in the real world. If you’re not Steve, who the hell are you?”

Steve swallows hard. The back of his throat tastes acidic and he feels desperation wrench its way through every cell in his body. When he imagined his reunion with you, he didn’t anticipate this conversation.

“El reopened a gate for us,” Steve explains patiently. “We thought you were dead. But El looked for you and saw you were still alive, so we came to rescue you.” He glances at his watch and his brows furrow. “But we don’t have a lot of time. We need to head back to the Lab because she can’t keep it open forever.”

“How can I trust you?” you say. “How do I know you aren’t a trick?!”

“I’m really me, I promise,” Steve says. He hesitates before stepping closer to you once more. This time, you don’t move away. “We’re safe now, because Vecna’s dead.”

“I know. I killed him.”

Steve’s eyes widen a fraction.

“You what?”

“I had to,” you say. You shrug and look a little delirious. How much sleep have you gotten in the last year, Steve wonders. “Vecna brought me back. He would've flayed me and sent me to spy on and kill all of you if I didn’t kill him first.”

Steve almost falls over. The haunting fact that you had to fight Vecna alone makes his stomach turn.

The pained look on Steve’s face seems to shake something deep down in you. Any resolve you had crumbles. You heave out a sob, dropping the knife to the ground. Your knees buckle.

In seconds, Steve wraps you in his arms as you sink to the ground.

You cry, limp in his hold. Steve cries too, choking on encouraging words and apologies and everything he’s wanted to say to you since March 1986, when he thought he’d never speak to you again.

The door rattles. You startle and Steve holds you a little tighter.

“HARRINGTON!” Hopper barks. “Get a move on!”

“We have to go,” Steve says, urgent yet gentle. “We can talk more when we’re home. Okay?”

You nod, standing on unsteady legs.

Steve squeezes your hand before leading you out the door.

The whole rescue squad is out there, and you look wholly overwhelmed at seeing everyone after so long alone.

“No time for pleasantries,” Hopper says. “We’ve got less than twenty minutes to get through that gate.”

“Or it’s a slumber party at Y/N’s,” Eddie jokes. He playfully knocks his shoulder against yours and you gasp at the sudden contact. “Oh, sorry—”

“RUN!” Hopper yells, clapping his hands.

Everyone bolts toward the Lab. Steve and you run side-by-side, hands intertwined.

Shock envelops Steve’s senses, but he keeps running. The one thing racing through his mind is to get you back to safety.

The Lab’s gate is not the gaping maw it once was. It’s about the height of a minivan door, but its width is quite smaller—and slowly but surely shrinking.

El and Joyce stand on the gate’s other side, looking relieved to see everyone.

“Hurry!” Joyce says, waving you forward first. You hesitate, but Steve says, “We’re right behind you. Go on.”

You crawl through the gate and stumble to your feet on the right side of the universe. Steve would normally let everyone else go in front of him, but he wastes no time following behind you. Next comes Robin, then Jonathan and Nancy. Eddie and Hopper bring up the rear.

As soon as Hopper’s crawled through the gate, El drops her hand and it sews itself up—for the final time.

Steve and the others swarm you, all speaking too fast and asking a million questions. Joyce opens a first-aid kid and tries to sit you down and asses your various cuts and bruises. They hurt Steve to see.

“Look at her! She needs more than bandaids and alcohol wipes,” Eddie says, nodding in your direction.

“He’s right,” Jonathan says. “Mom, we need to take her to the hospital—”

“No!” you say. You stumble toward the staircase. “I need to go home. I need to see my parents, let them know I’m alive. How long have I been down there? I’ve been keeping track, and it has to be at least ten weeks, right?”

Steve places a hand on your shoulder. You look at him, eyes wild. “Y/N,” he says softly, “it’s been 15 months.”

That seems to be your final straw. Steve catches you as you pass out.

🍊🍊🍊

SIX HOURS LATER

While you get checked over by Dr. Owens and his people, Steve paces the hospital waiting room. Robin chews her thumbnail and watches the doors to the ER. Nancy and Jonathan bend their heads together and whisper, and Eddie attempts to distract Dustin and the other teenagers by juggling snacks from the vending machine.

After you fainted, Steve didn’t want to leave your side, but Hopper said everyone except himself and Joyce had to go home.

If our entire merry band shows up at Hawkins Mercy Hospital with a presumed-dead girl, it’ll look too damn suspicious, Hopper had said. Go home. Clean up. Wait three hours, and then you can come check on her. We’ll keep you updated.

In exactly 180 minutes, Steve and the others charge into the ER asking the nurse on duty about you.

“She’s still being looked over,” the nurse tells them. “Her parents and the Chief are with her now. You can wait over there and we’ll call you when she’s able to have visitors.”

Another 180 minutes go by. Now, everyone’s getting antsy. Steve has half a mind to charge into the ER and find you himself.

“Simmer down, Steve,” Robin says, noticing the way he’s squeezing the lilac teddy bear he bought you at the gift shop. “You’re choking the life out of that thing.”

“Why haven’t we heard anything from Hopper?” Steve asks. He checks his pager for the fiftieth time. “He said he’d keep us updated.”

“She’s probably going through a psych eval or something,” Max says.

“Or an interrogation,” Mike says darkly. “Maybe they think she had something to do with the murders last year.”

“Shut up, Mike!” Nancy hisses.

Steve curses and pinches his nose. Last year, a cruel man named Colonel Sullivan swept into Hawkins, searching for the real culprit behind Vecna’s kills after Eddie was proven innocent (thanks to a bogus alibi cooked up by Owens’ team). Steve was one of the unlucky few questioned, due to his connection as Jason’s former basketball captain. The thought of you, disoriented from so long in that shithole, handcuffed to a hospital bed while Sullivan grills you makes him see red.

Another sinking realization hits Steve: he’s changed since last year. What if you don’t like him anymore, once you realize how much of a mess he became when he lost you?

Hopper emerges through a set of double doors. Steve’s charging over to him in seconds, the rest of his friends piling behind and all talking at once.

Hopper holds up his hands to silence the group.

“Owens wants to run some more tests,” Hopper says. “They’re checking for contaminants in her bloodstream. You all can see her soon.”

He points at Steve. “Except she’s asking for you right now. You ready?”

Steve nods and squeezes your new teddy bear again. He gives Robin a panicked look, and she gives him a quick hug.

“Go get her,” Robin says with an encouraging smile.

Steve smiles back before following Hopper down the hall. Joyce stands outside your hospital room and smiles when she sees Hopper and Steve approach. Steve freezes.

Through the plane of glass in the door, he sees you with your parents. All three of you are crying.

“I don’t want to interrupt,” Steve says, backing away from the door. Before he can fully chicken out, Hopper bursts in and says, “Hey, look who came by.”

You and your parents look up. At the sight of him, your mother and father beam.

“Hello, Steve!” your mother says, sweeping him into a hug. “Can you believe she’s back?!”

“It’s a goddamn miracle,” your dad says, wiping tears on his sleeve. “We’ve been praying for this for so long.”

“Let’s leave these two alone to catch up,” Joyce says. “Grace, Roger, why don’t we pick up some food for Y/N?”

Your parents agree and step out with Joyce and Hopper. When it’s just you and Steve, all either of you can do is stare at each other with awkward smiles.

You clear your throat and point to the teddy bear.

“Is that little guy for me?”

“Yes!” Steve says. “Uh, sorry.”

He hands it to you. When your fingers brush, it feels electric. Still, after so long apart—no matter how much he’s dreamed of what it would be like if he somehow saw you again—everything feels stiff. You’re the love of his life and he can’t think of one thing to say.

“How have you been?” you ask quietly, seemingly just as uncomfortable as Steve.

Steve can’t help but laugh and says, “Terrible. I mean, shit. I know what you went through is way worse—”

“I don’t want to talk about what I went through,” you say sharply. Steve recoils and you wince. “I’m sorry, Steve. I just—I’ve been through this like five times with Owens’ guys, and over a cover story two more times with the cops. I don’t want to talk about me. I want to hear about you. What’s been going on?”

Steve wants to know more about what happened. About how you killed Vecna. About how you survived. But he doesn’t. He would never push you to discuss anything you didn’t want to, but he hopes that one day you’ll feel ready to open up to him.

Right now, you want to hear about his life. Where to begin. Steve thinks of sugar-coating the truth but doesn’t when he admits: “For starters, I almost died last year.”

You gasp and sit up a little straighter.

“What? Oh my god, what happened?”

“I’m fine now,” Steve says, waving away your concerns.

“Was it Vecna?”

“No, nothing like that. I really missed you, and I was in a bad place.”

You swallow hard, eyes turning glassy.

“Oh, Steve. Please don’t tell me you tried to—”

“No!” he says quickly. “It was alcohol poisoning. I drank too much being too lonely on Thanksgiving. Had to get my stomach pumped. It wasn’t all bad, though. Robin and I watched ‘A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving’ on the hospital room TV and Joyce snuck in some pie for me.”

You ignore his attempts and lightening the mood and wave him even closer to you. He cautiously approaches and intertwines your fingers when you reach for his hand.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. “I feel like it’s my fault—”

“Stop it.”

“Steve…”

“No!” Steve says. He shakes his head vehemently. “Don’t think like that. I just…struggled without you. But it’s not your fault that I’m a basket case.”

“You’re not a basket case,” you say. You squeeze his hand. “You’re the hero that crossed dimensions to come rescue me.”

You kiss his palm before scooching over on the hospital bed. You pat the spot next to you.

“What if your parents come back?” Steve asks.

“I’m not trying to hook up right now,” you say with an eye roll. “I just want you to lay with me.”

Steve is happy to oblige. He settles next to you. You rest your head on his shoulder and hug the teddy bear he brought you.

“So, you didn’t move on?” you ask quietly after a few minutes of peaceful silence. “Find a new girlfriend?”

“What?!” Steve asks, looking down at you, jaw dropped. “You really think I found someone else?”

You nod, fidgeting with the bow around your bear’s neck.

“15 months is a long time,” you whisper. “I don’t want to stand in the way if you're with someone else.”

“I couldn’t,” Steve says. He rests a hand on your knee cautiously. When you don’t flinch or move away, he keeps it there. “Y/N, I don’t want anyone else. I only want you, if you’ll still have me.”

You look up at him, noses practically brushing. The close proximity makes Steve’s cheeks flush rosy pink.

“You mean that?” you ask.

Steve nods. It seems to placate you, because in seconds, you’re lifting your chin to kiss him.

It’s a soft, gentle thing. An innocent brush of lips, like the kisses you shared very early in your relationship. Not the passionate “welcome home” kiss that Steve wants to give you, but he understands if you need to take things slow. He’ll move as slow as you need.

For the first time in months, Steve feels hopeful about his future again. Steve’s world is changing once more, in all the right ways.

🍊🍊🍊

EPILOGUE

You and Steve have your futures mapped out: after six months of physical and emotional healing, move in with Steve and join him at U of I in spring of ’88. Get engaged and subsequently married sometime within five years. No kids—at least, not biological ones, because your time in the Upside Down has caused lasting physiological effects that you don’t want to pass on to children. Maybe you’ll adopt a kid, or some dogs.

It's less of a map and more of an amorphous outline of what you two want to happen. All you two know for sure is that you never want to be apart that long ever again.

Steve’s heart and soul have changed, but they belong to you, and yours to him. Always.

🍊🍊🍊

a/n please lmk what you thought 🧡

tag list; @hollandweather @starry-eyed-steve @aloneinthehellfire @tvandfanfic @a-dealwith-god @stevebabey @keerysquinn @spoookysix @inkluvs

#st fic: oj #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic

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heizenka · 3 months

Text

𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲

♆ Luke Castellan x f!reader

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

— content warnings: mentions of blood, semi-gore, use of y/n, angst, ooc luke, death

— word count: 1.0k

Luke stood in front of her with shaky hands. His sword began to feel like it weighed more than the world, of course that was impossible, as his world was falling apart right in front of him. His world was dying at his own hand and all he could do was stand and watch as the pool of blood surrounding her spread, creating a red abyss around her body, an abyss that he couldn’t get past just so he could hold her for what he thought would be the last time.

Her eyes searched the surrounding forest around them wondering if there was anyone close by that would find her body and give her a proper send off, because surely Luke wouldn’t . Finally her eyes locked on Luke’s, his flooded with anguish and guilt, her’s with anger and gratitude.

Luke dropped his sword, and took three small steps towards her, not looking at the massive gash he’d created in her upper abdomen. Y/N showed no sign of fear or sadness, and that scared him more than anything for some odd reason. The girl he’d known was never one to never show her emotions or speak her mind, that was something he’d adored about her.

“This wasn’t the plan Y/N..” The tears that were building in Luke's eyes suddenly became too heavy and fell, leaving trails of regret down his face.

Luke reached to hold Y/N’s hand, hoping to comfort her in what were going to inevitably be her final moments. He had nothing on hand to help her, and he knew he couldn’t afford the risk of ruining his entire life plan just for her. Her being the girl he’d known for years, the girl who was going to forever hold a piece of his heart, the girl that was going to be the last one to ever see this side of him.

His fingertips grazed her hand and for a moment he felt every ounce of pain ten times more than before. Y/N could see it in his eyes, everything he’d done was finally hitting him, the entire situation was becoming too real for the boy who had taken on so much, but in the end knew nothing.

Y/N pulled her hand away from him, not in sadness or grief, but rather in frustration. Luke lifted his eyes up from her hand to her eyes. His brow furrowed, she looked fine. There was no expression on her face, no tears, nothing. He was falling apart in front the girl he’d loved for years and she looked like she couldn’t care any less about the fact that she was leaving him behind and going somewhere he could no longer follow

“What’s wrong with you..” His brows furrowed in pained frustration, “Why don’t you care about what is happening right now! I’m a traitor, and because of me you’re dying, but you don’t even care!” Luke’s voice raised an octave, desperate for her to have some kind of reaction.

“Luke, there’s nothing wrong with me, in fact I feel more free than I have in years.” There remained no expression on her face as she spoke, “there’s nothing left for me to do here, I’ve already done everything I needed to do in this lifetime.”

Luke's expression went from one of anger into one of sadness, “What do you mean you have nothing left to do..? You have me, us.”

“No Luke, there is no us anymore. Look at me. I’m bleeding to death because of you. You don’t get to tell me that I should grieve the life I could have had with you when I don’t even get to finish this one.” Y/N’s face remained expressionless.

Luke swore he’d never felt pain like the kind he was feeling now. He’d practically killed the girl he claimed to love, and now he has to face the consequences of losing her.

“The funny thing is I would have married you if you’d never done this. We were so happy, and like everything you touch, you destroyed me, Luke.” Her eyes began to feel heavier with every word she spoke.

Luke noticed this, but all he could do was sit next to her frozen in fear. His lower lip began to quiver. ‘I would have married you’ it felt like he’d taken an arrow directly to the heart from Y/N herself. As he looked at her slowly drifting in and out of consciousness, his mind began to drive to what would have been if he wasn’t so fucked in the head.

It would have been them for the rest of their lives. Maybe they would have had a kid, and he would have had the chance to do what his father never did. Instead he did the same thing, he destroyed the person who he was supposed to love most in this world, and he wasn’t doing anything about it.

“I’m sorry..” His voice was raspy with the tears he was attempting to golf back so he could have one semblance of control at the moment.

His eyes lifted to Y/N’s face, and his world shattered. Her eyes were closed, and her chest no longer held the steady beat that used to calm him down whenever they were together. The tears he was holding back fell, and he couldn;t find it in himself to care about anything other than the body that was sitting lifeless in front of him.

For the first time in his life Luke Castellan felt everything and nothing at the same time, and he had no one to turn to.

#angst #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader angst #percy jackson x reader angst #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #y/n #luke castellan imagine #pjo series #luke castellan x reader #the lightning thief #heroes of olympus #percy and luke #percy jackson show #pjo x reader angst

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strawbeerossi · 11 months

Text

Chasing Rainbows

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Description: Whenever Spencer and his wife face the unimaginable, they grow apart and their marriage takes a nosedive. It isn’t until a few weeks go by that something remarkable brings them together again.

Content Warning: Infant death due to SIDS, different grieving processes, Spencer works like 24/7 and does everything to avoid his wife, reader can’t bare to look at Spencer, there are talks of faith, reader believes in signs from the universe, Spencer and reader do their best to come together again and mend what was broken.

Word Count: 1.8K

Part two

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A beautiful friend @lucreziaq2001 requested this via DMs and I had to write it for them. Please pay attention to the warnings because this will be very heavy on angst with fluff towards the end. 🫶🏻

Three weeks, two days, seven hours, eleven minutes and forty-five seconds.

That was how long it had been since Noah died. A once happy and smiley nine month old little boy taken from his parents from Sudden Infant Death Syndrome.

It was nothing new that the word was unfair and unforgiving, taking away innocent children from the arms of their parents in a number of different ways. Spencer had seen it before given his line of work.

Whether it be a person who kidnaps children to do unspeakable things, parents or siblings who snap at the people who couldn’t fight back, or the cruelest thing of all; nature.

There wasn’t a day in his life where he thought that he would be in the position of so many parents that he had to comfort before. He couldn’t seek closure, instead having to bear with the weight of the world weighing heavy on his chest.

It didn’t help that his wife, Y/N, was nothing but a hollow husk of who she used to be. There was no smile on her face anymore, she didn’t sleep in their shared bed, she couldn’t eat or much less face Spencer. She was quiet, voice barely above a whisper when she did speak, that was rare.

Grief was different for every party involved. While she was quiet and resorted to shutting down, Spencer was pouring himself into his job. He stayed as late as he possibly could at the office, sometimes just needing to pour himself into an old case that he’d work on in his own time. Emily tried her best to send him home, telling him that he needed his wife, that they needed to comfort one another.

His argument was always the same, that he would deal with his grief on his own time, truly tired of being told that he needed to be there for Y/N when she wasn’t even there for him. She barely spoke to him, didn’t look at him, she was never present in conversations.

She shut down on him and he was shutting her out.

Today was no different than all the others, they woke up and exited their now separate bedrooms. They shared a silent breakfast, Y/N offering a hushed ‘goodbye’ as her now estranged husband was leaving their once warm, comfortable home.

When he left for the day, that was when she was escaping the home that was filled with too many painful memories, nor could she stomach the fact that she wasn’t supposed to be there by herself.

Noah should’ve been there, making a mess with his breakfast all while being the smiley and baby he was.

There was silence while she was getting dressed for the day, grabbing her keys and purse before exiting the home. She made sure to lock up, taking in a soft breath. It rained the night before, so the smell of the damp soil filled her nose. Her husband told her years ago that it was called Petrichor, when she told him that the smell comforted her..

“Petrichor is the more earthy smell after rain. Did you know that a main component of it is an organic compound called geosmin, which lingers around moist soil. Geosmin comes from the ancient Greek “geo”, meaning earth, and “osme”, meaning smell.”

It rained the day that Noah died, she could vividly remember hearing the thunder boom outside as she was sitting and talking to the doctor as she described why their little boy wasn’t breathing.

Rain wasn’t comforting anymore, instead a dark reminder of the worst night of her life.

With her sneakers making splashes out of puddles as she was walking out of her home and up the sidewalk, her eyes were glancing up at the sky.

It was gloomy, clouds hovering over their town which meant more rain was in store at some point. It was fitting, the bleakness that clouded her life was being transported to the weather.

As she began her walk around the neighborhood, she was keeping her gaze down. Their neighbors looked at Spencer and Y/N with pity, making sure to stop them and express their condolences or that they were praying for their broken family.

The thoughts of prayer healing her was insulting. She’d begun to think that if there was a greater deity or higher power out there, she wouldn’t be feeling this pain in the first place.

They say things happen for a reason and that they make people stronger, however this situation had no positive ending. Instead of being happy with a perfect family, they were all torn apart from one event that ruined both parents forever.

However, she tried to maintain some form of faith.

“If things are going to be okay, please just.. Send me a sign.” Y/N had to choke the words out through tears that were already filling her eyes. “Show me that he’s at least.. Okay up there. Is that too much to ask?”

She knew there was a strong chance that she was speaking to nothing, the words getting lost in the autumn air. Spencer would probably tell her that nobody could hear her, that signs like that just weren’t physically possible.

At one point, she would’ve told him that he was wrong, that the universe spoke to them in more ways than he realized. Now though, she had half a mind to believe it.

“This is stupid.” She spoke softly to herself, using the back of her hand to swipe away her tears before lifting her head. However she could feel her heart twist at the sight she hadn’t been paying attention to.

There was a beautiful rainbow, settled over the houses that weren’t too far ahead. That made a small smile appear on her face, the tears flooding more.

This was a sign, she was sure of it. This was her comfort, the thing that would keep her belief in a world beyond theirs, one where they’d be reunited at some point. There was going to be a day where she did see her little rainbow again.

The rest of the walk down the sidewalk was filled with silent thoughts of what was going on around her. Noah was okay. Y/N and Spencer, however, were far from it. They’d been neglecting one another in every way possible.

Spencer was having his own thoughts of their current life together, currently doing a case in Arlington, Virginia. It was a case that hit close to home, a mother and a father losing their only child. They were under very different circumstances but they felt the same heartbreak, the same pain. The difference was, they were by each other's sides.

There was no pain from behind the father’s eyes because he refused to discuss what was happening to them, the mother wasn’t broken to the point where she couldn’t speak. They held each other, grounded one another.

That was the importance of talking these things out. They were bonded together, both able to keep their heads up because they were connected.

That case opened up his mind to what they were doing. Him and Y/N lost one another when they should’ve been connected from the beginning. They didn’t grieve together, instead separately. They didn’t feel grounded, instead like they drifted away in a storm.

Spencer knew what they needed to do and he was going to do what he could to bring them back to one another. Even if it took days, weeks, months, even years.

They weren’t alone.

Six weeks, five days, two hours and ten seconds.

That was how long it had been with Spencer doing everything he possibly could. He didn’t stay at the office late anymore, instead bringing home Y/N’s favorite flowers to surprise her, getting her small gifts from when he had to leave the state, even buying them dinner on Fridays from their favorite Chinese takeout place.

The smile on Y/N’s face was slowly coming back, she could look Spencer in the eye now and hold a conversation. They were moving slowly, adjusting to this new life they were navigating together.

They were currently sitting at the dining room table, the two eating dinner in a more content silence rather than the tense one they faced before. “I saw another rainbow today.” The soft tone of Spencer’s voice had Y/N slowly peeking up from the noodles in her takeout box.

“Really?” She asked, sitting up a little straighter. “The card you got me with my roses had a rainbow on it too.” She spoke softly, offering a smile. Spencer let his eyebrows raise. “Did it? I didn’t see that when I picked it out. Maybe it’s a sign.”

Of course Spencer realized it, however, the idea of rainbows being a sign from Noah was slowly growing on him, even if the more logical side of him knew that it wasn’t possible.

“Yeah.” Y/N’s words were a little louder than the barely audible version that her husband was faced with for weeks.

“I think he’s proud of us, you know. We’ve been doing really good. I walked further down the street today and I passed by his favorite spot, the one with all the flowers. It felt like he was there, Spencer.”

There was a smile on the man’s face. Even if his brain was trying to argue the scientific reasoning that it was just her brain trying to comfort her, he was fighting those thoughts. It was an inner conflict, his logic and his emotions having a full on war.

“Because he was there.” The words were genuine, there was no sarcasm or any added thoughts of the theories that it could’ve been.

Dinner had been finished and cleaned up not too long after, the parents standing side by side in the kitchen while they were either wiping down the counter or putting their leftovers in the fridge.

“I’ve missed this.” Spencer said, his gaze falling on his wife as she turned around. “Me too. I’ve missed us.” She admitted, only walking into the open arms of her husband, her forehead against his shoulder. That was when the tears were falling from her eyes, leaving her to a sobbing mess.

That hug was what she needed, Spencer was what she needed.

Spencer was relishing in the embrace, choked sobs leaving his lips as he felt the relief of the world wash over him.

Tragedy had the power to ruin lives if someone let it and neither one of them could believe that they almost let it ruin them too.

“I love you.” The two spoke in sync, tears washing over the significant others as if it was a cleansing rain.

“And when it rains on your parade, look up rather than look down. Without the rain, there would be no rainbow.” – G. K. Chesterton

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introspectivememories · 1 month

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tim and bernard who break up and it's nothing big, no one cheated or anything. it's just their lifestyles didn't work out well together. tim cannot give up vigilantism currently and bear cannot handle the level of danger tim puts himself in. and on the other hand, tim cannot handle the fact that bear chooses to run into danger as an emt bc he already worries about everything but now he has to worry if he'll find his boyfriend convulsing from fear gas in a random alley but also bear who felt the life drain out of darla cannot stand the thought of not helping people and runs headfirst into dangerous situation after dangerous situation hoping that every person he saves can somehow make up for the fact that he could not save darla.

(he very pointedly does not think about the fact that there was nothing he could do because if he thinks about that, he'll spiral until they have to lock him in arkham too)

and so they break up but they were tim & bernard in high school and when they started dating they balanced out the worst of each other and they became tim&bernard. and everyone who knows them, knows that they're better together but they cant be together, they refuse actually because they cannot lose another person to the violence of gotham and by the time they figure out that they cant work together as long as the other is an emt or vigilante, it's too late for both them. they've already left too many pieces of themselves in each other.

tim still knows what bear means when he says "tim" in that exasperated voice. tim still goes boneless when he hears bear say "baby" in that firm tone. bear can still read tim like a book. he still knows the right way to massage tim's neck so that tim can go to sleep. everyone at the first responders gala knows not to bother ceo drake-wayne and senior emt dowd when they're talking.

(and if they're standing a little too close to each other than what is normal, who are they to judge? everyone knows that dowd and drake-wayne have history)

and if everyone on the night shift has caught red robin with his head tucked into the crook of emt dowd's neck as emt dowd runs a soothing hand up and down the vigilante's back, well then, they just quietly back away.

(after all, dowd's one of like, five, emts that can get the bats to receive medical treatment so if turning a blind eye to whatever the fuck they have going on is what allows them to give back to their heroes, then the night shift will do it every time)

and of course, tim and bear are practical people. they loved (love) each other sure, but when your lives are fundamentally incompatible, well, you cant get too stuck on the what-ifs, that's for sure. and so they do find love with other people and yeah, maybe it's not what they expected love to be when they first fell in love with each other. it's not the bubbly, stomach-swoopy, cant stop grinning, feeling that permeated tim&bernard's early days or the i Know you/you Know me that was their middle or the quiet despair that was their end but it is contentment. and in a life with as many losses as theirs, contentment is something they hold dearly

and they're happy! truly! but sometimes, at galas when they're making each other snort champagne out their noses or in darkened alleyways when their clothes are both stained with blood or at rallies for stricter gun regulations in gotham where they both sit too close to each other, fingers enclosed around each other in a death grip, when the presenters inevitably bring up grieves

(worst school shooting in gotham in decades, there's blood on their hands and blood in their mouths and darla is dead in between both of them and there is a chasm so wide that they are screaming to get their voices across and she will always be dead and maybe this had always been the problem that she is dead and there is no coming back from that and that there is blood on their hands and blood in their mouth and blood on their han-)

but sometimes, most especially on opposite sides of the street, as life pulls them in different directions, just sometimes, they see each other and just for a second, nothing too long, the flap of a hummingbird's wings, the time it takes to blink, an electron's orbital, they look at each other and for the briefest moment, blue on brown, a barely noticeable stutter in their steps, the space between heartbeats, because this is all they will give themselves because they do not dwell on what-ifs or what-could-have-beens, or what-should-have-beens, or delusions of a softer world, their eyes meet and they think to themselves, god, in another life, i would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with him.

#what the fuck is this #the theme was wistfulness. hopefully that came across right. and like i wanted this to be all 1 text block so you feel how it all collapses #into that 1 thought they have at they end but fuckass tumblr has a 4096??? text limit for a single paragraph???? so here's multiple paragra #anyway here is my middle of the road sad timbern hc. do i think this will happen? no? is this still a fun world to play in? yeah absolutely #also super huge fan of darla haunting the narrative. darla as this chasm they cannot cross. darla as smth they shelter each other from #but also smth like a 2 way blade. it cuts them both. it will never stop cutting them. smth smth the wound will always bleed #also i cannot stress how important it is that they are happy with other people!!! they are both satisfied with other people. it's just that #they have a very specific history and they are the only two people who really know and understand that history #and also it's not that theyre unhappy with their partners but just that smtimes they look at each other and... wonder. in a softer world #maybe i could've been a chef and you could've still been a superhero and we could've still worked out. maybe we would've gotten a boat #together and maybe we could've come home to each other. maybe i could've trusted you to come home to me. maybe you could've #understood my need to help people. maybe we could've held our love as something precious.#maybe in a softer world our love wasn't something that hurt us both.#i need to lay down. im going crazy #as always i do love reading yalls thoughts in the reblogs and replies!!!#bernard dowd #dc #tim drake #timbern #timber

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old-school-butch · 1 month

Note

Hello again <3

I sent you an anon that you replied to on April 1st, which was me asking how ex-TIFs are received back into womanhood. Your reply gave me a little foothold which ended up very comforting as I started coming out rapid-fire to all my friends as detrans. this is primarily a message for other people in my situation, who are afraid and might want a template of what you might expect will happen once you do come out with it.

Predictably, most of my friends dropped me; I've 3 friends left. Two of which continue to support trans people but can accept that i have different opinions (as long as i'm "not mean") and one of which has seen the gender critical arguments, accepted them, and agrees. So, heavy losses, but not total losses. My two siblings seemed to sigh in relief and reveal that they never believed in genderism at all, which is odd, because in my 10 years of being trans not one of them challenged me on it. my mom fell into heavy guilt over "letting me" do all this, although i was 18 when i took testo and 19 when i got surgery, so she really could not have stopped me, legally. i suppose she mainly grieves knowing that had she had the right arguments she could have saved her kid this, but i've told her she is not to blame and i hope she recognizes that.

i haven't received any real harassment, not from anyone that i PERSONALLY know, though my family has received... harassment targeted at me? my sister had a classmate begin sending her copious pro-trans propaganda (contrapoints videos) which she instructed should be sent onward to me (sis did not comply). hilarious how my 10 years of direct experience is suddenly null and void and i'm assumed to know nothing about transness.... 6 months ago i was helping people sensitivity-write trans characters. now, i'm told i can't speak for the trans experience at all, and that i do not know what it's like to be a transmasc person. told that i need to listen to the arguments more carefully, that i don't LISTEN, when i literally lived this for 10 whole years. girl, on god? they tell me i don't get it and need to educate myself. and have empathy of course.

but in general, detransing, i've discovered that there are PLENTY of people who do not actually believe in genderism but who will play along simply out of fear or social pressure. my friends aside, who i knew through "queer" circles, everyone in my family (expect my mom) has revealed they never actually believed in it. i think this might contribute to why trans people bully dissenters so badly. they know this is the truth, that no one really buys it. i think, subconsciously, i have known that too. i never downloaded grindr, i never went into the men's bathrooms. i knew that despite testo and surgery and pronouns i could never challenge men as an equal in their eyes.

interestingly, making new friends is not that hard. I lead with the fact i'm detrans and "don't believe in all that shit" and people are VERY eager to be able to, suddenly, voice their real opinions without being called transphobic. they begin with probing questions, uncontroversial statements like "i agree they shouldn't put males in women's sports..." but if you continue to agree and not punish this daring on their part, they will reveal, with much relief and enthusiasm, what they really think. most people, normal people, really do not believe it all? i'm a brash person and can take irl confrontations quite well, hence i feel safe putting myself up as a transphobe off the bat. and people are very into this. so. the old ass saying, just be yourself.... normal people will not volunteer anti-genderist opinions on their own but when i continue to state thing after thing they open up and agree and eventually feel safe enough to admit their own thoughts. making friends, especially with non-gendie women, hasn't been that hard.

i'm going to write another message about same-sex attraction in the genderverse, but it's also a can of worms so i will make it separate from this one. again, thank you so much, for having anon on and listening, and letting us listen to each other without fear. i would hug you. to be continued

Thanks for the follow up!

My only comment is that I think most people play along out of kindness, it's not all bullying and fear, but that does impose a silence on everyone so everyone feels quite alone with their doubts.

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anyarose011 · 25 days

Text

Too Late To Turn Back Now {Angus Tully x Reader}

Summary: A dislocated shoulder, an insult to end all men, a few lies, going out to eat, and an unwanted revelation about Angus Tully. What a perfect way to celebrate Christmas Eve-Eve.

Part 4 of ?? (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3)

Warnings: Swearing, descriptions of arm injury, mentions of underage drinking, minor harassment, and discussion of cancer.

This was one of the more lighthearted and fun as hell chapters to write, so I hope you all enjoy it!

Word Count: 5.0k

youtube

Apparently, Angus Tully had gone on another adventure without you. One probably shouldn’t call it an adventure if he went to the chapel, and merely stared at the photo of your dead friend for hours on end.

“Do you think he was praying?” You asked Mary after she told you that while you were helping her make lunch.

“I think he’s just as religious as you.”

You scoffed. “He’d never become a priest.”

“You’d make a lousy nun.”

“I’d be a fun one.”

Once the four of you sat down to eat, your father tried to give you cookies you knew for a fact were given to you by Miss Crane. You also knew they were a week old at this point. Still, to spare your father’s feelings, you broke off a piece. You then put it in your mouth, nodding with a smile before bringing your napkin to your lips as if to clean them, when really you just spat the cookie into it.

Immediately, Angus asked to go to the bathroom, and you knew he wasn’t doing that, but you couldn’t blame him.

“I’m trying.” Your father shrugged, and all you and Mary could do was laugh.

You helped her was the dishes after that, and went back out to the dining hall, still seeing your dad sitting at the same table, alone.

“Everything alright?” You asked.

“Yes, just waiting on Mr. Tully.”

“You honestly can’t force him to learn today.” You scoffed, leaning against one of the chairs. “It’s Christmas Eve-Eve.”

“You always had lessons on Christmas Eve-Eve, and you didn’t complain.”

“I did.” You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Several times.”

He sighed. “I’ll let him out early by an hour; if you attend as well.”

“Never mind, let him rot.”

“I thought so.” He got up from his chair. “Where on God’s green earth is that boy?”

You watched him leave through the doors Angus took ten minutes ago, and as you were about to go into the kitchen to (lovingly) bother Mary some more, you heard shouting. Now of course, you were (and still are) a nosey bitch, so you had no choice but to also go through the doors leading out into the hallway. You heard Angus first.

“There’s nobody here, okay? Just us two losers, a grieving mom, and your-.”

His face and words fell once he saw you enter, and your father turned to see you standing in the doorframe, looking as if you wandered into something you shouldn’t have. Then, you threw on the attitude.

“What am I now?”

He looked away. “Nothing.”

“Oh, wow!” You began with fake enthusiasm.

“I didn’t mean-.”

“-No, no of course you didn’t.”

Your father stepped in. “That’s enough from the both of you. Mr. Tully, I can forgive you for using the phone without permission if-.”

“-If what?” He interrupted. “No, let’s cut the shit: You stay out of my way, and I stay out of yours.”

Of course, your father had detention slips in his back pocket, and of course he threw one up. “That’s a detention.”

Angus pushed past him, groaning and walking fast down the hall. You pursed your lips. “You really showed him.”

“Stuff it, Lady Macbeth.” He scolded, then called Angus. “You just earned yourself a detention, sir. Now, get back here!”

Angus looked back. “Being here with you is already one big fucking detention!”

“Son of a bitch, that’s another detention!”

In response, Angus knocked over a trash can, which caused your father to run like you’d never seen him run before. You should be ashamed that your first instinct was to laugh, but you weren’t and you still aren’t.

You should also have felt like a fool for deciding to run after them as if it were a game. Again, you didn’t feel like one then, and if you were to do it again as an old woman, you would in a heartbeat.

You saw as Angus tore off posters from the wall and would stop at corners just to taunt your father. Then, after running around more than half the school (you had no idea how much honestly, but it was enough for you), you stopped outside of the gym with the both of them. Even with Angus’s back turned, you knew he was contemplating the unthinkable.

“Don’t you even think about it, Mr. Tully.” Your father warned, panting from running. “You are a hair’s breadth from suspension. I’ll wash my hands of you, you hear me? Wash my hands.” Angus ignored him, stepping into the gym.

You followed your father as he kept going. “Stop right there, you know the gym is strictly off limits. This is your Rubicon. Do not cross the Rubicon.”

Angus took one look at the gym equipment, then back to the two of you. “Alea jacta est.”

He winked at you before springing towards the trampoline, bouncing off of it and over the balance beam. When his body landed with a hard ‘thud!’, you and your father were stricken with tense silence.

Which was then broken when an inhuman scream ripped from Angus’ throat.

Still, as your father looked on in horror, you said (being completely unbothered). “He’s faking it.”

When his screams didn’t subside, and you only heard them grow louder and he threw in more explicate language, your smile fell. It was when he got to his knees did you see how mangled his left arm looked, and you felt like you were going to throw up.

Angus Tully was one step ahead of you in that department, and that’s all we should say about that (not that he nearly puked on you; if anyone ever says that, they’re lying and should be shot on sight).

So, that was how, on the afternoon of Christmas Eve-Eve, you came to be standing outside of your father’s shitty 1964 Nova. You and Angus, who was crying while wearing half of his jacket, were shivering violently, waiting for your father to scrape off the car.

“Hurry up!” Both you and him would beg.

“I am hurrying!” Would be your father’s only response, and you saw his face grow redder every time either of you would yell.

Luckily, he managed to (somehow) scrape it all off and you three piled into the car. Even though you were going to anyway, you father insisted you sit in the front (more than likely because he knew you and Angus would probably try to kill each other in a high tense situation, and who would’ve figured he was right).

“I was on thin ice already.” Your father panicked at you as he stepped on the gas to the hospital. “If Woodrup finds out, the facts won’t matter, he’ll make it my fault.”

“It is your fault!” Angus cried from the back of the car, trying to hold his mangled arm up. “You were supposed to be looking after me!”

“I told you to stop!”

“You said you washed your hands of me!”

“No, I meant it metaphorically!”

“Of course you meant it metaphorically. What were you gonna do, actually go and wash your hands?!”

Your father turned back to the road. “Unbelievable. Unbelievable, I said I will wash my hands, never once did I say it in the present tense!”

“I don’t know, Pontius Pilate.” You shrugged. “This Jesus guy makes a good point.”

When he hissed your real name, you nearly shrank into your seat. “I don’t need any more of this from you. You were the one to tell me he was faking it anyway!”

“You said that?!” Angus yelled. “Jesus, I knew you hated all men.”

“Not true.” You turned around to look at him. “I would’ve said the exact same thing about a woman, especially if I heard her screaming from your room!”

Out of all the times you made a man cry and left him speechless, this one was and forever will be your favorite (obviously he was crying from his arm, but you liked to think your comment also did that). Your father scolded you for your foul mouth, but it was 100% worth it.

There you three sat in the emergency room, waiting for over an hour for a nurse to let you in, when your father started monologuing to himself.

“This is the end. They’ll inform the school, who will inform your parents, and then it’s curtains. You’re gonna get me fired; you.” He looked at Angus, then you. “I hope you like sleeping in the snow, Josephine.”

“I love it more than life itself.” You rolled your eyes.

Angus grumbled. “I’m the one about to lose an arm and all you can think about is yourself.”

“Hey, he was worried about me.” You pointed out.

He turned and glared at you, and you actually felt bad for the first time that day.

A nurse soon approached you, handing your father a clipboard and pen. “If you could just fill this out, please. Admissions and insurance.”

Your father, hesitantly, begins to fill it out. It sounded like a joke at first, having to sleep somewhere else, but honestly what were you going to do? You and your father lived in the faculty housing ever since-.

“-Excuse me?” Angus asked the nurse as she was walking away. “Is there any way we could skip this whole insurance thing?”

“It’s just standard procedure.”

“I understand. But look, we were over at Squantz pond playing hockey, and I slipped on the ice.”

Your father whispered. “Angus, what are you doing?”

But he kept going, glancing at you for a moment. “Our mom told him not to take us, but I made him. Our folks are divorced, and we don’t get to see each other very often. She’ll be mad as a hornet if she finds out.”

The nurse still didn’t let up. “Okay, that’s your business. But we just have certain protocols.”

“Yeah, protocols.” Your father tried to warn.

Angus didn’t listen to either. “Please, we ever get to see my dad. It was my fault, all mine. I don’t want to get him in trouble.” He looked at you. “We can’t have her dragging him to court again.”

You shook your head, swallowing a pretend lump in your throat. “No. Last time was…oh god.”

He looked back at the nurse. “Can we skip the whole insurance thing? We can pay cash. Right, Dad?”

What a sucker; it took you and Angus to do ‘Kicked Puppy” eyes for a minute, and she was brining the three of you in to the see the doctor in three.

When they were removing his shirt, they told him first look away from the arm, but they didn’t inform you.

“Is it that bad?” He asked upon hearing your audible disgust.

“Not the worst thing I’ve seen in a hospital.”

Your father slugged you, but not hard enough for it to hurt. Still, the whole thing was a blur as they popped Angus’ arm back into its socket. It was dislocated, not broken, and a part of you selfishly wish that it had been just to spare you from the disgusting noises. That and also Angus’s screaming, as if you hadn’t been objectified to that enough.

The three of you were leaving after Angus' arm was tied in a sling, when your father spoke up.

“Barton men don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Angus asked, readjusting his sling.

"Lie."

“Well, I had momentum.”

“Mhm,” he looked at you. “what’s your excuse?”

You shrugged. “I don’t go to Barton, and I’m not a man. Thank God, by the way, considering I hate all of them.”

Even though you said that sarcastically, neither of the men said you were wrong.

When you three made it to the pharmacy, and your father handed over the prescription, the pharmacist went to search for it. Angus lowered his voice, saying to your dad.

“You said that if Woodrup finds out, you and her screwed. So now he won’t find out.”

“What if your parents ask?” You questioned.

“Never going to happen. Trust me.”

Your father raised his brows. “Okay, then. This all remains entre nous. Got it? You know what entre nous means?”

“Oui, monsieur.” He smirked “Now you owe me.”

“Owe you?” Your father gasped. “Do not try to leverage me, Mr. Tully.”

“All I’m looking for is little thank you that I did something nice for you. That’s all.”

You shrugged, deciding you wanted a treat too. “It is Christmas Eve-Eve.”

Your father took you all out to ‘The Winning Ticket’; the classiest tavern within 50 miles. Classy being the less dingy, place in Barton. As your father and ‘Friend of Some Sort’ had a minor debate on underage drinking, you saw the last waitress you wanted approach.

“Miss Crane, as I live and breathe.” Your father sounded amazed as if he saw Aphrodite herself. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, hi guys!” She laughed “Yeah, I always pick up a little extra work over Thanksgiving and Christmas.”

“Well uh,” he gestured to Angus. “This is Mr. Tully.” Then to you beside him. “And this is-you already know my daughter.”

“Yes,” she nodded. “quite well. My niece knows her too if you can believe that.”

He laughed a little louder than he should have, and you wanted to crawl under the table and bang your head against the metal support until you split your skull open.

“Oh, and sure, I know you.” Miss Crane nodded to Angus.

“Angus Tully,” he smiled. “we met outside of Dr. Woodrup’s office. I was wrongly accused of blowing up a toilet.”

“Well, I didn’t know about the ‘wrongly’ part. I just know that miss Hunham talks a lot about you when she visits.”

Aaand now you wanted to just take any of the silverware off the table (even the spoon would work) and stab yourself.

“Does she?” He teased.

You were quick with a comeback. “About how ridiculously annoying you are. I was baking cookies and Elise nearly crawled into the oven because the things I said about you were just too horrible for her to hear.”

“Now be nice.” Your father said.

“When have I never?”

The three of you ordered (after another discussion about alcohol and underage drinking with Miss Crane this time), and it did not escape you or Angus how your father’s eyes were still on her even after she left.

“Ouch,” Angus smiled. “you two have chemistry.”

“That’s the Percodan talking.” Your father pointed out.

“I don’t know, seeing her like this, I think she’s pretty attractive.”

You gagged, not even having the will to come up with a good comeback, you were so disgusted. Thankfully, your father had one.

“Listen, you hormonal vulgarian, that woman deserves your respect, not your erotic speculation.”

You never gave it much thought; your father dating women after your mother died. He just never truly seemed that interested in anyone, and he said it himself, he never goes out. Still…while you do want him to be happy, the woman of interest is your best friend’s aunt-.

Angus pursed his lips. “May I at least go to the bathroom? Sir? “

“You mean the payphone?” Even when he saw Angus’ eyes darken, your father still was not stirred. “Jo March, accompany him, please.”

You sighed. “Why do I have to be his keeper?”

“Because I, Pontius Pilate, washed my hands of him, remember?”

With that being said, you walked with Angus over to the bathrooms, and waited outside with your arms crossed like a child being punished. After a few minutes, he came back out, and the first thing you asked was.

“How’d you lie so easily?”

He gave you a look. “When?”

“The hospital.” You clarified. “You came up with a whole story on the spot that was so convincing, you had a nurse wrapped around your finger within a minute.”

Angus shrugged, beginning to walk away. “You were honestly the icing on the cake.”

“Oh, thank you.” You spoke with sarcasm, following him. “But honestly, you-.”

“-Are you any good at pinball?”

Okay mister ‘Trying to Change the Subject’, you’d play this game (literally and figuratively). “Yeah, I think so.”

He grabbed two dimes from his pocket. “Wanna bet?”

“I guarantee you that’s all the money you have, so there’s nothing to bet.”

“Not exactly.” You both wandered over to the machines. “If I win, you owe me something, and vice versa.”

“And if I wanted you to get out of my life?”

“Done and done, but only If you win, which you won’t.” He put the dimes on top of the machine a guy was playing on.

“Sorry, kid. Next game’s taken.” The many said.

Angus furrowed his brow. “But I just put some dimes down.”

“Don’t care. My buddy’s up next.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“That’s how it works in here. Why don’t you go shoot the other fuckin’ machine?”

“Because I don’t want to shoot the other fuckin’ machine.”

You put your hand on his non-injured arm. “Angus, it’s fine.”

Before he could retaliate, the man lost the game, sighing. “Thanks for fuckin’ up my mojo. Kenny! You’re up.”

“Bullshit.” Angus shook his head. “I put my dimes down, so we’re up next.”

“What was that?” You both looked and saw ‘Kenny’, a drunk man with a hook for his right hand. Shit… “Hey, kiddies,” he snapped his fingers at the both of you. “my eyes are up here.”

His friend snorted. “Look at these fucking kids; spoiled little Barton boy and his prissy girlfriend.”

Not the first nor the last time you were a smartass to a man where it will almost get you killed. “I’ll have you know, gentlemen, he is not my boyfriend; he is the reason I hope every day I become an only child.”

“You know what?” Angus stepped in before Kenny could respond. “You can just take my dime.”

“Take it?” He taunted. “You want me to take your dime? Like it’s charity?”

“No, what I mean is, we could play together.” and let this be known that Angus Tully was not always great at thinking on his feet. “Yeah, you could be my left arm.”

“The fuck did you just say to me?!”

Flinching at his tone, you decided to actually use your brain, for once. “Oh my gosh, I think I hear Dad calling us.” You took Angus’ hand without thinking. “Come on Fitzwilliam, you fucked everything up as always.”

You didn’t care that two, pissed off men were following and yelling at you, you didn’t even care that you were holding Angus’ Tully’s hand and having him trip over his own feet as you pulled him back to your table, you just needed to get out of there.

“Papa,” you call out to your father. “can we go please?”

He hummed at your arrival (and the term of endearment, which you only use if something has gone array). “Why?”

“Our favorite asshole got us in trouble.”

“Hey!” Kenny shouted at you and Angus. “Why’d you run off? We were just talking to you. Do they teach you manners at that school?”

Hook for hand be damned, your fight or flight instincts kicked in when he put his hand on Angus and you were about to be the reason he’d lose it. Then, Miss Crane stepped in.

“Kenneth, leave them alone, they just came in for some food.”

Still, he looked like he was about to charge the both of you.

Your father stepped in next. “Kenneth, is that right? I don’t doubt that he did something to offend you. It’s his specialty. Perhaps I could purchase you gentlemen something to imbibe, and we could let whatever this unfortunate incident is go the way of the dodo.”

“The what?” The first guy playing pinball asked.

“The dodo,” Angus said. “it’s an extinct bird.”

“What he’s trying to say is,” Miss Crane translated. “he wants to buy you guys a beer.”

It didn’t take long for the two men to consider it. Kenny nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

“Same here.” His friend agreed. “I’ll have a Miller.”

“The champagne of beers.” Angus smiled, nodding.

It was when everything final cooled down, and as the two men and Miss Crane left to get their drinks, did you notice you were still holding Angus’ hand. Which you let go of as if you were holding fire in the palm of your hand.

He went back to his moody self after that, as you were walking back to the car after finishing dinner (no connection of course).

“Why’d you buy those guys beer? They’re assholes.”

Your father shrugged. “That’s one way to look at it. Here, catch.”

He tossed him the keys, which he caught. Your father continued his lecture, walking ahead of both of you. “How many boys do you know who have had their hands blown off? Barton boys don’t go to Vietnam. They go to Yale or Dartmouth or Cornell, whether they deserve to or not.”

Angus glanced at you. “Except for Curtis Lamb.”

“Except for Curtis Lamb.” Your father repeated his words when they stood outside the car.

“Were you ever in the military?”

“Yes, I tried to enlist in ‘41, but was rejected-I have to get in over there.” He said after failing to open the door on the driver’s side. He walked over to the passenger’s (which you begrudgingly allowed Angus to have this time) side that Angus unlocked. “They made me an air raid warden. Gave me a whistle and everything. Helmet. Arm band.”

You opened the back door and slid into the seats, but Angus stayed outside, asking. “Before we get going, can I be candid with you?”

Your father already was used to that question from you, so he didn’t even look scared when he hummed his approval.

“You smell.” He got into the car. “And it’s really noticeable toward the end of the day. I even smell it on your coat. Mind if I crack the window?”

He didn’t even wait for his response before rolling the window down anyway. Before you could say something snarky to defend your father, he spoke first. “Trimethylaminuria.”

Angus furrowed his brow. “Huh?”

“Trimethylaminuria.” He repeated. “Means my body can’t break down trimethylamine. That’s the smell. And uh, yes, more toward the end of the day.”

“Wow…your whole life?”

Your father nodded.

“No wonder you’re afraid of women.” Angus said your name, glancing back at you. “How did he marry your mom?”

Your jaw dropped, and only inaudible noises came out at first before you settled on. “I’m too sober for that conversation.”

“For the record,” Your dad interrupted, stunned. “I am not afraid of women, and you shouldn’t be asking a girl personal questions after insulting her father. Jesus.”

Angus nodded. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. Dr. Getler says I should give more consideration to my audience.”

“Who’s Dr. Getler?” You asked.

“My shrink.”

Your father decided to jump in. “Has Dr. Gertler ever tried a good swift kick in the ass?

He scoffed. “Okay, now your turn. Go ahead, tell me something about me. Something negative.”

“Something negative about you?”

“Sure, just one thing.”

“Just one?” You and your father questioned.

He nodded, preparing for the absolute worst, but it never came. Your father merely turned back to the front, started the car, and began to make the long drive back to Barton. You weren’t even out of the neighborhood when Angus then asked.

“Fitzwilliam?” He looked at you. “What kind of name is that?”

Your father snickered. “That’s what you called him?”

You shrugged. “The guys thought he was a stuck-up rich boy, but he’s really awkward and looks like he wants to kill himself every time someone looks at him, I had to.”

“He strikes me more as a Hamlet.”

To anyone who didn’t know anything about Shakespeare, that would be a compliment. To you and your father specifically, it made you laugh. Of course Angus Tully would be one of the most overdramatic characters in theatre.

“Seriously,” the boy in question said tiredly. “who the hell is Fitzwilliam?”

Your father shook his head. “My advice, Mr. Tully? Brush up on the classics; Pride and Prejudice would be a good place to start.”

None of you had the strength to do much more that night besides spending time in your rooms before bed. It was as you were a few chapters into Little Women, did you wonder.

“Why were you and my dad yelling at each other this afternoon?”

Angus looked up from his copy of Popular Mechanics to see you in the doorway once you asked that question. You both were both just wearing your pajamas and socks; outfits you had only seen each other in for either a short number of times, in dimmed lighting, or with jackets over.

It felt different this time…stranger, even.

“Hello to you too.” He greeted, setting the magazine down.

“Well?”

Pursing his lips, he didn’t look at you at first before saying. “I was calling a hotel.”

“Your mom’s?”

“No, one in Boston.”

“Why would you…?” The look on his face said it all. That look of regret and pity that you didn’t understand what he meant right away. “Oh…”

You wanted nothing more than to have said it with disgust, but it was disappointment that laced the word. Then, with a mix of anger and even hurt.

“Am I that insufferable to be around?”

He shot his head up. “What? No.”

“Seems like it.” You scoffed, beginning to pace around the room. “What happened to ‘Friends of some sort’? I asked you if we were fine because I felt like you’d gone quiet, and you said we were. I get it; you asked me to tell you the craziest thing that happened to me, and I should’ve just said ‘I got slightly drunk at a party’, not everything. You barely tell me anything about yourself, and then I just go and throw out the shittiest things that have happened to me. It’s not fair, and I’m sorry-.”

“-My father’s dead.”

Nothing could’ve gotten you to shut up faster.

It caused you such a shock, that you sat down on the bed beside him, staring at him. His gaze changed in a matter of seconds; when he first told you and you looked at him, you’d never seen anyone surer. Then, as shock settled into you, discomfort did for him. You let the quietness between you linger for a moment, terrified of your own response.

“I…I had a feeling.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You were expecting him to immediately respond, but he didn’t. You debated on just sitting in the silence, or crawling back into your room and pretending this didn’t happen, when Angus finally spoke up.

“I was thirteen, he was…really, really sick for some time but then it just happened so fast and…I don’t really like talking about it, I’m sorry-.”

“-No, I shouldn’t have pressured you-.” You relented first, and ff the circumstances weren’t bleak, it would be funny how you both spoke over each other.

“-You weren’t, you told me something about yourself and I should’ve-.”

“-You aren’t in debt or some bullshit to share anything with me-.”

“-I just haven’t really told people that before-.”

“-Your arm wasn’t the worst thing I saw in a hospital.” You decided to break the loop, and it was successful. “My mother was sick too and…” You chuckled, but felt tears prick your eyes all of a sudden at the thought. “God, she’ll haunt me for this, but she was so skinny the last time I saw her…Cancer. She and my dad were debating on if I should see her like that before she goes, and I won the argument in the end that, yes, I needed to say goodbye. I’m glad I did, no, that’s not what I think of when I think of her but…it scared me. I was eleven.”

He nodded, listening without interruption; a skill that seemed he only acquired during these small moments of vulnerability. Well, you wouldn’t necessarily call yourself vulnerable; you were merely answering his questions truthfully based on your experiences (of course; no vulnerability whatsoever. You didn’t open yourself up to others outside of your father and Mary, why would you to Angus Tully?)

“I went to the chapel before anyone else woke up and I just couldn’t stop staring at the picture of Curtis Lamb…I can’t even say it got me thinking about death or anything like that I just…I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I felt weird and wanted to run away.”

“I get that.”

“I’m sorry for trying to get a hotel by the way,” he apologized again. “if that matters.”

You gave him a smile. “It does.”

For the first time in a while, you thought you saw him smile too; a genuine one, mind you, not the shit-eating grin he often gave you and everyone else. It was then you decided to get up and head to bed, bidding him goodnight. Then, again, you stopped in the doorway from another thought.

“What were you going to call me?”

“Huh?” He perked his head up.

“When you were crying about being stuck over here for Christmas?” You alluded. “You and my father are losers, Mary’s a grieving mom, but what am I?”

His eyes drifted in thought, then back to you. “‘Your know-it-all daughter.’ That’s what I was gonna say.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, smiling as you backed out into your room. “I do know all, Angus Tully.”

You couldn’t see his face anymore when you went to your bed, but you heard his sarcastic ‘Goodnight’ with him saying your full name, and your chest felt lighter than it did the night prior to talking with him.

…What the hell was happening to you?

You were giddy, you giggled to yourself about nothing and had to hide your mouth under the blanket so Angus wouldn’t hear you in the other room. For a moment, when asking him what he would’ve called you, you wanted him to say ‘pretty’. So much shit happened that day, but the one thing, the one thing that your mind goes back to is taking his hand, and not letting go until you realized-…

…No…

No…

Oh, what the fuck?!

Oh god!

Once you were happy about having a newfound crush on Angus Tully, and now you were in absolute agony.

What a wonderful way to spend Christmas Eve-Eve.

#angus tully #angus tully x reader #paul hunham #mary lamb #the holdovers #Youtube

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