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serendipityandbenevolence · 2 months

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Baizhu x Reader (Arranged Marriage)

I know this is a bit (lot) different to what I normally post on this account, but I am a SUCKER for arranged marriages in fanfic, so I am choosing to disregard my sagau roots (not permanently dw) It’s a bit out of my comfort zone, but I really hope it comes out well :)

Contains - You getting injured, you and baizhu having beef (enemies to lovers fr), you and baizhu not realising that you are engaged to each other, arranged marriage (duh) your dad kinda sucks tbh

It took you rolling your ankle to realise how bad an idea climbing a mountain unprepared was. Granted, when you had started climbing the mountain, you had thought you were prepared. Your clothing was (somewhat) practical, you had stolen a pair of your father’s shoes that he used when hiking and you had found a nice leather satchel to hold your snacks and hand shovel.

It had been fine at first, nothing more than a pleasant hike, with bird chirping and a soft breeze whistling through the trees. But with every step you took, the path became steeper, the sun became hotter and the god-damned shoes you bothered from your father hurt more. They had seemed a bit large when you first put them on, but now it felt like you were going to trip over them with every step.

Your clothes weren’t faring much better. Your good, practical clothing had caught on nearly every single branch and shrub you passed. You would have to hide them when you got home, because you did not want to have to explain to your parents exactly how your clothing got so tattered and torn. The only things that hadn’t let you down was the satchel and your snacks, although the snacks were long gone now, despite not even reaching the top of the mountain.

Looking back on the moment, it seemed almost like one of those comedy performances, that wandering artisans performed in the town square. It was ironic, truly, how quickly everything fell apart. A single stone in your path, that you hadn’t even noticed until you were stepping on it. Your father’s shoes skidded off it, causing your ankle to twist painfully and send you careening into a nearby bush, your shirt tearing even more as the branches scraped your skin.

And there you lay, facedown in a bush in the middle of nowhere, close to the peak of a nearly abandoned mountain trail, with nothing but a satchel and a sprained ankle.

All of this for a fucking flower.

It was silly, you were aware of that. Your mother had told you stories about a kind of flower that only grew on this particular mountain, whose petals formed a distinctive heart shape, and which was said to bless whoever received one with true love. It was cheesy, yes, but that didn’t stop many young men and women from climbing the mountain in order to pick them for their fiances. But as the years passed, the flowers became more and more sparse, thanks to the droves of hopeless romantics picking them all. And now, they are said to only be found at the very top of the mountain, where the lovers were too scared to climb.

You didn’t even know if Baizhu liked flowers.

You’d never met him, which was surprising considering how long he’d been a client of your father. Your father, a renowned supplier of medicinal herbs, was thrilled when Baizhu first began working with him. Prior to that, all his business had been to local doctors and healers, but having a client in far-away Liyue Harbor excited him, especially a doctor of such a stellar reputation.

You almost felt like you did know him, with how much your father talked about Baizhu. Every shipment of goods that was requested meant another long monologue over the dining table about how fortunate he was to have such a consistent and well-paying client. You almost asked your father if HE wanted to marry Dr Baizhu, but you thankfully refrained.

You knew your father had been dropping hints to Baizhu for a while now, about how he hoped his child would be married soon, about how Baizhu surely must be so lonely without a spouse, about how Baizhu really just felt like he was part of the family already. What you hadn’t expected was for Baizhu to accept.

And now, here you were, a week out from your wedding and nearly passed out on the side of a road, trying to get that god-damned flower.

There was no way that the situation could get any worse.

“Oh dear! Are you alright?”

Or maybe it could.

You truly had the worst luck. How was it that during the most embarrassing moment of your life, a person had to appear? This was an abandoned trail!

“Please … just leave me here. I’m already contemplating my life choices and regretting the actions I’ve taken to get here, my pride can’t take another hit.”

“I really… can’t just leave you here, you know that, right?” The voice, which you could now identify as male, sounded like it was trying to hold back laughter, while also truly sounding concerned.

“I assure you, you can. Please do. Keep continuing on your way.”

There was silence for a moment, and you almost allowed yourself to hope that whoever this man was had left, until you felt a pair of hands grab your shoulders and pull you out of the bush, depositing you in a rather undignified heap on the ground.

“My sincerest apologies about your pride. Are you injured?”

You sighed and made your best effort to fix your hair, attempting to look less like you just fell into a bush. Your saviour had the audacity to look perfectly put together, with barely a hair out of place, despite having just hiked the same distance as you. Though he also looked far more prepared, with shoes that actually fit and an entire bag filled with supplies.

“Only the aforementioned pride and my ankle,” You sighed, looking down at the already bruised and swollen skin, then up at the nearly vertical path ahead of you.

“I truly hope you don’t plan on continuing to climb with that ankle of yours?” He questioned, squatting down to get a better view at your injury, laying a gentle hand upon it.

You chose to ignore the question, still hoping to find a way to get to the top of the mountain, instead taking the opportunity to stare at the man. He had the most intriguing golden eyes, with slitted pupils like a snake, which were sharply fixed on your ankle.

“Your lack of a response speaks wonders, so let me rephrase. You will not be continuing to climb with that ankle of yours.” His eyes met yours, looking for any argument.

“And how do you plan to stop me?”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For a man who initially seemed so polite, he sure had a way of getting on your nerves. You’d spent the first 10 minutes of him carrying you back down the mountain (over his shoulder!) trying to convince him to put you down and when that hadn’t worked, you’d settled on silent treatment. But even that was testing your patience, you’d become tired of watching the sun creep towards the horizon, of listening to the birds singing up above, of resisting the urge to ask him what hair products he used to make his hair so silky.

“So…”

“Oh, you want to make conversation now? Finally given up on ignoring me?” He laughed at you, making you grit your teeth.

“Alright, I get it! You’re acting in my best interests by not letting me continue climbing the mountain, you don’t have to act all high and mighty about it!” You cut your angry tirade off with an annoyed huff, turning your face away from him.

“Why were you even climbing up there to begin with? It’s certainly not a beginners trail.”

“Oh, uhm, you know…”

“I certainly don’t know, which is why I’m asking you, but I appreciate the faith you have in thinking I can read your mind.”

You smacked his shoulder once, then a second time when you noticed he was laughing.

“But seriously… why?” He turned to face you, eyes searching your face for some sort of answer, before sighing and turning back towards the path.

You were silent for a long moment before remembering that this man had seen you half-knocked out in a bush on the side of a road. Your dignity was long gone.

“Don’t mock me for it, but I was going to try and find one of those flowers…”

“The True Love’s Bloom?”

“Yes and don’t you dare make fun of me for this, I get married in a week and I’m emotionally sensitive.”

“I wouldn’t dream of hurting your feelings and anyway, that’s what I was looking for as well.“

It took you a moment for it to sink it, before you turned to look at him.

“Really? I didn’t take you for the romantic type. Which poor soul got roped into marrying you?”

“I could say the same to you. Here I was, being nice to you and you repay it by insulting me? I’ll have you know, I was the one who got roped in. I think I would’ve had assassins sent after me if I refused one more time.”

You laughed and turned back around, but as you did, a small alcove in the nearby rock caught your eye. It was becoming darker by the second, but even with the fading light you could make out the shape of…

“Over there!”

The man paused and gave a sigh.

“This better not be a ploy to get me to put you down, so that you can do something potentially life endangering again.”

“The flowers! Over there!”

He turned his head and gave a small laugh of surprise as he spotted them too.

“Well, what do you know? Maybe being forced to carry you back down this hill was a blessing in disguise?” He wandered over to the sheltered patch of dirt, where, hidden from most prying eyes, were two perfect flowers.

He placed you down next to them and began rummaging through his bag, pulling out two shovels.

“I’ll have you know that I actually brought a shovel, I don’t need your equipment!”

“Really, how surprising. Did you bring a pot as well?”

“...”

“... can I borrow one of yours?”

“Well, I’ll have YOU know…”

And as your bickering echoed across the mountaintop, bringing life to the abandoned trails of a once vibrant mountain, the flowers almost seemed to grow just a little bit more.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Baizhu, what’s that flower sitting over by the window? I’ve never seen anything like it before?”

“Ah Traveler, you have a good eye! It’s called True Love’s Bloom. However, those are actually two flowers. My spouse and I planted them in the same pot when we got married all those years ago and they have grown together over time, becoming so intertwined we can’t separate them. I like to keep them close to me at work, to remind me of my dearest.”

“Your spouse? I didn’t know you were married!”

“You didn’t? I could’ve sworn I had mentioned it? Well then, I shall have to tell you the story of how we met. It all started with them stupidly trying to climb a mountain…”

Guys, this was so much longer than I intended wtf. This was supposed to be a SHORT STORY to go with two other arranged marriage stories. I seriously need to throw my plans out the window at this point. Anyway, I love writing sassy characters, even though im shit at banter, so hopefully this is good/funny?

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin headcanons #baizhu x reader #genshin fluff

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sennqu · 2 years

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i really think there should be a moment where Mike looks at Will hugging Jonathan with absolute longing and guilt. Get the audience's gears turning, even if just to think back on the airport scene and get them back to wondering why the hell Michael Wheeler didn't hug his childhood best friend of 10 years when he arrived in California. If they end up on a homophobic train of thought that's on them but the show still has to make them think about it again. Make it important by calling back to it. The text has been a lot more overt with Will in V1, so I think V2 has to do the same for Mike.

I've posted about it before but my expectations (so far) are that things are going to happen in this sequence:

Will and Jonathan have a moment and hug in the SBP chain they stopped at, which Mike sees. Mike thinks back on the airport and feels guilty and ashamed that Will sought comfort from Jonathan, not Mike, especially after Will's been trying to help with Mike and El's relationship problems.

Will gives Mike the painting as a gesture to fully amend their friendship on Will's side. Will has resolved even further to prioritize his friendship with Mike. Unbeknownst to Will, this moment just furthers Mike's shame because he obviously doesn't think Will did anything wrong. Maybe this is where we get that cheesy Will quote idk. They reminisce about good times pre-UD. I just want them to have a talk about themselves tbh. So far their convos have all touched on El. V2 needs to show them interacting without her influence. (edit: thinking maybe the scene could start with Mike asking about the painting again)

We need to have moments that center Mike and further show his conflicted feelings. I know the byler fans have all caught the subtext, but most of the audience haven't yet so V2 has to be more overt.

This and the next one could be switched idk yet. But Mike definitely gets Vecna'd. and Will too why not.

As per my last prediction post, I'm still unsure where and how the break-up with El will occur. Initially I was thinking they would probably break up before reaching Hawkins. But I'm thinking a mirror of what happened in S3 could also work where Mike confesses to his feelings (his real ones this time) with the party (plus El maybe minus Will) in the room. Idk if I'm expecting it to be climactic or maybe done in a similar way to Mike and Will's car convo, somber and quiet. Either way, I am expecting it to be immediately followed by the action going into overdrive.

And again, I am expecting Will won't know about the break-up until the end of season 4 or start of S5. It'd be neat if he found out and then got a love confession from Mike this season I guess but again, as a lover of angst and mutual pining, I don't think it's bad to let Mike stew in it for a little while longer. Let him start S5 with him and the audience painfully aware of his pining this time around.

#ku blarghs #byler #i'm trying not to involve stuff outside the trailer and text so far #so that includes interviews and tweets etc #strangely blogging

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cottonwoolsocks · 4 years

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Roman’s Berry Jam

AO3 | Masterlist

Summary: It was only a matter of time before the next Side was given their own Crofter’s Brand jam, and there was little surprise when it was awarded to Janus. Janus deserved it. No Side was more fitting. At least, that was what Roman kept telling himself.

Or; Remus makes his brother a present to try and cheer him up.

Word Count: 2969 Genre: hurt/comfort, canonverse Characters: Roman, Remus, Janus, others mentioned Relationships: Creativitwins, platonic Janus & Roman & Remus

Warnings: food theme, slight gory imagery mention

If I need to tag anything else, let me know!

inspired by this post by @julia-loves-cupcakes because there was no way i could just leave roman like that :(

disclaimer i am thoroughly confused by the correct terminology for this wonderful fruit spread (jam? jelly?? confiture????)(/j), so i shall be referring to it as ‘jam’. hopefully that clears up any related confusions!

———

It came as a surprise to no one when it was announced that Janus would be getting the next Crofter’s flavour. He was well liked, and quick-witted, and a Dark Side, which made for a diverse branding appeal following Logan, the stoic and straightforward Light Side.

When Thomas told Janus the news, Janus had shocked everyone by practically bursting into tears as he clasped the jar, eyeing it as if it may break and scanning the room for any signs of a set-up, a prank, a cruel fabrication. But Logan and Patton, the only other Sides present, had simply smiled, and congratulated him, and voiced their approval. The simple glass jar became almost symbolic of Janus’s acceptance and place in the group.

Janus deserved the achievement.

No Side was more fitting.

At least, that was what Roman kept telling himself.

It would have been ludicrous for Roman to assume he would be next. After all, Roman? He was just another Light Side like Logan—just another character who had been there from the start: who was the same, really, in the eyes of business and branding.

And besides—Roman berries just didn’t exist.

Loganberries were the ideal signature, and snake berries the perfect next equivalent—neither recipe contained either of the named fruits, but that was insignificant to the wider appeal; it was sufficient for display, and advertising, and portraying a certain image, which at the end of the day was what was important.

Roman understood the importance of appearances. He understood why Janus was the ideal next choice.

Janus was suave, had an eye-catching colour scheme, already had well-established snake symbolism in his character. Snake berries were the serendipitous berry on the cake: the apposite mark of his acceptance into the group, the fitting next step in their story as Janus became more popular, as his character gained traction amongst fans.

Roman knew it made sense. He knew it was the rational next step, and that no Side was better suited, and that it was only practical that it was Janus who was to bear this particular crown.

So why, pray tell, was he so disappointed?

He had just assumed, he supposed, that he was more important. More popular. That the loyal prince who had been present from the beginning, who had been star of the show, loved and adored from the get-go, may hold even the smallest of loyalty cards over any who came after.

He had reasoned—foolishly, it seemed now—that his red, white, and gold design, the one he had designed so carefully to raise to perfection, would be ideal for any future product or design or endeavour that could come about—that it balanced the perfectitude of his character, of his design, yet was still bold and eye-catching enough to have an aesthetic impact.

He was a prince. And princes were popular, and celebrated, and loved.

...Weren’t they?

Roman’s hand slips away from the banister at the top of the stairwell as the light catches the label of the jar clutched in Janus’s fingers. He sees how happy, how thankful Janus is, and remembers how Janus is nice to him, Janus is his friend, and he would never wish ill upon his friends.

But as his eyes linger on Thomas’s proud face, Logan’s expression of approval, Patton’s excitement, the way Janus’s gloved hands cradle the jar—he can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy.

Of spite.

His hand slips away from the banister, and he turns and walks back along the corridor, back to his room, suggestions of a night of Disney movies dead on his lips and a request for Patton’s baked cookies forgotten, despite how long he had puzzled the previous evening to make sure everything was organised just right, that nobody would be busy, that he had no projects due so he could spend as long as possible with his family.

They know tonight is movie night.

But they have other things to think about now. Other achievements to celebrate. Such opportunities did not come by frequently, and often swept past in but the most fleeting of chances.

He understands. He does.

The door clicks as Roman pulls it shut, collapsing onto his bed and not even flinching as his ankle clips painfully against the bedpost. He breathes in the scent of his duvet, familiarity easing the tension in his shoulders just a fraction as he screws up his fists and eyes.

Princes just aren’t as popular anymore.

It is almost an hour later when there are a flurry of knocks on his door.

He has been listening to the clamour downstairs for some time now, to the celebrations, the cheesy pop music Patton has no doubt judged befitting of the occasion. Roman assumes they don’t want him there, and to be quite honest isn’t sure he wants to go and find out if there is truth in such an assumption, isn’t sure if the celebrations and Janus’s smiling face will simply be too much too soon. He knows he is being selfish—that Janus deserves this, at least—but it’s hard to feel truly happy for someone's achievements when they stand as one of the few things you thought you maybe, just maybe, had a shot at.

There is a rush of air as the door swings open and someone takes a few steps inside, trips, and stumbles inelegantly forward with a barrage of emphatically placed swear words. Roman’s head snaps up, trying subtly to dry his eyes with his uniform sleeve and hoping the redness from the tears that definitely hadn’t been running down his face until only ten minutes prior could by now be passed as exhaustion.

“What do you want?” he snaps, because when does Remus visit him other than to pull a prank, or tease him? Roman is not in the mood—that much he hopes is clear to his brother from his tone and impassive expression. Since Janus’s acceptance into the Light Sides, Remus had largely been keeping himself to himself, popping up to share his usual quips and comments but never lingering longer than necessary, making it even more abnormal for the Dark Side to be making one such entrance now.

Remus looks up, grinning and oblivious to Roman’s disapproval as he straightens his jacket to its usual devoted dysregulation and clips the eyeball decor on his shoulder back into its rightful place.

“Made you a gift!”

Something small and hard and exceptionally pointed makes a target of Roman’s eye and he cries out, batting it away and shielding his face as antagonised tears threaten to escape. He curses, scrambling upright and muttering obscenities under his breath as he glares at his brother.

Remus offers him a grin and a thumbs up as he tries and fails to surreptitiously rectify the rumpled carpet. “No worries, Ro!”

As the pain in his eye begins to subside Roman gingerly pulls his hand away, blinking through the protective tears at the still-vaguely-fuzzy outline of the offending object.

The jar, he finds, fits snugly in his palm, and through the angled glass Roman can see a red, gelatinous substance which on a good day may vaguely resemble jam, if he didn’t know Remus better than that. Scrawled words adorn a label smeared across the front, and although the letters are barely legible, years’ practice decoding his brother’s handwriting on strategically placed, lewd sticky notes and witty comments on the corners of old magazines allows him to more or less determine the phrase:

Roman’s Berry Jam.

Alongside the words is a large heart which looks to have been traced upwards of fifteen times in colours Roman wasn’t even aware could clash quite so horrifically, and a small, golden crown adorns the ‘R’ with a ruby gemstone fixed centre of the tallest spike. The red substance is smeared over most available surfaces and when Roman glances down, he sees it has, naturally, also found its way onto his previously pristine bedsheets—but he can’t find it within himself to mind.

“Is this…?”

“Roman’s Berry Jam! I thought you deserved some, since you are the brave and daring Prince Roman!” And then, more quietly, “You looked disappointed when you saw J get his jar.” He shifts from foot to foot, energetic demeanour fading slightly to something more sombre. “Is it… Did I do good?”

The lid comes off with a satisfying pop as Roman twists it, and the smell of something indistinguishably fruity fills the room.

He almost smiles but forces his face to stay neutral, afraid his delicately arranged mask of indifference will shatter the moment he shows even a sliver more emotion. Remus moves to perch on the edge of Roman’s duvet, kicking his feet back and forward off the edge of the bed. They hit the floor with each backward swing, creating a rhythmical, thunk, thunk, thunk against the carpet as Roman tentatively dips his finger into the substance.

“What’s in this, then?” Roman offers, mentally kicking himself for not coming up with a more eloquent sentence. He is appreciative, truly, but whenever a situation such as this presents itself he always seems to find himself deflecting with a joke or a well-placed distraction, no matter how much this frustrates him. “Blood? Brain juice? Cat guts?”

“All things I did consider,” Remus replies, holding up a finger, “but no. Real berries, real jam! Of some sort. Not sure what sort. There are looooads of berries in the mindscape, you see, so it probably tastes like butts, but I was rather hoping it would be pleasurable—”

“Remus.”

Roman turns to face his brother, offering a watery smile as he clutches the randomised berry mix to his chest. The red is smeared all over his hands and his duvet and his white uniform, and somewhere in the back of Roman’s mind a voice is telling him it will stain, but he simply thanks the voice and pushes it aside in favour of holding the jar even closer.

“I love it.”

Remus’s face visibly eases, a smile swelling as his shoulders relax. “Wonderful; I was sure you were going to say you hated it.”

Roman’s face morphs to one of confusion. “Whyever would I say such a thing?”

Remus’s foot rubs restlessly against his leg as he taps each of his fingers against one another, and examines the ceiling.

“People usually hate the stuff I make.”

In spite of the weight of his words, Remus’s face gives nothing away, as carefree and animated as always as his fingers dance and his feet drum steadily against the carpeted floor. A pang of regret pierces Roman’s chest, because he knows it is true. Has always known it's true, has even taken part, takes part in pushing his brother’s creations down—he practically leads the parade.

But now Roman is thinking about it, Remus portraying a face of constant playfulness inaccurate to his true emotions is no different to what Roman does constantly, is it? Putting on his brave and courageous face to disguise his insecurity?

Roman somewhat reluctantly tastes the jam.

“Sweet bear of Crofter’s,” he mouths around it. “This is outstanding!”

“Of course it is!” Remus fires back, but the anxious way he surveys Roman’s expression says otherwise as he scours for distaste or disgust or tomfoolery. “It is Roman’s Berry Jam, after all! And nothing subpar of perfection could be named after our dearest Prince!”

Roman isn’t so sure about that, but he appreciates the gesture nonetheless. Truth be told, he has missed his brother—little as he may rise to admit it. The tears of frustration have receded, leaving in their place a wateriness that he hasn’t felt in all too long, come from happiness, and thanks, and appreciation for those whom he loves.

“Say, would you be interested in a Disney night? Perhaps I’ll even allow you to share my jam.”

Remus grins. “I had disembowelment plans, but I think I can postpone them, for you.”

***

They are halfway through The Little Mermaid, a mixing bowl of Roman’s Berry Jam snug between them, when three sharp knocks echo against the wood of the door. Sharing a glance with Remus, Roman takes a generous scoop of jam and shovels it into his mouth before lodging the spoon upright in the bowl and motioning for Remus to pause the movie as he approaches the door.

Perhaps it was Patton, finally wondering where Roman has been for the whole evening, or Logan to come and share the recent good news he doesn’t know Roman is already painfully aware of. Roman even wonders if it could be Virgil, come to escape from the loud pop music still blaring from the living room downstairs to request a quiet Disney movie or for he and Roman to spend another evening painting each other’s nails, and a myriad of excuses were already running through his brain for how he might decline.

The very last person he expects to see standing uncharacteristically apologetically in the doorway is Janus.

“Buzz off! We’re vibing!” Remus calls from Roman’s bed, catapulting a spoonful of jam for good measure which drastically misses either possible target and instead splats sadly against the doorframe.

A smile tugs Roman’s lips, deciding Remus’s comment speaks enough for the both of them and turning to see what exactly Janus wants from him now.

He’s your friend, the little voice in the back of Roman’s head reminds him, which he is beginning to realise sounds awfully like Patton. His achievements are not an excuse for you to be unkind.

“Good evening, Roman,” Janus says, expression giving little away as he regards him evenly. “I would like to…apologise.”

Roman’s hand slips from its perch on the door handle, brow creasing in confusion and a healthy serving of distrust.

Janus releases a measured exhale, and continues, “I didn’t see you at the top of the stairwell earlier this evening, when Thomas presented the Crofter’s. I’ve been trying to get away all evening since then, but”—he sighs frustratedly, and his eyelids momentarily flutter in distaste—“the others were...adamant that I remain downstairs to celebrate. I was not only just able to slip away as I convinced Patton to change the music to something less repugnant.”

As if on cue, the bubbly pop music echoing from the living room switches to a more sombre jazz number, and Janus’s eyes flick towards the stairwell.

“I find it important that I inform you I did not orchestrate tonight’s turn of events, and quite frankly I believe it unjust that you were not, at the very least, consulted on such a decision, especially given your earlier enthusiasm.”

Remus tosses another spoon of jam, this one smacking directly into the centre of Janus’s bowler hat.

His eyes flutter closed as he visibly bites back a retort.

“Remus, kindly desist.”

Remus cackles and begins to load another spoon, but a subtle shake of the head from Roman has him sighing dramatically, choosing instead to sulk as he plops the spoon into his mouth. “Jam war,” he mumbles disappointedly.

Janus gives Roman a curt nod of thanks, adjusting his gloves and turning to leave, looking vaguely embarrassed. “Well, that’s all I came to say, so I shall be on my way.”

“Janus, I—”

Janus turns, looking puzzled and a little perturbed as his nose crinkles slightly. Roman rocks back on the balls of his feet, and comes to a decision, avoiding Janus’s gaze as he offers his next words.

“Would you care to join Remus and I in our Disney marathon?”

Janus’s eyes flick to one side and he waits for a moment, as if expecting for Roman to change his mind or for Remus to come charging out with another spoonful of jam aimed at his head.

When nothing of the sort occurs, his expression softens. Just a little.

“Yes. I would like that.”

Roman steps back to allow Janus through the doorway, and swings the door closed behind him with a click.

***

Remus stretches his leg out further, sprawling himself ever wider over the space available to him which consists approximately of his third of the bed and as much of Roman’s space as he can liberate without being apprehended. His jam is a success, he is spending time with Janus again, and the genuine appreciation emanating from his brother is almost palpable. Just for good measure, he smears a little of the jam onto Roman’s nose. Just to remind him he’s still there.

Roman’s nose scrunches as the substance makes contact, but he doesn’t move to wipe it away. Instead, he just elbows his brother softly, achieving more of a gentle sway while crushed under most of Remus’s weight. He smiles, and takes another spoonful of jam.

Janus shakes his head fondly. He hasn’t seen Remus nearly as often since being accepted by the Light Sides, and much as some of Remus’s more...inventive antics...used to irritate him, he has found himself missing his constant predictable unpredictability. It is nice—refreshing—to see him again: especially without the usual weight of all the words yet unspoken between them. But that is business for another time.

Roman supposes that, even if he hasn’t got his own Crofter’s flavour just yet, Remus’s Roman Berry Jam is certainly the next best thing, even with the assortment of greenery he had found in the spread that he isn’t entirely sure was intentional. It was better, even, because Roman’s Berry Jam comes with a complimentary friend-brother combo (cuddles included), an eve of Disney movies, and, finest of all, the feeling that however much he may feel he isn’t good enough, or liked enough, or successful enough, he is appreciated. And for now—for this one, anomalous evening—that is all that he needs.

#sanders sides #roman sanders #remus sanders #sanders sides fanfic #janus sanders #creativitwins #thomas sanders #rian writes #fanfic #tw food #tw gore mention #taglists to follow!#ts remus #ts roman #ts janus

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punksarahreese · 3 years

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Letters | A Chance Meeting (Twice Over)

Nosdecember day 12 | @neworleansspecial

Teen!au; Sarah and Ava’s struggle to keep in contact

CW: narcissistic abuse, gaslighting, need-panic and PTSD themes from said abuse, drug/alcohol/gambling mention, homophobia

***

Ava,

I know I haven’t answered your texts in a while. By the time you get this it will probably be a couple weeks since I last messaged. I promise I would never ignore you, what happened is out of my control.

Mom and her boyfriend broke up. Since then, she’s been adamant that we forget our trip ever happened. She threw out all our things from South Africa already, including the t-shirts we bought together. She said I can’t text you anymore.

It’s not fair, I know. I tried for a couple weeks to keep in contact through messages, I didn’t want to worry you, but she found out. She takes my phone at night now, she reads all my texts. I’m sorry, Ava; I don’t want to ignore you, I promise.

If this letter gets to you, send one back if you wanna. My friend said you can mail things to her address, she won’t open them, just so my mother doesn’t take them from me. I’ve attached the address and her name too, if you wanna write me back. I understand if you’re upset with me, just know I didn’t mean to cut you off.

I miss you,

Sarah

Sarah did her best to be subtle as she crept down the stairs, purple envelope burning a hole in her pocket. She hoped her mother was asleep so she wouldn’t have to answer any questions. She did have an alibi in mind though, her school bag hanging over one shoulder and library card on the lanyard around her neck. She had long since mastered the art of lying to get out of her mother’s manipulation, which Sarah feared would progress to her becoming a narcissistic liar like the woman who raised her. Still, that was a worry for future Sarah; right now she just wanted to get to the post office.

Luckily she had been asleep, wine glass abandoned on the kitchen counter and ¼ of a bottle left beside the couch. Sarah didn’t want to think about what kind of a mood she would be in when she got back. The drinking wasn’t always a problem, it came and went as boyfriends left or she lost jobs due to her unaddressed issues. Sometimes it was too much wine, other times she turned to marijuana or spending rent money on scratch lottery tickets. Sarah never knew which one of her mother’s coping mechanisms would appear during an episode, she just knew better than to mention it when it happened. The narcissism never left though, that was something Sarah had been accustomed to since before her dad even left the picture.

Nevertheless, she made it out of the house and to the post office. 30 minutes later, Sarah had mailed her letter, though she did have to pay a bit of a ridiculous fee to mail it where she wanted. That was another feat that made her painfully aware of the distance between her and the best friend she hadn’t seen for months.

Three weeks after that, Sarah’s friend pulled her aside at lunch. She pressed a cream coloured envelope into her hand, not saying a word but giving her a soft smile. Sarah didn’t open the letter until she was on the bus ride home, but the fact that Ava had actually responded to her had the other girl giddy all day.

The replying letter was longer than Sarah expected, two pages of Ava saying she was so glad to hear from her. Ava was sorry that Sarah’s mother was being so cruel, stating that she wished things could be different. What got Sarah the most was the lilac scent wafting from the paper, Ava’s favourite perfume. Of course Ava would be the kind of person to spritz her stationary with her signature scent, just as much as she was the person to fold her letter into threes and seal it with a little anatomical heart sticker. It was the little things like that that made Sarah miss her even more, the little quirks that she would always associate with the other girl.

This started a bit of a routine. The letters took about a week to get to Ava and hers took a bit longer to make it to the US, for whatever reason. Their communication was not the greatest, slower and less frequent than either would like, but they made it work for a while. There was one day that Sarah’s friend, their in-between for correspondence, dragged her to her locker. She gave Sarah a teasing look when she passed her the small package along with a letter, saying that her mom had been confused about the mail since it was less conspicuous than usual. Still, it made Sarah’s day and she spent her afternoon in the corner of the library, going over Ava’s words.

The gift had been a dainty silver necklace, the charm attached to it making Sarah smile widely. It was a dopamine molecule, a neurotransmitter responsible for feelings of love. It was also appropriate because a lack of dopamine causes anxiety, which they both knew plagued Sarah greatly. While cheesy, the gift was so Ava and it was the first gift Sarah had received in a while. It made Sarah’s heart ache as much as it made her happy; what she wouldn’t give to hug her best friend at that point.

After putting the necklace on, she reread the letter. There was one portion that made her want to cry, to drop everything and figure out how to book a flight to South Africa even as a minor.

You’re always on my mind Sarah, as much as I’m embarrassed to admit it. Even though we’ve only spent two weeks in person together, I think you might be my favourite person. These last few months of letters have been a blessing and a curse. I miss your voice, your laugh, and I miss staying up until 4 AM just to talk to you. I miss you more than I thought I would and I’m so sorry things turned out this way. If I could, I would bring you here to live with me in a heartbeat. Forget parents and manipulation, you don’t deserve this. I’m worried, Sarah, You’re so far away and I don’t want to lose you. I know it's childish of me to say, but I just want to run away with you.

That, paired with the love signoff etched into the sweet, lilac scented paper, was enough to make Sarah weep. Ava cared about her, a lot, and Sarah couldn’t properly convey how important that was to her. She hadn’t felt truly loved in God knows how long, so the fact that she was so far away from and so cut off from the one person who made her feel special was so frustrating.

She read Ava’s letters over whenever she had bad days. It was her escape from her mother’s constant manipulation and gaslighting; a reminder that someone out there did love Sarah. She let herself get lost in Ava’s words, the scent of her perfume, and the feeling of her necklace under her fingertips. It wasn’t the same, it didn’t heal her like a hug would have, but it was enough in the moment. She didn’t want to admit how many times she had cried over those letters, though the tearstained paper would be indicative enough. She missed Ava so much and she so badly needed to hear her voice, just one more time. Hearing her speak those words, the promises she made, in that low accented tone would have been Sarah’s breaking point. Still, it was the one thing she wanted more than anything.

They exchanged letters for almost six months, to the point where they had their respective postal systems memorized. Over those months, despite everything, they even became closer. At some point, Ava admitted she had feelings for Sarah. Her letter was filled with apologies and promises that it shouldn’t ruin their friendship. Sarah wrote back and shyly admitted her own feelings, in an emotional note that ended up being smudged from tears. They weren’t dating, they never actually said that explicitly, but they knew they loved each other. The contact was so hard, it strained their relationship so much, but it was what both girls needed. As time went on Ava had no qualms with saying she loved her and every time Sarah read those words she felt her heart swell. Ava loved her, she really did. It made Sarah feel like the luckiest girl in the world, as cheesy as it was.

Sarah had just returned home from school, another envelope tucked carefully into her day planner, when her world flipped upside down. Her mother was in her room, reeking of alcohol, and she had Sarah’s hidden shoebox on the bed. All of Ava’s letters had been saved in that box, tucked away in the back of her closet so she could reread them when she needed to feel loved. The letters were strewn across the floor, some ripped to shreds already, and Sarah felt her heart drop.

“What did I say?” Her mother’s bleary eyes focused on her angrily, “Why do you think you can disobey me like this?”

“Mom, please-”

“No, Sarah,” the letter she had in her hands was tossed at her feet, “I don’t need any excuses. You think you own this house and my rules don’t matter? You’re planning to leave me, aren’t you? You’re going to run away to that little bitch and leave me. Just like your father did.”

Sarah was already crying, shaking with panic because it was all too much. Her letters were almost all destroyed, her mother’s anger palpable. It didn’t matter that Sarah knew she was drunk, it didn’t matter that her brain was telling her she was being manipulative and gaslighting her again. Her words stung regardless, the weight of everything crashing down on her. Sarah couldn’t breathe, was already flinching away from the woman who was supposed to love her unconditionally. Her brain was screaming at her to run but all she could do was sob out apologies because fleeing wasn’t an option.

“You’re just as bad as he is, as bad as all of them. You all want to hurt me, after all I’ve done for you? How ungrateful are you, Sarah Reese? Do you even love your mother?”

The fighting went on for what felt like hours. Sarah was beyond terrified, panic overrunning her system as she took every insult and lie her mother threw at her. She watched as she ripped up the remaining letters, tipped Sarah’s backpack upside down and found the one she hadn't even had a chance to read yet. She followed after her begging as she took the scraps of paper to the woodstove in their old kitchen, trying to reason with her even though there was no point. Her mother just sneered at her as she tossed the papers into the fire, shoving them under the burning kindling with the poker.

“Your phone and laptop are mine,” her words were hissed out, “You don’t leave this house for anything but school. That friend of yours who helped you send those disgusting letters? You will never speak to her again, you hear me?”

“Mom,” Sarah sobbed, “Don’t do this to me.”

“Sarah, I’m trying to help you. You don’t need them, none of them are your friends; they will only hurt you. That little Ava bitch doesn’t love you. No one loves you but me, baby; they all lie.”

Sarah’s stomach turned at that, wanting to throw up and scream at the same time. She shook her head fiercely, Ava did love her. She did, she told Sarah so.

“Mom, I love her,” she whispered brokenly, “Please. This isn’t me trying to hurt you. I love her and she says she loves me too.”

“Baby, no. You’re sick; this isn’t okay. You may think this gay thing is normal and okay but it’s not. It’s ruining my little girl and I won’t stand for it. You will stay here with me and that is final, you understand?”

The pet names were said in a sickeningly sweet way and Sarah knew she would never win in this argument. Her mother’s word was law and Sarah had to accept that. She would have to obey or she would get sent to yet another summer camp trying to brainwash her into liking men. The mood change was evidently another manipulation tactic, to make Sarah believe her mother was the only one who did love her. The cutting her off from everyone was one too, it was the same reason Sarah wasn’t allowed to have a job. She had to be completely dependent on her mother; that way she could never run away. It was horrible, made Sarah feel like a prisoner in her own home, but at the same time she was used to it. She couldn’t breathe, didn’t know how she would cope with this anymore.

“Go to your room, Sarah. We’re not speaking of this any longer.”

Sarah rushed back to her room, which was still an absolute disaster. Her things were overturned and broken, her clothes torn out of the dresser and her mattress half off the bed frame. All she could do was sob as she collapsed onto the floor, shaking like a leaf. She didn’t know how to calm down, didn’t know what would happen now. She needed Ava, she needed to hear her voice. Her brain was overrun with her mother’s words, the claim that Ava would never love her and that Sarah’s love was in some way disgusting. She just needed to hear her say it out loud, to promise that she did care about Sarah and her mother was lying.

It was all lies; everything was a lie. Sarah didn’t know what to believe anymore. All she knew was she was suffocating and she couldn’t live like this anymore; not without the girl she loved.

#HI THIS IS SAD IM SORRY #this is what happens when you’re the daughter of a narcissist #Sarah can have some more trauma... as a treat <3 #anyway... this sucks but whatever it’s one in the morning hsjskdk #my aus #my-writing #ava bekker #sarah reese #reesker #teen!ava #teen!sarah #teen!au #a chance meeting (twice over)#nosdecember #userglow #mutuals #neworleansspecial

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sabrinamichele · 3 years

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2019: The Year of Love, Love Lost, and Paris

I know it’s time. Time to finally open up and talk about what’s been happening in my life. I know that I don’t have to share, but every time I try to move past it, I continue to feel drawn to share this. I know that in sharing this, like the countless times I have shared before, I will find myself better for having opened up. So, to be clear—this is not a completely selfless act—but it doesn’t make sharing it any easier. So, I’m ready to talk about dating, about love, and the heart break that 2019 brought me. I feel strongly that I need to preface this piece with the understanding that these words, thoughts and feelings, while they are mine, I know that by sharing them I may hurt someone. My intention is not to be mean or to hurt someone, but by being so candid, and by sharing my truth, I recognize that I very well might. I think there will always be that risk, and if you are on the receiving end of that, I am sorry. With that said, I want to be as honest and real as I can, because this isn’t the space for fakeness, or for pretense. This is where real truths, even when they’re hard, come out and vulnerability is found. So, in the spirit of sharing, *takes a breath* here goes...

While I have dated for the past five years, I have, for the most part, remained pretty mum on the details. This hasn’t been done because I didn’t want to share, but, more or less, because I frankly didn’t know how to. My dating/love life has often, in hindsight, felt like learning how to drive a car: definitely with its starts and stops, plenty of awkwardness, some wrong turns made, and so much to learn. (Yes, this analogy truly describes how dating as an adult for the first time in your thirties after being married for eleven years truly feels like. *laughs*) Needless to say, I did not know how to navigate it very well, let alone to start opening up about topics like dating, sex, love, and heartbreak. So, after five years later, I think I’m finally ready to share. To be clear—I absolutely do not have it all figured out. I am not perfect, and I definitely have made my fair share of mistakes (yup, still human). But I also finally acknowledge that that doesn’t mean I don’t have something valuable to share. I don’t know, frankly, what the sharing is going to look like, but I am ready to start. As I have with every single thing I have written here up until now, I share with the hope and intention that in doing so it might help someone else. I truly believe it’s this shared humanity—the realness and vulnerability that exists in sharing what is real in our lives, and often times hidden away—that this is so incredibly attractive, because it is so rare, and it’s also where real connection takes place. So, with that intention, I promise to be real, honest, and vulnerable as hell.

“The mark of a wild heart is living out the paradox of love in our lives. It’s the ability to be tough and tender, excited and scared, brave and afraid—all in the same moment.”

— Brené Brown, Braving the Wilderness

When I think about the past five years, and trying to navigate dating, this quote feels so incredibly true and relevant in my life. The ability to, despite everything that has happened in your life up to this moment, meet the next moment and person with fresh optimism and hope for what might be. The ever-optimistic question of, “What if?” Trust me when I say I know all too well what it is to be equal parts excited and scared. That is where I was a little over one year ago: Trying to date...again. Despite the heartache and the disappointment, and all the frustrations that go along with online dating—I was willing to try again because, deep down, I genuinely wanted to find someone, even if all my previous attempts had failed not ended the way I had hoped. Can I just take a moment to commiserate with anyone that’s reading this (male or female) who has also felt the pain and frustration of online dating? Yes, it can suck—and yes, people can suck—so you’re not alone in having mixed feelings about it (yes, I’m making some assumptions here, but I feel safe in making them). Goodness knows that I have had enough iterations with the dating apps, both love/hate, and moments where I swear “Never again!!” With that said, I think we can all—okay, fine—most of us can agree that they are a tool, and in today’s society of disconnection, they are a very helpful tool for connecting people; so, if you can get past the crap and frustration, they can be a positive. (Notice the emphasis on can here; I didn’t say they always are! *laughs*) This is at least the reason (and justification) for their reappearance in my life last year.

This is how I started dating again, and how I met him—the man who would become my boyfriend last year. (Trying hard to not use names here—ever.) By and large, he was the most significant event last year—significant in many ways, but I think context helps to clarify why he was a significant event in my life. To back up a bit—dating has been incredibly hard for me in the wake of my divorce—there have been many men I have “dated,” in a sense, but often times I have, in the early stages of dating been too afraid of the labels, and the commitment, to even consider calling it a relationship, let alone calling someone my “boyfriend.” Before him, I have only had two relationships I could truly classify as truly “dating,” and only one I think would agree that we were boyfriend/girlfriend—exclusive, at the very least. Trust me—so many labels, so many new hurdles to navigate—so dating him was significant in that we both jumped in rather quickly, and also fell pretty quickly for each other. It was the first person, post my ex-husband, to tell me that he loved me, and to also ask me to be his girlfriend. I’m aware that, to many, that may sound cheesy, even juvenile, but here’s the truth: despite all the hurt and frustrations I’ve had with the opposite sex—deep down, I am a romantic at heart. A romantic with an insanely big heart who wants to fall in love again. (Yeah, I just admitted that.)

So, I fell hard. I fell in love with all the firsts: the way it felt when I was around him—it felt exactly how it had, falling when you are young—the way you get excited to hear someone’s voice over the phone for the first time, the first time they hold your hand, the first kiss, the way they look at you...we were like two kids, and it felt incredibly special. I share all of this because I think it’s important to reflect—to look back and smile knowing I got to have that again, to experience having love, and a boyfriend, again...I want to be intentional in saying that because, if you’re like me, when something like that ends, it is incredibly easy to demonize someone, to focus on only the hurts, and to forget all of the good parts. I hope that you don’t.

Suffice it to say, we did not last. Much like a candle that burns hard and bright, then just as quickly burns out...that was how we seemed to be, unfortunately. The man I fell in love with...well, I don’t know what happened to him, honestly. All the emotion, the vulnerability, and amazing connection I felt in the beginning, just...disappeared. I felt it most acutely on our first trip away together. I had been trying to communicate with him about it, without much success—and then the night before our trip, when I tried to talk to him about it again, the message I got back was, basically, “I don’t know what to tell you. This is how it’s going to be,” In my head, what I heard was something to the effect of, “Tough shit.” I was dumbfounded. I was trying to connect with him on this lack of connection, to discover the “why,” and met with, well, nothing. It was incredibly hard hearing that as we were about to go away for our first trip together. Trying to have a romantic weekend with someone who is not emotionally connected with you, or even trying to be, well...it’s a good recipe for a disaster, which is what that weekend was. I tried to make the best of it, but I found myself reminded of how disengaged my ex was with me and it, frankly, scared the shit out of me. In hindsight I wish I had had more courage. Courage to have a real conversation on the real disconnect we were having that weekend. But it felt like every time I tried, it was like trying to talk to someone who spoke Greek, and there was no place for understanding or vulnerability there. I came back not really knowing how to proceed, but knowing we definitely still needed to talk about it. After I made multiple attempts to initiate talking about it with him, I was met with only short texts back, and several blow offs instead of actually talking to me in the week following our trip. I felt miserable, sick to my stomach, and only an escalating sense of desperation to have this awful feeling end. I felt like I had been taken to this incredible high in our relationship, to then be dropped off the edge of an emotional cliff. Without a partner willing to communicate, who literally just disappeared after an uncomfortable first weekend away, I just felt desperate to have my pain end. Less than a week from my birthday, desperate to do what I thought was best, I ended it—after which I promptly bawled my eyes out. (Yeah. I’m being painfully honest here.) In hindsight, I can see that we weren’t meant to be, but the truth is, it, and he, still meant a lot to me. I have had well-meaning girlfriends even try to convince me that I didn’t actually love him, “No, not really.” Well I am here to say that I did love him, and that I don’t regret it. Any of it. As hard as that breakup was for me, I will always be grateful for loving him. I will always be grateful to have him show me what it should really look like...even if it didn’t last. To have someone show you that you are worthy of pursuing, worthy of going on romantic dates with, worthy of romance, and, ultimately, worthy of love...I am honestly grateful for all of it.

With all of that said, the end of “us” left me in a very dark place for a time. I felt betrayed and I felt rejected. Rejection’s sting is something I am far, far too familiar with these past five years, but it always hurts more when I’ve invested more. I am not necessarily proud of how I chose to handle my hurt and pain this time, but I embraced that I was in a “dark and twisty place,” as I called it, and I set my intentions with men accordingly. I didn’t want anything more than something of a casual nature, which suited my needs, and my heart, just fine during this time. I don’t look back and applaud this; it was simply the way I chose to handle the hurt I was feeling at the time, and I want to be honest about that.

If you’re still reading, I applaud you. My dating/love life is not for the faint of heart or those only inclined to read short stories. Without further ado, this is when someone new came into my life. I feel the need to pause and say that I do feel badly—he met me smack dab in the beginning of my “dark and twisty” phase—right as I had intended to not be with anyone in a romantic way, is when he met me. I told him as much the night we met, but the message still got filtered a bit through the lens of someone who I think, deep down, was hopeful for more. He and I were not friends, per se, but we were also not dating—because I was not interested in dating anyone in the dark place I was currently in—but I also found the previously used label of “friends with benefits” didn’t quite seem to fit either, so we found a label we could both agree upon, which was “lovers.” And we honestly enjoyed as much time as we could with each other in this space. For me, it was exactly what I needed in that moment. We enjoyed each other’s company, and we enjoyed many of the same things; we found a safety with each other—both in the sharing of our past, but also simply just by being together. I recognize this title implicitly says more than I ever have shared before about a relationship, and I’m okay with that. I am thirty-six years old and incredibly tired of living in the fear of talking about or not talking about sex. I was married eleven years, so I think it’s safe to say I am aware of what sex is—and it’s something I still engage in to this day. *laughing* I know that by sharing this, there will be some of my family/friends who are probably disappointed, but frankly? I’m not interested in filtering my writing anymore for fear of what you, or others may think (or not think). Enough said.

I am a firm believer that people come in and out of our lives for a reason. With that said, I genuinely believe I was meant to have this man in my life. Even if it was unconventional and didn’t look like other relationships—it was still meaningful, even it if wasn’t meant to be for forever. I was very up front and honest with him about where I was at, day one, but it doesn’t mean that feelings didn’t get involved. If I’ve learned anything in my years of dating—it’s that it’s incredibly easy and natural for emotions and feelings to get involved where sex is concerned. I think we both knew that this was always a possibility, and we were both very honest with each other about what that would mean. I knew he was potentially moving out of the area soon, so it felt safe. Safe to let my guard down; safe to just be me; safe also because it was just so easy to be around him. But, with all of that said, I never felt that way about him. Even when I found feelings creeping in, I pushed them down not wanting to go there—we weren't supposed to go there, right? But, before I knew it, we were facing a point of no return—I had agreed to go out of state to a wedding as his plus one—and subsequently had made plans to go to Paris the day after we were to get back. The trip was going great, but somehow, without really seeing it coming, I found myself hearing him tell me that he was falling in love with me, and that he needed more. My heart ached in that moment. My heart ached because I knew I couldn’t say the words he would have liked to hear me say next, and that I couldn’t give him more. I have never taken those words lightly, and I didn’t then either. The next day we flew back, and I had to face one of the hardest goodbyes I have ever had. It was hard because not only was it over, but I was also losing a friend—he couldn’t stay friends with me—and we had truly become close over those few months—my heart ached knowing I was losing that, but also for all the unspoken words I felt between us in that moment, “I’m sorry I can’t give you more. I’m sorry you met me here, in this dark place I’m at right now. I’m sorry I am not where you are at, at least not today.” So, I said goodbye, and I flew to Paris two days later.

So, Paris. I flew to Paris, kind of spontaneously, with a man I had dated earlier in the year, and who I really liked. If I’m being honest, he was someone I had hoped (deep down) to have something more with someday. In hindsight it all feels like it was wishful thinking, but, at the time, I couldn’t help but feel excited and hopeful. A handsome man who I was interested in had invited me to join him in Paris and, on a whim, I had decided to say yes. I mean, how do you say no to that? Our first date was one of the most romantic I’ve ever been on, honestly. I was about to go to Paris for the first time earlier in the year and he had invited me to a French themed charity dinner, and the night ended with slow dancing (yes—slow dancing) in his living room. I know, it all sounds a bit hard to believe, maybe even a little nonsensical, but I genuinely believe that a big part of love is truly that—nonsensical. So, seven months later, I went to Paris for a second time, but this time, with him. I went to Paris, and I tried hard to keep my expectations in check, but it was hard for me to not find myself hopeful...for a spark, for more... I do not want to dwell on the details, but I will say that my overwhelming feeling from this trip was one of disappointment. I know that it’s not fair to compare, but for me, there was no way I couldn’t not compare them, having both trips so close in proximity to one another. While one man was so incredibly attentive, emotionally connected, and engaged—the other was the exact opposite. Perhaps, not at first...but as the trip went on, I was incredibly aware of it. It makes me sad, in hindsight—I was in one of the most beautiful cities in the world, and I felt more alone than ever being there with him. I felt like he didn’t emotionally connect with me most of our time together, which was a little surprising, but also left me at a bit of a loss, as I’m incredibly empathic to the people I’m around. I often felt a bit like I was walking around on eggshells being with him, unsure how to “just be” around him. It was not romantic. It was not about me. And my heart turned in on itself with the juxtaposition it found between my travel companions. I had hoped, foolishly so, to fall in love in Paris, and instead I was with someone who I realized was still in love someone else. I don’t say all of this to be hurtful, but to simply be honest. It was a painful and incredibly emotional week for me.

But, somehow, even after all of this, my emotional week wasn’t complete. There was more waiting for me. Sitting in the Paris airport, waiting to come home, I was sitting next to my travel companion, filling the time while we waited to board the plane by mindlessly scrolling through Instagram when my eyes caught on two words, a name. His name. A man I have written about here before—the first man I fell in love with after my ex-husband. My brain was still registering seeing these two words again as my brain finally assimilated what it was I was seeing. It was a picture of the man I had fallen in love with proposing. My heart dropped. I sat there in shock, absorbing these pictures, these words—then I quickly closed the app—my brain’s obvious attempt at self-preservation. I sat there for about ten minutes before finally starting to cry—my partner sitting next to me completely oblivious to my tears or my pain. I have been asked, since then, why I cried...and it still baffles me how anyone could ask me “why?” But I will try to convey to you the “why,” even if it’s completely irrelevant.

I cried because the man I fell in love with was proposing to someone else. I cried because he was, in every single way, exactly what I wanted—at least in that moment of my life. And even though I can look back on us and see just how much he didn’t deserve the love I had for him, it is irrelevant to the simple fact that I did...love him. I loved him in a way that I have never known before...connected with him in a way I had never known before. I cried because this hurt me—seeing this, as it should. But it was also necessary. I knew this was the moment I had to let it all go. To finally, somehow, find a way to forgive him—to let go of all the pain that had been inside me for far too long. That is one thing I will always be very grateful for. To the man that I would call my boyfriend, and the man I would call my lover—I realized just how much pain I had been living with, not just from my breakup, but from the men I had loved, but who, ultimately, hadn’t been right for me. I finally recognized this in moments I had been with my friend, my lover, and he would be asking me simple questions, and I would be reduced to tears in a matter of moments. It was embarrassing, but he also never made me feel bad or ashamed for it. I also had a moment of clarity, a few months later, in a conversation with my last boyfriend, finally talking about our breakup and how much his actions had hurt me. He said to me, “Don’t let me be the cause of your pain.” Those words resonated with me because of just how true they were for me. While I had done such a good job of not letting my divorce not define my life, to keep me from moving on and dating again, I had allowed these men, each heartbreak, to carry on in my heart—each hurt still there, right beneath the surface. I realized then and there I owed it to myself to finally forgive them, and to move on.

While I haven’t figured it all out exactly since then (read: I’m still figuring so much out in this crazy life, especially now), I am proud to say that I came back from Paris and I finally forgave the man who broke my heart more than most. In writing this, I recognize that there is still room for forgiveness, for letting go, which I completely acknowledge. I am not perfect, and I’m still figuring this life out as I go, but I’m also incredibly proud of just how far I have come.

I have loved, deeply. I have had my heart broken, and, sadly, I have hurt some hearts along the way. I am here, sharing this, to hopefully normalize that dating may not look the way you expect it to—it may be messy and unconventional—and you may make some mistakes (or a lot), and you may have your heart broken...but here’s also a beautiful truth: you get to decide what happens next. You.

So, in this moment, I am creating something new and I am trying to have a wild heart in dating. I am both hopeful, excited and scared...but above all, ready. I know what I bring, and I also know what I want. Dating is hard, but it’s also so much harder if you’re not ready.

When I wrote these words, almost a year ago now, I was in such a different place. I was actually ready to try to start dating again. Unfortunately, this year has not been the year for trying to date, at all. It’s been incredibly hard trying to pick this piece back up, to try and talk about something that’s happened so long ago now, but I also feel like I needed to. To give these words voice, even if I find myself in a space where I’m not optimistic about love or dating, as I was earlier in the year, pre-global pandemic. With that said, I still want to write about love. I still want to talk about what dating has taught me, even as I find myself in a particularly weird year for it.

With that said, the best advice I can offer, for the years of dating I have experienced, is this:

• Know who you are, but also be comfortable, just as you are. You don’t need anyone to complete you or to make you happy. Trying to have someone fill this role won’t make you happy, ultimately.

• Know that it’s okay to want someone—but not to “need” them to feel okay. You have to be okay, just you. You also have to love you, first, before anyone else can love you. Any attempts to shortcut this will leave you disappointed.

• Try really hard to not grasp for someone or something, or to chase someone who has left of their own accord. I’ve had to learn this the hard way, and sometimes I’ve needed to be reminded, but it is a powerful truth. If they want to talk to you, they will. If they want to see you, they will ask. Try to not read between lines that aren’t there. Sometimes it really is that simple. You deserve someone that pursues you. Pure and simple.

• Be honest and be kind. I think I’ve said this very yearly on in my writing, but it begs repeating. It does no one a service to tell them what you think they want to hear, let alone yourself. Always be honest (even when it is hard). And try to do so with kindness. Enough said.

• Grace. If I had to leave you with one word, it would be this one. Have grace, and not just for others, but also for yourself. I know, for me, I need to have equal parts grace, both for others and for myself. It is so easy to allow my expectations of myself and others to put people on a pedestal. Pedestals are unrealistic, though, and people aren’t meant to be on them. Have grace for when people disappoint you, or for when you disappoint yourself. This beautiful adventure is called life. It’s going to surprise you and challenge you—and it’s not going to look how you had expected it to—ever! And that’s okay. Get comfortable in the uncomfortable—the not knowing.

With all of that said, I end this post a little differently than pre-pandemic Sabrina would have. I always feel like I have to end things on a positive note. Maybe it’s because I’m a sucker for happy endings and naturally want there to be one. Pre-pandemic Sabrina ended this so full of hope, excited for a year full of as of yet unknowns and adventures. While this year has definitely held quite a few surprises, not all of which were bad, more than ever this year has tested us all and pushed us to many of our breaking points. I wish I could share something incredibly positive, something uplifting, or something exciting, but I’m afraid I just don’t have it. I think in the absence of that, the one positive this new space has left in my life right now is time to reflect, time to sit in the space created, just me. I’m getting comfortable, really comfortable, with just being me. It’s not easy, especially as I crave connection and companionship, but I also know, deep down, just how necessary it is. In this vacuum of time and space this pandemic has created, I’m learning how to truly love me, to learn the wounds I have yet to heal, and—probably the hardest yet—how to finally let go of not having a romantic relationship. It’s hard, and it can be scary, but I think it’s exactly where I’m supposed to be. As scary as “giving up” has felt for me, I feel only stronger in who I am for having finally done it. I’m not giving up forever. But I am—for now. And I’m okay with that. In letting go, I feel that I have found the strength within me to face this, but also a feeling of peace about it. I genuinely don’t know what this next year will bring, BUT I can confidently say a stronger Sabrina will be here to face it. And for that, I am grateful.

#love #relationships #vulnerable #vulnerability #dating #findingme #lettinggo #writing #writer #thisisme #paris

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 4 years

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Kissing Dead Pearls ( Part 18)

There are many rumors surrounding Sea Candle Lighthouse; hauntings, sirens, and beasts that come on the gales to name a few. Azula has even heard that the ghosts have been there before the lighthouse was constructed. She has lived there her whole life and she hasn’t seen one phantom.

But she and Zuko made a game of it. They earned social points with peers by inviting them to their ‘creepy’ lighthouse during softly stormy nights. Nights when the sea howls and throws tempestuous fits.

It was on such a night that she’d truly gotten to know Chan and Ruon-Jian. Their parents had a date night at a rather upscale restaurant across town, a date night that was extended until the storm could pass. And then extended once more when the roads closed at the hands of flooding. The storm itself hadn’t been notably bad, so she and Zuko invited company to spend the night. Nevermind the scoldings that they would get later.

Within the hour ten people had turned up; Mai, TyLee, Sokka, Katara, Aang, Toph, Jet, Chan, Ruon, and Chan’s older sister. And a half an hour after that, several more people turned up, neither she nor Zuko knew them. Azula recognized three of them from her first hour class and Zuko said he’d seen the other two in the cafeteria. They were nice enough company but Azula wishes that Chan would have asked before prattling to others about a small get together.

Of course nearly everyone in their school had been fighting for a chance to spend the night inside the haunted lighthouse. She vividly recalls a rather solid month of her freshman year being interrogated over rumors that she’d been posesseed. She isn’t sure that they have quite let go of that of that one. She also vividly recalls complaining to Mai about it and having the girl shrug and say, “welcome to the club, Azula.”

So it was that five fortunate strangers assembled on the floor playing card and board games with them. Azula can’t remember their names. One of them might have been Jin, maybe Jing?

It was Mai who swapped the tiresome monopoly board for an ouija board. Azula cracked a smile. Mai was always essential to the atmosphere of the Sea Candle sleepovers. Azula and Zuko wrote the stories and Mai expertly narrated them under the flickering orange glow of candlelight. On this occasion the storm hadn’t gotten around to knocking out the power so she and Zuko had to do the honors.

The rain continued to pour down ceaselessly as Mai began the story. It was a story from before the lighthouse had been constructed, a tale of a man and his wife. “There was a man and his wife. The wife always wore a pearl pendant on a silver chain.” She had begun as a rumble of thunder rattled the lighthouse and died away. “The couple had made a habit of climbing up to the very highest point of the cliff and watching the ships pass by. They didn’t like to go in the daytime though because there were too many people and the husband was a shy man.”

Toph had yawned.

“One night they went walking. It was raining.”

“Of course it was storming, it’s always storming.” Toph muttered.

“Shut up Toph, I’m trying to listen!” Sokka shushed.

Unperturbed by their bickering, Mai had continued. “It wasn’t storming. It was a light misty rain. But there was fog and a lot of it. By the time they reached the top of the cliffs, the fog thickened until you could barely see in front of you. They stayed there a while even though there were no ships to watch, sometimes they just liked to enjoy a night alone on the cliffs. The sound of the rain on the water was nice enough.” She paused before continuing in her droning monotone. A monotone that was truly made for ghost stories, if Azula must say. “But they did see a ship after all. It was worn down and beaten like it just rose up from the bottom of a trench. Its sails didn’t move in the breeze. As the couple stared at at a voice called out, ‘mama, papa, I can’t find my way home.’ The couple looked at one another. It was the voice of their son. Their long lost son. ‘Mama, papa, I can’t see, it’s too dark’. And so, upon these cliffs, they built a light. One that can be seen for miles in hopes that their lost son would make his way home. That is the first ghost to haunt the Sea Candle lighthouse.”

The story was as cheesy as any, but it had their classmates talking for weeks after a night of Chan, Ruon, and her other unfamiliar classmates swearing up and down that they could hear the boy crying for his parents between rolls of thunder.

She, Zuzu, Mai, and TyLee spent the night snickering as Toph and Sokka fervently tried to debunk the claims of Chan and his posse. Katara and Jet had nothing to do with it at all, declaring that to have a sleepover you should make sleep one of the activities.

It was all in good fun.

Only once could Azula swear that she’d seen a spirit. Only once when she looked out the window to see her mother wandering home as she would on an ordinary day. Only once and never again.

.oOo.

The storm broke suddenly. Suddenly and much earlier than anticipated. Such seems to be a recurring theme in her life. She wishes that, for once, a storm would arrive behind schedule as opposed to ahead of it.

Azula rubs her eyes and hustles on deck to see Ozai and Zuko struggling with a sail that had broken loose. Lord, they couldn’t afford to lose a sail. But, she notes with building horror, they couldn’t afford to leave the wheel unattended. Her stomach pangs as adrenaline cuts through her sleep deprived mind. She makes a beeline for the wheel, leaping over a table that has been upturned and rolled by the perilous rocking of the ship.

She catches sight of Katara as she wraps her hands around the wheel’s spokes. Azula runs through the details in her sailing manuals. She truly hopes that she is remembering correctly as she points the bow of her ship towards the waves.

Ozai catches her eyes and his own seem to fill with relief in seeing that the wheel is now attended.

“Zuko, I am going to open the storm sails!” He calls over the roaring wind and spraying waves. “I need you to keep control over the broken sail.”

She can’t hear Zuko’s reply.

The rain is beating brutally against her face, each drop giving her the feeling of being pelted with pebbles. She fights against a wheel that would rather do anything but keep the boat facing the waves. She finds herself constantly blowing streams of rainwater out of her mouth, but more comes to fill it almost immediately. And her hair, she wishes that she had chopped it off or at least tied it back before embarking. For it now whips about and obscures her vision until rainwater plasters it uncomfortably to her cheeks and forehead.

She finds herself breathless and surprised at just how much exertion it is taking just to hold the wheel steady, much less push it in the opposite direction when a particularly powerful wave knocks it out of place.

“Shit!” Jet hollars, finally emerging. He runs up to her and she waves him off.

“Zuzu…” she huffs. “Go help...Zuzu.” She nods her head in his direction. The flapping sail is fighting him with more vigor than the wheel is fighting her.

Jet nods and rushes to the sail. Azula’s heart seizes, she can’t see her father. The ship, as far as former pirate ships go, isn’t large. She should see him scaling the mast. Her attention is pulled to a sharp cry. The ship jolts and Katara is knocked off of her feet. She and Zuko both. With Zuko on the floor and sliding, the sail snaps and blows away completely. Jet lets go just on time to avoid going with it.

Azula has no time to be relieved over that. “Jet!” She hollers. As soon as he makes it to the wheel she passes it off to him with hurried instructions. This leaves her with no time to answer, “where are you going? What are you doing?”

She nearly slips down the stairs, and finds herself thankful for the balance that her years of surfing have afforded her. Her lungs burn the effort and her eyes sting with sea salt. She will be dreadfully sore if she makes it to the next morning.

Katara is hollering quite loudly as she fights to cling onto the rails. Zuko is more silent in his distress, exerting all energy into clinging to the rails next to her. They are both loosing grip quickly.

Blood beats behind her ears as her heartbeat picks up. It is the same thing. The same thing all over again. Her mother and Zuzu, she could only save one. She can see blood on the sea foam. She shakes her head, she is wasting time.

As she cautiously but speedily nears the both of them she can see it in Katara’s eyes, the absolute horror. The acknowledgment that she is a second priority. Azula feels sick. At least her mother had been out before the sea had claimed her, Katara was aware. She knew…

It might not matter anyhow, Zuzu is heavier than she and she finds that he is pulling her closer to the edge rather than she pulling him back from it. She is losing her footing and the grip that she has on a decorative post.

As her fingers slip, a strong arm wraps around her torso. It takes the wind out of her as it pushes into her stomach. But it keeps her from going over the edge, she and Zuko both. They are safely away from the rails but Katara is not. She springs forward before Ozai can keep her from it. She hears the man let out a string of curses.

Azula grabs Katara by the wrist just as she lets go of the railing. The sudden increase in gravity takes the both of them over the edge. She manages to grab the railing, her arm twisting painfully. She doesn’t let go of Katara and thanks every power that Katara is light enough to hold.

Thunder roars and the waves below surge up. Katara is frightened beyond screaming. She and Azula both. It seems like forever that they are suspended there. Azula looks up and in a flash of lightning she sees them. Those same phantom sails.

It must be the sail that Zuko has lost hold of. But she swears… Another flash. She swears that she can make out the haul of the Pearl Racer.

For a moment she forgets her predicament. She squints against the rain. But only for a moment before she is suddenly wrenched up. She gives a sharp cry as her shoulder pops, but she and Katara are laying on the boat instead of in the churning waters.

She sits up and scans the water. The sails are gone. They had never been there.

.oOo.

By noon, the storm has lessened into light rain and then a drizzle. Azula is still shaking. She hears Zuko speaking into the radio, they aren’t terribly far from a mass of land.

“Do you want me to pop it back into place or do you want to wait until we can get you to a hospital.”

She has been avoiding looking at her arm, she is nauseated by the way her skin bulges. “J-just do it.”

Ozai nods. He hands her a balled cloth. “Bite down on this.” She takes a deep breath and obliges. “Ready?” She is anything but, though she nods regardless. She squeezes her and and screams into the cloth as Ozai pops her shoulder back into place.

Her eyes sting with tears and her trembling doubles. She can see Katara cringing from afar. Ozai takes her into his arms and rubs her head, “that’s my girl. You always have been a fighter.”

She wishes that she didn’t have to.

“Get her some ice, boy!”

“Yes sir.” Jet half grumbles.

With him gone Ozai inquires, “why did you do it? You should have let me.”

She shakes her head. She is faster than he. He wouldn’t have made it. And even if it weren’t so, she had to do it. “Because I couldn’t save mother…”

Ozai’s brows furrow. “You couldn’t have, you were…”

“I chose Zuzu.” She cuts him off. “I couldn’t save them both. I chose Zuzu.”

He nods, understanding. He squeezes her more tightly. “She would have wanted you to save him. She always was fussy and protective over him.” He forces a chuckle. “She would have scolded you if you hadn’t picked him.”

The tears finally come. Tears that are years overdue.

“Does he know?”

Azula shakes her head.

“It is probably better if he doesn’t.” Ozai pauses. “You’re a strong girl. I raised you well.” His soft voice hardens some, “but don’t you do that again, you understand me?”

She nods. She doesn’t think that he has ever held her so tightly.

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Zuko #Ozai #Katara #Sokkla #Jetzula #Zutara #Sokka #Jet #Fanfiction

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pinesconessecrets · 5 years

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Mistletoe

Here’s your super duper uber late secret santa gift, Fri Fri! I hope you enjoy. <3

@sci-fri

Usually, it was dead in Wirt’s florist shop when the holidays began to roll around. His shop flourished in the spring and summer, customers coming in and out to browse his wide variety of flowers and other miscellaneous plants. As fall set in, the once steady flow of customers slowed down considerably, leaving Wirt fairly bored and often alone in his shop.

It was Christmas time now. Business picked up again briefly during the month of December and the first week of January. Everyone wanted assortments of holly, poinsettias, Christmas roses, chrysanthemums, and other Christmas themed flowers. Wirt got good at making wreaths very quick. Word of them got around town quick and the first two weeks of December was spent making the darn things.

After that, things really died down and he was bored. Really bored.

He spun around in his chair, leaned back and staring up at the ceiling. There was a week left to Christmas and boy was he bored. His family was supposed to visit him but their flight got messed up and they had to cancel. Wirt put on his happy face and told them it was fine, that he could just visit in January when the crazy holiday season has died down. Greg took it harder than Wirt did since the two brothers only got to see each other a handful of times each year.

The doorbell chimed, signaling that a customer was walking in. Wirt tried not to flail while straightening himself in his chair. He was a professional that totally didn’t spin around in his chair while he was bored. Nope, not at all.

“Hey, Wirt!”

He looked up, blinking in surprise. “Oh hey, Mabel. I didn’t think you would still be in town.”

Mabel made her way through the shop, setting a cup of something warm on the counter. “We were going to fly back to Washington to see our parents, but my lazybutt of a brother couldn’t get out of bed on time and made us miss our flight. Couldn’t afford another ticket so we decided to stay here. Mom and Dad are pretty bummed that we couldn’t make it but hey, it happens. What about you?”

Wirt picked the cup up, taking a tentative sip. Hot chocolate; he should have known. “There was a glitch in the airport’s system so they never actually booked a flight and they couldn’t schedule any flights until January. It’s not the first Christmas I’ve had to spend alone so it’s cool.”

She pursed her lips, her expression scrunching up. That was a look Wirt knew as Mabel’s thinking face. He had a feeling about what would happen next.

“You should come and have Christmas with us!”

Wirt chewed on his lip, thinking it over. Either way, he probably didn’t have a choice considering this was Mabel who was asking him. “Okay. Do you want me to bring anything? Like a pie or a side dish or something.”

“Honestly whatever is good. I think Dipper is going to try to bake a turkey, which means I’ll end up baking it because he should not be let anywhere near the kitchen.”

Wirt laughed into his drink. “That bad?”

“He almost set the microwave on fire, Wirt. The microwave. Do you know how hard it is to even do that?”

“I’ll take your word for it. I had a roommate back in college who burned everything in the microwave. Needless to say, he was quickly banned from going near it shortly after. Didn’t stop him though.”

“Oh man, that sounds exactly like Dipper. He’s hopeless when it comes to any type of kitchen device.” Mabel looked at the time on her phone, then let out an annoyed huff. “I gotta bounce! I swear, everyone would be lost without me at work. See you soon, Wirt!”

“Later, take care.”

Mabel waved at him as she walked through the door, leaving Wirt alone in his shop.

*****

Wirt sat nervously in his car, fidgeting with his seatbelt. A freshly baked apple pie and a cinnamon butterscotch pie were carefully placed in the backseat, filling the car with their sweet and tempting aroma. He didn’t know why he was so nervous to go to the Pines twins apartment for Christmas. They were his friends; he had no reason to be feeling this nervous.

Okay, maybe he was slightly crushing on Dipper. It was just a little crush, nothing to worry about, right?

Right.

Wirt turned his car off, pocketing the keys before stepping out into the biting cold. He gathered the pies up in his arms carefully, beginning on making his way to the apartment complex. The twins lived up on the top floor and thank god for elevators. He didn’t think he’d be able to go up four flights of stairs, let alone with two pies. Mabel’s spidey sense must have kicked in before Wirt had the chance to knock on the door.

“You made it! Come in!” she beamed, practically pulling him in. “You can put the pies on the counter in the kitchen.”

Wirt yelped and struggled not to drop the dessert. “You didn’t let Dipper in the kitchen, did you?”

“Nope! Chased him out with my trusty wooden spoon anytime he tried to sneak in.”

“You know I can hear you, right? Not cool guys.” Dipper leaned against the wall, dark circles under his eyes.

Wirt hummed innocently, glancing at one of Mabel’s multiple wooden spoons scattered about the kitchen.

“Oh no. No no no. You are not going to do what I think you’re planning,” Dipper scowled.

Mabel leaped at Dipper with wooden spoons in both hands, batting at him gleefully. “I am!”

“Argh, Mabel no! Look I’m leaving!” He quickly retreated from the vicinity of the kitchen, heading back to the living room.

She snickered, brandishing her weapons. “The turkey’s almost done cooking, so feel free to go chill. I’ll hold the fort down.”

“Call me if you need any help.”

“Will do!”

Wirt wandered into the living room, hovering awkwardly in the entryway. Dipper was sprawled out on the couch, one leg propped up on the coffee table as he lazily flipped through the channels on TV.

“You gonna sit down? I don’t bite.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Wirt shuffled over, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch. He tried to focus on the movie Dipper picked, which was some cheesy Hallmark movie because seriously, what else is there to watch during Christmas.

But his mind kept drifting to Dipper’s presence. Oh, how he hated how his mind loved to kick into overdrive, making him overanalyze everything and anything. Did Dipper even like other guys? Wirt never had the courage to ask, let alone hint at bringing up any talk of it. He had a feeling Mabel must have figured he was harboring a tiny crush on her brother but she never mentioned it.

“… you okay, man? Kinda spaced out there.”

Wirt jumped, coming back to earth. “Y-yeah. It’s been pretty quiet at the shop so I’ve been uh, zoning out a lot. Not much to do since pretty much everyone’s out of town or busy visiting family.”

“Really? Figured everyone would be lining up to buy some flowers or something.”

“My Christmas wreaths are pretty popular but the demand dies down once it gets close to Christmas. I guess people forget that flowers exist.”

“Lame. Maybe I’ll write a blog post about the importance of visiting your local flower shop. Buy a bouquet of flowers and get a discount on a tattoo. It’s the perfect deal.”

Wirt hoped that Dipper didn’t notice the faint blush rising to his cheeks. “Would people actually take you up on that?”

“Probably. People love their tattoos.”

“It’d be… nice. Thank you,” he mused.

“‘Course. You helped spread the word of my tattoo parlor back when I was first starting out. Kinda surprised me to have a slew of people come in.”

“Never underestimate the power of a mere florist,” he said slyly.

“Mere? Come on, you’re more than that. You’re like the flower whisperer.”

Wirt shook his head, laughing softly. “Flower whisperer? That’s a bit of a stretch. My mom’s the one who has the green thumb. She can bring plants back from the dead in record time.”

“So can you.”

“Not as well as Mom.”

“Shut up and accept my compliments.” Dipper threw one of the multiple pillows littering the couch at Wirt.

He squawked as the pillow hit him smack in the face, flailing around. Wirt chucked the pillow right back at Dipper, who caught it with ease. Dipper gave Wirt a smug grin, tucking the pillow back in its righteous place.

“If you two are done behaving like children, dinner’s ready.” Mabel poked her head into the living room, narrowing her eyes suspiciously at the two.

“Says the other child,” Dipper muttered, low enough for only Wirt to catch.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!”

Mabel rolled her eyes, passing a plate to Wirt. Once they all had a plate, they began piling food onto their plates. Wirt didn’t take too much food, knowing if he got anymore he’d end up in some sort of a food coma and would pass out on the couch for a few hours. The kitchen table was covered in a mess of papers and sketchbooks, Dipper’s laptop and numerous coffee cups, so all three opted to sit on the couch to eat. Mabel and Dipper bickered over the remote, Mabel emerging victorious as she changed the channel to something that wasn’t a Hallmark movie. She settled on Home Alone, tucking the remote between her and the armrest.

Wirt ended up sitting between the twins, painfully aware of how close he was sitting to Dipper. It’s cool, act normal. Everything is perfectly fine. Don’t let your eyes wander oh wait is that a new tattoo? he thought to himself. A few sneaky glances confirmed that Dipper indeed get a new tattoo. It looked like a single vine wrapping around his forearm, varying types of flowers here and there. He picked out carnations, chrysanthemums, petunias, and roses. Wirt didn’t take Dipper to be a flower guy, unless…

“Are you done eating? I can take your plate,” Mabel said, already taking Dipper’s empty plate.

“Oh, no. I can get it.”

“Shh. No. You’re company. Give me your plate.”

Knowing better than to argue, Wirt handed her his plate. She nodded with a smug grin and headed off to the kitchen. Soon sounds of her cleaning kitchen reached the living room.

Before Wirt could get up to help her, Dipper shook his head. “She’ll just chase you out. I wouldn’t try.”

Wirt flopped back down on the couch with a sigh, bouncing a leg. Then, his stupid mind betrayed him and he blurted out, “Did you get a new tattoo?”

“Yeah! Mabel’s been wanting to practice and I told her that I’d let her give me one to stop hounding me. She insisted on flowers for some reason.” Dipper held up his arm to give Wirt a closer look.

Wirt scooted closer, adoring the amount of detail Mabel put into the flowers. She captured their beauty perfectly and not a single line was out of place. “Mabel did a wonderful job on these flowers. If I wasn’t so squeamish around needles, I’d love to get a flower tattoo.”

“I wouldn’t mind holding your hand while you’re getting one. I mean, if you’re cool with that and everything. I wouldn’t want to make you feel awkward or anything and oh my gosh I don’t know if you’d be comfortable with that and look here I am rambling again I’m so sorry,” Dipper stammered out, flailing his arms around nervously as he spoke.

Wirt chuckled, unable to stop himself from giving Dipper a slight smile. “I’d be okay with that.”

“Really?”

“Mmhm. When I can work up the courage to get a tattoo, that is.”

“Y-yeah, of course! Have you thought about what kind you want to get?”

“No, not yet. I know a lot of people get ones that have some sort of meaning to them and it’s the way I’d like to go, but I can’t decide on exactly what I want.”

Dipper nodded, leaning back on the couch. “Take your time. It’s definitely not an overnight decision to make.”

The two lapsed into silence, their attention focused on the movie playing on TV. Wirt remembered when Greg first got into the Home Alone movies. He tried to prank Wirt after that, but their mom put a quick end to it when she caught wind of what he was planning.

Out of the corner of Wirt’s eye, he noticed Dipper fidgeting. It looked like he wanted to say something. As he turned his head to speak, Wirt’s phone rang.

Wirt mouthed ‘sorry’ as he got up from the couch, answering the phone on his way to the door. Mabel was too absorbed in washing dishes that she didn’t see him walk by, not even looking up when the door was opened and closed.

The phone call ended up being from Greg, who wanted to check up on Wirt. He seemed pleased to hear that he wasn’t spending Christmas Eve alone, but was still upset that he couldn’t come to visit. Wirt assured him that they’d get to see each other in a few short weeks, and if the airport’s system got messed up again, he’d take some time off from work to drive back home to see Greg. And that was a rock fact. Soon, Greg had to hang up to go to bed since it was starting to get late, making Wirt promise to call him first thing in the morning.

Wirt slipped his phone back into his pants pocket and opened the door, only to be met with Mabel shoving Dipper towards the doorway. He shut the door behind him and raised an eyebrow at the two of them. Mabel simply shrugged before pointing up and hauling ass.

Oh no.

“Why am I not surprised?” Dipper rolled his eyes. “Of course she planned this.”

A mistletoe hung above them, easy to miss if you weren’t looking out for it. Wirt was feeling all sorts of panic now. She must know of Wirt’s crush on Dipper, or maybe it was the other way around? No, it can’t be the other way around because whoever had a crush on him had to be out of their mind.

“Well, this is awkward. I wasn’t planning on telling you that uh, that I liked you. At all really. But guess Mabel had other plans,” Dipper mumbled.

Wirt’s face burned. Dipper had a crush on him? What? Was he dreaming? He definitely was dreaming. This can’t be happening.

“I like you too.”

Why did I say that? Wirt screamed internally. No no no no no. Abort mission.

Dipper perked up. “You do?”

“Y-yeah. I hope that’s okay?”

“Course, man. God, this is going to sound so lame but I’ve had a crush on you ever since Mabel dragged me into your flower shop like a year ago.”

“Just kiss already, you dorks!” Mabel yelled at them from somewhere inside the apartment.

“Are you okay with…?” Dipper started to ask, his voice trailing off.

Wirt bit his lip but nodded. “Mmhm. Best to y-you know, before Mabel comes in here and shoves our heads together.”

He laughed, stepping closer. Wirt felt his heart thudding in his chest as Dipper grew closer, his cheeks turning redder when Dipper tucked his fingers under Wirt’s chin to tilt his head up. He let his eyes flutter shut, his breath catching in the back of his throat as Dipper’s lips softly brushed over his own. It was a small kiss but had the promise of more in the future to come.

“Took you dorks long enough. You’d still be pining over each other if it wasn’t for me.” Mabel appeared a few feet away from them, smirking triumphantly.

Dipper jumped away from Wirt, both of them equally embarrassed. “Mabel! Personal space!”

“You’re in the hallway. Not really personal space, is it?”

“Oh my god. You’re impossible. Go away.”

Mabel cackled and walked away.

Dipper dropped his head onto Wirt’s shoulder. “She’s going to drive me insane one of these days.”

“Thought she already was.”

“Haha, very funny. We should probably go join her in the living room before she comes back. But first…” Dipper kissed Wirt again with more confidence. Wirt let out a squeak of surprise, causing Dipper to laugh against his lips. “I think I could get used to hearing more of whatever that noise was.”

“Oh my gosh. No. It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s cute.”

“Just shut up and kiss me again.”

#pinescone #pinescone secret Santa #Wirt #Dipper #Pinescon eSecret Santa 2018 #OTGW #GF #Gravity falls #over the garden wall #submission

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earwaxinggibbous · 5 years

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“Look What You Made Me Do” by Taylor Swift

Well, it was only a matter of time.

Hey y’all, it’s Mod Birdie, and for my first post on this blog, I’ll be covering a song that more talented people have already torn to shreds. Yes, I am fully aware that this song is widely hated, and has been reviewed and dragged through the dirt since it first came out. But here I posit a revolutionary idea.

What if this song...

isn’t that bad?

Oh god wait no please don’t leave.

It sucks. A lot. But certain aspects of it don’t suck as much, and honestly, that’s what makes it as bad as it is.

Let me explain.

Let’s just touch on the backstory, just so you can understand where this piece of shit came from. Kanye included a line about making Taylor famous in his song “Famous”, she got pissed, everyone sided with her, and then holy SHIT Kim K. West posts a video of Kanye on the phone with one Taylor Swift, notifying her of the lyric and gaining her whole-hearted support. Down comes Taylor, toppling down from the tower of victimhood she’s been building brick by brick since the 2009 VMAs.

So now Taylor is not the victim, but the villain. The manipulative, snakey, lying... this is getting off-track. Point is, she can no longer put forth her image of wholesome pop-country singer (that had already started to disappear following the release of Bad Blood).

Look What You Made Me Do is like Bad Blood except without the enjoyably cheesy video. It is, for lack of a better word, cringey.

Let’s start with the video, shall we?

We open on an overhead shot of a graveyard, where eagle-eyed viewers will spot T-Swizzle’s initials spelled out with gravestones. The old Taylor is dead, guys. This is the new Taylor. It’s not a phase, this is who she really is, and you totally just don’t get it, Mom!!

The music, right when it starts, is... well, remember how I said this song wasn’t all that bad? This is where that comes into play.

The very first instrument we hear is some sort of stringed instrument being plucked in staccato (or possibly a music box being played), giving it kind of a horror-movie vibe right off the bat. In the background are... violins? Cellos? Violas? Again, some sort of string instrument, playing long, low notes, also adding to the aforementioned creepy vibe.

Whatever that instrument is, I’m a sucker for it. I actually like the opening - it almost sounds like we’re gonna hear some twisted lullaby. If this came on the radio, and I had no idea what was about to follow, I’d be at least a little interested in what might follow. Unfortunately, what follows is this.

Don’t look at me like that, you brought this on yourself.

The almost-interesting opening is replaced with a painfully basic electronic beat (kick-SNARE-kick-kick-SNARE) that goes on, and on, and on... under Taylor’s, er, rapping.

Okay, it’s not exactly rapping, just like how this isn’t exactly a diss track. It’s more of a “sing-talk” kind of thing - you know, what Kesha used to be ridiculed for. But while Kesha’s almost-rap was fun, enjoyable and harmlessly trashy, this is a pain to sit through. Kesha never tried to pretend she had any street cred or acted like we had to take her seriously. Taylor is different. Taylor wants us to know that she’s very, very serious and very badass and you really shouldn’t fuck with her. Taylor can beat you up. She takes karate.

The lyrics seem to imply that she was forced into the role of the “bad guy” and we should all be sorry for her, but that doesn’t work well when she’s also trying to lean into the villainous image.

Now, is what I meant about it having parts that didn’t suck, and how those parts make it suck more. The pre-chorus returns mercifully to the theme from the intro (and to actual singing), giving us a satisfying buildup, hyping us up for the payoff, and...

OOOH, LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO! YOU MADE ME DO THIS THIS IS ON YOU

The whole song grinds to a halt, the beat comes back in full force, and Taylor has abandoned all pretense of singing, deciding that she will now subject us to genuine rapping. It’s like going up, up, up on a roller coaster, preparing yourself for the drop, looking over the ledge, then falling two feet and running head-first into a brick wall. And that’s a gentle way of putting it.

And so the song continues on and on just like that, with the bridge being kind of a break. But here’s something I want to touch on that appears specifically in the music video.

The Taylor Team. The Swifty Squad. The Victim, uh... I can’t think of a synonym for “group” that starts with a V.

What is this. Why. Why would you put this in. It’s campy and dumb and makes you look like a worse actor than we already know you are. Were you trying to seem like a manipulative puppetmaster, two steps ahead of all the normies? Cause it’s not worth it.

In conclusion, Taylor Swift is not smart, she is not ahead of the game, and she is not good at writing electronic music. What else is new.

#mod birdie #taylor swift #look what you made me do #music review #music reviews #long post #song review

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pangeasplits · 7 years

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I have read your works! And I love 'The Stars Incline us, they don't bind us' so muuuuuch. If this is not too much to ask, can you make cherik fic rec? Thank you! Keep writing, awesome!

thank you very much, i’m glad you enjoyed my stuff! :3

since this blog is exactly 5 years old today, what better occasion is there to do cherik fic rec post, as lurking around cherik fic rec tumblr posts waaay back in the day is actually what originally brought me to tumblr in the first place. the following list is in no particular order, and odds are i like multiple fics by the authors included but i was determined to limit myself to one from each (though in some cases, this was a veeeery close call, haha).

anyway, the actual title of this list is coincidentally the main criteria i used in the interest of not having it stretch on for miles, which is to say:

Cherik Fics Pan Has Reread An Embarrassing Amount Of Times Throughout Her XMFC Fandom Tenure:

Hier steh ich an den Marken meiner Tage by MonstrousRegiment

Erik Lehnsherr is a spy in the SS, and his British liaison is strategist Charles Xavier. Their relationship from the moment they meet to a year after the end of the war.

“You’re the only person in the world who knows what I am.”

Boden’s Mate by kaydeefalls

“Shaw has information that we need, and we need him alive to extract it,” Moira says, and there it is: the job is on the table. Extraction.

XMFC/Inception fusion AU. Erik is an extractor, Alex is his point man. They’re assembling a team to go after the most dangerous mind in dreamsharing: Sebastian Shaw. But unless Alex and the team can keep him in check, Erik’s desire for vengeance might just rip the whole job apart around them – and then there’s the shade that haunts his dreams…

Malastare Racer by ikeracity

Ignoring strict instructions from Master Emma to stay hidden, Charles and Erik decide to enter themselves into the Gorian Podracing Classic. Because they’re idiots like that.

Star Wars AU!

The Secret of the Knights Templar by madneto

Erik is a CIA agent who has been tracking down black market dealer and occultist Sebastian Shaw for the past ten years with no real end in sight. When he stumbles upon an unexpected lead that will put him one step ahead of Shaw at last, archaeology professor and Templar enthusiast Charles Xavier becomes unwittingly entangled in the fray, and Erik suddenly finds himself with a brand new partner who is the only one who can truly help him on what’s become a quest to find the Holy Grail. But Charles is even more than Erik bargained for, especially after they’re forced to pretend to be a married couple as a cover while racing to find the Grail before Shaw does, and both Erik and Charles find they’ve possibly bitten off more than they can chew.

Powered AU vaguely inspired by Indiana Jones and James Bond movies.

Their Mouths Always Lie by keire_ke

Charles adheres to most police protocols like they are a personal code of conduct. Erik gets things done and over with, for better or worse. Raven knows what she’s doing, most of the time. The serial killer kills, regardless. Police AU.

Try, Try Again by and_backagain

Except that this has happened before, he thinks with a start, and something in his throat closes up as he revolves on the spot, already knowing what he’s going to see. Charles’ back is arching as he falls, his eyes wide, and the crumpled bullet falls to the sand beside him like a calling card. X-Men: First Class Groundhog Day!AU.

The Courtship by dvs

A story about a courtship that began five hundred years ago.

Beloved of ravens by khaleesian

978 A.D. Charles never uses his power, Erik never hesitates. Can a man be both the void and what fills it?

Limited Release by rageprufrock

When Alex Summers broke out of supermax to rescue his stupid kid brother, he had no idea it was going to be so fucking complicated.

A Curious Carriage of Crystal and Cold by Etharei

Charles, a miner from a poor village in the countryside, saves the life of Erik Lehnsherr, scion of a successful business family and the richest man on the planet Eisen. Charles is a telepath and somewhat anxious about it, while Erik abstains from relationships because the lights flicker and doors open and electronics vibrate when he gets too excited.

Also featuring a long-suffering sister, a foul-mouthed bodyguard, and a best friend with a heart that is definitely not gold.

In which there are princes, spaceships, long journeys, and old secrets uncovered. (An AU sci-fi fairytale)

The Tower and the Hurricane by dreamlittleyo

(Post-XMFC AU.) Five years after Shaw’s death, Erik’s predictions prove painfully accurate. Violence rages on both sides of the human/mutant conflict. In a world ravaged by war, it doesn’t really matter who’s more at fault. Charles struggles to teach his students a better way, but what choices will he make when peace really isn’t an option?

The Masked Man (Who Has Everything) by Traincat

The one where Erik is Batman, and Charles is kidnapped roughly once a week.

At the End of Day and Night All We Want is More by cm (mumblemutter)

It’s already too late. (Alien/Prometheus AU)

If You Liked The Book, You’ll Hate The Movie by paperclipbitch

Modern-Day High School AU. It’s not until Hank realises half the class are glancing towards the back of the classroom with something like nerves and something like schadenfreude that he finds out Alex Summers is back.

Pantheon by Yahtzee

In the year 96 AD, all Rome is aware that their gods have begun to Mark certain people with their gifts – the healing power of Apollo, the metal control of Vulcan, the deathly touch of Pluto, or the mental powers of Minerva. When those gifts fall to slaves or barbarians instead of the Romans themselves, strict control is necessary.

Then a gladiator from Judea meets an enslaved scribe from Britannia, and the repercussions will shake the Empire itself.

Swimming with Sharks by Not_You

Erik used to be a shark. Now he’s not, and has to figure out how to be a good human father to his twins. Charles is willing to help.

To Do List by Black_Betty

Somehow, Charles and Erik have become one of those couples who rarely see each other because of their busy schedules. They’re SO busy, they haven’t had sex in weeks. Erik has had enough, and forms a coordinated plan of attack. Charles is less than helpful.

On Hearts and the Finding of Lost Treasures (The Tombs and the Raiding Thereof Remix) by luninosity

The first time he met Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr was—reluctantly, angrily, and decidedly against his will—impressed. This may’ve had something to do with the fact that Charles had just given him a sunny smile and somersaulted a foot over his head.

Watching the Stars Slide Down by groovyphilia

Seventeen-year-old Charles Xavier is ridiculously wealthy, and is used to being paraded around for show at his mother’s high-society Christmas parties. He’s always been rather sporting about it, and dutifully rubs shoulders with the elite every year in the glitz of the mansion ballroom.

This year, he meets a man by the name of Erik Lehnsherr.

Utopia by Takmarierah [Note: WIP but I had to include this fic]

It’s been five years since the beach, and four years since Charles was captured by the Brotherhood. Since then, he’s been kept in a safe house while Erik finally achieved what Shaw failed to do.

Now that most of humanity has been eradicated, Erik’s summoned Charles back to his side, promising a cure and political influence in exchange for Charles’ help - but Charles knows it’s only a matter of time before he asks for more.

Neither Rhyme Nor Reason by unveiled

Charles liked to tell people that the first time they met, Serik punched a kitten. (Or, the one where Erik is an angry Vulcan, Charles is still a telepath, and grief still shapes their lives.)

Incy Wincy Spider by Tawabids

Erik Lehnsherr is a renowned homicide detective, with his husband Charles at home and his partner on the job, Moira MacTaggert. When a twisted serial killer starts targeting mutants, Erik and Moira are the perfect team for the job, especially since Erik himself is the mutant poster-boy of an NYPD trying to improve their image.

But what they don’t yet know is that the serial killer is an old soul out of Erik’s past, and his next move is to pull Charles into his web.

The Amazing Adventures of Cat-Man by so_shhy

Charles is the non-powered, butt-kicking, high-tech teen sidekick of a cheesy superhero. Erik is the sidekick of the corresponding cheesy supervillain, and makes Charles’s life even more complicated than it already is.

Spy Games by manic_intent

Burn Notice AU, with Erik Lehnsherr as the spy and Charles as the trigger-happy ex boyfriend. Erik is burned for unknown reasons in Mexico and wakes up in New York City. Somehow, he needs to raise $500,000, in order to find out -why-.

Aaaand a shameless plug, since you brought it up, and since to this day ike and i still look at this fic and ask each other “wtf how” (and also we reread each other’s bits and yell at each other):

The stars incline us, they do not bind us by ikeracity, Pangea

Intergalactic Federation pilot Lieutenant Charles Xavier is assigned last-minute to a high profile mission: transporting over two thousand prison inmates from an old and overfilled prison complex to a newer, higher-capacity prison stronghold located on the outer reaches of the galaxy. Just as he’s settling down for a long and uneventful ride, things take a turn for the worse after the inmates riot and stage a hostile takeover of the ship, leaving Charles to find himself at the complete mercy of cold-blooded killers and facing the chilling prospect that he might not ever make it back home alive.

#cherik #fic rec #cherik fic rec #anonymous #pangea creaks

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izazov · 7 years

Text

FIC: Love was just a glance away (a warm embracing dance away)

Summary: Tony Stark is not particularly sentimental person. A simple song should not drive him into a near crippling anxiety attack.

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark

A/N: A post CA:CW fic, because I am incapable of writing anything else apparently. This fic is the happiest and sappiest thing I’ve written for this pairing. It is also inspired by a day long listening to Frank Sinatra and watching Humphrey Bogart lament Ingrid Bergman walking into his gin joint.

His father. Afghanistan. Obie. Vanko. Carrying a nuke through a portal to another part of the universe. Mandarin. Ultron.

Tony had faced them all, and survived.

A little brittle around the edges, but still breathing.

In comparison to that, a song – a fucking song – should not have the power to reduce him to a quivering mess of regret, longing and loss.

And yet.

Tony isn’t quite certain how it happens. In one moment he is walking alongside Peter, escorting him to the elevator, his right hand slung across the kid’s shoulder, and in the next he is stumbling back a step, his stomach lurching violently while his lungs struggle to draw breath as those cheesy lines about strangers meeting in the night fill his ears, somehow still clear even over the furious roar of his heartbeat.

“What- Mr. Stark?” Peter stammers, confusion and beginnings of panic written all across his face as he looks between Tony and the cell in his hand. “Are you okay?”

And the damned thing is still playing that fucking song; the words, the wistful melody twining around Tony’s heart like a barbed wire, tearing little chunks of it with each pounding beat.

Peter fumbles with the phone, ends the call, the expression on his face caught between concern and guilt. “It was a joke. The tune. I didn’t- Mr. Stark, wait!”

Tony doesn’t listen. He turns on his heel, and quite literally runs back to his office.

“Friday, lockdown, now,” he manages to push past his lips before his knees give out and he sinks to the floor in an ungraceful heap.

***

Meeting Steve Rogers for the first time is underwhelming.

The guy is self-righteous, uptight, narrow-minded prick. And Tony really, really wants to see just how far up the guy’s skin he can crawl before he finally snaps.

Unfortunately, Captain Asshole proves to be just as skilled at getting under Tony’s.

It’s hardly love at first sight. It’s barely tolerance.

But alien armies and portals to other dimensions, not to mention a nuclear warhead, prove to be rather successful mediators.

They part in… well, not friendship, but there is respect in that handshake they share. Respect and beginnings of a mutual understanding.

***

They enter each other’s orbits again at fairly low points in both their lives.

Rogers looks haunted. Like he is keeping himself together by miracle and that impossibly, irritatingly stubborn will alone.

(Tony knows about the long lost and not-as-dead-as-he-was-supposed-to-be James Buchanan Barnes and Rogers’ worldwide manhunt for him by virtue of Natasha Romanoff. Tony cannot decide what stings more: the fact that the entire SHIELD is HYDRA revelation has somehow escaped his notice despite his frequent hackings, or that it’s not Rogers who asks for his help in tracking his long lost buddy, but Natasha.)

Tony, on the other hand, is quite happy to test the limits of how far he can push himself before he finally crumbles in the wake of parting ways with Pepper after realizing that he’ll never be able to separate himself from Iron Man. Not even for her.

They are both miserable shadows of those two men who were spitting venom, insults and taunts at each other hours after meeting for the first time.

And they do say that misery loves company.

***

It’s not that Tony actively tries to befriend Rogers.

But, somehow, they manage to actually talk to each other once, twice, and then it becomes the norm, and before Tony has a chance to even think ‘disaster in the making’ Rogers turns to Steve in Tony’s head, and trying to smooth the jagged edges and fill the empty spaces in Steve’s soul becomes Tony’s favourite pastime.

He’s already too far gone to go back when he realizes it’s a two way street.

***

It starts as a joke.

Tony asks Steve for a dance fully expecting to see a blush spread across his cheeks, and that hard swallow he does every time he feels awkward. Perhaps an eye roll, maybe some stammering that would turn into a bout of friendly bickering.

A faint flush on Steve’s face is about as far as Tony’s predictions turn to reality. There is no hesitation in Steve’s movements as he stands up from the couch, extending his hand to Tony. Nothing even remotely shy or awkward in those unfairly blue eyes as they lock on Tony’s and stay there. Nothing fumbling in the hands settling low on Tony’s waits.

Tony is only faintly aware of Steve saying ‘you know what to play, JARVIS,’ and then soft, wistful tune filling the air. They move awkwardly at first, but it takes no more than a few steps for them to fall into a rhythm, swaying gently from side to side.

One song becomes two becomes three, and what started as a joke turns into something that could, Tony realizes with sudden terrifying awareness, shake the very foundation of Tony’s world.

Tony knows it but instead of stepping back and making a joke, he leans further into Steve’s body, and Steve, solid, dependable, trustworthy Steve welcomes him, tightens his grip on Tony’s waist just enough.

There is a sort of detached, dream-like quality to their slow movements, Tony’s focus entirely captivated by the warmth of the strong body he is leaning against, smelling clean and fresh. Soft murmur of Steve’s voice as he hums alongside with Sinatra draws a wide smile from Tony, his heart constricting in something that couldn’t be further from hurt even if it certainly feels like it.

Somewhere between Sinatra singing about two lonely people and lovers at first sight, Tony acknowledges that he is going to kiss Steve.

He never gets the chance, though.

And only because it is Steve who kisses him first.

***

The kiss remains an unacknowledged elephant in the room entire week after it happens.

And, perhaps for the first time ever, Tony decides not to press, not to pursue a goal – even if he wants, and boy how much he wants – consequences be damned.

He still remembers the startled look in Steve’s eyes as he broke the kiss. The way his body went taut as bowstring as if bracing for a fight. The rigid set of his jaw as he swallowed once, twice.

The thing is, Tony cares for Steve Rogers. If preserving the tentative friendship they have started to build means to put a lid on the feelings that sole kiss unearthed… well, Tony can do it. Will do it.

Tony’s resolve holds fast, even if comes with a cost of a constant aching pressure in the middle of his chest. Not at all unlike the feeling of having a piece of metal buried deep within his sternum, keeping him alive.

It holds until the day he wanders into the gym and finds Steve sitting on the mat, his back to the wall and his eyes closed as he hums softly a painfully familiar tune.

Tony freezes in the doorway, a strangled noise leaving his throat.

Steve’s eyes snap open, lock on Tony’s. For a moment they remain unguarded: completely and utterly exposed, nothing but deep longing filling their depths.

“Screw this,” Tony hears himself mutter, and then he is moving, almost running toward Steve.

Their first kiss was soft and tentative, almost chaste press of lips.

Their second, and third, and fourth, and twentieth is anything but.

It is heat and force and want tinged with desperation.

***

Steve dies in Tony’s vision and the words like reason and caution and trust and team cease to matter.

Stopping that nightmarish vision from turning to reality becomes the only thing that does.

It’s more than a little ironic that trying to keep Steve alive and whole and safe almost ends with Tony losing him.

The cost is still great, though.

It numbers in innocent lives lost and an entire town destroyed.

And yeah, broken trust.

***

The spider web cracks in Tony’s relationship with Steve grow larger and larger until the Accords.

The sound it makes when it shatters completely has the exact shape of Steve’s name, leaving Tony’s lips in a low and desperate plea.

Tony decides then and there that the sight of Steve Rogers’ – stiff and painfully straight – back as he walks away from Tony without a backward glance is something he never ever wants to see again.

***

Tony is fairly certain he’s hit a new low in life in Leipzig: listening to himself plead for Steve to back down, feeling the world shake and splinter around him as Steve looks at him with stone-cold eyes and refuses. Accuses him of instigating the very thing he is trying to prevent.

He is wrong.

So very, very wrong.

***

Most of decisions Tony makes regarding Steve come from the heart, involving little to no reason.

Decision to follow after Steve in the wake of finding the evidence backing Steve’s story is not an exception.

And there, in the Siberian cold, he stands and watches the man Steve would defend to the death and beyond if possible, murder his parents in cold blood.

But the final blow is not the image of a hand closing around his mother’s throat and choking the life out of her, but an admission. Said in a low voice, thick with emotion.

Steve knew. For years he knew the truth behind Tony’s parents’ murder. Every time they kissed, every time they… Steve knew.

And said nothing.

Tony flinches from Steve’s hand as something breaks inside his chest, bleeding poison and rage and bitterness of betrayal directly into his bloodstream.

Tony doesn’t make the decision to go through Steve on his way to Barnes rationally or calmly, but with the shattered wreckage of his heart.

But he makes it. And, like most decisions, this one, too, has consequences.

Like having to watch Steve – with Barnes’ weight secured safely against his body – walk away again.

Perhaps for good this time.

***

A few hours and an incredibly awkward phone call with a highly unnerved kid later, Tony finds himself sitting on a couch in his penthouse apartment in the Tower. He is nursing a glass of scotch, his eyes set on the antiquated cell phone on the table in front of him, a half empty bottle next to it.

Ever since Siberia and Steve’s shitty apology, anger has been Tony’s safety blanket. A way to soothe the constant, persistent ache of missing the damned bastard, of wanting to understand why Steve had fucked him up so thoroughly.

Understand. Then, forgive.

There is no anger to fall back on now. Just a slow bleeding wound and longing so deep and all-consuming it feels like Tony is drowning in it. As if hearing that song had ripped open the wound inside him that has only started to scar.

Tony doesn’t want to call. He really, really doesn’t.

He does it anyway.

Steve answers after the third ring.

“Tony?” Steve says, soft and low and hesitant.

Tony bites hard on his lower lip to stop something embarrassing from leaving his lips. But he cannot stop something inside his chest fluttering at the sound of that voice.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Tony says, rubs at his temples, sounding like weariness has become a part of his very being. He has no idea what to say now that he has Steve on the other side of the line. Anger would help, though. But it stays stubbornly out of reach.

“Are… are you okay?”

Tony wants to laugh at the absurdity of Steve’s question. He swallows it, as he does the truth. He opens his mouth, his default response to that question already on the tip of his tongue, but what actually comes out of his mouth takes a different shape. “You remember the name of the song that played when I kissed you for the first time?”

“I do,” Steve says, without missing a beat. There is something in his voice now; something between caution and hope, brittle and fragile like Tony’s heart. “And I was the one who kissed you.”

“Sometimes I wish you didn’t,” Tony says, his voice more a sigh than anything else. Tony says it without any intention to hurt, just stating a fact. But by the sudden silence on the other side, interrupted by the sound of heavy, gasping breaths, he knows Steve doesn’t see it that way.

“Tony. Tony… God, I am so sorry,” bursts out of Steve. He sounds wrecked, his voice thick with desperate urgency.

Tony believes him. It doesn’t change the fact he’s not yet ready to accept it.

“Don’t,” Tony grits out. His throat feels raw with every word he cannot say. But he cannot end the call just yet. He knows – in his very soul – it would be the end. He scrubs a hand across his face, squeezes his eyes shut. “Steve, I can’t… just… just hum it to me. The song.”

Please.

There’s a heavy silence on the other side of the line for one endless moment. It is broken by the sound of a shaky breath being expelled from lungs.

“Okay,” Steve breathes out, low and hoarse. Naked hope in his voice cuts through Tony’s already aching chest, twists in its middle. “Okay, Tony.”

When the humming starts, Tony leans his head against the backrest and allows himself to remember.

#my fic #stony fic #stevetony #superhusbands

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strxwbxnny · 7 years

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Conversation Hearts

Preview: Dick’s hand was suddenly over his mouth again, with the other boy looking down at him, the smirk that was only peaking out before now in full throttle.

Wally didn’t lick him. He only had enough brain power right now to stare up at Dick. “Wally, are you asking me out on a date?” Dick teased.

Word count: 1675 words

I was gonna post this on AO3 first but it keeps crashing so here we are ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Anyway Here is my fic for @translatinxjasontodd for the @yjficexchange! I tried to follow your prompt but the fic had a mind of it's own. I wrote half this at like 3 am and I barely edited it and I haven't written fic in years so like. Concrit is helpful? idk

Edit: Read on AO3 here

“Rob”

Wally was draped over the couch in Mount Justice, pushing himself onto Robin’s lap as he whined. Robin stared straight ahead (or at least what Wally assumed was straight ahead, it’s always a little hard to tell with those glasses) at the TV.

Not the reaction Wally wanted. He wiggled himself farther into Rob’s lap, pushing his feet against the arm of the couch for leverage. When he was where he wanted, shoulders resting on the other boy’s thighs, he opened his mouth again.

“Rooo-oooob” He pitched his voice in a way that stretched one syllable into two.

This time Dick did actually look down, his bangs falling forward as he stared down at Wally. He did say anything at first, just raised an eyebrow, then after a moment a gently huffed “what?” that was most a puff of air on Wally’s cheeks.

Wally plastered on his most shit-eating grin. “Hi”

Ok so in Wally’s defense, he totally saw the hand coming. Totally. He just didn’t wanna move ok? Dick’s palm smooshed over Wally’s face, with his nose poking between his fingers. Wally, of course, licked it.

Dick coiled back, nose scrunching. “Dude gross.” He wiped his palm on the shoulder of Wally’s flannel shirt, which Wally supposed was fair, but he still reached up to flick Dick’s nose in revenge. Rob made a gesture that indicated he was rolling his eyes under the glasses, and looked back to the TV.

Shit. He’d have to start over.

“Rob!”

It worked a little better this time. He thinks. Rob is kinda glaring at him now.

“Wally you better not lick me again.”

Wally held his hand above his face, equal parts defense and truce. “I’m not gonna, I’m not gonna. Geez, Rob, I’m not that big of a-”

“Don’t say it”

“-Dick” The shit-eating grin returns.

“Aaaaand you said it. You’re lucky everyone else is out right now” Dick pinched the bridge of his nose, but he grinned a little. Success. “Why are you like this?”

“I dunno, but you love me for it” Wally wiggled his shoulders in Dick’s lap in a weird little dance.

Wally almost missed it, but he could swear he saw Dick’s face get slightly pink at that. But it was gone just as fast, so he brushed it off as a trick of the light from the TV. Dick rapped the back of his knuckles against Wally’s forehead.

“You shut up, you smart ass”

Wally wanted to say ‘but you love this ass’, but he bit it back. He had a mission. Focus, West.

“Fine, but I was gonna ask you something, but I guess you’ll never know now” Wally stuck out his tongue for good measure, pouting a little.

Dick just looked down at him and raised an eyebrow.

Um. When did he stop looking like a little shit when he did that and more like he was maybe attractive? Look, Wally wasn’t blind, he could tell Dick was kinda maybe hot. There’s a reason girls and maybe some guys tended to swoon over him, but shit. Ok so maybe, just maybe, Wally noticed a bit more than he’d like to admit. It’s not like he was opposed to dudes, hell he was bi, but Dick was his bro. Bros don’t kiss bros.

Wally mentally slapped himself. Focus. Mission.

Wally’s throat was suddenly a little dry. “Um.”

Dick hiked his eyebrow up a little higher - if that was even possible - and the beginnings of a smirk pulled at his lips.

Wally squirmed for a moment. “Ok fine” He was a little nervous, especially when Dick has his face like that, but decided to bite the bullet “Um so Singles Awareness Day also known as Valentine’s Day is coming up and like. I don’t know if you noticed, dude, but we’re both painfully single right now, especially me since Arty and I just broke up like a couple months ago, so the thing I had planned with her is obviously not gonna happen, and like I dunno, I got nothing to do that day and -”

Dick’s hand was suddenly over his mouth again, with the other boy looking down at him, the smirk that was only peaking out before now in full throttle.

Wally didn’t lick him. He only had enough brain power right now to stare up at Dick.

“Wally, are you asking me out on a date?” Dick teased.

Wally swatted Dick’s hand away, with an indignant squawk. “What! No! I was just gonna ask if we could hang out and lament our pains of being single together”

Wally could feel Dick’s legs under him start to shake a moment before Dick actually started laughing, hand cupping over his mouth to muffle the sound.

“I was only kidding Wally” Dick managed to get out in a hiccupy breath between laughs.

Wally pouted a little, rolling over to face the TV with a huff. “You’re meaaaannnn” He whined.

Dick slowly came down from his giggle fit, and reached over to lightly tap Wally’s forehead. Wally ignored him. Mostly.

Dick huffed, in the way the made Wally think he was rolling his eyes. “Yes, we can hang out on Valentine’s Day. How about some popcorn and Pacific Rim?”

Wally rolled over again to look at Dick. His smile was a lot less smirky and a lot more smiley now, gentler around the edges.

“I don’t know, you were mean to me, maybe I don’t want to go on a date with you anymore”

“I’ll get you bad chocolates and those conversation hearts you like for some ungodly reason.”

Fuck. He’s pinned.

__________

Riley just announced on screen that Gypsy Danger runs on analog when Wally crams the last handful of popcorn in his mouth, emptying the bowl. He chewed and screwed up his face as he almost got a kernel stuck between his teeth again.

His feet rested in Dick’s lap, with the other boy’s arms over his calves, in the loveseat they shared. He wiggles his feet a little.

“Dude the best part is coming up, time to break out the candy!”

Dick leaned over the arm, grabbing the plastic bag filled with Wally’s desired sugary goodness from where it sat on the floor, and Wally bounced his legs a little, partly excited for the candy, but mostly just releasing energy.

“Don’t eat all the candy, I want some too” Dick said, handing over the bag.

“I won’t, I won’t, jeez cut me some slack” Wally went straight for the chocolate, deciding to leave his favorite, the conversation hearts for last.

He popped open the bag and passes Hershey’s kisses over to Dick, but never tearing his eyes from the screen as Gypsy Danger fought the Kaiju. It didn’t escape his notice though that Dick fingers lingered on his own whenever they passed more kisses between them.

And when the action on screen was less urgent, Wally spared peeks over to the other side of the loveseat, split second looks, and it definitely didn’t escape his notice that Dick’s eyes seemed to linger on him more than the movie. Weird.

As the movie drew on Wally slowly (for him at least) made his way through the candy stash. Hershey’s kisses, cinnamon hearts, those little foil wrapped chocolate hearts, Reese’s cups. Until finally, right around the time that the big battle started, he got to the conversation hearts.

They were his favourite, and not just for their good (read: cheesy) pickup lines. He oddly enough liked the texture and the taste.

Wally doesn’t know why he did what he did next. Couldn’t really say other than maybe it was the naturally teasing relationship he and Dick had, or his weird sense of humor, or maybe just because it was Valentine’s day. But hey, Wally was known to make bad decisions.

He picked out one of the little heart candies, one that said “kiss me” in soft pastel, and placed it on his tongue. The final scene where Riley and Mako embrace plays out on screen. He turned to Dick and stared at him for a moment, almost surprised but not really to find the other boy’s eyes already on him. Dick just looked at the heart on his tongue for a moment and raised his eyebrow. Wally wiggled his eyebrows in a jokingly suggestive way, and then popped his tongue back in his mouth.

And the next thing he knows, the room is dark as the credits starts to run and there’s lips on his own. His motion stutters for a moment. Dick was kissing him. He froze. Shit. A hot guy is kissing you. Kiss back now. So what if he’s your bro, kiss him.

His hands moved before his brain fully caught up, clutching Dick’s shoulder, and his lips move to reciprocate. He kisses back, a bit tentative, with thoughts of this is Dick I’m kissing floating around the back of his mind still. Dick didn’t hold back though, tongue on his lips, gently licking and nibbling until Wally opened up a bit. Dick’s tongue was in his mouth and it felt good. Why was he holding back before again?

Dick’s tongue moved against his for a few moments and all too soon it left his mouth and Dick pulled away, already back in his seat, leaving Wally to flounder for a moment. When Wally finally got his bearings back he looked over at Dick again, puzzled look on his face to silently say “dude what the fuck?”

Dick merely quirks his eyebrow up. Then sticks out his tongue. The conversation heart Wally had before sat there, a little smaller from how long it had been between their mouth, but there nonetheless. Wally’s throat suddenly felt a little dry again as Dick popped his tongue back in his mouth with a snicker and even in the dim light he could definitely see the pink that dusted along Dick’s nose this time. He could feel the heat in his own face.

Ok so maybe bros could kiss bros.

#yjficexchange #birdflash #young justice #wally west #dick grayson #my writing #fuck this is bad #i am so tired

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orthodoxcorner · 7 years

Text

Something like a confession I guess

The idea of this post popped up spontaneously maybe ten minutes ago right before I started reading my prayers to St. Nectarios of Aegina. I couldn`t finish them actually because I was too upset and I couldn`t stop crying and here I am now writing this a little before midnight.

It might come off as cheesy and pitiful and, well, it is. I have always avoided posting personal stuff here and I`ve only asked for your prayers when I`ve felt really down. I`ve always felt uncomfortable taking of people`s time asking them to pray for a sinner like me. But now I figured even if you decide to judge me which I used to fear a lot, you don`t know who I am anyway, to you I am just a blog on Tumblr. So even if this sounds like a sob story to you, so it be. I need to let it out and I might regret it tomorrow but now it feels right. I have no one to talk to anyway, I`ve started distancing myself from people and I almost never leave my room anyway, so I have all of this carefully bottle up inside of me because I learned the hard way that I should keep my most precious things hidden from others. Recently, however, I`ve started to feel too tired of life and I hope that if things don`t better the good Lord has to take me to Him already. Truth is that I don`t feel anything anymore, I just float on the surface of Earth waiting for time to pass. It does sound awfully ungrateful but mind you I am a horrible sinner and this post is maybe the one thing that will be left after I`m gone because you see I didn`t live much of a life anyway and I never really did anything remarkable. I just wasted my time here.

A while ago I did allow myself to post something personal and I am very thankful to the people who contacted me saying that they`ll pray for me and for my boyfriend.

The thing is that he has cancer. And that`s not the first time he has had cancer. It just reappeared at the end of 2016 when he told me he had started passing out randomly again. Up to this point my biggest problem was that because this is a long distance relationship we`d have to wait a long time until we finally get together because I am a poor Eastern European and he lives in Sweden which as we all know is one of the countries with the highest standard of living. On top of that he is still dependent on his parents and as broke as me (you see, we couldn`t be less compatible actually if you look only at the cold hard facts, and I`ve been judged way too many times for dating him until I learned to keep my mouth shut because people tend to ruin things pretty mercilessly). So I found myself on the opposite side of Europe, unable to be with him, to support him and terrified that I might lose him. I desperately want to go to him, to try to find a job there, so that can be together but I neither have a huge sum of money needed for me to start from a scratch, nor have I friends in Sweden who`d help me and let me crash on their couch for a while. And I did try to ask for help pretty much every acquaintance I had. Some promised to help but never actually answered back which was the worst because I would`ve understood if they had just told me: “Hey, sorry, it`s not going to happen” but instead they let me have hope until it faded away kind of painfully. And once again I learned my lesson the hard way – we are on our own - we have no one to count on, exactly because we are so incompatible (I don`t want to go into the details though), so even the situation with our parents is complicated.

At first I was angry. I was ready to go there, work hard, and I knew that it would be difficult because it`s another country, I speak no Swedish, it`s mad expensive but I was willing to live in misery as long as I could be with him. Yet there was no one willing to help. Now I feel nothing. I`ve lost hope that I`ll be with him. I spend my days rushing through Swedish language textbooks trying to pour insane amounts of grammar and vocabulary into my tired brain but honestly I don`t even know why I am doing it considering I`ll never be with him. I need to do something because I`ll go crazy I guess.

All I am hoping for now is that he is spared death. I keep praying to God, to the saints that he beats cancer for the second time because the thought of existing in a world without him is unbearable. And the funny thing is that I am a very pragmatic person and I`ve always thought that long distance relationships are a waste of time, not to mention things like true love and what not. I used to cringe at the mere thought. And then Oscar came into my life and I just knew. From the third week of our friendship I knew that he was the one. In March we make nine months together, and those were difficult nine months yet it was worth it. He is that person who turned my world upside down and actually taught me to take risks, to strive for adventures in life. I`d have never crossed Europe to meet anyone if it wasn`t for him, I`ve always been too terrified to go through airports on my own and yet I did it to see him and it was fantastic.

Knowing that I can lose him and getting through the day with that thought in mind has become very very difficult. I can`t wait to actually close the door to my room when I go to bed and cry or pray to St. Nectarios and St. Seraphim Sobolev.

Oscar is not Orthodox even though for the weird mix of beliefs he displays he is has so much kindness and love and he is in a way a much better Christian than me. Luckily in a nearby monastery there is a small piece of St. Nectarios`s relics and I did manage to buy a T-shirt and rest in on them. I am sending it to Oscar tomorrow. I am happy that he agreed to it because St. Nectarios of Aegina is known to have cured cancer many times before. That is my only hope.

But apart from that I remain stuck here, waiting to die (even though I`ll probably go to hell knowing how “good” of a person I am, so that is not really a salvation) or some miracle that`ll probably never happen unless God Himself doesn`t reach and move me from my country to Sweden.

I am sorry for this post full of negativity and I am sorry if it made you sick because I am aware that it`s no more than a sob story and many people have it worse. But for the first time in my life I don`t feel scared that people will judge me because I am too tired of everything and I just needed to say it out loud. I know that you never really knew who the person behind thing blog was, let alone her tale of woe and honestly you are not missing much. Plus I have omitted many of the details (I take pity on you and I don`t want you to feel as if you`re reading the script of a soap opera J). But it feels therapeutic in a way. I mean some people in my life know bits and pieces of my and Oscar`s story but I`ve grown somewhat tired of hearing the generic “I`m so sorry to hear that” followed by “Now let me show you this Game of Thrones meme cause it`s hilarious” or people giving me advice I never wanted or telling me that the world doesn`t end with a guy etc. (see I am a very rude and awful person, I didn`t lie when I wrote so a couple of lines ago).

Anyway thank you for reading. I hope you have a blessed day. I also hope that you are happy

#it has nothing to do with the contents of this blog #be warned #personal

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