#it pains me how much I used to know about Swedish that I’ve just…… lost | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 3 years

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Second Chances - Mark (Midsommar)

Warning: Major spoilers for the movie, drug use, this fic is dogshite, toxic relationships, and just overall fucked up situations

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(my gif actually)

“Dani, do you really think it’s a good idea to go?”

Dani sighed heavily when you asked that exact question for the fourth time while she was marking her calendar for when their flight to Sweden would take place. “Yes, Y/N. I’ll be fine. I’m fine.”

You knew she wasn’t fine.

“I just, I do think getting out of this tiny little apartment would be good for you...but does it have to be on the other side of the world?”

Dani scoffed. “It’s not on the other side of the world, babe, it’s just across the Atlantic.”

“It’s far enough.” You pouted. “Plus, going with that guy isn’t a good idea either.”

“You’ve known Christian as long as you’ve known me, Y/N. You should know his name by now.”

“I do know his name, I just don’t like saying it.”

Dani frowned. “He’s my boyfriend, you’ve gotta learn to accept him at some point.”

You shook your head. “He doesn’t give you what you need, Dani. He’s terrible at supporting you all the time. He’s an asshole.”

“It’s my relationship. Not yours.” Dani snapped, quickly sighing in frustration and sitting next to you. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped.”

“No, I’m sorry. I...just want what’s best for you, that’s all.”

Dani smiled weakly, placing an arm around your shoulders and pulling you in for a side hug. “I know, babe, I know. I gotta believe this trip to Sweden is exactly what we need.”

“I really hope so, for your sake.”

Dani subtly wiped away a shed tear off her face, faking a wide smile. “So, did you decide if you wanted to go to the party tonight?”

“Depends, is Mark gonna be there?”

“You know he is.”

“Then no.”

“Come on, Mark’s a good guy.” She’s stifled a chuckle.

“Girl, you can’t even keep a straight face.” You laughed.

“You used to be date him and actually enjoyed spending time with him, ya know.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.”

“Please, it’ll be fun! Pelle and Josh will be there too, it won’t just be Mark.”

“Josh is a smart ass who gets on my nerves. I mean, who the hell studies anthropology?”

“Hey!”

“Oh hush, you’re studying psychology.”

Dani rolled her eyes. “Okay, Ms. Environmental Scientist.” She said, making you chuckle. “So, are you coming to that party with me or what?”

You didn’t really enjoy going to parties...like, at all. Even if Dani invited you to one, you always made some sort of excuse to get you out of going. But ever since the incident with her family, you felt you needed to spend every waking moment with her, mostly out of fear that you’d lose her forever. You probably spent more time with Dani than her so called boyfriend.

You felt selfish for feeling pained that Christian was the first one she called when she got the news. You knew her family, actually made an effort to get to know them unlike Christian, and always saw her parents as your own and her sister was always kind to you. You felt like you lost a lot too, but you didn’t allow yourself to feel that way for long, not when they weren’t actually your family. If you were being honest, you haven’t allowed yourself to grieve at all. You spend most of your time taking care of Dani, never having the time to do anything for yourself.

The company Dani kept also was one of the reasons you never wanted to go to one of those parties. Pelle was nice, you could actually see him as a friend. Josh was a know-it-all. To be fair, you were a know-it-all too, but at least you didn’t brag about it every chance you got.

You couldn’t stand Christian. You always saw how awful Christian treated Dani, and how she just took it. One day, you actually almost got into a psychical fight with him for how he gaslighted her. Dani didn’t talk to you for a week after that, and after that, you tried not to let your anger out because you didn’t want to lose your best friend.

Mark...god, Mark could be so annoying. You used to be a couple, it’s true. But after seeing him not do anything about his “best friend” mentally abusing his girlfriend, you couldn’t just stay with him anymore, it just didn’t feel right. Plus, him being way too overprotective was not something that you liked in a person. It was heartbreaking since you actually liked him a lot, you could’ve truthfully say you loved the guy.

You didn’t dislike Mark as much as Christian, but he constantly got on your nerves after your break up. But Dani always reminded you how insecure he must’ve been after the fact. Doesn’t excuse his behavior, of course, but it did help keep your anger in check whenever he tried to push your buttons. If he wasn’t such a dick, you probably would’ve seen an actual future with him, that could’ve been happy.

Yeah...you really didn’t want to go to this party. But seeing Dani’s almost pleading face, you couldn’t argue with her.

So, you were dragged to the last party you would attend before Dani and her friends were shipped off to Sweden, until she got back.

You could see the obviously look of annoyance from Christian when you and Dani entered the apartment. He took Dani to the one of the corner’s of the room and you could faintly hear their conversation, “Why’d you have to bring her, Dani? She almost punched me in the nose last time...”

Your fists clenched instinctively, making your nails dig into the soft flesh. It hurt, but at least it kept you from socking the dude in the face like you’ve always had the urge to do. A dull glared expression settled on your face.

“Aw, is someone happy to see me?”

You immediately rolled your eyes when you heard Mark’s voice, him walking up to you with a shit eating grin plastered on his pale freckled face. “No, I think she’s probably thinking up ways to kill you, friend.” Pelle joked, making you smile a little.

“Honestly, he’s not that far off.” You shrugged, half joking.

Mark scoffed, rolling his eyes, brushing off your hurtful comment with a bitter smile. “Why are you even here? We didn’t invite you.”

“I’m here for Dani.”

“Well, we didn’t explicitly invite her either.” Pelle smacked the boy behind his head so you didn’t have to. “Dude, ow! Hey, it’s not my fault Dani’s a buzzkill.”

Almost as if you could only see red, you were about to punch the ever loving fuck out of his handsome stupid gorgeous face when Christian came up and pulled you out of the room.

“What the fuck do you want?” You hissed, forcibly pushing him away from you.

“Hey, hey, hey, I’m not looking for a fight. Okay? I have to ask you something.” He sighed.

“Spit it out then.”

“Do you want to come to Sweden with us?” He asked monotone, not hiding the glare directed to you.

“Wow, you must really want me to go.”

“It was Pelle’s idea. He thinks it would be good for Dani.”

“Since when do you care what’s good for Dani? Oh, wait, you don’t. It seems Pelle cares more for her than you do.”

“I care about Dani, okay? I care. That’s the only reason I was convinced to ask you. Please, just...she needs you. She’s your best friend, you don’t want to let her down, do you?”

Gaslighting. You knew that Christian wouldn’t be able to convince you without his number one douchebag power to make your heart bleed more than it already does. He didn’t even have to ask a second time.

And next thing you knew, you were on a plane headed to Sweden. Of course, they had to torture you with booking you a seat next to Mark. But you could handle it for Dani.

“God, I can’t wait to see all those Swedish ladies.” Mark mused, a slight smirk on his face, knowing that comment would upset you.

If those Swedish ladies had any sense, they’d stay away from the giant man completely, is what you wanted to say. But deciding to keep your comments to yourself, you just tried not to gag, rolling your eyes and keeping your eyes trained out the window, seeing the ground getting farther and farther away until your flying above the clouds.

“Silent treatment, huh? I always took you for a social butterfly.” He teased.

You took a deep breath, turning to look at him with a sickeningly sweet smile. “You do know there’s a mosquito flying around your head, right?”

The smirk on Mark’s face quickly went away, turning into a panicked expression. “Where? Where?” He almost shouted, flailing his arms around his head to swat away the imaginary insect. His panic made you laugh. You felt evil, but you convinced yourself he deserved it. When he heard you laugh, he quickly realized you lied. “Not fucking funny.” He pouted, running his hands through his hair, still paranoid.

You sighed when he kept a frown on his face, still looking around for that fake fly. “I swear, there’s no fly. This is the cleanest plane I’ve ever seen in my life, okay? There wouldn’t be any bugs in here.” You never could stay mean for long, even if it was Mark. The small grateful smile Mark gave you made it worth it, and suddenly felt your heart yearn for him against your will.

Many hours later and you finally arrived in Stockholm, only to be told you guys had to travel four more hours to get to Hälsingland. “Oh my god!” Mark whined, like a little bitch you might add.

Thankfully, you always came prepared, sticking some ear buds in and blasting music at full volume to avoid possible small talk and annoying remarks from the two frat bros. You really loved your preparedness after taking your ear buds out for one second only to hear Mark talking about seeing some video about a woman with three clits, what a moron, a cute moron...

You looked at the time, it was nearing 6 pm, but the sky was still blue as ever. It was a bit unnerving, but you tried to ignore the sense of dread you felt when you guys finally arrived to one of your destinations.

You tried not to laugh as Mark pulled his socks over his jeans and walking in a panic to try to avoid potential insect threats in the grass. “Dude, just fucking walk!” Josh fussed.

“Don’t you see all the bugs?!”

“I’m sure all those bugs are much more terrified of you than you are of them.” You voiced.

“Yeah, well, what if they’re so scared that they gang up to attack me in retaliation, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, speeding up your pace to catch up with Dani. Pelle introduced his friend, Ingemar, and his friends, Simon and Connie. They seemed like good people, until they pulled out the shrooms.

It’s not like you hated drugs, you smoked pot pretty much every other day before bed, but shrooms looked hardcore compared to grass. You did not want to partake. But Dani surprised you when she accepted the offer of the tea. “Do you think that’s a good idea, Dani?” You asked concerned.

“She can think for herself.” Christian voiced with a happy and calm tone, but you didn’t mistake the threatening undertone in his voice.

“Hey, it’s okay. Promise.” Dani reassured. You just didn’t want her to have a bad trip or anything, it’s not what she needed, as if you actually knew what she needed. You didn’t even know what you needed half the time. “Are you going to?” She asked, her hand holding onto the bag of shrooms outstretched to you.

“Oh, no. I’m good.” You backed away slightly.

“Are you sure, Y/N?” Mark asked mockingly. “You gonna be a pussy?”

Your eyes narrowed in annoyance. If only looks could kill...You grabbed the bag, popping a couple mushrooms in your mouth, immediately cringing in disgust at the taste. You chewed quickly and swallowed, almost regretting the action as soon as you did so. Since when was Mark of all people able to successfully peer pressure you into doing something you didn’t want to do? The fuck?

“There’s a nice place to sit over here, guys!” Pelle voiced, motioning the group over to a tree in the middle of the field.

It didn’t take that long for the drugs to kick in. You’d never taken shrooms before, but you definitely noticed when you came up due to how the world around you was starting to look warped, almost like nature was breathing. You felt more appreciative of nature in that moment, and with Pelle talking all philosophical like, it wasn’t hard to relax into the sweet embrace of the drug.

You looked over to Dani, she was the most calm you’ve ever seen her, but you weren’t sure if that was a good thing. You snapped out of the thought, not wanting to hyper focus on a drug. “Oh fuck, a new person.” Christian groaned.

“What? I don’t want new people right now!” Mark whined.

“Now who’s being a pussy.” You mumbled, loud enough for him to hear it.

“I’m going lay down. Everyone else lay down too.” Mark settled on the ground, still breathing heavily. “Guys, do it, it feels so nice. Josh, Y/N, can you lay down please?”

“Fuck off.” You spat while Josh did as he was asked.

“Y/N, please, lay down.” You furrowed your brows when you heard the desperation in his voice, almost like he was going to cry.

“Jesus, fine.” You huffed, laying down on the soft grass.

The sun shining through the leaves of the trees was enough to put you back into a relaxed state, almost giggling at the warped rays of light. “This is nice...” You whispered to yourself.

You jolted when Dani stood up all of a sudden. “I need to go for a walk.” Dani voiced, the waver in her voice clear as day to you.

“Dani, are you okay?” You stood up, wobbling slightly, Dani’s figure waving as she walked away.

“Fine, I’m fine.”

You wanted to follow her, but were you capable enough to give her support if you were high as a kite? It didn’t matter at the point. You probably stood there trying to decide for about five minutes before you actually starting walking in the same direction Dani went, but then it was too late. You didn’t see her anywhere.

Walking into the woods, you immediately got lost in nature, enjoying the colors that seemed to be amplified from the drug. You smiled to yourself, not even the arms wrapping around your shoulders could force your mouth to pull downwards. “Hi.” Mark whispered, giggling as he tightened his embrace.

“What?”

You turned yourself around in his arms. “Why’d you follow me?”

“I’m not allowed to see what my friend is doing out in the woods?”

“I’m looking for Dani, and we’re not friends.”

Mark pouted. “We used to be more than friends. Why’d we ever break up?”

You frowned. “Cause you excused Christian’s behavior towards Dani. Plus, you were always a dick.”

“Rude. And to be fair, I’ve been trying to convince Christian to break up with her. They should’ve called it quits awhile ago.”

“The first thing you’ve said in your entire life that’s actually correct. How’re you an undergrad again?”

If you were sober, you would have never let Mark lean in and kiss you. At least, that’s what you hoped you would’ve done. But his lips were so soft and he was so gentle, you almost wished you were sober to experience the kiss better. It almost felt nostalgic in a way, even though it hadn’t been that long since you two broke up. You had to stop yourself from leaning back in for more when he pulled away.

“You reciprocated.” Mark smiled softly, caressing your face gently.

“Did I? I didn’t mean to, sorry.”

“I miss you, Y/N, a lot. I know you miss me too.” He whispered.

You shook your head and quickly walked away, not feeling like talking about...well, your feelings. Sobering up quickly after that, you kicked yourself for allowing that to happen, even if you happened to enjoy it very much.

You pretty much avoided Mark after the encounter in the woods, you were too awkward to confront your problems with other people, in that regard anyway. But thankfully, six hours after finding Dani peacefully sleeping off the drugs, it was time to hike through even more woods to get to Pelle’s village.

“So, we’re stopping in Waco before we go to Pelle’s village?” Mark joked.

Yeah, the all white clothing everyone wore did put you off just a bit, almost giving you Jonestown vibes. But they were so nice, taking your bags and giving you strawberries. They seemed like okay people.

You looked over to Mark, rolling your eyes as you saw him exhale smoke from his vape pen. Even in the presence of strangers, he still had no respect apparently. Josh even had to stop him from eating prematurely during one the first meals of the day. The ritualistic part confused you, but you just wrote it off as culture shock.

Sitting in between Dani and Pelle, you almost hit yourself for not remembering a very important fact. “Happy birthday, Dani!” You grinned. “I can’t believe I forgot, I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, it’s okay.” Dani rubbed your shoulder. “Pelle actually gave me a drawing, which was incredibly sweet.” She said, causing him to have a slight blush on his face.

“I actually did get you something, but it’s in my luggage. Make sure to remind me tonight. But what about Christian?” Dani frowned. “He forgot...of course he did.”

“It’s not his fault. I forgot to remind him, that’s all.”

“Dani, you shouldn’t have to remind him.” You scoffed. “Let’s just hope he remembers soon, else I’ll have to castrate him.”

“Anyway, what’s up with you and Mark? You’ve been avoiding him ever since we hiked here.” She whispered.

You internally groaned. “I always avoid Mark.” Dani just gave you an unimpressed look. “Can you like, stop being a mind reader for once in your life?” You whined.

“What happened?”

You sighed, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “We kissed...” You quickly put your hand over her mouth to stop her from squealing like a school girl. “Shh. It was when we were both high. Didn’t mean anything, at all.”

“You’re a terrible liar, you know that right?”

The conversation didn’t sway your decision to not stop avoiding Mark, you were going to avoid him for as long as possible and not even Dani could convince you to do otherwise. But you kept thinking about that kiss, and you suddenly found yourself wondering if there was any shock therapy places in Sweden.

Walking around the village a bit more by yourself to try and get some more bearings, Pelle joined you with his usual calming smile. “How are you liking it here so far?”

“It’s pretty interesting, I’d say. Living in New York never really gave me opportunities to be in nature, so this is great. I probably never wouldn’t come if it weren’t for you, Pelle.”

Pelle nodded. “I felt it was best for Dani, considering. She needs someone she can count on.”

“Yeah. It’s great that you’re looking out for her, it’s like you should be with her instead of Christian.” You cringed. “Oh god, sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Damn it.”

Pelle chuckled nervously. “It’s okay. Speaking of couples, are you and Mark-”

“Nope.” You quickly interrupted. “Not a chance.”

He hummed in thought. “I don’t mean to pry. It’s just, he told me about what happened...”

You groaned. “That little shit.”

"You know, I think you should give him a second chance."

You laughed. "That came out of nowhere."

"No. It didn't. Mark has always had a thing for you. And I probably shouldn’t tell you this but, he always talks about how he regrets how things went between you two. He still cares about you.”

You frowned, the feeling of missing the bastard starting to bubble up in your heart. “We weren’t good for each other. He needs to grow up.”

“Yes, I do agree he’s...a bit immature.”

“An understatement, Pelle.” You snorted.

“Personally, I am a big believer of second chances. I just think what if I die tomorrow, would I be happy with my choices in life? You never know when that time will come.”

“Jesus, since when have you been so dark?”

“I’m serious, Y/N. You don’t know when you’re gonna die, so I’d try to live life without regrets.” He smiled calmly.

You kept thinking about what Pelle said well into the night. You had trouble getting over the creepiness of his statements at first, but you knew he meant well. You did miss Mark, more often than you’d admit. You hated that you kind of agreed with Pelle about the whole regret thing.

The next morning, you woke up with a terrible headache. Thinking way too hard for hours on end wasn’t good for your brain. But, it did give you some perspective on how you’d go about interacting with Mark. You admitted to yourself that you did want to be with him, but you also didn’t want to rush into giving him another chance, knowing that just a smidge of eagerness would give the man an overinflated ego.

“What was the name of that activity you said last night, Pelle?” Dani asked.

“Ättestupa.” He answered.

“Sounds fun.” You said, half joking. “Wish we knew what was going to happened, but you seem to love surprises.” You directed to Pelle, a cheeky smile on your face.

From afar, Mark couldn’t help but glare at Pelle. To anyone one else, you were just being friendly, and if Mark had any sense at all, it would’ve just been a friendly smile to him too. He couldn’t help but feel jealous, but even he knew he had no right to be jealous since you two weren’t together. Maybe that was his problem, he thought, being too overprotective when you were in a relationship with him. God, he knew being an immature bastard would bite him in the ass one day. He just didn’t realize someone important to him would be scared away in the process.

The brief eye contact the two of you made threw you for a loop, that sense of longing for one another.

“Can you two stop eye fucking each other, please?” Josh voiced rudely. Strangely, it didn’t phase the two of you. Josh only rolled his eyes. “Fine. Miss breakfast then.”

You eventually forced yourself to look away from Mark, the both of you following the rest of group outside for the meal. Of course, the only seat left was next to Mark. How convenient...

Mark was silent as you stood next to him, taking short glances at you and the ground nervously. “Somebody should tell those girls they’re walking stupid.” He joked, trying to lift some of the tension. It didn’t work.

A boy rung a bell, an old man and woman walked two their assigned seats, and everyone only sat down until they did. Another rack of culture shock moved through you were the couple started chanting in what you assumed was Swedish, but it was honestly hard to tell.

After that, you just ate your food in silence. You were annoyed that you were too awkward to even look in Mark’s direction. But eventually, he cleared his throat to speak. “Did you sleep well?”

It was odd, hearing him sound so timid and quiet. “Uh, I guess so. I don’t really remember falling asleep.” You chucked nervously.

“So...yesterday-”

“Please, don’t.” You interrupted with a huff.

“I think we should talk about it at least.”

You bit your lip in thought, silently agreeing with him. “Not right now. Maybe after, whatever Ättestupa is. Okay?”

He sighed, nodding his head. “Fine. Fine.”

Mark stayed behind as you, your friends, and the rest of the Hårga journeyed to wherever this activity was taking place. You all were standing at the bottom of a cliff, waiting. “What’s this activity supposed to be?” You asked, but no one gave you an answer.

You sighed, crossing your arms around yourself. Whatever was supposed to happen was taking a long time, you almost felt bored. But soon you really wished you’d stayed behind with Mark back at the village.

Everyone watched as the old woman stood at the edge of the cliff, holding her arms outstretched to the sky. You could sense Dani hyperventilating, and you also felt a feeling of dread. You had no idea what was happening, and it scared you.

You let out a loud gasp as the woman fell from the cliff, her body falling onto a stone platform below, her face hitting it hard enough to completely mutilate any recollection that this woman was a human being once. Her face was caved in, it almost didn’t feel real.

You were in silent shock, not comprehending anything else around you, even with how loud Simon and Connie were freaking out.

All you could do was watch as the old man did the same, walking off the cliff and hitting the platform leg first.

“Oh my god, he’s still alive...”

All of the Hårga cried out when they saw the poor man was still alive, sharing his pain that he must’ve been feeling. A few members of the village ended his suffering, taking a large mallet and caving in his face like his partner in the senicide.

One of the elders, Siv, said that taking their own lives was a great joy and that this ritual had been done for many years. You couldn’t believe how barbaric these people were when they were so nice at first. Why were all these people so unfazed by seeing their own people die violently in front of them?

All you could do was follow everyone to the village in silence. You did the same as Dani. You needed to be by yourself right now. You sped walked to the woods surrounding the village, leaning against a tree in exhaustion. Did that really happen, you asked yourself.

You slid down to the ground as you let the tears start flowing. You didn’t want to be in this place anymore, how could you? You thought back to what Pelle said. He knew that the ritual was happening and he didn’t warn you guys at all. Why would he do that?

“Y/N?” You heard a voice call out. You didn’t answer, you didn’t trust your voice not to come out distorted from your sobbing. Finally making his way through the clearing, Mark saw you hugging yourself on the ground in tears. “Are you okay? I...heard about what happened.”

“No. No, I am not okay. I just saw two people jump to their fucking deaths!” You tried not to cry.

Mark was never good an emotional support, so he simply walked over and sat next to you as you cried. You didn’t know how he managed to pull you onto his lap without you noticing, but you didn’t find it in yourself to care, so you just held onto him like your life depended on it. You didn’t want him to let you go.

“I wanna leave this place...” You mumbled.

“I think that’s understandable.”

“How’s Dani? Did you see her at all?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“I don’t want to leave without her. I gotta find her.” You wiped the leftover tears from your cheeks, standing up with along with Mark. “Will you come with us?”

Mark didn't expect you to ask that. “You want me to go with you?”

“I have a bad feeling about this place. I don’t want any one of us to stay here, but I want you and Dani to come with me at least. I...I still care about you too.” Mark blushed as soon as you said that, making you chuckle lightly. “Seeing those poor people die...I don’t want to live with regrets, I already have enough of those. I don’t want to give up on us without trying to make things work. I admit, I gave up on you too easily. I don’t want to do that again. Okay?”

Mark couldn’t help himself, he soon planted a passionate kiss on your lips. You smiled into the kiss, you weren’t afraid of opening yourself up to him anymore. You wanted him, you’ve always wanted him. It just took a rough wake up call to remind you of that.

You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, standing on your tip toes to meet his lips easier. You felt safe in his arms, him holding you so close that the world and the messed up situation you both were in seemed to fade away. But you knew you were limited on time. You both pulled away breathlessly, wearing smiles on your faces.

“I love you.” Mark said, shocking you. “What? Live life without regrets, right?”

You laughed softly. “Yeah, you’re right. I love you.”

“Now, let’s get outta here.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Yes, I left it open ended on purpose. I’d like to think that they escaped the Hårga. But if they didn’t, at least they’re together lmao.

Whenever I feel bad that Mark died in the movie, I just think to how he must’ve put up a fight since that cunt who led him away had a busted lip. Did he deserve it? Yes, probably. But...but...he was a cutie pie🥺

Also, I’m trying to write a fic with Kenny from We’re The Millers, but IT’S SO HARD. Kenny, in general, is hard to write since he’s so...well...himself. Another thing is that the plot is all over the place and my mind keeps bouncing between a bunch of ideas so, it’s literally starting to look like gibberish. But i’m trying

#midsommar #Mark (Midsommar)#mark x reader #im very tired

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pars-ley · 3 years

Text

VOID

Pairing: Jackson x female reader ft Yugyeom x female reader

Summary: Jackson ending it with you was supposed to be for the best, but instead it spirals you into a pit of unhappiness and bad luck. What happens when meeting someone new can't compare to what you've already had?

Genre: Angst / break up au / established relationship au / marriage au / fluff

Rating: 16+ (SFW)

Warnings: Heavy Angst / swearing / some depression and depressive thoughts

Word count: 6.1k

A/N: This is for the flight log project with @got7writerscollective the prompt was ‘The Journey’. This is also unedited because as last minute Ley strikes again I didn’t have time. Thank you to everyone from the net who read this and wrote their reactions to this in the channel, you guys made my heart super happy.

Meeting Jackson wasn't planned but it happened.

A shy glance from the table across from you and you knew he was interested. All it took was one smile and he was at your table asking to join you.

Your conversation, free and absorbed and never ending.

The late night dates for dinner or to the movies, with walks in the park watching the sunset fade and the inky sky take over as you stroll in the moonlight hand in hand.

The early morning coffee stops that made you smile as soon as your eyes opened and you wiped the sleep from them. Just knowing you would see his handsome face and be on the mercy of his playful banter.

Every moment you were together felt like home.

Falling for him wasn't your intention but it happened.

The silly things he would do to try and cheer you up when you were sad, even if he made himself look like a fool, he didn't care as long as you smiled.

The long, hot nights of steamy love making that always took your breath away, as he explored your body until he knew it better than you. Prying his name from your lips more than once during those pleasure filled nights. Never tiresome or boring.

The quick lunch dates when he made it to the top of his career, bringing him lunch when you knew he had no time to eat but he still made time for you, no matter how busy he was.

Something had clicked fairly early on and you knew he was the one you wanted to spend your life with.

You fell hard and fast, your feelings never fading in four years, your love and lust for him still in abundance and only growing day by day.

Now suddenly, everything you've built together so solidly, so secure, has come crumbling down in front of you from six words...

"I think we should end this."

They echo like a distant voice concaved in a tunnel of stone desperate to escape, like you are. You struggle to find the end, to see the light, to feel the relief of being out of that darkness.

You feel like your drowning, gasping for air, fighting your way to the surface. But which was it? How can you get there when his words are the ocean, smothering you with its liquid jaws.

"Why?" You squeak out, fighting the tears that desperately fight their way out.

His eyebrows knit together as he watches your face. "Because I cannot give you what you want."

You shake your head, lower lip trembling fiercely. "I can wait, it's ok, I'll wait." You hear the desperation in your voice and the sound makes you sick.

"Baby, I don't know when I'll be ready, I'm finally where I want to be in my career and I've got to work hard, long hours to stay here. There's no place for children. It's not fair to ask you to wait."

"Y-your not asking. I'm t-telling you, I'll wait." You whimper, tears spilling from your eyes.

He sighs and wipes your tears away, his own eyes glassy and bloodshot. "And what if I'm never ready? You have always told me how important being a mother is to you. I will not be the one to take that away from you. I can't. I need to let you go. To let you find someone who can give you the things I can't."

Your tears fall freely now, feeling hot on your cheeks but the trails quickly turning cold in the air. Your body shivers uncontrollably, blood feeling like ice in your veins.

"But I-I don't want anyone else." You argue, the sound is petty, hardly audible.

You're losing, you know it. He's slipping through your fingers no matter how much you try to grasp at him.

"I don't either, but I think this will be better for you in the long run. I don't want to lead you on a road of disappointment because of my selfishness." He plants a long, lingering kiss on your forehead. "I'm sorry. I love you."

Before walking away and out of the door.

You crumple, your cheek finding semblance against the cold, hard floor. That's it. He's gone. You're alone.

6 months later…

The letters on the newspaper practically fly out and slap you in the face. The gaping hole he left in your chest when he took your heart with him begins pulsing with fresh agony.

Your emotions rush at you all at once, coming up and escaping from your mouth and into the kitchen sink.

The emptiness of your stomach feeling heavy as a rock, weighing you down, urging you to greet the floor. Your legs wobble under your weight as silent tears fall, leaving clear splashes on the mahogany wood under your feet.

Why is this happening? How?

So many questions, so many thoughts swirl in your mind, deafening you.

You get up from your chair and shuffle weakly back to bed, unable to face anything today.

Your phone rings wildly but you ignore it, the sound growing more distant the more your thoughts and woes consume you. Your friends have probably seen the news, they'll be worrying. Let them.

Climbing under the duvet and hoping to forget the world as your tears fall, staining your pillow, you see the print inked on the back of your eyelids. Everytime you close your eyes, it's there mocking and tormenting you.

"Millionaire CEO Jackson Wang expecting first child with Swedish actress and model, Scarlett Borgsson."

The blanket of sadness you pull over yourself, reminding you how much you still love him. Meaning he's never truly gone and you will never be truly free.

He's moved on. You should too.

But right now all you can envision is his hands on her swollen belly.

A child with his smile and her eyes.

Your chest aches agonizingly beyond belief for one that’s so empty and useless.

For three weeks you stay locked away, ignoring the world, hardly sleeping and then sleeping too much. Hardly eating but then binging late at night, when you eat in an attempt to ignore the screaming inside your head and the pain piercing your ribcage.

You remember real life. Your job, money, bills, friends. And you pull yourself out of the dark void. The thick shadow that clings to you, constantly pulling you back, giving you the easy and very tempting option. But you fight it.

You shower and wash your hair. You attempt to eat normally but food doesn’t interest you, everything has lost its flavour, everything is bland, tasteless and black and white without him.

You sleep during the day and lie awake at night, attempting work on your sculptures, everything you create shows heartbreak, devastation and sadness. But it'll have to do.

A deadline for an exhibition is rapidly approaching and you need to get back to some semblance of normality. To think about something other than him. To be productive and to work.

3 months later…

You stroll around the room, watching as people critique and fathom your artwork, listening to the theories and stories they invent. This is the best part.

No one knows you created these pieces. You can go undiscovered and walk among people, no fake niceties or pleasantries, just honesty.

You feel happiness creeping into you, filling your empty places with a new fulfilment, one you haven't felt in so long.

It's the moment you hear a familiar voice that every part of you freezes.

Any emotion other than dread or heartbreak leaves your body instantly, running away leaving you empty again. Your blood turns to ice in your veins. GET OUT OF HERE! You scream to yourself, willing your feet to move but suddenly, they feel chained to the spot, your body betraying you.

You manage to turn towards your escape, his face entering your view and masking everything else.

Just as handsome, just as perfect as he was when he was yours. Dark hair swept back not a strand out of place, a flawless fitted suit that shows off every muscle and curve of his chiseled body.

You take a step to the doors with the bright red ‘EXIT’ above them but as soon as you move it's almost as if he senses it. His head snapping in your direction following your movement. His eyes lighting up for a moment the way they used to, a small glimmer of hope flares inside you, maybe he still loves you, maybe he realises this has all been a mistake.

Until, a swollen belly makes its way into your eyeline and it all comes crashing down like a thousand shards of glass, as a reminder where you belong. Wounded and bleeding with unreciprocated love.

You finally tear your eyes away from his to look at her. All slim legs and breasts, nipples braless and pointing aggressively at Jackson.

Her small, pregnant stomach is perfect; the envy of every expectant mother. A perfect set of teeth behind full lips smile at all of those around her.

Long blonde hair shimmering, strands reflecting the light as if purposefully trying to blind you.

You’re not good enough to even be looking at her, they tell you.

Something else glinting catches your attention and your eyes immediately travel to her left hand. On her boney ring finger sat a rock the size of a baby's fist, glaring at you, teasing you. Of course. The cherry on top of a fantastic year.

Jackson follows your gaze and when you meet his eyes again he stares at you with wide eyes and a sorrow brow. A hand outreached towards you.

A bitter taste in your mouth at his pity sends your feet pulling you away and out of the room. You’re out of those doors before you know it, cold air whipping at your face but you barely feel it. You’re numb, unable to form the energy to feel and yet feeling everything so deeply, all at once. You want to scream into the night sky. Wondering what it is you’ve done in a past life that was so awful to deserve this.

8 months later…

Meeting yugyeom wasn't planned but it happened.

An aspiring artist featured alongside you in one of your exhibitions. You got along instantly.

The first time in a long time holding a conversation or getting to know someone didn't feel like hard work.

You both ran in the same creators circle, you had a lot in common so naturally you become fast friends.

You weren't sure when it changed for you, when it became something slightly more, but you did know he was the sweetest, purest soul you'd met and you couldn't let him slip through your fingers.

Jackson still ran through your mind constantly of course, using you as his own personal treadmill. His face still haunting your dreams, memories still sneaking up on you when you least expect it.

You'd caught headlines about his baby or wedding but most of the time you avoided everything about him completely. Not wishing to know anything about his life, for fear the pain would return and your chest would open up and become the gaping, black hole it used to be.

Yugyeom deserves your full attention and your whole heart, what was salvaged of it at least.

After he moves in with you it's all late nights cuddling on the sofa, early morning runs through the local park, dinner parties with friends and holidays to new destinations having adventures.

Yugyeom being with you means having your best friend around. He makes you feel safe and comforted, the wall of heat when you get home after a long day out in the cold. The blanket around you when watching your favourite movie. The bubbles that surround you in the bathtub when having a relaxing soak. He is your solace.

"Marry me." He whispers in your ear with his arms wrapped around your stomach.

You freeze, stirring the vegetables in the pan no longer matters once you hear those words.

A million thoughts race through your mind, one jumps out.

I thought it would be Jackson saying those words to me.

You catch it and toss it out the open window allowing it to be carried in the breeze. Jackson is married and has a child, he is gone.

Yugyeom stands behind you, cradling you and offers you his heart on a silver platter with all the trinkets.

No matter what expectation you had for your life before, you're on a new path now. A path that deserves a chance.

You turn in his arms, wrapping yours around his neck and bringing your lips to his, dancing in a mellow kiss.

"Is that a yes?" His mouth smiles against you, hands either side of your face, tucking hair behind your ears.

"Yes."

He beams at you, pulling a ring box out of his pocket and presenting it to you.

A large, gaudy diamond wrapped in a thin, gold band. None of your jewellery is gold, in fact, you detest it but this man has given you his heart, the least you can do is wear the ring he's bought.

He slides it on your finger. Looking down at your hand, you don't recognise it, it looks alien like it belongs to someone else. But you smile and kiss him until you're a tangled mess on the kitchen floor, dinner long burnt and forgotten.

9 months later…

You stand central to everyone, rows of packed seating behind you, eyes focused just on the two of you as you both recite your vows.

Looking around at the decorations you never would have picked, it's far too showy and glitzy for your taste but Yugyeom's mother had insisted, including what type of dress you should wear.

Not wanting to start a new life with atmosphere and anger, you opt with keeping your mouth shut and hoping for a quiet life.

She practically planned it all, even told you who your bridesmaids would be.

You sat there watching everyone around you move at a different speed, as if you were stuck in syrup and unable to catch up.

All you could do is watch, watch as your wedding and life was planned for you.

An alarm bell sounded in your head, screaming at you 'it's not right' but Yugyeom would come into view and give you a smile that would cloud all your fears and ease your worry.

Now the second alarm bell sounds as you stand here, on your wedding day, in a dress you hate, with Jackson's sweet smiling face staring back at you instead.

Somehow having replaced Yugyeom.

You look around frantically but no one else seems bothered by the silent exchange. Panic seizes your heart. This should not be what you're thinking of on this day. You blink furiously, shoving him out of your mind, willing him to disappear.

Yugyeom's face returns and you breathe a sigh of relief.

***

The ceremony is over. Husband and wife.

You greet everyone with their grins and cheers, finding yourself smiling with too much teeth, too much enthusiasm you don't feel inside.

Shouldn't you feel happier than this? You finally have a husband. You're finally somebody's wife. Why don't you have that instant feeling of completion? You should be jumping for joy right now. Instead you feel...normal, like you do on any other day. Maybe it just hasn't set in yet, maybe you just need a few days. So you wait. And wait. And wait.

That feeling doesn't come, not after your honeymoon in which you became restless, quickly realizing there is nothing else to do apart from lay on a beach and have sex.

Your busy mind grows louder, screaming at you, but you ignore it and swallow it down into the pit where it belongs.

Upon returning from your week in the sun, you settle quickly into a mundane routine together. Easy, calm and comforting. Some might say boring, some might even say mind numbingly dull.

But you continue on day to day…

"I want one." He says nodding towards the screen.

"What? A new tv?"

He laughs and points. "No, a baby."

You look up at the advert for nappies, a baby grinning with two little teeth protruding from his gum, big cheeks and a bald head.

Your heart stops, stutters then slams into your ribcage repeatedly. A baby. That's all you've wanted, a little version of yourself. A little bundle of joy to love unconditionally.

But is now the right time?

"Are you sure you don't want to wait a little while?"

"Wait for what? We're married, why waste time?" He clings to your hands enveloped in his.

He makes a good point. What are you waiting for?

You've already wasted enough time being with Jackson, hoping one day he'd be having this exact conversation with you.

Then spending your days after him wallowing in heartbreak and self pity.

You have the opportunity to live out your dreams with someone giving you the chance to, literally holding his hand out ready for you to take and walk the path with.

"Let's do it." You nod.

1 year later…

Your period is a week late.

You have been regular as clockwork since the day you started trying for a baby. Every month, the disappointment is undeniable when you see the crimson shade in your underwear. And every month you have to will yourself not to give up, to keep trying. Another month of ovulating tests, scheduled sex on precise days and times and legs in the air after, an attempt to help mother nature as much as you can.

Needless to say the excitement radiates off you in waves.

You rush home from work, pregnancy test in your bag, hardly able to contain yourself.

Yugyeom at the door, as excited as you, waiting and ready.

"Are you going to do it now?" He asks following your every footstep to the bathroom.

"Yes."

You shut the door and open the package, reading the instructions carefully. You'd drunk about a litre of water on the way home, your legs clenched together to stop you wetting yourself.

You sit down on the toilet and take a deep breath.

Once it's done you open the door for Yugyeom. Both of you sitting on the tiled floor staring up at the bright white stick resting on the sink. Gazing up at it like it holds all your answers, like suddenly life would make sense seeing those two red lines.

You've never realised how long two minutes is, you wring your hands nervously in your lap until he cups them in his, squeezing you reassuringly.

Your alarm goes off on your phone signalling the end of waiting and your heart pounds frantically in your chest.

He leans over and grabs the test.

"You ready?" He asks.

You take a breath and nod. Ready to see those two red lines. Ready to call your doctors and set up your appointments and scans. Ready to make a list of baby names and shop for all the necessities.

One line. Yugyeom shows you the test, with its mocking one line and your smile drops, so does your stomach. How? How could this be negative?

"Wait a minute, it says on here 'for the most accurate result use the first urine sample of the day as there will be a higher concentration of hCG.'" He looks over at you, a hesitant, optimistic smile plays across his mouth.

Yes. That's true. You cling onto that with every fibre of your being and agree to do the other test first thing in the morning.

***

As soon as your eyes open your mind is there, on that test in the bathroom. You climb enthusiastically out of bed, all traces of drowsiness vanish, as you tiptoe quietly to the bathroom.

If you do the test, then while you wait you can wake Yugyeom and you can both look at it together.

You quietly close the door and prepare the test, your fingers fumbling with excitement as you tear open the packet.

As you pull your underwear down, stick poised and ready, red catches your eye in your otherwise white bathroom. You look down, only to be greeted with your monthly agony, here to haunt you once more.

The test falls to the floor. It's useless now anyway. You're not pregnant, never was and likely never will be.

You let your head fall into your hands and let your misery wash over you. Tears stream down your face as dismay feels like it infects your soul with a never ending sadness.

A heavy cloud smothers you in a blanket of sorrow, choking the air from your lungs...you have no idea how long you stay in that bathroom before Yugyeom finds you. But you feel no better when he does and cradles you in his arms.

5 months later...

"When are you going to admit to yourself that it's not me you want?" His voice sounds into the silence and you resist the urge to roll your eyes.

The weekly fights he starts are almost timed like clockwork.

"What are you talking about?" You reply, continuing to type your ideas for your new art show.

"I've seen the way you look at Mark when you're working on your art pieces." He spits, slamming his drink down on the table.

This catches your attention. You close your laptop and swing your feet off the couch, heading over to the cupboard to pour yourself a Gin.

If you were going down this path, you needed a drink.

"Mark at the gallery?"

"Yes 'Mark at the gallery.'" He mocks you and you fight the urge to laugh.

"Dear, Mark is gay. I can assure you I look at him the same way I do all my other colleagues." You take a sip of your drink, eyes fixed on him.

He frowns for a moment then waves a hand in the air dismissing your statement. "I don't care about Mark."

"Then what do you care about Yugyeom, aside from starting fights with me?"

He stands abruptly from his seat, the wooden chair legs screeching across your wooden flooring making you wince.

"Do you ever ask yourself why I start these fights?" He shouts, a vein bulging in his neck.

"You start them because you like to get drunk on Friday's, and when you get drunk, you get mean." You say matter-of-factly, recalling all of the horrible things he's said to you lately, things you never thought could have come from his sweet mouth, things you won't forget.

His eyes pop in surprise as he's taken aback by your answer. "N-no," he sighs, returning to his chair, suddenly looking drunker than he seems. "I start fights because it feels like the only time I have your attention lately."

Guilt pangs inside you, pulling at your chest. You take a seat next to him and place your hand gently on top of his, the action feeling alien nowadays.

"I've had a hard time since we stopped trying for a baby." You admit.

"I never wanted to stop in the first place!" He yells, snatching his hand from yours. "That was your choice and you made it alone!"

"Because I can't keep putting myself through it! Can't you understand that?" You snap back, finally being open about your feelings, knowing it will only fall on deaf ears.

"I want children!"

"And you think I don't? I can't handle this pressure you put on me! You know my ovulation schedule more than I do."

"Because you never want to have sex anymore!"

"Because you've taken the fun out of it, it feels like a fucking chore! I'm not here for you to enter at your leisure to deposit your seed. What happened to spontaneity, romance, foreplay for god's sake? You're like a man possessed!" Your hands grip around the glass to stop them from trembling with anger. Finally being able to release the words that have been pent up inside you for the last five months.

Without a word he stands and walks to the front door, snatching his jacket up along the way. "I understand Jackson more now."

Hearing Yugyeom say his name, you freeze.

"Maybe he just knew you couldn't give him what he wanted." He says, looking over at you with watery, hate filled eyes before leaving, slamming the door behind him.

Your glass follows in an instant, smashing against the closed door, clear liquid and glass decorating the entrance to your apartment. Maybe you'll leave it there for him to step on when he comes home even drunker later.

An angry tear escapes as you sit here feeling trapped in your own home, wanting to be anywhere but here, anywhere but have to deal with your husband anymore tonight.

The word 'husband' feels foreign in your mind and on your tongue.

Nothing has felt right for the better part of eight months. You hardly talk to each other and when you do it's mostly fights and angry words spat or slurred in the other's direction. This is no way to live.

What you had given him of your damaged, used heart has slowly come back to you. With every alarm bell you hear ringing, every hurtful word sprayed in your direction, your heart has winced its way back to you. Putting up its own defense, from every barb that's thrown your way is turned into a wire fence, wrapping it in a sharp, pointed cage of protection.

***

Yugyeom doesn't show his face until the next afternoon, coming home looking rather sheepish.

"We need to talk." He says quietly.

The four words everyone dreads to hear.

You know what's coming, you've felt it for a while, it still doesn't ease the pain in your chest as you listen to his every word.

As you both apologise for your part in the break down of your short marriage, admitting maybe it was rushed from the start and accepting the fact that maybe you're not right for each other.

Two hours later and countless tears from the two of you, you both decide to call it a day. Even though you care deeply for each other, it's time to admit defeat. You have tried and given it your best shot.

"The worst part about this…" you say, wiping at your constant stream of tears. "I feel like i'm losing my best friend."

He pulls you into a tight, warm embrace, "hey, you are not losing me, I will always be here for you. We'll still see each other plenty at work events too. You can't get rid of me that easily."

You laugh, feeling thankful that you met him and thankful that you gave him a part of yourself, you had meant every word of your vows when you said them and you too would always be here for him. He'll always have a part of your heart to take with him, not that there's much left for yourself now.

2 months later….

A cup of morning coffee and reading the Sunday paper has become a routine you rather enjoy. You relax with your feet up on the dining table, crossed ankles.

You flick through anything that doesn't interest you, when a name catches your eye, drawing you to the headline.

"Jackson Wang scandal: Millionaire files for divorce from Scarlett Borgsson."

Your eyes pop. Scandal? What scandal?

You grab your phone and type his name into your search engine. You click on the first link and skim through.

"Model Scarlett Borgsson reportedly had an affair early on in the couple's relationship. An insider reveals she is now demanding a DNA test for their two year old little boy."

Your stomach drops as you click the next link.

"Jackson Wang revealed not to be Father of Scarlett Borgsson's son."

You read through story after story saying the same thing. How had you missed this?

You pick up your phone and dial the number to his office without even thinking.

You can't imagine how he feels right now, all you want to do is reach out and let him know he has someone he can talk to.

When the receptionist's voice sounds in your ear, you now doubt if he'd want that person to be you. You lose your nerve and hang up.

Your heart aches for him. Maybe it shouldn't but it does. No matter what he's done or how he's upset you, he does not deserve this.

You feel severe hate for that woman, thinking back to the last time you saw them both in the flesh.

The way she smiled arrogantly at everyone, as if they should all bend to her will with a flick of her hair or a swish of her hips.

Your stomach churns.

For the next few nights, your thoughts are consumed of Jackson as you toss and turn restlessly in bed. Maybe you'll gather the courage to speak to him…maybe not.

7 months later…

"You look good." Yugyeom says as you smooth down your pale blue dress.

"Thank you, so do you." You smile at him, looking at his impeccably tailored suit.

"It's nice to see you."

"Yes, it's been a while." You agree.

You do the usual catch up chit-chat until it dies down, he even introduces you to his date who seems like a very sweet and pleasant lady.

The newly wed couple enter the hall and cheers erupt all around, echoes bouncing off the wall. You cannot stop the grin that stretches across your face as you watch them take the centre of the floor for their first dance.

You'd known Jasmine since you were children, you'd always been inseparable. Your mothers were best friends growing up so naturally you spent a lot of time together.

Seeing her in the intricate, elegant wedding gown smiling up at her groom, elation in her eyes makes your heart smile. The joy you feel for her is stronger than most happiness you've felt for yourself.

Watching the sheer adoration in Jinyoung's eyes warms the deepest, darkest pit of your heart. They are so right for each other it's sickening.

You wonder briefly if you ever looked at Yugyeom like that and can collectively say 'no'. You two are the perfect example of two people almost forcing yourselves to be more than friends. You wouldn't change the time with him and you definitely learnt a lot from your marriage.

Jinyoung twirls her before bringing her back in close. You know him through Jackson, they had met at uni and become fast friends. As far as you were aware they remain that way.

But you haven't seen him here, not that you were hopeful he'd come.

The evening continues on, through dinner, speeches and finally opens up to the party.

The loud music pounds through you, realising you've had a little too much to drink you decide to step outside on the balcony and get some fresh air.

The gentle breeze skates across your skin leaving a delicate trail of goosebumps across your skin.

A jacket drapes your shoulders, an all too familiar scent intoxicating your senses, as your head snaps to the side to see him.

Jackson.

All this time you've thought about him and pictured him, your memory had not done him justice. He looks flawless, his hair swept back perfectly as usual, his smooth skin and unguarded eyes welcoming you. His soft lips stretch into a hesitant smile.

"I was hoping I'd see you."

Your heart flutters wildly in your chest making you feel light headed suddenly, although you don't show it. You take a breath and compose yourself.

"I wasn't sure if you'd come." You reply.

He takes his position next to you, shoulder brushing lightly against yours. How this man can still feel like home to you after all these years is mind boggling.

"I almost didn't. But Jinyoung told me you would be here as a bridesmaid and I couldn't stay away."

Your stomach flips dramatically at his words, large butterflies caged and desperate to escape.

"I'm sorry about your marriage." You say quickly.

He shrugs. "Thank you but I'm not."

You turn, raising a questioning eyebrow to him.

"She was not the person for me, let's put it that way."

"Why did you marry her then? 10 months after telling me that's not what you wanted." You jibe. You couldn't help it, anger threatening in the pit of your stomach at your same old reaction to him.

He sighs, hanging his head and rubbing his eyes. He looks tired, you hadn't noticed the dark circles under his eyes.

"I know, I know. That wasn't my plan. I meant what I said to you that day, every word." He looks behind you. "Can we sit?"

You follow his eyes to the ornate metal table and two chairs and nod.

Taking your seat with his jacket still draped around your shoulders stare out at the sunset, pinks and oranges streaming across the sky. When you look back at Jackson he's already watching you, his eyes soft but pained.

"I'm so sorry. For everything."

He means it, that much you can tell.

"It's in the past now."

"But I don't want it to be." He reaches across for your hands, holding them so tight his knuckles start going white. "There hasn't been a day that's gone by that I haven't thought about you, that I haven't obsessed about that moment I let you go. I'd give anything to change it you know, anything, but I can't. I truly wanted you to find happiness and I thought I was doing the right thing by you, giving you a chance without me holding you back."

You laugh, the sound almost bitter. "And yet, happiness still eludes me."

His eyebrows knit together in sorrow. "When I met my ex wife, it was a casual thing, nothing more. When she told me she was pregnant my world changed overnight. I didn't know what to do. All I could think about was you. It was supposed to be you having my babies one day, not this woman. I wanted to run to you then but how would you ever want me?"

He brings your hands up to his face and rubs his cheek along your fingers.

"My mother pressured me into marrying her, told me how it would look for someone in my position, said I'd lose everything. So I proposed, the words tasted like ash in my mouth but it was done. Then when I saw you at your art show, I almost came over and ended it all right then and there. But when I saw the tears in your eyes I couldn't bear the thought I'd done that to you. I felt so ashamed and I knew it was over."

You want to comfort him, to reach out and cup his cheek but you resist, letting him finish what he's so desperate to say.

"Then I heard you got married and I was happy for you, truly, I thought maybe I had done the right thing by you after all. Then all this shit came out about the affair and everything collapsed around me. All I wanted was to talk to you, like we used to, those late night talks where we would really open up. God, I craved that."

You squeeze his hand and he straightens a little, seeming a bit less dejected.

"When Jinyoung told me you'd gotten a divorce I was shocked and felt responsible somehow. He seems like a good guy by the way, he gave me one hell of a lecture about not hurting you as soon as I walked in."

You laugh and look through the double doors to see Yugyeom watching the two of you intently as he moves side to side on the dance floor with his date.

"He is a good man. Just not the right one for me."

The hope in Jackson's eyes could not be more obvious.

"I have to ask you something." He says leaning forward on the table, the action creaking the old iron underneath the weight on his elbows. "Could we start again? I know I don't deserve your forgiveness but I would like to try and earn it."

Mulling it over in your mind, you feel yourself nodding before your thoughts are even processed. But the resulting smile that lights up his face has you knowing your decision is not a mistake.

He leans in and strokes your face. "It's always been you."

Those words reiterating how you feel are like music to your soul. You feel at ease for the first time in a long time, your broken pieces mending and your heart more hopeful than it has been in a long time.

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notmrskennedy · 3 years

Text

NSYNC’s Greatest Hit

Spencer Reid x GN!Reader

A/N - So I wrote this on national coming out day in like twenty minutes. Here we are much later but I hope you like it. Hopefully as much as I liked my bestie’s edits on it (btw I hope you get the title joke - I’m such a nerd whoops)

Summary - Reader doesn’t know how to tell their best friend that they’re bi...

W/C - 1.4k

Warnings - I swear like a sailor’s mother and general coming out anxiety

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“So, did you like the movie?” he asks and if I’m completely being honest, I’ve forgotten he’s speaking to me. Spencer’s been splitting his time between excitedly explaining what I think might be the plot of this Saturday night movie, and animatedly telling the Saturday night movie—and I might be wrong—to fuck off. But I can’t be 100% sure.

Because the movie’s in Korean.

And he’s forgotten how to speak English for the last hour and a half.

I’ve known Spencer for a really long time, and we’ve had our fair share of grievances over the last however long we’ve been practically family. My biggest problem with him, though, was that he never would explain the plot of a movie to me in English. He would sit on my couch, eat my popcorn, promise that this time will be different, and then explain an entire Korean film to me in Korean. As if I hadn’t barely passed high school!

Sure, I never really mind the rambling—English, or whatever his new language obsession is—but tonight is different. Tonight, I’m more focused on where my ex-roommate had stashed her very forgotten vodka bottle in this stupid apartment. Or if the liquor store around the corner would sell to a girl who didn’t really look 23 and had lost her license.

I know Spencer is staring at me, but I can’t break the circle of thoughts. Vodka, liquor store, vodka, liquor store, vodka—

Can’t he stop looking at me? Can’t he stop looking at the sweat beading on my forehead? Just quit analysing the way I’m biting my nails off, finger by finger? Can’t he just stop looking? Before I fucking combust?

It’s hard enough to admit to myself that maybe—just maybe—I’m not just jealous of pretty girls. And maybe—just maybe—it’s not all that dissimilar to how I look at pretty boys. Because there are a lot of girls that are pretty. Ethereal. Too fucking hot for me to form a coherent sentence.

How is this unobservant idiot going to take the news? I didn’t take it well, and I admitted it to myself!

Here we are, sitting on this ragged old couch—the one that he nearly had a coronary over when I told him I’d got it over Craigslist—imprinted with the pair of us. What am I going to do if he doesn’t take the news well and I have to stare at this couch every day? What am I going to do with a reminder of the friendship I’d lost?

“Y/N? Am I speaking Korean again?” he asks again and I swallow in acknowledgement. If I just move my head. Come on, Y/N, just look at him. There’s no point though; if I look at him, I have to actually tell him. Actually come out of the closet. I haven’t thought up a good joke yet to ease the inevitable pain.

But he’s Dr. Freaking Spencer Reid, FBI profiler! Shouldn’t he be able to see right through me? He should know. It would be so much easier if he just knew. I want him to be able to read my mind and tell me what I should tell him.

“It’s not Korean,” I finally manage to force out. His eyebrows furrow, his cheeks tighten, his brain is working three million miles an hour to determine if I’m dying.

It’s not dying, it’s...wanting to shrink back into the couch cushions so I don’t have to work up the courage. The courage I’ve been trying to work up for weeks. The courage that is keeping my eyes on the screen even as the credits begin to roll.

He nudges me with his elbow. “Are you—are you okay? You seem kind of shaken up.”

I chance a glance at his adorable, concerned, puppy eyes and think about crying. This is Spencer—my best friend—and if he doesn’t know already, then maybe I should just stay in the closet.

What if I shattered our relationship? I mean, I know that Spencer isn’t going to hate me over this, but my brain is throwing a fit. I feel like I could run or puke ‒‒even before I’ve had the chance to drown my worries with an entire liquor store‒‒ or god, maybe both. My brain is screaming that he’ll laugh, make some comment about a threesome. I mean, what if Dr. Spencer Reed was secretly some dude-bro in a…fantastic disguise?

Peeking over, he’s definitely not a dude-bro. The rose-coloured tie is hint enough.

Spencer was so adamant about routines, distrusted change, thrived on reliability. We’d been having the same ancient fight over who was the better Doctor for at least eight years. If I changed, would he recover? Let alone, would I recover if this changed our friendship? Could I still live up to his expectations? Would he still just see me as me? Would I no longer be Y/N, but attention-seeking, indecisive Y/N?

Jesus Christ, they don’t tell you that coming out is way too fucking nerve-wracking at Orientation to Not Being Heterosexual.

“Earth to Y/N,” Spencer sing-songs, “what’s going on?”

Oh, yeah. Gotta use actual real-life words. “Oh, right, yeah. Sorry, I just—I’m just—why is this so freakin’ hard?”

Spencer groans, whines, and then drops his head into his hands. “Morgan was right, right? You’re in love with me or something and I just—“

“What?” I turn entirely towards him. Don’t even bother keeping the shock off my face. “Derek thinks I’m in love with you?”

I can’t help the laugh that bubbles out. Even when he blushes and stutters and can’t look me in the eyes anymore. It’s a blinding change of pace. He runs his fingers through his hair, tries not to let his voice wobble too much. “Are you?”

I laugh harder and wipe the tears from my eyes. “No, I’m not in love with you, Spencer. You’re like my brother.”

The relieved sigh he lets out can be heard around the world. The ‘thank god’ is harder to miss.

“Dude, I can’t believe Morgan thinks I’m in love with you. Out of everyone on your team, I’d totally be screwing Elle.”

The silence is deafening. Oh shit.

Even with the air sucked out my lungs, I fill the fucking silence royally well. “I mean—I was—there—I was going to tell you that—that—that I think I’m bi—bisexual, I mean—you know? Women and men. Men and women?”

I glance over to Spencer—jaw dropped, eyebrows furrowed, nose pinched. I know it’s him just processing the two tons of information I’d just thrown at him. I know he’s just being Spencer about it, trying his best to think before he speaks. But Jesus, would it kill him to say something?

“It explains a lot,” he bluntly snorts. A truly unhelpful tidbit of information. I groan and think about curling into a little ball. He pauses to smile to himself, nudging my foot with his. “It’s not bad! Garcia just keeps talking about how much you smile at Elle and the whole cuffed jeans thing—it just—it just makes sense.”

It was my turn to drop my jaw, but he doesn’t stop trying to prove his point that everything is starting to make sense. If anything he gets more excited. “And did you know that 3.4 women identify as lesbian or bisexual? Or that 3.6 men do? Or that Americans are more likely to report same-sex attraction but not identify as part of the community?”

“So you aren’t weirded out?”

“No,” he answers, “Why would I be? Did you think I’d be upset? Is that why you’ve been weird?”

I scrub my hands over my face. “Um, yeah, Spencer. Usually, it’s pretty hard to come out of the closet. Especially to people you respect.”

He muddles over what I’ve said. His fingers keep digging at a crease in his pants. Maybe thirty seconds later—a long thirty seconds—he cocks his head to the side and states, clear as mud, “I would’ve thought it’d be easy because you know me. I mean, you know that about me.”

“Know what about you?”

“I thought you knew that I’m sexually attracted to men and women.”

My throat constricts—not because I’m freaked out about it—but because I’m freaked out. “Did I miss this conversation?”

“I mean, I told you about how hot the main character of the movie is. And about how his girlfriend is really hot too. Did you miss that part? I spent nearly the last half hour—”

“Korean, Spencer,” I sigh. “It was in fucking Korean.”

“Oh!” he chirps and squirms like a puppy. “In that case, we get to talk about it again!”

“English, please,” I beg, and everything seems as it should be. Even if seeing the indecisive nature of our Swedish fish and sour patch kids popcorn bowl means something a little more.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you

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spine-buster · 4 years

Text

l i p s l i k e t h e g a l a x y ’ s e d g e | elias pettersson

Summary: Every new relationship has its growing pains, its ups and downs. But Svea and Elias are back in Sweden, where everything is perfect. And besides, they were best friends before they started their relationship. So are the growing pains the same?

Word Count: ~14.3k

A/N: Have I become obsessed with Elias Pettersson? Mayhaps. Am I gonna do anything about it????? NO!!!!!!!!!! Some more Incredibly Soft Bitch™ hours here, along with some light smut which hopefully makes for a good time. I’d love to hear your thoughts on part two!

PART ONE - MADE OF OUTER SPACE //

Svea promised Elias she was going to make waffles.

She stood in his kitchen in his apartment in Sundsvall, the morning sun illuminating the apartment as she opened all the windows to let the light in. Before she did anything for the waffles, she made coffee. After – and only after – she had her first sip did she take out all the ingredients they had bought yesterday: fresh strawberries and blueberries, the pure maple syrup they’d smuggled back from Vancouver; and, of course, all the necessities for the waffles. After washing the fruit and slicing the strawberries, she plugged in the waffle iron to heat it up and began measuring everything into a bowl and whisking it all together.

It was only then that she felt a pair of arms snake around her midsection, making her jump at the unexpected touch. When she got over her initial shock, she placed her hands over his arms. She could feel his lips kiss her neck and drag their way up to her ear. She closed her eyes and had to keep herself from sighing. “Good morning, Elias.”

He hummed into her skin to acknowledge what she said, but continued to kiss along her neck and jawline. His hands slipped underneath her shirt – his shirt, technically – and onto the exposed skin of her stomach. Except he didn’t just stop there; he kept moving higher and higher, cupping her breasts in his hands. She couldn’t hold in her sigh anymore, letting out a breathy sigh as she gripped onto the edge of the countertop. She could feel him press up against her back. “Elias…”

“That’s my shirt, pretty girl,” he mumbled against her skin.

“Yeah…” she tried to collect herself. “So what? I’ve been wearing your shirts for days now,” she said, because it was the truth. They’d gotten back to Sweden almost two weeks ago, and after visiting and catching up with family the first week, they’d retreated back to his apartment in Sundsvall. In that time, they’d been…busy. Elias had apparently wanted to keep his promise about making up for lost time and making love on every room and surface of his apartment. They’d been exploring, so to speak: what they liked and didn’t like; what set them off and what didn’t; what drove them crazy and what they could do without. It was a definite learning curve for two shy people who didn’t have any experience with anyone but each other, but that was the exact thing that kept them both sane – that they were learning together. As corny as it sounded, it was their saving grace. They were shy, but they didn’t have to be shy with each other. They were quiet, but they didn’t have to be quiet with each other.

When he began to nip at the skin of her neck, Svea bit her lip. She couldn’t believe he still wanted it, barely awake and his voice still sleepy, after all the sex they’d been having. He even had the audacity to pinch her nipples quickly, causing her to squirm. “Elias…”

“Come back to bed,” he whispered in her ear.

It took everything in her to shake her head and deny him. If only because she was actually looking forward to the waffles. “But what about your waffles? These ingredients will be wasted.”

Elias stopped his movements. He looked at everything on the counter and the waffle iron heating up, and he came to his senses. “You’re making me choose between waffles and sex?”

Svea snorted. “I think I am.”

“How dare you.”

They both broke out into a fit of giggles. His arms around her waist loosened, but he put his hands on her hips to spin her around. “Give me one kiss and I’ll leave you alone.”

“I doubt that.”

“I promise,” his tone was begging. “One kiss.”

Svea digressed. She stood on her tip-toes (the problem of someone who was only five-foot-two) and wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he craned his neck down (the problem of someone who was six-foot-two) to kiss her. When their lips met, there was a fire ignited inside Svea and Elias that they’d gotten used to over the last few days. Elias put so much passion into the kiss – as he did with every kiss – but she knew there was more to this one because he wanted to leave her completely dazed. His lips practically engulfed hers and his tongue filled her mouth. She couldn’t help but moan into the kiss, especially as he finished it off, biting down on her bottom lip and dragging it away with him, leaving her wanting so much more.

“Fuck you, Elias,” she barely got out, keeping her eyes closed to savour the moment.

“I’ve been trying to convince you to but you want to make waffles instead.”

Okay, that brought her back to the present. She glared at him before pinching his arm and shoving him away playfully so she could get back to the bowl of waffle mix. “Get out of the kitchen.”

When the waffles were finished and plated as fashionably as Svea could present them, she brought them outside to the balcony where Elias was waiting patiently. He smiled as it was placed in front of him, taking his phone out and snapping a picture of it. “It looks better than the Vancouver ones we get,” he said.

“No they don’t,” Svea laughed. “Stop trying to butter me up so you can have sex with me after.” She paused for dramatic effect. “I’ll do it anyway.”

They ate in relative silence, admiring the stillness of the morning and the sound of the water splashing up against the bottom of the building. The city was just waking up, and from across the harbour Svea could see a few cars on the road. The tranquility of Sundsvall was what she loved: it was a city (at least compared to Ånge), but not too big, the people were nice and unobtrusive, and, of course, being on the water was beautiful. The Bottenhavet was practically always freezing but it was still her favourite, and she loved to jog along the paths in the city that were carved near the water. She’d take similar jogs around the water in Vancouver, mainly in David Lam Park since it was so close to the apartment, but it wasn’t the same. She absolutely loved Vancouver, and could see herself living there for a very long time, perhaps always, but it wasn’t home. Home was Sweden. Home is Sweden. Home was the streets of Ågne and Sundsvall and Timrå and Stockholm and everything in between; home was the drives she and her family would take all around Sweden to see the country; home was dad’s homemade Swedish meatballs and mom’s pickled herring and Sigrid’s egg coffee recipe that was to die for; home was Irene’s warm hugs and Torbjörn’s infections smile and Emil’s dumb jokes.

Home was sitting on a balcony with Elias eating homemade waffles and having him look into her blue eyes like they held the water of the seven seas.

When they were finished, Svea moved to lie down on the couch as Elias brought the plates to the kitchen. When he came back outside, he practically collapsed on top of her. He lay his head on her chest, wrapping one arm around her while the other snuck underneath his shirt she was wearing, feeling her skin, not caring how much he was pushing it up. Svea began running her fingers through his hair and he practically purred at the action.

Svea could feel his breathing steady, and she wondered if he really did fall asleep again as he lay on top of her. When she felt his thumb draw circles along the skin of her ribcage, she got her answer. That was nice, because she had some things on her mind.

“Elias?” she asked finally in her trademark sweet voice.

“Svea?” he asked back, mimicking the sweetness.

She made sure to keep running her fingers through his hair. “Were you lying to me when you told me you bought this place because you know how much I like the water?”

“Of course not,” he said. He remembered telling her at Brock’s house in Minnesota when they were in a situation similar to this one, and he didn’t regret it. It wasn’t something he would be able to keep a secret forever. “Why would you think I was lying?”

“I don’t know…” she said uneasily. She sighed slightly. “I just…I just didn’t really think you made big decisions like that with me in mind.”

Elias looked up at her. “Svea, I only make big decisions like that with you in mind.”

“Really?”

He nuzzled his head back against her chest. “I wanted to put your name on the deed with mine but my lawyer and my mom said I should talk to you about it first so I didn’t scare you,” he mumbled.

Svea’s body stiffened. Elias felt it, and looked up at her again. “Elias, you can’t be serious.”

“Why wouldn’t I be serious?”

“This is a whole apartment.”

“So?”

“Elias.”

He made a face, pushing himself further up her body so he could kiss her. His lips were so soft and for a moment, Svea forgot about everything. He had that effect on her. “It was always going to be this way. Don’t you think? You were always going to be in my life. I was always going to be in yours. There was never anything that was going to separate us.”

“I know,” she nodded her head confidently. “I just…I don’t know. But we were just best friends, Elias. It’s not like we were together like we are now.”

Elias shrugged his shoulders. “That didn’t matter to me,” he said. “I would have given you everything, even if you didn’t ask. I still would.” He paused for a moment. “You know that, right Svea? You have to know that. I’d give you anything.”

Svea nodded her head silently. She did know. She always knew. It was just different hearing it said out loud, confirmed by Elias now that they were actually together and in a relationship, rather than just best friends. It was a dichotomy of everything feeling new, yet already knowing every sentiment – that he loved her, that he’d give her the world if he could. So instead of thinking about it anymore, she acted. She kissed him again, and as they kept kissing, he moaned, and as he moaned, Svea felt him getting hard against her thigh, and as she felt him get harder, she grinded her hips into his desperately, and as she grinded her hips, he took off her bottoms, and she took off his, and suddenly, there were pantsless on his balcony.

“I want to be on top this time,” she mumbled as Elias kissed down her neck.

He audibly groaned at her request. “Get on top, then,” he said quickly, wrapping his arms around her and leaning back, bringing her body with him.

Svea lowered herself on top of him slowly, but once he bottomed out, they both moaned out in pleasure. She kept her top on, because it was one of Elias’s Tre Kronor shirts, and she knew he found it hot. His hands squeezed her thighs as he looked up at her through hooded eyes. “You were always meant to be here,” he mumbled out. “On top of me. Under me. Beside me. Wherever. But with me.”

Svea nodded her head as she began to rock back and forth. “I know.”

“And if I have anything to do with it, you’ll always be on top of me,” he made a quick joke.

Svea smiled as she slapped his chest. He leaned forward to give her a cheeky kiss. “I love you, Elias,” she said.

“I love you too, Svea.”

>< >< >< >< ><

“Tequiiiiiiilllllllllaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!”

Elias let Tequila lick his face as she wagged her tail and barked excitedly. Emil and Fanny laughed as Elias got on his knees and Tequila practically climbed on top of him, way too excited to see him. He lay down with her on top of him. “Oh, God,” Emil chuckled, shaking his head. “This is never gonna end now. We may as well all just leave them together.”

“I haven’t seen her in months,” Elias mumbled in between him giving Tequila kisses and Tequila slobbering kisses all over him. “Let me be.”

“Is that what it’s like in bed with him, Svea?”

Elias kicked his brother’s shin, causing Emil to yelp out in pain. Fanny followed up with a slap to the arm. Comments like this were to be expected from Emil after they told their families. Everybody was so nonchalant about it that Elias and Svea were almost offended. “Oh, finally?” was her mother’s and Sigrid’s reaction. Her father had the gall to joke, “Weren’t you two always together?”. Torbjörn asked, “Okay…and?” and Irene actually said, “Are we supposed to be surprised?”. Suffice to say, Elias and Svea did not get the reaction they thought they would. It was part hilarious, part annoying.

“She’s good with two longer walks or three short walks a day,” Fanny explained. “Always with the harness. And she eats when we eat – well, right after we eat. The cup to measure is in the kibble bag. And the cats – we try to brush them twice a week. They eat at the same time as Tequila—”

“You told us! We know how to take care of animals, Fanny,” Elias said as he rubbed Tequila’s belly.

“Quiet!” Svea shushed him. “They’re her babies, Elias.” She turned back to Fanny. “Go on.”

“She’s good with the crate at night, but if she gets fussy just put a treat in there. It works every time,” Fanny continued. “And…I think that’s it? I’ll still be available by text if anything happens.”

“I’ll make sure to send you daily pupdates,” Svea smiled. “Have fun with your family.”

“Are you kids going to be okay in the big bad city all alone?” Emil joked again.

They were back in Ånge, which made his joke all the more nuanced. “We can call the neighbours if we feel scared at night,” Svea said. “Hopefully they have an extra bed.”

“Extra two beds. I don’t want any funny business while we’re away that leads to a niece or nephew in nine months.”

Elias kicked him in the shin again. “Fanny, you guys gotta go now before I beat him up.”

The girls hugged as Emil got into the driver’s seat of the car. Elias finally stood up and made Tequila sit as they waved at Emil and Fanny. They drove away slowly, and once they were out of sight, Elias turned to Svea. “Alone in Ånge,” he smiled.

“It sounds like the title of a horror movie.”

Elias snorted, shaking his head. “I’m serious. I don’t think I’ve ever been alone in Ånge for years.”

He made a point. Svea’s parents were already in Torremolinos, Spain, for an extended vacation. Elias had made sure to buy his parents a trip to the Algarve in Portugal so they could spend some time in the southern European sun, too. Sigrid was in Stockholm, as she usually was, and now, Emil and Fanny were going on a quick camping vacation with her family. Elias and Svea were tasked to take care of all the animals while Emil and Fanny were gone for the week. As if they needed to be asked. “You’re actually right,” Svea commented. “No family to visit or spend time with. What are we going to do with ourselves now that no-one is here?”

“We could rent all the Austin Powers movies again and eat every chip bag in the city,” Elias smiled.

“Or we could rent The Prince and Me and I can fantasize about falling in love with a Danish prince and making out with him in the stacks of the library,” Svea wiggled her eyebrows.

Elias feigned hurt in his face. “You fantasize about that when you have a Swedish boyfriend right here?”

She shrugged innocently. “Maybe.”

“How about we watch Brooklyn 9-9 instead,” Elias offered.

“So I can fantasize about Jake Peralta?”

Elias grabbed her hand and pulled her towards him playfully, leaning down to kiss her so she’d shut up. “You’re killing me here,” he mumbled against her lips. “Should I put on a detective outfit?”

Svea giggled uncontrollably as she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him again. “How about I go to the supermarket to load up on snacks, and you get Tequila settled in and pick something for us to watch?”

Elias smiled. “You trust me to pick something?”

“We’ll probably end up making out halfway through anyway.”

He kissed her again. “I made the smartest decision of my fucking life.”

Svea went inside Elias’s parents’ house briefly to get the keys to the car, driving quickly to the supermarket to pick up a couple of bags of chips, but also some crackers and different cheeses so they could class it up a little bit. Knowing Elias, he would appreciate the “healthier” option. She quickly grabbed a basket and began roaming through the store, picking up the crackers and a slice of brie, her favourite.

“Svea? Is that you?” she heard a voice behind her. She whipped around to see a familiar face – Emma Gardner, an old classmate that she had a few classes with in high school. They’d kept in touch on and off, but there was no bad blood between them when they didn’t talk, and Svea knew there wasn’t a bad bone in Emma’s body. “Oh my God, I thought I heard that you’d be back in town for the summer!”

The two girls hugged, warm and friendly and with an easiness that two friends who hadn’t seen each other in a while always had. “Yeah, I’ve been back in Sundsvall for a while now, but back in Ånge for at least a week with Elias watching Emil and Fanny’s dog,” Svea explained.

“Of course,” Emma smiled. “Where you are, Elias isn’t far behind. Look at Vancouver.”

“Exactly,” Svea giggled, loving how Emma framed it. Svea always made a point about Elias following her to Vancouver and not the other way around, and although she usually said it in a joking manner, she was glad the sentiment was catching on with others. Elias would even say the same thing, so it wasn’t like he cared how he looked like in the situation.

“Listen, if you’re in town for the week, Jonas and I are having a dinner party on Friday,” Emma said. “Just something small, you know how it is. It would be lovely if you and Elias came. I know Jonas would love seeing him again.”

Svea smiled. “I’m sure he’d love to see Jonas again too. I’ll mention it to him,” she said. “Do you want me to make anything?”

“Everybody is preparing a main dish,” Emma said. “Make whatever you want and then bring it over my parents’ place at seven. They’re in Gothenburg visiting Sara.”

“Will do.”

Emma gave her one last, big, genuine smile. “It’s so nice to see old friends again,” she mused. “We all change so much but when we get together, it’s like everything is still the same.”

>< >< >< >< ><

Elias made sure to get all his kisses in before he and Svea walked over to Emma Gardner’s house, Svea holding a tray of homemade sesame chicken while he carried a bottle of wine. They didn’t hold hands, because Elias didn’t want people to know. And they weren’t going to tell anybody tonight; as far as everyone else was concerned, they were still just best friends. It was a mutual decision, but one provoked by Elias. It wasn’t that he was ashamed; it was just that he was already the subject of a lot of gossip in Ånge, and he didn’t want to be the subject of more. Not only that – and more importantly – he didn’t want Svea to be the subject of gossip at all. People their age knowing they finally got together wouldn’t shut up about it. He wanted everything and everyone to be quiet. If he had it his way, everyone would find out when they were out of Ånge and back in Vancouver. That way he didn’t have to talk about it. That way he didn’t have to field questions from old classmates about how they got together.

They arrived at the house, Elias handing Jonas the bottle of wine and Svea handing the dish of sesame chicken to Emma, who took it happily and immediately placed it on the dining table as Elias and Svea took off their shoes. They saw three familiar faces in the apartment – old schoolmates Erik, Kristina, and Oliver – and met three new faces: Magnus, Kristina’s boyfriend; Axel, Oliver’s boyfriend, and Oscar, a university friend of Jonas’s who was visiting from Karlstad.

The wine was already poured. Everyone was standing in around in the living room chatting when Elias and Svea arrived, and they were just waiting for one more couple – Brigitte, another former classmate, and her boyfriend Soren. The boys in attendance were pretty thrilled to see Elias, and they immediately stole him away from Svea, asking about hockey – the NHL, Vancouver, and the girls. Svea settled into conversation with the ladies, telling them about school and Vancouver – the restaurants, the nightlife, the boys.

When the doorbell rang and old classmate Brigitte Danielsson walked through the door, an older boyfriend in tow who introduced himself as Soren Hölmberg, Svea tried not to let her disdain show. She never liked Brigitte. Pretentious in high school despite having no reason to be, Brigitte would use her good looks and conniving charm to make friends, get ahead, and ultimately get what she wanted. Svea couldn’t ever imagine thinking she was better than someone else, so Brigitte’s general attitude always baffled her.

Emma asked Svea to run to the fridge to get the white wine out of the freezer. Brigitte followed behind her to uncork her bottle of red. “Why am I not surprised to see you and Elias coming together?” Brigitte smiled like the Cheshire cat as she stuck the corkscrew into the top of the bottle.

“There’s no reason you should be. You know what Elias and I are like,” Svea brushed off the comment, waiting to use the same corkscrew.

“So nothing has changed since high school?”

“We’re still best friends, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“So neither of you have moved on,” Brigitte commented.

Svea bit her tongue. She wanted to say so much to Brigitte but knew she couldn’t. At least, not here. If Svea saw her at the supermarket at any point during her remaining time in Ånge she’d give her a piece of her mind. Beyond that, the last thing Brigitte said to her before they went into the kitchen together was “hi”. It was a bit forward talking about something so personal with a person you haven’t seen in almost three years, Svea thought. “There was no reason to move on. What would we have moved on to?”

“I don’t know,” Brigitte shrugged her shoulders, but she knew exactly what she was doing and exactly what she was implying. Svea knew Brigitte and, suffice to say, she hadn’t changed since high school. “People who are more like you. It’s hard to believe the quiet alien boy who was a prodigy in hockey and had girls flinging themselves on him left, right, and centre stuck around with the quiet girl whose head was always in a book instead of in his lap, that’s all,” she said, sliding the corkscrew across the counter before walking away and back into the dining area.

Brigitte knew nothing. Move on to people ‘more like you’? There was nobody in the world more like her than Elias. Svea rolled her eyes before uncorking the bottle and walking back to the dining table. Almost everyone had already taken their seats, and Svea found her spot beside Elias. Jonas began passing around the food. Soon, everybody’s plates were filled with food and glasses were filled with wine.

The discussion around the dinner table was mostly to do with university – once the hockey talk was over. Everyone was in varying programs, so it was mostly just a discussion of what new things everybody was learning – the things they’d read, the classes they’d taken, things that opened their eyes and things that made them think. It was a lot of shared experiences, a lot of expanded horizons for a bunch of kids from a tiny town in Sweden who went to high school in a small city in Sweden. Talks about literature they’d read – Absalom, Absalom! by William Faulkner in American Literature, The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck in Voices from the Great Depression, essays from Nick Bostrom and Per Bauhn and novellas by Ingmar Bergman. Social contracts written by Thomas Hobbes and John Locke and Jean-Jacques Rousseau. Politics in Sweden and the European Union.

That’s when things got interesting.

“You can’t honestly believe that,” Svea deadpanned to Soren as she let her ice cream liquify in her small bowl. People at the other end of the table were discussing something else, but Svea had the absolute delight of sitting across from this 26-year-old bozo who did things like say ‘To be devil’s advocate’ just so he could say something provocative or against the norm. He was that type of asshole and, in a mean-spirited fashion, Svea thought him to be a perfect match for Brigitte. “Trickle-down economics doesn’t work. I don’t know how you can think that it does. The capitalist system does not work in favour of society’s poorest citizens. It just doesn’t. Trickle-down economics was just invented by fat rich guys to give themselves tax breaks so they can hoard all their money and not pay their workers liveable wages.”

“Are you saying they don’t create jobs?” Soren smiled at her patronizingly.

“Maybe you don’t understand the words that are coming out of my mouth. I never said a thing about job creation,” Svea retorted. “I’m saying that it’s inevitable that a capitalist system exploits its most vulnerable workers. And for you to sit there and say that it works when it so obviously doesn’t is just ignorant.”

“But the most vulnerable needs jobs, don’t they?” he pressed.

“The most vulnerable in society require justice, equality, dignity – so many other things before they need a job. And unless society’s systems are created and executed to help create that justice, equality, and dignity, they’ll never get it. But they should fight to get it. They have a right to.”

“So you adhere to Hobbes’s view on the social contract then? That people should depose of governments and systems that they don’t like because they don’t get what they want from it?”

Svea furrowed her brows. She wanted to wipe that smug, pretentious, pompous, dastardly smile off his face. “You have your social contracts mixed up, sweetheart. It was Locke, not Hobbes, who believed that when the king or the ruler becomes a tyrant and acts against the interests of the people, the people have a right and an obligation to resist his authority so the social contract can be dissolved and the process of creating a new political society can happen. It’s not about getting what they want, it’s about upholding the contract. That’s what it’s called a social contract. Anybody who’s taken an introduction to philosophy class knows that’s Locke because it inspired Thomas Jefferson and the other leaders of the American Revolution.”

Svea was getting heated. Elias’s eyes had been darting back and forth between her and Soren, trying to take in everything they were saying. It was hard to follow for him. He had no clue what they were talking about. “Be careful, Soren,” Brigitte spoke up, smiling mischievously behind her wine glass. “Svea won all the debating awards in high school.”

“That’s easy when you’re in Norrland,” he quipped, to which Brigitte laughed. Svea wasn’t laughing. Soren took notice. “Oh come on, Svea. I’m just messing with you. It’s just some friendly banter. Has a guy never flirted with you before?” he asked. Was that meant to be flirting?! Svea still didn’t respond. “You get quite feisty. Are you like this in your tutorials, too? You must get really good marks for participation.”

“I get good marks for everything,” she said dismissively.

Soren didn’t let up. After the third and fourth glasses of wine were poured, and after everyone retired to the couches or the floor, lighting their cigarettes because any twenty-somethings who fancied themselves as intellectuals took up smoking to look and play the part, Soren continued to chat with Svea. Jonas and Oscar struck up a conversation with Elias, and he was trying to be polite in engaging with them while also eavesdropping on Svea and Soren. He couldn’t help it. They continued to discuss things he had no clue about, but he still listened. Still made sure Soren wasn’t trying to…pull anything. He was older and smarter and had a nice head of hair and a good beard and every time Elias looked at him, he wanted to punch him. He didn’t like how close he was standing to Svea. He didn’t like how Soren looked at her how he looked at her. Shouldn’t he be focused on Brigitte – on at least her fifth glass of wine and chain-smoking in a chair next to the front window – anyway?

“The term you’re looking for is American exceptionalism,” he heard Svea say.

“That essay was a complete farce.”

“The film American History X with Edward Norton would be a good education for you on how white power movements target youth to brainwash them.”

“It’s pretty clear as day that Donald Trump stokes the fires of white nationalism. How can you say it doesn’t? What happened in Charlottesville was a disgrace. And no, it’s not freedom of speech. No. No it isn’t – not to me. Not in the Canadian sense. No, no – Americans have amendments – Americans do. Not Canadians. Canadians have the Charter of Rights and Freedoms. And if your speech promotes hate against an identifiable group, it’s no longer just free speech, it’s hate speech. It’s – no, stop – it’s hate speech and it should have consequences. It’s not free speech.”

They disappeared. Soren led Svea into the kitchen, probably to get more wine or to offer her one of those awful and disgusting herbal cigarettes he’d rolled himself like a dick, and Elias couldn’t see them, couldn’t hear them. He got nervous. It wasn’t that he needed to be in sight of Svea at all times, like some overprotective asshole, but he didn’t like Soren. And when he didn’t like somebody, he didn’t trust them. Especially with Svea. But he tried to calm down, to think nothing of it. He thought about how he should probably google what a social contract was when they got back home. How he should google what American exceptionalism is.

Elias because increasingly aware of the differences between him and Svea. For all that they were the same, their fundamental difference – and perhaps the one most glaringly obvious to him now – was that she knew all of this stuff and he didn’t. She knew what a social contract was, what American exceptionalism was, who all these different political figures and philosophers were and he just…didn’t. And because he didn’t, he couldn’t ask her about it. He couldn’t talk to her about it. No wonder she’d barely stayed quiet all evening, and was barely staying quiet now with Soren – she could actually talk about it! Speak her mind! Show off what she knew! She couldn’t do that with him. She couldn’t do that when hockey occupied his life more than anything, when he traveled, when he knew what she was studying but didn’t know about what she was studying. He was out of touch, so different than everyone else in the room, definitely not as smart as Svea and it wasn’t even close.

He tried not to think about it, but it was all he could think about.

Eventually, Svea and Soren came back. Elias didn’t know how long it had been; he couldn’t tell. But Kristina and Magnus had already left, so Svea wanted to leave too. They hugged everybody, and said their goodbyes, and put on their shoes, and closed the door behind them. As they walked up the street, far enough away from the house, she grabbed his hand. “Did you like that?” she asked. Her voice was soft.

Elias nodded his head. “It was nice to see everyone. To see what they’ve all done since we left school.”

“Too bad we had to see Brigitte again,” Svea quipped. “Soren was interesting, too.”

Interesting. Interesting. Elias nodded his head. “He seemed very worldly.”

“You know he’s like, almost twenty-seven?”

“Oh yeah?”

“Seemed weird to me that he was hanging out with a bunch of 21 year olds trying to prove he was smarter than everyone else.”

When they got back to the house, they let Tequila out one last time before going upstairs and getting into bed. Svea could tell something was up with Elias, but it was one in the morning and she didn’t want to press it. He was probably just mentally exhausted like she was – being around a big group of people for so long took a lot out of them. And it was different when it was a big group of people you knew versus a group of people you knew but didn’t converse with a lot on a daily basis. So instead of asking about it, Svea instead cuddled up to him over the covers, draping an arm over him and giving him one last kiss before falling asleep, hoping it would help.

***

Svea hadn’t slept well all night. Because of Elias.

The way that he was clutching on to her, like she was a feather and would fly away at the slightest bit of wind, confirmed to her that there was something wrong. Elias liked to always be touching her in some way or another, especially in the last few weeks – hand holding, hand on thigh, sitting close – but this felt different. This felt like something was wrong, that there was something bothering him that he wasn’t verbalizing, and it was eating him up inside. He’d been tossing and turning the whole night (she’d felt it). He’d gotten up a few times throughout the night to go to the washroom or the kitchen for water, taking longer than she would have liked each time.

His body was so rigid, so cold. So different from how it usually felt.

“What’s wrong, Elias?” she asked softly, looking up at him though she kept her head on his chest. She brought one of her hands up to cup his face gently. He leaned into her touch.

“Nothing. Don’t worry,” he said.

She pushed herself up, still on top of him but perching herself against her elbow. “Stop lying to me.”

“Svea…”

“Elias, you always tell me you would never lie to me,” she used his own words. He knew she was right, but it pained him to make her worry over something so…stupid. “Did somebody say something last night? Was it Brigitte?”

Elias shook his head. “It wasn’t Brigitte.”

“Then what is it?”

Elias took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. He didn’t want to get emotional in front of her, even though he was getting emotional. Just thinking about it made his heart hurt and head spin. “Am I holding you back?” he asked softly, but directly, looking into her eyes. “Be honest.”

Svea furrowed her brows. She didn’t quite understand his question. “Holding me back from what?”

“From…I don’t know. Things you want to do. Things you want to talk about, since I can’t talk about them.”

She could see the tears begin to well in his eyes, and in that small, emotional moment she knew. She knew what he meant by his question, what he meant by his words. It made her heart break realizing he was thinking this way, that he could ever think this way. “Elias, no.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“Elias, no,” she said more emphatically.

“Because you’re the smartest person I’ve ever met,” he huffed out nervously, his cheeks red and the first tear escaping down his eye.

She shook her head and used her thumb to wipe it away. “I’m not that smart.”

“Yes you are!” he affirmed, his voice cracking. More tears escaped now, and she moved even closer to him as she continued to wipe them all away. “You’re the smartest person to me. You know so much about politics and geography and history and philosophy, and you always explain it so well, and I’m just…just here, being a hockey player, and you could be…you could be out there, talking to all these different, like, intellectual people—”

“Elias—”

“—instead of having to explain stupid things to me—”

“Elias,” she said sternly. “Elias, stop it. I would rather be with you than anywhere else in the world.”

“You were talking to that guy last night, and I know, I know you weren’t flirting or anything, but I know he was, and he was able to talk to you about all these different things, and then I thought about how bad you must want to talk about that sort of stuff all the time because that’s what you’re going to school for, and you can’t with me, you just can’t, and it was awful just sitting there and not being able to contribute because I have absolutely no clue what a social contract is or what any of it means—”

“Elias,” she interrupted him. She knew it was eating Elias up inside. “Soren was some pretentious pseudo-intellectual who didn’t even know Vancouver was in Canada. He made me so mad by insisting that Vancouver was in the States that I almost slapped in at the party. He’s Brigitte’s boyfriend – I should have known anyone that hands out with her would be that way – but he’s an idiot, Elias, the worst kind of idiot. The type that thinks he’s not an idiot just because he reads books and went to university.”

Elias was silent. He sniffled a few times, wiping away his own tears. “I know it sounds selfish of me to say, but I don’t want to lose you, Svea. I just got you.”

“You’ll never lose me, Elias,” she whispered, her thumb grazing over his lips lightly.

“And you know how much I love you, right?” he asked, his voice still a bit shaky even though she shot down any notion that Soren was match to Elias, or equal to him in any way. “Svea, in my eyes you hung the moon in the sky. You’re the sun and the stars and I just live in your universe,” he said.

Svea nodded his head. “I love you more than anything, Elias. I don’t want you ever thinking you’re holding me back or anything like that. You’re the only one for me in this whole damn universe. We wouldn’t have stayed best friends for so long if you weren’t.” She paused briefly. “Do you remember what you told me at Brock’s?”

“I can’t now. I’m too emotional,” he admitted.

“When I asked you if you ever get sick of me because we’re always together, you said that we’re an extension of the other, and you said if you couldn’t be in the same room with yourself all the time, then who can you be with,” she recounted his words. He nodded and stayed silent to catch his breath. “If I could go anywhere, to any planet, to any star, to any galaxy at the edge of the universe, I’d just want to be in a room with you.”

Tears poured out of Elias’s eyes at her words, and he clung onto her with everything he had in him as he buried his face into the crook of her neck. She felt his tears on her skin, and she clung on to him as tightly as he clung on to her. She held him for a while, rubbing soothing circles onto his back.

She let him cry. It was important to let him cry.

When his shaking stopped and his breathing steadied, and she knew it was safe, Svea was able to look him in the eye again. He was no longer embarrassed. Nothing was off limits now. “You’re the only person in this world for me, Elias. Nobody else comes close.”

He nodded. He understood.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you too,” he said.

“Show me,” she urged. “Show me how much you love me.”

Almost immediately he began kissing Svea – big, wet, open mouth kisses that left her completely breathless and utterly hypnotized the longer they went on, and they went on for a long time – longer than she was used to, but she wasn’t exactly complaining. More kisses, more heat. More touching. More moaning. More hands wandering, more hands squeezing. His hand traveled down to her core. Svea’s breath hitched in her throat at his touch. She mewled into a kiss. “Elias—”

“Shhh…” he began kissing down her neck. She mewled out again as he teased her hot core without any warning. She squeezed her legs together, the sensation new. “I’m gonna show you how much I love you.”

“Show me,” Svea nodded quickly. “Show me I’m yours.”

The words were simple and innocent but it ignited something within Elias. He rolled her over onto her back, fussing with her shirt before tugging it up and over her head and diving right towards her breasts, capturing a nipple in his mouth. Svea let out a surprised gasp. She could feel him roll his tongue and she closed her eyes. She arched her back at his touch. “Elias—" she stuttered out, unable to form any other words besides his name. When he was done with her breasts he kissed a trail down to the waistband of her pajama pants before pulling them and her underwear off all in one go, flinging them across the room. “Elias—”

No warning. No precursor. He just dove right in. Svea shrieked out at the feeling of his tongue between her folds. It was all new to her, and she didn’t know how to feel – the only thing she knew was that it felt good. Like, really good. It took her a while to get to her senses before she could speak. “Elias—” she gulped. “El…Elias—”

“S’it feel good?” he mumbled against her lips.

She nodded her head feverishly. “Y—Y—Yes,” she barely managed to get out. She’d never felt anything like it. “Fuck, Elias” she huffed.

“Tell me what you want,” he mumbled again, snaking his hands up to squeeze her breasts.

She could barely think. “I want…”

“Come on, pretty girl,” he cooed.

“I want you to make me cum, Elias,” she was barely able to breathe.

Elias continued with as much passion and enthusiasm as she’d ever seen, thoroughly and honestly enjoying the experience of eating her out like she was his favourite meal even though he hadn’t tasted her yet. His laps were rhythmic and perfect, his sucking flawless and immaculate. Like everything else he did in his life, Elias was perfect at it. Svea was seeing stars. She arched her back again, huffing and puffing and trying not to go crazy. “I’m so close, Elias.”

“Cum for me, Svea. Let me taste you.”

When she came, her entire body shook; every part of her, from head to toe, felt like it was on fire. She cried out, chanting his name over and over again like a prayer before squeezing his head between her thighs. When he lapped up every last drip, he rose from his position, moving to kiss her. She tasted herself on his lips and groaned. She wrapped her legs around him and he snuck his hand between them and positioned himself at her entrance, teasing her. She was barely recovered from her orgasm when she felt the tip of his hard cock teasing her. She dug her nails into the skin of his back. “Fuck me, Elias,” she mewled out, knowing it would drive him crazy – wanting to drive him crazy. “Show me I’m yours.”

Everything about them up until now had been so soft, but this was different. There was a different sort of intensity now, a different sort of pleasure and a different sort of love they were both feeling. He entered her in one quick thrust, making her cry out again. There was nothing soft about the way he proceeded to fuck her – he felt possessive and selfish and greedy all at once, wanting her only for himself. The sounds she was letting out told him she wanted it that way – she liked what he was doing, and how he was doing it, and she wanted to be only his instead of being anyone else’s. That gave him the confidence to keep going, to keep fucking her like he was, because if she wanted it, and wanted it that way, that’s all that mattered.

He looked her right in the eye as he thrust in and out of her. “I’m yours,” his voice was deep and serious. “I’m yours and you’re mine.”

“I’m yours and you’re mine,” Svea repeated after him.

They came together. Svea’s orgasm felt more powerful than her fist, and she could feel Elias filling her up, his body shaking after his last thrusts. He collapsed on top of her and buried his face in her neck. They caught their breaths slow and steady, trying to make the feeling last. He was still inside her when she felt his lips grazing the skin of her neck, dragging their way up to her jawline and to her ear. “I’m yours and you’re mine,” he whispered.

She smiled. “I’m yours and you’re mine.”

>< >< >< >< ><

“What would you classmates say if you showed up to class with a Louis Vuitton backpack?”

Svea gave Elias one of her looks as he browsed through the backpacks at the Louis Vuitton store in Stockholm, Emil behind him trying one on and Fanny beside her, looking down at the jewelry in the glass case. “Don’t even think about it,” she mumbled. In their last few days in Stockholm, Elias had been beyond generous with her. She felt like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. “And it’s summer. Don’t make me think about school.”

From beside her, Fanny laughed. “You already bought her the Chanel bag, Elias.”

“And the Prada sunglasses,” Emil quipped.

“And the tickets for tomorrow night even though they were sold out,” Fanny added again.

The more they listed, the redder Svea got. She looked to Elias. He shrugged. “She might need another bag. You never know.”

Fanny looked over at Svea dramatically. “Do you need another bag?” she asked, a smirk on her face.

“What I need is food,” Svea giggled. She saw Elias smirking from his spot. “But I know we’ll be here another hour until Emil tries on all the backpacks and makes a decision.”

“You know me very well, Svea,” Emil said absent-mindedly, still checking himself out in the mirror.

As they sauntered around the store, looking at all the pretty things while Elias helped Emil decide on a backpack, Svea and Fanny chatted and looked at wallets and the limited edition purses, which cost about double what Svea was paying in tuition at UBC. Svea always loved Fanny – she was funny and bubbly and had her head on straight. Plus, she was an animal lover and let Svea come over any time she wanted to play and cuddle with Tequila, Whiskey, and Diesel. Svea appreciated her kindness.

“I didn’t think it was possible to see Elias even happier, but I think he is,” she mentioned when they were far enough away from the boys, pretending to look at the shoes. “I mean, he’s always happy with you, no matter what you guys are doing, but now especially so.”

“You think so?” Svea blushed.

“Oh, I know so,” Fanny nodded. “Everyone can see it. Even yesterday…you didn’t see, but when we were all at lunch at that pasta place, he just stared at you for a good, like, fifteen seconds. Just in awe of you.”

“What was I doing?”

“Stuffing tagliatelle into your face.”

Both girls giggled but a shiver ran up Svea’s spine. She hadn’t caught him doing that – and she didn’t know if she would have wanted to. “I hope I looked semi-attractive doing it and didn’t have alfredo sauce spilling down my chin.”

“I think it’s just that…well, now that you two are together, everything is just…the way it should be, you know?” Fanny continued. “Me and Emil, you and Elias…Irene and Törbjörn were over the moon when you guys told them. Over. The. Moon.”

“Really? They seemed pretty…unsurprised when we told them.”

“Oh, well of course we were all unsurprised. But that doesn’t mean they were any less happy,” Fanny explained. “They were over the moon that it happened now instead of you guys dancing around it for the next few years. You know they love you, Svea.”

“Did we keep them waiting too long?” Svea joked.

“You kept all of us waiting long enough.”

After Emil bought his new backpack, they headed to Griffin’s Steakhouse, one of the best in Stockholm, for dinner. Elias was recognized by a few people as they were waiting for their table, and he politely took pictures with them. Svea was sure she was in the background of some of them, holding her Chanel and Prada shopping bags like some sort of bougie creeper. It happened quite a bit in Vancouver as well, and everyone was generally nice and polite about it. Elias made time for the kids especially, but in this case, it was mostly grown men. Nobody bothered them while eating, which is all that mattered.

They walked back to the hotel. Emil and Fanny hugged and said goodnight to Elias and Svea before walking down the hallway to their room. Elias stuck their key card in the door. He threw his bags down onto the bed and collapsed on it, starfish style, as Svea giggled. “I’m going to take a shower,” she said, placing her bags neatly on the chair at the desk. Elias groaned in response. “Are you going to be okay if I leave you alone or do you need help changing into your pajamas?” she asked like he was a little kid.

She heard him snort. “As much as I want you to peel every article of clothing off of me, I’ll leave you be.”

Svea took a long shower – long enough for her to feel completely cleansed of the day. She put one of the luxurious bathrobes on, tightening it around her waist before brushing her teeth, putting on her moisturizer, and grabbing her hairbrush. As she brushed through her short hair, she heard the door handle turn. Elias’s head popped through. “Hey.”

She looked over at him squeezing his way through the door. He still hadn’t changed into his pajamas. She wondered if he’d stayed on the bed face down like a starfish for the duration of her shower. “Could have knocked,” she smirked.

“Cause I haven’t seen you naked?”

She scrunched her face at him as she sat on the toilet, continuing to brush out the tangles in her hair. “Is there something wrong?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I just wanted to give you something.”

“If it’s your dick, the time has passed for shower sex.”

“No, it’s…”

As he trailed off, Svea noticed for the first time that he was very clearly holding something behind his back. She was skeptical. “What’d you do, Elias?”

“You know when you and Fanny were in Chanel? Before Emil and I came in?”

“Yeah…”

Slowly, his hands came forward from behind his back to reveal a box wrapped in white paper and sealed on the edges with a wax seal. She didn’t recognize anything special about it, or know what it was at first. He handed it to her and she examined it quickly. “What is it?”

“Why don’t you open it?”

She placed it in her lap and unwrapped it delicately, making sure not to break the wax seal. It must have been important, she thought, if the thing was wax sealed. Unfolding the paper and peeling it back gently, she saw a red box. Cartier. She looked up at Elias. “What did you do?” she repeated, her voice more accusatory but also more nervous than it was moments earlier.

“Svea, come on. Open it.”

She pushed the small button. Inside, the infamous Love bracelet in gold sat staring back at her on its plush velvet. It was shiny and sparkled in the light of the bathroom as Svea held it in her lap, staring at it like it wasn’t real. In real life, she didn’t get things like this. She didn’t even come close to them. Now, that had changed. “Elias…” she whispered.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“Of course I like it.”

“I know it’s kinda like, basic or whatever…like a lot of people have them—”

“I don’t know a lot of people who have them,” Svea interrupted him. “The only person I know who has them is Grace and that’s because she bought them for herself.”

“Yeah,” Elias nodded quickly. “I just thought…well…look on the inside,” he said, suddenly so shy and nervous about it all.

She took it off its holder and held it up to her eye. She saw the traditional engravings of Cartier, the gold quality, and everything else. But then something else caught her eye. Some intricate script. Small, but legible.

I’m yours and you’re mine

She stared at Elias. “You didn’t.”

He only smiled. He bent down on his knees in front of her, in between her legs, resting his hands on her thighs over the plush fabric of the robe. He could see her admiring it, taking a second look at the engraving and at how much the gold shone in the light. “Can I put it on you?” he asked softly.

Svea nodded. He grabbed the screwdriver from the box and screwed it onto her wrist easily, taking his time, making sure to make every moment last. He knew that it was just a piece of jewelry – an expensive piece of jewelry – but she so obviously loved it, and loved the sentiment, and he was an extremely sentimental person, which is why he got it for her in the first place. They stayed silent until he was finished, and even then, they only smiled at each other – bashful smiles, their cheeks red at the simplicity yet intimacy of the moment. He couldn’t help but lean up slightly to give her a quick kiss. “Won’t be the last time I kneel in front of you, you know.”

Svea smiled even wider, but shook her head playfully. “If you say so. We’re only twenty-one.”

“Doesn’t matter to me,” he said, giving her another quick kiss. “If you wanted to get married tomorrow, I’d do it.”

“I know you would. That’s why we can’t,” she giggled.

“I love you, you know. As much as hockey is my life, sometimes I just wish it could be summer all the time so I get to spend it with you,” he whispered.

That was something new. Elias loved her, but he was only ever obsessed with hockey. It was his entire life. It was the other love of his life, and how he made his living – how he was able to afford Cartier bracelets and Chanel bags and surprise Coldplay tickets even though they were sold out months ago. To hear that he wanted it to be summer all the time – a time when he couldn’t play hockey – was new. He’d never said anything like that before. She didn’t know if he’d openly admit that to anyone else besides her, either. She felt privileged knowing, but now she was also the gatekeeper of the secret.

He picked her up. She yelped slightly, giggling all the way to the bed where he plopped her down. By this point, her robe had become loose, and she took it off to change into her pajamas. She tucked herself into bed, Elias slipping in beside her, cuddling up to her. In almost no time, she felt his breathing steady and he was peacefully asleep.

She wasn’t.

She tried to fall asleep like a regular person, especially because of the day they had ahead of them tomorrow, but she couldn’t. She kept thinking about what he said. Sometimes I wish it could be summer all the time. Did he really mean that? Or was he just saying things for the sake of saying them? Because he was in love? Because he was letting that feeling of intense love overtake him? Svea knew hockey meant more to him than a lot of other things – than most things – though Elias was always intent on being remembered for being a good person rather than just being a good hockey player. Did he only want her in the summer, when he didn’t have to think about hockey?

She tossed and turned thinking about that question. And when she couldn’t toss and turn anymore, when she couldn’t stare up at the ceiling anymore, she got out of bed gently, making sure not to wake him. She walked over to the sliding door and stepped out onto the balcony, breathing in the night air.

Did Elias only want a summertime Svea? Did he only want the version of her that he was with now? She thought about what she was like during the summer – happier, less stressed, more carefree about everything. No wonder, since she didn’t have readings and assignments to worry about. And it was no wonder now, since this was essentially her last summer before things got really serious. She had a lot of decisions to make in the upcoming year about her future and what career path she wanted to go down. She was taking the GRE in case she wanted to pursue a Master’s in public policy. She was taking the LSAT in case she wanted to pursue law school. She was sure there was some other entrance exam out there that she needed to take if she wanted to go into something else, too. Another thing to stress her out.

What if she couldn’t always be summertime Svea for him? Elias deserved her at her best, not when she was tired and stressed out and crying over bad marks and awful professors. She knew she couldn’t always be her best for him, especially now that they were in a relationship. Friendships were different – they just were. Relationships were an entirely different ballgame, and Svea wondered if they were going to be able to maintain what they had and were experiencing right now: the laughter, the fun, the joking, the good sex. The good parts. Would they be able to withstand the hard parts: the stress, the pressure, the traveling, the bad games, the bad marks? One part of her said of course they could, because they’d been doing it for years. Another part of her said things are different now, and they can never go back to what they were.

Svea didn’t know what to think.

***

“There’s something wrong.”

Svea had been sipping on her beer as she and Elias were waiting outside of the stadium’s washrooms for Fanny and Emil. The opening band had finished their set, and now everybody was waiting for Coldplay to take the stage. Svea was giddy-nervous, having remembered how amazing the band was live last time she saw them with Sigrid at least five years ago now, but the thoughts from last night were stuck in the back of her mind.

“What do you mean?” Svea asked innocently. “You think Emil got stuck in a toilet or something?”

“No. Something’s wrong with you,” he clarified. “What’s been bugging you since this morning?”

So he knew. And judging by the look on his face, and how close he was, she wasn’t going to be able to get out of this. She knew she should have been honest with him from the beginning, but she was being stupid. “Elias…”

“It’s not the bracelet, is it?” he asked, reaching out slightly to grab her wrist where it lay. “If you don’t like it—”

“No no, Elias, I love it,” she said, looking down briefly at his hand now holding hers. “It’s just…you know how yesterday when you said you sometimes wish it was summer all the time so you’d get to spend it with me?”

“Yeah…”

She gulped. “I feel like you might have an idealized version of me in your mind…like, like a summertime Svea, where I’m not stressed about school or finding a job or missing my family, but then when September comes around and you’re in hockey mode and I’m in school mode and everything changes it’s going to be much different…and I don’t know if I can, or will be able to be, summertime Svea for you.”.

Elias had furrowed his brows the second she mentioned ‘idealized version of me’. He listened to her ramble, and the silence he took afterwards made Svea the tiniest bit nervous. “You don’t need to be summertime Svea for me,” he said finally, choosing his words precisely, but using her own words too. “You don’t need to be anything for me besides you.”

“Yeah, but—”

“But nothing, Svea.”

“I don’t…I don’t want to let you down.”

Now Elias really furrowed his brows. “How could you ever let me down?” he asked. She shrugged her shoulders. “Svea, you remember what I told you after Soren?” he asked. Svea nodded her head. “You’re the sun and the stars, Svea. You give me life no matter what you do. Don’t you get that? I know that you have a lot of big decisions coming up this year and I know there’s going to be a lot of ups and downs for you this year, and for me, but there’s nobody I’d rather experience them with than you. Whatever they are.”

She nodded her head. They way that he said it – the way he said anything – made her want to cry. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

“I just want to be what you deserve,” she said.

“You are what I deserve,” he said, leaning down to kiss her quickly. “Actually, no – not even. I don’t deserve you.”

Svea couldn’t help but smirk, and as she stood on her tiptoes to kiss Elias again, she couldn’t stop. She kissed and kissed and kissed, and she didn’t care who saw them. She loved him, she loved him so much, and even though they were insecure sometimes, as most people were, they loved each other, they loved each other, and that’s all that mattered.

“You guys are gross,” Emil’s voice interrupted, his voice playfully disgusted at the sight before him. “Every time I look at you guys, you’re kissing. Do you guys even breathe?”

“Shut up Emil,” Svea huffed, unable to suppress her smile.

When they got back to their section of the floor, they only had to wait five minutes for the lights to dim and Coldplay to take the stage. Svea began screaming her head off and she and Fanny danced and swayed along to the music, singing along at the top of their lungs song after song. As she sang, Svea could feel herself letting things go – anything negative was escaping her body and being replaced with pure joy and elation. Any worries she had about the upcoming year were gone; any worries she had about anything were gone, replaced only with a need to live in the moment, to appreciate everything she had, to recognize what she’d done in her life thus far that brought her to this exact moment, singing and swaying to Coldplay in Stockholm.

Svea felt Elias wrap his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on top of her head as he began to sway with her. And as she felt him lean his head down to give her light kisses on her temple and cheek, it cemented the fact that there was no place she would rather be.

>< >< >< >< ><

Like any good Swedes, Elias and Svea had been looking forward to Midsommar.

Elias had a huge extended family, who usually rented a massive marquee and perched it on the banks of Ångesjön and had a massive dinner and party on the Friday night. His grandmother was making his favourite dish, sausage stroganoff, and of course, all the other foods and delicacies associated with the Midsommar celebration. Between family, friends, and neighbours invited to the festivities, they were anticipating around seventy people.

Elias couldn’t keep his eyes off Svea ever since she arrived at his house with her parents and Sigrid wearing a white and floral embroidered dress that fell just above her knees; he couldn’t keep his eyes off her as they drove to the marquee on the lake, where members of his family were already setting up the maypole; and he couldn’t keep his eyes off her now, as she was sitting at a table with some of his younger female cousins, helping them make flower wreaths to wear as crowns.

“You and Svea are the talk of everyone here,” Sigrid said as she watched Elias watching Svea. They were sitting at their own table, scrubbing the potatoes that would be used for later.

“Are we?”

“They’re saying the same things we did. ‘Oh, finally?’ and ‘It’s about time.’ You know, the usual,” she giggled. Elias knew that just a few weeks ago at Emma and Jonas’s dinner they hadn’t said anything because they wanted to keep it a secret, but there was no use now. He knew word would have gotten around eventually, and that there was no use stopping it. Besides, this way would make it trickle down from old people to people his age, anyway. “So many girls in Ånge will be heartbroken,” Sigrid joked.

Elias shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t really care about that – he never did. A lot of girls didn’t like how close he was to Svea and had gotten jealous over the years. He didn’t even think twice about it. “So long as the most important girl isn’t heartbroken, that’s all that matters,” he said.

“I don’t think she ever could be with you,” Sigrid said, looking at Svea at the table with some extended Pettersson cousins. “Besides, we all know you’re not capable of heartbreak. You’re too much of a good boy.”

Elias laughed, knowing that Sigrid was right. There was a constant sentiment in the Pettersson household that Irene and Törbjörn never had to ‘worry’ about Elias. The only times he would be out late was when he was at the rink; he always did fairly well in school, behaved, was nice to the other kids and to the teachers; and he didn’t have any dangerous vices like drinking or drugs, save for maybe being obsessed with his phone. It was more than he could say for a lot of his peers, but then again, many of them didn’t have the singular focus of hockey in their life, driving them to achieve a nearly impossible goal of playing in the NHL. “I can be a bad boy, though,” he said.

“Oh yeah? How? Staying up past your bedtime?” Sigrid quipped.

“Ask your sister.”

Sigrid’s jaw dropped and she pretended to convulse. “Oh my God I think I’m gonna throw up,” she mumbled, covering her mouth for dramatic effect as Elias laughed and laughed and laughed. “You’re gross. Stop violating my sister’s innocence.”

“I don’t know if I’d call her innocent.”

“That’s it, I’m leaving,” Sigrid said, setting her scrubber down and getting up to leave. Elias laughed as he watched her go inside the marquee to one of the coolers and grab a drink, shaking his head as he smiled to himself and continued to scrub the potatoes.

***

“Sveeeeaaaa,” Elinor, one of Elias’s little cousins, handed Svea her flower crown. Many of the cousins had made theirs before coming, perhaps with their parents, but others hadn’t. Svea took the opportunity to help them, setting up a little station at one of the picnic tables filled with flowers and leaves. This was her favourite part of Midsommar anyway (save for maybe a drunken Små grodorna dance), so she really didn’t mind. Three cousins had already finished, and she was left with sisters Elinor and Eliza. “The leaves I’m trying to put on aren’t staying. Can you help me?”

“Of course my darling,” she smiled, putting her own crown down delicately to help with Elinor’s.

Eliza came over too to watch Svea put the leaves on. As she looked between the leaves being fastened on the wreath and Svea’s concentrated face, a thought came to her mind. She’d seen something earlier and needed to get to the bottom of it. “Svea?”

“Yes Eliza?”

“Are you and Elias finally boyfriend and girlfriend?”

Svea smiled, if only at the use of the word finally. It seemed like even the kids had been waiting for them to get together. “Yes. We’re finally boyfriend and girlfriend,” she said. “Why do you ask?”

“We saw you holding hands,” Elinor piped up, as if she was bursting at the seams to say something but didn’t because Eliza, as the older sister, needed to mention it first. “And then before you came and sat down with us, he kissed the top of your head like Emil kisses Fanny. And we know that boyfriends and girlfriends hold hands and kiss.”

Svea smiled from ear to ear at their innocence. At only nine and ten years old, they would see something like that and think that it was something boyfriends and girlfriends did. It was only natural to come to that conclusion. “Does it make you happy to see Elias and I as boyfriend and girlfriend?”

Both of the girls nodded their head enthusiastically. “You’ve always been around,” Elinor said.

“It’s like you were always part of our family anyway,” Eliza added.

“Are your mommy and daddy happy that you have a boyfriend?” Elinor asked.

“I think they’re happy that it’s Elias,” she sort-of joked, even though she knew the girls wouldn’t get it. “But yes, they’re happy I have a boyfriend who they know loves me.”

“My daddy says we’re not allowed to date until we’re thirty,” Eliza said. “Are you thirty?”

Svea snorted. “No my darling, I’m not thirty. I’m only twenty-one.”

Eliza shot her sister a look when Svea revealed her age. “We need to talk to dad,” she said sternly, and Elinor nodded her head.

Svea couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear. It was hilarious, but she didn’t want to be responsible for the girls’ revolt against their father. She stuck one last flower into the crown before turning towards Elinor. “Well, here you go Elinor. Can I put your crown on you?” Elinor smiled as Svea put the flower crown on, adjusting it with her hair and making sure it wasn’t going to fall off. “You look like a princess!” Svea exclaimed. “A beautiful Swedish princess.”

“The most beautiful Swedish princess ever,” Elias’s voice suddenly appeared beside her. Svea smiled quickly at him before he crouched down so he could be eye level with Elinor. “What do you say to Svea?”

“Thank you, Svea,” the girls said in unison. Svea grabbed Eliza’s crown and put it on her too before the girls skipped away happily towards their other cousins.

Elias took the opportunity to slip in beside Svea on the picnic bench and get close to her. He saw her crown laying on the table and picked it up delicately, making sure not to ruin any of the small flowers. “May I?” he asked.

“Of course.”

Svea bowed her head and Elias put the crown on her, adjusting in with her hair much like she did with the girls. When she raised her head again, Elias was met with her smiling eyes, a playful grin appearing on her face. He blushed, letting a bashful smile overtake his face. “You’re so beautiful, Svea. So, so beautiful,” he whispered.

“It looks nice?” she asked.

He could only nod his head. He leaned in to kiss her, unable to detach his lips after a few kisses because his pure desire for her. Sitting there in her dress with her crown was too much to bear for him. He was simultaneously the smartest man in the world for bagging her yet the stupidest man in the world for waiting so long. He placed his hand on her thigh underneath the table as she pulled away. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“And you look beautiful. I mean, you always look beautiful, but you look especially beautiful today.”

Svea smiled. “And you look so handsome with potato skin dirt in between your fingernails.”

Elias snorted. As they giggled, he leaned in to kiss her again. “I can’t believe I got so lucky,” he mumbled against her lips.

“Likewise,” Svea smiled.

***

Midsommar had been a huge success. There was lunch, and the traditional drinking of nubbe and singing nubbevisor. Then there was the små grodorna dance around the maypole with everyone, followed by a generous slice of strawberry cake. Almost everyone – kids and adults alike – participated in the games: tug of war, horseshoe tossing, and potato sack races – for most of the afternoon. After drinking the afternoon away and stuffing themselves with barbecue at dinner, Svea and Elias found themselves inside the marquee with everyone else, dancing along to the traditional dansband music being played.

They were a bit drunk, and a lot happy.

After dancing a bit with Emil and one of Elias’s uncles, Svea found herself attached to Elias, smiling and giggling as he twirled her around and tried his best to keep to the beat of the music despite how much he drank. She’d tried to absorb some of the alcohol in her system by eating extra cookies, but it didn’t seem to work. That didn’t matter though – all that did matter was that she was having fun dancing with Elias. She was having fun twirling with Elias. She was having fun singing with Elias.

She wanted to have more fun with Elias.

When they had to take a break, simply to just get more water to stay hydrated, she came up with an idea. She stuffed the last cookie she had into her mouth and stuffed the napkin into her bra before she grabbed his hand and tugged gently on it to get his attention. “Can we take a walk?” she asked, trying to sound sweet despite the cookie. “I need some air.”

“Yeah. Yeah of course,” Elias said, screwing on the bottlecap for his water. He took a step before stopping. “You’re not gonna throw up, are you?”

“No no. Just want some air, and some alone time with you,” she admitted as they stepped out of the marquee. The sun wasn’t exactly setting across the lake (it being midsommar and all) but it did leave the sky streaked in all sorts of beautiful colours – pinks and oranges and reds, all beautiful and blending into one another.

They walked along the lake, far enough that the dansband music became only a muffled noise in the background and the lights around the tent looked like stars in the sky. They held hands the entire way, admiring the views over the lake, until they finally came to a stop. As they sat down on the grass together, looking out at the lake as they leaned back on their elbows, Svea turned towards Elias. “Are you having fun?” she asked.

He nodded his head. “Of course I am,” he responded, smiling at her. “Are you?”

Svea nodded her head. “Always when I’m with you.”

“Have you sobered up a bit? Did the cookies help?”

She let out a giggle as she nodded her head. “Kiss me, Elias.”

Like many other times when their lips met, once they started, they couldn’t stop. Small kisses at first, then big, wet, open-mouth kisses that Elias could get drunk on so easily. He found his hands going straight towards Svea’s chest, feeling her up through the fabric of her dress before pushing the straps down slightly. Before he could do anything else, he felt Svea pushing him down onto his back, her body half-hovering over him as she perched herself up on her elbow.

Her free hand was initially on his chest, but the more they kissed, and the more heated things got, the further down it went. When he felt it at the top of his pants, there was a sharp intake of breath and he stopped kissing her. “S…Svea what are you doing?” he whispered.

“Shhh…” she cooed, placing butterfly kisses along his jawline. Maybe it was the alcohol making her so bold, but she knew she was being so, and that it was a surprise to Elias. He’d enjoyed his beer too, but he held his alcohol better. Never mind the fact that, technically, seventy family and friends were a ten minute walk away. She fiddled with the button on his pants until it was undone, and followed up with pulling his zipper down. “Is that okay?”

He nodded his head fervently, letting out a jagged sigh. She pushed his pants and underwear down slightly to free his cock. Before she went any further, she brought her hand up and made sure Elias was looking at her as she licked her hand and spit on it. He let out an indescribable sound – something between a groan, a yelp, and a cry. “Svea—what’re you—where’re you—” he stuttered out.

“Shhh,” she cooed again. She looked at him but he looked at her hand slipping down to his hardening member. He was already a little hard due to all the kissing, but the second she touched his cock with her wet hand, he swore he got even harder. “I want to make you feel good, Elias,” she whispered, wrapping her hand around his cock. “Does it feel good?”

He nodded, unable to formulate words. Okay, so his girlfriend was going to jack him off on the banks of the Ångesjön. No no – not going to – she was jacking him off right this second and he was getting harder and harder the more her hand moved up and down his shaft. God, of all the times he did this alone in his room in Ånge or Timrå or Växjö or Sundsvall or Vancouver or anywhere else in the God damn world thinking about her, her specifically, and now she was here, doing it for him, in a flower crown and dress with one strap pulled down, exposing her bralette…fuck. FUCK. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him. He couldn’t believe she was doing this. He couldn’t believe—

“Kiss me, Elias,” she practically commanded, dragging him away from his selfish thoughts.

He did, hot and wet and like a teenager who didn’t know how to kiss, with his tongue everywhere as he reached up to drag her bralette strap down with her dress strap to expose a breast. He moved down to her jaw and clavicle, eventually kissing her breast. She let out sighs and mewls as his hands squeezed and his tongue grazed over her nipple quickly, but his mind kept going back to what she was doing and how hot it was. “D’you like this?” Svea asked.

“Fuck yes.”

“Are you close?”

“Spit on your hand again.”

She did as she was told, reaching back down to keep up her movements. She felt Elias’s breaths get more laboured and when he bucked his hips ever so slightly, she knew what she had to do. She moved down slightly. The loss of her breasts near his face made Elias whine. “What’re you—” he began to ask, but he couldn’t even finish his sentence, because by the time the words came out, he knew what she was doing, and he felt like he was going to pass out.

He watched as she pushed the fabric of her dress with her free hand. She lowered her upper body towards his cock, making sure to give him a perfect view. “D’you like that?”

“Svea—”

“Do you?”

“Yes!” he whispered harshly. “Fuck, fuck yes I like it.”

She pushed her breasts together, trying to get some cleavage as a visual for him, even though she didn’t have a lot to work with. “Cum for me baby,” she purred.

“Sv—”

“Cum for me, Elias. I wanna see your cum on me.”

Elias felt a tidal wave of pleasure pass through him as he saw himself emptied onto Svea’s chest, her hand continuing to pump and stroke him for all that he was worth so he could continue to feel the pleasure he was feeling. He had to close his eyes momentarily, the sight before him of Svea’s chest with his cum on it almost too much for him to take in. When he opened his eyes again, she was on her last, gentle strokes, a small smile playing on her face. That made him want to do it all over again, even though he’d barely come down as is. “Holy fucking shit,” he could barely catch his breath.

“You like what you see?” she asked,

He couldn’t believe what she’d asked him to do, and that he actually followed through. “Fucking hell, Svea. Of course I do.”

She let out a short giggle, biting her bottom lip. “This is the dirtiest thing I’ve ever done,” she admitted. While it may have been extremely tame for some people, it wasn’t for her. Maybe she’d eventually grow to think it was tame, but it wasn’t right now. It was hot and it was impulsive and it was everything she could have wanted in the moment, everything she could have needed in the moment alone with Elias.

Elias dragged her back up by the arm, giving her a giant kiss. “You’re going to fucking kill me,” he mumbled, his breath steadier now. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Maybe I’ll do it more often,” she offered.

Elias wrapped his arms around her body. “You do whatever you want and whatever’s comfortable, pretty girl.”

She grabbed the napkin that she’d stuffed into her bra earlier in the night that had fallen out during their activities – the one that held the cookies she’d sobered up on – to clean her chest. Elias wasn’t dejected as he watched her clean up, but he knew he’d want to see it on her again. When there wasn’t anything left on her, he leaned forward and placed kisses all over her chest, capturing her nipples in his mouth again and sucking gently before finally letting her pull up her bralette and the fabric of her dress. He fixed his underwear and pants, and soon enough, to an unassuming eye, it looked like nothing had even happened between them. “I’m going to fuck you on the car ride home,” he blurted out.

“With Sigrid there?” she quipped, reminding him that they had to drive her sister.

“Sigrid can go with your parents. She’ll understand. Just talk to her.”

“And if she refuses?”

“Then I’ll fuck you in my bed at home.”

“With your parents in the house? And Emil and Fanny?” she asked again, giggling. He wasn’t thinking straight. He had only one thing on the mind. “Fat chance.”

“We can be quiet,” he said, almost like he was trying to convince himself.

She gave him a look. “I can’t. And I know for a fact you can’t shut up.”

Elias made a pissy face, upset at all the roadblocks in what he thought was a straightforward, foolproof plan. He pulled her body to lie against his side, and when she snuggled into him, she lay her head on his chest. They were quiet for a few moments, recollecting what just happened while staring at all the colours in the sky over the lake. Elias kissed the crown of her head. He knew they would have to get back to the tent soon too, so people wouldn’t get suspicious. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too.”

“And I meant what I said, you know,” he continued. “Do whatever’s comfortable for you. You don’t have to feel forced to—”

“I know, Elias,” she smiled, kissing him again. “You don’t have to say it. I know.”

***

Elias and Svea integrated back into the party inconspicuously. They resumed their dansband dancing together, twirling and swinging again, holding each other close as laughter filled the space between them. Törbjörn stole her away for a dance, and her father too for a few. Elinor and Eliza were passed out on chairs despite the loud music. Fanny and Emil danced beside them. Sigrid danced with Elias’s younger cousins.

Everything was right in the world.

198 notes · View notes

itwillbeall-dwight · 4 years

Text

trials in error

danny "jed olsen" johnson | the ghost face/felix richter; fluff and angst; canon-typical violence; enemies to fwb to lovers to enemies lmao; 5677 words

a/n: did i finish two fics in the same day? yes i did. i’ve had this done since one in the morning but didn’t want to post it them bc no one would see it by the time it was flushed out of the tag bc tumblr hates fic writers for real actually.

my friend booker is to blame for this. they mentioned this pair to me offhandedly but then i turned around and made this, and basically learned 2 things. 1) writing danny is fun, and 2) i have. a lot of feelings. about them.

while i have a couple of long pieces to finish, requests are still open, so if you liked this and would like smthn written, feel free to shoot me an ask!

likes < reblogs, any comments in the tags are appreciated

ao3 mirror in the reblogs!

Preview: “Tell you what.” He folded his arms over the top of the generator, looking the man in the face as he rested the side of his head against his forearm. “You’re still a noob, and I can’t be having anything fun with that. I’ll give you, hm… 10 seconds to run and hide, phone a friend, you know… not die, but after that, you’re all mine. Sound good?” The blonde remained silent, blinking at him in bewilderment. That was as good of an answer as any. “Alright. 10-” “Ah, wait, but what about-” “-9-” He didn’t say anything after that, dropping the wires in his hands and taking off into a sprint, stumbling as he stood to his full height - and oh boy, was he a tall guy - and turned a corner of old cars. Danny chuckled, standing up to rest his ass against the side of the gen, flipping his knife in his hand as he kept counting down. “8… 7… 6-5-4-3-2-1- ok, here we go.”

Another day, another trial. As the fog cleared from his vision, the Ghostface flipped his small knife in his hand, feeling the silent breeze whistle through the tendrils on his uniform. The Autohaven Wreckers was as sorry of a sight as it always was, but one that he’d grown quite accustomed to use as his playground. From the sight of the old garage, he could almost pick out memories of all the times he’d scared the pants off of the poor survivors, which he took more than enough pleasure in doing. Danny looked around, still absently flipping his knife in his hand as he formulated a plan, taking a brief moment to watch the ever-present moonlight glint off of the freshly cleaned blade before he looked up once more, a slow grin forming behind the mask as the game began.

Poor Meg thought he was stupid, thinking she’d lost him at a simple enough loop around a pile of tires, all up until he pulled her off of her generator with a cackle (“screw you, creep” she said as she slammed her fists into the back of his shoulder - changed her tune real quick after he slid a hook into hers). Nea didn’t hesitate in giving him the runaround, powering a generator in his face and slamming a locker door into him for good measure. Danny knew the girl would throw a palette at him if she had the chance - she was the most fun to play with. But he soon lost her, so soon after catching her, but it was that detective asshole that ruined their fun, as he’d shone a damn flashlight in his eyes while he had Nea on his shoulder, finally, enough for her to wiggle free and run off again. And by the time his vision had cleared, the both of them had gone. Danny growled - as much as he enjoyed fun, it was only when he was winning was it any good.

It was while he was stalking around the battered old killer shack looking for the bastard that he saw him for the first time. Blonde hair, broad shoulders, and a fancy suit that just screamed rich, with a touch of “please tear me off or splatter me in blood, both sound great”. A man he didn’t recognize, sat on a generator, eyes darting around as he worked the best he could with shaking hands, clearly on edge about being left on his own to work. Whatever annoyance he had in him melted like hot wax, as he approached, slowly, knowing this guy would be a wonderful victim to mess with. The killer’s fingers curled around the edge of the wall as he watched the man, the way he swallowed and sighed, muttering to himself in reassurance in a tongue that sounded familiar to him, too quiet to tell. The generator got louder and louder, its mechanisms and inner parts in tune as the man worked his magic, almost letting himself smile in triumph as he grabbed another wire.

“Hey there, handsome.”

A voice from behind his neck, raspy and deep, caused him to jump, a spark sending the generator into smoke as he turned, face going white as he pushed his back against the wall.

Oh, he was right. He was going to be fun, all right. Danny chuckled. “Oh, sorry. Did I scare you? Tend to do that. It’s in my… nature.”

The man swallowed, glancing around for any kind of help, seeming to find none as his attention turned back to the killed, speaking in a low, rich voice, though it shook from fear. “Don’t you have… things, to be stabbing?”

“Why, is that an invitation?” He laughed again, leaning up against the generator and crossing one leg over the other. “Nah, I’m just kiddin’. Ain’t it enough to get to know the new neighbours? Haven’t seen you around before, pretty boy. They smuggled you in, huh?”

“I… suppose.”

He hummed, tapping the blade of his knife against the metal of his knife, the clanging making the survivor jump. Oh, bless him - well and truly, it was a mistake for him to get caught up here… but a happy mistake, to be sure. “Got a name?”

“Huh?”

“Like I said, I like to know the neighbours, ya know… real close and personal. A preference. Bit of normalcy. Soooo…”

He remained silent. So he was a little bit smarter than what he’d look like, from the way he was shaking in his rich white boots. Impressive.

“Tell you what.” He folded his arms over the top of the generator, looking the man in the face as he rested the side of his head against his forearm. “You’re still a noob, and I can’t be having anything fun with that. I’ll give you, hm… 10 seconds to run and hide, phone a friend, you know… not die, but after that, you’re all mine. Sound good?”

The blonde remained silent, blinking at him in bewilderment. That was as good of an answer as any.

“Alright. 10-”

“Ah, wait, but what about-”

“-9-”

He didn’t say anything after that, dropping the wires in his hands and taking off into a sprint, stumbling as he stood to his full height - and oh boy, was he a tall guy - and turned a corner of old cars.

Danny chuckled, standing up to rest his ass against the side of the gen, flipping his knife in his hand as he kept counting down. “8… 7… 6-5-4-3-2-1- ok, here we go.”

Curious as it was, he lost the blonde beauty soon after he let him go, instead finding Meg oddly open about where she was, spriting right into his vision. Not that he was complaining; a game was a game, and if the runner decided that she wanted to play tag, then who was he to turn her down? Especially when she was so easy to catch… though as soon as she was hooked, flashlight clicking and Swedish profanities in his ear was enough to make him chase after Nea rather than go after his original chase once again… they were painting a target on their back, and for what? To save the new guy’s skin? He wasn’t an idiot. Just surprised that some of them had the compassion.

Well, they managed to get another generator done, but the two girls were dead, and a soon injured Tapp was surely soon to follow them. A means to an end, it seemed, as his knife plunged into the detective’s side and sent him crashing into the dirt with a grunt of pain, rolling over onto his back with one eye open, the other wincing in pain, the shadow of the killer cast over him in the moonlight as he wiped his blade.

“OK, Detective, we’ll make this real nice and simple.” He crouched down next to the survivor, taking note of how the blood pooled around him as he laid on his back, staring up at him. “Tell me where your new friend is hiding, and I’ll let you live.”

Silence.

“C’mon, it’s not that hard of a choice to make. I’ve heard getting sacrificed is long and painful, like your insides are getting ripped at over and over again until, poof, you’re back again, at that cozy little campfire, only a little bit more traumatised to show for it. Now, you want that to happen to only one of you, or both of you, hm?”

Tapp looked away, seeming to ponder the possibility.

“Self-preservation instincts, Detective. I know you have them.” He tapped his knife into the dirt. Humans were fickle beings, easily swayed when their life was on the line.

The detective sighed, chest shaking from the strain. “Fine. I know where he’s hiding. But I can’t… breathe right, with a knife in my chest, so come a little closer.”

Danny blinked, but surely he didn’t have any more tricks up his sleeve, so he did as he was told, for once in his life, letting his mask get inches away. “Yes?”

A moment of silence, before there was a whisper in reply, backed by the assurance of an idiot who knew he was going to die regardless, as he spat blood pooling in his mouth onto the mask of the ghost almost pressed against his own. “Go fuck yourself.”

He was almost stunned at the bravado, leaning away with a chuckle, though he gritted his teeth through it. “Oh, you’re a funny man. Absolutely hilarious, you know that?” But still, that was as good of an affirmation of choice as he was going to get from someone so stubborn, so Danny grabbed him by the front of his vest and hoisted him up onto his shoulder.

The screaming echoed as the heavens opened up, the Entity surely pleased with her feast for the evening, but he still wasn’t done… oh no, far from it. There was still one more handsome devil to track down. Danny rolled his neck, grinning at the gentle cracks from the strain, strolling more than hunting, at this point, for the well-kept survivor he didn’t know the name of, but was practically dying to know. He almost skipped up the crane, looking out of the window as Rapunzel did out of her tower window, before chuckling to himself and hoisting himself out. Danny tapped his blade against his hand, almost going to begin whistling if not for the angelic cries coming from the hill just close by. A grin overtook him, as he chased the calls of cherubs from the ground below.

He slammed that hatch shut with a satisfied sigh, throwing his knife between his hands as he looked around and arched his neck for the doors. Normally the whelps would just give up at this point, but the guy was new, and probably didn’t know what was best for him. Still, the doors were easily within view, so if he made it out of this alive… well, he wouldn’t, so no promise needed to be made. The killer chuckled to himself, finally settling on wrapping his fingers around the handle of his blade, curling one by one, slowly and deliberately for no one in particular, before setting off to take part in the real game that had begun.

He had no idea how he did it. Perhaps Danny had become too complacent in his work. But that handsome devil slipped past him more than once, enough for him to open up a gate and tiptoe his nice ass into certain safety. The survivor stared at him from inside the gate as he walked past in bewilderment, shaking like a dog in the rain that was just waiting to be gutted, battered old medkit in hand. And while he was stunned, the man swallowed, nodded, and left the trial head high, descending back into the fog as it began to consume the old gas station, leaving Danny to stare into darkness, barely blinking.

Well, that was interesting, wasn’t it?

—

His name was Felix, he’d learned from the pig in the meat plant, having overheard it while she watched him blow the generator out by accident and got cursed out by the familiar bane-of-their-existence Swede. German, from the way he’d spoken to Danny by the generator in their first encounter, high up on the social ladder from the way he dressed (unless he’d gotten all dressed up just to see him? Funny, that would be, but very unlikely), shaken by the fog and with a disposition not unlike a lost dog.

And yet, despite his nerves and cluelessness to the fog, he always seemed to escape him. He didn’t know how he did it, but from finding hatch to evading the hooks, Felix somehow managed to keep him on his toes. Trials were somehow more exciting, knowing there was a challenge, and a chance to catch he who refused to be caught. Danny knew he was going to revel in the moment, when it eventually came - there was no way someone could be better than him, when he was so in his element.

So, after not seeing the man for the entire trial while hunting through the streets of Badham, catching him at the gate seemed like a dream come true. And he was none the wiser, as Danny quickly slammed his hand against the wall next to the lever, making him jump and freeze, pulling his hand away, two bright lights reflecting onto his face. “And so we meet again.”

“S-so we do.” He ran a hand through his hair before it found a place at the back of his neck, quietly taking a few steps back.

“Aht, aht. I wouldn’t run. I’ll just find you again anyways.”

He stopped.

“...You know, I don’t quite know how you do it. It’s like you’re avoiding me on purpose.”

“That is… the point, is it not?”

“Oh, how rude- people come here to see me, surely. I’m a spectacle; call me a master at my craft.”

Felix chuckled - god, he chuckled, though it was riddled with nerves, but it most certainly happened, and sounded great - fiddling with the cufflinks on the sleeves of his suit jacket as his back straightened a little, as if flicking a switch to go from sorry sight to professional businessman. “Well, I… don’t suppose you’d be willing to show me why?”

He blinked. “Are you… flirting with me?”

“Am I?”

Danny wasn’t sure if the question was rhetorical or not, from the way he stood beside the lever at the gate, leaning a shoulder against the brick and folding his arms across his strong, broad chest (the way his shirt was unbuttoned just so was something Danny now noticed, and couldn’t stop noticing, barely tearing his eyes away to meet his gaze again) with an almost expectant look. “You’re... a weird one.”

“I… suppose so. Anyone normal would have ignored you and already run for their lives.”

The killer chuckled. “You’re not… entirely wrong. But I gotta say, I do like that. Among… other things.”

Though his eyes weren’t visible, it was as if the survivor knew exactly where he was looking, coughing and covering his mouth with the side of his fist. How cute was that?

He almost couldn’t contain himself. But he managed, somehow, not sure where this whole thing was going, but more than ready to go along for the ride. “Say… how far are you willing to ask that question, anyway? You really wanna know that bad, huh?”

Felix swallowed, closing his eyes for a moment before looking up again, with his piercing blue gaze, lips parting just so into a coy little smile. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

Danny had never thought a man of such sophistication was willing to whore himself out for freedom, but sure enough, he himself opened the gate to let the German go, almost sad to see him leave (though it wouldn’t be for long), but very much enjoying the view.

He paused. He was supposed to catch him and kill him, wasn’t he? Danny frowned, somewhat troubled, but tried to justify it as returning to old habits in Roseville, as he left the gate, and waited for the fog to consume him again, taking a seat just outside the battered old preschool.

—

It was like the attraction of magnets with twice the force as soon as they saw each other, wasting no time as suddenly Felix’s back was slammed into a tree, a loose and cold gloved hand finding its way up his shirt, sending a shiver up his spine for another reason as he felt lips hit his, with a hunger and desperation he was not expecting but certainly didn’t mind reciprocating, as Danny soon found out. And he wasn’t complaining; he was damn good, for a man with the disposition of a 40-year-old virgin, moving his hands to Danny’s wrist and placing his hand on his waist, which again, he did not mind at all, while the other was still halfway up his shirt. Let the man take the lead, at least for now, because it’s the only chance he’ll get to.

Danny chuckled as a hand moved to grab his ass - quite the eager beaver, wasn’t he? He was practically purring as he pulled away, the survivor trying to follow him before reeling back as he moved to kissing up the side of his neck, listening close to the adorable little whimpers that came out of him as he squirmed in his grip. The killer then went to move his hand out from under Felix’s shirt, finally, casually undoing the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt one by one, taking the time to walk down his chest with his fingers and feel the shaking breaths of anticipation under his fingertips. Oh, the things he wanted to do-

Distant voices were enough to make the survivor crack open an eye, pausing before he began to push the killer’s head off of his neck.

“Hey, hey,” Danny didn’t appreciate the interruption, moving to look up as Felix looked around, like a startled animal, though he still purred in the crudest fashion. “C’mon, buddy, I was just getting started.”

“Quiet.” His voice was low and commanding, still shaking from adrenaline.

And for whatever reason, Danny complied.

He swallowed, listening to the silence of the wind in the barrens of the fog-covered forest and there was another distant call, which upon hearing he began trying to wiggle out of the killer’s grip. “Off.”

“Why?”

“They’re looking for me-”

“And you don’t wanna be seen with me?” He gave a mock gasp of offence, though the grin that was slowly growing larger still remained on his face.“Oh, honey-”

“That’s exactly it. Move, please.”

That was enough to make Danny chuckle, squeezing his hips that he still held, enough to make him yelp a little. “Still so polite. If you want me to do somethin’, hon, you gotta be a little more, ah... demanding, yeah?”

Felix glared. “Alright. Get off. Now.” His voice had an annoyed growl to it, though his voice still cracked a little out of embarrassment, as he pushed down on Danny’s arms to let himself go.

“There it is.” And so he moved, standing back and sliding his hands into the pockets of his cloak. He watched the architect fiddle with the buttons on his shirt to redo them again, rushing to do so and messing it up a few times, mumbling to himself. “Need help?”

He glared again.

Danny laughed, observing how he looked like a kicked puppy as he went back to fiddling with his shirt, pulling down his own mask again to hide what little of his face he had revealed. “You know, I think you’d look much better with it off.”

“Shut up.”

“Oh, that’s not what you were saying with your eyes earlier-”

“You were a lot more tolerable when you were quiet.”

“‘Cos I never had a chance to speak, what, with you all over my mouth.” He shrugged as he spoke, as if it was a nonchalant fact, only smiling wider when he heard Felix try to stammer out a flustered reply, to no avail, choosing instead to simply huff and finish off the buttons on his shirt.

“Regardless, this affair is over.”

“Wait, hold on.”

“What?”

The killer moved his hands up to Felix’s neck, watching the man flinch and hold a breath with a soft chuckle, gently undoing a few of the top buttons that he’d redone. “You normally wear it like this.”

He gently touched at his collar, looking down at his fingers and then to the mask starring back at him. “And you’ve noticed?”

“Hard not to.” He shrugged, tugging at the shirt collar and going to fix up the waistcoat too before his hands were slapped away, which he held up in defence with a grin behind his mask. “So when are we doing this again, sunshine?”

The survivor moved away before he could’ve boxed in against the tree again, taking a few steps towards the direction of the campfire and the voices, though not too far as to disengage from the conversation, perhaps a little unsure how to. “You speak like this will be a regular affair.”

“Well, we had fun, ja?”

“...Are you mocking me?”

“Not mocking, just… appreciating the culture.”

Felix started, smoothing down the arms of his suit jacket with a light scoff of disbelief. “Truly, you’re insufferable.”

“Can't say you didn’t enjoy yourself though, huh, mein Schatz?” He leaned his shoulder against the tree now, folding his arms across his chest, earning him a weak-hearted glare.

“Werde gefickt.”

“Gerne.”

Being outplayed in his own game of native tongues, somehow, Felix conceded, looking down at his cufflinks again. “You’re… not entirely wrong, so ...perhaps a name, so I can find you.”

“Oh, so now you want to know me? What happened to a one-time affair, sugar?”

“When you’re so easy to please, I would be an idiot not to take advantage.”

Danny laughed, shrugging with no retort (though he was uncertain if hitting this pretty boy like a fish was just as good as getting in his pants… that much was yet to be determined). He soon trailed off, swallowing to himself, a lie escaping him as effortlessly as it had always done. “Jed Olsen.”

“Mr. Olsen…” Felix pondered for a moment. “...Ja, OK.”

—

So they’d been fooling around, yeah. Danny had always said he was willing to try it, should an idiot be brave enough, and if it was someone that wasn’t either Ace or David - he was a man with some standards, even with the blood on his hands - but never had he thought about it getting this far.

The sun never rose or set, but people slept and woke as time passed, regardless of the light outside, and that was no exception here. If anything, it was the cold chill of Ormond that awoke him from sleep, though he’d grown complacent in it, realising the teens that called this shithole a home would probably evict him if he so much as dared to complain. Danny still grumbled, attempting to pull the scraps of the blanket over himself, but finding it unable to move. Turning over, he now heard the sound of gentle snoring, the body, next to him sometimes shuffling, but remained mostly motionless, aside from the movements of breathing from his chest. His latest fling, almost his newest obsession… god, he still looked perfect, even now, golden locks of hair falling out of form, the lighting of the shitty little cabin not enough to hide that perfect jawline tickled with stubble in all the right places, red marks down his neck and back from an encounter that had lead them right here, in the bed he was practically renting in the corner of the resort.

They’d gotten a little adventurous, hadn't they? Banter in the trials was one thing, borderline voyeurism in the entity’s forest was another, but here? Letting himself be taken back to the realms to stay, where killers were not technically bound by rules of obedience, with Danny of all killers, a man who loved to bend the rules? Felix Richter was a smart man, that much he knew, but by god was he stupid. Maybe he thought there was a good man still in there, in the Ghostface. Well, that was his mistake; it was almost cute for him to still hold out hope though, regardless of how much disappointment was awaiting him down the road. Danny gently ran fingertips along the sleeping man’s arm, feeling the soft skin underneath his touch, smiling despite himself, only pausing at the gentle stirring he caused, practically freezing with his hand in the air as the architect moved, and slowly opened his eyes, sleepily smiling.

“Good morning.”

“...Hi,” he released a breath he didn’t know he was holding, letting his hand fall into the space between them. “Hardly mornin’, but sure.”

“Close enough.”

“Sure.”

There was a soft, amused hum from the other man, adjusting his position a little to better face him, hair falling out of place just so, like some disheveled Ken doll. “I would ask if you slept well, but-”

“Oh, very well, thanks to you. Really outdid yourself this time; I gotta say, that was almost the most fun I’ve had since I got here… or maybe even before-”

A light shove to his chest made him stop and laugh a little, feeling the slight coldness of metal from a family ring against one pec, and almost wanting the light touch of his hand to remain there, before it hit the mattress with a thump, dangerously close to Danny’s. “You’re a funny one, Mr. Olsen.”

He sat up, resting an elbow on the stained old pillow and holding his cheek with the corresponding hand, raising an eyebrow. “Thought you liked me better when I was quieter?”

Felix stared at him with those perfect eyes of his, and he laughed - like audible silk it was, smooth and defined, with a sleepy smile and everything - adjusting himself with a hand under his pillow. “Sometimes. Sometimes I like to hear you.”

“Glad to hear it. I’ve been told it’s my best quality.”

“Hmm. Is it how you make jokes to deflect, or how you talk out of your ass?”

“...Well, hey now, Princess, ouch-”

As he tried to defend himself, the survivor smirked, somehow braver here than anywhere else (and it wasn’t his persona), quipping back to match him, and as he was talking, Danny paused, watching the way his eyes diverted and how his mouth moved, how he talked with his body and the way he smiled and waiting for a small hum in response, and how Danny liked the way his name sounded coming from his mouth, even if it wasn’t entirely the true one. Almost made him wonder what the real thing would sound like… no, that was too much, right? Couldn’t get attached. He wasn’t attached, was he?

Couldn’t hurt to wait a little more to think on that, before escorting this pretty little thing back to the campfire.

—

So he was thinking about Felix a lot more than was normal for an obsession of his. What started off as a vengeful curiosity had morphed into something else, something so ugly yet so beautiful, foreign to Danny in recent years, or perhaps his entire life. Was this how high school girls felt, chasing after the jocks for a chance to get them off, and maybe start a high school whirlwind romance? Well, he certainly wasn’t a prepubescent cheerleader, but the survivor that had caught his attention seemed just like the squeaky clean Prince Charming that girls drooled over.

And he couldn’t have that. Not at all.

The fog cleared out of his vision slowly, and he opened his eyes, almost rolling them as the field of corn came into view. Coldwind - the rotten fields, it looked like, from the wide expanse of produce hiding his vision. Despite the cards not being in his favour, a game could still be played here, if he played his hand, carefully. And he was planning to. He’d let himself get distracted. But not again.

Getting back into the routine of the hunt was like sliding into a comfortable sweater, blood shedding with no tear from him. Laurie was always a thrilling chase, her determination being almost cute. Quentin was similar, though the boy with insomnia had a lot less appeal than the virgin final girl, to be sure. David, of course, was David - loud, frustrating to deal with, and incredibly annoying. And… Felix. He knew how he felt about Felix already.

As well as he tried to play it, this time, the game was not in his favour, and quite quickly generators across the field were powered, with only a few hooks under his belt. Getting to a gate, it was already beginning to open, three of them already filing into the funnel of the exit. But Felix, he was lagging behind, and without thinking, Danny took a swipe...

...No one escaped death. Not even the man he may have fallen for.

As he wiped the blood from his blade with a gloved hand closed around it, he watched the architect grasp at his side and stumble, leaning a shoulder up against a wooden wall for support.

“Go.” He called to the woman in the blue shirt, standing at the gate.

“Felix, we can’t-”

“I said go, Laurie!”

She gritted her teeth and went to ignore him, running back into the cornfield, but a grip and pull on her arm from David stopped her, as much as she tried to fight against it. Quentin was the last to leave, watching the two of them for a moment before he swallowed, and chased after them, a medkit in hand.

“Alone time, eh? Hon, we’re on a time limit here-”

“Just get it done.”

Danny tried to laugh. But it didn’t… feel right, somehow, even if it was the same as it always had been. As Felix leaned against a wall to support himself and slid down, knees buckling underneath him, he crouched down to meet him. “I dunno… no fun when they don’t squirm, you know?”

“...Jed-”

“Danny.”

He paused. “What?”

“It’s Danny Johnson. My name, I mean. I lied, when we first met. ...Surprise!” Knife still gripped, he tried to do a small jazz hands movement, though it seemed a fall flat. Only hurt more with what came next.

“...I figured as much.”

“Oh yeah? And why’d you set yourself up for failure like that, sunshine?”

“Because… I don’t know. I thought you were like me.”

The killer deflated a little, tilting his head to one side.

“I… maybe, I thought you were playing something up. I always felt… something else, there. Maybe something even you didn’t know about. Under all that ego, Mr Ol- ...Mr. Johnson, there was a man who cared, once.”

He tapped the blade of his knife against the floor. “...Maybe. I dunno.”

“Do you think he’s still in there?”

Danny didn’t reply right away, dragging his blade through the dirt by his feet absentmindedly. He didn’t entirely know, at this point. Normally this would have been the end of their little game - it was over, he had caught him and won - but something was stopping him. The ground shook, reminding him of that first moment where this fascination had started to plague him. “...You’ve done something to me, Felix.”

He hummed, trying to shift where he sat, holding his side where the blood had stained his very nice suit. “Have I?”

“Must have done. Because this isn’t as fun as I thought it would be.”

“That’s the reality of most things, I’m afraid.”

“I hate it.”

The survivor almost laughed, though it was pained and strained, clearly struggling… but was the sliver of it that made it, that small smile on his stupid, perfect face - that was enough, it seemed, to make Danny smile too.

He pulled up his mask entirely, tugging down his hood and fixing his hair with a quick ruffle, feeling the cloth tendrils on his sleeves whip behind him from the movement. The killer took a second to stare at Felix in front of him, before he moved his hand up to his face, watching him flinch. “Hey- relax, baby, I’m not gonna hurt you yet.”

“Yet.”

Danny hummed, cupping his face and wiping away the blood starting to dribble out of his mouth with a finger. “There. You’re a messy little boy, aint’cha?”

A cough, more blood involuntarily spilling out from his mouth now, this time splashing onto his shirt and the front of Danny’s suit. “My apologies. I’ll make sure to bleed less next time you stab me.”

“‘Ppreciate it, babes.”

Though he thought the man would shove him away, he instead seemed to lean into the touch, moving a hand to hold onto Danny’s wrist. “You still smell like cheap cologne.”

“It’s the only thing they sent me here with. ‘Sides, your scent goes away after a while.”

“Gross.”

“The one and only.”

And despite his small smile, of both annoyance and amusement, the third overwhelming emotion behind his eyes was that of sadness. The ground shook around them, but they didn’t seem to care, not until Danny moved his hand away and stood to his feet again, grabbing his knife from the floor and wiping the dirt off of the blade on his thigh.

“Is this it, then?”

“‘Fraid so.”

“...It was fun.”

“Oh yes, it was.” He looked down at his knife, pressing the tip of the blade against his finger and twisting it, the moonlight and bleeding of the ground catching the light of the metal. “...For what it’s worth? You were close.”

“Close to what?”

“Makin’ me a person. Ya know, not a prick, like… an actual loser, with empathy. Almost had me for a sec, hot stuff.”

“Is that why you’re stopping this? Are you scared?”

Danny swallowed down a reply. He took a moment to look down at Felix, who’s eyes had followed him the entire time, making a small ‘call me’ sign with his free hand and forcing a smirk. “If you ever decide you wanna make a mistake again, you’ll know where to find me.”

“...Goodbye, Danny.”

He walked off into the corn, not wanting to see the way those blue eyes stared at him anymore, only stopping at the pained screaming that followed. The shaking of the ground had stopped now. She had come to feast.

As he stood in the middle of cornfield, he looked up at the sky of the farm, overcast and grey, tendrils of the Entity reaching down to claim her prize, and fog swirling around him to take him back, to lay in wait, until the next time.

He was right. His name did sound nice coming out of Felix’s mouth.

#dead by daylight #ghostfelix #the ghostface #felix richter #prove thyself #off the record

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dgcatanisiri · 3 years

Text

So... something kinda hit me abruptly and pushed me to feeling about ready to snap, so... Have a word vomit. Kinda feels like a greatest hits compilation of my “another angry queer rant” tag, but I need to get it out, so...

I know I’ve been over plenty about how I don’t feel represented even when I have something with gay representation. How I’d give dozens of Dorians and Iron Bulls to get even one run of Inquisition that properly has my male Inquisitor romance Cullen. How when I look at Mass Effect - this franchise that I love - I can only see how much it hates me for being a gay man who dares to seek content for me. How godawful it is that Gil’s story, a story that is explicitly a story centered on a gay man and the difficulties he faces BECAUSE of being gay, was written by a straight person who ABSOLUTELY does not GET. IT. And how fandom as an entity sucks, because so often it feels like the attitude of the people in it comes across as telling me that my desire to be represented in my media somehow comes in second to celebrating the advances solely for women, that my needs as a queer MAN (the emphasis usually theirs) are less important, because I can still see myself AS A MAN in other characters throughout media.

But... That doesn’t change the fact that this is a very real, very tangible THING for me to grapple with. And sometimes it feels like no one ever, EVER talks about this.

I mean, my go-to example is that after Inquisition dropped, you could not say A WORD in criticism of Dorian without people jumping down your throat, chomping at the bit to call you a homophobe for it. No matter what reason - but ESPECIALLY if you thought he was “too stereotypical” - you got hit with that label. Even if you were gay yourself, it was just your “internalized homophobia” that made you dislike him, or even being biased against the people who genuinely do lean in to the stereotypes, don’t they deserve representation too?!

Well, yeah. It’s not like I was saying they don’t. But that it’s a stereotype means it’s often still in media, still often THERE. It’s not always good representation, but it’s something. Meanwhile for those of us who AREN’T? It just meant further exclusion from the narratives. A continuation of our invisibility.

And sure, one queer character cannot represent every queer person, one individual who embodies one letter of the alphabet soup cannot be everything to everyone under that individual label. But, again, it still means that I don’t get to see myself.

If media representation is a life preserver, then I’m getting pulled out to sea while the lifeguards are busy with people who are closer to them than I am. Which, you can call it triage, cast the widest net to hope to get the most people, but when you’re one of those who are not even able to grab on to the net and use it to pull yourself closer, it’s not helping. And, because they’re focused on those who have grabbed on to the net, your struggle continues to be ignored.

Worse, sometimes they aren’t factoring you in the net they’re throwing (yes, I’m aware my metaphor is getting increasingly strained, just work with me here) because they think you’re not in the trouble they think others are - if you can “pass” as cishet, if you can exist without actively fearing for your safety, if you are the kind of person who can walk down the street and not expect to be harassed because you “present” gay, then you’re not as in need as those people who can’t, who are going to be threatened for existing while visibly queer.

But the truth is that you’re still suffering. I’m not gonna get in to the whole oppression Olympics nature of it all, but there is an element that those of us who “pass” as being “straight-acting” (and, for the record, I think these terms are bogus and bullshit, but I’m using them for the sake of simplicity in getting my message across, because I’m stream of consciousnessing this post instead of going to bed so you’re getting babble and word vomit so that this isn’t playing on a loop as I try and sleep) suffer that... I’m not going to say that it makes it worse, but it does have this level of SOMETHING that is a unique pain that you aren’t going to find from the people who are visibly and noticeably queer at a glance - it’s not just isolation, because this is something that you end up not talking about because no one around you realizes that you are queer, but also this voice in the back of your mind that starts questioning “are you REALLY queer? Are you queer ENOUGH?”

And that’s why it hurts that little bit more, is that much more a twist of the knife, when I see these people who push the “joke” of like “why did they even HAVE male Shepard?” or “the only way to play is as Kassandra.” Because it does reinforce this idea - that there is this attitude of this thing, this character that I was seeing as representation doesn’t matter. So that I take strength in that character, well, that’s just me latching on to REPRESENTATION AS A MAN, and we’re not here to protect your fragile masculine ego.

When all I’m looking for is a queer man like I am.

And sometimes, I don’t even feel like the other queer men I can look to get it. Like, there was that time about a year ago that I looked up issues of queer men in video games, and the three videos I found all got an “...and NOPE!” reaction from me - the first argued in math about how “queer people are a small portion of the population, we can’t realistically expect to be represented equally,” even though we’re talking about FICTION, which is, by definition, NOT reality, the second was clearly a cishet who compared not being represented as a queer person to not being represented as a Swedish person, and then a third who first had a thumbnail on a video of “good and bad representation” and Kaidan was the example of bad (so a negative mark against this video to begin with, but I was desperate), only to lead with Dorian as a good example, which... *vague motion above and at the “dorian critical” tag* I staunchly disagree with this stance.

Like... I have to struggle to think of who my role models in being a queer man are. It’s not just who fits my story, but who do I look up to, who inspires me. And, admittedly, the luster for any personal hero seems to inevitable wear off at this point, I’m in my early thirties, and most of the media I consume will have characters who are my age or younger PERIOD, so my queer heroes would have to be people I’d consider either peers or even someone who I am older than...

But then, that’s kinda the thing about being queer period - we lost a generation to AIDS, and for those who followed that generation, we’ve had to live in this world where our heroes don’t exist like us, while trying to pave the way for those who come after us, and who can’t conceive of what it is like to age - as in “go from adulthood to middle age to elder,” not just the matter of growing up from childhood to adulthood - and so even as they’re the one who we want to give all of this to... It still means we suffer because no one is there to offer US that hand.

And yet, try to explain this to media creators, and you get ignored or even shut down. Like, I about a year ago, I directly replied to tweet from Patrick Weekes, explaining how Inquisition failed me, how all bi LIs actually HELP me feel more represented as a queer person than the mix of sexualities that BioWare on the whole has said that they intend to do (re: the difference of LIs in DA2 and Dragon Age Inquisition). It got no response, not even a like to indicate that it’d been read by them. I could form in my head the response I’d have inevitably gotten from David Gaider when he still had an active Tumblr of what would amount to, nicest, “we cannot please everyone, enough people were moved by Dorian’s story to make it worthwhile, sorry.” Given some of my cynicism, I can’t help but believe that it would also have come with a “sorry you feel that way.” Particularly considering some of the comments he’s made about Cullen and Kaidan as LIs, both of whom being characters I connect to more than others in their respective games...

And like... Gaider is a gay man. Weekes is nonbinary. But they are from that generation who view being able to exist openly as queer as a revolutionary statement, which... It’s a statement I want to make, sure, but it’s not a revolutionary one to me - “existence” is the bare minimum. To me, focusing on existence as a queer person is to say that the queer character must justify existing as queer in order to be a part of the narrative. But what is revolutionary to me is to give the queer person a story in the narrative that has NOTHING to do with their queerness.

Like... Fantasy world here, Inquisition drops with Cullen and Cassandra as same-sex exclusive LIs, while every other aspect of their stories are the same. Women can’t romance Cullen, Men can’t romance Cassandra. Other than that, we have Cullen with his addiction/redemption arc and Cassandra not just struggling with her faith but even getting the chance to be Divine. Yes, fandom would FLIP. THE FUCK. OUT. But here’s what it says - the things that these characters go through in the course of the game are not defined by their sexuality. Hell, with these characters specifically, you get characters with MASSIVE relevance to queer stories that AREN’T exclusive to being queer - addiction is a real issue in queer communities, given how many of our safe spaces are bars or clubs, places where alcohol (and thus alcohol abuse) is easily obtained, and, by extension, drugs as well. Meanwhile, there are SCORES of queer people who struggle with the question of faith in the wake of their queerness manifesting.

THAT is revolutionary. To take these stories that straight people get all the time, that certainly have meaning as queer stories for the queer audience... And yet, when they go to these (hypothetically) queer characters, it has that subtext without making the story ABOUT their queerness, while still making it clear that, in this version of things, they are queer - players couldn’t pretend that it’s only in some parallel universe that they are queer, they would only be attracted to the same sex PC. THAT is revolutionary.

Or, y’know, take it back beyond BioWare for a little bit here - all the characters I feel the most connection to emotionally in TV shows are straight. All these men who are my role models only ever get shown being involved with women. At most, they’ll get queerbaited as MAYBE being queer, if you just keep watching! Inevitably, of course, they are not queer by the end of the show - the closest to date is the debacle that is Supernatural.

Yeah, there’s representation for ya.

And then there are those who end up looking at what I see as thoroughly inadequate and... They’re happy. They praise it. They look at this thing that hurts me, that excludes me, that can, when I’m in the bad headspaces, even make me question myself... And they have found something they like with it.

Which, for the record, good for them, genuinely and sincerely, I really am glad that someone is getting something out of this, but... Well, see above: life preserver, isolation, “sorry you feel that way.” Everyone else is getting what they needed, but what about me? When does my representation get to appear? Why am I always being left, scrounging for the scraps of the scraps? Why does other peoples’ representation always seem to get shoved to the front of the line, leaving me languishing in the back.

That’s the real thing about all of those lines of “if you don’t like it, go make your own!” At this point, even if I did manage to get something in my to-write folder cleaned up and ready to go, in reality... How am I supposed to feel like anyone other than me WOULD proceed to read it? That the audience would exist? Because... no one seems to care about this audience. Hell, how would I get anyone to publish it if it is only going to appeal to me?

I feel on the margins of the margins, where no one really cares. Hell, even here in my own blog, I feel afraid of backlash - I’ve had the assholes show up in response to like little brief comments that are off-the-cuff rambles, not worded in a way that makes them a full, detailed accounting, and either take them as evidence that I, personally, represent all that is wrong with fandom at large, or that I am a target for their trolling. Because saying that “I find the jokes about male Shepard not mattering to be diminishing of me as a queer person, can we please stop this?” is somehow not just lesbophobic, but VIOLENTLY lesbophobic. Or that saying that I don’t care that bad things happen to a fictional species is somehow advocating for violence against actual women. Or even explicitly calling out BioWare for lovingly lingering the camera on Miranda’s ass is slutshaming her. And of course, there are the assholes who responded to me saying on the BioWare Twitter announcement post for the Legendary Edition that, if it didn’t have a full trilogy male Shepard/Kaidan romance, I wasn’t buying it, and proceeded to a) call me entitled for it (like, read a dictionary, the very fact that I have to call for this content that doesn’t exist in the game proper is the OPPOSITE of entitlement...), b) tell me that I “shouldn’t deny [myself] a great story just because it doesn’t have gay people in it” and c) just generally be homophobic. Even in rolling with it on the basis of “the trolls are gonna show up period if you make it clear that you care about something, especially if you are trying to get representation for some group that is in the minority... It gets exhausting. It can be harmful. It makes it clear that you’re not welcome, even when you’re supposedly united by the fact that you and these people supposedly love the same piece of media.

I mean, among those examples, I’ve given the statements that inspired those responses no tags other than my own organizational tags, but SOMEHOW they find me anyway, so it wouldn’t surprise me if I got accused of like being another White Gay™ with this post, that I simply want to center the conversation wholly on myself at the expense of all other intersections of queerness and other identities or something for saying all of this, even though this is, and it says so from the start, a vent post, which, by definition, is centered on myself because it’s about me and my experiences and emotions. *sigh*

Anyway...

And, y’know, when BioWare actively refuses to even ACKNOWLEDGE that the absence of a full trilogy M/M romance option is a bad thing, it just ends up saying that the trolls are actually the audience they’re willing to court. That Supernatural ending with a brothers only focus that doesn’t even allow Cas to be mentioned other than offhandedly while suppressing ANY kind of emotional fallout to his admission of love says that they don’t care about the queer people who at the very least the actor was trying to be respectful and representative of. That every piece of media that says that to have a queer person in it, their presence must be explained and justified is saying that there needs to be a REASON for queerness, a reason that is not “because people are queer, and queer people come in as many stripes as cishet people, and so media should reflect that spectrum just as much.”

Even when the numbers of queer characters in media goes up, it doesn’t really move the needle. And that’s not even getting to the difficulties when you are any mix-and-match combo under the queer umbrella, or any other identity that intersects to marginalize someone in our society. It just...

Y’know, it doesn’t feel like “it gets better.” Rather it just feels like being stuck in position, just with a changing backdrop. Sure, things look different by the end of the day, but that doesn’t change that you’re not getting anywhere.

#dg gets personal #another angry queer rant

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obxfics · 4 years

Text

Help me, Rhonda

summary: sarah cameron is getting married to topper, and y/n wants to help her friend get over his heartbreak

pairing: john b x reader

word count: 1,405

a/n: the 1960s AU absolutely no one asked for lmao. john b isnt present in this fic a whole lot (discussed a fair bit though) and inspired by listening to my 50s/60s playlist and the Beach Boys. thinking of making this a series of fics based off songs from the era. anyways, i hope you all like this! also why are john b gifs so hard to find

“You hear about Sarah and Topper?”

You and Kie had been having a pleasant night at the drive-in with your brothers when the boys insisted you two go get some snacks before the movie. The line was long, but it was fine. The movie wouldn’t start for a while anyways. It seemed the whole drive-in was packed with teens waiting to see How to Stuff a Wild Bikini for some beach party fun for the summer, and you knew the Pogues were especially excited after seeing the poster. JJ insisted there would be some sex, but everyone had just rolled their eyes at him. You all knew there wasn’t going to be anything like that, but you were still happy to go out and see it. Your good mood, however, was soon dampened by Kie’s question.

“Who hasn’t heard?” you replied as you drew your brother Diego’s old letterman jacket tighter around your body. “Half the island was rejoicing, and the other half was disappointed but not surprised. I mean, everyone knew a relationship between a Kook and a Pogue was never gonna last.”

Kie sighed as you took a few steps forward with the moving line. Your best friend kicked at the ground with her Keds and shrugged.

“I don’t know, I guess I was just hoping she’d stick with John B.”

“We all did, for his sake, but you can’t tell me that you didn’t know deep down that she’d end up marrying Topper. Their parents have been pushing that since we were in the third grade.”

“So, what, we were just her rebellious phase?”

You shrugged and dug around in the jacket’s pockets for the cash your oldest brother Christian had slipped in there.

“Every girl who lives on the Figure Eight has one at some point, right? How many did JJ get with last summer?”

“Come on, Sarah is our friend... did you really never believe she could have changed? That she was serious about John B?”

“Hi,” you greeted the boy behind the counter with a smile, “one large popcorn and four Cokes, please.” You turned to Kie as the boy turned to shovel popcorn into a bucket. “I think she was serious about John B, but she’s just a lot more scared of what her dad would do if she didn’t do what he says this time.”

“He’d probably kill John B.”

“Exactly. And we spend too much time at his place for him to be killed like that.”

She laughed as you slid the three dollars across the counter and grabbed the drinks. “So you’d only be upset if John B died because we wouldn’t be able to hang around the Chateau anymore?”

“Yes, ma’am, that is the only reason.”

“Has nothing to do with the fact that you’ve been crushing on him since sophomore year, right?”

“Kie, I already have one brainless surfer with amazing hair in my life. I don’t need another Diego, thank you very much.”

“Right, and I’m sure that game of spin the bottle at Sarah’s boy-girl party last summer had no effect on you.”

“Well... I didn’t say that.”

The two of you dissolved into a fit of giggles and tried to shush each other as you climbed into the bed of Christian’s Chevrolet where your brothers were waiting.

“Y’all took quite a long time,” Diego said. “Gossiping too much to get me my Swedish Fish, I assume.”

“It’s called the screening of How to Stuff a Wild Bikini and the whole island coming out to see it,” you snarked back before shoving a handful of popcorn in your mouth. “The line was super long, Diego.”

“Whatever.”

You rolled your eyes and snuggled close to Kie under the blanket she had brought. The movie was about to start anyhow, and you weren’t about to miss it. Pretty soon into the movie the four of you realized Frankie Avalon was not gonna be a big part, and your interest in it quickly dwindled.

“It’s just not the same,” Diego ranted as the credits rolled onscreen. “You can’t have one without the other!”

“I liked seeing Buster Keaton,” Christian said, trying to stay neutral as always.

“Was it just me, or was that movie not as fun as advertised?” JJ asked as he appeared beside the truck.

“Was it because you couldn’t really see Annette in her swimsuit?” Kie teased.

You let out a laugh and turned your attention to John B as Kie and Pope got into an argument with JJ about the movie.

“Hey there, stranger,” you greeted, bringing his gaze up to you. “Haven’t seen you around lately.”

He offered you a bashful smile and looked down at his scuffed Chucks.

“JJ’s been taking me out surfing pretty much everyday, and whenever we stop at the diner, your pops says it’s not your shift,” he said. “It’s not like I’ve been avoiding you or anything.”

“Well now I’m starting to think you are,” you teased.

“It’s just been... you know.”

You looked at him and saw the bags under his eyes. He must not have been getting much sleep since hearing the news of Sarah’s impending nuptials. Going surfing everyday must have been JJ’s idea of taking his best friend’s mind off the heartbreak, but it did not seem to be working.

“Hey, you wanna get out of here?”

His head snapped up at your question, and you could see the relief in his face. So you hopped out of the truck and grabbed his hand.

“Come on, let’s go have some fun.” You began dragging him away from the others.

“Wait, what about your brothers and Kie?”

“They’ll be fine. Probably. You need me more than they do, and they’re busy talking about the movie to even notice we’re gone.”

John B laughed a bit as you led him through the many cars and people still loitering at the drive-in.

“Do you even know where I parked the Volkswagen?”

“I was just hoping I’d stumble upon it eventually,” you admitted. “But please lead the way because I will get us lost.”

“Oh, I know, babe,” the pet-name slipped out easily and you didn’t think he even noticed. “Remember when you got lost trying to get to the diner from my place?”

“In my defense, it was dark.”

“It was three in the afternoon!”

“Alright, alright, I am terrible with directions, you know that.”

“Well, Miss terrible with directions, where are we headed?”

You climbed into the van that was parked at the edge of the drive-in and shrugged. You hadn’t really thought that far ahead if you were being honest. So you glanced at him and swept your arm in front of you.

“The world is our oyster, John B. Why don’t you take me to your favorite place on the island? A place that makes you happy.”

He looked over at you. “Why are you doing this?”

“Being a good friend?”

“I mean... I guess that but... we...” He couldn’t meet your eyes, cheeks completely aflame. “The other night, when I opened the wedding invitation, we... you know.”

You nodded and played with your fingers. You reached out to turn on the radio, smiling when it started playing the new Beach Boys song that came out earlier that year. Perfect.

“John B, you know this song, right?”

“Yeah, of course. JJ always requests it on the jukebox at the diner.”

“Okay, well, I’m trying to be your Rhonda, John B. Because seeing you in pain, hurts me too.”

“Why?”

“I don’t really think you’re in the right place emotionally to talk about the why, do you? Right now I just want to take you to where you’re happiest on this island and forget about everything else in the world.”

Your eyes met again in the dimly lit van, and you felt what you did the other night, when you had comforted John B after he’d realized the girl he loved was getting married to another man. Your lips met almost hesitantly, like neither of you were sure this was a line you were allowed to cross sober, but eventually he gained some more confidence. His hand came around to cradle the back of your neck, his thumb brushing over your jaw, and you sighed when his tongue swiped at your lips. When you pulled back for air, some of your lipstick was smeared all over his mouth, but he didn’t seem to care as he stared at you. His thumb rubbed your bottom lip, and a smirk pulled at his lips when you nipped at it.

“Alright, then. Help me, y/n. Get her out of my heart.”

#john b #john b routledge #john b x reader #outer banks #outer banks netflix #outer banks imagine #outer banks x reader #obx #obx netflix #obx imagine #obx x reader

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bates--boy · 3 years

Text

Peter was just about done with work that day, cleaning the bottles for the infant animals when his phone buzzed in his pockets. He shut the sink off, yanked off the wet rubber gloves, and pulled his device out of his pocket. “Oh!” he chirped, seeing the name of the sender.

[Naseem] Yo, Pete, it’s Naz. Was wondering if you have plans for lunch today?

[Naseem] I wanted us to do some extra rap practice and maybe go over the lines between Troy and Stefan before our big night

Peter turned to sit back against the lip of the sink, hugging one of his arms across his torso as he typed.

[Peter] i have a half-day today so i’m free once i clock out at twelve.

[Peter] i’d be happy to buy you lunch if you haven’t eaten yet. i know a great place to get a bite to eat.

[Naseem] Bet. My break’s half past noon. See you at your work?

[Peter] fine by me! see ya!

Smiling at the screen before shoving his phone into his pocket, Peter finished cleaning the rest of the bottles, went to the changing area to wiggle out of the waterproof overalls, and then to the employee area to punch out at the time clock and fetch his hoodie and his copy of the stage play from his locker. He looked down at the practically beaten-up book, some pages curled in, corners folded, colorful tabs poking out of the pages: pink for Josef’s spoken lines, blue for Troy’s; green for Josef’s songs, yellow for Troy’s. Slightly crinkled from the times Peter shoved it into his bag to carry at all times, or when he had his quick bursts of sleep while reading over the thing.

With a quick cleaning at the employee basin, Peter made a brisk walk back to the grounds, heading to the entrance area. He sent a quick message of his location and waited with the play lying open, quietly murmuring Josef’s verses. Soon, the familiar deep blue XC60 rolled onto the lot, with the Nigerian, Palestinian, and Swedish flags painted across the back. Naseem climbed out and waved as he strolled over, a leather messenger bag slung over his shoulder and his copy of the play rolled in his hand. When he drew close enough, Naseem said, “Wow, it’s been a while since I last came here.”

“Ah, so you probably don’t know about the new aerial arts performance they have here,” Peter grinned as they walked back to the conservatory grounds together.

Naseem shrugged. “I have. And I’ve been meaning to come check it out, but, you know. Schedule..”

“Well, the next time you’re free, come on over! I can even sneak you in for a show!” Peter nudged his shoulder against Naseem.

“How are you gonna--” Naseem stopped once he saw the coy grin on Peter’s face. “Lemme guess: you’re the star?”

“One of them.” Peter bobbed his shoulder and looked away in faux modesty. He giggled and patted Naseem’s arm. “Come on, I know a great picnic area we can practice in.”

Peter and Naseem took the stroll to the benches, dodging giggling little kids darting everywhere to get to the next animal enclosure that caught their eye, and the wandering animals that escaped their habitats, mainly small bird and marsupial species. After Peter bought them both bottled smoothies at one of the snack kiosks, they settled at a table near the wooden fence post, drawing annoyed glances from passersby as they sat on the tabletop instead of the benches.

“Which scenes do you want to practice today?” Peter asked before pulling a long draught from his bottle. “We can just do a couple so I can treat you to lunch.”

Naseem skimmed the pages he had marked, going back and forth and shrugging. “Ones that have our characters singing so we can work these vocal cords. Let’s start with...” he consulted his shorthand notes. “Act III, scene 4. So, my character comes up to yours.”

Naseem clambered down the picnic table, took a few steps away, and stomped back. The chills Peter felt may or may not have to do with the complete switch of energy Naseem made. Even his green eyes flared with fury.

“Why the hell did you do that to Josef?!”

Peter sighed as his character did, shifting on the table and leaning forward on his knees. So cool and unaffected, to the point of almost being despondent. Peter still couldn’t figure this Troy out, but he spoke his lines.

“I didn’t do a thing to him, Stef.”

Naseem crossed his arms and tilted his head. “Oh, really? So when he said no to that stage deal because ‘his mom’s gonna die alone in their apartment while he’s out singing for pocket change’, that wasn’t you?” Peter had to pause here, as Troy struggled to find an excuse. Naseem threw up his arms. “God, what is wrong with you?! What kind of a friend are you?!”

“A realistic one.” Peter’s tone remained calm, stoic - a stoner too mellowed out to get worked up.

Naseem rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. Realistic. Jo finally had what he needed right in his lap, and you couldn’t even be supportive of him because you’re realistic. That’s bull crap, even for you.”

“You can say whatever you want about me, Stef, but of all these people feeding him these wild dreams --” Peter swept his hand about, gesturing to a figurative crowd while a few eyes turned their way. He pointed to his own chest. “--I’m the only one looking out for him.”

“No, looking out for him would be helping him with this. He has a chance to get a better life, but you don't want that for him!"

"I don't--?!" Peter gave a scoffing laughing and rolled his eyes. "You're so far off, it's funny!"

"Yeah? So all this time you kept telling him to don't do it, it's not because you know you're wasting your own life being some bum mad that you lost your trust fund and you're angry that Josef can make it?"

"No!" Peter's voice started to boil, Troy's cool, arrogant façade starting to crack and chip. His free hand curled into a shaking fist.

"Then why? Why are you being such a shitty friend?!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Peter could see a uniformed figure walking up to them, parents trying to distract their kids from the argument.

"Because this would break him just like it almost did me!"

In a blink of an eye, and a sudden flush of heat on his cheeks, Peter was on his feet, too, feeling Troy's despair as he and Naseem were practically nose to nose. For all the anger, the anguish, and the overprotective adrenaline Troy was supposed to feel at that moment, Peter channeled the underlying heartache and exhaustion; he sounded tired.

"Like it did my sister."

"Er, excuse me," the uniformed man said when he came close enough, a hand reaching out to them. "Is there a prob--"

Naseem stared at Peter for a breath. "Your sister?"

Peter gave a soft, sad laugh. "Oh, that's right, I never told you about Anna, did I?" He silently filled his lungs with air.

You don't know the story of a boy and a girl Mommy pleasers destined to dominate the world

The worker looked between the two men, casting an especially long glance at the singing one. "...What?"

Born to hold the dreams that Mommy tucked away Cause she got bare footed and pregnant Waiting on her someday

The worker furrowed his brows. “What is--” he spotted the open scripts in their hands and lowered his own hand. “Oh... okay...”

Peter felt a tickle of a grin almost appearing on his lips, amusement almost breaking his character. Almost.

Commercial deals, toddlers on every single ad Barely out of diapers, and we’re out there selling fads Taught to walk so we could tap dance and do a twirl And hold our hands out for all the gold, silver, and pearls

Yanked outta school when the lime lights calling us Daddy got you a gig, so you better not fucking fuss! Tuck in your gut, tilt up your chin, chest out and sing You’re gonna make it worth taking this diamond ring

What you do with heavy makeup and cameras flashing? Swallow cotton and pinch our cheeks red to stay dashing Seeing enemies in friends looking for a ladder to climb Trying to bring you to ruin when they find the right time To strike, like vipers on the hunt for your big juicy kill And the only way to stop the cracks is a tiny yellow pill

A tiny yellow pill A tiny yellow pill A handful of tiny yellow pills Until her heart went still

Naseem slowly started to unfold his arms, his character Stefan hit with a world-shattering realization. “Oh...”

Peter turned his face away. “Yeah...”

Naseem shook his head and sighed. “Man, I’m... I’m sorry. But, see, here’s the thing...”

I had never known you were crushed this hard Ruled by your fears, beaten, tattered, and battle scarred Now that I think it, so much shit start to make sense Is this why a little stage work gets you so incensed?

I hate that for you, all this pain you’ve been burdened Chasing a high and identity that doesn’t leave you hurtin’ But it’s unfair how you hurt Josef with your sister’s ghost Breaking a dream for someone else’s overdose

What does it do for the person on the other spectrum Piss poor, tryna get meds for his ailing, dying mum When even his close friend is robbing him of a dream Cuz he can’t stop himself from falling apart at the seam? Still blinded by phantom lights, suffocating at the gills? What about Josef’s mum little pills?

Her little pills Her life saving pills If she don’t get hers, then her heart will stand still.

This was the part where Peter is stunned into silence, indignant, hurt, scrambling for more excuses, still trying to cling to the death of his sister -- the crux of Troy’s listlessness and indifference. But then a loud cry rang out around them.

The crowd of mere picnickers grew during their rehearsal, it seemed, now cheering and clapping and whistling, someone even going “You tell him, baby!”

Stuttering, Peter looked towards Naseem and exchanged smiles with him. They stood closer together, held hands, and took a bow.

“Thank you, thank you!” Peter called out, waving to the cell phones held out. “If you want more, purchase tickets for Inner City Lights before they sell out!”

“Written and produced by Gunnar Didig!” Naseem added, calling out the website to purchase over the hooting and whistling.

#note to self: never write a musical #life thus far ( story )#droid noodles ( writing )#and suicide imp tw #long post

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badbitchwhomeditates · 3 years

Text

Who the fuck is this bitch?!

Read that again.

The answer is complex, not simple, which is what complex means you dumb fuck ( beep language kiddo). Ok, lets try that again...

Bad Bitch Who Meditates, a 23 year old singer with dreams bigger than the world itself, which is both a good and a bad thing, we will get to the importance of duality later. Either way she´s been struck by lightning and pushed into a corner loads of times in an industry where you have to fight to be heard and seen through the smallest of cracks. And yes I might also speak about myself in third person a lot, simply because I'm practicing being the main character from all perspectives, telling my story but also making everyday feel like an adventurous movie ( therefore the narrator vibes help).

Complaining, complaning, victim mindset bla bla bla you might think, im not gonna bore you, you know that things can be quite shit and you’ve probably heard about the `struggling artist” and all of that before.

Lets spread some more negativity shall we ey?

Maybe not that either, im just welcoming you in to my brain and my stream of consciousness on the journey of becoming or remaining? we shall see.

Im not gonna be here being all fairy lights and glitter in my eyes either, I am tho some days, but lately I’ve been bad, not a bitch cause I would never, slightly a bitch towards myself and I haven’t really done my meditation, its like the second I put down ” bad bitch who meditates, thats my slogan” in a song, I was like, cool its in a tune now so I’ve done the work I can relax.

Nope, it doesn’t stop.

Consistency in self care, healthy habits and your mental diet, the way you speak to yourself, it doesn’t stop. And its fkn annoying sometimes, especially when your chemical imbalance is so imbalanced that you don’t wanna get out of bed. Ive probably dealed with anxiety and depression since my debut on X-factor, oh yeah shit sorry, I have a name too, Im Awa and I won X-factor Sweden at 15 years old, completely changed my life like a marriage, for better or for worse. In that marriage I found myself, lost myself and now im kind of finding myself again...

Ok this is the part below where you get to knoooow me or something...

I guess why I wanted to start blogging again is A) I need to hold myself accountable to remain consistent with my glow up, cause I can proudly say I’ve really done some amazing progress and inner work B) I need to continue doing that and find my healthy balance and not put too much pressure on myself, ya get me? C) maybe help take away the stigma regarding mental health, and I wanna focus on the solutions, thats my whole new life concept 10 % problems, 90 % solutions, like if we are discussing something thats the ratio. Cause how can we ever see a solution if we go slow dancing w the problem for ages?

I know it can feel fkn amazing and cozy, like when you’ve been in bed w someone thats clearly not good for your heartstrings but you stay there anyway because for right now it feels all warm and fuzzy.

Oh silly girl, I mean forgiveness, forgiving other people and forgiving myself that is def something we are going to have to discuss as well, its one of the things I’ve tried to commit to this year. Ive come to the conclusion that its harder forgiving yourself after being too nice, theres only so much space on the scale for resentment, but you go to bed with you all the time and you beat yourself up on why you allowed that to happen? (Did that make any sense??)

Again, another lesson, feedback that we can grow from. Mind management, one of my fav terms, mind over matter. Damn sure that can feel extremely provocative said in the wrong situation. Im gonna be honest on here, ill make an oath or whatever its called ( oh yeah im also Swedish so we will have communication problems here and there, but whatever, I call that acceptance) ill be honest, personal but not private cause I need to protect my energy.

I would declare myself a self care queen but babe writing this, I just had a massive argument w my friend, that made me sad ( oh im a cry baby too, thats even the title of my EP lol), I hate conflict but im really trying so hard to stand up for myself and understand that my feelings are valid too and that uncomfortable situations are growing pains for our souls. I had my first panic attack in ages because this year is just shit and things that I’ve worked on for so long just crumbled down in front of me and I just felt like I was again taking two steps forward and one step back but at least we are moving.

Im not all sad, I’ve rightfully so have had a few bad 72 hours I would say, I don’t like this time of the year that much. But I know why, because I've been slacking w my routines, the ones we´ve carefully selected through trial and error inna real life and w my therapist ( she's real too but you get what im sayin) , it's ok not to be ok either but we have to put some kind of time limit on it so we don't sink into that deep hole again, i don't wanna go back there and I know what keeps me with my head above water and sometimes even frkn flying. We wanna stay consistent w the flying, that feels good, that's a goal now ok? Cause I used to fall into that trap of the deep hole until the pain of the known got far greater than the fear of the unknown.

Im happy we are here today, because as I said 10/90, nothing last forever, good or bad, which is comforting. Things will get better and we hold so much more power in our minds and souls than we realize that ultimately will mirror how we experience life. So im going to be on here, at least once a week, my therapist tells me not to set up crazy goals that I know I might not do because then it will make me feel shit etc so once a week feels reasonable.

Im open to suggestions about what we can chat about, ill share my 10/90, I want my clever friends to maybe drop a quote or blog here and there, Im good on camera, like vlogs or some shit. I probably wont bring you around all the time cause I don’t have the technological brain cells for that to be very honest with you. Maybe ill just come up with cute formats to the camera, thats a word you are going to hear a lot, ”format”, I have a concierge business w my friend Amy on the side of my music career called ” Pure Intuition”, basically we create events, formats and campaigns for brands and make them come true with the right profile etc and we create FORMATS, but if you missed it or if I was unclear Im a super cool singer signed to Columbia UK which was my childhood dream, so we are going to make Columbia our BITCH in 2021 hihi <3 <3. I studied economic entrepreneurship in college and im very business savvy, I love creating formats lol. Im slowly but surely building my fempire. What else, boys, I like boys, men, cute ” god spent some extra time on you”- looking boys, I mean men. I guess we will touch on that in the most anonymous manner, maybe ill just share some past flings cause you know, they’re in the past, passé. So yeah who the fuck is this bitch? you will find out alongside me, myself and I

get ready for the ride

love and light,

badbitchwhomeditates

#badbitch #spiritual development #self improvement #selfcare #main character #music #singer #aestheitcs

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alonely-dreamer · 5 years

Text

The Valuable Sun | Chapter 9

Summary: Godric and his district receive Nan Flanagan’s visit after the Fellowship of the Sun fiasco.

Pairing: Eric x OC

Warnings: 18+ (terrible smut ahead)

A/N: Please, note that I am French so there might be some mistakes here and there.

Words: 7219

Schedule: Next chapter will be posted on November 4

Masterlist

The sky was a light blue and dawn wasn’t far away as they drove back to the hotel in silence. Sookie and Brooklynne couldn’t wait to get back and lay down on their bed. They had just spent the most horrible couple of days, and they were impatient to be done and go home.

Eric booked a room for Jason, and Sookie was too tired to even think of asking him to get one for himself. The vampire let Brooklynne take a shower first and she collapsed on the bed as soon as she was out, but when he got out of the bathroom, she still wasn’t sleeping.

“I thought you’d be tired,” he said as he sat on his side of the bed.

“I’m exhausted.”

“What’s keeping you up?”

“All of it… Being stuck in that cage for two days… the explosion… I still can’t believe that man hated vampires so much he was ready to die if it meant taking at least one of you with him.”

“Hate is a powerful weapon.”

“And Steve Newlin won’t even be blamed for it.”

“I doubt it.”

She sighed. She turned around to face him, looking up at him from where her head was resting on the red silk pillow. “Thank you for saving my life.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You could have died.”

“It certainly was a possibility.”

“Then why did you do it?” If you don’t care, like you keep saying, she thought.

“I don’t know,” he said, being surprisingly honest with her.

“Godric is a good man.”

“Godric isn’t a man.”

“You may be vampires but you’re still men.”

“You’re exhausted, you don’t know what you’re saying,” he said, and she laughed.

“I know what I’m saying. And I mean it.”

“Then you’re a fool, Brooklynne Stackhouse.”

“Well, that’s not nice.”

“Sleep,” he told her. “We’ll have a lot to answer for tonight.”

“What do you mean?” she frowned.

“What happened last night will be all over the news. Which means we’ve attracted the unwanted attention of the AVL.”

“The American Vampire League…”

“Yes. They’re a pain in the ass, but they work for the Authority. They have power.”

“What’s the Authority?”

“A story for another time. Sleep.”

She sighed again. She was exhausted and she did want to sleep, but she was afraid of what she’d see once she closed her eyes.

“Sleep well, Eric.”

He looked down at her, lying beside him, with her eyes closed.

“Sleep well,” he said, but she had already fallen asleep.

***

Eric had been right, which didn’t surprise Brooklynne at all. The AVL was there, and the meeting was set at midnight. Bill, Sookie and Brooklynne were expected to attend as they had a few questions to answer. Eric was in a foul mood. He knew they were going to try and blame Godric, and he didn’t want to hear it. Nan Flanagan, the official AVL spokesperson, had come all the way to Dallas and booked the biggest suite of the hotel which, according to Eric, only meant they were seriously pissed and that heads would roll.

But Eric wasn’t the only one who had been right. Sookie hadn’t lied about the effect Eric’s blood would have on Brooklynne. She was indeed thinking about him more, and even though she was glad she hadn’t had any dreams about him yet, especially since he was sleeping right next to her, she could feel the attraction, and she could hardly keep her eyes off him. She woke up late in the afternoon and had escaped her room and joined her brother in his, hoping to avoid the vampire. But now, they were going to be in the same room for the rest of the night, and she couldn’t stop looking at him.

Nan was already waiting for them in the living room when they entered. She was sitting on a white faux leather footstool, near the two couches of the same fashion. Godric and Isabel had arrived first and were seated on the couch on her right. Bill, Sookie and Brooklynne were facing them, seated on the couch on Nan’s left. Eric had chosen a footstool near Brooklynne, facing both his maker, and the spokesperson. He didn’t look happy. Neither did she.

“Do you have any idea of the PR mess you’ve made?” she told them. “And who has to fucking clean that shit up? Me. Not you. Me. I should drain every one of you bastards.”

“Stan went after the church on his own,” Eric said. “None of us knew anything about it.”

“Oh really? Because everyone who’s met Stan in the last 300 years knew that he had a kink about slaughtering humans. But you, his nest mates, his sheriff, had no clue.”

Stan had been an (un)fortunate casualty of Luke’s suicide bombing, so now, the AVL needed a scapegoat and Eric would be damned if he let the AVL put the blame on his maker.

“And how were we supposed to know that this time he meant it?” Isabel asked.

“Not my problem. Yours,” she said as her eyes fell on Godric.

“Don’t talk to him that way,” Eric threatened her.

“Don’t talk to me that way,” she calmly warned him. “Let’s get to the point. How’d they manage to abduct you?”

“They would have taken one of us sooner or later,” Godric answered. “I offered myself.”

The information was news to Eric, who not only didn’t like it, but it also made him confused and scared for his maker.

“Why?” Nan asked, obviously surprised and confused herself.

“Why not?”

“They wanted you to meet the sun and you were willing?” she raised an eyebrow, looking at him like he was stupid, or insane, or both.

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re out of your mind.”

Eric thought the same. He didn’t look angry anymore, it was as if he had just understood something, something terrible, something he didn’t want to believe, something that made him sad. It took Brooklynne everything she had in her not to take his hand. She knew he wouldn’t like it, not now, not in the company of Nan or her bodyguards. It would be seen as weakness and he wouldn’t have it.

“And then I hear about a traitor?” Nan asked.

“Irrelevant. Only a rumor,” Godric told her. I’ll take full responsibility.”

“You bet you will.”

“You cold bitch,” Eric snarled.

“Listen. This is a national vampire disaster. And nobody at the top has any sympathy for any of you,” she explained to him before she returned her attention to Godric. “Sheriff, you fucked up. You’re fired.”

“I agree,” he nodded, “of course. Isabel should take over. She had no part in my disgrace.”

“Godric,” she said, stunned and confused. “Fight back.”

“What are you saying?” Eric asked, as stunned and confused as Isabel was. “She’s a bureaucrat. You don’t have to take shit from her!”

“You wanna lose your area, Viking?”

“Oh, you don’t have that kind of power.”

“Hey, I’m on TV. Try me,” she shrugged with a smile.

“I’m to blame. I should have contained Stan the second Godric went missing.”

“Isabel,” he stopped her. “I remove myself from all positions of authority.”

Eric breathed out. He didn’t recognize his maker. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out of it, too baffled to find the words.

“Works for me,” Nan said. “Come to my suite and fill out the forms.”

“Soon,” he nodded. “First, I have something to say,” he paused for a moment. “I’m sorry. I apologize for all the harm I’ve caused, for all our lost ones, human and vampire. I will make amends. I swear it.”

Nan grimaced. “Take it easy, it’s just a few signatures,” she said as she got up, tapping his shoulder twice before she left the room, followed by her people.

Godric got up as well but he was stopped by his progeny who blocked his way to the door.

“No,” he said. He knew, he understood, even though he didn’t really. He saw the pain, he saw the problem, but he didn’t like the solution his maker had chosen.

“Look in my heart.”

“You have to listen to me.”

“There’s nothing to say.”

“There is.”

Godric sighed. “On the roof,” he said before he walked out.

Brooklynne didn’t recognize the look on Eric’s face. She never thought she’d ever get to see him like this. He looked confused and destroyed. He felt helpless, and so did she, as she had no idea how to fix it.

“Eric,” she whispered as she took a step forward, then took his hand. She didn’t know what else to say, but she wanted to be there, even though he probably didn’t need her.

He slightly squeezed her hand, acknowledging her presence without looking back at her, but then let it go and turned around, following his maker’s footsteps.

“It’s going to be dawn in a little while,” Sookie said.

“I know.”

“I’m gonna find Godric.”

“Sookie, this has nothing to do with us. You’ve done enough for Dallas,” Bill told her.

“I’ll go,” Brooklynne said.

“What can you do?” Bill asked, trying to stop her.

“I’ll just… be there.”

She gave a look to her sister, who knew she couldn’t stop her, but also didn’t want to. No one deserved to die alone, and Eric couldn’t be up there when Godric met the sun, so someone else had to.

She found them on the roof. They were arguing, and she felt uncomfortable, she didn’t want to interrupt them, so she stayed behind, at the top of the stairs, waiting for the right time.

The sky was becoming brighter as the sun was about to rise and Eric tried, he gave everything he had, to make his maker change his mind.

“Two thousand years is enough.”

“I can’t accept this. It’s insanity!”

“Our existence is insanity. We don’t belong here.”

“But we are here!”

“It’s not right. We’re not right.”

“You taught me there is no right and wrong. Only survival or death.”

“I told a lie, as it turns out.”

“I will keep you alive by force!”

“Even if you could, why would you be so cruel?”

Eric swallowed, desperation coming to replace his anger. “Godric don’t do it,” he begged in Swedish.

“There are centuries of faith and love between us.”

Eric started crying, tears of blood filling his eyes, a lump forming in his throat.

“Please, please,” he sobbed between two breaths as he fell to his knees. “Please, Godric.”

“Father. Brother. Son,” he continued. “Let me go,” he said, in English this time.

Eric tried to compose himself, taking a deep breath as he straightened up, but avoided his maker’s eyes, tears of blood making their way down his cheeks.

“I won’t let you die alone.”

“Yes, you will,” Godric said, and more tears of blood found their way on Eric’s face.

Godric put a hand on his progeny’s head and stroke his hair once, then twice, before resting it on his nape. Eric rose to finally look up at him.

“As your maker,” he said. “I command you.”

Eric stood up, like he was ordered. His maker gave him a small smile, which Eric tried to return, before he turned around and found Brooklynne standing there, at the top of the stairs. She gave him a sad look as he approached her. Eric turned to take one last look at his maker and Brooklynne took his hand, encouraging him to go back inside, as the sun was rising in the horizon.

“I’ll stay with him,” she told him. “As long as it takes.”

He nodded, avoiding her gaze, before he walked away, leaving her alone with his maker.

“It won’t take long,” Godric said as she approached him. “Not at my age.” He turned around to face her, he too had tears of blood in his eyes. “Do you believe in God?”

“I don’t. But Sookie does. My Gran did.”

“If they’re right… how do you think He’ll punish me?”

“Well… my Gran would say that God doesn’t punish. God forgives.”

“I don’t deserve it.”

“Yes, you do.”

He laughed quietly. “You don’t know me.”

“I know enough.”

He gave her a small smile. “You’ll care for him?”

She frowned, confused for a second, but then nodded. “I… I’ll try. I don’t think he’ll want anyone to care for him. You know how he is.”

“I can take the blame for that too,” Godric smiled.

“Maybe not. Eric’s pretty much… Eric.”

Godric nodded. He then turned around, to face the rising sun. Brooklynne’s heart tightened inside her chest and she tried to swallow the lump appearing in her throat.

“Aren’t you scared?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I… I’m full of joy,” he breathed out a laugh as if he were surprised.

“But… the sun… the pain…”

“I want to burn,” he assured her.

“Well,” she sniffed, “I’m scared for you.”

“A human with me at the end,” he smiled, and she wiped her wet cheeks, “and human tears… Two thousand years, and I can still be surprised. In this I see God.”

His skin was starting to burn and as the sun rose higher and brighter, he gestured for her to step back. He turned around, fully facing the light, unbuttoning his white shirt which he let fall on the ground.

“Goodbye Godric,” Brooklynne said as a tear fell down her cheek, and he opened his arms to embrace the sun.

His body turned into blue flames which consumed him so fast she didn’t even have time to gasp as he disappeared silently before her eyes.

***

The blue skirt of Brooklynne’s dress caressed her thighs as she walked through the hotel’s hallways. She tried to dry her tears before she reached her room. She didn’t know what to expect once she opened the door. Would Eric even be inside? It was daytime, so he had to be in the hotel. She hoped he wasn’t doing anything stupid.

She slowly opened the door of her room and found Eric sitting on her side of the bed, looking down at his feet. He didn’t acknowledge her as she stepped inside. She saw the trails of blood on his cheeks, the tears falling onto his chest, staining his white shirt. She silently made her way to him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Godric is gone,” he said.

“Yes. I’m so sorry,” she replied as she slid a hand in his hair.

She couldn’t say she knew how he felt, because she had no idea what losing a maker felt like, or what it felt like to lose someone you’ve known for a thousand years, but she knew loss. She knew how it felt to lose a parent. She had lost three. There was nothing she could say that could make it better, that would make his grief go away. He had to go through it to accept it.

“Did he suffer?” he asked as he took the hand she had in his hair.

“No.”

He sniffed as he nodded. “Thank you. For staying with him.”

“Of course.”

She moved her hand from his shoulder to his face, cupping his cheek. She’d have wiped his tears away if she could, but all it would do was spread the blood on his face, making it worse. She didn’t know if it was because of his blood that was now part of her, or if she’d have done the same even without it, but she wanted to be close to him, to take care of him. She wondered if he’d let her.

“Come on,” she said as she took a step back and gently pulled him off the bed.

He frowned but allowed her to drag him to the bathroom. She took him to the sink, where she picked up a cloth. She opened the tap and wetted it with warm water, though she doubted he’d be bothered by anything cold. She turned towards him, wanting to clean the blood from his chest and face, but stopped when she realized he was too tall and that it would be more complicated than she had first thought. Understanding the problem, Eric put his hands on her waist, and made her sit on the counter with supernatural speed. She gasped, surprised by the unexpected movement.

“I told you not to do that,” she told him, and she thought she saw a smile on his face for a second.

She took a look at his chest and took the bloody top of his shirt between a finger and a thumb, tucking it down slightly to give her access to the blood that had dried on his skin. But she didn’t have to bother for long as he removed his shirt completely. She looked up at him for a quick moment before she started cleaning the blood off the top of his torso. He let her work in silence, and she could feel his eyes on her, never leaving her face. She tried to ignore it, tried not to blush too hard, but when she reached his face, it became harder to ignore his intense gaze.

Never in a million years would she have imagined being in this kind of situation, especially not with Eric. She’d always thought she’d be alone her entire life and being this close to someone had seemed like an impossibility just a week before. She never really thought about it either. Never gave too much thought about her future, or about anything. She never had the clarity of mind to do so. But now that she did, she didn’t know what to do. What was normal? What was expected of her? She’d always been different, did she really want that to change? She didn’t care about being ‘abnormal’, she just wanted to be free. Free of the voices, free of the house. Free to make her own choices. For once. And maybe Sookie wouldn’t like it, but she didn’t care. She’d make her own choices, she’d live her life, at last.

She left the bloody cloth in the sink after she was done. She placed her hands on each side of his clean face and stroked his cheeks with her thumbs. He didn’t look bothered. She could see his pain in his eyes. His eyes that were looking right at her, exploring her, like he was seeing her for the first time, getting to know her, maybe looking for something, something familiar, something that he needed. He looked like he found what he was looking for.

“Thank you,” he said as he leaned into her touch.

“What do you need?”

He raised an eyebrow, surprised, though he guessed he shouldn’t really be. She had a good soul, she’d want to help him in any way she could. He considered it for a moment. Could he ask that of her? Knowing she’d probably say yes because she wouldn’t say no to anything right now. Could he take what he wanted from her now, something he’d wanted ever since he had first met her, ever since she sat on his lap the first time, smiling back at him like he wasn’t the most dangerous person she’d ever met. She was careless, or at least she used to be, before he helped her cast the voices away, before he helped her find her own, find some lucidity in her life. But even after she found peace and quiet, she’d stayed with him, she hadn’t backed away like her sister had probably told her to. She was here, worried about him, wanting to help him, even after she’d found out about Lafayette. If he were a good person, he’d probably let her go. He wouldn’t be selfish, and he would stay as far away from her as possible. But right now, now that Godric was gone, it was he who had lost clarity. Even though he doubted that if he weren’t in pain at this moment, he’d probably still be doing what he was about to do.

“Are you ready to give me what I need?” he asked as he leaned forward, his hands moving from the counter to her waist as his eyes slowly fell on her neck.

A shaky breath escaped her. “Would it make you feel better?” she asked in a whisper.

“It’ll help.”

His answer was low but clear. She slowly brought a hand to her shoulder, brushing the hair away before she tilted her head, giving him access to her neck. He moved slowly, his nose sliding up her skin before his cold lips found her vein. She closed her eyes, waiting for the pain to come, but it never did. He moved up slightly, his cold breath reaching her ear.

“That’s not what I meant,” he murmured.

She frowned and found his eyes as he moved away from her neck, his face still inches from hers. Her mouth opened when she understood what he was saying, but no sound came out of it as she was rendered speechless. She was barely breathing, he wasn’t at all. He trapped her chin in his fingers, his eyes falling on her lips. She closed her mouth quickly and tried to swallow her nervousness away. She drew a shaky breath as he brushed his nose against hers. She waited for him without realizing it. Time had stopped and seconds turned to hours as he still wasn’t moving. She didn’t know what to do, her thoughts were colliding together in her mind, making it impossible for her to make a decision. Eventually, she moved, instinctively maybe, or because she was getting impatient, because she wanted it, needed it, but she raised her head, so slightly maybe it wasn’t even anything, but he saw it. He saw it for what it was or for what he wanted it to be: permission.

His lips found hers quickly, urgently, a bit roughly. She reacted immediately, kissing him back. He pulled her to him and her chest crashed into his, his hand resting on her lower back. Her hands left the counter to find a place on his bare chest. His fingers slid in her hair, holding her head in place as he kissed her. She didn’t know what she was doing, but he did. He slightly opened his mouth, his tongue licking her lips, pushing for access, access that she granted. She let his tongue wander on her lips, in her mouth, let him play with her own. A moan escaped her as she felt his hand move from her back to her hip, down to her thigh. He pushed the skirt away, his fingers travelling on her skin, going high, higher than she should let him.

His long and cold fingers reached the top of her thigh, his thumb stroking her skin once, before his caresses moved up. But they didn’t take the direction that she feared. His fingers returned to her waist, his thumb going up, not stopping until he reached her bra. Her breasts were surprisingly heavy for someone her size. He didn’t bother to take it off, he went over it, sliding his thumb inside the cup, making her gasp and break the kiss. But he didn’t stop. He captured her lips again as he found the pink and hard button he was looking for. Bothered by all the layers covering her, he didn’t play with it for long before he removed his hand from under her dress, surprised she had let him go so far.

He broke the kiss as both his hands found her lower back and he pulled her to him, fast and hard, taking her by surprise. She didn’t even feel him lift her. One second she was sitting on the counter, and the next she was back in the bedroom, lying on the bed. He was kneeling before her, his imposing figure towering above her. His right knee brushed against her left leg as it went up, and up, opening her legs. The skirt of her dress curled up, concealing her underwear. She felt her cheeks turn red as his eyes travelled, oh so slowly, from her bare legs to her eyes. She swallowed as he locked his gaze with hers. He leaned forward, his right hand coming to rest on the soft mattress near her head. His face approached hers unhurriedly and she tried hard not to look away. She closed her eyes, however, when she felt his fingers on her thigh once more.

“Are you ready to give me what I need?” he repeated, whispering in her ear.

Her heart had never beaten faster, she felt like it was about to leave her chest. Giving him her blood was one thing but giving him her body was another. At that moment, she wished she knew what he was thinking. Or maybe, it was better that she didn’t. She wasn’t ready for this. She hadn’t expected this. Nor did she expect to want it, and yet, despite the fear, despite the unknown, she did. She wanted to know what it would feel like to be with him. She wanted to do what it would feel like to be cared for by him.

“Yes,” she replied, so low only he could have heard her.

She had barely said the word that his lips were on hers once again. His right hand fisted the bedsheet as his left moved up her thigh. He pulled on the dress once, to warn her about what he was about to do, which she didn’t understand at all. He tore the blue dress apart, leaving her in her pink underwear. She gasped as she felt the fabric leave her body. Her right breast was already coming out of its cup thanks to Eric’s earlier exploration. His lips left hers, stopping on her chin, then on her throat, then on her upper chest before they found her cleavage. She shivered as his cold fingers slid beneath her and reached the clasp of her bra. He threw it away across the room. She immediately had the reflex to cover herself, but he stopped her, gently grabbing her wrists. He looked up at her, but when she looked away, he put her arms up above her head, pressing her wrists against the mattress. She couldn’t move when all she wanted was to cover herself.

“Don’t,” he said as she tried to free her hands.

She begged him with her eyes, a faint sob escaping her throat. He pressed a gentle kiss on her lips before he returned his attention to her breast. She looked up at the ceiling as his nose slid down her cleavage. He lowered her arms that he kept pinned against the mattress. His lips kissed her right breast, his tongue licked her nipple before he trapped it in his mouth. A shaky breath escaped her as he played with one of the most intimate parts of herself. He eventually let go of her arms but only so he could play with her left nipple. He caressed it with his thumb, over and over again, and he could feel it harden under his touch. She moaned, suddenly finding pleasure as she relaxed under him.

His right hand abandoned her left nipple and slid down her body, finding the waistband of her underwear. She instantly put a hand over his, but it didn’t stop him. He slid a finger under it, and her gasp didn’t make him stop either. He released her nipple and kissed his way back up to her face as he slid another finger under her panties. She drew a long breath as his fingers found the most intimate part of her body.

“You’re already wet for me,” he said as he looked down. Heat invaded her face and even more so when he looked back up at her. “Up,” he instructed her, and she gave him a confused look, which he found more arousing than perhaps it should have.

He tugged at her underwear to make her understand. She silently obeyed, lifting herself up slightly to allow him to remove her damp panties.

“Good girl,” he smirked, and even though she thought it wouldn’t be humanly possible for her to blush even more, she did.

His fingers returned to her wet lips and she closed her eyes at his cold touch.

“Breathe,” he told her, and she realized she was holding her breath. “Make me stop,” he said, and even though it sounded like a challenge, she knew what he meant. They could stop this at any moment, any second, if she wanted to.

She watched as he left the bed and knelt on the floor. He put a kiss on her right leg, then another, kissing his way up her inner thigh, eventually reaching the hot mess between her legs. She looked up at the ceiling, unable to meet his gaze, as she covered her face with her hands. She whimpered as his tongue licked her lips. He slowly licked up his way to the one thing he wanted right now, the button that would have her crumble completely. He pulled her closer to him, her legs resting on his shoulders. His mouth closed on her, making her moan. He licked the button, that bundle of nerves, played with it, slowly at first, then faster, and faster, and faster, faster than any human could have done. She didn’t know what to do with herself as pleasure built up inside her, taking over her muscles, her thoughts, her entire mind. She couldn’t think, unintelligible words coming out of her mouth. His name maybe was the only thing they could both understand.

She shattered completely on the bed after a few minutes. His hands keeping her trembling body still as he wouldn’t let go, as he carried her through her first orgasm. She was panting when he finally let go, kissing the inside of her thigh before he stood up. He watched as her body kept twitching, as she tried to catch her breath. When she realized he was seeing her wholly, completely, she moved up a leg, trying to conceal herself, as if he hadn’t seen all of her yet. She propped herself up on her elbows, looking back at him, waiting in confusion. His hands reached his pants, and she watched as he unbuttoned his jeans. He took everything off, exposing himself to her like she was exposed to him. Her eyes grew big as she saw his length, a shaky breath escaping her lips as she moved back a little as she looked up at him.

“Make me stop,” he repeated, offering her a way out.

She swallowed, her throat feeling dry, considering it. But she shook her head as she whispered: “I don’t wanna stop.”

“Good,” he said as he knelt on the bed, making his way back to her.

He kissed her, roughly, his lips crashing on hers. She let him push her back onto the mattress as she kissed him back, sliding her fingers into his hair. His own fingers found their way back to her wet folds and she gasped as this time, he wasn’t going to stop there. He slid a finger slowly into her, the unfamiliar touch made her feel uncomfortable. At first. But as he kissed her, as he pushed his finger in and out, she became more and more aroused and eager. She moved her hips to meet his movement, and he slid a second finger into her. The pressure only lasted a few seconds before pleasure found her. She knew what he was doing, she’d read enough books to know that she needed to be ready for a man of his size. But the books hadn’t been nearly indicative of how it all felt. She felt dazed, drowning in pleasure but also in uncertainty and nervousness. She was light-headed, her core burning at the idea of giving him what he wanted while he was giving her what she needed. That need that he had put inside of her, that his touch had created. He was a thief, stealing everything from her, her breath, her clarity, herself. Everything she was and everything she had was his. She was at his mercy as his fingers entered her, made her moan, made her forget everything else but his lips on her neck and his hands on her body.

She groaned as he slid a third finger, perhaps too early, inside of her. The pressure lasted longer as his long fingers opened her up, made her ready for what was to come. What she had promised him, what she could take away at any time if she wanted. He had given her so much power, he too was at her mercy as she could stop it all before it even started. But she wouldn’t be so cruel. She wanted to give him everything, just so he could feel a little better, even if it only lasted a second.

As she was getting lost in the building pleasure, he suddenly moved, making them lay on their side. He removed his fingers, resting his hand on her bottom. She put a hand over his but didn’t remove it. He kissed her, slowly this time, more gently than before.

“Make me stop,” he repeated as he put a kiss on her shoulder.

But she didn’t stop him. Not even when she felt him against her thigh. He was cold, she should have known, but hadn’t expected it.

Suddenly, a thought crossed her mind. She should have thought of it before, way earlier, but suddenly, she wondered if he knew. The way he was touching her, the way he was doing everything told her that he did, but she wondered, maybe he was being gentle because she was human, or because of that other reason. Maybe, he didn’t know.

“Wait,” she stopped him, putting a hand on his chest. “I…”

“What?”

She avoided his gaze, feeling embarrassed for not having told him before.

“I… I’m…”

“I know,” he said, and the revelation made her look up at him. “It’s okay. It won’t hurt, not for long,” he told her, and she nodded. “Do you want to stop?”

“No,” she shook her head.

He resumed what he had started, moving his hand from her bottom to her thigh, lifting it, slightly, but enough, to allow him to find her entrance. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder as she felt the tip of his length reached her lips. She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the pain to come.

“Hey,” he whispered so gently it didn’t sound like him. He removed her arm from his neck then cupped her cheek in his hand.

He leaned forward to kiss her, gently, slowly, for a minute, and then another one. To make her forget about the situation they were in below. When she was relaxed, he slowly pushed himself inside of her, making her gasp, then wince as she felt the uncomfortable pressure. He withdrew himself slowly, then entered her once again. He did it a few times until the pressure was gone, until she forgot about it. He went a little further every time, getting her used to his size, but he quickly reached the wall, and she felt it as he did. He never stopped kissing her, not even when she cried out when they became one. He never stopped, never slowed down, his movement only becoming faster as she relaxed in his arms.

She was a moaning mess and every little sound she made filled him with desire. He was so big and so deep inside of her. He could feel her reaching her limit, her early orgasm was to be expected. She cried out his name as she felt it too and his thrust never ceased, not even when she crumbled into his arms. He carried her through the orgasm as it travelled through her like lightning, down her spine to her legs, to her toes. She moaned loudly as she trembled, bliss taking over her quickly, as she felt like she was going to pass out. But the feeling never went away as his hips kept meeting hers, faster and faster. She heard him groan now, though he’d been doing that for a while, she was just now registering her surroundings once again.

He moved suddenly so that she was lying on her back and he was on top of her. He moved her legs up which she locked around his waist like he wanted. She felt him slowing down and even though his pace was becoming too much for her, she knew he wouldn’t find his pleasure if he held back.

“Eric,” she said but it was difficult to find the words. “Don’t… slow down.”

He slowed down, however, misunderstanding her words. He put a kiss on her shoulder before he found her face. She brought a weak hand to his cheek before she tried again.

“Don’t slow down,” she told him, and he tilted his head, silently asking her if she knew what she was asking for. “I want… to give you what you need.”

He raised an eyebrow, and she saw uncertainty in his eyes. “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

She shook her head. “I want to give you what you need.”

“You’ve given enough,” he said, straightening up so he was towering over her before he thrusted into her, hard and unexpectedly.

She gasped and moaned at the sudden movement. Despite what he knew was best for her he couldn’t deny there was something deep within him that wanted to take the opportunity to fuck her hard and fast and leave her a sobbing mess until she passed out on his cock. Everything about her was confusing, he wanted to protect her, but he also wanted to destroy her, in the best of ways. She was so innocent and pure and right now his and only his. No man had ever been there before and the idea of another man touching her, making her his, enraged him. He thrusted into her again, harder this time. He was claiming her, and he wanted her forever, another companion for the next thousand years, someone who would never leave him like Godric just did. Someone who would be with him for him, like Godric had found him and chosen him to be his companion. Pam wasn’t it. He loved Pam and he’d spent the rest of forever with her, but she was no Brooklynne Stackhouse. There was something there, a light only a human could have, a light he knew she wouldn’t lose even in the darkness because it was part of her.

He wanted her.

But did she want him?

He leaned forward again and rested his forehead against hers. She took his face in her hands, confused by his sudden silence, waiting for him to move, to say something.

“Be mine.”

It took her by surprise. He didn’t move as he waited for her to answer.

“Give me what I need. Be mine,” he repeated, and it sounded like a plea. He was vulnerable now like he had been on the roof. He had lost someone he loved deeply and now he needed someone to fill that gap. Brooklynne knew she could never fill that gap, but she could be something else, something new, something he needed.

He waited patiently for her to either break his heart or save him. There wasn’t much left of his heart, he kept it hidden, but she’d seen glimpses of it before and she’d seen a lot of it tonight. She was just what his heart needed right now after it had been left vulnerable by Godric’s departure.

She didn’t know what to say. Hadn’t she already given him everything? She was lying under him, at this moment, he was buried deep within her. She had told him her secrets, given him her first kiss, her first everything. What more could she do? Wasn’t she already his?

The next words that came out of her mouth woke something in him. Something raw, something untamed. His lips mashed against her, demanding something, anything, everything. He seized her wrists and pinned them against the mattress above her head. She didn’t think he’d react that way, she didn’t know what she expected to happen, but not this. He was unleashed, free to do with her as he pleased. She was his. His.

He straightened up, towering over her once again, releasing her hands, resuming his thrusts. He was reaching deep inside of her, hard and fast, harder and faster. He growled as he lost himself within her, taking what she offered, what he needed. She moaned and cried out as the world disappeared around her, maybe it hurt or maybe it was just pure bliss, she couldn’t tell. Maybe she passed out, then came back to consciousness just to pass out again. All she knew was his hands on her thighs, his growls and groans in the air. She could only feel him, in and out, in and out, over and over again, so fast she couldn’t even tell the difference anymore. She raised her hands, just to let them fall back on the mattress. She moved her head, right, left, up and down, it didn’t matter, she couldn’t see anything. Time disappeared with her lucidity. Maybe she’d been having one long orgasm that lasted minutes after minutes or maybe she just came over and over again, but it all blended together until he found euphoria between her legs. She cried out as the thrusting stopped. She felt him empty himself inside of her, heard him growl loudly, before he thrusted into her again, once, and twice, making her cry out each time, exhausted and sore.

When he removed himself, she felt like she had just lost a part of her, something that had always been there. He laid down beside her twitching body. She was out of breath, pearls of sweat sliding down her skin. She called his name, missing his touch already, and he brought her to him. She breathed out as she rested her head on his chest, barely aware of where she was. She only knew him and that was enough.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, and she didn’t understand.

“What?” she said, half conscious.

“Did I hurt you?” he reformulated, now more in control of himself, now aware of what he had just done, of what he had been doing for the past hour.

“No.”

“I should have stopped when you passed out the first time.”

“I passed out?”

He caressed her bare shoulder with his fingers, wondering if he should be worried or amused.

“Did I give you what you needed?” she asked, and he nodded.

“Yes.”

He hesitated, wondering if he should let her fall asleep are clean her up. There was blood on the bed, among other substances. But she was already falling asleep.

“Say it again,” he asked while she was still conscious.

“What?”

“Say it again.”

She sighed, tired and content. “I’m yours, Eric.”

“Yes. You are mine.”

*********

Tags: @thepoet1975 @nerdysandwichqueen @catchmeupimgettingoutofhere @raegan-hale @colie87

#true blood #eric northman #eric x oc #sookie stackhouse #godric #fanfiction #fanfic #smut #imagine #eric x reader #reader #oc

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pellicano-sanguino · 4 years

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Finland’s most famous graveyard must be Hietaniemi Cemetery. Many famous people are buried there, including presidents. And a whole bunch of artists. They have a separate area for them, the “artist’s hill.” But one famous artist didn’t get to be buried there among other great painters, sculptors and writers.

Helene Schjerfbeck.

One of the most famous Finnish artists wasn’t buried in the artist’s hill. She did get a grave in another part of Hietaniemi Cemetery, though. And that grave? Until very recently, was left unattended, growing weeds. It was only because there’s a movie coming out about Schjerfbeck that someone pointed out the sorry state of her grave. Everyone excited about the movie was making great speeches how her art being so loved internationally brought Finns national pride, and someone wrote an angry comment in the newspaper, pointing that it’s disrespectful for politicians and art patrons to claim they love and appreciate her work while her grave grows nettles and we can’t be bothered to pay for the caring of her grave from public sources.

Some organisation took taking care of Schjerfbeck’s grave as their responsibility. But it was still very disturbing to me how a female artist was treated so differently, even in death.

The reason I’m writing this is because I went to see Portrait of a Lady on Fire recently. The movie left me an emotional wreck, it touched me on such a basic, almost subconscious level that I’m not sure I’m able to write anything coherent about my feelings. But I will try. Though I think this is a movie one must see for oneself, nothing I say about it will be able to describe the experience properly.

This post contains spoilers for the movie.

The movie is set in 1770 France. A time when female artists were forbidden from painting men, but allowed to paint portraits of women. The protagonist Marianne is one such exceptional lady who had a father open minded enough to allow her an artist’s career instead of choosing from the remaining three options.

The remaining options? Convent, marriage or suicide.

The plot revolves around a woman, Heloise, who chose convent, but has that choice forcibly taken away from her after her sister chose suicide over arranged marriage and the family now needs to go for plan B and sell their second daughter to some man she has never met. Her mother needs a portrait of her to use as a selling tool, showing it to the man she intends to make her marry. Heloise resists and refuses to pose for an artist. So her mother hires Marianne, who is to pretend to be someone hired for keeping Heloise company, but secretly she is painting her portrait.

I admit I don’t often enjoy watching movies. It’s just not my medium of choice. But then again, most of the movies I’ve seen are Hollywood stuff or pretentious artsy films, and both of those can be too much for someone as sensitive as I am. I can’t handle violence or unnecessary sex scenes. Also, the vast majority of movies are stories made by men, about men, for men. Even the women in movies are seen through the eyes of men.

But this movie is made by women, about women, for women.

The absence of man’s eyes is notable in small details. How there are no important male characters in this movie, men only show up in the very beginning and end and even then they are just background extras. The fact that we don’t get sex scenes (a male director could never resist doing that when handling a story about lesbians). The fact that both leading ladies look rather plain, ordinary women instead of your typical Hollywood barbie-dolls. The last time I saw a woman in a movie with unshaved armpits was back in highschool when during Swedish lesson we watched some Swedish flick that had a loudly feminist character who made a point of not shaving.

There’s a scene where a woman goes to an old lady to get an abortion done. If this scene was done by a man, if it had been filmed in Hollywood, they would have made her scream in pain and showed the blood and discharge and feasted on every gruesome detail of the procedure. But the scene is calm, peaceful and intimately respectful. We don’t need to see any details. Focusing on what’s going on between her legs is unnecessary, seeing her face trying to keep calm but breaking into silent, suffocated cries is enough.

Women suffer silently. We have all been taught to grin and bear it, the harder it hurts, the harder you must smile.

The movie isn’t gloomy and depressing. The unpleasant truths jab at your heart without you noticing. Because they let the story speak for itself. No one needs to point out the unfairness of women’s fate in a world ruled by men. The doomed romance between Marianne and Heloise speaks loud enough. Their knowledge that once the portrait is finished, it’s all over. Heloise’s family home is situated on an island with steep cliffs around its shores and surrounded by the restless, ice cold waters of the sea. It’s all very symbolic. There is no escape.

The story builds slowly, patiently. I shouldn’t constantly compare this to Hollywood movies, but in an American movie you could never have this few spoken lines and take this long before the romance buds. Marianne knows she only has few days to finish the portrait, but she and Heloise don’t rush anything and live like they had all the time in the world. They are powerless to do anything to the fate looming ahead and instead spend their last days together without worrying about it. But the viewer is constantly aware of what is going to happen in the end. The tension builds, invisible hands are placed on my throat and slowly tighten their grip. When the last scene begins, I feel so choked by catharsis that I have to breathe through parted lips. I was happy for the movie theater’s darkness, so that neither of my friends sitting beside me could see the tears flowing down my cheek. Women suffer silently, I have been taught to hide my tears and be ashamed if they are discovered.

My friends gave me a ride back home and we talked about the movie. Tigel mentioned that she’d probably have to search the net for fix-it-fics to help her deal with her feelings. I responded that I probably have to call my mother and thank her for letting me choose my own fate and loving me just as I am.

I had to make a phone call like that once before. It was when I was reading Well of Loneliness by Radclyffe Hall. At first I didn’t even like the book, or the main character. But slowly I began to notice similarities between myself and Stephen. They felt so familiar, so much more personal than any of the things het characters in other books did or said. I became frighteningly aware that this book wasn’t just about one specific person, it was about my people. I knew that the story wouldn’t have a happy ending (with a name like Well of Loneliness, what do you expect?) but I couldn’t stop reading. I felt as if I had a responsibility to read on, that I owed it to my past fellow lesbians. Stephen was a fictional character, but she was made to speak for us, to speak for the unfairness of a homosexual’s fate in a world ruled by heteros. For the silent suffering of women who were rejected by society.

When I got to the part where Stephen’s mother tells her that she wished she had never been born, I had to stop. The pain became unbearable. I had to put the book away and call my mother, seeking relief from the invisible hands choking me. I don’t remember that call very well, because I was an emotional mess during it. I remember telling her over and over again that I don’t take for granted the fact that she loves me despite knowing I’m a lesbian. That I am painfully aware that many have not been as fortunate as me. Even today, even in modern, civilized countries like Finland, there are countless gays and lesbians who are rejected by their parents. When you’re homosexual, being loved by your parent isn’t a default, it’s a matter of luck. I have been so very, very lucky.

Both the Well of Loneliness and Portrait of a Lady on Fire have touched me by making me aware of the history of my people. While some parts of our history is celebrated (all the great artists and other historic figures who were one of us), there’s the heavy weight of knowledge about our oppression, how in order for lesbians to live happily ever after in the past they had to be sneaky and so very, very lucky. Not all lesbians were Anne Listers, whose family was ok with not pressuring her to marry. I feel pain thinking how many women there must have been who were forced to suffer just like Stephen, just like Heloise.

Another reason why our history lies heavy on my mind is because so much of it is lost, hidden, denied and shamed because of heteros. They burned Sappho’s poems. Fire also claimed the love letters men sent to Philippe, brother of Ludwig XIV. While gay men were sentenced openly, lesbianism wasn’t even spoken out loud, out of fear that women couldn’t commit such a sin if they were unaware of its existence. Oscar Wilde was sentenced to prison and died in France, his legacy to the art of writing unappreciated by his countrymen. How many of our graves grew nettles, because we were the dirty secret that everyone wanted to forget? How many of us had uncared graves because the only thing lesser than a woman is a woman who refuses to center her life around a man?

Now I’m going to voice an unpopular opinion that’s probably going to give me hatemail but I’m going to voice it anyway. I don’t like it when people posthumously push trans identity to people who did not identify as trans in life. There’s no way around it, I find it disrespectful. The reason I’m mentioning this is, that despite not liking it, I completely understand why they do it. Trans folks long for a history. They want their own Sapphos and Oscar Wildes. They want great historic characters to look up to and think “We have always been here and despite the world being against us, we could achieve great things.” The weight of lesbian and gay history can be a painful burden, but it will also give us comfort, knowing that people like us have always been and will always be there, that even when heteros made attempts to silence us or wipe us out of existence, we clung to the surviving parts of our history and treasured them. We will never know what the full poem behind the fragment “Someone will remember us/I say/even in another time” was like, but even so those words are precious to us. I do not blame trans folks for wishing for a history, even small fragments to reach through time and give them comfort.

In case I will receive hatemail for this, I will make an announcement. I have no obligation to react to any message, comment or reblog sent my way. This is my blog, my house, my personal space. I decide who is invited in and who is not. If someone tries to contact me and I see they want to debate, before even reading what they’ve written to me, I will check their blog. A quick glance will usually be enough to reveal if the person in question is capable of intelligent and mature conversation or if engaging in debate with them will just be playing chess with a pigeon (the pigeon will knock the pawns over, bite your nose, shit on the board and then fly to boast to its fellow pigeons how well it won you in a game of chess). If I deem you a pigeon chess player, you will be ignored. I have no time to waste on useless debate. All terfhunters will be ignored as well, I do not wish to interact with the likes of them. However, just like not all gender criticals are radical feminists, not all trans folks are terfhunters. I am willing to speak with people I disagree with, but I will be choosing who I wish to speak with and who I won’t. If I see that you can’t behave, you are not welcome here.

#portrait of a lady on fire #lesbian #feminism

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vkelleyart · 5 years

Photo

Happy Valentine’s Day, loves! My candy heart comes to you in the form of this fluffy illustrated one-shot (a.k.a. fic-with-a-pic). I hope you enjoy it!

TITLE: “Merlin, May I?” (7466 words)

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: When Simon Snow gets roped into a game of ‘Merlin May I’ against Baz Pitch, what starts off as a competition between mages for the most dangerous request ends up precipitating an unexpected collision of hearts.

READ ON AO3 | Fic + art close-ups are under the cut

Special thanks to @carryonsimoncarryonbaz, @penpanoply, and especially Mr. VKelleyArt (Merlin May I kiss you?) for beta reading this fic. ❤️

SIMON

Ah, Spring!

With the sun on my face, the promise of a warm roast beef sandwich in my pocket, and an outdoor luncheon with Penny to look forward to, I’m living in the present moment for a while. The rains have finally given way to clear skies and a crisp breeze. Green has returned to the Great Lawn. And, in a pleasant turn of events, Agatha’s started talking to me again since we broke up last winter. (Okay, maybe not actually talking, but she’s not scurrying off in the opposite direction when she sees me approaching in the hallway anymore. Progress.)

My faith in humanity momentarily restored, and death-by-dark-creature and other variations of my imminent doom seemingly far away, few things on earth could spoil a day like today.

“Oi, Snow!”

Except maybe that.

I turn my gaze downhill to see the voice hailing me belongs to Dev Grimm. Beside him, sneering at me from below a perfect wave of black hair is Baz Pitch.

They are both standing on the inner edge of a circle chockablock with eighth-years. It looks like some sort of spectator event is happening, because standing in the center of the circle are Gareth and Niall, the expression on Gareth’s face bleak and dazed, like he’s just misplaced his dignity and doesn’t know where to look for it.

Dev calls me again. “Fancy joining in, Simon?”

“Not likely,” I say, watching Gareth drag his feet up toward the drawbridge like a man condemned. “What happened to him?”

Baz turns toward me and runs a hand through his hair, moving it out of his eyes. “Gareth was just defeated in Merlin May I,” he answers, prompting the spread of a pompous grin across Niall’s face. “And now Niall here will reap the benefits of Gareth’s… concessions.” A rumble of laughter moves through the crowd.

I frown.

“‘Merlin May I’? What in the name of magic is that?”

“You don’t want to know, Simon. It’s a rotten game,” says Penny, traipsing down behind me. “And shame on all of you for enabling this ridiculousness!” she scolds the crowd, instigating a sea of eye-rolls.

“Come now, Bunce,” says Baz, stepping through an opening in the crowd toward us. “You don’t mean to say you’ve never played Merlin May I. I figured you a braver magician than that.”

Penny’s eyes turn into slits behind her glasses. “Refusing to play that nightmare of a game has no bearing on my bravery. It just means I’m not a glutton for punishment. Or a thundering idiot.”

Baz’s eyes move away from Penny and fix on me. I feel my cheeks flush, and suddenly the sun’s warmth overhead is bordering on oppressively hot.

“That’s perfect. Snow is both. I bet he’d love to play.”

BAZ

Aleister Crowley, I can’t believe my luck. Fate has delivered Simon Snow to my Merlin May I tournament, and though his plucky sidekick is trying to tug him away, he’s still rooted to the spot, which tells me he’s a few carefully timed insults away from playing a round of it himself.

“Simon, don’t you dare,” warns Bunce.

“Don’t worry, Penny. I don’t even know what Merlin May I is.”

“I’d be delighted to bring you up to speed,” I say. “Merlin May I is the mage’s hawk-dove game. We take turns making requests—to do things, take things, and generally force our opponent’s hand—until someone makes a request the other person can’t comply with. Dev, care to brief Snow on the rules?”

“Gladly,” he replies. “The rules are simple…”

You must say “Merlin May I” at the start of every request.

You may not repeat any requests already made.

No requests that will result in shagging, death, or other potentially fatal calamities are allowed either.

To accept a request, you must say “Yes, you may.” Otherwise, say: “You may not.”

The first person to say “You may not” loses the game, and the game is over.

When the game ends, every request the loser agrees to during the game, the winner gets to carry out.

“In other words, say ‘yes, you may’ at your peril,” I finish.

“So it’s ‘chicken’?” Simon sums up. “You just ask questions to see how much the other person will tolerate before they decide they don’t want you to completely fuck them over?”

“No. Chicken is prosaic and dull. Merlin May I is a game of risk and trust. A test of free will,” I reply grandly. “Your opponent may or may not throw you to the merewolves depending on what you request, so you’ll need to weigh just how much harm you want to inflict against how much you’re willing to take. Which is also to say that you should only ask questions you already know the answer to if you want to stay in the game, and that is the last tip I’m giving you.”

“It sounds terrible. I’ll pass.”

“What’s the matter?” I say. “Worried I’ll ask to move your bed to the bottom of the moat?”

“You probably would,” Simon mutters. “Why would anyone play this game? Seems like an easy way to lose friends and make enemies.”

He isn’t wrong. Watford played host to one of the most epic Merlin May I games of all time, and it brought a dramatic end to the school’s then-power couple, Gemma Harrington and Claus Beuchner. They were eight hours into the game when Gemma asked to fly Beuchner’s parents’ Lamborghini into a maelstrom and Claus agreed. He was out of his depth, of course, lost spectacularly, and got into so much trouble for agreeing to Gemma’s requests that his parents made him volunteer to scoop dragon dung at the Swedish Speartail Sanctuary for the rest of term. When he returned, the aroma of smoke and putrescence followed him around the halls for several months.

“Precisely,” I say. “I’m already your enemy. You have nothing to lose.”

“No, thanks. Come on, Penny.” Snow takes a bite from his sandwich, adjusts his rucksack over his shoulder, and turns like he’s about to leave.

I never want him to leave.

“Come, Snow. I’ll make sure your defeat is quick and painless.”

At this, Simon fixes me with an icy glare. “Who says you’d defeat me?”

“I do.”

“You won’t be feeling so jammy in a minute,” he snaps.

I smirk. “Then you’re in?”

Simon drops his rucksack, takes another bite of sandwich, and straightens his jacket. “I’m in.”

“Splendid,” I say.

“Simon!” exclaims Bunce.

“It’ll be fine, Pen,” Simon mutters. “There’s hardly anything terrible this prat can do to me that he hasn’t already done.”

“Apart from kill you!”

I roll my eyes. “As much as it’s in everyone’s best interest for Snow to die, Bunce, requesting his death is against the rules.”

Bunce glares at me, then at Simon. “I’m not playing witness to this. Go ahead and have at it. I’m going to lunch.”

“Oh, come on, it’ll just be a moment,” Simon calls after her, but she’s already storming away. He turns back to face me and sighs. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Yes. Let’s.”

Dev steps forward. “Hands up,” he says and pulls his wand out of his pocket. I extend my right hand toward Simon.

Snow is instantly suspicious. “What’s this about?”

“Insurance,” I answer, “to ward against cheating and ensure we carry out what we agree to. Go on.”

Hesitantly, he takes it. Dev lays the tip of his wand against our joined hands and says, “Do or do not. There is no try.” Dev’s magic sinks blue and cold into our skin.

The game has begun.

“You can start,” I say.

“Fine,” Simon huffs, then takes a massive bite of sandwich as he thinks of something to ask for. After a solid minute of chewing, which I can only assume takes so long because it is directly fueling his capacity for thought, Snow finally says, “Merlin May I pass your essay for Magical Words class off as my own?”

“Yes, you may,” I snigger. “Though I should warn you that Miss Possibelf isn’t a complete moron and will know who really wrote it by the time she gets three words in.”

“I didn’t ask for commentary. Your turn.”

“Merlin May I keep our window closed at night for the rest of term?”

Simon rolls his eyes. “Is this why you wanted me to play? So you could magically strongarm me into complying with your petty wishes?”

“I’m just taking advantage of a rare opportunity to get what I want without throwing curses at you,” I reply. “Your answer?”

“Yes, you may,” he grumbles. “But then… Merlin May I practice my swordplay on your side of the room?”

I frown at him. “I’m assuming you can resist shredding my bedsheets. And clothes. And all my bloody furniture. Yes, you may.”

Simon smiles, satisfied at having sufficiently lowered my upper hand and disturbed my good mood.

We go on for several rounds, and Snow impresses me with his creativity. He manages to rope me into trading soap with him (which pained me deeply to accept, but I suppose even Simon would prefer not to smell like a hospital once in a while) and confiscating my stash of salt and vinegar crisps because apparently the crumbs get stuck to his bare feet. I told him he wouldn’t have to fuss about it if he’d stop being a Neanderthal and get a set of slippers. (At which point, he Merlin-May-I’ed mine away from me.)

But it’s all relatively harmless. Nothing he’s asked for has legitimately threatened me, and as a result, I’ve had a decently challenging time trying to match Snow’s list of requests. I’ve obstructed Bunce’s secret visits to Mummer’s House, and I’ve forced him to let me Clean As a Whistle his side of the room whenever it starts to look like a numpty nest, but I don’t know how much further to go.

Our spectators look bored. Snow has so little to his name, there’s barely anything worth taking from him without leaving him naked and joyless, the latter of which doesn’t suit my interests at all. I just want to needle him, not destroy his will to live.

“All right,” I pick back up, deciding to raise the stakes. “Merlin May I eat all your scones at tea tomorrow?”

Simon blanches. (Adorably.) “All of them? I’ve never seen you eat one, let alone as many as I can put away.”

“What does that matter so long as it means you don’t get to eat them?” I retort.

He folds his arms across his chest. “Fine. I hope you choke on them.”

I tip an ear toward him. “Sorry, what was that?”

“Yes. You. May,” says Simon through clenched teeth. He looks justifiably forlorn until something wicked occurs to him and his smile returns.

“Merlin May I… play your violin?”

The crowd around us “Ohs” like this is a football game and Snow’s just fouled me.

Because he has. My violin is nearly 300 years old. It’s practically a museum piece. If my parents ever found out Simon so much as touched it, they’d cancel my classes and confiscate the instrument along with my entire sheet music collection.

It’s also my most treasured possession next to my wand. Crowley knows what this hamfisted idiot might do to it.

Well, fuck all, it’s a risk I’ll have to take.

“Yes. You may,” I hiss. “You’ll pay for that one, Snow.”

“Yeah? Let’s hear it then.”

His whole body is tilted in my direction. His jaw is pushed out, his eyes flinty. This is my favourite of Simon’s expressions (he only has about three), which is why I provoke it as often as I do. It often precedes him roughing me up, which is the only physical contact with Snow I’m allowed to have, but I’ll take it.

No one would know it by looking at me—least of all Snow—but my heart is practically beating its way out of my rib cage with anticipation.

I know the answer to my next request. It’s the one I ask him in my mind all the time. But I’ll finally get to say it out loud.

I make sure everyone can hear me.

“Merlin May I kiss you?”

Simon drops his sandwich.

SIMON

“Kiss me?” I repeat. “What are you playing at?”

Baz cackles at me. “Well, it’s a classic trap, isn’t it? If you say ‘yes,’ you’ll finally be called out for spreading lies because no one in their right mind would let a vampire’s mouth anywhere near them. Back down, and you’ll not only lose the game, you’ll be branded a coward,” he explains. His head is tilted slightly upward so he can look down on me.

“So which is it, Snow?” he asks, his eyes bright, triumphant. “Are you a liar, or are you a weakling? Either way, I win.”

“I’m neither. You are a manipulative arsehole,” I growl.

He shrugs. “In the present circumstances, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

I clench my jaw and shove my elbows against my sides to keep from reaching up and creating a more dramatic bend in his nose with my fist.

“Well?” he drawls, his voice saccharine sweet. “May I?”

Fuck it all, there’s nothing else I can say, is there?

“You may… not.”

Baz’s lips curl into a vicious smile. Applause for his cunning victory permeates the crowd of students around us, and I can feel my magic, red and burning, prickle up my spine like the mercury in a thermometer.

No.

I’ll be damned if this actual bloodsucking wanker walks off thinking he’s won.

He’s turning away from me when I seize him by the sleeve. I yank him back and shove my face into his, catching his mouth in a kiss that nearly cuts my lip on my own teeth. Everyone around us gasps in unison, then goes instantly silent.

There. I’m not a coward or a liar if kissing a vampire in the presence of at least three dozen witnesses ensures I won’t get bitten.

I didn’t plan this out very well, though.

My mouth is pinched shut and crammed uncomfortably against Baz’s, and he’s completely frozen on the spot. (Literally, I think. His lips feel like ice.) I’m tempted to open my eyes just to see if his are closed. He doesn’t even pull his sleeve out of my fingers.

I also think I’ve bruised my lip. I don’t know if I’m motivated by discomfort or habit, but I soften against him the way I would if he were Agatha. And for the briefest moment—less than a few seconds—I kiss him properly. I suppose I don’t know any other way to kiss.

Astonishingly, Baz’s breath smells like cinnamon tea. I don’t know what I was expecting (blood, maybe?) and I also don’t know why this observation feels so important, but it instantly wedges itself in my long-term memory.

Because… he’s kissing me back.

I flinch and pull away.

When I open my eyes, Baz looks like he’s been visited by Merlin‘s ghost. His lips are still parted. His eyes are wide and glittering at me.

I clear my throat.

“Reckon it’s lunchtime,” I say above a chorus of hoots and howls of laughter. I feel lightheaded and embarrassed, so I try to channel Baz’s arrogance, smirking as I reach down for my rucksack and sandwich (the latter of which thankfully fell onto the former when I dropped it).

When I stand back upright, he’s striding down toward the Wavering Wood away from me, his coal-black hair dancing in the wind behind him.

BAZ

I’m sitting on a large rock—fuming—when I hear Snow’s footsteps crunching loudly behind me. His foot must slip on some wet leaves because I hear him yelp so loudly, it sends the dryads back into their huts. He has the grace of a hippopotamus.

“Hunting, are we?” he calls after me.

“Fuck off,” I say.

“Funny. That’s usually my line.”

I ignore him.

“I don’t know why you’re sulking,” he grumbles. “You’re the one who made me play.”

“A decision I wholeheartedly regret. Come to gloat now that you’ve humiliated me?”

“Humiliated you? You were trying to humiliate me!” Snow bothers his curls with one hand and makes a gnarled mess of them. “I actually came here to apologize, but seeing as you’re still intent on being a git, I’ll just head back to lunch with Penny and be satisfied that you’ll have all my scones tomorrow as a consolation prize.”

“Consolation prize indeed. You cheated,” I snap, and I hate how petulant I sound.

“I didn’t cheat.”

“Yes, you did. The game was over. And then you decided to make up your own rules.”

“What else was I supposed to do? You cornered me!”

I spring to my feet and spin around to face him. “Of course I cornered you! Entrapment is how you win! I’d demand a rematch if I didn’t think you’d just find a new way to cock it up!”

Snow flings down his rucksack. “Come on, then. A rematch.”

“Here? In the Wavering Wood, where no one can witness your defeat? That’s convenient.”

“Yes, here. Where no one can wipe you off the floor if you call a chimera on me and it goes after you instead,” he snarls. “Which, by the way: you’re welcome.”

“I’m not thanking you for that. If not for me, it would have obliterated us both. You don’t even know how to trigger your own nuclear meltdowns without my help.”

“Get on with it, arsehole.”

“On one condition,” I hiss. “This time, we play the sudden death version of the game. That means every request gets fulfilled on the spot—no hesitation, no excuses.” I fold my arms. “Then we’ll see who is the hawk and who is the dove.”

Simon nods.

“You’re on.”

SIMON

“You start this time,” I say, squaring my shoulders.

Baz is leering at me through narrowed eyes. “Merlin May I have your sandwich?”

It takes everything in me not to throw it at him.

“Yes, you may,” I reply. He reaches me in two steps, stopping less than an arm-length away. (Trying to intimidate me already, the prick.) Then, he grabs my sandwich and flings it into the brush.

One does not simply take away my sandwich and my scones without a fight.

I go straight for the jugular.

“Merlin May I have your wand,” I say in as even a voice as I can muster.

Baz’s nostrils flare. “That depends. Do you plan to use it to blow yourself up?”

“Answer the question.”

He pauses, then he reaches into his sleeve and draws out his wand. “Yes. You may,” he says, like the words are being dragged out of him against his will, his eyes locked on mine as he drops it into my palm.

Shit. I never thought in a million years he’d ever let me take his wand. It seems impossible—counterintuitive even—but he must trust me at least a little if he’d relinquish it. I set it down on the rock.

“Merlin May I have your sword?” he asks.

I feel myself pale. “Shouldn’t you be asking for my wand?”

“No repeats. And what would be the point? You’re practically useless with one.”

“Fuck you, Baz.”

This isn’t going well at all. I can’t bloody think with Baz this close to me. After a brief pause in which I struggle to come up with ways this could backfire, I come up dry and finally say, “Yes, you may.”

He extends both hands. I call the Sword of Mages and hold it up between us by the hilt. Baz doesn’t so much as flinch, but I can see his brain working behind his eyes.

He didn’t expect me to give up my sword anymore than I expected him to give up his wand.

I lay the blade gently across his palms, but he doesn’t put it down. “Why are you still holding it?” I ask.

“There’s nothing in the rules that say I have to put it down. Consider it a deterrent—in case you’re thinking of asking for permission to hit me.”

“Is that right? Well then: Merlin May I take your hands?” I ask.

“You… may.”

Baz looks irritated and bends to put my sword on the ground behind him. Where I can’t reach it.

When he stands again, I hold out my hands. For a moment he just stares at them, and my mind races for a way he might twist my request to harm me. He’s a vampire; I wonder if he would use super strength to crush my fingers in his grip.

But then he slides both his palms over mine. Gently. His hands are rougher than I expected (from a lifetime lighting flames in his palms, no doubt) and cold.

So cold.

The shock of it makes me involuntarily close my fingers around his, like it’s my own hands that are freezing and I need to warm them.

Unnerved, I look up at Baz’s face.

He’s staring right at my throat.

BAZ

Fucking Snow.

He’s better at this than I thought he’d be. I need a way to get his hands off my own and end this before I forget we’re playing “Merlin May I” altogether and trap him with a kiss instead of a question.

I see something glitter near the button of his collar. “Merlin May I take your cross necklace?” I say.

His eyes widen. “It’ll burn you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. You’re a vampire.”

“Yeah? Prove it. Give me the necklace.”

Snow lets go of my hands, and I let out the breath I had no idea I was holding. I watch as he reaches behind his neck, unclasps the chain, and dangles the cross between us.

I don’t let him drop it in my hand. I simply close my fingers around the chain, making sure not to make contact with the cross itself, and cup my other hand around the pendant as I would protecting a flame from the wind. He can’t see that it’s not touching my skin. Quickly, I drop it onto the rock beside my discarded wand.

Snow frowns. “Let me see your palm,” he demands.

I shake my head. “Not if that’s how you’re asking.”

He growls. “Merlin May I see your palm?”

I hold my hand up, but he snatches it out of the air and squints so he can get a better look. With his other hand, he runs a finger down the centerline of my palm to see if I’m burned, and it’s everything I can do to keep my breath from hitching at the sensation of it. His touch is so soft, it feels like dragonflies lighting in my hand.

It’s as if he doesn’t want to inflict more pain, in case the cross had burned me after all.

Snow looks up at me, disappointed. Hurt. Because he knows I’ve tricked him and he can’t prove it. I ought to be used to that expression. I lie to him daily. This shouldn’t be any different than any other trick, but here, alone in the Wavering Wood together with my hand in his, standing on the receiving end of that glare feels like he’s slapped me.

Surely, he knows. He must know; when I cornered him on the great lawn and threatened to out him as a dishonest weakling, I wasn’t talking about him. How could I be? Simon Snow is the most powerful mage ever to walk the earth (and trample my heart in the process).

I am the liar. I am the coward.

I am… losing my nerve.

My constitution won’t let me concede defeat yet—I am a Pitch, after all—but I also can’t help entertaining an outcome where I just cave, hand him his victory, and come clean. Crowley, what would that feel like? What disasters might occur if I confessed it all right here, with the Chosen One burning lines into my palms with his fingertips?

Maybe then, I’d be freed from the other game we play. The one where I pretend I’m not a love-sick vampire with a brass neck and too many secrets. I could just let it all go—my better judgment, my family’s wishes, my hardwired instinct for self-preservation—and say it…

I asked to kiss you, Simon Snow, because I knew you’d never let me. Because I punish myself for loving you by conjuring scenarios where I can come close enough to your fire without being burned.

Of course, he went and kissed me anyway, and now I’m incinerating.

If only.

I wish I could believe that, if he trusts me enough to hand over the only two things in the world that could protect him from someone like me, perhaps I could trust him, too.

I’d tell him no one asked for my permission to make me what I am. There was no “Merlin May I?” when the vampires bit me. There wasn’t one when the Crucible shackled me to Snow, either, and I sure as fuck didn’t ask to fall in love. The whole concept of free will as it applies to my life is a sick joke.

Simon was right. This game is terrible.

I don’t want to play anymore.

SIMON

When I look up at Baz’s face, I see him staring straight at me, his grey eyes boring holes into my pupils. They’re like mirrors in this light, casting back the greens and browns of the forest around us. I catch myself looking for my reflection in them before I clear my throat and say, “It’s your turn.”

I have no idea what he could possibly ask for now. We’ve disarmed each other, except for my wand, but he’s right. Ever since he asked to kiss me, my magic has been volatile and flaring just under my skin. I’d avoid using it against him. (Too risky.) And, rules or no rules, he’s still close enough to bite me if he wanted. No one else is here. Looking at his face now, tense and concentrating, I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing.

Would being bitten feel different than kissing him felt?

I think, in either case, my heart stops.

He’s got a strange look on his face. When Baz finally speaks, it’s unlike any sound I’ve ever heard come from his mouth. His voice is soft and low, all its sharp edges gone. Like music.

“Merlin May I touch you,” he says, “here.”

His fingers hover over my neck, just below my jaw.

My heart is racing now. Maybe he’s putting me in a thrall (vampires can do that, can’t they?), or else it’s a challenge. Maybe he wants me to think he’s actually going to bite me so I’ll concede defeat. But neither of these theories seems compatible with the sound of Baz’s voice, and the next moment, the breeze sends a whiff of cinnamon in my direction, turning all my thoughts to mud.

I say, “Yes, you may,” and Baz’s face is unreadable. I feel his fingers first, then his palm. His thumb trails against my cheek. I expect it to feel uncomfortable, but it doesn’t. My skin is always too warm and his feels like cool water against it.

I can’t help it. I think of Baz’s lips parting against mine.

The breeze picks up then, sending his raven hair flying. He turns his face into the wind, but his hand is on my neck, and I don’t want him to let go.

“Merlin May I touch your hair?” I ask.

He looks confused. It’s an expression Baz doesn’t usually wear unless I’ve done something uncharacteristically civil, like thanking him for leaving the bathroom door open, or waiting for him to finish his homework to turn off the light. It usually precedes a sneer or an eyeroll, but instead, I see Baz’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

Is Baz… nervous?

“Why?” he asks.

“It’s getting in my eyes,” I say. Maybe he was right about me being a liar.

Nevertheless, Baz nods slowly. “Yes,” he says. “You may.”

Hesitantly, I reach up and move several wayward strands of his hair off his forehead, tucking them behind his ear.

My arm stays raised of its own volition. Instead of pulling away, I thread my hand further into Baz’s hair until my fingers are full of it. I’ve always wondered what this would feel like, so I run my hand through it again, and it slips softly through my fingers. I don’t encounter a single knot.

I can’t believe he’s letting me do this.

As I do, Baz tips his head into my touch and closes his eyes. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was enjoying it. But then he sighs, and I revise my assessment. He’s definitely enjoying it.

What the hell am I doing?

What the hell are we doing?

“Merlin May I…” Baz whispers, his eyes still closed.

Cross that, I’m definitely in his thrall. I must be. Gravity or some other kind of magic is pulling me closer to him, and I’m staring at his mouth when I feel his hand—the one that isn’t on my neck—slip gently over my waist.

I’m unarmed. No one is here to save me. But I’m not afraid of him.

I wonder if his lips are always so cold…

“Yes?” I whisper back.

His eyes open just then. He’s so close to my face, and where once he looked serene, he now looks stricken.

“Baz?”

He yanks his hands back and shakes his head, like he’s stirring from a bad dream.

“I forfeit.”

I must not have heard him correctly. “What?”

“You win. I’m out.”

“You’re out? You can’t just quit the game,” I say, but he ignores me, scoops up his jacket and wand and heads hurriedly back up the hill toward Mummer’s House. Grabbing my things, I rush after him, but his head start and long legs mean I’m utterly outpaced.

I’m halfway up the hill running at full speed after Baz before I realise I have to turn back around.

I’ve left my sword and cross behind.

BAZ

I’m back in our room, pacing.

More accurately, I’m trapped in the torture chamber between my ears.

I keep reliving the moment on the Great Lawn when Simon’s mouth softened against mine, and when I’m not doing that, I’m obsessing over all the moments that followed. Snow’s fingers in my hair. My hand on his waist. The sticky, smoky smell of his magic pouring off of him as he leaned in… It’s all cycling over and over in my mind like I’m looping through television channels and every network is broadcasting the same slow motion instant replay.

I’m not nearly as devastated over Simon calling my bluff and embarrassing me in front of everyone in our year as I am that he kissed me and didn’t mean it. But then… why did he linger? Why did he run his hand through my hair? Did I imagine him moving in to kiss me again or was that… real?

Nothing makes any bleeding sense.

I should leave. Head to the catacombs. He’ll be here any moment, and I need to get out of this godforsaken room. I would torch it to a cinder if it meant not having to share it with Simon Snow anymore.

My hand is on the doorknob when Snow pushes it open and nearly knocks me down.

“Baz,” he says, panting. We stand there for an endless moment gaping at each other like a pair of idiots before Simon finally notices my rucksack. “Where are you going?”

“Library. I have homework,” I mutter, and I try to push past him, but he blocks my path.

“Why did you forfeit?”

“I couldn’t come up with anything else to ask, obviously.”

“That wasn’t in the rules.”

“It’s implied.”

Simon sets his jaw and pushes me further into the room. “Well, I don’t accept your forfeiture.”

“It doesn’t matter if you accept. It’s my choice,” I retort. “And honestly, what’s wrong with you? No one in their right mind passes up the opportunity to win Merlin May I.”

“That’s not how I want to win!”

I wish there was a rule prohibiting the victor of Merlin May I from talking about it ever again.

“Please, Simon,” I say, lowering my voice, and he starts at the sound of his first name. “I don’t want to play anymore. You won, fair and square. Crowley, even when you lose, you fucking win…”

I shove past him and make it through the doorway when I hear him call out behind me. “Why did you ask to kiss me?”

I spin around to the sound of neighboring doors clicking and creaking open. “Aleister almighty, are you a bloody air raid siren? Keep your voice down!” With a huff, I rush back to our room, push him back inside by the shoulders and close the door behind me. “Haven’t you wrecked my reputation enough for one day?”

“Why did you ask to kiss me?” he repeats, ignoring me. He looks pained.

“Like I said. You should only ask questions you know the answer to. I asked because I knew you wouldn’t allow it,” I whisper loudly. I almost stop myself before curiosity commandeers my voice and I say, “Why did you touch my hair?”

“You touched me first.”

“Because I was trying to intimidate you!”

He shakes his head, furious. “I know what it looks like when you’re trying to intimidate me, Baz. You do it every fucking day,” he growls. “Tell me the truth.”

“I have nothing more to say to you,” I snap. “You’re the one withholding infor-”

“Because I wanted to!” he shouts over me. And then, silence.

I’ve lost the ability to speak.

Or think.

Simon’s face is dragon red.

I think actual sudden death would be preferable to standing awkwardly across from Simon with no feeling in my extremities and no hope of escape. The Humdrum could materialize right here in this room to vanquish us, and it would be a mercy.

Snow looks fit to go off right now.

“I thought maybe you’d put me in a thrall,” he murmurs finally and laughs bitterly at himself. “I thought kissing you was about winning that stupid fucking game. But you kissed me back, and now it’s all I can bloody think about and… Baz, why did you kiss me back?”

My mind is reeling, scouring for excuses, but for once, I’m unprepared. Everything I could say right now would only hurt me on its way out of my mouth.

He steps toward me. “Don’t tell me I imagined it.”

Entrapment is how you win.

I don’t have to lie to him, do I? He just said he wanted his hand in my hair. I’m getting dizzy thinking about what else might he want from me. Aleister Crowley, I want him to have it, whatever it is. Simon has opened a door. I just need to walk through it.

Out with it, Basilton…

Instead—out of habit, sheer stupidity, cowardice, or all of the above—every muscle in me clenches like locks in a fortified wall, bracing me for my usual self-immolation. I hate myself with every word as I monotone, “You imagined it.”

Snow’s eyes darken, and he nods.

“Right,” he says quietly. “Don’t bother going to the library if you’d rather stay. I’m leaving.”

He picks up his belongings.

Oh, Simon.

I never want you to leave.

SIMON

“Snow, wait.”

I pause with my hand on the doorknob. Not a second later, I feel Baz’s hand on my shoulder.

“Merlin May I… tell you a secret?” he whispers, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. He feels close.

Glancing over my shoulder, I answer: “Yes, you may.”

“Crowley, don’t turn around,” he says. “You’ll just make this worse.”

I’m at a loss for words, so I just nod.

“You’re right about me. About what I am,” he says, his voice low from behind. “I don’t want to be a vampire anymore than you probably want to share a room with one, but I didn’t really get a say in the matter.” Dropping his hand from my shoulder, he adds, “I’ve never bitten a person. And I never will—unless you tell anyone what I’m saying to you, in which case I’ll have no choice but to tear out your larynx with my teeth.”

I can’t help myself. I turn to face him. Baz’s face is ashen, his eyes fixed to the floor. He’s holding himself by the arms, like he might come apart if he lets go.

“I was a child when the vampires attacked Watford,” he continues softly. “They bit me. And they killed my mother.”

It takes all my mental faculties, but I finally find my voice—only I don’t know what to do with it except whisper, “Jesus Christ,” which is both an inadequate and utterly useless thing to say. Though I can’t see Baz’s eyes behind the veil of his dark lashes, at least my reaction doesn’t seem to offend him because he keeps talking.

“I didn’t lie when I said that I asked to kiss you because I knew you wouldn’t allow it. But then you kissed me , and…,” he says, his voice so quiet, I can barely hear it. “You didn’t imagine it. I kissed you back.”

He finally lifts his eyes to look at me.

“Because I wanted to,” he whispers.

My heart is thundering in my chest. I don’t know what to say. This is too much to process and I’m clearly shit with words anyway. I have so many questions, but none of them are appropriate, and Baz is just standing there with his hair in his eyes, waiting for my cue—to fight, flee, or die on the spot, probably.

But I don’t want him to do any of those things. He told me the truth for once, and it was the biggest, most terrible truth I could have imagined.

And he trusted me with it.

I step around him and toss my jacket and rucksack on my bed. “My turn.”

“What?” Baz looks properly surprised.

“Merlin May I sit beside you?”

He closes his eyes and sighs. “Snow, I didn’t mean to imply that I still want to play this infernal game.”

“I know,” I say, moving toward him. “Consider this the world’s first single-player game of Merlin May I. Your answer?”

He furrows his brow and says warily, “Yes, you may. Aren’t you at all concerned that I’m—“

“Still my turn,” I cut him off, pulling him by the wrist toward his bed and taking a seat next to him. With one hand, I smooth his hair away from his eyes and fix him with a soft gaze. “Merlin May I hold your face?” I say.

Baz is looking at me like I’ve sprouted an extra head. He doesn’t say “yes, you may.” He simply nods. As both my hands reach up and rest against his cheeks, I decide to let the infraction go.

Because he’s trembling.

I’m weightless with shock. This Baz isn’t a threat or a villain or a monster. He’s just… a boy.

He leans into my palm and closes his eyes. His eyelashes look wet.

“Merlin May I tell you something?” I say.

“Yes,” he breathes, “you may.”

I stroke his cheek with my thumb. “I want to kiss you again,” I whisper.

His eyes spring open. “No repeats,” he replies, breathless.

“That was a different game.”

“Same opponents. Same day. Same game. It’s illegal.”

“I don’t think you mind.”

I weave my fingers through Baz’s hair without asking, my hand coming to rest on the back of his neck. He lets me.

“You’re not worried I’ll bite you?” he asks.

Smiling, I touch my forehead to his. “‘Merlin May I is a game of risk and trust.’ Isn’t that what you said?”

“You don’t trust me.”

I shrug. “I trust you not to make supper out of me.”

He shakes his head against mine, and laughs. “I don’t understand your strategy.”

“I don’t have one,” I say, and I’m so close to his mouth that I’m breathing in the scent of cinnamon and cedar. “What’s your answer?”

His answer doesn’t come in words. He just shuts up and closes his eyes. His hand finds my wrist, like he’s afraid of me, but I won’t hurt him. As I close the gap between us, a thought enters my mind.

This is so much better than fighting.

BAZ

I’m certain I don’t know what I’m doing. My first kiss only happened an hour ago in front of God and everyone, lasted mere seconds, and precipitated the most senseless and backwards game of Merlin May I in the history of Magic.

I’m not sure if we’re still playing.

I don’t care. Fuck this ridiculous game.

Simon Snow is kissing me.

On. My. Bed.

Thank Crowley he’s done this before. His hands are still on my face and in my hair, and whatever blood is in me is singing in my ears. He’s blessedly warm which is helping my trembling, and his lips are so strong with intention—to devour me whole, it seems—that mine move in his rhythm, like we’re dancing and he’s leading.

And he’s humming. Like I’m something to savor. I can hear the whisper of his breath, its warmth skimming gently over my face. As his lips move against mine, it sounds like the tail end of a rainstorm. I would give up all my possessions to Merlin May I if he asked for them, just to keep him attached to my mouth.

I feel light. Like I’ve been exorcised of something toxic and terrible.

When he pulls away, we both look stunned.

“So…” he rasps, “this is not how I envisioned finishing out my day.”

“Someone should make sure hell hasn’t frozen over,” I murmur, grinning in spite of myself.

Snow’s eyes brighten. “Merlin’s tooth, I’ve never seen you smile like this before.” He sounds awed. “I mean, you’re fit whether or not you’re smiling at me, but you’re gorgeous when you do.”

“You think I’m fit?” I ask incredulously. “Are you possessed?”

“Don’t let it go to your head. You’re still a git,” he laughs.

“A git, it appears, you’re willing to kiss,” I say, and I can’t help the disbelief that sneaks into my voice. “I didn’t think kissing blokes fell into the realm of things you do for fun.”

He shrugs. “I’m not sure it does,” he murmurs. “You’re the only bloke I’ve ever wanted to kiss.”

I smile. “Crowley, Snow, you have no idea how strange it is to hear those words come out of your mouth.”

“Can’t be much stranger than hearing you admit you’re a vampire,” he says. “I promise to properly shut up about that from now on, by the way.”

“What happens now?” I ask, staring at his lips.

“I haven’t thought much farther ahead than snogging you until Penny has to send a search party here to find us.”

He barely finishes his sentence before something courageous comes over me and I take him by the shoulders. I don’t need to say “Merlin May I” for permission to kiss him this time, so I just do it. I just want to dwell a little longer in this impossible reality where I’ve confessed all my secrets to Simon Snow and he somehow still wants me—in spite of what I am, what I’ve done to him, and what we were to each other before I conned him into playing a game designed to drive mages apart.

Leave it to Snow to completely subvert the point of Merlin May I by sheer accident.

A long moment later, Simon pulls away from me, frowning. “Are you still eating my scones tomorrow?”

I raise an eyebrow. “If all this is just an elaborate scheme to salvage your scones—”

Snow knocks my arm in retaliation. “No, I mean, is Dev’s spell still active?”

“I’m not sure,” I admit. “Are we still playing?”

He shrugs and reaches for my hand. “Dunno. We sort of got sidetracked…”

And now he’s lacing his fingers in mine.

Simon Snow wants to kiss me and hold my hand, and any moment now I’m going to wake up.

“I suppose we both lose, then,” I say. “And that way you can keep your precious scones.”

“We’ll share them,” he whispers, bringing our joined hands to his heart. “I’d say we both won.”

❤️❤️ HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY, LOVELIES! ❤️❤️

#fic with a pic #fanart #fanfic #carry on #simon snow #baz pitch #penelope bunce #and they were roommates #alternate first kiss #vkelleyart gallery

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